The background to this chapter is taken from the series 6 episode 'Safe as Houses'.
20 December 1990
"I'm not very happy about this, not at all."
"No, I didn't think you would be."
Kim tapped her pen against her teeth. "It doesn't give us much time to prepare."
"I know," Frank replied, "but I've already made a start on putting the wheels in motion. Stamp's going to drive the cab, Dashwood and Carver will be in the back with Powell. They'll take him to the safe house and stay with him until eight o'clock tonight, then Lines and Martella will take over until the morning when Powell gets picked up for court."
"And what guarantees do we have that Wheelan won't find out what's going on?"
"None, but it's the best we can do at such short notice. If Wheelan gets close to Powell, all bets are off. He's looking at a long stretch on the strength of Powell's testimony."
"And you've arranged an alias?"
Frank nodded. "Edward Price."
"And it's all on a need-to-know basis?"
"Yes Ma'am. Inspector Monroe knows what Stamp's involvement is, but no-one else on the relief."
"CID?"
"Everyone on shift knows, but you don't have anything to worry about as far as that's concerned. I'd vouch for any of them in a heartbeat."
"Good," Kim nodded. "Well, you seem to have it all very much in hand, Frank. I'm impressed."
"Thank you, Ma'am," he replied, "I try my best."
"Right, well let's get on with it then," Kim said. "The sooner Powell is out of our custody, unharmed, the better."
As he made his way back along the corridor, Frank couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He'd shown Reid what he was capable of, and if she was prepared to leave him alone to plough his own furrow and motivate his own team, then he was quite sure they could rub along quite nicely together, even if she was a woman.
The Lennie Powell situation hadn't exactly been a welcome one. A villain himself he had, for reasons best known only to himself, decided to turn against his former associate, Mick Wheelan, and give evidence against him in court. His previous safe house south of the river had been compromised and Sun Hill had been called upon to provide shelter for him until his appearance. Thankfully, it was only for one day and night.
"Right you lot," he said, entering the office. "Now, does everyone understand their role in this?" A chorus of replies came from around the room. "Good. So, Tony, Jim, Mike, you know where you're collecting Powell. Get him over to the safe house as quickly and unobtrusively as you can. Any problems, you contact me or the DCI directly, nobody else, all right?"
"Yes Guv," they replied.
"Viv, Tosh…you're not due until eight tonight, and you'll have to be alert all night, so you might want to think about catching some rest now while you still can." He glanced around the room. "Where's Chris?"
"On the phone in your office," Alistair replied helpfully.
"Oh, right. Well, let's get to it then. I want this operation done slickly. The threat posed to Powell from Wheelan is real and there's no excuse for any cock-ups, all right?" Everyone nodded. "Right, that's it." As they disbanded, he moved to his office, catching sight of her through the closed door, sat at his desk on the phone, twirling the cord around her fingers. She looked up, saw him watching and nodded imperceptibly. "You jumped a few ranks without me noticing?" he quipped, stepping inside as she replaced the receiver.
"No Guv, sorry. It seemed the quietest place to take the call. Stewart's GP," she added on his look. "I got in touch with him to see if there was any possibility of being able to get Stewart into some kind of rehab."
"And?"
She shook her head, "He said that he would need to want to go in. The only way he would be accepted involuntarily, would be if he was mentally incompetent and he's certainly not that."
"Well, you tried."
"I suppose…" she got up from his chair and moved around his desk to the window. "I had a dream the other night about men in white coats coming and taking him away, forcing him into sobriety. It sounds awful, but it actually made me feel good. Not about him being taken away, but him getting help."
"Yeah? I had a dream the other night that you were in bed with me. It made me feel good and all. I had to stick the sheets in the washing machine afterwards."
"Frank…" she glanced behind him towards the main office, though there was a faint trace of amusement on her face.
"Nobody's listening," he replied, flighting the urge to put his hands on her, to feel her respond to him the way he knew she would. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear about what she was trying to do for Stewart, but, at the end of the day, it wasn't his main concern. "I've missed you."
