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"Frank? Frank!"

She screamed his name down the phone, but there was no answer, either because he was no longer there, or the phone line was dead. The latter seemed the more likely of options given the three almighty explosions that had just taken place, rocking the whole foundation of the building. The roar of fire was greater now and smoke was already beginning to seep underneath the bedroom door. Panicked, she pulled the duvet from the bed and pressed it against the doorframe before turning back to the window. There was still no obvious sign of a key, and she frantically searched around the room to no avail. Asking Mr Patel was fruitless given his current state and she realised that the only option left was to break the glass.

For a bedroom, the room was fairly sparse with nothing immediately apparent as being any use against double glazing. An ornament sat on one of the bedside tables was quickly used and discarded, it being completely incapable of leaving so much as a nick in the glass, and when she tried to lift the table itself, it was too heavy.

Turning back to the door, she started coughing as the smoke began to drift through, despite the duvet blocking the gap, her gaze falling on a small chair that she hadn't noticed at first, strewn as it was with clothes. Pushing them to the floor, she quickly realised that it was heavy, yet not heavy enough to prevent her from lifting it. Staggering over to the window, she used as much brute force as she could and hammered it against the glass.

XXXX

Everything was black. All he could hear was the sound of breaking glass, the roar of flames, the shouting of the firefighters as they surged forwards to battle what was before them. All he could think about was how there could be no way that she had survived.

It had happened. He had lost her and for what? She had given her life over some stupid feud between two families who thought that setting fire to property was the only way to solve anything. She had survived Stewart's attack on her for this, for nothing.

"Sir! Sir! Round the back! Round the back of the house!"

Thank God her father was dead. How would he have ever explained this to him? How would he have been able to face the other man and tell him that he couldn't protect his daughter? That she had died in a fiery inferno that he had done nothing to prevent.

"Round the back!"

How would he have explained that, in reality, he had been no better a husband to her than Stewart had been?

"Frank!"

The sound of his name pulled him back to some sort of reality. His vision started to clear, and the sights of the surrounding area slowly began to filter back. He felt rough hands grab him and pull him to his feet and though he knew Peter was saying something to him, he couldn't quite work out what it was. The other man was pointing and shouting and then started hurrying away from him. Though he had no apparent clue what was going on, he found himself following, only realising once they reached the end of the street and turned towards the back gardens of the houses what must have been happening.

Smoke and flames were still billowing out from the ground floor, but as he approached the garden, he could see John already there, gesturing frantically upwards and, following the other man's gaze, saw Christina at the bedroom window.

She was still alive.

For a moment, he felt a wonderous rush of relief course through him, tempered suddenly only by the horrific realisation that she appeared to be trapped.

XXXX

Seeing him somehow galvanised her. The fact that he was there, even if she couldn't hear what he was shouting made her swing the chair with renewed effort. Again and again, she battered it against the glass and again and again, nothing happened. She could feel the tears start then, angry frustrated tears about how it was all going to end in a shitty terraced house all because of some ridiculous feud that meant nothing to her. Dropping the chair, she pressed herself against the window, as though her own body weight could succeed where the furniture had failed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two firefighters run across the garden, holding a ladder between them and she couldn't help but think that it was all going to be just too late.

Suddenly reminded of the other person in the room, she ducked away from the window and hurried around the bed to check on Mr Patel. His pulse was weak almost to the point of being non-existent and she was about to return to the window, when the bedroom door suddenly blasted open, flames shooting inside and creeping up the ceiling, whilst the force of air simultaneously blew out the glass in the window.

Instinctively, she dropped to the floor before looking up to see her escape route, realisation dawning that if she had been standing there, the consequences could have been serious. Crawling around the bed, she pulled herself up to the window and tentatively looked out. To her relief, the firefighters' ladder was already against the building, one of them making their way up towards her. Though she could barely make out what he was saying through his mask, she could understand enough to follow his direction to turn herself around and, doing her best to avoid the shards of glass that remained, step out of the window onto the top rung of the ladder.

"There's a man inside…he needs help," she heard herself say, her voice shaking as she carefully stepped down. "He's been stabbed, and his pulse is weak." She had no knowledge as to whether or not what she had said had registered however, as the moment her feet touched the ground, she felt rough hands take hold of her and pull her to them, the immediate familiarity of her husband's body causing her to sag against him.

