First off, some housekeeping...

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Normally fics that don't get updated for this long don't get updated ever again but...here we are. It's been a long decade. I don't even know what I can say except that I'm so sorry. Things have been difficult for me, with physical and mental health issues, ongoing concerns about study, and multiple family tragedies that have made writing difficult to impossible. I do want to promise that I have plans for "True Heelers" that extend into a third season, and even beyond that. While I won't make any promises of what an update schedule looks like, I do want to promise that I will do my best to not let this fic go that long without an update again.

If you are still here, having waited for so long without an update, thank you. Truly. I hope I can live up to your expectations.

Another matter of housekeeping: This fic was first born on the forums and for a long time posted concurrently on there. Those forums were shut down several years ago, so this is now the only place this fic will be posted. I may, in future, sort out an account on another site and even a re-edit of some of the earlier episodes, but this will do for now.

Dedicated to my Nan, whose warmth and jam drops and love will never be forgotten, and Dad, whose love of Australian TV was a shared pleasure and who was responsible for introducing me to Blue Heelers in the first place.


Episode 33: "Things Fall Apart"

It had been a colder than usual winter in Mt. Thomas, with most of the residents spending the chilly months desperately trying to find any way possible to keep warm. But September had finally arrived and had brought with it a pleasant, warm spring that made the town bloom and the locals generally more cheerful along with it.

But the cheerfulness disappeared almost instantly from the Imperial Hotel's Public Bar as soon as Zoe Hamilton walked in. She looked tired as she sank down onto a bar stool.

Chris wrapped up her conservation with another patron to join Zoe at the bar, only to find Zoe was trying to light up a cigarette. Chris folded her arms as she found herself smiling in spite of herself. "What's a doctor doing smoking?"

Zoe stopped fiddling with the lighter as she looked up to Chris. "I gave it up fourteen years ago," she said, "I haven't even thought about wanting a cigarette in years. This whole mess has pushed me right back on them again. And don't start; Mehmet Gulmez gives me the lecture every day."

As Zoe returned to lighting up her cigarette, Chris tapped loudly at a sign on the wall behind the bar. "It really has been a long time since you gave it up, hasn't it?" At Zoe's confused expression, Chris continued. "You can't smoke in here. You'll have to go outside if you really want one."

Zoe frowned thoughtfully for a moment before pushing the cigarettes and the lighter across the bar away from here. "Probably better if I don't have one, anyway."

Chris smiled. "Good girl. Now, what can I get you?"

"Just the usual."

Chris fetched Zoe her usual drink and Zoe settled in. Chris leant against the bar and watched Zoe for a little while before speaking. "How are you going?"

Zoe thought about that question for a little while before replying. "Work has improved a lot. Some of the policies that the new head of the hospital board has put into place really has reduced my workload a lot."

Chris just shook her head. "I wasn't talking about the hospital."

"Nick?"

"Who else?"

Zoe sighed as she stared into her glass. "Nick…I still love him, Chris. I love him more than I thought I would ever love anybody. But this just isn't working. When he tries to talk, all he wants to do is be romantic as though we can pretend none of this has ever happened. And when I try to talk to him…" Zoe paused for a moment as she considered it. "It's like he's so far in denial that he can't even recognise what's real anymore."

Chris made a sound of sympathy. "Oh, Zoe…"

Zoe forced a smile. "No, it's okay. It's just…it's reaching the point where this status quo has been dragging on for months and we can't keep going around and around in the same old circles. We keep coming back to the same point, but we never end up getting anywhere."

Realisation spread across Chris' face. "You're not…Are you? You can't be talking about…"

Zoe nodded. "Sometimes the holding on hurts more than the letting go."

"How do you mean?"

Chris and Zoe both jumped as they realised just who that voice belonged to. Nick Schultz had arrived and was now standing just behind Zoe, an expression of deep confusion and hurt on his face.

Zoe opened and closed her mouth as she tried to find the right words to say, but finally gave up on finding a way to talk to Nick without attracting the attention of the entire Public Bar. She turned to Chris. "Could we borrow the Parlour?"

Zoe closed the door behind her as she and Nick entered the Parlour. Nick still looked dreadfully confused and wounded over what he had overheard. "What did you mean 'letting go'?"

Zoe ignored his question. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

"Enough to know that you're talking about 'letting go'," Nick said, sounding panicked and flustered. "What did you mean by that?"

She sighed as she sat back in one of the Parlour chairs and passed a hand over her weary eyes. "I've been offered a job in Melbourne. A very good one. I don't see any reason why I shouldn't take it."

Nick's eyes grew wide and he looked as though he had just been winded. "What do you mean? There are plenty of reasons why you shouldn't take it."

She shook her head. "Not really," she replied quietly. "The hospital is now running smoother than ever and Mehmet Gulmez is more than qualified to take my place if I went." She paused for a long moment before she continued. "Besides, we came back to Mt. Thomas because it was good for your state of mind and it was a good place to raise Travis and Trevor. There's not a lot there to keep me here anymore."

For a moment, Zoe thought she might have seen tears in Nick's eyes when she mentioned their sons' names, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He still had that look of confusion about him. "What…what about me?"

She shrugged. "What about you?" she asked, well aware that there was a strong note of bitterness in her voice.

He struggled for a moment before responding. "I…I love you."

"We've been married for about twelve years now, Nick. You ought to know by now that there's a lot more to a marriage than just love. I need more than that." She sighed thoughtfully. "I've told you this before. I told you this when I packed my bags. But you're not hearing it. Maybe there's no point in us prolonging this anymore. Maybe we should get out now before things get really ugly…"

Now Nick was staring at her with an expression of absolute horror on his face. "Divorce. You're talking about divorce now, aren't you?"

"Do you blame me?" Zoe asked as she leant forward and stared at him pointedly. "This isn't working. It's been months. We're barely talking. I actually think this might have been the longest conversation we've had together since Easter. You finally reach a point where you can't keep banging your head on the wall because you're trying to do something which is totally futile."

Nick didn't seem to have heard her. "Divorce. You want a divorce…"

Zoe climbed to her feet as she rolled her eyes. "No, I'd actually like you to get some help, but at this rate this is going…yeah, I think I might end up going for the divorce for the sake of my own sanity."

He shook his head. "You can't." Something finally snapped. He didn't want to hear any more of this. Nick began to storm out of the Parlour. "Where did this even come from? You can't just walk away from everything we've got together!"

Zoe followed Nick back out of the Parlour, feeling panicked and embarrassed as she realised that Chris and the rest of the people in the Public Bar were staring. "Nick, stop it. Calm down…"

"I don't want you to leave Mt. Thomas and I don't want a divorce!" Nick roared.

Zoe looked to Chris, her eyes pleading, and the publican finally decided to oblige. She tossed the towel she was holding over her shoulder and approached the pair. "And I don't want you in my bar, Nick Schultz. Not if you're going to behave like this. Go home."

Nick stared at Chris, confused. Chris' stern look did at least take a bit of the volume out of his voice. "You can't make me leave."

"I can make you leave if I don't like the colour of your shirt. Go!" With that, Chris pushed Nick towards the door. As she opened it for him, she whispered into his ear. "Did you think that was going to do you any good?"

"She wants a divorce…"

"So we all heard. Go home." Chris closed the door on Nick and turned back to Zoe, who had collapsed back onto the bar stool and was now fiddling with the cigarette. Chris was relieved to see that she wasn't trying to light it because she knew a reminder of the smoking regulations was the last thing the situation needed.

Zoe spoke before Chris could. "He won't make the relationship work, but he won't let it end. What am I supposed to do, Chris?"

Chris just reached across the bar to squeeze Zoe's arm sympathetically. There wasn't a whole lot that she could say.


Chris awoke as a bird began to chirp loudly outside of her bedroom window. She turned her gaze to it briefly before turning to the man whose arms she was lying in. Mark was on the bed beside her, shirt abandoned on a nearby chair, and she was lying against his chest as he dozed. She couldn't help but smile at the sight. If someone had told her even just a year ago that she would end up in this situation one day and be quite content with it, she would have laughed in their face. But she couldn't think of anywhere that she'd rather be.

That was until she looked to her alarm clock.

"Get up."

Mark grumbled as Chris shook him awake. She was climbing off the bed and was throwing his clothing at her. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to bring her into focus. "Chris?"

"You heard me. Get up."

His brain was beginning to process events properly and Mark stumbled out of bed and began to pull his shirt on. "What's wrong?" When she didn't reply and instead just pointed at the alarm clock, Mark's eyes widened. "Oh, I…I, ah, see what you mean…"

Chris was beginning to dig through her wardrobe to find clothes for herself by now and barely looked at Mark as she responded. "The breakfast crowd will be starting to come in soon. You'll have to be careful to avoid the other guests. Don't let Ringo see you here."

Mark paused as he thought her last comment over. They'd been doing this for months now – stealing kisses behind closed doors, sneaking in after dark and sneaking out before dawn – and he had to admit that it was beginning to lose its appeal by this point. He wanted to be able to be open about this, both with his friends and with Chris herself. He knew that they weren't being entirely successful anyway. Amy had already gone from hinting at it and grinning at him slyly to outright talking about it, even without Mark saying anything or confirming that something was going on. If Amy had picked up on it, then PJ and Dash wouldn't be very far behind.

"Would it be so bad if Ringo did see me?" he asked thoughtfully. "Amy already knows anyway."

Chris dropped what she was doing and turned to him. "Amy knows? Oh God, Amy knows…" Chris didn't know whether she was surprised or just horrified by this revelation. Much like Mark, she knew full well that Amy wouldn't be the only one to be suspecting something. After a few moments, she shook herself back to attention. "Imagine the gossip if everyone knew, Mark. Can you imagine what they'd say?"

"People will always talk about something," he replied with a shrug. He sighed thoughtfully as he finished doing up the buttons on his shirt. "But I'll make sure that Ringo doesn't see me anyhow."

Relief spread across Chris' features. She kissed him as he passed her on his way out the door. "Thank you."

"Are we still on for tonight?"

She smiled. "Of course, love."

Mark slipped outside of Chris' bedroom and crept down the corridor. When he'd managed to reach the bottom of the stairs without seeing anyone, he finally allowed himself to let out a deep sigh. Perhaps the guests had overslept too. He made his way towards the door to the Public Bar and to the door that led out into the car park.

"Boss?"

Mark felt himself jump as an all too familiar voice sounded from behind him. He turned around, horrified to see Ringo sitting at a table in the Public Bar with a bowl of cereal in front of him. Ringo's expression was one of confusion and mild amusement. It took Mark only a second or two to figure out that Ringo understood exactly what he was doing there. Mark's dishevelled clothing and bed hair certainly weren't helping his case any.

He crossed the room to Ringo and leant down to speak to his Constable. Though part of him felt almost relieved at the idea that someone else knew what was going on, Chris' concern was still too strong. She was worried, even if he wasn't. "If you mention anything about this at the station, I will suddenly find you a great deal of extra paperwork to complete," he warned. "And I will keep on finding extra paperwork for you to complete until the Victoria Police runs out of paper. Understood?"

Ringo looked at Mark thoughtfully. It was hard to tell if Mark was genuinely trying to threaten him or not. But Mark's eyes were pleading with him to go along with it, so he just nodded. "Understood."


PJ pulled the CI car to a stop outside of the house. Amy looked out the window on the passenger's side before turning back to PJ. "So this is the place your informant told you about?"

He nodded. "Apparently there's going to be a very sizeable shipment of heroin arriving here sometime in the next forty-eight hours. My informant couldn't narrow the timeframe down any further than that, but it's enough for us to go on."

Amy bit her bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. "We'll need to get a stakeout set up here, obviously," she said. She found a sly smile creeping across her face, one that PJ returned as he spoke.

"What were you planning on doing this evening?"


Ringo lowered the binoculars as he looked over to where Dash was sitting next to him in the passenger seat of the CI car. They'd been given the first shift in stakeout duty, which Ringo had to admit surprised him a bit. He'd fully expected that they'd be assigned the night duties. He could only guess that Amy and PJ were suspecting that the shipment would arrive under the cover of darkness and wanted to be there themselves if that was the case.

Dash had dozed off a while ago, her arms folded against her chest. Ringo couldn't resist smiling a little as he watched her sleep. She looked so calm and peaceful. Dash was always so strong and tough and it was interesting to see her look so serene. Especially lately.

She'd coped surprisingly well with Phoebe's death, but had become increasingly short-tempered in the last few weeks. Even Amy, who seemed to have a close bond with Dash, was struggling to get through to her. Most of their colleagues were just assuming it was stress. But Ringo knew better.

He'd seen what was on her desk the other day.

The sound of a car backfiring brought Ringo back to reality with a sudden jolt and snapped Dash awake. Both of them looked around themselves, briefly alarmed by the sound, before settling back again.

Ringo looked back to Dash and she forced a smile. It was for his benefit. "I was just resting my eyes," she explained as she waved it off.

He did his best to return the smile. "Your eyes must snore loudly then," he said. He chuckled a little and waited to see how his joke was received. Dash showed no signs of having even heard him. She was staring out the car window at the house they were supposed to be watching.

He sighed as he raised the binoculars to his eyes again. "Dash…"

She gave a grumble of acknowledgement but didn't turn to face him.

"I…I…" Ringo hesitated. He didn't know what to say. He got the horrible sense that he was about to say something dreadfully offensive or upsetting. "I…know what week this is…"

Dash froze. It was as if her blood had run cold. It was a few moments before she could turn to look at him. He lowered the binoculars so he could meet her gaze. Her stare was equal parts cold and terrified and it made Ringo feel like finding a small hole to hide in for the rest of eternity.

Finally, she turned away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ringo felt his heart pounding. He knew she did. She knew that he knew she did. But her glare had combined with a tone of voice that indicated that the topic was closed for discussion. So Ringo just looked away and sighed and let his thoughts run around his head in an incoherent jumble.

His Sergeant was still an emotional train wreck and getting worse by the second. Dash wouldn't talk to him. And then there was the Boss sneaking out of the Imperial that morning…

Sometimes, Ringo got the distinct impression that he was the only sane one in Mt. Thomas.


PJ paused as he stood in the doorway to the CI office. He folded his arms as he leant against the doorframe and studied the back of Amy's head thoughtfully. "How long have you known about Chris and the Boss?"

Amy lifted her pen from the page and began biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. "What do you mean?" she asked, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

"I mean the hot affair that they're having that somehow you and Ringo seem to have become privy to," PJ replied as he sat down in his own chair.

Amy studied him for a moment before sighing and letting the pretence drop. Any act she was putting on for Mark was over. "A…few months, I guess. I saw a few things, sort of…looks that Mark and Chris were giving each other when they thought no one saw. I kind of worked it all out from there. I said nothing for a bit, in the end I made it clear to Mark I knew. He didn't want me to say anything though. I think Chris is a bit worried about gossip."

PJ frowned as he looked away for a moment. "That sounds like Chris. She's been burnt an awful lot in the past." He looked back to Amy. "God, I must be losing my touch. I didn't pick up on any of this."

Amy shook her head as she slipped around to PJ's side of the desks and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I don't think so," she said. "Come on. Chris might be a publican, but she can run rings around the lot of us when she wants to. If she wants to keep a secret from you, she'll manage it. Mark just let his guard down at the wrong moments around me."

"And around Ringo too," he mused. At Amy's confused frown, PJ explained. "That's how I found out. Ringo saw Mark sneaking out of the pub this morning and Mark swore Ringo to secrecy. Ringo wanted some advice on what exactly this meant. He's not oblivious to the implications in terms of Mark and Chris' positions in Mt. Thomas."

She just raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that I knew?"

"Well, it explained why you had this weird giggling smile every time we were at the pub. And, I don't know. There was just a gut feeling you were hiding something from me." PJ brushed a strand of Amy's hair back from her face as he spoke.

Amy just laughed and tapped PJ's nose playfully with her finger. "And you think you're losing your touch!"

PJ's face lit up into the broadest smile as Amy kissed him. He held her tightly as he kissed her back, never wanting to let go. He'd worked out long ago that there would never be a day when having Amy in his arms and being able to be with her wouldn't excite him beyond anything else imaginable.

But their kiss was interrupted by the sounds of shouting and crashing in the muster room beyond the walls of their office.

Amy and PJ broke apart and turned to see Nick throwing what little paperwork still remained on his desk to the floor in a rage before storming off to the mess room, to continue his tantrum with the lockers judging by the noise echoing through the station.

Amy winced as she looked back to PJ, who looked similarly troubled. "Since we're doing question time…what are we going to do about him? I gather you've also heard about what happened at the pub last night?"

"There wouldn't be anyone in Mt. Thomas who doesn't know about what happened at the pub last night." PJ was frowning again, all traces of his smile wiped from his face. He distractedly played with a strand of Amy's hair as he considered her question. "I'll try talking to him later. Right now, I'd just get a black eye and you'd just get blasted out of there if we tried. He's too upset and angry to listen. Give him a few hours to calm down." PJ sighed as he stopped playing with Amy's hair and passed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know what to say to him anymore though."

Amy nodded thoughtfully before looking to PJ again. "What are we going to do with him if Zoe does divorce him?"

PJ shook his head. "I don't think that'd happen. This is a rough patch. They'll get through it eventually."

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Peej…they haven't spoken properly in months, and now Nick is reacting with such anger and rage that even Chris Riley has had enough of him. PJ, we're the closest friends he's got, and probably the only ones he's got right now and, if we're being totally honest, we've had enough of him."


It was lunchtime before Mark could bring himself to head down to the Imperial. Normally, he'd have found an excuse to go there so he could sneak a kiss from Chris much earlier in the day, but he found himself dreading it after the events of that morning.

He and Chris had come the closest to an argument that they ever had, with unnerved him slightly. And now he would have to tell her about what Ringo had seen. Not that he thought Ringo had told anyone else, but it was still the first sign. The first sign that their relationship was about to become public knowledge. After all, Amy had known for a while, but she'd been able to be discreet. Mark didn't even think that she'd told PJ. Or had she? But once it spread to the uniforms, that would be the end of their privacy.

Chris was cleaning a table when Mark walked in. She looked up and laughed. "Did the sky fall in or something?" she asked. At Mark's puzzled expression, she elaborated. "Senior Sergeants on lunch duty, I mean."

"Oh," he responded simply. He followed Chris back to the bar and watched as she headed into the kitchen to retrieve the cardboard box full of paper bags. His heart was beating an increasingly rapid beat in his chest. He had to tell her that Ringo knew. That morning was the beginning of the end of their quiet, secret affair. They couldn't keep it up forever. And Mark didn't even know if he wanted to.

Chris returned and placed the lunched on the counter. "We're out of pineapple at the moment, so Nick will have to cope with his Hawaiian sandwich not having pineapple on it. I hope he doesn't get too grumpy about it. Though he probably deserves to feel grumpy after the show he put on last night…"

Mark wasn't really listening. "Can we talk? Somewhere private?"

Chris' eyes widened. Her mind began running over the hundreds of possibilities, none of them good. Finally, she nodded and motioned for Mark to follow her upstairs to her room. Mark grabbed up the lunches and obediently went behind her, making sure to close the door.

"So," Chris said, "what's going on? Nothing's happened, has it? No one's hurt?"

For a moment, Mark was stunned. "No, no, everyone's fine," he replied as he set the lunches on the end of Chris' bed. "It's just…" Mark hesitated. He reached out to take Chris' hands gently in his. "This is about us."

She suddenly felt as though all of the breath had been knocked out of her. It felt weird to hear her and Mark spoken of in terms of 'us', as a singular. In her own head, she hadn't gotten that far yet herself. "Us?"

"Chrissie…" Mark began, holding Chris' hands a little tighter. "Ringo saw me this morning."

"What?!" Chris pulled her hands away from him. "He…he…I told you to make sure he didn't!"

Mark drew in a deep breath. He wanted to stay calm, but it seemed little would work. "I tried. He was in the Public Bar and saw me as I went to go out the door. There was nothing else I could do. I have told him to be discreet…"

Chris scoffed at this. "You're talking about the Mt. Thomas Police. The Titanic has less leaks than they do!" She ran her fingers back through her curls. "I'm willing to bet that Ringo's already spoken to either PJ or Dash. Not maliciously, never maliciously. But because he'll want to know what he's supposed to do with what he saw. And probably what he's supposed to with your clumsy threat. I'm assuming you made one?" Mark nodded meekly. "If he spoke to PJ, then this might stay quiet for a little longer, but it'll be public knowledge within twenty four hours if it's Dash. Either way, neither of us can afford the hit to our reputations."

