It was fifteen minutes later when Steve pulled up in front of one of the many bars in Didsbury's city centre. Peter's eyes quickly scanned the area, looking out of the passenger window and by sheer luck, his eyes landed on Carla. She was leaning against the brick wall of one pub, looking quite unsteady on her feet. A man around the same age as her was standing far too close for the bookie's liking.

Is that jealousy? He wondered fretfully, before instinct had him opening the car door and walking towards them. Oh yeah, it's jealousy, alright!

His eyes suddenly flashed white-hot rage as he watched the slimeball's hands slide up from his side to reach for the disoriented factory boss's face. Peter's fists clenched and he quickened his pace, vaguely aware that Steve was now eagerly following him.

Get your filthy hands off her you slimy ponce!

He inched closer to hear Carla weakly refusing the man, "No Rory, stop–" her hands were pushing back against his chest trying to find a way out of his embrace, and Peter smirked angrily as this Rory bloke continued being resistant. That's right, keep giving me a reason you worthless piece of -

"I believe the lady said no." Peter's voice boomed. Rory turned his head to the side, still not releasing the factory boss's shoulders, further angering the bookie.

"Did anyone ask you?" Rory replied tersely. Peter glowered at him, his upper lip twitching into a snarl as he took a step forward; the severity of just what could have happened to the woman currently being restrained against the wall had he not showed up when he did, flooded through him and made him instantly sick.

All of a sudden Carla doubled over Rory's arm and spewed a small amount of red liquid on the ground just between the two men before surrendering into a fit of dry-heaves.

"Shit! Carla you alright?" Rory asked in concern, but before he could stabilize her, Peter reflexively reached for Carla's dark hair swiftly tugging it back over her shoulders out of the line of fire. Brushing past a bewildered Rory, the bookie gently lead her over to a nearby flowerbed lined with shrubs.

"If you're going to throw up again, do it here love." He soothingly rubbed her back in small circles with one hand – the other held her hair back in a makeshift ponytail.

Carla tried to resist Peter awkwardly, before she found herself in yet another violent spasm of dry heaves. Peter closed his eyes and turned his head in the other direction, as the sound of her poor stomach lurching had him holding back a gag.

When she finally rose to her feet, Peter pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed the corners of her full, plump lips before she shakily plucked it from his hand and tentatively pressed it to her mouth. Peter sighed deeply, angry with himself for allowing her to get herself into this state in the first place. As they slowly made their way back towards Steve, he resolved that he wouldn't let her out of his sight for the remainder of the night. 'I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if she was mugged or ra-' He shook his head to rid himself of that unpleasant image and unknowingly held onto her a little tighter.

Rory still lingered outside of the bar, watching them make their way back from the side of the building. He opened his mouth to speak to the factory boss but thought better of it the second his eyes latched onto the bookie's blazing orbs.

"I'll uh… call you tomorrow Carla." He muttered as he slinked back off into the building under Steve's watchful eye. Peter gestured to the cabbie to give him and Carla some space to chat, and with a nod Steve followed Rory into the bar.

'Alone with her again,' Peter thought with a worrying frown, watching as she turned to lean her back against the brick wall, 'should I say something?

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly into the handkerchief she still had pressed to her lips.

"What are you sorry for Carla?" The words flew out of his lips before he had a chance to mull them over

"The phone call mainly, throwing up... yeah, probably more so the latter," she bowed her head an inch more as embarrassment flooded through her.

But Peter couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. I'm glad it was me you called, baby.

"We've all been here, though perhaps not quite as dramatically as this," Peter responded a little too dryly. He could actually see her back stiffen in defense

"Yeah, well not all of us have cigarettes and a flat to use as kindling at our disposal now do we?" She snapped back

"Touche," his lips twitched at her biting words. Her and that smart-ass mouth…

"But that was a mistake that I learned bitterly from Carla. This, however, is not the first time you've put yourself in harm's way simply for the sake of drowning your sorrows in multiple glasses of booze! Do you make a habit of this kind of behaviour?" What are you doing man? Fucking scolding her? For goodness sake you don't even do this with your own kid!

"No dad," she says a little off handily. "And for your information I'm not drunk! I've never been known to get drunk off of one glass of wine before."

"One glass eh?" Peter scoffed, "and just how big was the glass Carla? Bottle-sized?"

"Oh you know what? Piss off Barlow!" She pushed herself away from the wall and placed her hands on her hips, her body swaying slightly but still managing to look incredulously at him, "You should know by now that when I fall off the wagon I at least own up to 'ow much I've necked. So," she jabbed him in the chest with her finger, "when I tell you I 'ad one glass, I 'ad one glass! Alright?!"

She turned sharply on her heel with the full intention to march away from him before her eyes swam in a hazy blur. She stumbled suddenly, falling into Peter's arms as he propped her up against him.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, I've got you," the bookie stated reassuringly as he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist while swinging one of hers around his neck, "come on, let's get you to the car."

