24 June 1991

"You should have come in sooner," the Spanish doctor said, eying him critically. "Especially with a head injury."

"I got punched a few times, that's all," Frank replied. "Didn't seem necessary."

"Yes, well…you've definitely fractured your cheekbone and cracked a couple of your ribs. I want to send you for a head scan, however, just to ensure there is no other damage."

"We're supposed to go home on Monday," Christina piped up from the corner. "Will he be able to fly?"

"Assuming nothing shows up on the scan, yes," the doctor replied. "There is no treatment recommended for your fractures other than painkillers and rest. The first I can prescribe, the second is up to you. Have you reported this incident to the police?"

"No," he replied hurriedly. "There didn't seem much point."

"Maybe we should report it," Christina said when they were eventually alone again. "Someone must have seen or heard something, and we'd be able to identify them again."

"What's the point?"

"The point is you could have been killed!"

"Let's not get overdramatic about it." He shifted in the bed, wincing again at the pain in his ribs, seemingly worse than it had been the previous evening. He had woken during the night, desperate for the toilet, only to find her asleep in bed beside him. Not wanting to wake her, he had managed to hobble there and back, then lain and watched her, filled with a thousand desires and emotions. How easy it would have been just to reach out and touch her…at some point, he must have fallen asleep again only to awaken later to find the bed empty and her cooking breakfast. He had tried to persuade her that he didn't need to go to the hospital, but she had insisted and, one hair-raising car journey later, they had arrived.

"I'm not being overdramatic," she replied. "But these guys need to be found and charged."

"So, what exactly do we know about them, other than one's called Dan, if that's even his real name?"

"Well, the police could ask at the restaurant. Maybe they've got CCTV. Or there's the Pineapple Bar that he kept going on about, so maybe someone there would remember them. Oh, he said he was staying at a hotel near the beach…" she trailed off at the look on his face. "Don't you want them nicked?"

"I want to just forget all about it, to be honest."

"Why, because you're embarrassed?"

"No," he replied, although there was a slight grain of truth in what she said. It didn't exactly do his street cred much good to have to admit he'd made a poor show of defending himself. "Because I can't be bothered with the hassle."

"But…"

"Look, forget it, all right? I'd rather enjoy the last couple of days here as much as I can rather than spend them giving statements and hanging around badly air-conditioned police stations."

She sighed heavily and shook her head, clearly frustrated at his refusal to see sense. "You should at least call Reid."

"What? Why?"

"Well, you're going to have to explain what happened and ask her for time off to recuperate."

"I don't need time off to recuperate."

"Frank…"

"I'm perfectly capable of sitting at my desk, Chris. You should know by now that ninety per cent of my job these days is paperwork related."

"Yeah, but that bruising is only going to get worse before it gets better and…"

"It'll be fine. Besides, what am I going to say to her? I can hardly tell her I got beaten up by a couple of blokes who wanted to have a bit of fun with you now, can I? Especially seeing as you're meant to be in Brighton right now."

"So, tell her you got mugged."

"I'd far rather tell her I got drunk and fell over."

"Because that's a much more plausible story?"

Their conversation was halted by the arrival of a porter to take him for his scan and, twenty minutes later when he returned to the room, he found her sitting cross armed and primed, clearly intending to continue an argument he had no interest in pursuing. "Can we just leave it for now?" he pre-empted her. "I really don't need you nagging me at the moment. My head is killing me."

"It's only because I care."

"I know, but I don't need you to care." A look of hurt flashed across her face and he instantly felt bad. It wasn't that he didn't want her to care, more the fact that he had gotten used to not having anyone to care. Pat didn't really count at the end of the day.

"Fine then," she said, getting to her feet. "If your sole aim this trip is to push me away then you're doing a pretty good job of it." Before he could reply, she flounced out of the room, and he could only hope that she hadn't decided to hightail it from the hospital altogether. He didn't fancy a taxi ride back to the villa, not the way the Spaniards drove.

Another ten minutes passed before the doctor came back to advise him that the scan was negative and that he was free to be discharged. "I've written you a prescription for painkillers and you can get them at any local pharmacy." He ripped off the page and passed it to him. "But I still advise rest."

"I hear you," Frank replied as the door opened again and Christina reappeared carrying two bottles of water. "Doc says I can go."

"Well, that's something," she replied, passing him a bottle. "Did he give you any painkillers?" He waved the prescription at her. "Good. Let's go then."

With seemingly great effort, he managed to rise from the bed and slowly follow her out of the room and down the corridor towards the main entrance. The heat from the sun hit him square in the chest when they emerged outside, and he was grateful for the water she had brought him. "I reckon the nearest pharmacy's around the corner somewhere."

