A/N: Here's the final chapter, hoped you've enjoyed this little story. Apologies for the abrupt end by the way- I have a case-based sequel planned which is set just after this story finishes.

Friday

Ten p.m

It was a long time since she had stayed at work this late. One thing she was thankful to the boys for was making her less of a workaholic: she'd often been known to stay at the office until past midnight when she was a DC, reading through case files again and again in the futile hope that she would recognise something they'd missed as a team, perhaps a phrase that merely implied something, two events that at first glance weren't connected but were upon reading between the lines, anything that would make her stand out for promotion in the patriarchal environment of the Met in the eighties.

Yet that had been thirty years ago, and she really was getting too old to be sat on the floor in an office that didn't even belong to her, surrounded by a sea of paperwork and files. Surely Strickland would be back by now? He should be here sorting all this out, it was his job wasn't it? She should be in the pub getting drunk after a bloody long week. Christ, she would kill for a glass of white wine right now. Her back was aching in protest from sitting on the floor for the past two hours and the office was getting stuffy despite its size. But the best thing was that she hadn't even finished sorting out the paperwork that she was meant to do, never mind actually start it.

She sighed, tilting her head back to the ceiling in prayer that some kind of miracle would happen and water would pour from the ceiling, destroying the thousands of sheets of paper that were the utter bane of her life at the moment. When this didn't work, albeit expectedly, she lied down on her side, drawing her legs up to her chest in a foetal position. She snorted ironically. Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman, known throughout the Met for being able to take down even the hardiest of criminals with a mere look, defeated by a few sheets of paper.

"I thought I might find you here," a gently amused voice came from the doorway, making her tense instinctively. She sat up, frantically combing her hair that was slightly ruffled on one side where it had been in contact with the cold floor, mentally cursing the day she was born as she hesitantly turned her head around to see the smirking DAC stood behind her, barely able to maintain a straight face as he watched her get to her feet, almost slipping on a loose sheet of A4 as she did so.

"You look like you could do with this," he said, walking towards to her with a bottle of white wine and two wine flutes in his hands.

"How did you know?"

"That you'd be here?" he clarified. "I'm here myself on the Friday night of audit week, every year. Each time I think that I'll manage to get it finished beforehand but it never pans out how I'd hoped."

"I hate to say this but I really underestimated just how difficult this would be. It just makes me angry how I could have got all this finished if only everyone else had got their act together."

"Welcome to my life," he said darkly as he poured the wine into the glasses on his desk. "Constant pressure from upstairs and constant mess from downstairs. Anyway, cheers."

She smiled softly as he handed her the much-needed drink. She moved to perch on the side of the desk and downed the drink in one go, putting the empty glass on the surface beside her. He looked on, half unnerved and half impressed.

"Refill?"

She chuckled. "Please. That's good stuff, I hope it wasn't too expensive?"

"It was a little pricey, but you deserve it after the week you've had."

"Thank you, I really appreciate it, honestly. Next year, I'm going to make sure the boys and I get our audit done as fast as possible. I never realised how much our pratting around impacts on you, I'm sorry. I really did underestimate just how difficult your job is." She looked him in the eyes, blue on blue, before he looked away almost instantly.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I'd rather you took your time and did a thorough job than did it quickly with errors. And it's not that bad, generally. Admittedly this week is an absolute nightmare but it's all part of the job."

"Don't you get bored?" she asked frankly. "All this…" she gestured to the paper enclosing the desk like it was a small island in a sea of white water.

"Of course, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. But what you do, it's not for me. I'm better at this kind of thing, the administration and bureaucracy."

"Why do you think that?"

"I know it. I'm just not cut out for the front line. Maybe I was when I was younger, but not now."

"I think that you're lying to yourself. I think that your ex wanted you to climb up the greasy pole for money and status but now that you're divorced you're stuck here and you're too scared to get out, back on the streets where you want to be."

A uncomfortable silence fell as he lifted his eyes to her, holding her gaze for the first time that night.

"Sorry, sir, that was…uncalled for. And too personal. I should get on with this." She moved off the desk quickly, relieved to put her back towards him and break the eye contact that had developed between them as she kneeled on the floor, picking up random papers in an effort to pretend she was doing something.

"No." He finally replied. "You're right."

Slowly, she turned to face him, looking up at him from her position on the floor. He stood up equally as slowly, moving to kneel beside her and joining her in gathering up the papers, although he was actually putting them in order.

"I do want to be back on the streets, like you said. But sometimes I even doubt that. It's pathetic, but she had such a strong hold over me that she still controls me, even now, years later."

"Do you still love her?"

"No," he said certainly. "But I love my kids, and she's the only way to get to them. I guess I think that if I carry on living my life the way she wanted me to, then maybe she'll let me see them more often."

"Has it worked?"

"No."

"Then maybe it's time to do what you want. You never know, if she sees once and for all that you've moved on, maybe that will persuade her to let you see them more often. When was the last time you saw them?"

"Last Christmas, just for half an hour."

"Well there's your answer. I don't know much about your situation, but I can see that you're not happy, and I know that you can't go on sacrificing your own happiness forever. It's not fair on you."

"You're probably right," he admitted, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm quite perceptive about other people's relationships, but unfortunately not about my own," she smiled softly, reaching for her wine glass and taking a long sip as he gathered the last of the papers.

"Aren't we all? Listen, you should go home, I'll get all this sorted out and submit it in the morning."

"No, honestly, I should do it. It's my job."

"It would have been my job if that volcano hadn't erupted and decided to spread its ash all over Europe. I insist."

"Alright. I must admit, I'm worn out. Call me if you need any help though, there is quite a lot that needs doing," she smiled, taking his proffered hand as she got up from the floor, her knees aching.

"Okay. Thank you for covering this week, Sandra, I really appreciate it. If there's ever anything I can do, just ask. I owe you."

She nodded. "Just think about what I said."