Mark sat down on the edge on Chris' bed. "Is it really that big a deal?" he asked. "Our reputations? We're two middle-aged divorcees who have known each other for, what? Six years now? Should the fact that we're having a relationship really be so scandalous? Amy and PJ are married and working together – and breaking about half a dozen regulations in the process I suspect – but Mt. Thomas has never cared…"

She just shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? You really don't. You've been here so long, but you still know nothing about how this town works." She paced the room for a moment before turning back to Mark. "Amy and PJ are not running the police station. They are two colleagues who have loved each other for years and who have now settled into a healthy marriage. There is no scandal for Mt. Thomas to dissect and destroy them with. You and I, on the other hand…" Chris motioned around her. "Look at us, Mark. My family has been running this pub for generations. The Rileys are as dependable as the sun and the moon. And I'm on the council to boot. And you are the Senior Sergeant of police. As far as this town is concerned, you are the sum of the Victoria Police."

"I still don't see what's so wrong…"

"You and I have reputations to uphold." Chris snapped. "We can't afford to act without considering those reputations. The fact that my pub has such a close relationship with you lot brings enough controversy as it is. How long do you think it would be before someone claims that my 'copper boyfriend' means I have the police in my pocket?"

Mark climbed to his feet and approached her slowly. He took her hand tentatively. Though tempted to pull it away, Chris let him hold it. "I don't care about reputations. Not compared to how wonderful it's been to be with you. I love you, Chris."

She immediately pulled her hand away. "No," she said sharply. "We don't use that word. Remember?"

He looked confused. "But you did. Just this morning, in fact."

"As a noun. Not a verb, like you seem to want to." Chris studied him. "Mark, this has been fun. But if we're being caught, then it has to end. That, as they say, is that."

"Because Mt. Thomas can't cope with the idea of two consenting middle-aged adults having a loving relationship?"

She folded her arms. "There you go with that 'L' word again. We're not serious. We can't be. We can never be. You have to understand that," she said. She just shook her head. "Mark, where on earth did you ever think this relationship was going?"

Mark grabbed up the box of lunches. His heart was breaking, but he was determined not to cry until he was back in the safety of the patrol car. He was just so glad he'd driven the three blocks rather than walking them. "Honestly?" he replied, his voice beginning to break despite his resolve not to let it. "I love you. One day, I might have liked to marry you." He drew in a deep breath as he headed for the door. "But that, as they say, is that."

As Mark disappeared down the hallway and his footsteps down the stairs, Chris felt her resolve break. She sank onto the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. Deep down, she didn't want to push him away. But she knew enough about country towns to know that she could never have him.


It was early evening by the time that PJ poked his head inside the mess room, knocking on the door as he did so. Nick had spent most of the day in there, his rage slowly dying away to a quiet sulk. He and Amy had meant to come in and speak with him sooner, but things had gotten too caught up – Ringo and Dash had to be liaised with as people came and went at the house they were watching, and Mark had returned to the station from the Imperial in a major sulk of his own, seemingly related to Chris, that neither Amy nor PJ could get him out of.

Nick was slumped on the floor underneath the large window. He didn't look up as PJ stepped inside and moved to stand across from him. PJ tried to muster a smile, but found he couldn't. In the end, he just sighed. "Mate, what are you doing?" he asked tiredly.

Nick finally looked up. His expression was one of utter defeat. There was no anger, no resentment, no grief. Just defeat. After everything that had happened, Nick was finally done. "She wants to divorce me," he whispered. "I love her, PJ. I love her so much. I can't lose her."

PJ passed a hand across his face as he contemplated Nick's words. He wanted something to say that would help Nick to feel better, to finally understand what Zoe and everyone else had been trying to explain to him for so long. But nothing came. The reality of Amy's words were finally beginning to dawn on him. Even they, the two people who typically understood Nick best, who typically could put up with his moods and his tantrums without any dramas, who typically knew exactly what to say to him, could no longer take it. Nick had retreated too far into denial even for them to cope with. Finally, he sat down beside his old friend and reached over to place a hand on Nick's knee. "You need help, Nick," he said bluntly. "Let me make an appointment for you with someone. What about Bill Lapscott? I had some sessions with him about Maggie and Jo and he helped me a lot…"

Nick suddenly jerked away from PJ and was on his feet. "I don't need you telling me what to do with my life, thank you very much," he snapped. "And I certainly don't need that know-it-all Bill bloody Lapscott…"

PJ frowned. He didn't even realise Nick knew Bill Lapscott well enough to be making character judgements. He remembered Amy mentioning Bill as being involved in helping get him out of prison and he made a quick mental note to ask her later how Bill had gotten Nick so offside. PJ jumped to his feet and followed Nick to the mess room door. "Well, at least let Amy and I run you home then," he said. "I don't know if you should be driving…"

Nick pointed a vaguely threatening finger at PJ. He seemed to be looking for something suitably menacing to say but, with words failing him, he simply shook his head and stormed off towards the car park.

With Nick gone, PJ sank against the mess room door. Just minutes later, Amy appeared, arms folded across her chest. "I gather you got nowhere with Nick?"

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "No," he replied, "but we have just enough time before changeover on the stakeout to have a word with Zoe Hamilton."


Zoe had barely flopped down onto her motel room bed when she heard the knock at the door. She didn't even bother getting up. "Piss off, Nick, or I'm calling the police! And I mean St. Davids!"

"Zoe? It's PJ and Amy!"

Zoe debated whether or not to let them in. She knew that they were the last holdouts on Nick's side; the last two people who were truly sympathetic and understanding to Nick's behaviour. If they were on an errand from him, then she didn't want to know. But, in the end, she opened the door and invited them inside. "Can this be quick?" she asked. "I'm actually planning to be somewhere else tonight."

PJ forced a smile. "Don't worry, we have a stakeout and can't be too long ourselves." He shuffled uncomfortably before speaking. "We know about what happened at the pub last night."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "And you're here to tell me all about how wonderful Nick is and how harsh I'm being and how I should give him a break…"

"No," Amy interrupted. "We wanted to know how you're doing. And to know how likely the divorce outcome is, because we're the ones who will probably pick up the pieces if it happens."

Zoe nodded thoughtfully. Finally, she sighed. "Did you know he came over here this morning? He threw a tantrum about the divorce thing, just like in the pub last night. He nearly made me late for work."

PJ shook his head, struggling to comprehend it. "How did you get rid of him in the end?"

"I threatened to call St. Davids Police in," Zoe explained. At Amy and PJ's looks of concern, Zoe shook her head. "Don't worry, he wasn't being violent. Nick could never be violent to me. He was just loud and obnoxious and boorish and wouldn't go when I told him to and…" she trailed off as she sank onto the edge of her bed.

"And?" Amy prompted.

"...And…being stuck tied to a man whose reaction to grief is to retreat so far into denial that he no longer understands what is real…it hurts. It hurts so damned much." Zoe's gaze sank to the floor. "Nick is so scared of feeling the pain and of losing himself in the agony of his grief, that he's chosen to lose himself in denial instead. And I hate him. I hate him so much for being so selfish to forget about how I feel in all of this. Let alone what he's doing to everyone else. But…"

"But?" Amy prompted again

Zoe finally looked up, tears in her eyes. "But then I think back to Christmas Day. To the twins and their Wii and all the chaos and the noise and the laugher and how so amazingly, typically Schultz boys it all was when they tried to set it up and how happy we all were. In the blink of an eye, I can go from wanting to tear Nick apart with my bare hands, to simply never wanting to see him again, to just wishing that he was here holding me and…and…" What little was left of Zoe's composure crumbled as she began to openly sob. "…And that he would just talk to me, just…just so that I didn't feel so alone…"

Amy sank into one of the chairs in the motel room, burying her face in her hands. PJ crossed the room to Zoe and wrapped his arms around her, letting her sob into his stomach. She clung to him, and PJ could feel Zoe shaking. He looked over to Amy as she finally looked up. Amy just looked completely lost.


Ringo watched Dash as she shifted position with the binoculars. Amy and PJ were supposed to come on duty over half an hour ago. Ringo could only assume that it was something to do with Nick. Everything seemed to come back to Nick over these long ten months.

Not that Dash had been any better, especially during this shift. Even fairly innocuous conversations ended with Dash abruptly ending all talk and Ringo uncomfortably returning to stare out the window. Ringo knew why Dash was so short-tempered. He knew the others would too, if not for Nick taking so much attention away from Dash's problems.

Finally, a loud tap could be heard on the passenger's side window. Ringo jumped, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be paying proper attention. Turning, he could just see Amy smiling at him weakly in the twilight. Obligingly, Dash and Ringo climbed out to let PJ and Amy in.

"You're late," Dash said curtly.

"Sorry, we got a bit caught up with some stuff…ah…at the station," PJ quickly lied.

Amy showed off the thermos in her hands. "We're right to take it through to tomorrow morning. Thanks for today."

Dash grumbled as she headed off to the unmarked car Amy and PJ had arrived in. Ringo watched her go before looking back to Amy and PJ.

PJ frowned. "She okay?" he asked.

Ringo shook his head. "Not really, no," he replied.

PJ sighed. "Bloody hell," he mumbled. "Nick, Zoe, Mark and Dash, all at the same time. This teams needs to learn to keep it down to one catastrophe a month."

Ringo rolled his eyes. "Speak for yourselves."

PJ raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Ringo replied as he left, heading over to the car as Dash began looking impatient.

PJ looked over to Amy, confusion on his face. "I don't believe I've ever seen Ringo talk to anyone like that before. What the hell was that supposed to be about?"

Amy had a small smile on her face in spite of herself. "It's possible I'm misreading him, but I do believe it was probably a veiled reference to our tendency to get ourselves into trouble on an alarmingly regular basis, Peej."


Nick hadn't gone home via the direct route. He'd stopped at the cemetery on the way. He hadn't gone in, hadn't even gotten out of his car. But he'd stopped outside. He always seemed to find himself drawn to the cemetery, to the place where the two little tombstones that were always too close to his thoughts for comfort were. But never seemed to manage the next step of actually going in.

He'd also stopped at every pub in town. It turned out that his performance at the pub the previous night had seen Chris bar him from the Imperial, and that she had called in every favour she had owed to her to get him barred from every other pub in Mt. Thomas too. In the end, he found a bottle shop that was willing to sell him a bottle of whiskey. He wanted to go home and drink it and forget. Forget Zoe and how much he loved her and her stinging words, forget the fact that even his closest friends had lost patience with him, and most of all forget the two loud and bright little boys who always tugged at his memories and threatened to pull him into the abyss, an abyss where a beautiful little girl and her mother might be waiting to haunt him again too.

Nick was emotionally and physically exhausted by the time he eventually arrived home. He wandered up the hallway until he reached the kitchen, dumping his keys and the brown paper bag containing his whiskey on the bench. Standing in his dark kitchen, it suddenly hit him how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten properly for days. If he was honest, he hadn't eaten anything that wasn't made by Chris Riley's kitchen staff in months. He headed for the fridge. He hadn't done a proper shop in longer than he even cared to think so most of its contents were probably expired, but there was probably something there that was edible enough to eat to stop the whiskey making him too ill on an empty stomach.

It was when Nick turned to open the fridge that he heard footsteps and a sound that was unmistakeable after so long in the police force. A gun had just had it's safety deactivated.

Nick turned around, only to find himself face to face with a figure hidden in the shadows of his kitchen and pointing a handgun at him. Nick instinctively tried to back away and found himself with his back against his refrigerator.

It was then Nick heard the loudest sound he'd ever heard before in his life, followed by the sensation of hot lead tearing through his skin as he slowly slumped to the floor.


Under the cover of darkness, Amy and PJ had been able to move closer to the house they were watching. Not that they could see much in the darkness that was now covering everything. Though, even in the darkness of a Mt. Thomas night, it would be impossible to miss a vehicle approaching.

Amy was sipping at her thermos, while PJ was watching the occupants of the house having an argument through one of the windows with the binoculars when the radio suddenly came to life.

"VKC to Mt. Thomas 509."

PJ looked away from the binoculars briefly to the radio, then to Amy. His expression was one of confusion. "Why are they calling us?" he asked.

Amy shrugged as she reached for the radio. "Dash and Ringo have to have time off. And Nick and Mark…well…"

"St. Davids could handle it," PJ mumbled as he returned to watching the house. "They know we're on an important stakeout."

"Must be more important, I guess," Amy said simply. She raised the radio to her mouth. "Mt. Thomas 509 receiving, go ahead VKC."

"St. Davids Police Station has received a report of a noise complaint at 39 Penthope Road from a neighbour and have specifically requested that you attend."

PJ lowered the binoculars as he looked to Amy. "39 Penthope Road," he said. "That's Nick's house."

Amy bit her bottom lip distractedly as she considered the situation before raising the radio to her mouth again. "Please advise St. Davids Police Station that we'll be attending the complaint at Penthope Road as soon as possible. Mt. Thomas 509 back on channel."

PJ was staring at Amy with a perplexed expression as she put the radio away. "This is an important heroin bust that we've been staking out all day, and we're abandoning it for a noise complaint?"

She stared at him pointedly. "At Nick's house," she reminded him. "Which means that it might just be a noise complaint and we'll be pissed off and yelling at St. Davids tomorrow for fobbing Nick off onto us and blaming them for us having to blow off the stakeout. On the other hand…"

PJ sighed and nodded. He understood. Nick was a police officer. They couldn't afford to not take it seriously. A noise complaint could mean many things, and it could just possibly mean some criminal with something to prove trashing the place. Or taking it out on Nick.

PJ started the car up as they both pulled their seat belts on, giving the house he had been watching so intently one last long look. "If this turns out to just be Nick playing his Dean Martin records too loud, I swear…"


Penthope Road was almost silent when PJ pulled the car to a stop outside of Nick's house. Some dogs were barking, and the primary school two blocks away had a car leaving, but otherwise it was quiet. It was nearly half-past eight, and the street lights bathed the street in a their usual glow. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary or strange. There wasn't even the sound of Dean Martin coming from Nick's house.

"Noise complaint," PJ mumbled. "Are we being wound up? Where did VKC say the complaint came from again?"

Amy pulled her seatbelt off. "A neighbour," she replied. PJ just shook his head in frustration in reply. The two climbed out of the car and headed across the overgrown front yard to Nick's front door. As they climbed onto the verandah, Amy stopped to look inside the large window to the front living room. The curtains were drawn, but the glow she might have expected to see through them was absent. "He doesn't have the lights on," she observed.

PJ frowned as he turned to look at the window, then to Amy. "He was in a foul mood when he left the station. I don't know if he was in much of a mood for lights." PJ turned to Nick's front door and knocked loudly. "Nick, are you in…"

His shouting trailed off as his knocks sent the door creaking open. Amy was distracted from trying to see through the window and turned to PJ with concern on her face. Their eyes met briefly as she gave him a pointed look. Without her needing to even say a word, he nodded, answering her silent question, and they both drew their firearms.

A noise complaint at a police officer's house with the door open. It was suddenly looking more sinister.

PJ drew a deep breath and motioned for Amy to follow him as he cautiously entered the house. They raised their weapons, keeping them ready for a moment's notice. When suddenly they heard a crashing noise from the kitchen, and what sounded like a weak voice.

Amy and PJ shared a wary glance before making their way down the hallway to the kitchen. They weren't quite sure what they were expecting to find, but Nick Schultz slumped down against the refrigerator, blood stains on his shirt around his stomach, and just about every piece of furniture within Nick's reach kicked over was not quite it.

"Oh God," Amy whispered, momentarily frozen by the sight. PJ didn't suffer the same paralysis. He immediately leapt for the light switch next to them, properly illuminating the scene. He grabbed a tea towel from the kitchen bench and, crouching down next to Nick, carefully moved Nick's hand away from his stomach so he could press the tea towel against it instead.

Amy finally broke free of her shock and grabbed for her radio. She felt herself switching onto autopilot as she called VKC for an ambulance and for urgent backup because they had a member down. Then, with help called, she pulled her gun free again and left to check over the rest of the house. The detective in her could automatically judge that Nick's attacker was probably long gone, almost certainly through the open door, but a sweep of the house was needed anyway.

Nick looked up to PJ as he finally seemed to realise that they were there, his face pale, eyes wide and breath coming in shaky, shallow gasps. His hands were trembling as he tried to steady himself with his left hand and placed his right hand over the one PJ was trying to stem the bleeding with. Not that the majority of the bleeding seemed to be external, PJ had quickly realised. Nick was bleeding internally.

"Someone…someone was…" Nick said, struggling for every word through the pain and blood loss, "…they were here when…when I got home…they shot…I was…shot me…"

PJ used his free hand to push the cold sweat from Nick's face. "Mate, it's okay. We're here now. Help's on its way."

Nick grabbed PJ's hand tighter. "Zo…Zo…she wants to…I can't…"

PJ felt his body stiffen a little. Not this again. Of all the times. "Hey, whatever it is you've got to say, you'll have plenty of time to say it later on. You're going to be okay. We're here now and I know you'll be okay."

"The rest of the house is clear," Amy said as she returned, holstering her weapon. She crouched down on the other side of Nick as PJ looked up at her with a troubled and conflicted expression in his eyes. She'd overheard enough to hear that PJ was lying to Nick, saying all the same pitiful, clichéd lines that they all did in these times. Not because he genuinely believed them, but because PJ himself had to hear them.


PJ paced the hospital corridor, his right hand massaging his temple while he worked his old flip phone with his left. He'd called in Dash and Ringo easily enough, but Mark was proving a nightmare to locate. Zoe was no better, and that worried him on a level he felt ashamed to even contemplate.

He and Amy had agreed that PJ would go with Nick in the ambulance and Amy would secure the scene and wait for back up. Nick had been rushed away ahead of him, with Mehmet Gulmez and Angie Cohen and the other medical staff talking in jargon and numbers that he could follow more of than he wanted to.

He cursed loudly as yet another attempt at reaching Mark's mobile ended in failure. "Bloody hell, Chris, what did you do to him?" he grumbled.

He didn't have long to wonder. His phone rang, from the Imperial office phone. PJ eagerly answered, but Chris cut off any greeting. "What on earth is going on, PJ?" she demanded.

"Excuse me?"

Chris stood in her office, looking out into the entrance of the Imperial Hotel. The entrance Ringo had rushed out of five minutes ago, full uniform on, exhausted and barely awake yet looking white as a sheet and refusing to answer questions. "Why did you call Ringo in now and why did he look so petrified? I'm hearing sirens."

PJ paused on the other end of the line. He internally debated himself for a long moment, then sighed and explained. "We found Nick at home with a bullet wound."

Chris swore and raised a hand to her face. She sat down at her desk. Questions swirled, but none of them seemed to form a coherent expression. She felt herself shaking a little and holding her breath without even realising it.

PJ spoke again before she could say anything. "Chris, are you still there? Have you seen Mark or Zoe?"

She began breathing again and passed a hand over her eyes. She tried to focus and calm down. "Not tonight," she replied shakily. "I last saw Mark at lunchtime and Zoe last night….oh!" Chris held the voice away from her mouth as she saw Zoe enter the public bar, uneasy and wary.

"Chris?" PJ asked. "What's going on?"

"Zoe just walked in," Chris told him, "should I tell her about Nick or…"

There was a long silence from PJ. At the hospital, PJ found himself frozen, the ashamed feeling returning. He knew what he was thinking and hated himself for contemplating it. He knew what the situation and statistics were indicating, he knew what the months of animosity and denial were indicating, he knew what the blazing row at the Imperial last night was indicating. He hated himself for thinking it anyway, and for the answer he gave Chris. "No."


Amy stood on the front verandah of Nick's house, arms crossed. The warmer spring day had given way to a chillier night, and the misery and horror of the place and the situation was not lost on her. As she looked out for Ringo and Dash, she found herself chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly. Old habits die hard.

