Laura must have fallen asleep at some point because she awoke just before her usual work alarm. For a split second, all was well; she was warm and her thoughts were vacant. But then it all came clattering back. Robbie. She lifted her head and immediately regretted it. The excess of brandy and vehemence of her tears last night had left their mark, causing a shard of pain to grip her neck. Her tongue felt swollen and parched, pushed hard against the roof of her dry mouth, making her jaw ache. Her head pounded. Her face felt bruised from lack of sleep. Robbie.

She checked her mobile. No messages. No news.

She stumbled her way into the bathroom and then downstairs to the kitchen, groping for the coffee. Frantically, she bit back the all-too-ready tears as she registered the silence in the house. Normally, he would be clattering around somewhere, cursing the stain on a tie or an errant pair of old socks. Normally, the radio would be on and he'd be arguing with some talk show guest or singing along with some crooner. Normally, she would be making coffee for two. Normally, just about now, he would be coming to find her, freshly dressed, smelling clean and ready for a day's work, and kissing her goodbye…

Today he was everywhere but nowhere. And Laura felt his absence as though it were a physical pain.

Clutching her coffee, she decided the best tactic would be to keep busy. Quickly, she checked her work emails, updating her out of office, forwarding certain tasks to her colleagues and sending some holding responses. Her colleagues sent an instant barrage of replies, instructing her to step away from the computer and to leave her work to the rest of the team. She was touched, but also slightly panicked: without Robbie and work, she was totally adrift.

She plodded dazedly upstairs, stooping to make up Robbie's side of the bed, where she had slept last night. She lingered over the task, inhaling the smell of him that still emanated from the covers. She straightened his bedside table, touching the photo of them both that he kept there. It had been taken at a recent party: his arm was round her, his hand splayed possessively across her waist. She was laughing into the camera and Robbie was looking at her, smiling widely. She quelled the melodramatic murmur in her mind: will he ever look at me like that again?

She took a deep, unsteady breath.

Think positively. How many times had she given this advice to others? How easy it had been to say. How difficult it seemed to put into practice now as she stared vacantly out of the window down onto their back garden. Berating herself, she began to gather things that Robbie might – no, would - need if – no, when – he woke up. Locating a toiletry bag that she'd bought him when they finally made it to Glyndebourne last summer, she filled it with his razor, toothbrush, soap and her favourite of his aftershaves. Before packing the latter, she allowed herself a deep intake of its smell, closing her eyes and imagining Robbie's arms around her.

Get a grip, Hobson. He's not dead yet.

With a grimace, she remembered how they had argued the night before last. And over what. What a difference a day makes. It was one of Robbie's standard utterances when a case took a sudden turn – for better or worse. As she stood there, alone, her life turned cataclysmically upside down by the absence of someone else, never before had it had such resonance.

She needed to get to the hospital.

The hours spent by Robbie's bedside merged slowly together, punctuated by visits from Hathaway, Maddox and Innocent. Hathaway brought Laura coffee and then loitered in the shadows at the foot of Robbie's bed. Of everyone, he seemed to find it most difficult to talk to a man in an induced coma, preferring instead to talk to Laura in a loud voice about him, in the hope that he could hear. Clearly – painfully clearly – Hathaway felt responsible for what had happened. He had been pursuing another lead when Robbie had had the altercation with the suspect at the top of the customarily steep and treacherous stairway of the Oxford college. Now Hathaway's guilt pulsated visibly in his jaw muscles. Repeatedly, he mentioned the suspect and the various stages of bringing him to justice. Of course, an attempt on a police officer had the station brimming with activity as the long arm of the law recoiled masterfully in protection of one of its own. Laura was glad she had been given some days' leave and did not have to endure everyone's well-meaning attentions. She was glad she had some space to be alone with Robbie.

Maddox brought flowers from her garden, some magazines for Laura and the loan of an iPod loaded with various songs she remembered from the evening they'd all spent together:

"I don't know if he can hear anything – in fact it's probably stupid – but I just thought he might like a bit of music instead of all the bleeps…" she gestured towards the machines and smiled self-consciously, suddenly feeling silly in the presence of her comatose boss and his medically trained partner, who no doubt thought she was mad.

However, she needn't have worried: Laura was so touched that her breath caught in her throat. "That's very thoughtful, Lizzie. Thank you."

Maddox looked compassionately at the washed-out, bleary-eyed woman opposite her. "This must be so hard." She said simply.

Grateful for the acknowledgement, Laura attempted a smile and nodded, not trusting her voice to give any further detail. Mercifully, Maddox understood and began instead to chatter to Robbie about all the gossip from the station, regaling him with hilarious and very accurate impressions of Hathaway and Innocent, telling him how much everyone missed him and sent their love. Laura watched Robbie's expressionless face and told herself sternly, in spite of her better medical judgement, to believe that he could hear every word.

Innocent's visit was the hardest. By this point in the day, Laura's guilt over her and Robbie's argument had reached fever pitch. Innocent stalked into the room and dropped a customary quip in Robbie's direction, "The lengths some people go to in order to get a day off work, eh?"

She placed an excessive bouquet of flowers on the table by Robbie's bedside. Then she turned to Laura, betraying the slightest twitch in her face as she noted her disheveled appearance, before enquiring, "How is he doing? What have they said?"

Glad of an excuse to talk 'shop', Laura provided Innocent with a full run down of Robbie's condition and prognosis. The bruising on the brain remained the biggest concern: whilst the swelling was slowly reducing, the doctors were playing it cool. "There are no guarantees at this stage." Laura concluded, her voice quiet but firm.

Innocent took a moment to consider the news, but then turned to Robbie, perching on the side of the bed, "Now, you listen to me, Robert Lewis. This is your senior officer speaking. You bloody hurry up and get better, OK? I won't take no for an answer. And neither will Laura. We all need you far too much for you to be thinking about doing anything else other than emerging from this completely unscathed, do you understand?" Innocent looked up and Laura forced a humoured smile. "He's going to be fine, Laura," Innocent spoke through a tightened jaw, though she tried to hide it, "Don't you dare to think otherwise, OK?"

Laura nodded, slowly. Evidently, they all had their own demons to fight in this. Even Innocent.

Later that night, as the ward quietened and the darkness thickened outside, Laura sat by Robbie's bedside to wish him goodnight. She leant over and placed a kiss on his cheek, trying to ignore the longing for him to move in response. "Night, my darling." She swept a few wayward hairs back under the bandage that surrounded his head and adjusted the blanket around him, before dropping her voice to a whisper: "Come back to me, Robbie. Soon. Please... If you do, I promise that…"

She was interrupted by what she thought was a nurse coming to check Robbie's medications. She turned and immediately rose from her seat.

"Lyn…"

"Laura… hi…"