You purposely get to work early the next morning, and head straight for the stables. On your way to Scout, you give a couple of the other horses a pat on the nose. Scout comes over to you and leans her head over the gate, snuffling. You pat her nose and then take out the promised apple from your pocket. She crunches it appreciatively.

Checking over your shoulder to make sure you are alone, you show her Mikael's picture. Scout blinks and turns her head towards it as she finishes eating the apple. "This was drawn for me by the son of the greatest fucking guy I know," you say, and you can't stop yourself from smiling. "You're the only one I'm telling this, so keep it to yourself, yeah?"

Scout throws her head back.

You look down at the picture, and scrape your foot along the ground. "Hey girl, you think I have a chance with him?"

Scout snorts in response and moves her head towards you. You sidestep, narrowly missing her rubbing dirt on your uniform.

You pat her neck. "Good girl, Scout. I'll be back later."

As you hoped, none of the rest of the day shift have arrived yet, so the office is quiet. You shift over some newspaper cuttings on your desk divider, and take down a suggestive postcard and some other dumb shit, half of which was left to you by the previous occupant of your desk. You pin up Mikael's picture, and smile to yourself. It's pretty obvious. People will notice this. You just need to act like it's no big deal. But it's worth it, to have something you can look at and remember that life isn't total shit.

You make yourself a cup of coffee, then sit down at your desk and take some time to get yourself back on track with your cases after being on night shift derailed you. Coming in early was a good call. Usually you would have been yelling at someone for breaking your concentration by now. Every few minutes you glance up at the drawing of Scout and smile. You're filled with excitement at the thought of seeing Trant again tonight. You hope every day will be as good as yesterday from now on. Until he gets better. And doesn't need you any more. Of course you want him to get better. But that would change things for you and him. You'll probably drift apart. You need to prepare yourself for that. But not today. Today things are fine.

Other officers start arriving, and you turn your focus back to your case files. You're reminded once again how much you hate THE FUCKING GANG CASE. You force yourself to read over the summary sheets anyway.

"Hey hey, what's this?" McLaine says, making an instant beeline for your desk. He giggles. "Screwing a chick who's got a kid, Vic?"

"Something like that," you say without looking up.

"Hey, good job on finally getting laid, homey," Torson says, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

"All right, shut up," you grumble.

"Mullen, get over here," McLaine calls.

You sigh. "For fuck's sake."

Harry comes over and stares at the drawing for a disturbingly long time. You feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck, and begin to fear he is going to make one of those eerie spot-on comments of his about something he couldn't possibly know. But what he says is, "Hm, the kid knows you like horses."

You clap slowly. "Very good, detective. No-one else can fucking see that."

McLaine sits himself down on your desk. "So, what's her name?" he asks, grinning and flipping his hair over his shoulder.

"None of your fucking business," you say.

"Must be hard to shout that when you're boning," McLaine says without missing a beat.

"Right, fuck off, I'm bored of this now," you say, shoving him off your desk.

You try not to listen to them gossiping about you as they walk off. It wouldn't be so bad being ribbed about finally getting laid if you actually had got laid. You have to admit the thought has crossed your mind. You and Trant. Heat rises to your face, and you hope the gossips aren't looking in your direction. So yeah, maybe you've thought about it. But it's not like you can get shitfaced together and say fuck the consequences. Or... maybe you should.

Fuck. No. You can't think about this. Shit, yesterday you were scared of what might happen if you just kissed him. Maybe alcohol is the answer. Makes you forget all your hangups, and you can blame it if it all goes wrong and the other person gets pissed at you.

You imagine knocking on Trant's door with the most expensive bottle of booze you can afford. Fuck. You can't. You can't even imagine it, it's too much. God, those assholes, why'd they have to put that thought in your mind?

