On Sunday morning, you wake up lying very close to Kim. He looks so calm and peaceful, his face bearing none of the usual marks of stress and self-restraint. You recall how he squeezed your hand on the bus and a wave of love for him washes over you. How are you supposed to keep this inside? Should you keep it in?

You wonder how he would react if you were to reach out and gently stroke his face. Or close the gap between you and slip an arm around his waist. But you don't want him to feel uncomfortable sharing your bed. The unspoken rule is to stay to your own sides, never to touch. You should say something to him. Not here, not now. Somewhere else, and when it's the right time. You try to conceive of where and when that might be, but you come up with nothing. You'll have to wait until it feels right.

Hopefully it will be soon. Sometimes you feel so much love for him, you think you might burst. Does he know that? Does he even have an inkling? Or will it come as a great shock to him?

The pain in your leg starts to nag at you, so you roll onto your back, carefully as to not to wake Kim.

You spend the day together, you take a short walk, cook together, play a couple of games, and spin some records while you try to help Kim with a crossword. You've noticed that Kim smiles and laughs more now, and seems more relaxed when it's just the two of you. But still, the right time doesn't arise, so you continue to keep your feelings to yourself.

Part of you is afraid that the truth is going to slip out. You adore everything he does, everything he says. What would he think if he knew? You know Kim likes you, of that you can be sure. If he didn't, he wouldn't still be here, staying in your cramped and basic apartment week after week. If he didn't, he wouldn't put up with your constant fuck ups. Would he still do that if he knew you loved him? A tiny hopeful part of you thinks he might react with barely restrained delight. But it could potentially be disgust that he has to conceal. Or, perhaps worse, he might react with unenthusiastic acceptance. Okay Harry, but I don't feel the same. Let's put personal matters to one side. You're sure he could work beside you without any hard feelings, but could you? It's taken you seven or eight years to kinda get over your ex. This might just break you, destroy all the progress you've made in the past few months. Can you really risk that?

Kim notices you ruminating. "Harry, are you all right?"

You look up at him. "Huh? Yeah," you say. Now isn't the time. You'd end up crying and begging him to accept your feelings. "My leg hurts." It isn't a lie, but it's a dull throb that doesn't occupy the front of your mind.

Kim's lips tighten. You don't think he buys it, but he doesn't say anything.

For the next three nights, you have to fight the urge to snuggle up close to him in bed.

One of the cases you and Kim take on this week bothers you. The initial two victims are distressingly young, and it is not long before you have to give up holding onto your hope that the deaths are not drug related. You continue taking your painkillers, but try to do it when Kim isn't watching. This doesn't do much to alleviate your feeling of guilt. As the week wears on, you end up linking a lot more victims to the case whose deaths were initially investigated by other officers.

You find yourself looking forward to going to the exercise class again. Maybe you'll find some relief for your pain this time. And secondly, those old folks need you. And thirdly, you can ask around about Mrs Lopez, maybe get some information on her so you can look into her disappearance. You hope she doesn't turn out to be another victim connected to your current case.

"Aha, the young whipper-snapper returns!" a grey-haired man says to you as you walk into the community centre.

You grin at him. "You'd better believe it," you say. "I hope you brought your kit!"

The man looks confused. "What?"

"I mean, I hope you're ready to get moving," you say.

"I'll do my best, son," he says.

The rest of the class are gathered in a group at one end of the room, chatting. You stride up to the front. "Okay, that's enough larking about! Let's get started!"

"You must be Mr Harry." You turn around, and a young woman with her hair tied up in a purple headscarf is walking towards you. She holds out a hand to you. "I'm Gabriela Lopez, welcome to my class."

You shake her hand, feeling a little deflated. The missing person case is solved without your intervention, and it looks like you won't be needed to teach the class. "Hi," you say lamely.

"Thank you for filling in for me last week. I feel so bad for not being here. I just had a baby and it's all been a bit hectic," she says.

"No problem. If you ever need a substitute again, I'm happy to help."

"Thanks. I might take you up on that offer. Now, is everyone ready to get started?"

A lady you remember from last time beckons you over to sit beside her. You listen to Gabriela and follow along as she guides the class. It's very different from the impromptu class you taught last week, and the other members of the class seem to have less trouble following Gabriela's movements than they did with yours.

After the class, you go to give her your payment of ten cents. "Hey, I was shot in the leg a while ago and I've been in a load of pain ever since, do you have any idea how I can make it stop hurting?" you ask.

