Sorry – I have had to split the next chapter into two bits as it was a bit mammoth and there was a natural break in it.

Chapter Twelve

Lewis could see nothing but the tarmac, his ears filled with the panicking screams of children and the thunderous footsteps of the armed response unit. He tried to get up, hoping to see the familiar loping stride of Sergeant Hathaway but he was forced back down to the ground with an overenthusiastic shove and a muttered apology.

He just about heard the splintering sound of wood as the front door was broken down over the awkward reassurances one of the policemen was muttering to the children, he clearly had no idea what to say to the fraught girls, but Lewis was too consumed with anxiety to think of anything more appropriate to say to them. Every second he waited felt like an hour until he heard the call that turned the blood in his veins to ice water.

"Man down! We need an ambulance here!"

He couldn't wait in silence any longer, forcing his head up to meet the eye of his guard he snarled,

"Who is it? Who's down?"

Before the young man could answer, a shout went around the Armed Response team, declaring the area secure and finally Lewis was allowed up from the ground. Rising with a groan, he jogged over to what remained of the front door, only to find his way blocked by the large frame of the Yorkshireman he had spoken to earlier.

"You don't want to go in there, sir," he advised, "Bit of a mess. Bloke shot himself."

Lewis wanted to be relieved, to believe that meant that Hathaway was safe, but listening to the rise and fall of conversation within the building he was unable to hear his sergeant's familiar deep tones.

"Where's that ambulance?" the commander bellowed.

And then Lewis knew.

The strength went out of him for a moment and he leaned against the wall, horrified eyes staring at the man next to him.

"Oh, God," he whispered, suddenly certain he was right, "Oh God. He shot Hathaway first."

The police commander could do nothing but nod.

Lewis tried once again to enter the building.

"Sir, the medic's with him, and there's not a lot of room in there," the whining of an ambulance siren interrupted him for a moment.

"Is he alright?" Lewis demanded, realising as he said it that it was a stupid question to ask, ,"Is he conscious?"

The commander led him out of the way of the door, allowing the paramedics in their emerald uniforms to rush into the building and forced him to take a seat on a low garden wall.

"He was shot in the top of the chest, below his left shoulder, he's unconscious and he's lost a fair bit of blood. Sir, I'm so sorry. It's not looking good."

Lewis could do nothing but stare wordlessly at his feet, numb with shock. When the paramedics raced Hathaway past on a gurney he could nothing but follow wordlessly, almost unable to see his too still and too pale friend amongst a forest of IV lines and medication.

Four hours later he was still waiting, only now in the relative discomfort of a hospital waiting room, Hathaway had been rushed to surgery and Lewis had heard nothing further. The doctors had hurriedly explained something about collapsed lungs, torn muscles and something more complicated involving removing parts of his lung that sounded both horrific and dangerous in equal measure.

At some point Innocent had trailed in and sat in silence next to him and about an hour later Hobson blew into the room, her face concerned.

"There's so kind of wild rumour going round that a policeman's been sh..." he face had filled with realisation as she'd taken in their expressions, "Oh Christ, its Hathaway isn't it?" she had dropped into a chair at the other side and not moved since.

Lewis couldn't help but think how touched Hathaway would be to find them all sat waiting for news of him. He'd often wondered what it was in the young man's past that made him appear surprised that people cared about him; when Lewis had pulled him out of Zoe Kenneth's flat he had been genuinely surprised that people had visited him. Someone, somewhere down the line had something to answer for if they had made the brilliant young man feel as though he wasn't worthy of friendship.

He couldn't have said how much later it was that the surgeon appeared in the waiting room, tired and haggard. Laura looked up first, this was her environment, her colleagues, she understood the complex terms and the odds they were so fond of quoting.

"How is he?" she demanded immediately.

"Well have to wait and see," the doctor was solemn, "We've removed the bullet, and put in a drain to re-inflate his lung. Our biggest worry is blood loss, the bullet nicked the subclavian vein and he lost a lot of blood before we were able to repair it."

"Will he be alright?" Lewis' voice was strained and tired, he didn't look up almost as though he was afraid of the news the doctor was going to impart.

"We're keeping him sedated for the time being, when he wakes up we'll be able to better assess what effect, if any, the blood loss has had."

Lewis dropped his face into his hands.