He should have stayed at home. He should've taken a bath in the hottest water he could stand, before falling into bed for much-needed rest.

He didn't.

Sobbing and shaking like a leaf, while being held and comforted by his father as if he were six years old again with skinned knees… that should have been cathartic, but it wasn't.

As he methodically mopped and scrubbed the bathroom, cleaner than it had ever been; as he fussed over Conor, doing the automatic checks for concussion; as he got his father to sit down while making him tea and toast… all the time, his heart grew colder. His mind grew clearer, more honed on one single thing…

Nikki. With Harry.

A bath would have done no good; it couldn't have warmed him now anyway. He wouldn't have been able to sleep either; his mind was racing far too hard, reaching the obvious conclusions.

It would have been hypocritical of him to mind that Nikki had been sleeping with someone else. It wasn't as if they were in a relationship. And, after all, he'd spent the previous night with a stranger himself. And therein lay the rub. He dredged up a memory of Harry talking about his wife's cheating – "I think I'd have minded less if she'd hooked up with a complete stranger". And now he understood what Harry had meant.

Because Jack could compete with a stranger, but he couldn't compete with Harry Cunningham.

Harry had never really gone away, had he? All those years, even though Nikki had never spoken of him, he'd always been there – in the Lyell, at court, at every crime scene. Everything she'd done had been infused with the memory of Harry – how he would have reacted, what he would have done. To some degree she'd modelled herself on him professionally – Leo might have been her mentor and beloved father-figure, Thomas a good friend as well as her boss, but Harry had been her inspiration. And from the moment he'd walked back into Nikki's life, their fate was sealed. Jack could see the future all-too clearly – Harry would divorce his wife and Nikki would be waiting for him… Happy ever after – finally, after so many years, so many false starts…

And yet… And yet, it wasn't true, was it? He'd seen her expression earlier, in the taxi. She wasn't that good an actor. Nikki loved himJack, of all people. That ought to make him happy, but it didn't – because he couldn't understand why she had done what she'd – presumably – done just a few hours earlier.

He could understand that she might have been feeling lonely. Sometimes, especially with the stress of their jobs, it just helped to unwind by connecting with someone – and if you were single, that someone might be an attractive stranger, encountered at a party or pub. But that was just sex, it wasn't playing games with the feelings of people you cared about.

So, what was the answer? Was it possible that she loved them both? Or – or was it some kind of revenge on Harry, for the way he'd constantly passed her over for all those pretty young women? It didn't sound likely – that wasn't Nikki. She could be cruel in the heat of the moment during an argument, but she wasn't petty enough to plan to hurt someone. And anyway, they'd put all that behind them years ago.

What else, then – was she trying to make Jack jealous? He dismissed this out of hand as ridiculous and immature, almost as soon as he'd considered it. Nikki would never knowingly seek to hurt him. He could only assume that she had been feeling lonely, maybe had drunk a little too much…and Harry had – quite simply – just been there.

He remembered her face when she'd been caring for him at the care home, and his sudden realization that Nikki was fundamentally lonely… sad, grown old before her time. That she'd watched her chances at love and a family pass her by; that she'd let Harry go, that her various romances since then hadn't worked out…and that she was currently in a relationship with a very decent man that she simply no longer loved. In those terms, he could understand – and would he behave any differently?

But, dear God, what a mistake to make! How the hell were the three of them supposed to get through this?

He tried to work out his own feelings objectively. Naturally, he was jealous – he was currently feeling possessive, hurt, bruised, and more than a little furious with her, for reasons that he had to acknowledge were unfair. If Nikki had cheated on anyone, it was Matt.

But what really hurt was that he'd – foolishly as it turned out – assumed that she'd been thinking of him last night. That she'd been worried - had spent hours trying to get to him…fundamentally, that she'd loved him as much as he loved her. And instead, she'd been drinking at a party and falling into Harry's bed…

He showered and changed, almost on autopilot, before calling a taxi – he'd left his car at the care home. He supposed Nikki would have driven it back to the Lyell by now, since she'd arrived with the police.