"Get her away from here!" she heard someone shout and the next thing she knew, she was being propelled back across the garden, around the side of the house and into the street in front of the house, where Frank stopped and pulled her into his embrace again. She wanted to cry with relief and yet, part of her recognised that she was still 'on the job' and that she couldn't let anyone see the anguish she felt at what had just happened.

"You stupid cow…"

She wasn't sure if she had heard properly at first, freezing in Frank's arms before pulling back to look at him. "What?"

"I said, you're a stupid cow. What in God's name were you thinking about?" His expression grew angrier the more he spoke. "You could have been killed! I thought you had been killed when I heard those explosions! Jesus Christ…!"

"I…"

"Maybe they're right about you women. Maybe you're better off sticking to the beat and the back offices instead of putting yourself in dangerous situations! What the hell were you doing sending John Boulton out and leaving yourself in there?!"

"I was acting like the senior officer!" she retorted, pulling out of his grip, shocked at his attitude. "I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do, what you would have done, what you did do!"

"That was different!"

"Why? Because you're a man and I'm a woman?! I should have saved myself and left John to deal with it because he's a bloke?! Never mind the fact that I'm a DS and he's a DC?!" He said nothing. "Don't be such a sexist prick!"

His face darkened again. "I am not being sexist; I am being realistic, and don't use that tone with me!"

"Oh, so you're basically saying I can't handle that type of situation because I'm a woman. Thanks very much! And I'll use any tone I damn well like because you are not my senior officer!" Adrenaline coursing through her, she turned away from him, coming face to face with Peter and immediately tried to bring herself back under some sort of control. "Guv."

"You all right?"

"I'm fine Guv."

"I want the ambulance crew to check you out."

"They don't need to."

"I'm not having an argument with you about it, just do it. And if they think you should go to hospital, you go."

"I don't need to go to hospital." She glanced past him to where Mr Patel was being loaded into one of the waiting ambulances and felt her heart sink. "Do they think he'll make it?"

"Well, he certainly wouldn't have had any chance if you hadn't done what you did." Peter paused, and he could see what he was thinking, what she was thinking too about the delay in proceeding that she had argued for.

"I just did what anyone would have done, sir," she replied, conscious of Frank's eyes on her back. "I'm only sorry I couldn't stop Abdul from setting the fire."

"Yes, well…" Peter turned to look at the flames still leaping from the upstairs windows as the firefighters battled to get the blaze under control. "You did everything you could. We'll catch Abdul eventually and he'll face justice for this. We'll need to debrief on this, but that can wait until tomorrow. If you're not going to hospital, you should go home." He looked behind her. "Don't be too hard on old Frank, eh? He's had a difficult morning." Clapping her on the shoulder, he turned and headed over to where John and Morag were standing watching from a distance.

"Well, you heard him."

She turned to look at her husband again. "Which part? Getting checked out, going home or not being too hard on you?"

"All three I reckon. Look, I'm not saying you didn't do a good job…"

"You'd just rather I hadn't done it at all."

"Forgive me for not liking the fact that you were in danger."

"I was doing my job."

"So you've said."

"I can't do the job if I'm not prepared to put myself in these situations. How is this any different from chasing a suspect, or confronting someone with a weapon or…"

"Because you made a choice."

"And I wouldn't be making a choice in those circumstances too?" She sighed heavily. "If you had been in there with John, you would have gotten him out too."

"Probably, but that's…"

"It doesn't make any difference what sex anyone is. Any senior officer would make sure that a junior officer was safe. You wouldn't be acting like this if John had been a woman too."

"All right fine," he stepped towards her again. "You did the right thing as a senior officer. But if I was a DC and my female DS had told me to get out of that type of situation, I would have said no. Because no bloke should be leaving a woman to deal with that on her own, rank or otherwise."

"He didn't want to leave. I forced him to."

"You clearly didn't have to force him very hard."

"Besides, if you take that view then you're basically saying women shouldn't be in the job at all, and I know you don't believe that deep down." She slipped her arms around his waist, keen to try to quell the conflict between them. "So, this is about it being me, not about me being a woman." He made a face. "I seem to remember a number of occasions when Tosh got steamed up about his wife being caught up in things in years gone by and you telling him he had to deal with it professionally, not personally. Maybe you need to take a little of your own advice."