"Fine. Do you want to wait in the car, and I'll go and fill the prescription?"

"No, I'll come with you." He trailed after her as they made their way towards the pharmacy. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"Whatever it is I've said or done that's pissed you off."

She sighed. "That's so typical of men. You apologise without it actually being an apology."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're sorry for whatever it is you've said or done that's pissed me off. That's just code for you not actually being sorry but saying it anyway because you think it's what I want to hear."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"All right…" he took hold of her arm as they reached the pharmacy door. "I'm sorry I said that I didn't need you to care. It's been a long time since I've had anyone care what happens to me, so I suppose I'm not used to it."

"It's part and parcel of loving someone. Don't you care what happens to me?"

"Of course I do."

"Well then. It works both ways." She took the prescription from his hand. "You wait here." Before he could reply, she had pushed open the door and disappeared inside, so he took the opportunity to rest on a nearby bench in the sunshine, waiting for her to return. When she did, he decided to try again.

"I'm sorry I said what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right," she replied. "I probably overreacted anyway."

"So, you're not mad at me then?" he clarified as they started walking back towards the car.

"No Frank, I'm not mad, just…confused, I suppose."

"Confused about what?"

She shook her head. "Everything."

XXXX

Back at the villa, she made lunch whilst he rested out on the patio next to the pool, occasionally sneaking glances out of the window to make sure he hadn't lapsed into a state of unconsciousness and feeling as though, once again, she didn't have a handle on how she felt. The sex thing she could understand and cope with. Despite physically craving him, she understood his reasoning for them not indulging themselves, but telling her that he didn't need her to care had hit her harder than she had expected, and probably more so than he had intended. As much as he kept saying that she had to make the decision about their future, she couldn't help but think that he was coming up with reasons to encourage her in the opposite direction from them being together. Was it a sign that, deep down, he was hoping she would decide they should just be friends or was it some kind of reverse psychology? Either way, it wasn't helping her deal with her own feelings.

Seeing him hurt, seeing him vulnerable brought every loving, caring instinct she had to the surface. Perhaps it was just in her nature to be that way. In her sessions with Rebecca, she had been forced to analyse her relationship with Stewart and had come to the realisation that, in a way, that had been her role. She had nurtured and cared about their relationship, done everything she could to keep it steady, even to her own detriment. And yet loving and caring about Frank couldn't be the only factor in her decision-making; there were practical consequences too and, as far as that was concerned, nothing had changed.

"I could eat a horse," he declared when she took the food out to the table.

"Yeah," she mused, though by contrast she felt completely devoid of any appetite, pushing the food around on her plate and making as good a show of eating as she could.

"Not hungry?"

"Not really. I thought I might go for a walk later."

"What, on your own?"

"I am capable of being independent, you know."

"I know but…"

"But what?"

"Well, you might run into the lovely Dan again."

"Well, if I did and I had you with me, there wouldn't be much you could do, would there?"

"Don't you believe it," he replied, wincing slightly as he shifted in his chair. "I'm not dead you know. I could still defend your honour if needs be."

She smiled, "Still…I think I'd like to be by myself for a bit, if that's ok with you."

He paused, "I'm not your keeper. You can do what you like." There was a slight edge to his tone that she didn't miss, and it irritated her more than it probably should.

"Fine." She cleared away the dishes and tidied up the kitchen before heading back out onto the patio, clutching the paper bag they had been given at the chemist and a glass of water. "You should take some of these painkillers." He eyed them speculatively. "Come on, there's no need to play the big hero, it doesn't impress me."

"I didn't realise I needed to impress you," he replied, taking the pills and water from her hand and swallowing them. "Do I get a kiss on the forehead for doing as I'm told?"

"No, but I think you could do with some of this on your face."

"What is it?" he asked, squinting at the tube she was now holding in her hand.

"Arnica cream. It's good for bruises." Untwisting the cap, she broke the seal and squeezed some out into her hand before pulling a chair alongside him. "Here, hold still." Gently, she rubbed some of the cream into his cheek, causing him to wince again in the process. "Sorry, but it'll help you look less like you've gone ten rounds with Tyson. You should put some on your chest. No doubt the bruising's going to come out there too."

"Don't you want to do it for me?" he asked, as she held the tube out to him.

"I didn't realise you had lost the use of your hands."

"Funny. You should just admit that running your hands over my body would be too much for you."

She knew he was joking but, for some reason, she didn't feel able to engage in the banter. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," she said, rising to her feet.

"Where are you going to go?"

"Just for a walk. Maybe down to the beach, I don't know. You reckon you'll be all right?"