Conor rather plaintively tried to convince him to stay at home and try to get some sleep, but he refused – quite apart from his hurt over Nikki and Harry, he was deeply troubled by Derek's murder and wanted to be there for the post-mortem. He knew instinctively that the answer lay with something he'd either seen or heard yesterday but couldn't currently recall.

He still felt frozen as he arrived. On the surface, it looked as if he'd just made a massive mistake by foolishly assuming that Nikki was in love with him. With one kiss, he might have ruined the single most important relationship in his life – because how could they go back to just being friends again?

Naturally, Nikki didn't have the look of someone who'd been up all night herself. She'd found time to change and freshen up, and was currently bustling around the kitchen, as calm and collected as ever. She gave him a startled look but didn't seem particularly embarrassed. He had wondered whether she'd find it hard to meet his eyes after that kiss…but evidently not. His heart grew even colder.

"Oh - I thought you were going to take today off! Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head as he strode over to his desk.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her following him across the office. Perhaps she was a little flustered after all.

"I'm sorry about Derek." She was standing in front of his desk, a little timidly. "I'm about to do the post-mortem on him, so -."

"Harry coming?" he interrupted loudly.

She stared at him in confusion. "Harry? No. Why would he -?"

"Were you with him last night?" He knew his questions sounded like an interrogation, but frankly he didn't much care.

There was the slightest of pauses. "Um…yes, I was with him – and the students. He invited me to their Halloween party." She smiled, ducking her head awkwardly. He noticed that she hadn't yet met his eyes properly. "I drank too much -."

He cut her off, deliberately making his voice brutal. "I don't really care… Oh, wait a minute – I do care if you screw up someone else's marriage. Didn't think you were like that, to be honest… but then what do I know?"

"Jack!"

He turned back, looked directly into her eyes. "I heard him… On the message that you left."

Her face dropped; she flushed as the realization hit her.

He shook his head, not hiding his disgust. "Harry." The single word held all the derision he could convey.

She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. He could tell that she was holding back tears, but he didn't care – in fact, he took a childish pleasure in her discomfort. Her hands curled and uncurled in front of her. Perhaps she would have said something, fumbled out some excuse, but they were interrupted by Simone.

"Sorry I'm late." She glanced between Nikki and Jack, seeming to take in the tension. "You alright? Recovered?"

"Yeah… never been so cold." He didn't take his eyes off Nikki, as she turned away, walking with quick, agitated steps towards the locker room. "Didn't even know what I was doing half the time," he added. He watched as she paused, her back stiffening, before continuing out of the office.

He stared at his hands, vaguely aware of Simone asking him about the morphine he'd put back in the box and answering her automatically, without giving it much thought.

And then he jumped up and strode after Nikki. Screw her! That kiss had meant something, and she did not get to walk away and pretend nothing had happened and they could get back to normal. That was not happening!

The locker door was closed; an unspoken signal that she didn't want to be disturbed. He pulled it back anyway and walked in, letting it bang shut behind him.

Nikki was unwrapping a fresh pair of scrubs. She didn't jump at his sudden intrusion, but she turned her face away. "I don't want to talk right now." Her voice was cold, distant. If he'd been less angry, he might have recognized the hurt…as it was, all her dismissive tone did was annoy him even more.

"Well, I bloody well do!"

He leaned against the wall and observed her, his arms folded. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the locker room while she was getting changed – quite often they'd be in the middle of discussing a case while she prepared to do a post-mortem, but he was usually polite enough to avert his eyes while she stripped to her underwear.

Seeing that he wasn't prepared to look away on this occasion, she flushed but defiantly unzipped her outfit and let it fall from her shoulders to the ground, her eyes on his the entire time. They continued to glare at one another as she pulled on the scrubs.

"Enjoyed the show?" she spat, as she hung her clothes in the locker.