She'd already secured the scene as best she could. Police tape was up around the property boundaries and the CI car was across the driveway entrance. There wasn't much more she could do until forensics or back up arrived. At least being so late at night, rubberneckers were at a minimum.

Almost on cue, two cars appeared – Dash's and Ringo's. Both uniformed officers looked exhausted as they crossed the front yard and like they'd just climbed out of bed, but Amy couldn't help but smile at the sight of them anyway. "Thank God!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry about all of this."

"How's Nick?" Dash asked as she tried to pull her messy hair back into a ponytail.

Amy hesitated and studied both of them before answering. "He was conscious when we found him. PJ went with him to the hospital." Dash nodded and some of the colour seemed to return to Ringo's face. Amy drew in a deep breath and brushed her own fringe off her face as she looked around her. "I'm going to head back to the station now. Will you two be okay here until back up arrives?"

Ringo looked over to Dash. She shot him a warning look and he seemed stung. Amy's brow furrowed. Her memory jumped back to the stakeout handover earlier that evening, which felt like it had been six years ago at this point. "Are you two going to be okay working together?" she asked.

"Yes!" both responded quickly and almost in unison. Amy nodded slowly and doubtfully, but had to cede the point as her phone rang. She excused herself to answer it and watched as Dash stormed inside. Whatever Dash and Ringo's problem was would have to wait – Mark was calling.


Amy walked into the muster room to find Mark waiting for her. He looked like a mess – his hair was a ruffled nightmare and his uniform was crumbled and covered in paint stains. She couldn't help a startled laugh at the sight of him. He laughed himself when he realised she had seen him. "I was stress painting," he said. "There may have been some crying and old records involved. I'm stunned you didn't get the noise complaint about me."

They both began to head through to Mark's office. "PJ said he couldn't get through to you." Amy said.

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "Chris called me. I may have a special ringtone for her. She may know that and may have exploited that to get me to answer the phone." Amy tried to suppress her laughter as Mark looked down with and began picking at a patch of paint on his hand. Silence hung in the air for a moment. "So, I called PJ and he caught me up on what he knows," Mark explained. "Anything new at the scene?"

Amy shook her head. "Not really. I secured it as best as possible and Ringo and Dash are in charge now. We really need back up though. They're both exhausted and stressed."

He nodded and the phone on his desk began ringing. Mark raised an eyebrow as he answered. "Mt. Thomas Police, Senior Sergeant Mark Jacobs speaking…yes, Inspector…"

Amy sat up a little straighter and motioned for Mark to put the Inspector on speaker phone. She hadn't had much to do with Inspector Martin Barnes. She knew the station's biggest interaction with him had been during her abduction by Raymond Hunt. She'd heard very mixed things about him from her colleagues. Nick mocked him, PJ hated him, Dash was suspicious of him, and Mark liked to think they had an understanding.

"Hold on, I have Senior Detective Fox with me. I'm putting you on speaker phone, sir," Mark said as he leaned forward to fiddle with the phone.

"God, I hate speaker phone, I only wanted to talk to you anyway" Martin lamented as Amy pointed out the right button to Mark, and she found herself almost impressed by how quickly her opinion of Martin had nosedived.

"Detective Fox does know more about this situation than me, you'll find," Mark explained, looking to Amy who had a raised eyebrow and a sceptical expression on her face.

"I'm not looking to hear about this case, I'm looking to give you an instruction," Martin replied. "His wife was threatening him last night, wasn't she?"

"Threatening?" Amy asked. "That's a bit strong. They argued because she brought up divorce."

"Gossip here says it was a threat," Martin said. "Most murders are by someone the victim knows. Spouse especially. They're estranged, she threatens him, she wants a divorce, he doesn't…do the maths."

Amy looked up from the phone to Mark. He had a disbelieving expression on his face. "Sir, with all due respect, you've read this all wrong," Mark said, voice wavering slightly.

Martin didn't even address Mark's concerns. "You need to nip this in the bud. Your sergeant has been unstable for months and his wife has just tried to kill him. This will be a scandal. Manage it before it becomes a national headline and a PR disaster."

"Sir…" Mark attempted to intervene, but the sound of Martin hanging up cut him off. He sat back, looking stunned and lost. "I thought he was a reasonable man."

Amy chewed on her thumbnail thoughtfully. "He's probably reasonable if he thinks he can spin the PR his way."

Mark grumbled as he stood up and walked over to the window to look out in an attempt to calm himself. He took a few deep breaths and sighed. "Do you think he might be right?" he asked quietly.

"Boss?" Amy froze.

"Do you think there's a chance Zoe might have tried to kill Nick?"


PJ didn't know how long he had been sitting in the hospital corridor, head in hands, mind swirling and racing. Thoughts he couldn't bear to contemplate, fear of what might happen, horror at remembering all that had happened. That night, singing carols with Nick and Amy in Amy's ute felt like it was a lifetime ago. Hell, even that heroin bust might as well have been years ago.

He suddenly felt a flash of panic. The heroin bust had been completely abandoned. God knows how much heroin was going to flood into town now. And he couldn't do a damned thing about it. The helpless panic faded again. There were worse things to contemplate. Like what he couldn't stop himself thinking when Chris asked him about Zoe.

Mehmet Gulmez approached him and PJ looked up. Hope began to enter his face a little. "How is he?"

Mehmet sat down beside him. "It looks like there's some bleeding somewhere around the bowel," he explained. "He's sedated and as stable as can be expected for the moment and we're about to take him up to surgery."

PJ nodded thoughtfully. He lowered his head and sighed heavily. "Do you…" he struggled as tears began to well at his eyes. "Do you think he'll make it?"

Mehmet was uncomfortable. "I…I can't promise things, you know that. But…did you want a minute with him before we take him up?"

PJ nodded and Mehmet squeezed his knee as he stood up and led him through to the cubicle where Nick was being treated. PJ found himself breathless for a moment at the sight. He wasn't unfamiliar with sights like this, with experiences like this. But Nick? He was rarely sick, rarely hurt. Unbreakable, loud, difficult to contain. The sight of him pale with a tube down his throat and IVs in his arm and blood stained bandages on his stomach was horrifying and alien. The tears continued welling at his eyes as he walked over to him and squeezed his hand.

"Hey, mate," PJ said, his voice getting lost in a teary croak. "It's PJ. You probably guess though, I'm crying like the useless schmuck that I am." He laughed weakly and squeezed his hand again. "Eighteen years, mate. Don't do me like this, Nick. Amy and Dash don't like late night soccer like you do." Mehmet motioned to the clock. He was almost out of time. The tears began to run down his cheeks proper. "We'll figure out what happened to you. We'll help you. Just come back, hey?" PJ squeezed Nick's hand one last time and rubbed his shoulder. Then thanked Mehmet and quietly slipped out.

He made a beeline for the bathroom. The stall was a decent place for a private crying breakdown for a few minutes, followed by desperately trying to wash his face in the sink so he could pretend that it hadn't just happened. Then a message to Amy to let her know that Nick was in surgery. He wasn't sure if he was up to actually saying what had happened out loud yet.

His phone rang as he was downing a glass of water to try to make himself feel human again. He assumed it was Amy and answered it without checking the ID. "Amez?"

"No, it's Chris. Don't you have me in your contacts yet?"

PJ froze, glass half-way to his lips. "Has something happened?"

Chris seemed a little thrown by PJ's tone and question, but answered anyway. "Zoe realised something happened to Nick. I didn't tell her anything, but…"

Suddenly, his emotional breakdown seemed a whole world away. He was in detective mode. "Has she taken off somewhere?"

"Their house."


Ringo moved his head side to side as he stood in the Schultz's living room. It was an attempt to stave off the tiredness by stretching his neck a little, with increasingly limited results. He rolled the end of his rubber glove down a little to check his watch. 12:03am. He looked over to Dash, who was walking across the room towards him from the bloodstained kitchen, writing something in her folder. His heart began to break with worry. He knew what day they'd ticked over into.

"Dash…" he probed uneasily.

She looked up and tucked her pen behind her ear as she approached him. "The blood in the kitchen all matches Nick, by the looks. Plenty of fingerprints around the place too…"

"Dash…"

She ignored him. "Forensics thinks eighty percent belong to Nick. Most of the rest are probably Zoe's, but finding hers for comparison will take a lot longer…"

Ringo sighed and reached out to touch her hand. She froze. "Dash. I know what today is. Are you okay? I'm worried…"

Dash's face went through several extremes seemingly in the span of a second. Frozen horror, desperate indescribable sadness, exhaustion, and finally fury. She pulled away from him, the sudden movement causing the pen to fall from behind her ear. Ringo jumped. He half expected her to hit him, but she didn't. Instead, she seemed to explode in a rage he never thought Dash could have been capable of. "No! Stop asking me that! Stop asking me if I'm okay! I'm not okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

The hum of the forensic unit working around the house immediately ceased, leaving everyone in an uneasy silence and staring at Dash. She looked around, breathing heavily, her rage seemingly replaced by the realisation that she was a deer in the headlights. She grabbed her pen from the floor and, mumbling apologies under her breath, ran outside in the direction of the verandah. Ringo went to follow, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It was a slightly chubby man in his late thirties with a beard and thick-rimmed glasses in a forensics uniform. His name badge identified him as Jonah Reed.

"Ah, I hate to interrupt…that," Jonah said nervously, "but there's something you need to see."

Ringo cast a look over his shoulder before nodding back to Jonah and following him into Nick and Zoe's home office. Several other officers were already crowded around a corner of the room, writing notes and working away with various instruments and tools. "Did you find something?" Ringo asked. Jonah motioned to his colleagues and they moved aside, letting Ringo see the dark green cabinet they were crowded around. "It looks like a safe."

"It's a firearms cabinet," Jonah explained. "An external door. Two separate lockable compartments inside. One for the gun, one for ammo. All the doors were open when we came in here. We haven't found the keys so far." He moved forward and demonstrated for Ringo by moving the doors carefully with a pen.

Ringo crouched down to get a closer look. The cabinet had clearly been ransacked. One cabinet was empty, and the other had a half-empty box of ammo up-ended in it. He looked back to Jonah, feeling a little uneasy around this much ammunition. "Prints?"

"Only some from the set that don't match Sergeant Schultz's elimination prints. Is he the gun owner?"

Ringo shook his head. He couldn't remember if Zoe owned a gun. He hated gun talk. He didn't even think he talked to Zoe much anyway. He wished Dash hadn't run off on him because she would have known the answer to this. And then felt guilty because it was selfish to want Dash to fix his problems right now. "I need to speak to the Boss."

Ringo wandered off to another section of the room, ignoring the amused smiles of the forensic unit, to radio for Mark and Amy. Talking to them helped a bit. He couldn't tell how they received the news of the gun cabinet. He was warned Zoe would be incoming at any moment. And given his instructions on how to handle her. Then, almost on schedule, a voice could be heard from the front of the house.

"Let me in! Dash, for God's sake! This is my house, let me in!"

Ringo and Jonah looked at each other, Jonah with an eyebrow raised.

"That sounds like a 'you' problem," Jonah said. Ringo offered him a pained smile.

Zoe wasn't physically trying to fight past Dash anymore by the time Ringo reached the front door. Instead, she was trying to emotionally batter her way through. The two were shouting at each other, Dash trying to assert authority while on the edge of breakdown, while Zoe was insisting on rights she knew she didn't have in a situation she could only imagine the worst of. It was now Ringo's time to explode. "Enough!"

Both of them stopped, stunned by the noise from the usually small and demure Probationary Constable. All three took a moment to reflect and calm. Zoe spoke first. "I'm sorry," she said, running a hand back through her unkempt curls. "Just…can someone please tell me what had happened to Nick?"

Dash looked to Ringo. He had his instructions. He drew in a deep breath. "Follow me."

Zoe looked to Dash, uncertain. Dash shrugged then nodded and all three headed inside. Zoe seemed to take every step hesitantly, constantly afraid of what she might see. The sight of the kitchen stopped her dead and produced a breathy "no". Ringo watched her carefully. Dash tried to steady her, but Zoe seemed steady enough without the assistance. Her eyes were rapidly trying to scan every aspect of the scene before her, while her expression looked ever more horrified and overwhelmed.

Eventually, he had to gently steer her again. "I need to show you something," he said quietly, surprising himself a little with his own calmness. She seemed to shake herself back to earth again and nodded, following once more as he led her to the home office. Once there, he pointed her towards the gun cabinet, with the exterior door pushed closed. "Is this yours?"

Zoe looked to Dash again briefly, before turning back to Ringo and nodding. "Yes," she said shakily. "It's mine."

"Do you know where the gun is right now?" he asked.

Panic began to cross her face as she began to realise where this was going. "It should be in there. It's not in there, is it?" She paused then continued as her mind continued to race. "What the hell has happened to Nick?"

Horror was dawning across Dash's face. She looked to Ringo, and he wished he felt braver. "Where are the keys?"

Zoe froze. Her voice was quiet and shaky as she spoke. "Inside that old Instamatic in the display cabinet." She motion to a large, closed glass door cabinet against the far wall across from the gun cabinet behind them.

Dash and Ringo shared an understanding glance – he still had his rubber gloves on – and Ringo retrieved the camera from a top shelf that was even taller than he was. He turned it over in his hands a few times, momentarily confused as to how he should even go about opening it, before finally succeeding. And finding nothing inside.


The CI office was empty as PJ returned by the back entrance, passed by Amy's desk to his own, and discarded his leather jacket on his desk. He wandered over to the window out to the muster room. Amy and a paint-splattered Mark were both in Mark's office. He'd have to ask about the paint later. They both looked over to him, having noticed the noise of him arriving. Amy motioned for him to join them when commotion at the back entrance drew their attention. Instead they met him at the back reception desk as Ringo and Dash led Zoe inside.

She looked confused, with a dark look of dawning horror. Ringo and Dash both looked exhausted, with Ringo carrying an old Instamatic camera in an evidence bag. They stopped to meet PJ, while Amy and Mark came up behind him.

Zoe spoke first. "What on earth is going on?" she asked. "What's happened to Nick?"

All five officers shared the briefest of uncomfortable glances amongst themselves. PJ eventually spoke, voice wavering slightly. "Amy and I found him in your home with a bullet wound tonight."

Zoe seemed to go pale. "I want to see him." Her voice was so quiet it could barely be heard.

PJ shook his head. "Not possible," he said. "Where were you before you showed up at the Imperial tonight?"

Zoe was frozen. Her colourless face seemed to go through a rush of grave realisation. She shook her head. The police officers around her reacted to the gesture with stunned silence.

"Right," Mark finally said thoughtfully. "Dash, put Zoe in the passive interview room for now. Amy, PJ – my office. Ringo, bring us that camera and give us an update."

Mark moved off with the detectives and Dash ushered Zoe into the passive interview room. Zoe seemed shaky and her breathing rapid, but she sat down and didn't put up a fight. Dash rested against the side wall, burying her face in her hands as she tried to process even a little of the insanity that had just occurred. She was finally drawn out of her own world by Zoe's quiet and uneasy voice.

"Happy birthday."

Dash looked up and saw Zoe looking at her. Zoe still looked pale and conflicted and horrified, but she had managed a pained smile for Dash. Dash felt her own breath become a little fast. "Sorry?"

"For Phoebe. Happy birthday for Phoebe," Zoe explained. "I…I know you may not want to hear it from me right now, but I also know these things matter."

Dash paused and her eyes narrowed a little as she considered Zoe's words. She tried to hold back the tears she knew she would end up crying sooner or later. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for acknowledging all that. And saying her name."

Outside, Ringo lurked, evidence bag still in hand. He'd waited in case Dash had needed a hand with Zoe, but now found himself watching for another reason. He was having his own realisation. He'd approached this wrong all day. And his colleagues were still waiting for that camera.


PJ sat on the windowsill of Mark's office, head bowed. He had shared his information with Amy and Mark, and they had shared theirs with him. He'd raised his eyebrow at the paint and Mark had blushed and mumbled something about "stress painting". They were all dancing around asking the unaskable question – should they be treating Zoe as a suspect at this point?

Mark was on the phone with Martin – no speaker phone this time – trying to get some extra officers out of him. It was like getting blood out of a stone. Martin didn't want a big investigation. He'd already had some calls from local papers, curious about sirens and talk they'd overheard on their own scanners. He wanted them to smooth everything over so he didn't have a scandal. He was struggling with the fact that it was well beyond the point of being smoothed over.

Amy stood, leaning against the door. As Ringo knocked, she jumped and moved to let him in. He apologised for taking so long and offered the evidence bag. PJ looked up. "Come in, Ringo," he said. Their young colleague came inside and closed the door as Amy took the bag from him.

As Mark continued his heated argument with Martin, she sat the camera in its bag down on one of the filing cabinets at the other end of the office and PJ and Ringo both came over to look at it. She began chewing her lip thoughtfully. "So Zoe was sure the keys should have been in here?" she asked.

Ringo nodded. "She said she and Nick have kept them in here for years. They don't use it anymore, it wasn't an obvious spot for the keys and it would have been out of reach for the twins. It's a big cabinet, probably close to your height," he explained, gesturing towards Amy.

PJ narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "255x Instamatic. My first camera. My Dad gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday," he reflected.

Amy couldn't hold back a wistful smile. "My Dad was a photographer. He had a few Instamatics. They were some of the few cameras he'd let me play with."

Ringo laughed in spite of himself. "You two are old. I could barely figure out how to open it."

PJ blushed and Amy stifled a chuckle. PJ picked up the evidence bag and turned the camera over. "Did they get any prints off of it?"

Ringo paused. Any laughter or nostalgia was gone. "Most of the prints were pretty smudged. They did identify some from Nick, and another set that is probably Zoe's."

"Probably Zoe's?" Amy asked.

"They haven't been reinforced on the scene and have no approval to rush this stuff at the lab. It's taking them time to run the checks to work out if her prints are on file anywhere and check every print they're finding," Ringo explained. "The prints on the camera match a good chunk of the non-Nick prints around the rest of the house. That's as good as forensics has right now."

Amy let out a frustrated sigh and let her head hang back. PJ rolled his eyes and looked over to Mark, who was still on the phone to Martin. From the way he was pleading, Martin was still too worried about being seen having a scandal than the implications of having a scandal.

"I want to talk to the Inspector," PJ said as he approached Mark.

Mark quickly apologised to Martin and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Sorry?"

"I want to give this Inspector a reality check. Let me talk to him." Mark seemed uneasy at PJ's proposition. PJ softened his expression a little. "I promise I'm not going to make things worse."

Mark contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think making things worse is exactly possible at the moment," he replied. He held the phone back to his face and explained he was putting PJ on.

PJ could hear Martin's displeasure as he brought the phone to his head. He ignored him. "I know you're worried about the bloody optics, but you're so damned determined to avoid the fallout of this that your handling of this is about to become a PR disaster," he said forcefully. It seemed to strike a chord with Martin, who stopped talking. "Forensics doesn't have the resources to collect evidence and we don't have the manpower to investigate. Meanwhile, a gun and its ammunition have gone missing and a heroin delivery is going on completely unsupervised. If you don't give us the resources to run even a basic inquiry, the media will goddamn crucify you."

Martin was silent, seemingly considering PJ's words. When he did speak, he was quieter and sounded almost defensive. "You lot have allowed this situation to occur."

"It doesn't matter anymore," PJ replied, still forceful and assertive with an undertone of rage. "This might be a case of a dangerously unstable sergeant being shot by his wife. What are we supposed to do when we can't even get forensics to run the prints and have officers out to look for the bloody gun? What are we charging her with? Ruining your optics? And who do you think people will blame? Who do you think will be VicPol's scapegoat? Back us up or let this take you down."

There was a long period of furious, heavy breathing from Martin. Eventually, he replied, even quieter than before. "You have your back up, forensics has their back up. What do you want?"

"Line search of Penthope Road, full resourcing and fast-track for forensics, increased patrols and roadblocks, and somebody back on that heroin bust," PJ answered plainly.

There was a heavy, defeated sigh from Martin. "Fine. You'll have it within the hour. I want this managed."


The last of the Imperial's customers had just left when Mark walked into the public bar. The staff talked and gossiped in hush tones amongst themselves as they cleaned up for the night. One barman offered Mark a friendly smile as he placed the chairs onto a nearby table. Mark returned the smile as best he could and scanned the pub for Chris. He caught sight of her in her office.