As you make plans for your next moves on your current cases, it occurs to you that nobody has called you Nurse Jean today. Maybe they've forgotten. Maybe this nonexistent woman you're screwing has made them forget all about that. You notice Judit's eyes stray towards the drawing when she's standing at your desk talking to you, and you feel yourself sweating, waiting for her to comment on it. She's seen you with Mikael, she will know who did the drawing. But the whole day goes by without her saying a word, even when you head out together to chase down some leads.

Before you head home, or rather, to Trant's, you look at the drawing again and try to recapture the positive feeling you had earlier. You should have known your stupid colleagues would ruin your mood. You don't take a bottle of booze with you, in fact you try to erase that thought from your mind completely.

Trant looks a little surprised to see you. "Oh, hey Jean, you're here early."

"Am I?" you say, as if you didn't slip out of work early and drove above the speed limit all the way.

You follow him inside.

There is a dark haired woman in overalls sitting on the couch with a cup of tea.

"Oh, I didn't know you had company," you say, your heart sinking.

"Donna, this is my friend Jean," Trant says.

Donna gives you a little smile. "Hi. Trant told me about you," she says.

"Oh has he? Only bad things, I expect."

Trant laughs nervously. "Oh, isn't he funny?" he says. "Sit down, Jean, I'll get you a drink."

You cross your ams. "No, I don't think I will. You know what they say, three's a crowd."

Trant looks at Donna, who is clutching her cup tightly. "Jean-" he begins.

"No no, I understand. You've replaced me with a pretty face. I'd do the same if I were you."

The woman looks at you indignantly. "Excuse me," she says.

"Look, I'm sure you're very nice, but that's how men's minds work. We only care about looks. That's just how things are."

The woman stares at you. But instead of saying anything, she puts down her cup and looks at Trant. "You know what, I need to get going anyway. Thanks for the tea, Trant," she says.

Trant gives you a look. "I'll see you out," he says, following her out of the room.

You follow them, and stop in the living room doorway, and watch as Trant gives Donna a hug. You feel your blood pressure rise, and you can't focus enough to judge whether this is longer or shorter than the hug he gave you yesterday.

"Take care," she says.

"Yes, you too, Donna. I'll call you tomorrow, let you know how I get on," Trant says.

Trant looks distinctly unhappy when he returns to the room. Clearly because you walked in and ruined his date.

"Looks like you don't need me any more," you say, leaning against a bookcase.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that. I can see I've been replaced."

"What? No. Donna is an old friend. And she's been helping me with cleaning, as I've not been feeling up to it."

You sigh. "Fucking hell. Every goddamn day I ask you if you need me to do anything, and you say no."

Trant raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Jean, you work twelve hour shifts, I couldn't ask you to clean for me as well. And Donna's boyfriend has just left her. She really needs the extra money to help with bills."

You scoff. "Boyfriend just left her?" you say, raising your eyebrows. "You trying to get in there?"

"What? No. You know I'm not like that."

"Like what? All I'm saying is, she's single, so are you. What's the matter? She not your type?"

"She's a friend. I wouldn't make a move on a friend. It would lack class."

His words sting. Yeah, only a complete asshole would consider making a move on a friend. "Oh, come on. You'll be single forever with that attitude."

Trant crosses his arms. "Well, I rather have other things on my mind right now, as you know."

"She's kinda cute. Well done. I'd go for that too," you say, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

"Jean! What have I just said? It's not like that."

"Well, whatever. You clearly don't need me. I won't come around any more," you say, heading for the door.

Trant leans on the doorframe, blocking your exit. "I don't understand why you're so mad about this. You are my friend, but you are not my only friend."

You grit your teeth. You want to say something but everything that comes to mind is angry or cruel. Or could it be that he wonders why you're jealous? Suddenly you're horrified at yourself for showing your hand so openly. God, this is the worst time to blurt out your true feelings. Your chances with him have dropped to zero. You pat your pockets, searching for your cigarettes.

Trant's expression softens. "What's wrong, Jean? Did you have a bad day at work?"

