Hey all. So, the idea for this story came from watching some of the "Classic Doctors" reruns on the Drama channel, if anyone had been watching and thinks the storyline is slightly familiar. And The Bill characters belong to The Bill, anyone you don't recognise, they belong to me. Hope you enjoy and leave me a review, if you would like, let me know what you think!

Hollie. x

The package sat on the carpet, innocent looking. Andrea barely looked at it before putting it aside. She hadn't ordered anything. Maybe her parents had sent her something, as a kind of pick-me-up. Not that she deserved it. She knew the day would come, when everyone would find out who she was, and what she was, but had wanted it to be on her own terms. The hypocrisy of that wasn't lost on her; hadn't she after all spent nearly a year leaking things to the Daily News without warning to anyone? What was it Kerry had said when she'd found out just before she'd died who she was?

How do you think it feels to see the worst moments of your life turned into entertainment?

Awful, that's how. It wasn't supposed to go this far, but that it had, wasn't an excuse. All her friends – well, probably not anymore – would probably never speak to her again, and she jumped every time the phone rang, thinking it would be someone from the Department of Professional Standards, telling her what punishment awaited her. She hadn't considered that when she first began this job, she'd just been blinded by ambition. Bruce had warned her against getting close to any of 'those people,' but how could he have expected her not to? That wasn't who she was, to not make the effort with people, though they'd probably all think that was part of her undercover job. They all thought they hardly knew her at all. Maybe they were right. She didn't even know herself sometimes.

Andrea opened the curtain slightly and peered up and down the street. It appeared deserted, though people had been hanging around, and she was unsure if they were from other newspapers or people intent on giving her a piece of their mind, especially after Kennedy's conviction, which was in spite of her, Sam Nixon had said sharply, not thanks to her. If that animal had walked because of her…Andrea leant her head against the wall. So much she hadn't considered, and so much mess left in the wake of this disaster. She stole a glance at her home phone; the answerphone flashing red. The messages were from Bruce, all of them. Increasingly angry messages, telling her in no uncertain terms to get to the office and give him the material for the deadline tomorrow. She hadn't, and the first message had been left a week ago. Since then, the messages had alternated between him apologising and angrily telling her she owed him. She hadn't picked up the phone and hadn't answered the door when he'd come, hammering and shouting. Her phone had been taken by the DPS for analysis, so she'd had no access to it, but imagined it was full of much the same.

Maybe it had been the week indoors, cooped up, but now she felt ready to face him, face them, all the other reporters who would have 'killed for the chance she had,' as Bruce so often reminded her. Not if they felt the way she did right now, they wouldn't. She shrugged into her coat and put her house keys in her pocket. Opening the door, she looked up and down the street again before stepping outside, closing the door. Andrea was halfway down the road when she felt it; the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Gasping, she spun around, to only see the deserted road. A silver car drove past and she stared after it uneasily. It just drove on by before indicating left and disappearing. She was being paranoid. There was nobody waiting to ambush her. Turning, she walked on, head down against the wind.

Gloved hands gripped the steering wheel. He took a drag on the cigarette, then blew the smoke from their mouth. Malicious eyes watched as Andrea walked further down the road. Nearly. She'd nearly looked right this way. Had she opened the package yet? It should have been delivered by now, with no return address, and no other clues. Not unless they were ready to give her them. It didn't seem as if she had opened it though; she'd be far more edgy if she had. He took a last drag on the cigarette, and threw the butt out of the window before quietly starting the car and driving after her, keeping her in sight. She was keeping her head down. He couldn't blame her. It must be hard to show your face when something like that happened so publically. Irony was, he was sure she'd rather that come out than what he could spill.

"Hey, were did we go? Days when the rains came…"

The singing was tuneless, but nobody was around to hear it. She certainly hadn't minded his tone deaf singing all those years ago.

"…laughing and a running, hey, hey, skipping and a jumping..."

