Once again, thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews - we really love reading them! This is the second-to-last chapter of this story, and we'd like to thank you all for sticking with us so far :)

Bodiam Castle, which we've used in this chapter, is of course a real place, and if you've never been, it's really beautiful and well worth a visit. Enjoy the chapter :)

Shaz turned off the kitchen taps, stood the mugs upside down on the draining board and dried her hands on a tea-towel, making sure the lights were switched off before she left the room. The Guv, DI Drake and Ray were nowhere to be seen, and as she crossed the room to pick up her coat from her desk, she spotted something lying on top of a heap of files she'd been cross-referencing. It was a post-it note, with a message scrawled across it, unsigned but written in a hand she recognised instantly as the Guv's.

Shaz – give this number a call. Might be able to give you and Chris a hand.

That was it, apart from the phone number scribbled at the bottom. Shaz frowned and tucked it into her coat pocket. She couldn't imagine why the Guv would leave her a number to ring, or why he'd write it on a post-it note rather than just telling her himself. Or, for that matter, what it was that he thought she and Chris needed help with. Oh well, she thought, it was hardly going to be anything mysterious. If she had a minute, she'd call the number that evening and find out what it was about. It couldn't be important, or the Guv would have told her about it earlier. Pausing only to switch off the lights on her way out, Shaz left the station and headed down the steps.

Chris was waiting for her on the corner. Although every day she told him she was fine walking home by herself, every day he insisted on coming to meet her. She knew he worried about what had happened before and, if she were honest with herself, walking home after dark still gave her the creeps. It was understandable, she supposed. Anyway, she didn't really mind him being overprotective as long as he did a better job of avoiding flying bullets in the future.

When she reached him he smiled and slipped an arm around her waist. "Anything interesting going on?" he asked wistfully, glancing over her shoulder at the station.

"Not much." She kissed him on the cheek. "Miss you, though."

He smiled at that. "I'll be back before you know it. They can't keep me away much longer or I'll go mad with boredom."

"We could do something this evening if you want?" she offered, taking his hand as they started to walk up the street. "I mean, only if you feel up to it. Pictures? Dinner?"

He grinned. "Sounds just the ticket."

It was exactly a week since the whole shooting fiasco, and although Chris was long since out of hospital, he hadn't been allowed to return to work yet. Shaz was glad of it, recent events having woken her up rather sharply to how dangerous the job was, but the inactivity was driving Chris round the bend. She knew that someday soon, much as he was going to have to start letting her walk round the corner by herself, she was going to have to accept that he was going to go back to work, back to risking his life and dodging bullets on a daily basis. She couldn't really complain; after all, she was there herself. But nevertheless, on some level she dreaded the day the doctors gave him the all clear. They'd been so lucky, all of them, and the idea that they might not be so lucky a second time terrified her.

"Tell you what," Chris said suddenly, breaking through her reverie, "how about I make you dinner first, and then we can go to the pictures?"

Shaz raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, but contracting food poisoning isn't high on my agenda tonight."

"Oi!" He looked slightly affronted. "It's all right, I'll find a recipe. And you can supervise."

She smiled. "All right then, you can cook. But I'll have the Chinese down the road on standby. Not to mention the fire extinguisher." They walked along the road in silence for a couple of minutes, and then she remembered something. "Can I borrow your phone when we get to yours? There's someone I want to ring."

"Course you can." He looked at her quizzically. "Who're you phoning?"

"Oh..." She fingered the note in her pocket, not sure why she wasn't telling him about it. "Just someone. It's probably nothing." But she couldn't help the mixture of excitement and intrigue that she felt at that moment. She couldn't help thinking that the Guv wouldn't have left her such a cryptic note if it hadn't been important. Why hadn't he just told her in person? She'd been around all day; it wouldn't have been difficult to have a word in private.

Chris frowned, but said nothing. Shaz linked her arm through his and grinned. "C'mon, I want you in that kitchen as soon as we get home, I'm starving."

Twenty minutes later, the phone back in its cradle, Shaz sat and stared at it, hardly able to comprehend what she'd just heard. Surely, it was impossible. She'd never in her wildest dreams thought that this could happen. The fact that she had the Guv to thank for this made the whole thing even more unbelievable.