In truth, he hadn't taken in her body at all; he'd been too busy trying to read the emotions flitting across her face. Guilt, anger, shame, defiance, confusion. She looked away from him now, as if all-too aware that her face was giving away her feelings, and walked over to the mirror.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Her voice was low as she scraped back the bright waves of her hair, twisting it into a tight ponytail with swift, almost brutal, efficiency. "You obviously heard enough to know what happened last night…"

"Oh, I know." He continued to stare at her, unwilling to back down. "I just don't know why. I mean, I get it, Nikki, but why him? Of all people?"

"Well, why not?" Her voice sounded calm, but she was applying lip balm with a visibly shaking hand. "Like I said, I'd had too much to drink, but I knew what I was doing. And it wasn't as if he didn't want to."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Oh, I just bet he did. He couldn't have been more obvious about what he wanted when he was in here yesterday… So, I assume he's finally ended it with his wife?"

She glanced at him, her face flushing. "I… I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Does it matterJesus, Nikki! Of course it bloody matters, you know it does! You don't get to mess with people's feelings just for a quick…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, to vocalize words for whatever Nikki had got up to with Harry underneath the covers last night.

Unexpectedly, she slammed down her lip balm and strode over to him, slapping his chest with heavy hands, pushing him hard against the locker, her face close to his. There was fury in her eyes - hot anger mixed with shame and guilt and hurt.

"It's none of your business what I do in my own time!"

"Oh yes it bloody is!" he shouted back, his hands coming up to grip her arms tightly.

"Let me go - now!"

"Not until you tell me why him!" He bent his face towards hers, feeling her breath hot on his face as her lips hovered close to his.

She refused to back down, pressing him hard against the locker. Her hips seemed to slot into his, and he realized she must be standing on tiptoe to get closer to his face. "Why not him?" she whispered into his mouth, harsh and taunting, before her lips crashed into his.

His restraint finally broke; he dropped her arms but only to grab her waist and pull her tighter into him. Their kiss was hot and hard and rough, an awkward collision of lips and tongue and teeth, mouthing, biting, both of them wanting to hurt as much as to love. There was nothing gentle or kind – it was taking without giving. Instinctively, he tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him, pushing him hard against the locker, biting his lower lip hard enough to sting before soothing it with a quick swipe of her tongue.

She was gasping hard, her breath hot in his mouth, her body pressed so tightly against him that he could feel her chest heaving…too fast, too agitated. Finally realizing this, he stroked a hand lightly across her cheek, trying to calm them both without letting go of her. She gave a shaky long breath; her hands, which had been clutching the front of his shirt, ran down his chest with a burning sensuality before spanning his waist, slipping slightly under his shirt to touch bare skin.

He twisted them around suddenly and pushed her up against the locker, palming her head to protect it as he plundered her mouth, giving way at last – at last! – to all the emotions, all the want of too many years. She pressed her fingertips hard into his back; he felt her nails scratching his skin. As he abandoned her mouth to pepper light kisses down her neck, she arched into him, groaning. "Jack!"

He paused, his lips at her collarbone. That single syllable gave him an uncomfortable picture of her moaning another name only a few hours ago… but, as if she sensed his hesitation, her hand shifted, moving down to his hip, her pelvis grinding deliberately against him, and it was his turn to moan. The height difference was growing awkward for them both; he moved his hands down to her thighs, gripping them and lifting her off the ground so he could grind into her, let her feel how much she affected him. She moaned at the sensation, wrapping her legs around his waist and gripping his shoulders. His lips were still exploring that glorious long neck, and she dropped her head to one side, arching into his mouth, whispering her encouragement. "Goddon't stop…"

"Is this what you want?" he murmured into her neck before sucking at her pulse point. Long-held fantasies burst across his vision as he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control himself… He could feel the heat of her, it wouldn't take much to push her scrubs down, to take her hard against the locker… The fact that anyone could walk in at any moment just made it more exciting. He wondered briefly - had she ever fantasized about this? He pushed into her pelvis, feeling her shudder – she could hardly avoid feeling how hard he was now. "Did you dream about this too? With me, or…"

"Jackplease…"

Blindly, he lifted his head, kissing her jaw, her cheek…it took him a moment to realise that he could taste salt on his tongue, and he had no real idea which of them was crying…

He reared back suddenly, letting go of her legs and pushing them away gently. She slipped back to the ground shakily; he grabbed her shoulders, both to steady her and to get some distance between them, as she was still trying to push into him. She stirred and stared up at him, panting, her eyes dazed and wanting, her lips swollen. She had never looked more beautiful.

