Set during S23E61 'Code of Silence'. Dialogue in italics comes from the show.

He could feel Jack burning holes in his back as he sat staring at the CCTV. As soon as rape had been mentioned in connection to Clayton Fortune, he felt the air in the room grow thicker. His chest grew a little tighter, but he kept his focus forward, on that grainy scene from the club. It was fine. He was fine. It was a briefing for a case. He'd sat through dozens of uncomfortable briefings. Child abductions, murders, domestic violence. He'd been briefed on rape cases before. It was fine. It was par for the course. He was a pro. He could detach his feelings from his profession. Just another case.

And then Manson said his name.

Standing with Phil in the underpass was harder than he would admit but if he focused on the facts, he was okay. The facts were solid. Safe. Non-emotional.

'Entered the underpass here…..'

He could hear the thud of his own trainers against the fire escape of the warehouse.

'Attacked him from behind….'

Not like Delaney. He'd attacked from the front.

'Smashed his head against the wall here….'

Against the shovel.

'By the look of all this blood on the wall though looks like he put up a bit of a struggle…'

The sound of his body echoing around the warehouse as he tried to rive himself free of the ropes, slamming against the table in despair.

The blood was making him feel a bit sick. Smeared against the wall like that, a sign of the desperate struggle.

Mickey flashed his torch elsewhere, caught a glint of the dog tags.

"They must have come off in the fight."

He faltered.

Had Clayton fought 'til the end or just until he'd realised it was hopeless?

There was a strength at first, when the weight first pressed against you from behind, when the rage and the fear worked for you, under that misguided illusion that it couldn't possibly happen and you could kick out and move. But then it got heavier, and the pain was excruciating but not as bad as the shame. And it was as if you were numb to everything but the burning fire where he was defiling you, trying to keep silent but you couldn't and then you were limp. Battered between his body and whatever was beneath, breath hot against your face, the stench of sex all around you, dirty, revolting words in your ear letting you know exactly what was going to happen next, choked sobs, whimpers spilling from your own mouth, hands desperately clawing at something, anything that might free you from it all but nothing, nothing and it was a never-ending thrusting until all that vileness was spent –

"Listen mate, are you sure you're alright?"

Mickey didn't blink.

"Yeah you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, why wouldn't I be?"

He felt the unspoken label 'rape victim' hang in the air uncomfortably as he stared Phil down.

"Look Phil I was car jacked once as well, it don't mean I get twitchy every time there's a carjacking"

He let out a breath of frustration and tried to convince himself it was true.

The carjacking hadn't been as soul-destroying.

The rape left more of a mark.