Returning to the kitchen, she found Chris doing battle with a saucepan full of bubbling pasta sauce, his expression one of painful concentration. Wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and grinned.

"Guess what?"

It was early evening when they arrived, leaving the car behind them and walking along the gravel path beside the water in the gathering dusk. The sun was sinking in the sky, and their shadows lengthened before them, rippling over the ground. As they rounded the corner, stepping out from the cover of the trees, Shaz gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in surprise. Even Chris stopped in his tracks, stunned.

"Bloody hell," he said weakly.

"Oh, Chris..." Shaz reached out for his hand, her voice hushed. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah..." He swallowed. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

Chris had been, if possible, even more shocked than Shaz to find out what the Guv had done for them. It was so out of character that even now, when it was laid out in front of his eyes, he could hardly believe it. Like some kind of fairy godmother in crocodile skin, the Guv had waved a magic wand and found them the perfect place to get married. Trust him not to want to tell them himself. But the voice on the other end of the phone had explained it all perfectly. He'd owed the Guv a favour, he had an empty slot in a few weeks' time, and he'd be only too happy to help them. So it had all been arranged.

And here they were now, paying a visit to the place where, in just a few short weeks, they'd be getting married. Chris stared in complete awe at the wide moat, gleaming stones and sweeping turrets of Bodiam Castle and was lost for words. Shaz was right. It was beautiful. It was so much more than either of them had ever dreamed of, so much more than he'd really believed existed, so much more than he could ever have given Shaz himself.

"Fancy a closer look?" He gestured to the drawbridge and Shaz nodded, her face lit up with a combination of delight and wonderment.

"Oh, wow..." she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as they stepped onto the bridge and made their way across the moat, which sparkled like a sea of sapphires in the last vestiges of the afternoon sun. Passing beneath the portcullis, they found themselves in a grassed courtyard, the deep orange sun glowing through the holes in the crumbling walls which sprawled across the grass and rose above them, stretching up into the sky. "This is going to be perfect."

"I know." Chris looked around them, taking in the curious beauty of what was, essentially, a crumbling ruin. Somehow, there was something about this place which made it special, made it so much more than a dilapidated castle. "I know I said we should have something simple, but..." He laughed. "I reckon this'll do."

Shaz nodded and rested her hand on the stone wall, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she gazed up at the turrets, her expression wondering, almost awestruck. "It's so lovely."

Chris smiled. There was something inexplicably romantic about this place, the ruined castle, the glittering moat, the way the last rays of the sun bathed the honey-coloured stone and made it glow as if from within. A flock of starlings flew overheard and came to rest on the topmost turrets, coming home. It was a place of such natural beauty, such complete and overwhelming simplicity, despite its once imposing battlements, that Chris felt a lump come to his throat. In that moment he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this was perfect.

He could picture it all so clearly: the chairs set out right here, where they were standing, so that they could get married in the open air; the flowers which would be strewn on the grass and wreathing the chairs and woven into Shaz's hair; the fairy lights which would twinkle from the turrets in the evening when the chairs were cleared away and they danced beneath the starry sky.

He wondered if Shaz was imagining the same things; her eyes still held their look of wonder as she gazed around her, and she seemed to be seeing more than what was there. Hesitantly, he held out a hand to her and she took it in silence, as if she were barely aware that he was there. A moment later he noticed, caught in the light of the dying sun, a single tear quivering on her cheek. He looked at her, a silent question, but she simply shook her head and moved closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair.

"Are you happy?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, her eyes huge and bright with unshed tears. "Yes," she whispered. "So happy, Chris, it's...it's more than I ever..."

"Me too." He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. "It's a bit upmarket from what we had before, isn't it?"

She laughed, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. "It is a bit. It's right though, isn't it? I don't know why, but...you can feel it as well, can't you? It's just...right."

"It's more than right. It's perfect." Suddenly he was filled with the urge to tell her that it wasn't just this place that was perfect; that she was perfect, that she was anything and everything he'd ever need, that she was the reason he lived and laughed and breathed. But as usual, he didn't have the words, and besides, he wasn't sure she really needed to hear them. So he just squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Nothing. Everything."