"You see me every day."
"You know what I mean." Seeing her wasn't the same as being with her.
"It's only been three days since..." she blushed slightly and glanced behind him again.
"Three days too many." Since the night she had come to his flat after Stewart's drunken rage, there had been no opportunity for them to repeat the encounter, work pressures barring the way. The only time they had been alone together had been an intense stolen moment two days earlier in the surgeon's room, but the noise from the cells had put paid to any intimacy that might have taken place, and all they had succeeded in achieving were intense feelings of desire left unfulfilled. Powell landing in Sun Hill's lap wasn't exactly well timed either. "I reckon we can make up for it tonight though. My place, seven o'clock."
She raised her eyebrows, "Early bath?"
"Well, I was thinking more about dinner first, but if you fancied a soak in the tub together, I wouldn't say no. I reckon you'd look good covered in bubbles." Her eyes darkened with desire, and he wished fervently that he could kiss her.
"Sounds good."
"You'll be able to get away then?"
She nodded, "But don't you need to be here in case anything goes wrong with Powell?"
"Stuff Powell," he replied. "He'll be fine, but everyone's got my home number, just in case, as long as they don't call when I'm balls deep inside you, that is." Her face turned scarlet, and he couldn't help but laugh. He enjoyed scandalising her. Something told him she hadn't been scandalised enough in her time.
"Well, all right then, seven o'clock." She hesitated briefly and, for a moment, he thought she might kiss him, but then the moment passed and with a smile, she moved past him out into the main office and back to her desk.
He sat back down at his own desk, just able to see her through the door. Every so often, when she turned slightly in her chair, her eyes would stray to him and a small smile would cross her lips, making him hard. If he thought about it, he could still see her, feel her, pressed against his desk that night, moments away from him taking her right there in his own office. Even though they had progressed from that moment, he still had a hankering desire to mark his territory with her there.
She was going to be his. One way or another, he would get her away from Stewart and she would eventually be all his.
XXXX
The house was empty when she returned home at the end of her shift with no sign of Stewart other than the debris he had left lying around. There was no note, not that she had expected one, and a brief panic flitted through her wondering where he was. The most obvious answer was in the nearest pub, drinking himself into a stupor with whoever happened to be there. Eventually he would crawl home and collapse, leaving her staring at his drunken form with something akin to disgust. Telephoning the GP had been an idea that had suddenly came to her, hopeful as she had been that someone would be able to help. But the answer had only frustrated her more; he needed to be willing to accept help and, right at that moment, she knew that he wasn't.
His continual state of inebriation had meant that they had never spoken about what had happened that night. He had never offered any explanation for his crude words or violence, and she had never brought it up. They simply passed by each other, like complete strangers. For all she knew in her heart she loved Frank, seeing her relationship with her husband so reduced, pained her. But she didn't want to tell Frank that, knowing as she did that he didn't really understand.
She changed out of her work clothes, freshened up her makeup and spritzed on some perfume before making the short journey to his flat, her mood lifting at the prospect of being alone with him. Being in the same office day after day, feeling the way they did about each other, often felt like torture. When he opened the door, he instantly pulled her to him, holding her tightly, breathing her in, almost to the point of crushing her completely, as though they'd been separated for months.
"Sorry," he said, loosening his grip on her when she squealed playfully. "Don't know my own strength sometimes." He kissed her, then smoothed her hair back and looked at her properly. "You look great. I really want to take you to bed right now, but I suppose we should eat first."
"Somethings smells good at any rate."
"Dinner a la Burnside," he said, leading her into the kitchen. "I hope you're hungry."
"Starving. Can I do anything to help?"
"No, you're all right, table's set, wine's chilling, food's almost ready."
"Looks lovely," she remarked, glancing across into the dining alcove. There were flowers in a vase in the centre and what looked like new white linen napkins at each place setting. The whole scene surprised her. "You have been busy. I was expecting a bag of chips."