You look away. "Something like that," you say, grateful to him for giving you an easy way out. You pull a cigarette from the packet. "I'm gonna go for a smoke."

For a moment, you think Trant isn't going to let you go, but then he drops his arm and moves out of the way. "Okay. But come back afterwards, I want to talk to you."

You nod and put the cigarette in your mouth on the way out. You glance at the elevator and the thought of just leaving crosses your mind. What's the point in staying? No matter who this Donna chick is to him, now you know you're not special. You're just one of his many friends. You don't know why you ever thought otherwise.

Sighing, you open the fire escape door and light your cigarette as you stand at the top of the steps. If you hadn't have left work early today, maybe you would never have known this information. You could have been blissfully ignorant.

You kick the railing.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" you curse, your toe throbbing.

You like to think you have a good handle on whether or not a person is lying, especially with people you know well. And you didn't get the sense that Trant was being dishonest yesterday. It really felt like the two of you had become close, almost uncomfortably so. You're confused by the whole situation. You don't really know what this is, this thing you and Trant have. You can't make any real sense of it, not with your fucked up mind.

Throwing the cigarette butt down to the street below, you linger a while longer and look out at the darkening sky over the city. You take some breaths. It doesn't help. You decide to go back inside and face whatever Trant has to tell you. Your toe hurts. You try not to limp.

"Feeling a little calmer now?" Trant asks as he lets you back in.

No I'm not fucking calmer! How am I supposed to feel calm when I know you've fucking replaced me? is what you want to say. But you just shrug your shoulders.

While you were gone, Trant made you both tea. He sits down on the couch and takes a sip of his. You do the same. Chamomile. Not exactly your favourite flavour, but you appreciate that he is trying to make an effort. The flowers that you, or rather Judit, picked out for him are still on display. Next to them there are a number of get well cards. You wonder if they have been there for a while and you just didn't notice them.

"So, do you want to talk about it?" Trant asks.

"What?" Your attention is brought to how tense you are, hunched over your tea cup.

"Work, or, anything…" He lets the word linger in the air.

You suppose you could bitch about the tossers at work and your continued frustration with your current cases. But you've already had enough of that for one day. You suppose you could demand he tells you whether he does actually need you, or if he's taking pity on you and trying to make you feel less worthless. But you're not really sure you want to know the answer to that.

"Jean?" Trant says, and you're suddenly aware that you were lost in thought.

You suppose you have to say something, so you just give him a brief rundown on your recent findings on the case that he has been involved with. Trant makes some comments, which you mentally file away to follow up on later.

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" he asks.

You deliberately lower your shoulders and lean back on the couch, at least pretending to relax. "Yes," you say. "Oh, hey, I totally forgot. Did you call the doc?"

Trant nods. "I finally got through to her office this afternoon. They are going to chase up the results with the lab and said they would get back to me. I imagine it will be tomorrow now."

You shake your head. "How long can it take to do some goddamned tests?"

"So long as they do them correctly, I am willing to wait."

You finish the dregs of your tea, and put down the cup. "Well, I hope the results are… helpful, at least," you say, standing up. "I'm sure you don't want me hanging around here any longer."

"Actually, Jean, I'm glad you're here. The day after Mikael goes back to his mother's is always a tough one for me. I get used to having company. And I was very lucky this weekend to have both of you around. Ordinarily I keep myself occupied and that is enough to quell the loneliness, but I am afraid that all I can do at the moment is worry about what the test results will show." He pauses, and looks down. "I was wondering if you would be willing to stay with me tonight. Only if it isn't too much trouble, of course."

You put your hands in your pockets. "I'm not sure I'll be very good company."

"Nonsense."

"I won't be offended if you want to call someone else," you lie.

"No. I don't. You're here right now, and it's you that I want." He falters. "To keep me company, I mean."

"Fine," you say, sitting back down. "But don't blame me if you're bored shitless in five minutes."