He looked at her somewhat defiantly. "I'm sure I'll manage."

"Good." Without recourse to any further conversation, she moved back inside and lifted her bag from the table before heading out of the front door, allowing it to bang behind her just for emphasis. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and she paused to rub some sun cream onto her skin before taking the path that led down to the beach. As she walked, she couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of anxiety, wondering if she might indeed run into Dan and his friends again. But she told herself, the chances of doing so were probably slim. After all, he didn't know that Frank was too stubborn to go to the police.

When she reached the beach, she turned in the opposite direction from the last time and found a small bar near the shops. Ordering an iced tea, she took a seat at one of the tables and reached into her bag for the notebook and pen she had procured before leaving the villa. Her thought process seemed almost childlike, but she reasoned that putting something down on paper was preferable to having her thoughts rampaging around in her head.

"Pros…" she muttered, writing the heading. "He's attractive. You're in love with him. He treats you…" her pen hovered over the page, "…well. He's in love with you. He'll make you happy." She paused over the last one, wondering if it was truly a positive reason. She had no idea whether or not he would make her happy, only time could tell. The waitress brought over her iced tea, and she thanked her, electing to leave the reason in for now. "The sex is good." Well, that one was a given. "He wants marriage and…" she paused again, poised to write the word 'babies' and wondered if she should. "It's my list, I can write what I want," she told herself before completing the sentence.

A shriek went up from the beach, momentarily startling her, and she looked up to see a man and a woman running past, the former chasing the latter, both of them laughing.

"Cons…" she drew a line down the page. "He's your boss. Possible professional repercussions. Having to work together. He might take advantage…" she paused over that one again, her mind flitting back to what he had asked, without specifically asking, her to do when SCS had been investigating Powell's murder. What other similar scenarios might arise? "He pisses you off." Well, that one was a given too.

She looked down at the two columns, barely anything to distinguish between them and then moved further down the page to write another heading. "Stewart." Clicking her pen against her teeth, she allowed her mind to roll over all the things that came to mind when she thought about him, not because he remained a contender for her affections, but because he was there. "He's your husband. He loves you. You still love him. He's all you've really known. His family." She paused. "He's an alcoholic. He was horrible to you. He stabbed you. He said he wanted to write to you then changed his mind. He might drag you through a trial. He's going to go to jail. You don't know how you're going to feel."

Putting her pen down she sipped her iced tea and started at her handwriting, wondering if it had actually made anything clearer for her and realising that it didn't. In her heart, she wanted to be with Frank, wanted to build a life with him, whatever that might look like regardless of what anyone in the Met would say. And, in an ideal world, whatever happened to Stewart would have no impact on those feelings. But her head still reminded her that, if her husband received a long prison sentence, she might crumble, might need to be alone, might want to escape everything and anything that reminded her of what they had once had and what had happened between them, including Sun Hill and Frank.

October. It wasn't really that far away. Four months. The length of time again since she and Frank had last been intimate. The time would fly by before she knew it and then she would be faced with the decision. In the meantime, all she could do was try and hang on.

XXXX

It was gone five by the time she returned to the villa, just reaching the point where he had started to grow concerned about her. Had she been accosted by Dan and his friends? Was she lying injured somewhere, or worse? Had she decided to go swimming and been swept away by a freak current? Or was she just avoiding him?

He had spent the afternoon dozing by the pool, a side effect of the painkillers he had been prescribed and when he woke up, he felt groggy and in desperate need of libation. Dragging himself inside, he had made himself a vodka tonic, and though realising it was probably contra indicated with the pills, downed it quickly anyway. He was on his third by the time she returned and feeling slightly more relaxed for it.

"Nice time?" he enquired as she came out onto the patio and tossed her bag onto one of the chairs. "I was starting to think you'd got lost."

"I went down to the beach, had a few drinks at one of the bars and just…people-watched."

"Great pastime. It's always interesting the stories you can make up in your head about folk." He paused, ruminating on the wisdom of his next words before uttering them. "I missed you."

"Missed me running after you more like," she quipped, gesturing to his glass. "How many of those have you had?"

"This is only my third."

"Oh well then," she shook her head. "Let's hope you don't have some sort of seizure as a result of mixing alcohol and pills."

"No chance. I feel a million times better." He drained the glass. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Feel better."

She looked at him and then looked away into the depths of the pool. "I don't know. I did a fair bit of thinking at any rate."

"About what?"

"About things you said we weren't supposed to talk about on this holiday," she replied with a smile.

"I see. You're not going to give me any insights then?" She raised her eyebrows. "Thought not. You must be hungry now though, given you hardly ate anything at lunch."

"Yeah, I could eat something. What about you?"