Andrea pushed open the door to the news office and saw Grace, the receptionist's eyes widen in surprise. She was on the phone and went to say something to Andrea, but she swiped through the security door. Maybe it had been the walk, releasing some pent up frustration, but now she was angry. She swept past offices and two people looked up, mirroring Grace's look of wide eyed surprise.

"Andrea…" Jennifer said, who was actually a nice person and one of the only people Andrea thought she'd miss.

Logan, someone she'd be glad to see the back of and who'd always seen her as competition for some reason, said snidely; "How're all your cop friends?"

She didn't even give him the satisfaction of a dirty look and went straight to what was her office. Someone had been in here; probably Bruce or someone from the DPS. Whoever it was, they wouldn't have found anything. She never bought police records here and had learnt pretty quickly that she couldn't trust Bruce not to go through her desk as he had done before, looking for stories he thought she was hiding from him. Andrea set about clearing her desk, most of what she cleared from desk drawers went straight in the bin. There wasn't anything she wanted to keep, and certainly nobody she wanted to remember from this place. She found a picture at the back of the drawer from her first Christmas here, when she thought she'd landed her dream job. How wrong was she? She tore the photograph and the pieces followed everything else into the bin.

"So. Finally decided to show up?"

She glanced up briefly. Bruce stood in the doorway, glaring at her.

"I'm not stopping. Oh, and by the way; I quit."

"Well, no call, no show for days, girl, I could have fired you," he said. "But you owe me. I want the material Andrea. You've turned us into a laughing stock."

"Yes, well, if you ask the DPS nicely, I'm sure they'll turn everything over."

"What?"

His voice was low and she turned to him in mock surprise.

"Oh? Didn't you know? They took everything. Court order, so I had no choice. You didn't really expect them to let me go ahead and publish a report, did you? Oh you did! Oh well. Better luck next time."

She pulled the whole drawer out and emptied everything into the bin. She looked up to see Bruce standing in the doorway, face red with rage.

"All you had to do was let me go, Bruce, without exposing me. That's all I asked for and you would have gotten what you wanted. You couldn't handle it, could you? That I liked it more there than I did here. Maybe you should take a look at yourself. Maybe then you'll see why Adam Okaro is a much better man than you'll ever be."

She emptied the second drawer and picked up the pen, putting it in her pocket. It was an engraved calligraphy pen, a graduation present from her parents.

"I'll expect my P45 in the post, shall I? I guess the next time I see you might be in court. I don't know if we're going to be lucky enough not to face charges."

She brushed past him and headed towards the exit. She signalled to Jennifer that she'd call her and went back through the security door, tossing her pass and ID badge onto Grace's desk. The air outside was cold and she crossed the car park when Bruce shouted after her.

"Hey!"

If his angry voice hadn't stopped her, his rough grabbing of her arm did. She wrenched free.

"What?" she snarled. "You going to give me the 'you owe me' speech again? Read my lips, Bruce! The DPS took the report! Its. Gone!"

He pointed an angry finger in her face.

"I warned you," he said. "Time and time again, Andrea, I told you. Don't get so close. Don't get too involved. You're there to research them, not to buddy-buddy!" He gave her a leering look. "Or more."

"This again?" she said, furious. "I was never seeing anyone there! And even if I had been, it would be none of your damn business! You're not my father!"

"No, I'm not, am I? I'm just the mug who gave you the biggest opportunity you'd ever get to have your name out there, and what thanks did I get for that?"

She let the words hang in the air and took a step back. Sometimes, she'd caught him looking at her a bit too long, sometimes he'd smiled at her that bit too much or paid her that slight bit more of attention. Maybe she should have been taking a bit more notice herself.

"What thanks did you expect?" she said. "Is that why you did it? You thought you'd ruin whatever imagined relationship I was having so I'd have no choice but to come running to you?"