Trant starts to tell you about a book he has been reading, about some old philosopher. You're lost within minutes, but it's nice to listen to his voice. There's not a lot you can add, other than to nod and agree with him. But that's one of the nice things about Trant, he's able to fill silences quite easily on his own, and as long as you at least make an effort to appear to be listening, he doesn't mind doing all of the talking.

"I'm a little tired of talking now, would you like to watch a film?" he asks eventually.

You nod. "Sure."

"What are you in the mood for?" he asks, getting up and going over to his collection of film reels.

"Dunno."

"Hmm, I don't know either," Trant says. "Give me a number between one and six."

"Two."

"And another between one and, say, fifty?"

"Three."

Trant selects a tape from his collection and sets the projector up, then turns off the light. It turns out to be an utterly forgettable biopic about some guy from Vaasa. Trant makes a few comments throughout, but far less than for the other two films you watched together. Despite his attempts to act natural, he seems visibly agitated. And you can't relax either, partly because you're concerned about how much of his agitation is your fault.

As the credits roll, you cover your mouth and yawn. Trant goes to stop the projector and turn the light on again. "It's late. We should probably get some sleep," he says. "Are you sure you don't mind staying here tonight, Jean?"

"I go home now, I go home in the morning, what difference does it make?" you say. "If staying makes you feel better, I'll stay."

Trant smiles. "Thank you."

The two of you look at each other for a little too long. You try to think of some casual or jokey way of suggesting you could sleep in his bed, but you bottle it.

Trant lends you a set of pyjamas again, and you settle yourself in the spare room. Last time you slept here, it was the night you tried to kill yourself. That was only last week, yet it seems so long ago now. You can't believe the difference in your mental state since you and Trant started spending more time together. A week ago, you never would have imagined you'd be capable of being as happy as you were this weekend.

All you need to do is figure out how much a threat Donna is to your relationship. Her, and Trant's assortment of other friends. You can't realistically consider making a move on him if he might be interested in someone else. No. There can't be any possibility of you making an ass of yourself. You have to know. And there must be some way of finding out that doesn't involve just asking him. Because that's out of the question.

Just as you're drifting off to sleep, a noise wakes you. The walls are so thin at your own apartment that you've learnt to sleep through almost anything, but it's so quiet at Trant's place that the slightest noise is odd. You hear a creak, then footsteps.

You're probably wrong, but it could be an intruder. Being as quiet as you can, you slip out of bed and pick up your gun. You creep down the hall, and hear noises coming from the kitchen. Flattening yourself against the wall, you look around the corner.

And see Trant sitting at the kitchen table.

You let out the breath you've been holding, and lower your gun.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he says. His gaze drops to your gun. "Not going to shoot me, were you?"

You step into the room properly, and put your gun down on the kitchen table. "I was going to shoot whoever was casing the joint," you say, putting your hands on the back of an empty chair.

Trant smiles slightly. "It's only me, officer."

"Can't sleep?" you say.

Trant shakes his head, and takes a sip out of his glass of water. "Want some water?" he asks.

"Don't get up, I'll get it," you say, finding yourself a glass and filling it. You sit down opposite Trant.

"I just keep thinking, what if it's something serious?"

"They'll have a cure."

"But what if they don't?"

"They'll find one," you say. "Doctors are smart, Trant. I'd wager a few of them are probably smarter than you."

Trant laughs a little at that, then sighs. "Smart people don't sit up at two a.m. worrying about the future," he says.

"Funny," you say with a smirk, "I'm looking at one right now who's doing just that."

Trant smiles. You sit and drink water in silence for a few moments.

"I'm sorry for keeping you up," he says.

"Is there anything I can do to help you sleep?"

"Well," Trant says, running a finger along the rim of his glass. "I did sleep better last time when you were near me. But I couldn't ask you to do that again."

You sigh. "Trant, you can ask me to do anything you like," you say. Anything at all.

"Then, you don't mind?"