His breath was coming fast; he felt dizzy. "Wanted… I wanted you to feel…" he gasped before breaking off and taking in a deep, calming breath though his nose.

She hardly seemed to notice his words. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and she moaned again, tilting her face towards his. She brought up a hand to touch his chest, but he resisted her again, running his hands down her arms to pin them in place. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again; to take her right there, and screw it if anyone came in…

"I wanted you to know how it feels…" His hands tightened on her arms. "…to have everything you ever wanted, just for one perfect moment… and then… to have it torn away from you. With one phone message."

He felt her body tense in sudden realization. She looked up at him sharply, and he had to turn his gaze away to avoid the searing hurt in her eyes.

Suddenly, he felt exhausted. He let go of her arms and stood back, giving her space to move. She stood stock still for a moment, before giving an odd little half-sigh, half-sob and slumping to the floor as if her legs had given way.

He looked down at her, sitting in an awkward, clumsy heap, her head bowed… and felt his remaining anger drain away. He could have walked away, and almost did, but then he found himself sinking to the floor next to her.

She didn't look at him, but he could see she was crying again, weeping almost silently, her hands shaking in her lap. His own hand itched to reach over and touch them in mute comfort, but he resisted, stretching his legs out and staring blindly at the opposite wall.

"I didn't know..."

They'd been sitting for a few minutes in silence, so her quiet voice made him jump. "You didn't know what?"

"I didn't know that – that it was you I… I mean, that I – that you…" her voice gave way again.

"And you can't even bring yourself to say it," he muttered, bitterly.

Her head shot up at that and she glared at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Can you?"

He leaned his head back against the locker, giving a hollow laugh. "Oh, Nikki. I have been in love with you for years. Almost from the moment I met you, probably."

There was a pause while she took this in. "But you never said anything."

"No – because how could I?" He gestured between them, wearily. "How could someone like you ever feel the same way about me? But if you're trying to say that you didn't know how I felt before this morning…? I mean, come on. I've hardly been subtle about it. Clarissa knows, Thomas saw it, probably even Harry, for all I know… Anyway… it's all fucked up now, isn't it?"

She rubbed her eyes fiercely. "I don't know how to explain… About Harry, what I did, it -."

He shook his head, standing up so quickly that his head spun, and he had to put a hand out to steady himself. "No, please don't tell me that last night didn't mean anything; don't insult me with that lie. Because we both know it's not true. If all you'd wanted was casual sex, I wouldn't blame you - I'd hardly have the right to, would I? – but you'd have picked a stranger. I don't pretend to understand what's going on between you and him, but don't bring me into it."

"God, I've been such an idiot." She let her head fall back against the locker and stared up at the ceiling. "Why do I never think…?" She ran an agitated hand down her neck…he noticed a red mark blooming just above her collarbone. Part of him gained a renewed spark of excitement at the sight, as if he'd marked her in some way, and then he felt hot shame descending.

"I'm – uh… I'm sorry for – for what I did, just then. It was wrong of me to kiss you, knowing that you're – that you… What I mean is, Harry's a friend too, and -." He stopped abruptly, feeling sick and depressed and bone tired. His dad had been right, he should never have come in this morning. Even the gym would've been more sensible – at least he could have sparred all his pain and frustration away without hurting anyone else.

She blinked up at him, a strange expression crossing her face. "What do you mean? Jack," she went on urgently, scrambling to her feet. "Listen, something I need to explain –."

There was a sharp knock at the door, making them both jump.

"Nikki, you in there?" It was Simone's voice.

They froze, staring at one another. Simone carried on without waiting for a reply. "Steve's here, for the autopsy. I've sent him through to the observation lounge."

Nikki closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. "Thanks. I'm just washing my hands." She smoothed down her scrubs and walked over to the sink, calm and in control once more.