Not having a relationship was the truth but it wasn't because she hadn't wanted it to happen. Smithy had asked her, more than once, why they couldn't be together. He hadn't told her he loved her in so many words, not really, but she could see it in his face. The way he'd looked at her when he'd found out about her had been like a dagger in the heart. He'd been hurt the most and she'd never forgive herself for that. He would have been hurt more though if she'd let him have a relationship with her, knowing what he'd find out one day.

"I never asked for anything you did for me, Bruce, and from what I'm told, I'm not the first person you put this idea of being undercover to, and even if you had done it just for me, do you really think that entitles you to anything?"

Logan and Jennifer had come out behind Bruce, though she didn't think he had noticed. Jennifer looked wary, like she might step in but Logan looked as if he was watching a mildly amusing television show, or at least he did until she went to turn away and Bruce grabbed her again; in fact, he looked pretty alarmed and started towards them.

"You owe me!" he snarled, gripping her hard as she struggled. "Everything I did…"

"That's you all over!" she retaliated as Logan got between them, pulling Bruce away. "Everything I did for you! Good people do things for others, Bruce, without expecting something in return! Nobody owes you anything, no matter what you do for them and if you were expecting anything else other than the agreed work out of this, you should have made that clear from the start! I wouldn't have agreed to it if I'd known!"

"You've made me a laughing stock!"

"You did that all yourself. All you had to do was let me slide under the radar. That's all. Then you would have gotten what you wanted. Instead, a lot of people are angry, and you know something, Bruce? Carry on like this, you'll annoy the wrong person one of these days."

"What is that? A threat?"

"No, I'm stating the facts. Think Bruce. Really think. How much is a story worth making people so angry?"

She held his angry eyes for a moment longer then turned and walked away. He shouted after her and she heard Logan tell him to let her go. She 'wasn't worth it.'

He watched in fascination, hidden behind the bushes. He'd thought a lot about Andrea in these years, and though it wasn't expected that she'd be the same eighteen-year-old from ten years ago, the fire in her was still surprising. She wasn't the same girl at all. She was a woman, and all the more enticing. He still wanted to talk to her, but no rush. No real rush.

"…Our hearts a thumpin' and you. My brown-eyed girl…"

The figure turned his eyes to the man she'd called 'Bruce' and they hardened as he turned with the other man to go back into the news office. So, he needed to be taught a lesson, did he? So did some other people he knew; maybe it wouldn't hurt to get some practice runs in. do her a favour, so to speak. He turned in time to see Andrea's figure disappear around the corner.

"…you, my brown-eyed girl."

Andrea got back home to her cold, empty flat and sighed. From her pocket, she pulled the pen she'd taken from the office. It wasn't much to remember her time at the Daily News by but she'd have more than enough memories for that, and the regrets far outweighed anything good. She put the pen down by the telephone and went to boil the kettle. Not because she wanted a drink, just so she could have something to do. She stared into the dark garden and jumped as her cat, Hugo, rubbed against her legs. So named for Victor Hugo. Silently, she opened the garden door and he charged out into the darkness to do some nocturnal scavenging for insects. Well, each to their own. She made her tea and sat at the table, staring at it. Why had she even bothered to make it? It wasn't enough. Leaving it to go cold, she put a few ice cubes in a glass and poured a more than generous amount of single malt into. Not many people she knew could tolerate neat single malt, but then, they hadn't grown up in Scotland. It was the norm, or at least it was in her family. Sick? Single malt, cure that cold. Hogmanay? Single malt, celebrate in style. Christmas? Single malt, crack the bottle open as soon as you unwrap it. Not that you needed much of an excuse, her parents always had a bottle of it on standby. Something to celebrate, you're sad, or just because, there was the bottle.