Amy and PJ had wanted to double check Zoe's movements with Chris and had let him volunteer for the job. PJ had wished him luck. He knew. Just like Chris said, Ringo had run to tell someone. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He knocked on the door to Chris' office and she jumped at the sudden noise. She looked to him, startled away from her record books. She studied him with deep, almost amused confusion for a moment before rolling her eyes, taking off her reading glasses and motioning for Mark to enter. "Should I even ask about the paint?"

Mark blushed and shuffled uncomfortably as he looked down. He couldn't joke with Chris. Truth was all he had. He passed a weary hand over his mouth and braced himself on a filing cabinet and sighed deeply. "I was upset after our argument earlier," he admitted. "I took it all out on a few canvases."

Chris' face hardened. Her response was unusually cold, sharp and unemotional. "You got attached. That's your fault."

Mark was taken aback. He'd never heard Chris talk like this with anyone. She was staring at him with a pointed, cold expression that made him feel very lost and confused. He couldn't help but feel a sense of total disbelief that this was the same woman he'd shared a bed with for months.

The miserable, painful silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before Chris finally rose to her feet, brushed her hair back and smoothed out her clothes. "How is Nick?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Mark nodded slowly, drew in a deep breath and stood up straight, tidying himself as best he could before he answered. "In surgery at the moment. I needed to ask about Zoe, actually."

"What do you need to know?"

Mark pulled his notebook and pen out of his pocket. "Ah…PJ said she showed up around quarter to eleven. Is that right?"

"Yes, that sounds about right," Chris replied. "PJ was on the phone with me at the time."

He nodded and scribbled something down. "How was she when she arrived?"

Chris seemed to struggle for the right words for a moment. "Sad," she finally said.

"Sad?" Mark queried.

She nodded. "Sad. Sad and…and lost. She looked like she'd been crying."

Mark made some more notes. "Did she say where she'd been?"

"No," she shook her head. "She refused. I asked if she was okay and she said she couldn't tell if she needed a drink and a smoke or if it would be a bad idea. She said she hadn't eaten so I had Jeannie make her some spag bol. PJ told me not to tell her so I didn't."

"How did she find out if you didn't tell her?"

Chris folded her arms and shook her head. "She's a smart woman. You lot are ringing me, sirens are going, people are gossiping…she started asking me if something had happened, when I refused to answer she guessed it was Nick. She got pretty pale at that point, mumbled and paced a bit…when I told her she should wait here she said she was going to the house and almost knocked me down."

Mark frowned thoughtfully as he finished his notes. He checked over what he wrote, mind racing with every possible interpretation of this information. Mostly the worst ones. He closed his notebook and put it and his pen back in his pocket and looked back up at Chris. He felt his heart break a little again under her gaze. He drew in a deep breath, thanked her and turned to leave.

"Mark?" Chris said, stopping him in his tracks. He looked back over his shoulder, not saying a word. "Do…do you…do you guys think Zoe tried to kill Nick?"

He struggled for a moment to think of an answer, but in the end nothing came. Instead the question hung between them, with both of them seeming to realise what the answer was. In the end, Mark simply gave her nod, thanked her again and left, leaving Chris alone with her dawning horror and hidden broken heart.


It was 1am and the Mt. Thomas Police Station was finally coming alive with reinforcements from St. Davids. The line search was finally starting, and the heroin stakeout was being resumed. Dash and Ringo finally had a chance for a break. PJ had somehow found himself in charge of the uniformed reinforcements – a role PJ wasn't sure if he loathed or relished.

In the CI office, Amy felt defeated and exhausted. PJ had told her to take a nap – after all, there was nothing they could do right now but wait – but all she could find were fitful nightmares.

"I think you need this," a kind voice said from behind her, as a warm cup of coffee and a Freddo frog were placed on the desk in front of her. She was startled back to the present and turned around to see Mark standing there, still covered in paint, holding a cup of coffee and a box of Cadbury chocolates. He offered her a gentle smile as he set his down and pulled PJ's chair around to the side of her desk.

Amy picked up the Freddo frog and couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you."

Mark shrugged. "Chocolate makes everything better. Or, at least, distracts you for a little while."

She laughed again and tried the coffee. "Oh my God," she whispered, lowering the cup. "When did you get so good at making coffee? And how did you even know what I drink? Senior Sergeants don't make the coffee, after all."

He smiled. "I worked in a coffee shop in high school," he admitted. "And I'm a little more observant than most people would like to give me credit for."

Amy nodded and continued drinking her coffee. They sat in silence for a long moment, before she spoke again. "So, why is PJ doing your job right now?"

"Ah!" Mark lowered his coffee and reached for a Turkish Delight from the box. "It turns out our Inspector ordered all those reinforcements to listen to PJ and not me."

She shook her head in confusion. "That's ridiculous. And pathetically petty. Even if he is as bad as everyone else says he is."

"The St. Davids officers here have confirmed it. They won't take my orders. I don't know whether it is because he trusts PJ to do a better job of getting things under control, or if he's just punishing me." Mark opened the Turkish Delight and began eating it while Amy's confusion turned to disbelief.

She turned to look out the window and drank her coffee as she watched PJ struggle to deal with three different St. Davids uniforms looking for instructions at the same time. "Why is it so hard to get a half decent district Inspector out here?" she asked thoughtfully. She finished her coffee and turned back to Mark. She picked up the Freddo and turned it over in her hands absentmindedly as he spoke. "Russell Falcon-Price, Piper Morris, and now this arsehole…" Mark's gaze had become distant at the mention of Piper's name and Amy froze. "Boss, I'm…"

He shook his head and smiled. "Amy, I'm okay. It's okay, really," he said gently. "I know Piper and I missed our moment and I accepted that. She made her choices and I made mine. And I made the right call. The only thing that hurts me is that Freya wants so little to do with me these days, you know? I'm okay. I…" Mark hesitated as his voice wavered slightly. "It's not Piper who's upsetting me at the moment."

"Chris?"

Mark closed his eyes and winced, almost reflexively. He nodded and spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. "I love her. I don't know if she loves me back. I scared her and I can't stand that feeling."

Amy felt her stomach drop a little. She could feel the rawness and the pureness of the emotion. And could feel herself remembering a night in the Mt. Thomas Police Station, years ago, when she had once been scared by a display of love from a kind and well-meaning man…

She snapped herself out of it and leaned in closer to Mark so she could lower her voice. "Look, I'm sure you're perfectly aware of this already, but Chris isn't me," she said with a trace of a smile. Mark chuckled and Amy continued. "But…you might need to be more patient with her. Let her set the speed and the endgame a bit more." Amy's expression became more reflective and a smile crept across her face. "And she might come to realise that she likes having you as part of her life more than she ever expected she would. And that going slow and finding your own path can lead to you growing together in ways you never would have imagined."

Mark couldn't quite hide a smile himself. "You're not just talking about Chris anymore, are you?"

Amy blushed and laughed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that Chris' disastrous relationship history is a matter of public record in Mt. Thomas. She probably doesn't want you to be a part of that record. Give her a chance to see that you won't be just another horrible ex she has to live with the gossip about."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I'll try to remember that. Thank you" He squeezed her hand in thanks, then grabbed another chocolate and offered it to her. "I think you might have killed that Freddo."

She looked down at her hands and, sure enough, at some point during her absentminded fiddling, she had melted and squashed it. She shook her head as she sat the ruined chocolate aside. "You're not still selling these, I hope."

"God, no!" Mark replied. "Freya is long out of pony club and I'm long out of the pony club fundraising game, thank goodness!"

Amy opened the Caramello and was half-way through it when a knock sounded at the door. PJ entered, looking ragged and fed up and holding and pile of paper in his arms. "Sorry to interrupt…whatever this was…" he said, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the mess of chocolate wrappers and as Amy and Mark started giggling. "I have some news. Would you like the bad or the worse news first?"

Amy and Mark looked to each other. They both returned to a sobered, serious expression quickly. "Start with whatever we have to spend the least time discussing," Amy said.

"Good answer, I hadn't actually worked out which was actually the bad and the worse news," PJ replied as he dumped the pile on paper on his desk. "Uniforms are back at the heroin stakeout and it looks like the shipment has already come and gone while we weren't there. No sign of the car we've been waiting for. The whole place is deserted. Inspector Dickhead can explain that one to the media."

"So what's the news we need to spend time actually discussing?" Mark asked.

PJ dug through the pile of papers he had brought in and pulled out a report that he handed to Amy. "The line search found a handgun," he said. Mark's mouth dropped open and Amy's face darkened as she buried herself in the report. "It's a match for Zoe's missing handgun. Forensics say it's been recently fired and wiped clean of fingerprints."

"They found it at the primary school," Amy mumbled as she looked up from the report. "That's just down the road from their house."

"It gets worse," PJ added. "The school added a bench a couple of months back to the playground. It's a tribute to the Schultz boys, under a tree they used to climb, with a memorial plaque."

"I know, I remember the dedication," Mark said. "Nick didn't want me there, but Zoe did. I nearly had to write Nick up for arguing with me in the station."

Sadness crept across Amy's face as she read the report PJ had handed her. She remembered the dedication too. Zoe had asked her to go as well. But Nick was refusing to have any part in it and didn't want her or PJ to go either so she stayed away. "The gun was underneath it."

"Jesus…" Mark buried his face in his hand. "Zoe is the prime suspect, isn't she?"

"I don't think we have a choice but to treat her as such right now," PJ said, his voice low and sullen.

Amy passed the report to Mark and ran her hands back through her hair as she tried to clear her mind. "We need to do a formal interview."

A knock sounded at the door, making all three jump. "Not now," PJ said sharply. The knock sounded again. "Not now!" The door finally burst open. A young Probationary Constable from St. Davids stood in the doorway. PJ rounded on him angrily. "I told you to leave me alone when I'm in my office."

"Sorry, sir!" The Constable looked embarrassed and shaken. "You said to immediately get you if the Mt. Thomas Hospital rang so…"

"What did they want, Constable?" Mark asked without thinking. The Constable looked at him briefly before turning back to PJ. Mark shot Amy a pointed look and Amy raised her eyebrows in response. Were the orders to ignore Mark so strong they wouldn't even talk to him if he asked them a question?

PJ rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, answer the damn question."

"Of course, sir." The young officer shuffled nervously. "Dr. Gulmez said that Sergeant Schultz is out of surgery and he has the bullet."


It took all the powers of persuasion PJ possessed to convince the St. Davids uniforms to listen to Mark long enough for him to go to the hospital with Amy. They saw Mehmet Gulmez at the nurses' station close to the higher care rooms and he waved them over. Before Amy or PJ even had a chance to speak, he already had removed a ziplock bag from the pocket of his white coat. In amongst the patches of blood – Nick's blood – there was very clearly a mangled, fired bullet.

"We were able to retrieve it without any difficulty," Mehmet explained. "We bagged it and haven't touched it otherwise."

PJ took the bag and held it up to get a look at it. "Handgun, small calibre," he said, matter-of-factly. "Would match Zoe's very well, but Forensics would need to confirm." He looked to Amy and the two shared a look of growing dread. Amy quickly looked down to her clipboard and PJ uncomfortably stuffed the ziplock bag into the pocket of his leather jacket. "How…how is Nick?" he asked, his voice a little shaky as he looked back to Mehmet.

Mehmet was confused. He could tell something very dark and awful was being considered and just the mention of Zoe's gun took his mind to places he didn't like thinking of. He tried to shake it off and motioned to the room across from the nurses' station, with a large glass observation window. Amy and PJ turned and saw Nick lying in the bed, flat on his back. He was shirtless, with a large dressing on his stomach and drainage tubes emerging from underneath. An IV was in place on his left arm, and an oxygen mask was covering his face. Angie Cohen and another nurse were busy around him.

"Oh, Jesus…" PJ breathed. He was once again struck by how he had never seen Nick like this.

"The bullet hit his intestines," Mehmet explained. "There was some serious bleeding, but we got on top of it. We did worry for a while that we might have to remove a section of bowel, but we were able to repair the damage in the end."

Amy felt her own stomach drop. "Will he be okay?"

Mehmet paused. "We have put in a temporary colostomy to give his bowel a chance to heal. He's also on some heavy IV antibiotics due to the infection risk from the intestinal contents getting into the rest of the abdomen."

PJ passed a hand across his face. He was trying to suppress tears. "Can…can we see him?"

"Of course." Mehmet motioned to the door. "He's still sleeping off the anaesthesia at the moment, but I'm sure some friends would be welcome." Amy and PJ thanked Mehmet and turned to head in to see Nick, only to be called back again. "Um…detectives?" They paused and turned back. Mehmet looked uneasy and almost afraid. He hadn't been able to shake off his feelings that something very bad was going on with Zoe and now he was terrified he was asking something he didn't want to know. "Is Zoe in trouble? Did she do this?"

Amy and PJ looked at each other briefly. "Why do you ask?" Amy queried.

"Because I could cut the tension right now with a scalpel and PJ just said that the bullet I dug out of Zoe's husband matches Zoe's gun," Mehmet said bluntly. "And…Deniz loves those awful true crime shows and where it's always the spouse."

In another circumstance, PJ and Amy were sure they would have laughed. As it was, PJ smiled sadly, reminded Mehmet that he couldn't tell him and thanked him for his assistance. And they headed into Nick's hospital room.


Angie was the only nurse left in the room by now, which was filled with the all-too-familiar sound of medical equipment beeping. Angie finished checking Nick's IV and approached them as they entered. "He'll probably sleep for at least another half hour," she explained. "I'm finished in here for now, but call if you need someone." They thanked Angie as she left and then turned to each other as they tried to take in the surreal experience of that night.

Amy walked over to Nick's right side and stood by his head. She reached down and brushed some of his messy hair from his face. "He's so pale," she said quietly.

"He looks small," PJ mumbled. "How can Nick look small? Every single part of this man is bloody huge."

Amy looked over to PJ. He was standing at the end of Nick's bed, looking utterly lost. "Are you okay, Peej?"

"What the hell has happened over the last twelve months, Amy?" he asked. "How the hell did we get to this point? I'm currently running an investigation into whether my best friend of eighteen years was shot by his own bloody wife. What on earth is wrong with us?" He stopped trying to repress the tears and slumped against a wall. "I'm so goddamn tired of having to be strong."

Amy quickly glanced out the glass window and realised they had spectators. She shot them a death glare and shut the curtains before moving over to stand next to PJ. "You don't have to be strong all the time."

"I do when I'm the one who's supposed to be keeping Nick on the rails," he said, waving a hand towards Nick. "Not that I did that very well. All I did was enable his self-destruction."

"We both did," she reminded him. "I've been making excuses for him too when I should have been getting him proper help."

PJ shook his head. "I should have known better. I know what Nick is like in a crisis. I should have been a better friend. I…" He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes tight, almost as though in pain. "God, I didn't even want to attend the noise callout. I was more worried about that damn heroin stakeout than someone who has been my best friend for eighteen years." He looked at Amy as she took his hand to soothe him. "He's saved my life, multiple times. He's saved your life. He helped get me out of prison. What the hell happened to us, to all of us?"

Amy slumped against the wall beside him. She let her head rest against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his. PJ turned his head to kiss her hair and then let his head rest against hers. Being near her was reassuring, even if they both seemed as lost as each other. And it was probably good Nick was unconscious right now, because neither of them were capable of comforting him right now.

Finally, Amy answered. "Hell," she said quietly. "Hell happened to us." PJ couldn't disagree.


Ringo crept into the mess room quietly. Dash was bracing herself on the counter, her head hanging back and eyes closed as a cup of tea steeped in front of her. She looked so tired, so drained. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as anxiety gripped him. He wanted so badly to help and he just couldn't seem to make things better. If anything, he was just making them worse.

"I know you're there," Dash said, not even moving. An undercurrent of frustration was audible in her voice.

He jumped, genuinely taken aback and stirred from his own thoughts. He struggled for words for a moment. "I…I just want to help you, Dash," he finally managed to mumble.

"I don't need help," she said sharply as she rounded on him. "You know you haven't said her name."

His anxieties turned to confusion. "What?"

"You've spent days badgering me and trying to make me talk and help me and whatever else it is you think you're doing…" Dash shook her head and brushed her hair back. "You know you keep avoiding it, right? You keep using euphemisms and 'I know what's happening' and taking me on voyages of the English language. And you've never said her name. No one says her name."

Ringo's mouth dropped open and his face suddenly darkened. She was right. "Oh, God…"

"Her name was Phoebe," Dash said firmly. "Her name was Phoebe Elizabeth McKinley and I want everyone to know that she existed and she lived and she mattered and it hurts like hell that she's not here anymore, but it hurts even more when all of my friends keep trying to dance around her because they're afraid of me and my feelings and…and…" Dash couldn't contain it anymore. Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. Ringo went to offer her a tissue but she pulled her hankie from her sleeve before he could even work out where the box had gone.

"I'm sorry," Ringo said quietly. Dash looked up at him. She wasn't sure she'd seen him look like this. Like he thought he was the worst person on the planet.

She leant back against the counter and let her head rest on the cupboards above. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself by steadying her breathing. "The idea of Phoebe being forgotten scares me," she said. "She was so beautiful, so wonderful. The very best thing I ever did. I love my friends, all of you. Even when I hate you guys. But it kills me sometimes because it feels like Phoebe is just…a bad memory no one wants to think about."

Ringo felt his own breathing become a little unsteady. It was a lot to process and he still felt so guilty. "I should have been more considerate. I shouldn't have pushed you about today…a…about Phoebe's birthday. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I'm not mad at you, Ringo. Or anyone else. I just…" she paused and combed her hair back with her hands, holding it back as she tried to think. "I don't know how I feel sometimes. Nothing in this world makes me prouder than the fact I was Phoebe's mum. I loved being her mum. It hurts to think about her, it hurts to breathe. But I want to remember her; I want to think about her. I want to live a life Phoebe would have been proud of. I…I guess I just feel lost. Especially on days like Phoebe's birthday."

Ringo and Dash hugged, both apologising and tearful. They had missed the sound of Amy and PJ returning from the hospital and heading down the hallway, of PJ taking back his St. Davids uniforms from Mark and sending one off to Forensics with the bullet. Amy headed towards the mess room, hoping for a chance to refresh quickly before they organised a formal interview. And found herself overhearing most of Ringo and Dash's conversation. And found herself leaving the doorway with her heart breaking.


"Are you absolutely sure you don't want a lawyer for this? This isn't the sort of chat you want to have without a lawyer."

Zoe looked up at PJ as he spoke. She was sitting in the hot seat in the interview room and Amy and PJ were preparing for what she knew would be a brutal interrogation. And their opinion of her had to be low right now. Though it surely couldn't be lower than her opinion of herself.

"I've told you at least three times already. No, I don't want a lawyer. Yes, I'm sure."

Amy was off to the side, readying the tape recorders. She looked over to PJ and they shared an uneasy glance. Zoe couldn't quite read it. Eventually, Amy nodded to PJ and PJ sat down across from Zoe, putting a blue clipboard folder down on the desk in front of him.

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay. We'll begin then," he announced. Amy hit the buttons on the machine and sat down beside him. "Interview between Senior Detective Hasham and Zoe Hamilton at the Mt. Thomas Police Station commenced at 2:07am on the 3rd of September 2010. Also in attendance is Senior Detective Fox."

A tense silence hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. The only sound was the constant hum of the tape machines. Zoe couldn't stop herself from wondering why on earth they were still using tape recorders in 2010. Then feeling guilty and ridiculous for thinking something so stupid at a moment like this.

PJ finally spoke. "Do you have any idea what this interview is about?"

Zoe nodded slowly. "Nick," she said cautiously. "Is he okay? No one will tell me anything."

Amy and PJ shared a wary look – again, Zoe found herself troubled that she couldn't read it – then they both looked back to her and shook their heads. "We can't tell you that right now," Amy replied.

PJ opened his folder, not fully closed due to its bulky contents, and pulled out a handgun in a ziplock bag. He pushed it across the table towards Zoe as her eyes widened in horror. "This is your gun, isn't it?" he asked.

She nodded, her worst thoughts crystallising. "Yes. That's mine."