"I'm hurt," he turned back from the cooker and waved a spoon at her, "I'll have you know I'm a pretty decent cook. I've had to be, over the years, and there's nothing wrong with making the effort every now and again when you've got company."
"So how many other women have you cooked for like this then?"
"One or two." He paused. "I can't deny I've had a past."
"I wasn't suggesting you should," she said hurriedly. "Not everyone can be as boring as me, I suppose."
"You're not boring. You found who you thought was going to be your life partner very early on. Nothing wrong with that."
"No…" she mused on his choice of phrase.
"If I'd met you back then, things might have been different."
"If you'd met me back then, you'd probably have got nicked," she laughed. "When I was sixteen you would have been, what, thirty? Even in 1976 I don't think that would have gone down too well."
"Once you've had an older man, you never look back," he said, twisting the corkscrew into the wine bottle.
"Is that the same for men? Once you've had a younger woman, you never look back?"
"Well…" he filled a glass and handed it to her, kissing her as he did so. "I've never slept with anyone older than me, so make of that what you will."
"What, not even as a teenager? I thought the older woman was a common fantasy for young boys."
"I was a bit of a late bloomer. I didn't take my first tumble until I was twenty-one."
"Really?" he looked over at her and she suddenly realised how her comment had sounded. "Sorry, not that there's anything wrong with that…"
"I made up for it later on," he winked.
"I bet you did," she sipped the wine and chose her next words carefully. "I suppose you know what sort of reputation you've got."
"Anything that moves? You said that yourself once, remember?"
She cringed at the memory. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"What, that people think I'm desperate to shag every woman that crosses my path?" he shrugged. "Not really, not if that's what they want to think. It's only people that don't know me that say that though. The people that matter know the truth. I'm not quite the gigolo everyone makes me out to be."
"You do a pretty good job of giving that impression," she said, feeling suddenly emboldened. If they were going to be anything to one another, then it was only fair that his past was dissected as much as her own and they, seemingly, couldn't have been more different.
"I suppose I do," he paused and leant against the counter. "Bang this one, bang that one, 'oh, you're not free tonight, love, no worries, I've got a dozen more I can phone.' Like that, do you mean?" She nodded. "Let's just say, I've never really ever found myself short of female company. Doesn't mean I haven't been lonely though."
"I can imagine," she replied, meeting his gaze and seeing the truth there, the truth that few people probably ever did see, because he was so good at putting on a front. "It can be lonely in a marriage too, and I don't just mean lately. There's been times in the past, over the years, when I've felt as though Stewart hasn't really been that bothered about me. Like…I was there, but I wasn't. He just expected me to be around but…in a way I was invisible." She looked down at the floor. "I should probably have recognised that long ago, long before we got to this point. When I think back, there's been so many times when I know now I was unhappy but…I suppose I didn't realise it then."
He moved in front of her, taking the glass and sliding his arms around her waist. "We're going to change all that though, for both of us, right?"
She nodded, allowing him to envelop her in the warmth of his embrace. "Right."
XXXX
She pitched forward, grabbing hold of the metal bedframe in front of her and feeling it slippery to her touch. For a split second, she feared it wouldn't hold her weight and that she might tumble, face first, onto the bed, but instinct guided her, and she gripped it tightly, bracing herself as Frank's hips thudded against hers once again. It felt so illicit having sex this way, his body positioned behind hers, one hand on her breasts, the other between her thighs as she arched back against him. Stewart had always been a missionary man, seeming to enjoy the sensation of pinning her to the bed beneath him. Occasionally, and usually only after an evening of moderate drinking, he had favoured some version of doggy style, but it had again always seemed to her like a quest for dominance, his hands on her hips, thrusting hard against her and showing no real concern for her own wellbeing or pleasure.