"Well, I have to admit that gunshots aren't exactly my area of expertise," she says, looking round at the rest of the class, who appear unlikely to get involved in shoot-outs. "But if you tell me where it hurts I can recommend some specific stretches for that area."

You point to where it hurts, and Gabriela nods and demonstrates some stretches for you to do. You sit down and copy her. Once you watch her do them, it all comes back to you, and you wonder why you didn't remember this on your own. You remembered all that stuff about Contact Mike, but not this stuff that would actually help you. Your mind is a mystery, even to you.

"Massaging the area might also help," she says.

"Massage?"

"Here, let me show you," she says, and without warning her hands are on your thigh, working her fingers into your muscles. You feel blood rush to your face. You wonder how long it has been since a woman touched you. She's pretty. But this isn't a situation where you should get excited. Besides, Mrs Lopez suggests the existence of a Mr Lopez. She digs her fingers into your muscle and you flinch.

"Sorry. It might hurt at first," she says, withdrawing her hands. She shows no sign of embarrassment and the way she speaks is perfectly businesslike. "You can do it yourself, but it's probably better if you lie down and relax and get someone else to do it for you."

You nod, hoping your face isn't still red. As you walk home, you wonder if you could ask Kim to massage your leg. The thought it appealing, Kim running his hands over your leg, dangerously close to your crotch. Oh, but would you be able to restrain yourself from becoming too excited or embarrassed? If Kim agreed to do this for you, you're sure he'd be very thorough and take it very seriously. That only makes the prospect even more attractive. Maybe he'll be caught up in the eroticism of tending to you. Maybe that's the nudge you both need to finally get together. This thought occupies your mind for the rest of the evening.

You're very tempted to run the idea of massage by Kim in the office the next day. Part of you is desperate to know if he's down for it. But another part of you is wary that if you make it at all embarrassing for him, he'll turn you down. Best to wait until you're alone.

"Huh?" you say, aware that you completely missed what Kim was saying to you while staring at him and thinking about something else.

"I said, I think the next logical place to investigate is The Paliseum, as the majority of our victims can be linked to it," he says.

"Yeah, good idea," you say. "Hey Kim, we should go undercover!"

"Undercover?" Kim repeats, and his forehead creases as he considers the idea.

"Yeah, undercover at The Paliseum! We'll find out way more that way. Besides, it'll be fun," you say.

"Fun for who, Harry?" Jean pipes up. "Because it'll certainly not be fun for us who have to come scrape you up after another fucking bender."

"It won't be like that. I'll restrain myself."

"Oh yeah? I'd like to see that happen. Oh wait, I can't. Because it's a goddamned fairy tale."

"What do you suggest then?"

Jean crosses his arms. "Oh, I dunno. Something where you're not gonna make the whole RCM look like fucking idiots again?"

"Jean, he hasn't even done anything yet," Judit says. "But Harry, do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Yeah. We could get information. And I'll just not drink, I can do that."

"Well if you're not going to listen to me and Judit, maybe you'll listen to Trant," Jean says.

Trant looks up from his book. "Huh? Excuse me? I wasn't planning on getting involved in this conversation."

"And now you are," says Jean. "Come on, back me up here."

Trant closes his book, and looks over at you. "Well, there is a school of thought which promotes the idea of avoiding places where one is likely to be drawn in by temptation, especially in the early stages of sobriety. Perhaps in this instance you should send someone else to investigate? There are plenty of other officers who may be more suited to the task."

"No, this is our case," you say. You look at Kim, who has been quiet all this time. His expression betrays nothing.

"No investigation is without risks," Kim says, and he is looking at Jean. "And I think this one is worth taking. The lives of more teenagers are at stake."

Jean leans back in his chair. "You haven't even seen him drunk. He's a danger even to himself."

"Officer," Kim says, a sharpness in his voice. "I have seen the Lieutenant double-yefreitor's ability to resist temptation. And I will take full responsibility in the event that he is not able to."

Jean waves a hand and looks away. "Fine," he says. "Go kill yourself if that's what you wanna do. Just don't make us look bad."

You try not to take Jean's words to heart, and instead look at Kim. He gives you a nod, and a little smile. It means a lot to know he has your back, not just in times of danger, but also against those who lack faith in you. You feel very lucky to have him as your partner.