"How many people knew where the keys were for the gun safe?" Amy asked, leaning forward.

Zoe sat back and sighed heavily. "Me, Nick…one or two people from the gun club. That's it."

Amy opened her own folder and checked through her notes. "You showed up at the Imperial Hotel just before midnight, correct?"

Zoe nodded. "Yes."

"Chris said you picked up something was wrong with Nick pretty quickly," PJ said as he crossed his arms and sat back. "Knew to go straight to the house."

"I…" Zoe hesitated. She felt acutely aware of exactly where they were going and a sense of guilt was tearing at her. "I…I'm not stupid, PJ. I could hear sirens, I heard people talking…"

"Where were you before you went to the pub?" Amy asked. Zoe shook her head. She suddenly looked very close to tears. Amy leaned over to PJ to whisper to him. "Should we take a break or…"

"I…I…it's my fault. I'm sorry, I know it's my fault…"

PJ and Amy turned back to Zoe. She was crying now, face in her hands. "I…I'm sorry?" PJ said, voice breaking a little.

Zoe tried to steady herself with a deep breath with limited success. "I shouldn't have sent him a message like that when he was that upset. I never should have left him with a gun in that house. It's all my fault." She broke again, sobbing into her hands. "I was alone when I sent him that message, it was my idea, I'm the only one responsible. I didn't mean it. God, I'm so sorry…"

PJ turned to Amy. Both of them were wearing expressions of confusion. This wasn't exactly the kind of confession they were expecting. They had the distinct impression Zoe didn't have the faintest clue what they were even asking her about.

Finally, PJ spoke. "Zoe…Zoe," he took her hands, immediately calming her. "Where do you think Nick's gunshot wound is?"

Zoe looked stunned by the question. "The…the head, surely?" she said shakily. "Where else would you shoot yourself? And Nick's so serious about not surviving on life support with brain damage, he'd make damn sure it was a good head shot…oh God, he's not going to end up like that, please…"

PJ and Amy felt like weights had been lifted. Zoe had no idea what they were even talking about. PJ squeezed her hands and offered her a reassuring smile. "Zoe, he was shot in the stomach. He didn't shoot himself."

Zoe sat back, unsure of whether to believe it. She shook her head. "But…I…sent him…"

"He was shot in the stomach," PJ explained. "He's alive."

"It's…not my fault?" Zoe asked weakly. "He didn't try to kill himself?"

"No." PJ shook his head. Amy whispered to him – she was going to go fetch Zoe's phone and find whatever message Zoe was talking about – and left the room. "Senior Detective Fox has left the room to retrieve Ms. Hamilton's mobile phone," he explained for the tape. The mood darkened a little in the silence that followed as the situation hit them again. "We do have a problem though. Right now, you're the prime suspect for Nick's attempted murder."

"You…think I…" Zoe looked to PJ then found her gaze drawn down to her handgun. "I guess I can see why," she said quietly. "I guess the bullet matches too."

PJ pulled the bullet out of his folder and sat it next to the gun. "Yes. It was retrieved during surgery and Forensics has matched it to your handgun." He sat forward. "So, we were asking where you were before you headed to the Imperial. Now we've established what's happened to Nick, maybe you'd like to tell me?"

Zoe thought for a moment and then nodded. "I was at Tara Hobson's house," she said quietly. "I was there for the whole evening. I…I actually sent the text to Nick from there. I was on my way home when I dropped in at the Imperial."

PJ waved a hand towards the door. "Detective Fox is checking your phone. Tara Hobson will verify this?"

"Yes," Zoe answered with a nod. "Tara and the kids."

PJ nodded thoughtfully and moved over to the tape recorder. "Interview suspended at 2:27am."


Amy couldn't resist a laugh as PJ collapsed into the CI car with a dramatic sigh. "Your minions giving you grief again?" she asked.

"God, yes," he exclaimed as he yanked on his seatbelt so hard it locked. "How does Mark make this look so easy? 'Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir.' Is Martin trying to punish me?"

Amy shrugged. "Either you or Mark."

He let out a heavy breath, calmed himself and succeeded in putting on his seatbelt and starting the car so they could leave. "So, you said you'd tell me what you found on Zoe's phone?"

She nodded and produced Zoe's iPhone. She unlocked it – she hadn't even had to ask for the passcode, it was Travis and Trevor's birthday – and opened the messages app. "Nick's been hounding her with texts and calls and multimedia messages for most of this year," she explained.

PJ rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Of course he has," he mumbled.

"I'm a little surprised she didn't block him, honestly," Amy said. "He sent her nearly a hundred messages on a single day last week, all trying to declare his love even though she hadn't replied to him or answered a call for months."

PJ shot her a stunned look. "A hundred? In a day?"

She nodded, looking a little uneasy. "Yeah. If anyone else had come to the police with this, we'd probably have been offering a restraining order, wouldn't we?"

PJ sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "We really let them both down," he whispered. "So, what was the message Zoe sent him that she thought pushed him over the edge?"

Amy took in a deep breath. She'd started biting her lip without realising it. "Okay, well…Nick actually didn't try to contact her much last night. It's pretty uncharacteristic, actually. There's a huge gap stretching from his last attempt to call her at around 6pm…"

"That'd be around when I talked to him in the mess room," PJ said.

She nodded thoughtfully. "There's nearly a four hour gap between that and his last attempt to contact her at 9:58pm. He sent a single SMS to Zoe then. 'I need you. I can't live without you.'" Amy paused. "Three minutes later, she replied with 'Then don't.'"

Horrified silence hung over them. Amy turned to look out the window, at the quiet, dark streets and houses they passed. Everything felt so surreal. And she felt so tired.


The Hobson house looked the same on the outside as Amy remembered. Quiet, leafy, comfortable suburbia. It took several minutes for Tara Hobson to answer the door, and both Amy and PJ felt awful for disturbing her. Aside from the time, Tara looked a wreck.

"It's two in the morning," Tara said, wrapping her dressing gown around herself. A look of recognition suddenly crossed her face as she noticed Amy. "Oh, oh, you're the…"

Amy shuffled uncomfortably and looked down. PJ noticed her uneasiness and jumped in. "We're very sorry for having to get you up at this time of night." He produced his police ID and held it up for her. "I'm Senior Detective Hasham and this is Senior Detective Fox. We'd like to come in and have a word, if that's okay."

Tara quickly shifted her attention. "Do I have a choice?" She waved for them to enter and led them to the living room. Again, Amy was struck by the recognition. The photos were nearly identical to the ones from Boxing Day too…

PJ and Amy sat down on the couch as Tara took a chair opposite. He surveyed the photos too. "Is your husband home?" he asked.

Tara shook her head. "He works in mining," she explained. "Fly-in, fly-out in WA. He's away a lot of the time. We're supposed to be buying a place in Perth, but…." She looked quite sad and frustrated as she thought about it. "It's just me and the kids here at the moment."

PJ nodded and took another look around the room. He noticed the empty bottle of wine shoved down the side of the empty chair on this second visual scan. He motioned to it. "You've had a big night in, I gather?"

Tara looked and chuckled weakly. "I had a friend over," she said. "We watched a movie with the kids then ranted about our husbands." She turned to Amy and smiled. "You know."

Amy returned the smile and squeezed PJ's leg. She had to be relatable, though she didn't really get or appreciate the 'hate your spouse' humour. "Who was this friend?" she asked.

"Zoe Hamilton," Tara said, without hesitation. "She'd been feeling so down and she wanted to spend time with someone who wasn't as intertwined with either her work or Nick. No offence to the present company."

Amy shrugged and laughed slightly. "None taken."

"When did Zoe get here?" PJ asked.

Tara's face seemed to scrunch up as she tried to think. "I'm not sure of the exact time. She interrupted Home and Away. Does that help?"

"What time is that show on?" Amy asked.

"Seven o'clock," PJ answered, without skipping a beat. Amy and Tara both turned to look at him and Amy raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked. "It's a guilty pleasure."

"So sometime between 7pm and 7:30pm?" Amy clarified.

"The show always runs overtime, so it could have been a little after…" PJ quickly added.

Amy glared at him and PJ immediately stopped talking and turned red. She shook her head in disbelief and turned back to Tara. "How was she when she arrived?"

"Upset," Tara said. "It was like…she was grief-stricken. She kept talking about how much she loved Nick and didn't want to have to divorce him, but she didn't know how to move forward. And she talked about how much she missed those boys."

"You said you watched a movie?" PJ asked, clearing his throat as he spoke and still feeling slightly chastened.

Tara nodded. "I initially tried to keep Cody and Bianca in their rooms. I didn't know if Zoe was okay seeing them, you know? And they've still got that blasted cat here too. We can't even keep pets with this lease." She shook her head and looked into the distance for a bit. "But Zoe…she liked seeing them. She said it made her feel like Travis and Trevor's deaths meant something. The kids asked if they could watch the DVD their dad had sent Cody for his birthday. I tried to send them off to bed early, Zoe said it'd be a fun distraction. So we cooked a bunch of popcorn and watched that DVD of Karate Kid." She gestured towards the open DVD case lying on the floor in front of the TV unit. Popcorn littered the carpet around it.

Amy scribbled in her folder. "When did you finish the movie?"

"Oh…probably close to 9:30. Well after Bianca's bedtime, at least. You can probably imagine how feral the kids were getting." Tara laughed and slumped back in the chair. "I sent them off to bed, they hugged Zoe and thanked her and Zoe started crying again. I pulled out the wine around that point."

"Was Zoe drinking?" Amy asked.

Tara shook her head. "No, no," she said, drawing the syllables out to emphasise them. "She was very clear on that. She was driving. She was going to be working tomorrow…well, I guess that's today now." Tara laughed again, weaker this time. "I tried to tell her she could stay here for the night but she was very insistent. So I did all the drinking instead. I did ply her with soft drink and chocolate chip ice-cream."

Amy made more notes. "When did Zoe leave?"

"Around half-past eleven?" Tara replied as she scrunched her face up a little and scratched the top of her head. "It was super late and she rushed out of here. She wanted to check on something at the Imperial…" Tara suddenly went very quiet. She looked down and had a sheepish expression on her face. She'd said too much.

Amy and PJ looked at each other, realising there was a thread that needed pulling here. "Why was she rushing out?" PJ asked.

Tara shook her head. "It was late…"

"And the Imperial?" he continued.

"I don't know."

Amy sighed heavily. "Do you know why we're here, Tara?" she asked, her voice carrying the full weight of her exhaustion and frustration. Tara shook her head. "Nick has been shot in the stomach by someone using Zoe's gun. You are Zoe's alibi. If you know why Zoe left in a hurry and ran straight to the Imperial, now would be a great time to tell us."

Tara seemed genuinely stunned and lost for words. Her mouth dropped open and she shook her head in disbelief. The uncomfortable quiet was ultimately broken by the sound of a young boy's voice. "Mum sent a mean text to Mr. Schultz."

The three adults turned to the hallway. Cody Hobson was standing there. Bianca was standing behind him, with a ginger tabby cat settled comfortably in her arms. They all looked exactly as Amy remembered them – dry, safe, and obviously nine months older – but still very much the same. Her heart began pounding hard in her chest. PJ seemed to sense her stress and put a reassuring hand on her own.

"You are all supposed to be in bed," Tara said sternly. "And that cat isn't supposed to be here at all."

"We couldn't sleep," Bianca said quietly.

"Cody, what did you say about a mean text?" PJ asked.

Cody went to answer, but Tara spoke first. "You don't need to question them, I'll tell you," she said, passing a shaking hand across her face. "I didn't realise this was all so serious…" She drew in a deep breath. Bianca put the cat down and ran over to her. Tara pulled Bianca into her lap and kissed her head as she cuddled her close. Cody just leant against the doorway, arms folded.

"Nick sent a message to Zoe at 9:58pm," Amy said as she produced Zoe's iPhone. "That was after the movie finished."

Tara nodded. "Yes. I'd already had a few glasses before I started seriously drinking after the kids went to bed. So I was at least a little tipsy. And Zoe was so upset and heartbroken and we were ranting about our shitty husbands…"

"Mummy…" Bianca looked up.

Tara laughed weakly. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"How did Zoe react to the message?" PJ asked.

Tara's body seemed to tense up a little. "She…she didn't see it at first. She apologised for getting so emotional and went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I was drinking and heard her phone and I just…was so angry on her behalf. She's so devastated and here he is, acting like her feelings don't matter. I know it was immature and stupid…"

Amy looked to PJ and then back to Tara. "You sent it?"

"Like I said, Mum sent a mean text to Mr. Schultz," Cody reminded them.

"Zoe didn't even know, I didn't even tell her that he messaged her. She calmed down a lot when she came back. We even spent time joking about the Perth property market. But…" Tara hesitated and hugged Bianca tighter. "A little after 11pm, she got a message from one of her colleagues. While she was in her messages, she saw what I'd sent to Nick. And what it was in reply too. And she got so mad at me. She said it was cruel, that it was dangerous, that it was probably illegal, and I had no right to even get into her phone like that. I tried explaining myself, but she just got upset. She said she…she still loved him. And then she noticed he hadn't messaged her for hours, sent that, got that kind of reply, and sent her nothing…"

"She assumed he'd hurt himself," PJ said darkly.

Tara nodded. "She reminded me she still had her gun in that house."

Amy looked over to Cody. "How long was Dr. Hamilton here last night?"

He shrugged. "She got here during Mum's stupid show. I was in the shower. Like I said, she left really late after Mum sent that mean text."

Bianca nodded. "We were too excited to sleep after the movie and then they were too noisy. I remember lying in bed with Marmalade listening to them."

"Marmalade?" PJ queried.

"That's the bloody cat," Tara answered.

And, as if on cue, Marmalade jumped up on PJ's lap and began furiously rubbing his cheeks on PJ's hands while purring loudly.


"For God's sake, just leave me alone for fifteen minutes!"

Zoe looked up as PJ opened the door to the cell. A young Probationary Constable she had never seen before was standing behind him, looking flustered and embarrassed.

"S…Sir?"

PJ turned his back to Zoe. "Don't all you kids like to play with your phones or plank or something? You have my permission to go waste time for fifteen minutes. Just buzz off."

The officer laughed, but quickly stopped and turned red. "Yes…yes, sir. Fifteen minutes, sir." The probationary constable hurried off towards the muster room and PJ rolled his eyes as he shut the cell door.

It was Zoe's turn to laugh. "Planking? And did you just say 'all you kids'?"

PJ smiled and shrugged. "Hey, I'm nearly fifty, remember. You're lucky I wasn't shouting at him to get off my lawn."

They both laughed as PJ sat down on the hard bench beside Zoe. The jovial atmosphere quickly turned to an awkward silence that lingered until Zoe dared to break it. "I gather you spoke to Tara Hobson?"

PJ nodded. "Yes. And Cody and Bianca. And the neighbours either side of them. And a very affectionate, clingy ginger cat."

"Oh, Marmalade took a liking to you guys, did he?"

"No, just me."

Zoe laughed. "So I take it I'm not a suspect anymore?"

He shook his head. "No," he replied. "You have multiple witnesses confirming your alibi and phone tower logs also confirming your whereabouts." PJ hesitated briefly, then continued with a renewed seriousness in his voice. "You should have been upfront with us from the start. We know Tara sent that message."

Zoe froze. It took her a moment to process that. "She told you?"

"Cody did, actually. He and Bianca heard you go off on Tara when you found the messages." PJ massaged his temples thoughtfully. "Were you trying to protect her?"

Zoe sighed heavily and nodded. "She has more to lose," she said quietly. "She's the only parent those kids have most of the time. Besides…it would have been my fault even without the text messages." She looked away from PJ and leant back against the wall. She closed her eyes. "I broke his heart and left him alone in that house with the means of ending his own life."

PJ took her hand and Zoe looked down, a little surprise. It felt like it had been a long time since she had gotten that kind of kindness and friendship from him. She'd forgotten how warm and soothing PJ could be. "He hurt you, too," he reminded her. "You were both grieving. You've been hurting each other." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention to your pain."

Zoe managed a weak smile. Then, anger. "Wait, you said I should have been upfront?" she said, full of indignation. "What about you? You should have told me that Nick hadn't shot himself right from the start! I spent hours imagining the most horrific things. My comment about life support and brain damage didn't come from nowhere, you know!"

PJ passed a hand across his mouth. He was imagining the horrific things now too, even with the benefit of knowing they never were. He bowed his head and nodded. "I'm sorry, Zoe. Really. I am."

They both leant back against the wall and looked forward at the blank, slightly scratched-up wall at the other end of the room. The uneasy, awkward silence returned, but somewhat more amiable this time.

Eventually, Zoe disturbed the quiet. "I don't want to divorce him," she confessed quietly. "I still love him. When I thought he'd shot himself, I was so scared. It felt like being back in the storm drain again."

"Why did you start asking for a divorce?" PJ asked.

"Because I'm just constantly running into a wall. My psychologist has been noticing it for months and there's only so much Zoloft and talking can do without actual changes. I'm not coping or rebuilding my life or finding new meaning or anything. I'm just…living in the ruins because Nick is still denying the house has been destroyed."

PJ took in a deep breath and winced slightly. There was something about that comment that was brutal and almost poetic. She wasn't crying but he could feel the agony in her words. He wished he had words of his own to help her. She leant against him and PJ felt his heart break at the next words he knew he had to say. "I have to keep you in custody."

"I thought I wasn't a suspect anymore?" She didn't move, but sounded surprised.

"It's not my call," PJ explained. "The Inspector is forcing my hand. Honestly, he's more worried about PR than the case itself right now."

Zoe just shook her head. "You know, Nick never did like that guy."

PJ couldn't hide a smile. This was a lot closer to the Zoe he'd known for so very long. He didn't get long to reflect on it before someone started knocking on the cell door. He turned – it was the same young Probationary Constable that had been following him around like a lost puppy all night. "Oh, bugger off," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

The young officer opened the cell door. "I'm sorry, sir…"

"Aren't you supposed to be off planking or something?" PJ couldn't disguise his irritation. Zoe covered her face with her hand. She didn't really want to show her amusement to the uniforms she didn't even know. PJ turned to her. "What even is planking anyway?" he whispered to Zoe and her whole body shook with barely suppressed laughter.

The probationary constable turned red and was clearly trying to stifle a smile of his own. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just there was another call from the hospital…"


Ringo was feeling frustrated by the time Amy dragged him out to the CI car. He was emotionally drained from his conversation with Dash, confused and unsure of what – if anything – had been achieved in the investigation into Nick's shooting, worried about Nick, angry at the arrogant and clingy St. Davids officers…and plain-old sleep deprived. It was nearly 3am, after all.

He sat in the passenger seat, his left arm resting against the side window as he studied the darkened street ahead of them through the windscreen. He eventually turned to Amy. "Do we have anything to go on right now?" he asked, exasperated.

Amy looked over to him briefly, then back to the road. "Not much," she admitted. "Which is why we're going to talk to Nick's next-door neighbour. They called in the noise complaint in the first place. Maybe they remember something specific that might help us." Ringo nodded thoughtfully. He lost himself in the darkened road again until it was Amy's turn to break the silence. "I heard you and Dash talking earlier."

"What?"

"About Phoebe's birthday," she explained. "I…I've been so distracted by Nick lately. I didn't even remember. It's inexcusable. We should do something for her."

Ringo looked at Amy in confusion. "Like what?"

Amy bit her lip as she slipped into deep contemplation for a long moment. Finally, she spoke again. "I might have an idea."


It didn't take long for the door to open after Ringo rang the doorbell. A woman of Asian descent in her mid-20s opened the door, wearing a hoodie over her pyjamas and holding a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Sorry for disturbing you at this time of night," Amy said, remembering Tara's admonishment. They both produced their IDs. "I'm Senior Detective Fox and this is Probationary Constable Barnett of the Mt. Thomas Police. Are you Molly Yang?"

"Yes," the woman – Molly – nodded and cupped her hands around her coffee tighter to keep them warm in the cool night air.

"Did you call to report a noise complaint earlier this evening at the house next door?" Amy asked.

Molly looked a little taken aback. "I didn't report a noise complaint. I reported a break-and-enter and shooting."

Amy and Ringo looked to each other. Amy raised an eyebrow and Ringo's mouth fell open a little in surprise. "Could we please come inside to speak?" Amy asked.