She smiled. And as the shadows lengthened and the birds circled and the trees became silhouetted against the sky, Chris and Shaz stood hand in hand and watched the sinking sun set the moat on fire.

It had been a long, intense week. They had worked all day and late into the evenings, interviewing, gathering evidence, making sure the case was watertight. No one wanted Shaz's attacker to walk free and so no box remained unticked, no victim overlooked, no protocol ignored. They reinterviewed each of his earlier victims, an arduous, harrowing process which fell mainly to Alex, and she returned home every night physically and emotionally drained, crawling into bed and falling asleep within seconds.

They had barely seen each other outside of work. They had agreed to put their relationship on hold until the case was over, and now it was finished, wrapped up and handed over, and just for tonight, the world could wait.

She thought as he let himself in, kicking the door shut behind him and setting the takeaway containers on the table, how tired he looked. His tie hung loose, his shirt half-untucked and his hair tousled from running his hands through it, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to feel him against her, warmth to warmth, skin to skin.

She got up from the sofa and moved towards him, slipped her arms around his neck and took him by surprise with a kiss on his cheek. He smelled wonderful – cigarettes and whisky and musk and Gene – and she closed her eyes, rested her head in the cradle of his shoulder.

"All right, Bolly?" His voice was gruff, and it rumbled in his chest.

"Just missed you this week."

His arms came around her. "You've seen me every day, you dozy mare."

"Hmm." She sighed contentedly, wriggling further against him. She always felt so safe, when they were together. Like nothing could ever hurt her, just because he was there. Her very own protector. "Not properly though. It hasn't been just us since..." she trailed off. Why on earth did she feel so shy all of a sudden?

"Since I shagged you rotten, you mean?" he finished for her, and as she looked up at him, she caught the hint of a smug smile playing around his mouth.

She raised an eyebrow. "Ever the romantic." She let him go and stepped back to watch while he plated up their meals, chicken for her and pork for him. He turned round, shrugged at her.

"Where d'you want to eat? Here?" He nodded at the table.

"Let's have it on our laps." She picked up her plate and cocked her head, signalling for him to follow. "I'm too tired to bother laying the table now."

They ate in a companionable silence, her legs in his lap and his plate resting on her shins, and as they watched TV she kept sneaking glances at him, thrilling at the familiarity, at the intimacy of the scene. There was nothing erotic about it, nothing sexual, yet all the same she felt alive, because his very presence, dishevelled and exhausted as he was, was enough to set her on fire.

"It's a shame about Chris and Shaz having to cancel the wedding," she said eventually, as his hands slid down to rub her feet. "I don't suppose they'll be able to book another place at such short notice. Just think, all that time they spent planning it, and it was ruined by a schizophrenic with a tendency for the odd bout of megalomania."

He looked at her askance. "You do talk bollocks sometimes."

"You love it really." She leaned her head back against the arm of the sofa. "What do you think they'll do?"

"Who?" His eyes were on the television, where some old Western was being repeated on the BBC.

"Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee," she said sarcastically and he scowled at her. "Chris and Shaz, of course. I mean, think of the money they must have lost..."

There was a weighted silence, and she could tell he was fighting some kind of internal battle. Finally he looked at her, but it was a shy look, as though he was afraid she might mock, tease, laugh at him. When he spoke, his voice was carefully nonchalant. "Might've helped 'em out a bit."

She scrabbled to sit up. "What do you mean?"

He sniffed. "I've got a friend who works for the National Trust. He owes me one. Said he might let them use that castle down in Kent."

There was a pause where she stared at him, astonished. "Gene, do you mean Bodiam Castle?" He just looked at her from the corner of his eye, embarrassed, afraid to see her expression. "Bloody hell." She was stunned. "That's incredible! Oh Gene, they're going to be thrilled!" She was startled to find tears clouding her vision and she got up, moved over to drop herself into his lap. He met her gaze, eyes wide and surprised, and she cupped his face in her hands, thumbs sliding up to stroke his cheeks. "You wonderful, wonderful man."

