Sorry this one took so long to come out, I promise I have a few more lined up so updates should be more regular over the holidays. I am not too satisfied with this chapter but I hope it pays off with what is to come in the next chapters! As always, let me know what you think and enjoy!

I don't want to be here.

That's all Liz can think as she sits beside Steve, Kate and Ted at the table, watching the Deputy Assistant Commissioner blabber on about this and that. Liz doesn't care to listen.

She shouldn't be so dismal, this is a happy occasion… sort of. If she forgets the context in which it is happening, that is.

And how can she? When they are here? Where he was the last time they were here?

Why did I even come?

"So it brings me great pleasure to welcome to the stage Detective Constable Kate Fleming."

Liz snaps out of it for a moment, clapping with a smile as her friend sends her a nervous look before walking up to the stage. That's why I am here.

To see one of her closest friends receive an award for her outstanding bravery.

She shares a proud look with Steve beside her, the pair rising from their seats to give a standing ovation for their friend as she shakes the DAC's hand.

It is the least that woman deserves, in Liz's mind. After all she has done, all she has contributed to the force. Perhaps there would even be a promotion in it for her. By the way Hastings is smiling up at her, that chuffed fatherly-look Liz now recognises as pride brightening his face, that seems likely.

Kate is more than worthy of it after… everything...

Liz almost stumbles back into her seat as the applauds come to a stop, the sound becoming muffled around her as her thoughts begin to resound as she thinks of all that has happened - again.

She has felt better, even beginning to show up at work for a few hours a day to ease back into it. Steve has been making sure to discourage others from smothering her with sympathy, knowing that's the last thing she wants or needs. He doesn't know she knows what he has been doing, but watching him go around the office, having quiet words with their coworkers, his eyes occasionally catching hers across the room as he does. And then, of course, keeping her company the way he has been. At hers pretty much every day, even just to check in for a moment and see if she needs him to get anything for her or stay a while longer for a tea and more Midsommer Murders.

Kate and Ted have been brilliant too, only bringing it up when necessary, but not acting as though nothing has happened. That would be the worst thing. Not learning from it, not growing out of it. Kate's award and the rumours of promotion possibilities floating around has also helped to lift Liz's spirits, relieved to see things improving for her friend, along with the increased visits she is allowed with her son. Herself and Ted have gone for many more lunches together in the few weeks since, it starting to become a ritual, giving them time away from the office to be godfather and daughter instead of colleagues. It means so much to her to have that time.

But she doubts things will be better so soon. Especially with the way her mind spontaneously decides to flood her sense again with memories of that day, of everything. She has hardly slept, sometimes forgetting to eat. Liz is sure she looks like it too, not even having the energy to style her hair for such a formal occasion, simply throwing it into a ponytail and trying to hide the dark circles under her eyes with a bit of makeup.

Steve had suggested she wear that green dress, the one she wore the last time they were at an event like this, when he reminded her of their invite. Liz was surprised he even remembered, him seeming to be quite enthusiastic about getting her dressed up and out again, thinking it will do her some good.

But it won't. It isn't.

Instead, she is sat here in her trouser suit, hands shaking as she looks around the room, ghosts of the last time she was there taunting her.

All those things he was guilty of, doing behind her back and that smug smile of his. They are not even quite sure what he would even be charged with, uncertain of the extent to his involvement. Trafficking and grooming young girls, and boys, protecting abusers, forgery, bribing, blackmail, conspiracy, murder - it splits her head just trying to comprehend it.

And with all that, she had been here with him, none the wiser to any of it.

Being in this room, it is all so clear to her as she recalls.

The way that man had complimented her, kissed her cheek, been so charming. It makes her sick.

The way she had been proud of him, praised him, been so foolish.

Her chest is on fire as she thinks of it, reaching unsteadily for the glass on the table in front of her, chugging back a few gulps of the champagne, relieved to feel the burn as it glides down her throat worrying how numb she had become.

Thoughts swirl as she places the glass back down. Regret, anger, blame, heartache.

She really had been proud. Not just that time, when Dot received that award and promotion. But all that she thought she knew. How he managed to pull himself out of that gambling addiction and the drinking and the divorce and do better. Part of her is still happy for him, not being able to fully hate a man who did seem to care for her, even taking bullets to protect her. But it is apparent to her now, he would always be trapped. He could never escape what was really holding him down, who was really after him. NO wonder he had turned to those addictions.

How well can you know anyone?

Liz shudders as his words float into her head.

It's like he was trying to tell her, to warn her. Like he wanted her to know. Knew that she could see him, for who he was and wanted to be.

That's why she feels how she does. That she owes him. To get to the bottom of it all. To end it.

But how? Where do they go from here? And what can she offer? She isn't even an investigator?

You can see things, about situations and about people, that others don't.

She squeezes her eyes closed for a moment, her hands coming to grip onto the edges of her seat. Both wanting to drown him out and find comfort in that memory.

You listen, you care, and you don't expect anything out of it

It is Steve's voice she hears next, remembering the words he had said to her by the riverside.

You do it because that's who you are. A good person. You have a good heart.