Molly nodded and ushered them in. "Of course. I've been waiting up for hours for someone to show up to interview me."

They thanked her and followed her inside. Her house was a little disorganised, full of folders and papers, with a laptop sitting open on the coffee table in the living room. Amy noticed countless family photos on the wall, a university graduation photo, and some staff photos from the Mt. Thomas Primary School down the road. "You're a teacher?"

Molly nodded as she cleared the papers and folders away so Amy and Ringo could sit down on the sofa. "Year 5. I've been here for a couple of years. It's my first school. I'm still kind of finding my feet in this whole teaching thing. There's homework and lesson plans everywhere."

Ringo smiled and chuckled and Amy opened her folder and took out a pen to take notes. "So you weren't reporting a noise complaint at all?"

"No," Molly said. "I'm used to noise from the Schultz place these days. I do know what happened to their boys. It was so tragic. I live next door and, even though their boys were a few years younger than the kids I teach, it hit my class hard too. We had extra counsellors at the school for months."

"So what did you hear?" Amy asked.

"Well, sometime around 9:30pm, I heard a car pull up. I didn't think too much of it at first. Then I heard two guys talking and that went on for at least ten minutes or so. I couldn't really hear what they were saying. Then I started hearing banging and metallic sounds."

"What kind of banging and metallic sounds?" Amy queried. Her hand had been busy scribbling everything down. She needed to have some words with someone from St. Davids later. How on earth did this get turned into a noise complaint?

Molly drank more of her coffee and scratched her head thoughtfully behind her ear. "It reminded me a bit of what a toolbox sounds like, if that makes sense?" she said cautiously. "Like, I have three brothers and they are always messing around with cars and I know the sound of their toolboxes and it reminded me of that sound."

Amy and Ringo looked to each other and nodded slowly. "Yeah," Amy said quietly. She was suddenly struck by a half-forgotten memory of teenage Brendan getting in trouble for trying to pull apart a motorbike in the garage. "I know the noise."

"I think it took them something like…ten minutes to get inside? I went out to my backyard to try to hear them and but it was hard to hear them once they were inside. I heard more banging and yelling. Then it got really quiet."

"What happened then?" Amy asked, dreading the answer even though she knew where this was going.

"I heard another car and then the front door opened. Then another long period of quiet and then..." Molly stopped and suddenly looked really upset. Her breathing became shallow and she looked close to tears and panic.

Amy motioned to Ringo to go tend to Molly. Ringo nodded and moved over to her. He tried to find some tissues – though he wasn't sure where he'd even start in this mess of paperwork – and eventually just sat beside her and held her hand and told her that it was okay, that she was okay.

"I'm sorry," Amy said, voice soft and trembling slightly. "I hate to have to do this. But I need to ask you what happened."

Molly looked to Ringo for reassurance, then nodded and continued. "I…I was already on the phone to report the break and enter by that point. I was still outside, heading towards the front yard. I…I heard a loud bang. And shouting and seeing a car driving off really fast. I…just remember screaming at the phone operator. And running inside and falling on the floor."

"You're doing well," Ringo said comfortingly.

Amy wrote everything down with a ferocious pace, then suddenly stopped. "Wait, did you say you saw a car?"

Molly nodded. "Yeah…yeah."

"What can you remember about the car?" Amy asked. "Whatever you have is okay. It's alright if you don't remember any specific…"

Molly didn't even wait for her to finish. "A red Saab 900, probably from 1997 or 1998. I only caught half the licence plate, it was PTB-something." Amy and Ringo were stunned into silence. "I did say I had three brothers who are into cars, right?"


It had been Mehmet on the phone from the hospital. Nick was awake – groggy, quite distressed, in pain – but awake and talking and asking for Zoe of all people. PJ decided to take Mark to see him. Mark really didn't want to deal with the uniforms again. So, with Amy and Ringo still with Nick's next door neighbour, PJ opted to leave Dash in charge. In another lifetime, he was certain this would have prompted an entire avalanche of jokes. Probably most of them from Nick.

PJ knocked on the door to Nick's hospital room as he and Mark entered. Nick opened his eyes at the sound. The oxygen mask was gone, replaced by a nasal cannula. He still looked so pale and unwell. PJ managed a smile. Just seeing Nick awake made him feel like someone had taken a weight off of his heart. "Hey, mate," he said as he moved closer. Nick struggled to sit up, only for the pain to become too much. PJ squeezed his shoulder, trying to reassure him. "It's just me, PJ, and the Boss. It's okay, just take it easy."

Nick looked to PJ, then to Mark. His expression carried a look of deep worry and fear. "Someone was there," he mumbled shakily. His breathing was a little shallow. "Someone shot me…"

"We know, mate," PJ said quietly as he guided Nick back into the pillows. Nick seemed to relax a little once he was lying back down again. "We'll get them. Do you think you can help us with a quick statement right now?"

Nick seemed to take a moment to consider it, then nodded slightly. "Yeah," he said weakly. "I don't know how much I can tell you…"

PJ shrugged. "Whatever you have is okay," he explained. "Whatever you can remember."

Nick closed his eyes and took in a deep, still shaky, breath. It made him wince from the pain. "I…I got home late," he said. "I…was trying to find some alcohol…" Nick opened his eyes his breathing seemed to become faster. "There…must have…someone was in the house when…" His eyes widened, disbelief and horror and fear all mixing together in one indescribable expression. "They shot me, ran…it hurt…burned…"

PJ pulled a chair up next to Nick's bed. He put his hand on Nick's arm, hoping it might help keep Nick centred and calm. "Do you remember anything about who shot you?"

Nick shook his head. He didn't even seem to be seeing PJ and Mark anymore. "It was so dark. I…I remember noises…" Nick started clenching his fist around his blanket so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Gun clicks. Men yelling. Doors, cars, woman screaming…Zoe…oh God, I have to see…"

PJ squeezed Nick's arm gently. "Don't worry about Zoe right now, mate," he said, trying to be soothing. "She's okay. You'll have time to chat with her later."

"No, no…" Nick shook his head and tried to push PJ off so he could get up again.

He didn't get a chance to protest more. The door suddenly opened again and Chris walked in, holding a large bouquet of flowers. Her face seemed to drain of colour as she locked eyes with Mark as she entered. "I…I wanted to make sure Nick had something nice to wake up to," she said, a little flustered. She turned to Nick, who had been pushed back down into bed by PJ during the distraction caused by her entrance. "And I'm sorry." She placed the flowers down on the cupboard next to Nick's bed. "I hope you can forgive me for how I've treated you lately."

"It's all my fault," Nick mumbled, so quietly that the others nearly didn't catch it. "I…I've ruined everything I've ever touched."

"What?" Mark had stayed quiet so far, but this took him aback.

Nick continued, lost in his own world, not even seeming to feel or see PJ anymore. "I…I was scared. I couldn't get help. I'd made all the noise I could. I…" His eyes widened and his voice was shaky. "I…thought I was going to die. I was alone in the dark. It was agony but then I stopped feeling it. I was starting to lose consciousness when...you…"

Nick's breathing became more shallow and panicked than it had been before. The monitors connected to Nick had been beeping fairly regularly to this point. Now, their beeping became more frequent. PJ threw a worried looked over to them. Nick was getting increasingly agitated and anxious and wouldn't stop trying to get up.

"Nick, please," PJ said as he stood up and tried to hold Nick's hands to keep him calmer. He motioned to Chris to hit the alert button – she was closer. She became momentarily flustered, but did so.

"I…couldn't stop seeing them," Nick managed through what was quickly becoming a panic attack. "Jennifer and Zoe and Travis and Trevor. I saw them and it…hurt worse than the bullet…God, I loved them all so much…" Nick started crying and the monitors' beeping became even more intense. Nick's heart rate and blood pressure were going through the roof. "I was going to die alone. I was so scared… I deserved it. I've never wanted to die alone. I remember being in the storm drain, just begging the universe to spare me Zoe or just someone so I wouldn't be alone. I'm a monster, oh God, Zoe, what have I done…"

Mehmet and Angie hurried into the room. They ushered Mark and Chris out and PJ gave Nick's hand a reassuring pat before turning to speak to the medical staff.

Out in the hallway, Mark and Chris found themselves trapped in an uneasy, agonising silence. They each fell back against opposing walls and looked at each other with pale, exhausted, almost expressionless faces.

Finally, Mark spoke. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Chris seemed almost a little surprised by his concern. She became a little flustered again. "Yeah…yeah. Are you?"

Now it was Mark's turn to be surprised. "Yeah…yeah," he said.

The silence returned quickly. Neither of them could silence the terrified, anxious, agitated voice of Nick, or his terrified reaction to the realisation he might be dying alone.


PJ stayed in a far corner, arms folded as Angie Cohen finished administering the drugs Mehmet had ordered in response to Nick's panic. He'd been allowed to stay under strict instructions not to try to take his statement again. Which was fine with PJ anyway. He didn't think Nick had anything more to offer.

Angie walked over to him as she removed her gloves. "We've given him some painkillers and sedatives. He'll likely doze off again soon."

He smiled and thanked her and Angie left. PJ stretched as he tried to process everything before sitting down beside Nick. Nick was calmer, but still a little agitated. PJ smiled a little and patted Nick on the arm. "You gave everyone a bit of a scare," he said.

Nick ignored him. "How did you survive it?" he asked quietly.

PJ wasn't sure how to even take that question. "What?"

"Losing the people who make you…you," Nick seemed to struggle for the words he wanted. Perhaps the drugs were working? "I know losing a fiancée is different but…"

PJ frowned. He felt tears stinging in his eyes. "I didn't manage. Not for a long time. I did what you're doing to Zoe to someone I cared about. Jo…" PJ closed his eyes and let his head hang back. He took a long pause to breathe steadily to reorient himself. "It took years of counselling to get myself to a place where I could be a good partner to Amy. To where…where I could even forgive myself."

"Counselling…" Nick mused, then chuckled weakly. "Bill Lapscott…"

"Nick…" PJ sat forward and looked straight into Nick's eyes. Nick seemed a little stunned by the directness. "We've known each other for a very, very long time. Which is why I'll show you the respect of telling you that this can't continue." He motioned around him, as if to indicate the entirety of Nick's life over the last nine months. "Amy and I have been trying to support you, but we're at the point where we're just enabling your bad decisions. We're just a broken brake pedal as you power straight at the wall."

"I know," Nick replied, his voice slow and deliberate. The words hit PJ hard. This was self-reflection PJ hadn't seen in Nick in a long time. "I…It felt like an eternity on the floor in the dark. I had a lot of time to think. About how I didn't want to die like this. That everyone would probably be glad to be rid of me. The worst thought was that Travis and Trevor would hate me now."

"I…" PJ tried to speak, but Nick cut him off.

"They were heroes." Nick's voice was still slow and deliberate, but he did have tears in his eyes now. "I hurt their mother, I've driven everyone away, I even tried to stop their school from honouring them…" Nick started crying.

PJ stood up and grabbed Nick's shoulder, shocking him out of his tears. "Sometimes, we have to hit rock bottom before we can figure out how to get back up," he said firmly. "You've hit rock bottom. Which means you can only go up from here."

"But I've hurt people," Nick whispered. He was starting to stumble on his words a bit.

PJ nodded slowly. "You have. But you can try to make amends. People still care about you. And I'll be there for you, for whatever you need. But you have to try to work through it. Actually try. Running and hiding and pretending only gets you so far. Eventually, reality will always catch up. And Amy and I can't play enabler for you anymore."

"What was your rock bottom?" Nick asked quietly.

PJ let out a heavy sigh, then shuffled uncomfortably and turned red. "You know the door from the CI office to the back entrance of the station? The one behind Amy's desk?" Nick nodded slowly, looking confused. "That's…the door there now isn't the one from when we first moved into that building. I put a fist through it. It…um…" PJ looked down at his left hand and clenched and unclenched it thoughtfully as his cheeks became redder. "It wasn't as thick as you'd have thought. I broke a couple of fingers and Tom put me on leave until I got my shit together. That's when I went into counselling."

Nick didn't seem to process the entirety of that story. Instead, he focused on the one part he could manage when his body was being compelled to slumber. "Counselling?"

PJ nodded and looked up from his hand. "Yeah, that means counselling."

Nick nodded slowly. "I should have tried counselling at the very start, shouldn't I?" he said, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"It might have been a good idea, yeah," PJ replied.

"I want to be able to be happy again," Nick mumbled.

PJ felt his heart break a little. He'd never imagined Nick not being a jokey, happy, loud mess of a human and this raw admission hurt. And yet, he felt more relieved than he had in a long time. Nick was talking to him. He was sharing his emotions. He could see the damage he had been doing. He actually was interested in pursuing things that would improve his mental health.

"Does Bill Lapscott do night sessions?" Nick asked, words slurred and eyes not even open, bringing PJ back from his thoughts.

PJ couldn't help but laugh lightly. "I don't think so, mate," he said as Nick finally fell asleep. He shook his head and tucked Nick in as a tired, weak smile fell across his face. "You'll be right, mate," PJ whispered as he gave Nick's shoulder a gentle pat and slipped out of the hospital room to head back to the station. He wasn't quite sure who he was reassuring, but he did know that it was the first time in months he was hopeful that it wasn't a total lie.


It was past 3:30am now and the Mt. Thomas Police Station was still a hub of activity, albeit without any real plan or focus. The St. Davids uniforms still had energy, but the Mt. Thomas officers were all half-dead. They'd all been awake and on duty for far too long.

The investigation had hit a brick wall and now they found themselves crowded around a whiteboard that had been dragged into the CI office and covered with photos and various scribbled details. They'd been in there for the better part of five minutes already, sitting in silence as they stared at the whiteboard.

Finally, Dash spoke. "So, if Zoe didn't shoot Nick, who did?" she asked bluntly from where she was sitting against the window behind PJ. The question had been hanging over all of them. It was less painful than the last unaskable question, but far less easily answerable.

"We know that the noise complaint was a break-and-enter," Amy mused, absentmindedly swivelling back and forth in her office chair as she chewed on her thumbnail. "Molly Yang heard two men."

PJ looked over to her from his own chair. "Nick remembered hearing two men arguing."

"So two men?" Mark said. He folded his arms against his chest and moved closer from his position in the far corner. "That doesn't exactly narrow much down for us."

"We do have the description of the car from Molly," Ringo said and motioned to the whiteboard. He was perched on the side of PJ's desk. "A really precise description, too."

"I know, I had to supply the details to the uniforms when you radioed it in and their leader wasn't here," Dash motioned to PJ and he theatrically shrugged. "No reports yet."

PJ motioned out to the muster room. "I have them stepping up roadblocks and I just got approval to widen the radius."

"What if they've dumped the car?" Mark asked. "We don't even have any speculation of a motive right now. If they've abandoned the car, we have nothing."

"I did run checks for perps with potential grudges against Nick," Ringo offered. "No one noteworthy who isn't already dead or in prison."

PJ looked over to Amy. Her brow was furrowed and she seemed completely oblivious to anything that their colleagues were saying. "Amez? Are you okay?"

Her head shot up and she nodded. She pushed her hair out of her face with her hands. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she said, waving a hand almost dismissively. "I…I was just thinking. Wild theory time, I guess."

"Your wild theories have been right before," PJ reminded her. "Your station bombing theory was correct and came well before Nick or I would have gotten there."

Amy smiled and blushed, a little embarrassed. She stood up and moved to the whiteboard. She pointed to the timeline. "Okay, so PJ and I had to leave the heroin stakeout to attend the callout, remember? And, naturally, an attempted murder of a police officer took priority so no one got back there until that heroin shipment was made…"

PJ's eyes widened. He could see where she was going and was embarrassed himself. Why hadn't he thought of this as a possibility? "They shot Nick to distract us."

Dash, Ringo and Mark all seemed to try to talk at once. Dash immediately started trying to question all of the elements of the shooting that were too specific for a random drug ring to know, Ringo was wondering how they could possibly be so sure this would be a distraction, and Mark was simply repeating the word 'what' over and over again with increasing levels of astonishment and disbelief.

Amy eventually managed to shout over them enough to get their attention again. "Look, look, I know. It's not a perfect theory. But, clearly, we were distracted from the heroin shipment by this. And I don't know how they could have figured out all the personal stuff. Maybe they've recruited someone with inside information, maybe they spied on Nick, maybe they worked out the plan after getting inside the house and seeing something, maybe it was all a deliberate plan to stall us by framing Zoe. But…"

PJ smiled at her and she smiled back. This felt a lot more normal than anything else had felt for a long time. "It's the only theory we have right now," he said. "Unless anyone has any better ideas?"

The other three looked to each other and eventually they all shrugged. "I don't think anyone does," Mark confessed.

"It's just that it all feels a bit…far-fetched, I guess?" Ringo said quietly.

"Everything about this place is a bit far-fetched, isn't it?" PJ replied with a laugh.

Dash looked down silently for a long moment before stepping forward and nodding. "I think it's a solid theory," she conceded. "But right now, everything hinges on finding that car."

Amy nodded in response. "Absolutely," she said. "So let's find that car."


Dash sat on the bonnet of the patrol car, crossing her legs beneath her. She was sure every superior officer she had ever had would give her hell for it, but she was well beyond the point of caring anymore. It was well past 4am and she had been sent out to work at one of the roadblocks on the highway to Melbourne, along with half a dozen of PJ's uniform minions. She let her head hang back to look at the stars. The stars would be giving way to dawn soon. Tears welled in her eyes a little.

She was stirred from her thoughts by the sound of a car pulling up and by footsteps in gravel. It was Ringo. She rolled her eyes as he spoke with the uniforms and approached her, a reusable shopping bag tucked under his arm. "What are you doing here?" she asked, sitting forward.

"They've decided to reinforce the main highway," Ringo explained. "Mark just went to reinforce Amy on the highway to St. Davids and…well…"

Dash nodded slowly. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I…didn't mean to accuse you…"

Ringo shook his head. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "I was an insensitive jerk. I should have been more mature about Phoebe."

Dash paused. She wasn't quite sure what to say. In the end, she smiled a little. "It's good to hear her name again," she said.

Ringo suddenly seemed to remember the bag under his arm. He sat it down on the bonnet next to Dash and pulled out a thermos, which he offered to her. "I brought you some tea," he said, blushing slightly. "I used some of your peppermint tea leaves at the station. I hope you don't mind."

Dash couldn't help a laugh. She took the thermos gratefully. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sure it's fine." She sipped the tea, only to immediately gag on it.

Ringo became panicked. "Oh God, I screwed it up, didn't I?"

Dash laughed. "Ringo, you don't put milk and sugar in peppermint tea," she said. "You're not making black tea for your nanna."

"I'm so sorry, I'm such a screw-up…" Ringo tried to take the thermos back. "I'll go make a new one. And buy some more peppermint tea to replace what I used…"

"Ringo, stop!" Dash said, shaking her head as she grabbed his hand. "It's fine. It was a very lovely gesture." She chuckled lightly. "It's still more drinkable than most cups of tea anyone else in the station can make. And, if you're so worried, I'll teach you about tea later." Ringo didn't seem to know what to say. He looked a little like he wanted to cry. Dash didn't know if she blamed him, honestly. She picked up the bag, holding it out to him, and patted the area of bonnet beside her. "Come on, sit down."

He took the bag and sat down beside her, keeping his feet on the ground. An uneasy silence hovered between them for a moment. They both watched as the St. Davids uniforms dealt with a red car – a Holden Commodore that probably pre-dated the pair of them and clearly had nothing to do with the case.

Finally, Ringo spoke, bringing them both back to reality. "You were an amazing mother to Phoebe," he said softly.

Dash smiled, with both joy and sadness mixing in equal measures on her face. "Phoebe was an amazing kid to be a mother to," she replied, a slight laugh in her voice. "She was so bright and smart and friendly and curious and kind and so, so brave." The tears returned to her eyes and Dash didn't know whether she wanted to blink them away or not. "She was braver than me. You know, I'm terrified of needles. Phoebe wasn't. She had to reassure me whenever either of us needed to get a needle."

Ringo laughed. He could feel tears of his own, as well as a warm swelling in his own heart. He'd heard that story before, but it hit differently right now. "You're already the bravest person I know," he said. "If Phoebe was braver than you, then…she really was a lion."

