Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

Note:  In response to VimesLady's question on the previous chapter– after a brief panic, I flicked back through Men At Arms –and yes, Vimes had generally given up drinking by then, but his plans for retirement got to him, he got drunk, and that was the 'scene' where Angua went through his things and mistook his 'widows and orphans' fund, for a list of 'female acquaintances'. And then he drunk the type of coffee that sent you to the beyond sober. Lol. So yes, Angua's seen him drunk.

 Angua returned only half an hour later. She'd given strict orders that Vimes was not to be disturbed in that time, and no-one was going to argue with a werewolf who'd just spent an evening struggling against the stench of blood everywhere.

  When she came back into the office she found Vimes in exactly the same position he'd been in when she'd left. He hadn't moved an inch…the hand on the desk that she'd held was still there, his eyes were still looking blankly forward, and, more importantly, no hidden stash of alcohol had appeared.

   He looked up a few seconds after she'd entered, and with a flicker of …something…in his eyes he asked after Carrot.

 "He'll live." She said simply.  Carrot had been the same old Carrot. He'd been pale, and tired, but Igor had patched him up well. There'd still been that 'selfless hero' attitude, one of embarrassment rather than anything else, at his condition.  And of course, the first thing he'd asked was whether they'd caught the suspect. Angua told herself she didn't mind his not asking after her first. After all, she didn't like to play the weak little girlfriend, and he knew that. But still…he really did think that business wasn't the same as personal didn't he?

  But the man she saw in front of her now, knew the truth. The job was his life. That's when passion gets the best of you, when you're not distanced. That's when you can't turn off the cries of the innocents, and the evil laughter of monsters like DeLancey when your shift ended. She'd always known he took things to heart more than anyone else – but now she could see just how much damage they did there. This was a haunted man.

   All she said was,

 "he'll need bed rest for three or four days. "

Vimes' nodded, unable to resist wondering just what sort of relationship those two had One minute Carrot was making his way across the ice and snow of Uberwald to reach her, and the next, Vimes couldn't help suspecting whether Angua was just 'settling' for him. There never seemed to be much, well, happiness in her voice when she talked about him. No spark. He'd known a spark like that once..and he didn't hear it in her voice, or see it in her looks.

 He allowed himself to think these things tonight. Anything was better than re-living the fight, those endless blows…

  "I got you a clean shirt." Angua said, interrupting his thoughts, as she handed it over.

 "Oh." Said Vimes, remembering what he must look like. And a glance at Angua, reminded him of what he must smell like to her.

 "Oh. " he said again.

 She waved aside his apologetic look.

 "Its alright sir. I'm used to it. But, er still…"

 He nodded in understanding, and after the briefest moment of awkwardness, she casually turned her back, and allowed him to change.

 "Colon's arranging for someone to pick up the body." Vimes suddenly heard, muffled through the material being pulled over his head.

 Cold dread went through him again, but Angua didn't need a reply.

 "And Carrot wants to see you at some point sir. To thank you. "

Vimes froze mid-button-fastening.

 "Excuse me? "

  Angua turned back round, and locked eyes with him determinedly.

 " He wants to thank you sir, for saving my life. Everyone thinks its very noble how you fended off my attacker."

 Vimes stared back at her.

 "Your attacker? "

 "Yes sir. Having got me pinned, he would surely have killed me if you hadn't killed him first. "

 Vimes placed his hands on the desk, and leant forward.

 "Sergeant?" There was an ominous tone to his voice.

  Angua mirrored his action, leaning forward and speaking quietly, and harshly.

 "You made a mistake. Don't throw your life away because of it. No-one's going to question the story, it was just you and me, and a dead man everyone wanted dead anyway. There's no room for discussion here."

 "I'm your commanding officer." Vimes warned ominously.

 "Not for much longer if you don't go along with this. " She came back quickly.

 There was a moment of  fierce glares and a terrible tension, before Angua's eyes softened.

 "Please. I know how unfair the world is. Good men shouldn't have to suffer needlessly. You have to trust me. Please."

Vimes saw the concern in her eyes and realised just how scared she was. Scared for him.

 He eventually lowered his gaze.

 "What about Carrot? He has that uncanny way of sensing a cover-up. Didn't he know you were lying?"

 Angua leaned back, with a sad smile on her face. He could swear she almost rolled her eyes.

 "Carrot'll believe what I say. As much as he likes to seek out the truth, even he couldn't bring himself to suspect that we're being deceitful."

 Again Vimes felt that awkward pang of witnessing some ill-feeling in a private relationship. He could never tell why Angua used so honest a tone when speaking to him about he boyfriend.

 "Besides. " Angua continued quietly. " I wasn't exactly lying."

He paused, and met her eye. He knew what she'd meant. Of course, there had been an attacker who'd got her pinned against a wall. He probably would have killed her. That attacker had been him.

 "It wasn't me who held the attacker back though. " Vimes offered quietly.

 And Angua knew what he'd meant. He had been too hyped up, seeing red – he probably would have struck her if she hadn't called out his name. There had been no self-control, he hadn't restrained himself. It was she who'd snapped him out of it.

 There was a strangely intimate moment of understanding, with sorrow, guilt, and forgiveness passing between them. Then Angua shifted her feet, and looked away.

 " You should probably get home sir."

 "Oh, yes…Home."

Home, to his wife, happy and content with her new-found family life. His wife, ignorant of what he'd been through, the monster they'd been chasing, the things that he, Sam, had done. He'd hold his child in these hands someday. The hands that were still now stained with blood. How could he even look her in the eyes?

 "I, er.."

 Angua picked up his fear.

 "Perhaps I should walk you home sir. Just to make sure you're alright after the…apprehension of the suspect."

  Vimes couldn't contain his humble gratitude.

 "Yes, I...that would be helpful, Sergeant. "

 Yes, it would be helpful. It would stop him from wandering the streets, avoiding going home, ending up in a bar, then a gutter. He needed someone to tell him he could still go home tonight. That he hadn't really changed. To tell him that all that rage inside him earlier had truly dissipated – that he was not that sort of man.

 He needed someone who understood his world.