You shake your head. "I already know you don't snore."

"Well then, shall we?"

The air catches in your lungs. You almost expect him to hold a hand out so you can take it and he can lead you to his bedroom. But he doesn't, of course. You follow him anyway.

Trant turns on a lamp by the bed. You see the blue book sitting beside it. His diary. You regret not taking a look at it before when you had the chance. He picks it up and puts it in a drawer, then goes around to the other side to get in bed.

You hesitate. Last time you did this, you didn't intend to climb in bed with him, and you didn't expect to like it so much. This time, you're doing it intentionally. And you know you like being close to Trant. So fucking much. Your heart races.

Trant is looking at you, with his deep blue eyes. It's almost unfair, how attractive he is. No-one would be able to resist falling under his spell.

You realise how odd it must look that you're just standing there, and you force yourself to climb into bed. It's pleasantly warm to lie beside him. You reach out and stroke his hair. He smiles gently and closes his eyes.

"My heart is beating fast," he says.

And so is yours. It takes you a moment to notice the note of fear in his voice.

You take your hand away from his head, and cautiously touch his chest. He blinks at you. You feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Moving your hand slightly, and pressing down a little, you feel his heart beat. Would it be a romantic and welcome distraction if you kissed him right now? Or would it be a total asshole move? You have no fucking idea about romance. Maybe you should have suggested watching a romantic film so you could pick up some tips.

"What do you think? Is it fast?" he asks you.

"Hm, I'm not sure. Let me see," you say, taking your hand away and shifting down the bed so you can lay your head on his chest.

Trant inhales sharply. You move your head so you can press your ear against his chest.

"I think it's fine," you say. "But I can stay here, just in case."

You feel Trant wrap an arm around your shoulders and rest his chin on the top of your head. You shift your body a little closer to him, inhaling his scent, enjoying his body heat. You close your eyes, and are lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his breathing.

Some time later, you wake up and have to move. As nice as it was to lay on Trant, your neck hurts and your arm has gone numb. But you're glad to see that you helped him fall asleep.

You realise you both fell asleep with the lamp still on, and reach over to turn it off. But then you pause, and start to think about Trant's diary. This would be the perfect opportunity to take a look at it. You can see if he was lying about his friend. And if he's secretly pissed off with you.

You lay still for a few minutes, thinking it over. You could just ask him again, instead. But how could you be sure he's telling the truth? Meanwhile, real solid, evidence lies in that drawer.

Slowly, taking care not to make a sound or move the mattress too much, you sit up and move to sit on the edge of the bed. The drawer squeaks a little as you pull it. You stop, take a breath, then ease it open just far enough so you can grab the diary.

Holding your breath, you flip it open, and start reading a recent entry. There's paragraphs about him worrying about his illness, lamenting the fact that he can't do much. Your heart aches. You skip a little further down the page and come across something interesting.

He doesn't see how wonderful he is. And I fear it make take me more than one lifetime to figure out how to tell him how wonderful I think he is in a way that he will believe.

He writes he not she. So whoever Trant likes is a man. You suppose that is good, in a way. This whole time you have been aware of the possibility that he's only attracted to women. Trant has never talked about any past relationships, and he only mentions his ex-wife in conjunction with Mikael. You cast your eyes upwards to find out who he is writing about. The only name you see, in the paragraph above, is your own. Your eyes unfocus, struggling to make out the words.

You flip back a few pages, see if you can find something he has written about someone else. For all you know, he might talk of everyone else in this manner.

But you find yourself drawn to your own name again.

I really am so grateful to Jean. I hope I haven't scared him away with what I said. He means so much to me. I have to say he's my favourite person. It really is the silver lining of my illness that it has drawn us closer together.

"Jean?"

A shock goes through your whole body. You turn around to see Trant, awake, looking blearily at you. Oh, fuck. How could you be so stupid?

"Jean, what are you doing?"

You feel sick.