"Starving."

"What, again?"

"Absolutely. Shall we take a wander in the other direction this time? From memory, there's a couple of nice restaurants along the other bay."

"Are you sure you're up for it? I could just make us something here."

"No, come on. I can't stay hidden in here forever, can I? Besides, if we do run into delightful Dan again, I don't want him to think he's put me on my arse."

"Ok fine. I'll just go and get changed."

"Makes two of us." He pulled himself up from the lounger and followed her inside, pouring himself another drink as he did so and enjoying the crisp coolness of it sliding down his throat. He could hear her moving around in her room and, as he made his way to his own, paused next to the half-open door, watching as she peeled her shorts and t-shirt from her body and then stood in front of the wardrobe in her underwear perusing her options. His eyes traced the outline of her shape, the curve of her bottom, her long legs, the swish of her hair, the faint glimpse of her chest as she turned momentarily sideways and felt himself involuntarily harden. Walk away, his brain told him sternly, walk away now.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, and he realised that she had suddenly turned and seen him. "You gave me a fright! What are you looking at?"

"You," he replied.

"Yeah, well I gathered that." She lifted a red dress from the bed and held it up against her. "Do you think I should wear this one or…" she dropped it and lifted a green one, "this one?"

He swallowed hard, "I like the green one best."

"Ok, thanks." Turning back around she stepped into it and pulled her up her body.

Before she could do anything as tantalising as asking him to zip up her dress, he turned and headed towards his own room, quickly selecting his own attire for the evening before they made their way companionably down towards the restaurants, selecting one at random based on the views it had across the ocean. The conversation was light, almost too light, a string of tension pulled taut between them that both of them simply talked around during the course of the meal. A few more vodka tonics added to the mix, and he realised that he was dangerously close to the edge of his own decisions.

They walked back to the villa, conversation almost non-existent, and he could feel the blood pumping inside his head. The combination of alcohol, medication and desire was a powerful one and, as they reached the door and she moved to turn the key in the lock, he stepped up behind her, closer than he knew he should and lowered his mouth to gently kiss the skin on the back of her shoulder. Instantly he felt her freeze, a gasp escaping from her throat as he moved her hair out of the way, his lips trailing a path along her shoulder blades from one side to the other before moving into the soft crevice of her neck. She made no attempt to move away from him and, as he grew bolder, and his hands slipped to the hem of her dress and the flesh of her thighs, she exhaled again sharply, her body moving slightly back against his.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, his fingers moving under her dress and tracing circles higher up her legs.

"You said we shouldn't do this," she said, her voice barely carrying.

"I know," he admitted, moving higher still, his fingers reaching the edges of her knickers and sliding underneath.

"We should stop…we should…" her body shuddered as he probed further and found the heat of her own desire and she pitched forward, one hand slamming against the door, the other finding his own, encouraging him into a rhythm whereby he could feel her clit harden under his touch. "Frank, we should stop…"

"Do you want to?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear, pressing his lower body tightly against her so that she could be under no illusions that he definitely didn't want to stop.

"No…" she twisted to face him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her as their mouths collided, breathless, desperate kisses sustaining them as the door opened under their weight and they stumbled inside together.

His body protested, his ribs screaming at him that what he was doing was not conducive to the healing process, but his need for her far outweighed his own physical comfort and they crashed against the kitchen table, his hands going under her dress again and pulling her knickers sharply down before bunching her dress around her waist. Her fingers flew to his belt buckle, fighting with the button and the fly before they fell to the floor and she lifted herself onto the table, opening her legs and curling them around him.

She groaned as he sank inside her and pulled her pelvis to the edge of the table, allowing him unfettered access to thrust inside her, hard and fast, causing her to cry out with each movement, the wood creaking underneath her. Four months of not being able to touch her had left him on the brink of desperation, despite his dalliances with Fiona, and though he wanted it to last longer, within moments, he felt himself spasm and unload inside her.

"Shit…" she breathed as their bodies slowed and she raised herself up to meet him. "Shit, Frank…"

"Shit is right," he agreed, kissing her, breathing heavily against her mouth.

"So much for this being a bad idea." She stroked his cheek gently. "And you being injured too."

The pain returned then and he winced as he withdrew from her, reaching for the pack of tissues that were on the nearby counter and handing some to her. "Sorry about the mess. I should have worn a condom."

"That's all right," she replied, wiping herself before sliding down from the table. "I trust you. I'm sure you've been safe when you've been with Fiona."

"Every time," he replied, tossing his own sticky wipe into the nearby bin, and then turning back to face her. "So, going on the basis that this continues to be a bad idea…your bedroom or mine?"