Her eyes fell upon the package she discarded that morning. It definitely wasn't what was in there though, it was too small, for one thing, and too light. She picked it up and really looked at it for the first time. The writing on the package wasn't familiar; bold block writing, just her name and address. No return address. Local postmark. It was very light. She tore open the envelope and put her hand in, her fingers wrapping around something that crinkled. She pulled her hand out, and clutched in it was what seemed like a wad of colourful tissue paper. A glance in the envelope told her nothing else was in there; no note, no card, nothing. What a random gift. She unwrapped the tissue paper and her the breath she took threatened to choke her. The silver was slightly tarnished, as if well-worn and the chain hadn't been on it the day she'd given it as a gift. Then, it had hung on a black cord, but maybe that had worn away, just as the tarnished silver implied. The last time she'd seen it, it had been around the neck of a person whose lifeless eyes had stared up at her as blood pooled around their head, soaking the sand. She was back there, then. Venezuela. A place she never wanted to go back to; for real or in her head. The cold sweat ran down her back and she threw the necklace down, picking up her glass with a shaking hand. It was obvious who was behind this.

Kirsty.

This was probably her idea of long-awaited revenge. She didn't doubt she'd seen what was all over the papers, and also didn't doubt the savage pleasure it gave her. She, who was everyone's golden girl, or so Kirsty had used to say and so often, Andrea used to wonder if she was really joking or not. The necklace was a Celtic knot and not exactly unique. Very funny Kirsty, she thought savagely, snatching up the necklace. Maybe that was why the cord had been swapped for the chain, it probably wasn't the same necklace. How could she use such a traumatic incident for the both of them to give her such a fright? If she could be bothered, she'd give her a call and give her a piece of her damn mind, but she didn't want to talk to her, and wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Andrea got up and shoved the necklace into the kitchen drawer. She poured another drink. What a cruel thing to do. She thought Kirsty was as scarred from Venezuela as she was, maybe more. Though, she'd thought Kirsty was a friend as well, and she'd caught her in bed with her fiancé, so maybe that had all been an act too. Not that she had much of a place to talk about loyalty, but she'd never acted with any malice. This was different. This was just evil. Thank God she was out of her life. Her mind wandered back to the memories, the long buried memories of South America. She shook her head. No. Not going there. A rueful smile crossed her lips. Bruce would have a field day if he knew about it; it would have been a killer of a story. So to speak. Kirsty hadn't had the idea to spill that can of worms. Small mercies.

Bruce took a gulp from his coffee and pushed the paperwork away. This was more than enough for one night and truth be told, he wasn't in the mood to concentrate. Andrea's home truths were ringing in his ears; had he really expected her to be grateful the way he'd imagined? Maybe he had. And it wasn't as if she was wrong; he would have had the report had he not stitched her up like that. He got up, pulling his coat on. Sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow they'd be able to have a calm conversation and discuss any potential charges they'd be facing. He left his office, turning out the light. He was the last to leave, as usual. Being the editor wasn't always all it was cracked up to be.

He stepped out into the cold night, crossed to his car and was about to unlock it when he saw the shadow appear behind him. He turned quickly and met the brown eyes of a stranger.

"Good evening."

The words were pleasant, but the tone was anything but. In the stranger's beefy hand was a length of piping.

"Bruce," said the stranger. "Right?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I heard you've annoyed people." The stranger shook his head. "Bad habit, that is, Bruce."

Andrea's words came back to him; how much was a story worth upsetting people? He looked around him, wishing he'd left with everyone else.

"Look, I…"

The first blow caught him hard in the gut, bringing him crashing to his knees. He'd known before he was struck that his was a battle he couldn't win, for though the stranger wasn't very tall or muscular, there was no mistaking the crazed look in their eyes. He pushed himself up and looked up to see the piping swinging towards him, striking him on the side of the head. Bruce fell against his car, blinded by the blood running down his face. Grabbing the door handle, he hauled himself up, seeing the reflection of the stranger as they transferred the piping to the other hand and whirled him back to face him. With the third strike, Bruce felt his jaw crumble and with the fourth, his cheekbone collapsed.

Bruce Malcolm didn't feel the fifth.