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, all right, maybe I do. Reckon I made a right prat of myself in front of Peter anyway."

"I'm sure he understands. He's got a wife too."

"One who works in an office, not one who…" he broke off on her look. "All right fine, enough said about it. I'm just relieved that you're ok. Go and get checked over."

"I don't need checked over, but seeing as I doubt I'm going to get any relief from anyone until I do, I will." She kissed him quickly and allowed him to pull her gently against him, feeling a sense of safety and security sweep through her. "I was thinking about you the whole time you know."

"I know," he said, squeezing her. "I know."

XXXX

"I heard what happened over on Barton Street's ground," Jack said, coming out of his office as he passed by on his way back to CID. "Is Chris all right?"

"She's fine, not physically hurt. She insisted on going back to the nick once she'd been checked over."

"Well, that's a relief. What about mentally?"

"I'm sure a part of her was worried she wasn't going to make it out once the fire started. That's got to affect you somehow. It certainly affected me." The entire drive back to the station, it had been all he had been able to think about. He was forever thankful that she was safe, but his mind couldn't help but wander to dark places.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Jack paused. "Do you need to talk?"

"About what?"

"Anything."

"You want me to unburden myself to you about how I was afraid my wife had been burnt to death when I couldn't do anything to help her?" Saying the words out loud made him shiver involuntarily, but he tried to catch it before the other man could see.

"If you like," Jack smiled tightly, stepping back into his office.

For a moment, he paused, then followed the other man in, closing the door behind him. "I gave her a hard time. Told her she shouldn't have let her DC leave and stay in there herself."

"Because she's a woman or because she's your wife?"

"Both, I suppose. Any bloke would have refused to leave."

"You mean you would have refused to leave."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Depends on whether I'm being told to leave by my female superior officer or my wife." Jack sat down at his desk. "How long has it been since Chris was stabbed by her ex?"

He paused, somewhat surprised by the question. "It'll be three years come February."

"And she had counselling after it happened?"

"Yes."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, you found her in the house, didn't you, after he'd stabbed her?"

"And left her there to die, yes."

"Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"

"Apart from her and the snotty CPS lawyer, no. Unless you count being grilled about it by your predecessor; a female nonetheless." Jack didn't say anything, and he felt his hackles rise. "You saying I need some sort of professional help?"

"I'm saying that a lot has happened over the last three years and Chris isn't the only one who's been affected by it. There's something to be said for finding the person you love in that sort of condition, not to mention almost losing them again today. If she hadn't been hurt in the past, would you have gone down all guns blazing the way you did?"

"I don't know what you've heard, but I'm sure any bloke hearing that their wife was being held hostage by someone armed with petrol and a lighter would have reacted the same way I did."

Jack nodded. "You're probably right, but it might be something to think about."

"What, counselling? I don't think so."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Frank. It's the curse of caring about someone who's in the job."

"Thanks for the tip, Guv, but I'm fine." He opened the office door again. "Anything else?"

"No, but my door's always open."

"Thanks Guv, it's a comfort." Rolling his eyes, he made his way back into his own office and sat down behind his desk, Jack's words swirling around in his mind. Had he been trying to suggest that he was somehow mentally affected by all that had happened? To the point perhaps where he couldn't do his job, or indeed rise any further? Counselling was a ridiculous idea. Blokes didn't need it and, besides, he knew his promotion chances would be completely scuppered if a board found out that he'd needed some sort of mental assistance all because his wife had been the victim of circumstance. Best to leave that sort of thing to the ladies.

Once again, the dark thoughts entered his mind; the ones where he saw the window refusing to break, the smoke and fire overpowering her and heard the hollow words of Brownlow, offering his condolences on her untimely death.

He shivered again and picked up the first piece of paper that was lying on his desk. Anything had to be better than thinking about that.

XXXX

"Are you sure you don't want to go home?"

"No Guv, I'm fine. I'd rather keep on this now."

"Well, we've got uniform out looking for Abdul, we're hitting all his known addresses and known associates, so I'm confident we'll get him picked up soon." Peter sat down behind his desk. "And the hospital rang to say that Mr Patel is critical, but stable. Barring any sudden changes, they reckon he should be ok."

