The fifth beer he realised was probably the one he should have stopped at. He had never been very good with alcohol and the heat meant that his tolerance level was lower than usual. After the sixth he realised that he would need to leave the sanctity of the table in order to go to the bathroom. He glanced over at Camille, God, she was beautiful, but she also, thankfully, wasn't looking in his direction so he made a break for it and slid away. He was swaying slightly on the way back to his chair when he felt the familiar touch of her skin on his as she put a hand on his arm.

"Don't you think you've had enough, Sir?" Camille's voice was glacial, the last word veering dangerously close to insubordination as they were still in earshot of the rest of the team. In his addled state he wondered what reason she could possibly have for being cold towards him, and answered her in the same tone – well two can play at that game - he thought.

"Yes probably," was his terse reply. "Although don't you think that should be my decision?"

She was already steering him out of the bar, indicating excuses to the others, insinuating that he had had one too many and that she was going to have to take him home. Before he knew it they were out and on to the street; the team thankfully hadn't given them a second look assuming and being rightly vindicated that they were either having another fight or about to.

"If I'd left it to your decision, you would still be downing beer like it was water. You would have woken up tomorrow with a much deserved hangover and you would have blamed me for not stopping you. So with you, as always, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"What is that supposed to mean and what about my bloody jacket?" He was reverting to type, bickering and changing the subject in order to try and manipulate the conversation away from the inevitable. He was also lamenting the fact that half of his suit was hanging on the back of his chair in Catherine's bar. He only hoped that she would put it aside for him. Although knowing Catherine, she would probably give it to a charity shop in an effort to try to get him to loosen up a little more.

"Nothing." She hadn't fallen for it. She took a deep breath and took the bull by the horns..." I thought we decided earlier that we needed to talk," Camille continued, weaving him in and out of other, more stereotypical couples on the street.

He tried to be nonchalant and failed miserably, "Oh did we? I'd forgotten." Playing it cool was not his thing.

Her jaw tightened at this and she narrowed her eyes, swallowing her anger and quickening their pace. "You know we did. Is this why you have been ignoring me all evening?"

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"Really? You haven't been able to look me in the eye since we met up with the others. You know damn well that we need to talk, and you still came out with the boys for a drink. Why?

"Because we're a team. Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you", she was hissing her answers at him now.

He was drunk and although he wasn't at the stage where he was slurring his words just yet the alcohol had given him the confidence to be frank with her.

"You are angry with me. You're always bloody angry with me. I never know what I do wrong, but it's always something to annoy you. You make me feel so..." He trailed off.

"So what?" She spat out the words then paused, knowing that he wasn't going to finish his sentence but giving him time to do it anyway before continuing their walk in silence. After a while she said "I'm not angry with you."

Her voice was softer now. She had managed to steer him away from the main strip of bars and on to the beach where their pace had slowed.

"I'm just frustrated. I know that you find it difficult to talk about anything remotely personal but even by your standards you must agree that ignoring me all evening is childish?"

"I wasn't ignoring you and I don't see why you think I'm being childish? We spend lots of time alone together in the car or at the station; we could easily have talked about this tomorrow or any other time. All I wanted to do was have a drink and relax a little. We solved a case for Christ's sake!"

It was both a lie and a bad excuse. He knew it and she knew it, but she needed to keep him calm for this, so Camille chose to let him get away with it.

"Fine. But can't you see from my point of view that it looks as if you don't want to acknowledge that this afternoon even happened. Do you know how that makes me feel Richard? It shouldn't be this hard to get someone to talk about their feelings but you've spent the entire night acting like I don't exist."

They had stopped walking now.

"I'm sorry." The apology was sincere in tone but he still hadn't looked at her.

"Why are you ignoring me? What's wrong with me?

"I'm not ignoring you, present tense. I ignored you this evening, past tense, and I've already apologised for that." She huffed and shook her head at that but was slightly relieved that he was a little like his old self, she hadn't much liked the teenage version of Richard she had seen earlier in the evening – not that the usual one was much of an improvement.

"And why would you think that anything was wrong with you?" He was looking directly at her now, frowning. This was not the conversation he had imagined at the bar.

It was her turn to look at the sand. Her voice was quiet.

"Richard, I don't have a good track record with men. Why do you think I went undercover in the first place? There's never been anyone waiting for me at home, never anyone I cared about enough to ensure that I even wanted to come home. And with you...I don't know...I felt, I feel different. You make me feel different. You are so unlike anyone I've ever met. You are pedantic and exacting and smug a lot of the time..."

"Oh great, thank you."

"I said most of the time. But then you decide to let me in and you're sweet and kind and funny and decent. You're the most decent man I've ever met, and something between us changes. Surely you must have felt it? I kept thinking that I was imagining things, but then, well you know...we got together and I just can't believe that you are the type of man to let that happen if it didn't mean anything. Or maybe you are. Maybe you are exactly the same as everyone else.

"What on earth makes you think that?" He had moved closer now, standing in front of her, scarcely allowing himself to believe that she might actually be interested in him.

"Because you don't want to talk. You just want to pretend that it never happened and carry on like before."

"I.." He stopped. It was an irrefutable fact because it was true. He had been happy with how things had been. He hadn't wanted to rock the boat or cause any problems within the team. But now? What was he meant to do now that she had given him hope?

"You can't even answer me Richard. Even after I've told you..." She shook her head sadly and turned to walk home.