"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked.

"Even my mum would be a bit put out and I'm a monster."

"I liked him! I thought he was a monster, he said he was a monster and I still liked him!" she cried.

"Nikki, you like people, it's who you are, your cases, the victims, you like them, you get involved and you've never even met most of them, not when they're alive. You just got the chance to like Neil before he died." Harry explained.

"That is supposed to make me feel better?" she asked.

"I don't know, Nikki, it's been a terrible day, what does it matter?" Harry retreated to find his drink. He was tempted to refill it, but he had a feeling that would be a dangerous move.

Silence.

He went and refilled his glass in the kitchen and offered the open bottle to her.

"Why can't I like you?" Nikki asked.

Harry was about to bluster back that of course she liked him, but the look in her eyes made him hesitate. He concentrated on his drink, and tried to determine what she was actually asking. He could find no answer and so began to think about what the difference was between himself and a dead man whom he had never met; who's only known action of today was to shoot his friend in the face, and gain Nikki's compassion.

"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked, a sick feeling replacing the burning sensation of the alcohol in his empty stomach.

She stared at him, interpreting his question.

"No, not like that," she replied.

"He threatened you, scared you, put that gun to your head, shouted at you, imprisoned you," Harry listed, still in his own mind trying to find a comparison, anything that had made her like this.

"Yes,"

"I frightened you, I placed you in danger, I left you," he listed again this time referring to his own actions.

"Yes," she admitted, more calmly than he had seen her all evening. So her next words came as a complete surprise.

"I tried Harry, I tried to help him escape. I even showed him the way out. I told him about the dustbins, Harry I practically held the door open for him. I knew he was a murderer and yet I felt… I felt…"

"Nikki, he was holding you hostage, you did what you did to be rid of him to get yourself free," Harry interjected.

"I did not!" she shouted back. "I lied to him, I provoked him, I mocked him, I disobeyed him, I patronised him and I held onto that gun, looked him in the eye, jabbed it into his heart and promised to fill out his autopsy report for him. He had a million chances to pull that trigger like he had on Scott and I just kept on goading and goading"

"So are you going to shoot me?"

Harry remained quiet. He had taken a step closer but it was clear she would not be calmed with a touch and so he let her rant.

"But he didn't shoot me and he wouldn't leave, he wanted to die. Die for his friends. Die like his friends. Why didn't he shoot me? What a complete waste. What is wrong with me? Why couldn't I save him? You get to be Mr Wonderful saviour of many, one hand tied behind your back. Why couldn't I save him? Why didn't he leave? Why didn't he just go when he had the chance? Why did I have to feel… never mind," she shook her head and turned away from Harry again.

"What did you feel? Pity, disappointment, solidarity?"

"If only," she mumbled hardly loud enough for Harry to hear. "I didn't think Stockholm syndrome was supposed to kick in after half an hour."

"Shit!" exclaimed Harry, backing away from her himself now. The pieces of the terrible puzzle beginning to take shape. She kept using the word like, but it was another four letter L-word he suspected she meant and it wasn't love either, it was lust.

"Nikki," his voice quavered. "You were fighting for your life; people are capable of thinking, feeling doing all sorts of things…"

"But I'm not people am I Harry? I'm just plain old Dr Alexander, lonely spinster pathologist with a death wish and an appalling taste in men."

"Don't say it," Harry retaliated. "Don't," his earlier calmness, burned away by the onslaught of anger and hatred and fire spewing up in the room. 'Why can't I like you?' That's what she had said earlier wasn't it. That's what this was about.

It always came back to the two of them. He hadn't been afraid when he stood under that bomb, watching the light change from green to red but he did have regrets and they were all about her: things he would have changed, things he should have done, said. And her? She had terrified herself, flirting with and being attracted to a murderer. Shit!

Where did that leave him? Her friend and usual protector was he just an emergency spare tyre; always right behind her, there in a crisis but the rest of the time so familiar as to be wholly ignored.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked plaintively.

But Harry couldn't answer, because right now the answer wasn't: 'nothing I think you're perfect.' There was a long list, a very long list and he knew she didn't want to hear any of them. Nothing about how infuriating she was when she was like this, or the way she used her sexuality to control the men in her life. Or that she was a coward.

"It's tempting to confuse need with love."

"Don't do this Nikki, don't go there," he implored.

For a second all was calm, and he thought he had got through to her. But it was merely the unnatural calm in the eye of the storm. She raised her eyes to his and asked.

"Why can't I like you, like that?"

They faced each other across the room, there was no stopping it now; nature had to take its course, it was inevitable.

"It's all damage congenital or trauma."

He could feel the change, feel every muscle in his body go taught, feel his hands claw into fists at his sides and his words form venomous and cutting.

"I can't help it if you get turned on by some gun toting maniac Nikki. You always did have a thing for abusive men; or powerful men. It must make you feel so much better, when you realise you have them in the palm of your hand. But it's not for long is it Nikki, because it all goes wrong, it always goes wrong because ultimately you always pick the bastards don't you? And when you realise you don't actually control them that's when you move on, or they dump you. But by then you always have someone else to blame. It's never your fault is it? Because they were bastards when you started. Am I right? Am I? Is that why you wanted to know what Scott was like? In case he was any better than this other one, this Neil," he paused for breath but not for long.

"I'm sorry I don't live up to your expectations. Maybe I'm just a little too boring for your tastes; accidentally finding yourself in the middle of a massacre with me, not dangerous enough for you? Perhaps you would prefer it if I knocked you about a bit, or started locking you in the mortuary drawers. I can't believe you. You selfish bitch! We both could have died today, and this is all that you can think about? Well maybe Neil should have pulled that trigger when he got the chance, and that bomb had gone off and then we could have both died in peace without this shit storm!" He staggered a few steps back to lean against the wall. He daren't look up. But he could hear her breathing raggedly; the slight hint of an asthmatic wheeze under the dry sobs. He turned his body to the wall resting his forehead on the cool paintwork. It was not the time for this. They were too tired. There would be regrets. They'd seen too much today.

Slowly he turned around, retrieved his empty glass and put it back in the kitchen and walked over to where she still stood shaking.

"Just tell me what to do."

"I'm going to go now," he said forcing an evenness and calmness to his speech, that in reality were far from him. He'd only walked a couple of steps towards the door when the bangs came.

"Pop. Pop. Pop."

Whether a car back firing, fireworks being let off or just the upstairs neighbour dropping something on the floor, who knew?

"Pop. Pop. Pop."

But the sound was there; just as it had been earlier in the day and before he even realised, Harry had turned, grabbed her in his arms and pulled them both to the floor for safety, his arms protectively around her back, her face cradled into his chest.

They stayed huddled together, long after that noise had stopped but it was a long time before Harry realised he was the source of the sound of the sobs.

Go on, you can say it 'eek.'