Jack stormed out of Derek's autopsy, hardly aware of Steve at his heels.

He'd been unable to stay there any longer, watching Nikki in her element. It wasn't just that she'd confirmed that Derek had died in the same manner as Robbo, meaning that the same murderer had certainly been there last night. It wasn't just the uneasy feeling in his gut telling him that if he hadn't impetuously run out after Amrita, he might have prevented Derek's death.

It was the cool, collected way that Nikki had worked, moving quietly around the body, utterly in charge, her face pale but calm. She must have used concealer to cover the love bite on her neck – at least, he couldn't see it from the observation window, and his eyes had been drawn back there more than once. Normally he could focus on the autopsy itself, separating his emotions, using his brain to sift through the evidence as she presented it, ready to provide suggestions and hypotheses to the investigating officer. It was his job after all, and he'd always been able to admire Nikki's poise but keep a focus on the case at the same time.

Right now, he couldn't have advised Steve on anything. As he looked down at Nikki, all he could think of was how warm, how responsive her body had felt against his. His mind was scattered, he felt exhausted, depressed…and it infuriated him that she could carry on so calmly, so apparently unaffected by what had just happened between them.

He needed to be moving, to be doing something to take his mind off Nikki and Harry. The search was still on for Amrita, hopeless though it seemed. His instincts told him that the answer lay with her somehow. The girl had known something and, in her frightened, muddle-headed way, had tried to conceal it from him and Simone – but why? Was she trying to protect someone? What about the caravan? It was unfortunate that he hadn't thought to search it before it was swept away. Where was Beattie now? Had she been taken to hospital? He needed to see her too…and not just to reassure himself about her wellbeing. She'd been there, near Derek, all night – she must have seen something…

He walked towards the exit, determining to return to the scene and see what evidence he could still uncover, assuming the on-scene officers hadn't already contaminated everything. It was unfortunate and deeply frustrating that he'd felt so weak this morning…

Beattie now - she was a cool customer. She wouldn't fall apart under pressure, not like poor Amrita. It'd take more to get the truth out of her… For a moment, his mind hovered frustratingly close to something vitally important… something that was staring him in the face… and then Harry Cunningham came through the door, almost walking into him.

Jack bristled instantly. "What do you want?"

Harry gave him a look that was both startled and – perhaps – a little guilty. "I've come to see Nikki."

As he made to pass Jack, the rage descended once again. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Jack grabbed Harry's shoulders and slammed him hard against the wall. "Why didn't you just leave her alone?" he spat directly in the other man's face.

He'd never manhandled Harry before, never even come close to wanting to, but suddenly the man's very existence was a severe provocation. He was aware that Harry was probably stronger than his slim frame would suggest, but he would certainly be no match for Jack; the cold, logical part of his brain that was still operating recognized this, and he tried to lessen his grip.

Harry himself was probably aware of this, which was why he didn't attempt to struggle. His hands went up in a placating manner, the same complicated expression of guilt mixed with surprise. If he had guessed at Jack's feelings before today, he was doing a good job of disguising it – although maybe he had never imagined that Jack would confront him so openly.

"Come on, Jack. She'll want to see me." For all his conciliatory manner, his tone was confident, almost defiant; it seemed to say well, you didn't want her anyway, so why shouldn't I?

"Why don't you tell that to Matt?"

Harry's expression changed immediately to genuine surprise – even shock. "They split up, ages ago… Didn't you know?"

Jack froze. He knew things hadn't been great, but he had no idea that Nikki and Matt had actually ended it. The shock made him let go of Harry and stand back, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He was half-aware of Steve hovering nervously nearby, clearly considering whether to intervene before the punching started.

Harry made no attempt to move away. He looked at Jack thoughtfully, a range of emotions passing swiftly over his face as he absorbed the obvious fact: that Nikki had - for some reason – not told Jack. And that Jack had clearly presumed Nikki wasn't free…

A startled realization came over Harry's features; he grimaced and instinctively put out a consoling hand – but Jack couldn't take the sympathy, not on top of everything else. He turned away abruptly, pushing through the door.