Sex with Frank was so very different. He seemed to want her to enjoy herself, to get as much out of it as he did, and it certainly made a difference when he would repeatedly tell her how much he loved her. She would find her brain battling between the feelings of satisfaction that came from making love with someone you loved and who loved you and the thrilling feeling of making love with someone you knew you really shouldn't be making love with at all. It also made her think that, in being intimate with one man her entire adult life so far, she had missed out on so much. After all, what did she have to compare with?
She felt Frank start to spasm inside her, his grip on her growing slightly tighter and, seconds later, he came, grinding against her, groaning her name and thrusting over and over until he was spent, and their bodies slowed.
"Bloody hell…" he gasped, "that was good." He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back and then gently pulled her face round so that he could kiss her mouth, his breath hot mingled with her own. "I've been thinking about that all day." His fingers wandered back between her legs, seeking out her own hot nub of desire, still waiting to be unleashed.
"Can I go on my back?" she asked.
"You can do whatever you like, darling," he replied, sliding the full condom from his shaft and quickly slipping off the bed to deposit it in the bin before re-joining her on the bed. "Just you tell me what you want me to do."
It was another strange concept, being asked what she wanted in bed. Stewart had always seemed to take the view that he knew what was best and, had she considered it properly, she might have thought Frank would have been the same. How wrong he was proving her, on so many levels.
Over the course of the next few minutes, under her gentle guidance, his fingers and tongue pushed her to her own incredible climax, and she heard herself crying out so loudly, she was concerned it might worry the neighbours. Slowly coming back down from her ecstatic high, she let him kiss her again, down her body, over her sensitive areas, still reeling from her orgasm, before burrowing herself into him, ignoring the almost unsufferable heat both their bodies were emitting.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.
"No, it was terrible," she joked, laughing as he poked her playfully. "What do you think?"
"Well, you sounded as though you enjoyed it. I like hearing you do that."
"What, come?"
"Exactly. Makes a bloke feel good to know he's done that to a woman. Nothing worse than being with a woman who fakes it."
She pulled back and looked up at him, taking in the contours of his features and the softness of his eyes. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long have you cared about me?"
"A long time."
"Yeah, but there must have been a moment, surely, when you realised…" she trailed off, suddenly unsure as to what the answer to her own question was, were he to turn it back on her. "I don't know, maybe it's a stupid question."
"No, it isn't. I suppose…" he hesitated slightly, his eyes roaming over her face. "Tracy's funeral."
"But that was nearly two years ago!" she exclaimed. "You're not telling me that all this time…"
"You asked, so I'm telling you," he interrupted. "When you took me home after we'd been in the pub…well…I would have slept with you if you'd come inside like I asked you to, but I think you know that don't you?"
"Maybe," she replied softly, thinking back to that night, "but then you were so horrible to me afterwards that I thought I had probably just imagined it and, anyway, I wouldn't have done it."
"Yeah, well…" he shifted slightly on the bed. "From then on I suppose I felt…something. Why do you think I came all the way down to Patterson's club that night?"
"Because you're a good DI."
"Well, I won't argue with that, but it wasn't the main reason. I don't know, Chris, it's been a gradual thing, over time, rather than a sudden thunderbolt. What about you? How long have you cared about me?"
"I suppose it's been gradual for me too," she replied, "but I think the moment that it sort of hit me was when Johnno held us at gunpoint and you made me leave."
"Why do you think I made you leave?"
"I didn't know then, but I think I know now."
"All I could think about was making sure you were safe."
"And I was terrified you would get hurt." She reached out and touched his face gently. "It scares me to think how I might have felt if you had been."
He caught her hand and kissed her palm gently, "Lucky for us it turned out all right in the end, even if it didn't for him. I would do the same again in a heartbeat."
"I know."