"No, I don't need your help -" she began to protest, "I- I can get home on me own." She weakly pushed against him but his grip on her was rather tight.

"Oh, I have no doubts that you can love, you're doing a marvelous job of it too an' all." He teased

She stopped moving forwards, "Am I?" Her head dropped to her feet and like a toddler taking their first steps, she gingerly placed her foot out in front of her, before giggling as her weight shifted from the back foot to the front. "Well ho-hey! Look at me go!" She push√ed herself away from the bookie and threw her arms out to either side of her, steadying herself as if she was walking on a tight-rope, "heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe," she repeated to herself before stopping mid-step and holding her foot out in front of her, "Oi Barlow!" she called over her shoulder, "I 'ave got some great taste in footwear if I do say so myself! What do you reckon?"

Peter arched a brow at her sudden shift in mood. He'd seen Carla drunk before, and this wasn't it.

Something isn't right.

He walked behind her, his hands hovering near her waist as she continued her tight-rope walk, giggling as she went.

"Carla?"

"Hmm?" she turned sharply, a smile gracing her features as if they didn't just argue forty-five seconds earlier, or five hours prior for that matter. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, and if it didn't just turn him on...

"How much did you drink tonight?" He asked her carefully

"Two glasses of fizzy water, one glass of lemonade, and one glass of red wine, thankyouverymuch!" she recited before her brows furrowed, "actually I don't think I finished the wine now that I think about it." She turned around to continue her tight rope walk, when Peter gently turned her back,

"Why don't you try going this way, love," At her inquisitive look he continued, "it's more challenging this way." He shrugged through his lie

"Ahhh I reckon you might be onto sommit there, Barlow." She laughed before putting her arms out and glancing down at her feet.

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched Carla again become utterly fascinated by her boot for a long moment before continuing her walk along her imaginary tight-rope.

"heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe…"

This wasn't her usual drunken behaviour. Normally he'd find her in a depressive state, wallowing in self-hatred and loathing, then, as the booze wore off, she'd become defensive and embarrassed; resorting to harsh piercing words and flinging insults from that smart mouth of hers. Finally she would become remorseful in her sober state and, dare he say it, almost shy as she would apologize profusely for lashing out at him, admitting that she did indeed have a problem with her drinking. In fact, she was just like him in many ways: they would both routinely hit four of the five steps of grief in their drunkenness: denial and isolation, depression, anger and acceptance.

But this behavior, this almost giddy, childlike Carla, was not at all usual. Not routine in the slightest, and it left him completely dumbfounded.

Peter took his eyes off of her long enough to glance in the open door of the pub. He locked eyes with a concerned looking Steve, who was standing at the bar listening to that Rory bloke and the bartender speak rather animatedly, and gave him a questioning look. Just as the three men began to make their way towards him, a flash of blue lights pulled his attention back towards the sidewalk, where he saw Carla now completing her tight rope walk with a flare, giggling to herself and shouting something to him about being a shoe-in for 'Cirque du Soleil'…

…and completely unaware of the two officers stepping out of their car just behind her.

"Look officer, I'm telling you she isn't intoxicated, alright?" Rory stated with a raised voice.

"Really?" The younger officer questioned sarcastically, using his head to gesture to where Carla now sat slumped against the outer wall of the bar, seemingly asleep and propped up by Steve, "so would you call that her normal disposition then?"

"No, it isn't but I can assure you it's not her drunken disposition either," Peter snapped back, thoroughly agitated with this line of questioning. They had been going around in circles with this officer for the past ten minutes while his partner was off questioning the bartender.

"Peeeeterrrr!" A singsong voice called to him and he turned to see Carla, now awake, leaning on Steve's knees with her elbow and beckoning him towards her with her finger.

He dropped to his knees quickly at her side, his hand caressing her hair softly, "yes love, you okay?"

She smirked at him, and wagged her finger at him, "you are being shnippy Peter Barlow, and you sh-shouldn't be shnippy with them coppers or they'll bang you up" she held her hands up on either side of her face and closed them together, making a 'shhhhhhhoooom' sound, "and then they'll throw away the key!" she tossed an imaginary key over her shoulder with a whistle.

Peter couldn't help but smile at her, "is that right?"

"Mmm Mmm" she nodded, "and I- I for one wouldn't like that,"

"You wouldn't eh?"

"No,"

"Why?"

"Cause I'd miss you,"

"Oh," His smile got larger as he gazed at her glossed over eyes. Worried as he was about her current state, he couldn't help but admit that she was damn near adorable right now. As if reading his thoughts, she giggled once more and sunk her teeth into her lower lip before frowning and beginning to fidget.