Her heart begins to warm, her hands beginning to cease their shaking as she desperately clings to that memory, it drowning everything else out.

I know, if everything was beating me down like that, I would want you there. I do.

That's all she needs. The reassurance she longs for.

Her heart beats wildly with the newfound surge of confidence it brings about, her eyes opening to watch as Kate finishes her speech on stage, feeling a pang of guilty for not having heard a word of it.

She can't forget the way he made her feel. She can't forgive herself for not having realised and done more to help. But she can try to make things better.

Liz feels resolved now. If she is to rectify her mistakes, the ones she beats herself for despite Steve's pleads that she is not to blame, she needs to solve it. Do what she can. That's all she can do. Her best. For him and herself.

"Maneet, that's wonderful! Oh I am so happy for you!"

"What's this?" Steve asks as he approaches the two women, a smile stretching across his face as he sees Lizzie's own bright grin.

Maneet smiles too, holding a hand to her stomach, "I'm pregnant."

Steve's smile widens as he shares a delighted look with the woman next to him, "Congratulations! How far along are you?"

"Oh, only a few weeks. Found out a few days ago," Maneet beams, looking between them, "Can't wait for little Haresh to have a baby brother or sister."

"I really am so happy, bless you," Liz continues to grin.

"Yeah, if you need anything, just give us a shout," Steve offers, kindly.

"Yes, please let us know!" Liz affirms, Maneet smiling thankfully at them both.

"You ready to go?" Steve then asks her, looking at his watch.

"Oh," Liz shakes her head, "I can walk back, it isn't far."

He frowns slightly, "You sure?"

"Yeah, really," Liz shrugs, waving goodbye to Maneet as the woman goes to greet some of the other guests.

Steve chews his lower lip, unnerved at the idea of her walking home alone so late. Especially after all she has finally confessed to him about the anonymous man who had been following her and the envelopes arriving through her door.

"Steve," Liz sighs, noting the overly-concerned look on his face, "Stay, enjoy the night. Kate will want you here."

"I would feel better if I drove you back," he almost pleads.

But she shakes her head, "It's fine, honestly. And don't think I didn't see you necking those champagnes. You shouldn't be driving anywhere."

Steve quietly chuckles at that tease, Liz herself smiling a little.

"To be honest, I could do with the headspace," she confesses, arms coming to cross her stomach.

He sighs, knowing tonight was probably too much for her, despite her insistence she had to come to support Kate, and she needs time to herself, "Alright. But call me as soon as you get back."

"I will," she says, touched by his consideration.

Liz unfolds her arms, reaching them out to embrace him around his neck. Steve responds immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she says in his ear, muffled slightly by the way her face is pressed into his blazer.

"Yeah, see you," he says as they part, watching as she sends him one more smile before going to find Kate to say goodbye.

The two women embrace as Liz finds her in the crowd, Kate clearly asking her if she is alright to go home alone, Steve unable to hear their conversation from where he is standing but can tell by the way Kate's face falter slightly and her eyes flick to him for a brief moment, to which he shrugs.

Liz eventually grabs her jacket from a nearby chair, sending one more wave his way before walking out the door.

That pain in his chest burns again as he watches her go.

"Good evening," Liz greets a man standing just outside her apartments, smoking a cigarette. She is sure she has seen him outside here before, a few times. He must live in one of the flats upstairs.

The bald man smiles back at her, nodding, as he takes another drag.

She opens the front door, fumbling with her keys as she approaches her own flat, her fingers frozen. Liz shudders happily, the warmth from inside caressing her reddened cheeks instantly.

There is nothing more she wants now than to change into her pyjamas and snuggle up under her duvet with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She almost sighs at the thought.

Raising her keys to insert them in the lock, twisting them to open her door.

Once she is inside, she begins to undo her jacket, flinging it across the back of the dining chair as she always does. Tossing the keys onto the side table, Liz finally sighs, relieved to be back in her own space.

But that breath is caught by a creaking sound behind her.

Her shoulders tense, her body completely still as her ears strain to work out whatever is over her shoulder.

The floorboard creaks again.

There is a shadow behind her.

Someone is here...

As she begins to turn, her vision blurs, a sharp pain splintering her skull.

She has been hit.

Liz stumbles backward, steadying herself against the arm of her sofa as she wills her vision to refocus. Her hand comes to hold her head where it was battered by something, her throat too dry to speak.

The colours in front of her eyes begin to dissipate, the sight of a large blurred figure a few metres from her - growing bigger as they come closer, making their way towards her.

Liz panics, seeing the figure raise their arm, undoubtedly to grab at her, possibly hit her again. She bends to the side, ducking under their arm and fumbling as she does, her door now in sight.

She runs.

They catch her by the hair.

They tug at her ponytail, twisting it into their fist and yanking her backward so she falls to the floor on her knees.

Liz yells in pain, her hands coming up to claw at their hand, to no avail. Their other hand wraps around her throat, squeezing tightly.

She tries to throw her head back with as much force as she can muster through the pain, attempting to hit at them, knock them away.

But they - whoever they are - are much stronger than her, their hold tightening more and more.