He glanced away, self-conscious. "Steady on, Bolls, I haven't built the bloody place."

She forced him to look at her again, looked into those bright blue eyes and saw the insecurity, the discomfort and the embarrassment, and then slowly, torturously, she lowered her mouth to his. Her kiss was deliberately lingering, an unhurried dance of lips and tongues, wet and deep and full of meaning. In that moment, sitting in his lap with his hands on her back, self-conscious and shy before her, she thought she might burst with love for him.

Love.

Did she love him?

She broke the kiss and pulled back, smiling as he swept her tears away with the pads of his fingers. He was unendingly complex, completely infuriating, sexy as hell and full of surprises, and she knew then, body pressed close to his and his heart beating against her, that she was right. She did love him. She loved him fiercely and passionately and often with anger, but she loved him all the same.

She ran her hands slowly up his chest to rub his shoulders.

"That's a wonderful thing you've done," she said softly, tilting his head back when he tried to drop his gaze. "Look at me, Gene. You don't give yourself enough credit. They're going to have a fairytale wedding, thanks to you. You've made their dreams come true and they will never, ever forget that."

"They made mine come true too, in a way." He dropped his head to rest against her shoulder, trailing a slow line of kisses across her collarbone. "Had to pay them back somehow, didn't I?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." he darted a quick, nervous glance up at her before resuming his task. His kisses dipped lower, lips resting briefly over her heart. "If they hadn't been getting married and being all lovey-dovey that night in Luigi's, you'd never have taken advantage of me."

She pushed lightly at his shoulder. "I think you'll find it was you who took advantage of me."

He grinned up at her and she threaded her fingers lightly through his hair. "I was just having a fag. You came out and pounced on me, you wicked woman."

She didn't answer straight away and his kisses started again in a feeble attempt to distract her. Her heart was racing, half in anticipation and half in shock at his shy confession, and she chose her words carefully, aware that he had bared his soul, left himself wide open to her. She desperately didn't want him to regret it.

"Us sleeping together...that was your dream come true?"

He hesitated and then looked up at her, vulnerable suddenly, a little boy who craved her approval. Her heart swelled. "Too bloody right. Been waiting to get my hands on this arse of yours since you arrived." His hands slipped under her to squeeze her bottom. "That wasn't the whole dream though. Wanted to hold you, watch you sleep, know you'd be there when I woke up." He turned his head away and his fingers flexed against her. "Bloody nancy dream."

There were tears in Alex's eyes again, tears that made the whole world shine brighter, shimmer ephemerally under her gaze. She was speechless, overcome and overwhelmed, and she didn't have the words to express what it meant to her, hearing him say those things, how it made her feel. Instead she stroked her hand along his jaw and stared deep into his eyes, communicating a thousand things with that one look that she would never be able to put into words. Then she kissed him, achingly tender, heart-breakingly soft, and she knew wholly, unquestionably that he understood.

She broke off and rose up, trembling as she stood before him. She unbuttoned her blouse, let it slip like water down her arms, watched the awe unfold in his eyes and felt herself ignite. She moved to her jeans and peeled them off her legs until she stood there, clad only in her underwear, exposed, vulnerable, his for the taking. Then she held out her hand, felt him take it, his skin warm and dry against hers.

"You're beautiful, Alex," he murmured against her hair, fingers dancing like butterflies over her body, and she sighed, a chord of contentment and peace and home.

"Why did we wait so long?" she asked softly as he walked her backwards into the bedroom, feet keeping time as though this was some intricate, eloquent dance, and he kissed her neck, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"You're worth the wait."

There were no more words after that, only whispers and cries and soft sighs of contentment, and they made love in her bed with the moonlight pooling on the deep red sheets. When they were finally sated, they curled around each other like hedgehogs snuggling down for the winter, arms and legs entwined and her head tucked neatly under his, and then they slept, the deep, restful sleep of the truly happy.

Outside the window, the world kept turning, as people across the globe woke up to a new day and time continued its steady beat, but for now, the universe let them have this moment, these quiet hours of blissful serenity, before the sun rose once more and life moved relentlessly on.