"Easy there champ," Steve stated as he attempted to keep her from falling over, but she was already attempting to shrug her jacket off her slender shoulders, "no, no, no I think you should keep that on,"

"But Steeeeeve I'm hoooooooooooot!" she whined and the two men stifled a laugh

"Be that as it may," Steve continued, gently easing on her jacket, "There's a nip in the air Carla and I think you should stay warmer rather than cooler."

She stuck her tongue out at him and pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and furrowing her brows.

Steve looked at Peter and gestured to the factory boss with his thumb, "Is it wrong that I want to give her anything she wants when she does that?"

"That's 'cause you're a pushover." Peter chuckled

"Oh and I suppose that you could just resist this face could you? Eh?" Steve asked defensively, turning Carla's head by the chin towards the bookie as if for emphasis

"Oh I'm even worse mate, I'd buy her a whole wardrobe of shoes,"

"Pretty ones!" Carla piped up, "boots, and pumps, and sht-shtilettos, and-and ooooh and boots!"

"Ahh you already said boots," Steve frowned

"It needed repeating."

"Sorry to interrupt," a voice called from over Peter's shoulder, and they all glanced up to see the older officer standing with the bartender just behind them

"Hiiiiiii!"Carla waved to him, "Ohh Ohhh," she stuck her hand up in the air like an excited child at school.

The officer stifled a laugh, "yes?"

"Do you carry a gun?"

"No ma'am, I carry a taser,"

"Do you really?"

"Yes ma'am."

There was a pause, before "can I see it?"

"No ma'am you cannot."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest "Spoilsport! I can 'andle a taser. I 'ave fired a gun before you know?" She stated knowingly

"Have you?" the officer stifled a laugh

"Yup," Carla leaned her head against the brick wall and closed her eyes, "shot me ex-husband in the shoulder while he tried to burn down my factory with us two inside."

The officers looked at each other and then to the other men in stunned silence, "seriously?" the younger one asked

"Always did fancy himself a romantic… Scottish psycho…" she mumbled

"So what did you find out?" Peter asked the officers, trying his best to get back to the topic at hand

"Well from the statements from both the bartender and the gentleman who was with Mrs Connor when you arrived, it appears that she may have had something slipped in her drink."

"You what?" Peter asked incredulously

"I only served her one drink mate," the bartender stated to the bookie, "she were barely drinking it to. Only taking a couple sips here and there, and she were fine at first, but then I could hear her start slurrin' her words when she was making a phone call on her mobile shortly afterwards. I 'ad my suspicions, but she kept nursin' the drink so I couldn't take it away from her. But then I found those," he pointed to the opened blister pack, now in a plastic bag, in the officer's hand.

"So he gave me the head's up and that's why I was trying to take her to the hospital when you two showed up," Rory piped in, "but she's stubborn like anything! Took me five minutes just to get her outside."

"We're going to have our lab run tests on this to verify what was in this pill pack. But I've already called for an ambulance. It is imperative that you get her to the hospital as soon as possible so they can run tests to find traces of the drug in her system. The quicker they catch it after ingestion the better," the officer said.

"So uhh, you won't be arresting her for drunk and disorderly then?" Steve questioned smugly to the younger officer,

"It would appear not," the man mumbled through gritted teeth, "We have Ms Connor's details, so we'll be in touch." The officers left them with a nod, heading back into their car, but remaining on the scene.

"Right then," Peter linked his arms around Carla's waist and pulled her up to her feet, "Come on love, we're going to wait over here on this bench, and then we're going to go for a little drive."

"Oh God," Carla whispered, her eyes peeking up in horror to Peter's beneath her lashes, "you're not going to drive me out to the middle of nowhere and leave me for dead are you?"

"Wha-" Peter shook his head in confusion "what?"

"You know what I mean Barlow don't play naive with me!" she poked him in the chest before stepping forward and stumbling, "Oh I don't feel so good…"

"I know you don't love, that's why we need to get you to hospital," Peter whispered reassuringly,

"Peter, do-don't be angry with me…" she stuttered shakily

"I'm not angry with you Carla," he answered softly, his arms holding her closer to his body as they slowly made their way to the bench, "this wasn't your fault love,"

Yeah, it were yours, he scolded himself

She turned in his grasp so her face was mere inches from his own, "no, I mean ab-about Leanne-"

"Carla-"

"I wanted to tell- wanted to tell you, believe me–"

"I know, it's okay let's just get you to the hospital okay-"

"bu-but that's the thing int'it?" she swayed in his grasp as a sudden dizziness overtook her senses. The street began to spin around her, faster and faster…

"Carla?"

"You-you wouldn't have believed me any road-" She whispered as the world around her spun once more in double speed before flipping on its side and rushing upwards. The last thing she heard before Peter's arms halted her body from crashing into the pavement below was the loud "fuck" that escaped the bookie's lips…