Liz coughs, struggling for air.

She kicks a leg out, her knee twisting awkwardly and sharp, kicking at the person behind her.

That seems to work, them squawking slightly in pain as her leg connects with their shin. Their hold loosens a little.

That's her chance.

She begins to crawl away, almost ripping up the floorboards as she hauls herself along by the nails.

They grab her again, this time twisting her body around to pin her down by the shoulders.

Liz cries, choking on a sob as their face becomes clearer as they lean over her.

It is him.

Glenn Hurrell.

The man she got suspended from the force through her undercover operation last year.

That's who has been following her. That's who killed Saoirse.

For revenge?

She tries to yell again, but one of his sweaty bulbous palms covers her mouth, Liz cringing at the salty taste of them as she continues to scream.

Her body writhes beneath him in a desperate attempt to break free again, his knee coming to rest on her stomach, the other by her side, restraining her. His other hand also rises, capturing both her wrists and pinning them above her head.

"You little bitch," he spits at her, keeping his voice low.

Liz winces, not only at the pain of his weight on her, but the stench of his foul, hot breath in her face. Memories of his cruel advances on her during her mission come flooding back. The way he tried to touch her. Leered at her.

"You've ruined me. I lost my job because of you, my pension," he snarls, teeth baring like a frenzied dog, "And you thought I'd just let you get away?"

She screams again, his hand coming to compress against her mouth and jaw harder. Hurrell draws his face closer, eyes scanning her face. A small, deranged smile overrules his face, taking some pride in the way he has tormented and got her now.

Liz kicks her legs, hoping to catch him again, but the knee pressed onto her stomach comes down harder, making her cry out in agony.

"I think you owe me an apology," Hurrell snides, moving his hand slightly as if inviting her to speak. The hand falls instead to her neck, squeezing there jeeringly.

Liz frantically sucks in breaths, her chest heaving as it rises and falls in desperate need for air.

She tries to speak, to say something in between flailing her limbs to try and make an impact against his body. But her lips are too dry, cracking as she makes any attempt.

She is panicking.

Hurrell just laughs, the sound cruel and grating as he leans in even closer to her, his grip ever-increasing its fierceness.

"No?" he sneers, "Well, then maybe you can make up for it in another way."

Liz is sure her heart gives out at that. As his hand scratches against her skiing as it trails down from her neck to her collar, fisting the material there.

Her body stills, no matter how much she wants it to fight back, as she hears the sound of her shirt being ripped from the collar to below her left breast, the sound of buttons pinging off the floor beside her.

She goes to scream again, as his hand claws towards the breast behind her exposed bra. He brings the hand that was holding her wrists down to cover her mouth in an attempt to quieten her.

Liz uses that chance, with her hands now free, to smack at him; hitting his face, his neck, chest, stomach, whatever she can reach as she wildly thrashes.

But he is so much bigger than her. Overpowers her again, easily.

He uses his knees and shins to pin her arms to her sides, the hand on her mouth pushing so hard her teeth cut into the flesh. She is sure she can taste the coppery tinge of blood mixed with the salt of his sweat and her tears.

"You bitch!" he growls again, his free hand now making a grab at her thigh, "Let's finish what we started at that bar, eh?"

She sobs, desperate for help as his hand creeps its way up to her trouser waistband. Her own hand, still pinned by his leg, moves hopelessly towards her trousers too in an attempt to stop whatever he is going to do.

That's when she feels it.

In her pocket.

Call me as soon as you get back.

Her phone.

Coiling her wrist uncomfortably as she tries to reach into her pocket, Hurrell seems to catch on to her movement, removing his hand from her thigh and slapping hers away. He reaches into her pocket, ripping out the device and throwing it to the side. Liz winces again as she hears it crack, unable to see where it has landed from his forceful hold on her face.

Hurrell returns his hand to her thigh as she sobs, it mauling at her trouser waistband, the fly bursting by his brutality.

Dark dots begin to obscure her vision. Her chest heaves desperately for air. The room spins.

Liz can't believe this is happening.

She tries to bite at his hand, kick at him, hit her hands wherever she could - but nothing deters him from what he wants to do to her.

This is really going to happen. I am really going to be-

Hurrell jumps off her at the sound of the door smashing open.

Liz starts to cough, her eyes squeezing shut in pain as she hears a calamity around her. She tries to open her eyes, to find out what is going on, who else is here - but her stomach burns, her head pounds, her cheek stings. She needs to catch her breath.

The commotion to the side of her continues, the muffled sound of shouting, yet no individual voices recognisable above the overbearing drumming of her heartbeat in her ears.

Liz tries to haul herself up, her hand coming up to her cheek, pulling it away to see blood on her fingertips. He must have cut her.

She shakes her head to try and clear it.

What is going on? Who is here? Are they here to help me? Should I run? Why is the light so bright, I need to see-

Liz flinches harshly as two hands fall onto her shoulders, gripping slightly. She tries to bat them away, kicking her legs out once again at whoever was kneeling in front of her.

That's when she hears it.

His voice.

"Lizzie?"

Steve.