"I meant what I said that night in my office. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, not even Julie. You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but…well, the way you feel about me and the way you feel about Stewart…"
There was a hopeful expectation in his eyes, and she knew what he wanted her to say; that there was no comparison, that her feeling for him far exceeded anything she had ever felt for her husband and yet, she wasn't sure that was the right answer, the truthful answer. "It's different. I fell in love with him when I was sixteen, as far as I could knowing what love was at that age. And over time, that love grew and matured…I've never fallen in love as an adult, never known what it's like to feel the way I do now." She paused, wondering if she had given him anything remotely near the answer he was seeking. "But if you're asking me if I think about you constantly, even when I'm with him, or whether I fantasise about you, even when I used to have sex with him, or if I can imagine a future that involves us, somehow being together, then the answer to all those questions is yes. I'm sorry, I don't know if that's what…"
He stopped her with the force of his mouth against her own and then pulled her into him again. "That's all I needed to know."
She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes again. "Once I get back from Leicester, I promise that I'll put wheels in motion."
He stiffened suddenly. "Leicester?"
"Yes."
"You mean you're still going?"
"Yes," she craned her neck back to look at him, "I don't really have a choice."
"Oh, I see," he replied, his tone clear evidence of the fact that he didn't see at all.
"Please, don't be like that."
"Like what?" he rolled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her.
Turning onto her knees, she crawled up behind him and put her arms around his neck, kissing his shoulder softly, "Don't be angry with me."
"I'm not."
"Then what is it?"
He half turned back to face her. "How do you think it makes me feeling knowing that you're going up there to spend a whole week with him? A whole week where I won't be able to see you, touch you…" She hung her head slightly. "What happens if he decides to turn over a new leaf whilst you're up there, stop drinking and become the old Stewart that you know and love? Are you going to take him back? Sleep with him?"
"He's hardly likely to stop drinking at Christmas now, is he? If anything, the whole situation is just going to make him worse and if he's as pissed as he normally is, he'll not be in a fit state to even attempt anything like sex. It's not going to be a picnic for me I can assure you."
"You'll be sharing a bed though, won't you?" he said pettily.
"I share a bed with him just now," she reminded him. "But he hasn't touched me in a long time and there's no way I would let him, not now."
"Why?"
"You know why," she leaned forward to kiss him, "because I love you and you're the only man I want touching me." It was no word of a lie. As much as she still cared for Stewart, still loved Stewart, the thought of being intimate with him now seemed such an alien concept.
He sighed heavily and rested his forehead against hers, "I don't want you to go. I want you here with me."
"I know."
"I'm sorry. I can't help how I feel about you." The sound of the phone ringing made them both jump. "Shit," he said, getting off the bed and hurrying through to the hallway. "Burnside." She lifted a blanket that was laying on the floor by the bed and wrapped it around herself before following him and leaning against the doorframe as he listened to whoever was on the other end. "You're sure? All right, I'll be there, give me twenty minutes." He replaced the receiver and turned around to face her. "That was one of my snouts. He's got a whisper that Wheelan might know where Powell is."
"Well, don't you want to let Viv and Tosh know?" she asked as he moved past her back into the bedroom and began pulling on his clothes. "If there's a threat…"
"I don't have anything concrete yet, and I don't want to spook either of them. I'll meet the snout, hear what he has to say and then make a call. Maybe we just need to arrange some more armed back up to watch the place. I am not having Powell whacked on my watch."
He was in full flow, professional DI mode now, and she couldn't help a shiver of desire run through her. Perhaps it was true what they said about women being attracted to men in positions of power.
He came around the bed towards her, buttoning up his shirt as he did so. "Stay. I'd like you to be here when I get back."
It was a welcome suggestion and the thought of going back into his bed and waiting for him to come home thrilled her in a way that she hadn't really thought possible. And beyond the physical, they still had so much ground to cover. But she also knew that Stewart wasn't stupid and that, despite his preference to crawl inside a bottle, he wasn't beneath asking her questions she wouldn't be able to easily answer. "I need to go home."
"Fine," he replied, his face hardening slightly. "Well, you know where the door is so you can let yourself out."
"Frank…" he pushed past her before she could try to explain and, seconds later, she heard the front door slam behind him.