John felt his legs give way beneath him and he landed on the plastic hospital bench with an undignified thump. Baby! Thoughts whirled through his head in an endless reel of incoherent madness. Slowly, he started to regain a hold on reality, eyes still wide in shock, he was dimly aware that Meadows was speaking to him.
"John, John!" His head swung round to meet the voice, "Are you alright?"
The DCI had turned round at the sound of John's fall to find his sergeant starring transfixedly into space.
John looked up, dimly aware that Meadows was talking to him. Forcing his thoughts into some form order, he managed to respond.
"It's nothing Gov, just tired. Didn't get any sleep last night." There was no way he was explaining this one, even if he could. Why hadn't Claire thought to mention it – surely the baby couldn't be anyone else's? And then he thought back to that fateful night, just a week ago, when Claire had told him they needed to talk and he had stormed out of the flat before she'd said more than ten words.
His eyes drifted to the window, through which he could now see Claire's sleeping frame, her chest rising and falling in sweet peacefulness. Even from here he could see the marks of strain and fear that seemed to have grown onto her young face, but try as he might, he couldn't draw his eyes away: Just feel the growing guilt, building up inside him, corroding his very heart at the thought that he had caused this pain.
Meadow's followed John's gaze and he too stared through the transparent plane that separated them from the sleeping sergeant.
"I didn't know." Meadow's voice was slightly choked, an odd tone from the DCI who always appeared to maintain a soldier's iron resolve. "I would never have let her out there if I'd known."
"It's Ok Gov," John found it useful to comfort someone else. Selfishly pleasing to find he was not the only one who blamed themselves. "I don't think any of us out there knew tonight." He thought of the close timing, when they'd almost lost Claire altogether. At that moment, he'd realized he loved her, but now she was lying in hospital with his child and it occurred to him, she'd have more than a little reason to hate him.
The electronic buzz of John's mobile phone tone filled the corridor, reverberating off the hard, white walls; he hurriedly pulled it from his pocket. It was Don. They must need him back at the station. He flipped open the mouthpiece, drawing the thing to his ear as he did so.
"Boulton," Once more his voice hid any trace of emotion. A safety precaution he'd found so necessary in the past. Don's voice however, was nothing like its normal calm self.
"John," A harsh breathiness filled the words, "Mickey's arrested one of your snouts. It's complicated, I can't explain over the phone, but you have to come back." Don couldn't have had worse timing. Every particle of John's being wanted to stay right where it was, but he managed to grunt out a yes and shoved the phone back into the pocket of his jeans.
"You'd better go," Meadows indicated at the phone.
"Of course," Helpless and unable to come up with an adequate excuse, John reluctantly walked from the ward, too distracted to even wonder at what could have caused Don's panic.
Back at the station, Don was waiting in the front office for him.
"You took your time; I've had Smithy on my back for the last half an hour, apparently uniform want to interview her." John shrugged, still confused by his friend's lack of composure.
"So," he said shrugging. "You didn't need to wait for me."
"That's just it." Don's hands had clenched themselves into tight fists. "I need to ask a favour."