Dash chuckled lightly and looked up at the sky. "I called her kitten. It was the same nickname my Mum had for me. Maybe lion would have been the better choice."

Ringo swallowed down his own tears as best he could. "I…I don't know if I believe in Heaven," he said, speaking slowly and hesitating slightly, "but…I…I hope your Mum and Phoebe are together."

Dash looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, I spent years backpacking around the world looking for answers to questions like that after my Mum died. And most of my siblings died around that time too." She looked back up at the sky. "All I found was that I actually liked being a police officer and that I missed Mt. Thomas. And I still do, somehow."

Ringo looked up to the sky too. The stars still shone, even as the sky lightened. "I remember my brother Paul once described our Mum as dancing among the stars once when I was little and asked where she was," he said wistfully. "I still like that mental image."

Dash closed her eyes and a big smile spread across her face. Her whole body seemed to relax and a couple of tears slid down her cheeks. "God, it is such a beautiful mental image," she whispered. She opened her eyes and continued to look at the stars thoughtfully.

They both sat there in silence, stargazing as the dawn continued to creep in, long enough to hear the St. Davids uniforms pull over, check and release another irrelevant car – this time a new red Hyundai.

Finally, Dash broke the silence. "I wish I could know what kind of person Phoebe would have been."

Ringo didn't know how to respond. It took him a while to find any kind of response, and he wasn't sure if he was happy with what he eventually managed to produce. "Phoebe was already so kind, strong, funny and brave. If she grew up to be even half the person you are, she would have been amazing."

Dash looked to him, not sure how to take his words. Eventually, she smiled. "Thank you," she said. "That means a lot. Truly." Their eyes met and Ringo felt a little taken aback. He couldn't help but blush and quickly look away. This was something raw and almost frighteningly powerful. He wasn't sure what to make of this. He'd seen something of Dash he'd never seen before. And she'd seen something of him.

A brief silence fell between them, and a slightly nervous Ringo decided to break it. "Can I try that tea?"

Dash was stunned by the question. She'd almost entirely forgotten about the thermos sitting in her lap. "What?"

"I…I want to know if it's as bad as you say it is," he said, standing up and putting his bag on the car bonnet.

Dash laughed and held it out to him. "Go for it," she said.

He took the thermos and gulped it down. He almost immediately spat it out over the ground while Dash burst into hysterics. "How on earth does that taste that bad?" he exclaimed.

"Because you're not supposed to put milk and sugar in peppermint tea! The box even tells you not to!" Dash replied, sitting back as she continued laughing.

Ringo opened the thermos and poured the rest on the ground. "If this is better than what the rest of the station can make, then please remind me not to drink their tea."

"It's only the herbal teas they can't make properly," Dash explained. "Nanna-tier black tea is usually fine. And I am working on Amy, slowly but surely."

"Well, sign me up for whatever classes you're running on herbal tea making before I drink that shit again," Ringo said as he put the lid back on the thermos and put it back in the bag. He dug through it and pulled out a packed of Tim Tams. "I did also bring these, so I guess it's not a total loss?"

Dash snatched them off him and ripped the packet open. She had one in her mouth before Ringo even knew what had happened. "Why didn't you say you had these in the first place?"

"Because you got so distracted by the poorly made tea!"

"And now you know why!"

"Oi, you two! We might need a hand with this one!"

Dash and Ringo looked over at the sound of a St. Davids officer calling for them. A red car was heading down the highway towards the roadblock. And this one actually looked like it might be the car they were looking for. A red Saab, a numberplate reading PTB-919, and two men in the front seats – the passenger wearing a shirt stained with splattered blood.


Amy and Mark returned to the station to find PJ meeting Dash and Ringo at the counter at the back entrance, where they and a small crew of uniforms were surrounding the two now-handcuffed and sullen-looking men.

Amy wasn't sure what to make of the two suspects. They were both in their mid-thirties and certainly weren't what she was expecting. They looked small, wiry and distinctly unimpressive. The one with a blood-stained shirt was even wearing thick-rimmed glasses. "This is them?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Apparently," PJ replied, watching as Amy and Mark put their coats down. He waved the uniforms down the corridor and they took the two suspects towards the interview rooms – the driver to the passive one, the passenger to the standard room.

There was brief silence while the two men were taken out of earshot. Then, Amy and Mark turned back to their colleagues expectantly. "We found a toolbox on the floor of the backseat," Ringo explained. "There were some break-in tools in there, buried beneath the usual kind of stuff."

"They tried to claim they were going to fix a mate's car," Dash added. "They refused to give names. We found one licence in the glove box and another in the bottom of the toolbox. The driver is Kieran Murray, the guy in the passenger seat was Matthew Lewis."

Amy nodded thoughtfully and turned to Ringo. "Have you run the names through LEAP?"

"I'll go do that now," he said, dumping his own gear down on the counter and heading off to the muster room.

The uniforms returned and head straight for PJ, looking expectantly for their next instructions. "I'll give him a hand," Mark offered, with a resigned shrug. "The Inspector seems determined to make me pretty useless otherwise."

PJ sighed and Amy and Dash looked to each other with raised eyebrows. Finally, PJ turned to his unwanted minions. "Did you not get the idea that I wanted you to wait with the suspects until we're ready to interview? Do I need to tell you everything? Go, supervise!" He waved them off, with a frustrated fury written into his face. The uniforms scrambled back to the interview rooms. He quickly had another realisation, and headed after the pair guarding the passive interview room. "And, for God's sake, close the connecting door to the mess room!"


"Interview between Senior Detective Hasham and Kieran Murray commenced at 4:42am on the 3rd of September 2010 at the Mt. Thomas Police Station. Also present is Senior Detective Fox and Senior Constable McKinley," PJ said, reciting the standard interview line in a flat voice that betrayed just how tired he was. Dash leaned back against the wall beside the tape recorder – she had hit the record button – while Amy sat beside PJ. In the hot seat was the driver of the red Saab, a small man with wiry long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.

"I had nothing to do with any of this," Kieran said, holding his hands up in a show of innocence. Dash looked down and shook her head, Amy rolled her eyes and PJ audibly scoffed.

Amy crossed her arms and leaned forward. "Any of what, Mr. Murray?"

Kieran seemed surprised by the question. It took him a moment to respond. "I…I didn't know what Matt was going to do!" He waved an arm at the door. "He asked me to pick him up and instead he threatened me if I didn't take him to that house and help him break in!"

Amy narrowed her eyes. Dash let out a quiet sigh and shook her head. PJ tilted his head to the side and fixed Kieran with a curious gaze. "How did he threaten you?" he asked.

"He…" Kieran's eyes widened. He waved his arms again, seemingly this time at nothing. "He said he'd bash me over the head with a crowbar. Or…or get his mates to do me in if I didn't keep going. He said he was working with some bad drug dealers tonight."

"Drugs, huh?" PJ said, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Did he say what type of drug?"

"I…I dunno…I think he said heroin, maybe? They were bad guys!"

PJ and Amy shared a look. Dash scratched the back of her head as she tried to read them.

"Did you hear him talk to the drug dealers?" PJ asked, turning back to Kieran and fixing him with the same curious gaze.

Kieran seemed to think for a moment on the question, then shook his head. "No, no…why do you care about drugs right now, anyway?" His eyes widened again and he was waving his arms at the door again. "That Matthew's a madman! He probably would have killed me!"

"If he's so mad, then what were you doing with him in the first place?" Dash asked. Amy and PJ looked at her, a little surprised. Dash looked down sheepishly, not sure if she was supposed to be asking the questions.

Kieran seemed to hesitate for a moment. "He…he's a family friend," Kieran finally mumbled.

"You don't seem sure about that," Amy observed.

"I…" Kieran paused, then grew angry. "Why are you judging me? I'm not the one who shot someone!" He stood up and leaned over the desk. "Let me go!"

Dash stood up straight and Amy immediately sat back in her chair, while PJ jumped to his feet. He roared. "Sit down! Now!"

Kieran moved back from the desk, but didn't sit down. He pointed at PJ. "I didn't do anything! This wasn't me! I'm the victim here! I need to leave!"

"I'm asking you to sit down now!" PJ shouted, as footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Amy looked to Dash and nodded to her. This interview was over. "Interview suspended at 4:51am," Dash said as he hit the stop button on the recorder. Almost simultaneously, the door shot open and Mark and the uniforms raced in. PJ gestured to towards Kieran, and amid protests Kieran was handcuffs and led off to one of the caged police vans – the cell was still occupied by Zoe and there was simply nowhere else.

The room slowly emptied out to just leave the Mt. Thomas officers. PJ turned to Mark. "Did they come running on their own?" he asked.

Mark shook his head. "First time they've listened to me all night," he said. "They were trying to decide whether to follow your instruction to leave you alone or intervene. I told them to forget the Inspector and use their damned initiative for once in their lives."

PJ laughed bitterly and shook his head. He turned to Amy and Dash, who were managing the tape recorder duplicate dubbing. "You two okay?"

They both nodded. "Yeah," Dash said. "That was child's play."

"I've had worse. That was nothing," Amy added.

PJ sighed and massaged his temple. "So, are we in agreement that he's lying through his teeth?"

"Absolutely," Amy replied, not even looking up from the tape recorder.

"Couldn't lie straight in bed," Dash said. Amy handed her a cassette and Dash wrote on a label.

PJ turned back to Mark. "How did the background check go?"

Mark shook his head. "Nothing relevant," he said. "Murray was born in 1976. He owns the Saab. Lewis was born in 1975. Murray is from Melbourne, has a lot of vandalism and shoplifting priors from the late 90s. Lewis is from Mt. Thomas, currently living in Melbourne…"

Dash looked up. "A Mt. Thomas local? I don't recognise the name…"

"Must be the only person who escaped the McKinley family gossip machine," Amy said with a cheeky smile and Dash feigned offence as she smacked Amy's shoulder.

Mark gave a little, quiet snort of amusement and continued. "He doesn't have any priors aside from parking tickets. He does have a gun licence though."

Sudden realisation hit Amy's face and she turned to look at Mark. "Any chance you know when he moved to Melbourne?"

"The print-out is in the muster room," Mark said, a little flustered, but I think it was about six months ago. He changed his address on the voter roll. He divorced around the same time."

PJ narrowed his eyes and looked at Amy thoughtfully. "Where's this going, Amez?"

"The gun club," Amy said. She looked to Dash. "Zoe said some of the gun club members might know where the safe and keys were…"

The realisation hit them all at once. Matthew Lewis may or may not be the madman Kieran Murray claimed he was, but he was looking a lot like their missing link.


"Interview commenced at 5:04am on the 3rd of September 2010 at the Mt. Thomas Police Station between Senior Detective Fox and Matthew Lewis. Also present are Senior Detective Hasham and Senior Constable McKinley."

Amy got the duty of giving the introductory spiel this time as they reconvened to interview their second suspect. Matthew Lewis was wearing a hospital scrub – his clothes now forensic evidence and his own body checked over. Even his glasses were gone. PJ stood back against the far wall and Dash, once the recorder was on, joined him, while Amy took the lead at the desk.

Matthew also jumped in before they could ask a question, but his tone was immediately different. He looked almost like he wanted to cry. "I'm sorry."

Amy's brow furrowed and she quickly glanced back over her shoulder to her colleagues before looking back to him. "What for?"

Matthew buried his face in hands and sobbed. "I can't, I can't…oh God. Oh God…"

"Mr. Lewis," Amy said. She was ignored as he became more upset. She rolled her eyes. "Mr. Lewis!" Her voice became stern and he looked up only to be met with one of the coldest death stares Amy had ever given. Even from behind her, PJ and Dash could tell the intensity. "You shot a police officer in his own home. He nearly died. He's got a colostomy bag. You framed his innocent wife. You're about to have a lot of time for crying. Now is time for talking."

It took Matthew a long moment to stop shaking. PJ moved forward and sat down beside Amy. He and Amy shared a look. "Mate, we can't do anything for you if you don't talk to us," PJ's tone was softer than Amy's and Matthew seemed immediately drawn in. From the back of the room, Dash did her best to conceal a smile. The strategy was beautiful. He placed his folder on the desk in front of him and pulled out a piece of paper. "You know, your mate has dropped you right in it."

"Kieran?" Matthew looked between the two.

"Yep," PJ said. "He reckons this is all your fault. That you threatened him, were going to call your dangerous mates in to kill him if he didn't act as your driver. He had no idea what was happening."

Matthew shook his head. He didn't even look upset, instead offended. "That's not true," he said, surprisingly calm. "That's not what happened."

"Tell us what happened then," PJ said. Matthew sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. Amy rolled her eyes and was about to turn on him again when PJ put a hand on her arm. The bad cop wasn't needed again, at least just yet. "How did you meet Kieran?"

Matthew lowered his hands, let out a heavy breath and sat back, staring at the ceiling. "I was in debt," he said quietly. "I…had issues with gambling…I…God, this is hard to say…"

"If you need a break, we'll take one," PJ said. Amy rolled her eyes a little and got up. She moved to the back of the room, whispered in Dash's ear and Dash moved forward to take her place at the desk while Amy crossed her arms as she leaned back against the wall. "But we'd rather you keep going for now."

Matthew nodded slowly. "Sure…" he said, hesitating slightly. "Um…it was mostly poker machines to start, then when my wife…" He had to swallow hard as he came dangerously close to tears again. "She…she tried to get me counselling. I…ended up with internet gambling…I…I blew the savings…"

"That's when she divorced you?" PJ asked.

Matthew nodded weakly. "I moved to Melbourne to get better paying work, but I…I lost more than I made. I was basically homeless and in so much debt…a friend of my brother's introduced me to Kieran, he offered me more money than I knew what to do with if I helped him bring a drug shipment into Mt. Thomas."

"Why did he want you to help?" Dash asked.

Matthew seemed surprised at Dash's question. PJ made a show of looking put out too. "He…he said he needed local knowledge."

"What kind of local knowledge?" Dash folded her arms and tilted her head. "I'm a local girl. What did they want to know?"

Matthew smiled. "McKinley…of course. I think I went to school with one of your brothers…" he mumbled. The recognition seemed to disarm him a little, to put him even more at ease. "Ah…they said they needed to know side streets, obscure locations, maybe some local charm if they got pulled over."

"When did shooting a police officer come into the equation?" Amy asked brusquely from the far end of the room. Matthew froze and grew very pale. He looked like he wanted to throw up. He bowed his head.

PJ and Dash glanced back to her, then looked back to Matthew. PJ leaned forward and spoke softly. "We do need an answer, mate," he said.

Matthew sighed heavily as he looked up. "The night before we left, I realised we weren't bringing the heroin ourselves. Kieran said our job had always been a distraction for the local cops and he had other people here part of the scheme…"

"Did he know about your gun licence? Or your former membership of the Mt. Thomas Gun Club?" Amy asked, the questions again freezing Matthew momentarily.

"You do need to excuse Detective Fox," PJ said. "She's not very sympathetic sometimes. But you do need to answer those questions. What did Kieran and his mates know?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, he knew," he said quietly. "My family have always been keen shooters. I guess my brother said something? God only knows..." He took a deep breath, then sighed heavily. "They wanted to shoot a cop. They knew Zoe Hamilton owned a gun and were thinking of trying to get that gun. Figured you guys would freak out. Then they heard about the big domestic and knew I'd know where they lived…"

"Did you know where Zoe Hamilton stored her firearm and ammunition?" PJ asked.

Matthew paused, then nodded. "Yes, I used to shoot with Zoe sometimes and had been with her when she put her gun away a few times."

"Did you know about the Schultz twins?" Dash asked, her voice breaking slightly.

"Yes, of course. Everyone who lived in Mt. Thomas at the time knows about it."

"Did you tell Kieran Murray or any of his associates anything that enabled them to plan the shooting of Sergeant Nick Schultz?" Amy asked, her voice full of barely constrained rage.

The good cop, bad cop routine fell apart entirely as PJ failed to soften Amy's words. Matthew took a moment to answer, and when he did, it was with a quiet, shame-filled voice. "Yes."

"Did you assist in planning the shooting of Sergeant Nick Schultz?" Amy continued as she moved forward to stand just behind PJ and Dash.

Matthew hesitated. "Yes."

"Did you participate in either the break-and-enter at the Schultz residence or the shooting of Sergeant Nick Schultz?" Amy asked, bracing both hands on the backs of PJ and Dash's chairs. Her voice was icy.

"Yes," Matthew said. "Both."

Amy shook her head and her voice grew dark. "Did you participate in the attempt to frame Dr. Zoe Hamilton for the shooting of Sergeant Nick Schultz?"

"Yes, yes, haven't we established this by now?" Matthew let his head hang back. "I said I didn't want to do it, that this wasn't what I'd agreed to. But Kieran reminded me of how much money I'd get, and said if I shot him in the stomach the cop should live and that if you lot are even a little competent you should figure out it wasn't her soon enough and by then we'd be long gone and he made it all sound so simple…"

Amy just shook her head and turned her back as she massaged her temple. Dash covered her mouth with her hand as her expression became one of amazement, while PJ just let out a heavy sigh. "But it wasn't so simple, was it?" he said. "You're a former local, you know I'm not just saying this." Matthew's eyes widened and he nodded slowly. "Pulling the trigger on another human being is one of the most difficult things in the world in any situation, let alone one who is just standing in their kitchen."

"He fell into the fridge door and slumped to the ground. The blood…" Matthew's eyes were wide and full of hot tears. "I can still feel the way the gun felt when it fired…Kieran had to drag me out of the house…I thought I'd killed him…"

"You're lucky you didn't," PJ said. He dug through his folder and pulled out a photo. He pushed it across the table. "This is the kitchen soon after he was taken to hospital. That's only the blood that actually left his body. See the furniture knocked over? He did that because that's the only thing he could do to get attention. You're so damned lucky a neighbour heard all this and called for help early."

"As it is…" Amy returned to the desk. "Matthew Allen Lewis, you are being charged with break-and-enter, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon and attempt to pervert the course of justice. Is there anything you would like to say in response to these charges?"

Matthew stared wide-eyed, then looked down. "I guess you'd like to know where the drugs are too?"


It was close to 7am and the sunrise glow filtered through the window of Mark's office as Amy, PJ and Mark huddled around the phone to talk to the Inspector. The dawn had an almost surreal, unreal quality, with all the usual early morning sounds of the world outside almost feeling dreamlike. It was hard to tell if it was the sleep deprivation or the unbelievable horrors they had contemplated overnight.

"I still don't like speaker phone, Jacobs," Martin said with a warning tone.

"I don't like our investigations being messed with because the District Inspector wants to personally insult me. You can manage, Sir." Sarcasm dripped off Mark's words as his tone conveyed the whole night's frustration over the St. Davids uniforms. Amy and PJ looked at him, impressed.

Martin grumbled, but ignored Mark. He shifted focus entirely. "I've read the reports you've sent through," he said, his voice suddenly upbeat. "I'll be having a media release issued promoting our efficient handling of this incident."

Mark scoffed and PJ shook his head. Amy raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'our'?" she asked.

"Under my leadership, Mt. Thomas and St. Davids police were able to handle this clearly difficult situation and catch those responsible before dawn. An excellent outcome, you'd agree?" Martin said, his tone so self-assured and slimy that it made all three of them cringe.

"Leadership, huh? What leadership?" Mark asked, angry and still sarcastic.

"You insisted we keep the woman we'd cleared in custody 'just in case she was involved'," PJ pointed out. "Do I even need to point out that she could be filing a complaint?"

Amy brow furrowed. "Did you even want us to run a fair investigation? You made your mind up at the start that it had to be Zoe…"

"I don't remember giving any of you permission to speak!" Martin roared. Mark, Amy and PJ fell silent. Martin breathed heavily down the phone line before speaking again. "We got the right outcome. I will handle the media. Never say anything like that to me again." The sound of the phone being slammed down was heard, followed by dial tones.

Mark ended the call and looked to PJ and Amy, all three somewhat stunned and unsure what to say or even make of what had just happened. Finally, Mark broke the silence. "I was wrong about him."

PJ chuckled lightly. "I think he's gotten worse since he arrived. Still not the worst we've ever had though."

"You don't think he was warning us off anything…ah…bad there, do you?" Mark asked cautiously.