"That's a relief," she replied genuinely, sitting down opposite him.

"Yes…" Peter paused. "I suppose you can guess what I'm going to say next, can't you?"

She had a fair idea, but chose to remain impassive, "Sir?"

"You convinced me yesterday that we needn't pick up Mr Patel until today. If we had picked him up yesterday, all of this might have been avoided."

"Yes sir."

He looked at her questioningly, "Well?"

"It was a mistake on my part. I accept that. I didn't realise that things would escalate as much as they did. I thought it was better not to go in all guns blazing and…well, I was wrong about that." The thoughts had consumed her the moment that she had found herself safe from the fire; that it might never have happened if she had just made a different decision.

"We'll need to investigate that, internally."

"What, MS15?"

"No, just within the station, the department. The DCI's going to need to know what went on, not to mention Superintendent Oliver."

"Yes sir."

"And you're just in the door too." Peter shook his head. "It's a bit of a mess."

She shifted in her seat, "Well, I'm big enough to be able to take what's coming to me. I can explain as best I can and then it'll be up to others to decide whether it merits any action, disciplinary or otherwise."

Peter sat back in his seat and surveyed her. "We're good at closing ranks here at Barton Street. I obviously can't speak for Sun Hill, so I'm not sure if you're used to a station protecting its own, but as far as this department is concerned, I protect my officers."

"That's good to know."

"Especially ones with as much promise as you. Oh, I know you made a mistake on this one but, overall, you've settled in well here and I've been pleased with your work. I imagine that's what Frank first saw in you too; promise."

"I don't know, you'd need to ask him."

"Oh, I saw a lot in him today that I'd never seen before. The concern, the anguish, the worry…the way he had a pop at me…I have to say, I never would have expected him to let anyone see the emotions we saw today."

Unsure whether he was making a dig or not, she sat up straighter in her seat. "Well, it was a particular set of circumstances, and no-one knows how they're going to react…"

"You must be something pretty special to him."

"I'm his wife," she said, unable to stop herself from laughing over the words, the question over Frank's feelings seeming almost absurd.

"Which got me thinking…" Peter rose from his desk and came around to her side, perching on the edge of it. "He's never been a man known for long term relationships. His first marriage failed due to infidelity, everyone knows that so…the fact that he's, apparently, only had eyes for you to such an extent that he would marry you really only leads me to one conclusion."

"Which is what?"

He nudged her foot with his own. "You must have something pretty special between those legs of yours."

For a moment, she wasn't sure that she had heard correctly. Perhaps the events of that morning had dulled her hearing or affected her brain or…something. But when she met his gaze, he simply raised his eyebrows at her.

"Look, I don't want to lose you from this department and I'm sure you don't want another blot on your copybook, not over a bunch of Asians. I'm your DI and I'm here to protect you."

"Protect me."

"Yes," he nodded. "I'm just saying that a little…gratitude…goes a long way here, not to mention the fact that you convinced me to go along with your plan."

"I…I see…" she got to her feet, suddenly seeing him in a whole different light to the disinterested one she had seen him in before and feeling sick to her stomach at the realisation.

"Let's not dwell on it today," he said, standing to meet her. "It's been a difficult morning and I'm going to insist that you go home and take the rest of the day to recover. We can pick this up over the course of the next few days and…see what happens. Trust me, the less blowback on you, the better, for all of us."

"Yes Guv, I think that might be a good idea. I'll…I'll see you tomorrow." Before he could reply, she opened the door and hurried through the office out into the corridor and into the ladies' toilet, where she rushed into a stall and vomited, not noticing Morag as she rushed past. The contents of her stomach appeared in front of her in the bowl and a sheen of sweat broke out on her body.

"You all right, Sarge?" Morag's voice floated into her.

"Yeah," she replied, when she had found her voice again, "I'm fine, thanks."

"I hope you're going home."

"Yes, I am. I'll be fine in a minute."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"Ok. I know John was looking for you."

"Tell him I'll catch up with him tomorrow, ok?"

"No problem. Take care of yourself."

"I will," she replied, waiting for the toilet door to click shut before vomiting again.