Amy shook her head. "Nah," he said quietly. "He's just a terrible PR guy with a fragile ego."


PJ checked through the window of the station's cell. Zoe was curled up on the bench, her jacket pulled up over her as she tried to get some sleep. His face softened and he felt bad about what he was about to do.

He knocked on the door and opened it, watching as Zoe startled awake with a groan. "Sorry, Zoe," he apologised. "I saw you were asleep."

She shook her head and sat up, massaging her neck. "Probably a good thing you woke me up," she said. "My neck's already killing me and I was probably only lying down for an hour. You could do with a decent mattress and some pillows or blankets on this thing."

PJ laughed quietly. "Tell me about it. Remand beds aren't much better. Unfortunately, we have to take anything we think you might have to hang yourself with."

Zoe's face went a little greyer. "Ah. Of course."

PJ pulled out a paper McDonald's bag from behind his back. "I had one of my uniformed underlings perform one last duty for me," he said.

"A Maccas run," she laughed. "Big dreams you've got there, PJ."

"I did contemplate getting them to paint the house for me, but Amy warned that I might be pushing my luck there," he joked. "The food is for you. I got the uniforms to get a bit of everything."

Zoe raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, thanks." She took the bag and looked through it. "I don't eat the muffin things so…you want to share?"

"I was going to let you go but if you want to share your last jailhouse meal…sure." PJ sat down beside her and they separated the food. Zoe began digging into the hotcakes, while he started on a McMuffin.

"Mark told me what happened," Zoe said quietly. "I let the shooter into our house…"

PJ shook his head. "You had no reason to suspect what he'd do," he pointed out. "They were looking for a distraction and if it wasn't you two, they'd have done something else."

"Maybe…" Zoe trailed off and they finished eating in silence.

As they finished their breakfasts, PJ stuffed the rubbish back inside the paper bag and sat it on the floor. He found the receipt on the bench next to him and studied it. "Bastards," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Those uniforms told me there wasn't any change. According to the receipt, they ordered more food for themselves on my dime without telling me. The little sneaky bastards…"

"How much money did you give them?" Zoe asked, eyebrow raised.

"About fifty dollars."

Zoe's mouth dropped open. "Fifty…I…the amount of food you had in this bag doesn't cost fifty dollars, PJ."

"Well, I can see that now." PJ's voice had an air of mock defensiveness that made Zoe burst into laughter. "Well, the Boss did tell those uniforms to use their initiative. Maybe he should have been more specific…"

PJ scrunched up the receipt and tossed it at the opposite wall. Silence fell over them again. The sounds of the rest of the station were a quiet, muffled hum inside the tiny cell – the inaudible conversations, the padding of feet, the high pitch sounds of phones and buzzers, the clicks and bangs of doors. It was a strange, isolated place, so central to everything but still so removed from it all. PJ opened his mouth to apologise - for his behaviour, for Zoe spending the night there, for her losses, for everything - when Zoe spoke first.

"Where should I go when you release me?" Zoe asked quietly.

PJ looked at her thoughtfully. She wasn't looking at him, instead letting her head hang back against the wall with her eyes closed. "What do you mean?"

She looked to him. She looked so, so tired. "Should I visit Nick?"

"Yes," he replied. His tone had shifted into a darker place that Zoe wasn't used to. "I think you should."

"I'm serious, PJ," she said, and her voice and eyes conveyed the true emotional exhaustion of the last nine months. "I need to know if Nick is actually someone I can rebuild with. Shooting or no shooting. I can't handle some…some…temporary revelation or guilt trip or drug-induced…"

PJ took her hand and Zoe stopped speaking. Their eyes met. He nodded. "I'm being serious too," he assured her. "You should visit him. Nick is…sorry," He paused, struggling to find the right words in his sleep deprived brain. "He…he's different."

"Different?"

"He knows he's screwed up," PJ said thoughtfully. "He's asking me about how you move on after losing the people who make you…well, you. He's asking about counselling and therapy and…it's like he's actually letting himself feel the pain for once. If you know what I mean?"

Zoe felt tears in her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Unfortunately, yeah." She sighed and wiped her cheeks with her palm. "But is it just temporary?"

"We're not going to let it be," PJ promised. "I know I was an enabler. He's going to have proper friends this time around who will actually support him to get better and he knows that. And you will too." PJ squeezed her hand as tears began to well in his own eyes. "You're our friend too. Never forget that."

PJ squeezed Zoe's hand as she gave up on her tears. He checked his pockets and found a hankie in one. He offered it to her, and she accepted gratefully. She paused after using it. "This smells a bit funny."

"Please don't tell me it smells like fish."

"What?"

PJ just shook his head, laughing as he hugged Zoe. She accepted gratefully and they both cried. They stayed, holding each other, taking comfort in the contact and in the knowledge that their friendship was the healthiest it had been all year. As they broke apart, Zoe mumbled a thank you and PJ squeezed her shoulders.

"What happened to Nick tonight?" Zoe asked quietly.

It took PJ a moment to process Zoe's question. She wasn't asking about the shooting, she already knew what happened there. She was asking about something much darker. "Nick had to face some really horrific things tonight, in a lifetime of horrific things."


Dash was on autopilot as she headed for the mess room. Her brain struggled to process more than the fact that everything hurt. Her eyes stung, her muscles ached, her head pounded and her heart just felt so incredibly broken. She didn't even stop to question why the mess room door was closed when she arrived, or what the frantic whispering and footsteps she heard were, but soon was shaken back to reality by the surreal sight she found inside.

The table in the mess room was adorned as though she had stepped into a child's birthday party. A cream cake, with icing spelling out the words 'happy birthday', sat at the centre. Four candles had been placed on the cake, and a box of matches sat on the side of the plate, ready to light the candles. A familiar plush rabbit sat behind the cake, with a blue and white checked ribbon tied into a bow around its neck. Helium-filled balloons, some printed with birthday designs and some plain pink and white, had been tied to the chairs around the table.

Amy and Ringo had quickly positioned themselves behind the table as she had entered. They shared a quick nod and Amy lit the candles. Before Dash could manage a response, Amy and Ringo began singing 'happy birthday'. When they reached Phoebe's name, she began to cry.

"Oh no," Amy mumbled. She felt panic rising in her throat and tears in her eyes. She moved to Dash's side and put a hand on her shoulder as Dash pulled out her now very well-used hankie. "I'm so sorry, this was all my idea. I should have asked first."

"Oh, Amy," Dash threw her arms around her and hugged her. It took Amy a moment to process what was happening. "These are happy tears."

"Happy tears?" Amy asked quietly.

Dash pulled back and nodded. She looked over to Ringo and smiled, and somehow, despite the tears, Ringo could see where the 'happy' part came in. Dash reached out for the bunny – Phoebe's old toy – and hugged it to her. It was comforting to hold it, like an instant feeling of relief.

"I…I don't know where I'm at, or how I feel all the time, or where my life is going," Dash said. "But I do know that I love Phoebe. I loved being her mum. And I love the hell out of my amazing, weird, crazy…so incredibly wonderful friends." Amy's tears fell in earnest and she and Dash wrapped an arm around each other, holding each other close. "And I'm so, so tired and I've forgotten what my bed looks like and I want to eat that cake before it's covered in wax."

All three burst into teary, emotional laughter. Amy and Dash let each other go, Dash blew out the candles while Ringo took a photo and Amy began serving up the cake using the station cutlery and some borrowed vanilla ice-cream from the freezer.

As Ringo wandered off to lean against the cupboard to eat his share, Dash approached with a shy smile, still holding Phoebe's rabbit in her arms. "Thank you for tonight," she said quietly.

"This was Amy's idea," he explained.

"I'm not just talking about this," Dash told him and she gave him a grateful hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

As Dash slipped back over to join Amy at the table, Ringo felt his face turn beetroot red.


After the horrific outcomes she had imagined during the night, somehow standing in the corridor and looking through the observation window, seeing Nick lying in his hospital bed seemed like a reassurance for Zoe. He was pale, hooked up to countless machines, full of drainage tubes, covered in bandages, surrounded by the constant sound of beeping…but he was alive, his mind intact, breathing with only the aid of a nasal cannula. She'd been pre-warned about his injuries and the long way back he faced, but it was infinitely better than anything she'd imagined.

She slipped quietly into his room, half-hoping he might be asleep so she could avoid the emotional onslaught. His eyes shot open at the sound of the door opening, and the look on his face revealed that he too half-hoped it wasn't her who had been visiting.

"I'll sign the papers if you want," Nick said, not even giving her a chance to speak. He struggled to sit up and groaned in pain. Zoe rushed over to help him, and he waved her off. The expression on his face was so contorted with pain that she almost felt it too. He finally had to concede defeat and flopped back, panting and shaky. "You deserve better than me. I'm sorry. For everything."

Zoe struggled for words. Hot tears filled her eyes and she felt like she was being choked by emotion. And so was still just so tired and everything hurt. A day ago, she might have accepted this, uneasily and unhappily. But now? "I don't want you to sign divorce papers. I never did. I want you to get better, physically and mentally."

Nick looked at her, his expression simply looking broken. "I want that too."

She sat down beside him and took his hand. He seemed shocked by the gesture. It had been so long since Zoe had willingly done something like that and he'd forgotten how beautiful it was. She had too. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I thought you'd tried to kill yourself," she confessed in a hushed voice.

For a moment, Nick didn't seem like he knew what to do with that statement. It stopped his tears. Finally, he spoke in a voice that sounded almost ashamed. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it."

Zoe struggled for words. Nothing seemed appropriate. Too many words wanted to tumble out of her mouth at once, but at the same time she was speechless. In the end, she managed a quiet, sad, heartbroken response as tears began to roll down her own cheeks. "Oh, Nick."

Seeing Zoe cry increased Nick's distress. He tried to swallow down a sob, and looked away briefly. "What the hell kind of monster am I?" he asked, his voice choked and shaking.

"You're not a monster," Zoe replied, instinctively and without thinking.

He looked back to her, his face tormented by grief, self-loathing and pain. "Do you know what I thought back in the storm drain?" he asked, his voice almost a whimper. Zoe shook her head. "I…begged God or the universe or whoever else might be out there to spare you, just so I wouldn't be on my own if the boys died. Who thinks that when their children are dying?"

Zoe looked down, her own expression dark. "Me," she admitted quietly. Nick's eyes widened as she looked up and her haunted gaze met his own. "The last thing I remember as I was swept away was thinking 'God, if those boys are dead, either leave me Nick or let me die here'."

Nick broke down, mumbling constant apologies and Zoe wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his hair, letting her own tears get lost in his messy mop. She'd forgotten how it felt to have Nick in her arms. And having him in her arms after they'd shared some hard, emotional truths felt special in a way she couldn't describe.

Their sobs and Nick's apologies died slowly away to silent tears, then to silence. Finally, Nick spoke. "Travis and Trevor would never forgive me for what I've done to their mother," he said.

Zoe broke away so she could look at him face to face. "Do you remember the time they framed the school bully for stealing when they were six?" she asked, her face a little sad and wistful.

Nick couldn't hide a slight smile. "Yeah," he replied with a sad chuckle, followed by a wince. "That kid had been a shithead to everyone. Another kid had dropped their canteen money down a drain, Travis and Trevor gave him some of their money and claimed the bully had stolen from them to explain the missing $2 coin. Bully ended up in detention."

Zoe laughed too. "Story fell apart in two days, of course. They had to give a grovelling apology to the bully, have it addressed in class, do some clean up on the playground. But do you remember what we told them at the time?"

"They couldn't see what the point was of the punishments," Nick remembered thoughtfully. "We had to explain that the past couldn't be changed, but they needed to apologise, to do what they could to make up for what they did to the bully, and to make sure they would be better in the future."

A sad, thoughtful smile lingered on Zoe's face. "Travis and Trevor might give you that lecture right now."

"I'm afraid of forgetting their voices," Nick said, his voice choked and wavering. Zoe was taken aback and Nick continued. "I…can't remember Zoe's…my daughter's…I can't remember Jenny's…"

Zoe let go of his hand and dug through her jacket wordlessly. She found her iPhone and started tapping and scrolling away. Within a minute, she was offering the phone to Nick. "It's a video," she explained. "Just hit the play button."

He looked at her, a little confused, then hit the button. The video was from Christmas Day and showed him and the boys playing Mario Kart on their new Wii. Travis had been winning, though that didn't last long because less than a minute into the video his gleeful gloating soon turned into mock outrage after Trevor unleashed a blue shell and skipped several places to first. Meanwhile, Nick had spent the whole time in last place, joking that they all needed to be written up by Traffic for speeding and illegally overtaking and he was the actual true winner. Zoe's laughter and occasional commentary could be heard over the whole thing.

"Oh God…" Nick covered his mouth, his face a heartbreaking mixture of grief and joy. It meant the world to see and hear Travis and Trevor again. But it hurt more than anything to know he could never hold them.

Zoe rubbed his arm. "I can't help with little Zoe. But…" She paused to wipe at her own tears. "I won't let you forget Travis and Trevor's voices."

"Why the hell couldn't we just raise cowards?" Nick whimpered, running a shaking finger so close to the phone screen that he could almost touch it. "Why did we have to raise kids who thought they had to save the world?"

She laughed bitterly. "Because parents like us could never have raised anything else."

Silence lingered over the room as the video ended. Zoe let Nick hold the phone for a while longer and he looked through some of her old photos. From his face, she got the sense he hadn't even been looking at pictures of their sons for a while. The gulf of grief he'd been avoiding for so long had finally opened and now he was crawling, agonisingly and heart-breaking, over the bridge across it.

Finally, he locked the phone and offered it back to her. "I'm going to go into counselling," he said as she took the phone from his hands. It made her freeze momentarily. "I think I brought up Bill Lapscott with PJ, but I might need someone more specialised in dealing with…whatever you'd even describe my issues as."

"Complicated grief," Zoe said thoughtfully. "Very complicated grief."

Nick let his head flop back against the pillow. "I thought I was going to die there, Zoe," he mumbled. "I could only think about how I'd destroyed every relationship in my life and how every one of my children would have despised what I'd become and how I was going to die there in agony, hated and alone and…I don't want to be that. I don't want to end up like that."

Zoe wrapped both her hands around his and it startled him. "I know some good psychologists," she explained. "Maybe we…could try some therapy together?"

"Together?"

"I love you," Zoe held his hand to her cheek. "I want you to get better. I want us to get better. Now we both know the house has been destroyed, I want us both to rebuild it together. If you understand what I mean?"

Nick nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Apologies accepted," Zoe said. "Now, we move onto the next steps. You make up for it and do better. And so do I. No enablers, no denial, no hiding how we feel from each other."

Nick looked at her with an earnest, adoring look. "I love you. Thank you." Zoe kissed his hand and stood up. She checked his IVs and lifted his blanket to look at his abdomen. Nick laughed, then immediately regretted it as pain hit. "Do you not trust Mehmet or something?"

"After the things I was imagining last night, I think I'm entitled to check on you," she said as she pulled the blanket back up and brushed his hair back. "Did you need anything, now I'm up?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I have everything I need right here." He reached out for Zoe's hand and she took it, smiling. "I don't think I'm going to be able to eat for a while, but you should go eat if you need to."

She laughed. "PJ brought me some brekky before he released me," she explained, dismissing Nick's concern.

"PJ 'released' you?" Nick asked, confused. He was hit by a distinct sense that a lot more had happened then he knew about.

Zoe waved it off as she sat back down. "It's a long story."

Suddenly, Nick's face was full of panic. "Oh, shit." He looked around worriedly and Zoe started to get up, torn between trying to reassure Nick herself and hitting the alert button. "Do my parents know anything about this?" he asked, and Zoe laughed with relief. It was the most normal thing Nick had said to her in months.


Mark slipped into the Imperial, not entirely sure what he was expecting to find. He wasn't sure why he thought the pub was the right place to go rather than his paint-splattered apartment, but something drew him there. Perhaps it was just the overwhelming desire to not be alone after the nightmarish night they had had.

He'd barely made it inside the door when he saw Chris approaching him, calling his name. He began to mumble an apology, but was silenced when Chris placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him, long and hard. It took him a moment to realise what was happening and that it wasn't a surreal hallucination brought on from lack of sleep.

She eventually pulled away, a little surprised by his lack of reciprocation. He looked at her, still stunned. "I…thought you didn't…I thought we were…" he stumbled over his words.

"I don't know what I want," Chris said bluntly, "I don't know what we are, I don't know what our future looks like, I don't even know if this is a good idea at all, but…" She hesitated, struggling to stop herself from becoming flustered. "But…I don't want to die alone." Her voice became quiet, almost whispered. "I love you."

Mark moved closer and lowered his voice. The public bar was empty, but it was late enough for the bar and kitchen staff to be at work. "People will talk," he reminded her. Almost as if on cue, a barman appeared, carrying a box, likely retrieved from the cellar. He nodded in the direction of him, and Chris cast a quick, wary gaze towards her bemused employee.

She contemplated it for less than a second before kissing Mark again. This time, Mark returned the gesture. "They'll always talk in this town. Let's give them something good to talk about for a change," she said, her voice almost giddy with nervousness and excitement.

The joy that ran through Mark's body was indescribable. Chris wrapped her arms around his neck, without even thinking, he swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bar. He sat her on the bar, and she placed her hands on Mark's face, kissing him with such a passion that it consumed every fibre of his being.

Neither of them fully processed the sounds of frenzied footsteps or whispers. It was only when whistles and cheers were heard from Chris' staff that they broke apart to see the small crowd assembled. Mark and Chris burst into fits of uncontrollable giggling. They felt like teenagers, concerns of responsibility had been discarded, and it was the most glorious feeling in the world.


PJ stood alone in the CI office, his arms folded across his chest and his mind drifting. He was standing in front of the window behind his desk – a window in dire need of a good clean – and watching as the early morning turned into simple morning. Kids were on their way to school, looking forward to the last day before the weekend. Adults were on their way to work. No matter what had happened over the last nine months, or even the last twenty four hours, the world would continue to turn. Life would always go on in Mt. Thomas.

He heard footsteps behind him, then the voice that made his heart sing. "I brought you a coffee," Amy said quietly as PJ turned to face her. She held it out to him. "It's just as you like it."

He took it gratefully and thanked her. "How did Dash take her party?" he asked.

Amy bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "Good," she replied. "Emotional, but good. I wouldn't be surprised it if becomes a tradition for her."

"I'll wish her a happy birthday for Phoebe later," he said thoughtfully as he sipped the coffee. "Once we're all a bit more awake." He turned back to the window and Amy joined him. "I feel old."

Amy laughed weakly. "We've all been awake for twenty four hours, Peej," she reminded him. "We all do." She paused, then leaned over with a slightly mischievous smile. "Besides, don't you turn fifty next month?"

PJ winced. "Oh, don't remind me. I'm still not sure how the hell that happened."

Amy's smile became more apologetic and she wrapped her arms around his and let her head fall against his shoulder as they stood side by side. "I wouldn't have you any other way, you know," she assured him.

PJ turned to look her in the eyes. Tired, loving green eyes met adoring, equally exhausted blue. "I'm still in awe of you," he told her, his voice earnest and full of admiration and love. "Your strength, bravery, compassion…"

She kissed him and he returned her affections. "There aren't even the words to thank you," she said as their lips parted. "For your patience, kindness, unconditional love…"

She held him tighter and he kissed the top of her head. A comfortable, loving silence fell between them. Nothing more needed to be said. And as PJ continued drinking his coffee, they watched the morning light move across Mt. Thomas.


Next episode: "Legacy:

In this special and season two finale, the Heelers approach the fifth anniversary of Tom Croydon's murder. As they reflect on the past and try to focus on the future, new challenges threaten to derail their rebuilt lives.


More housekeeping:

"Legacy" was originally intended to be a separate special, but I've opted to treat it as a series finale. Season 3, whenever it happens, will be set in 2013. So much for my initial intentions back in 2006/07 to keep the series one year ahead of real time. At least we'll be out of 2010 though, I suppose.

If you're still here, thank you. Genuinely. I apologise if this episode feels disjointed - it was written over such a long period of time, with my mental state in such a widely variable place. I hope you won't be waiting anywhere near as long for the next update.