Her head lolled on his shoulder as they sat together in the back of the taxi. Trying to get a seatbelt on her had proved impossible as her body sagged and folded once in the seat and far from sitting at opposite sides to one another, she had pressed herself next to him for the duration of the journey. To all intents and purposes, they looked like any couple heading home after imbibing on a night out. The taxi was cold, and she felt warm pressed against him, the gentle motion of the car and the evenness of her breathing lulling him into a state of drowsiness whereupon he found himself resting his cheek against the top of her head and closing his eyes.

"If she pukes in here, you'll be paying for it," the driver said acerbically, jolting him back into the reality of the moment.

"Shut up and drive," Frank replied, tightening his grip around her, the very tone of the other man's words making him feel even more protective over her than he already did. As they sped through the night towards her home address, he wondered what they would find when they got there. Would Stewart be there and, if so, what sort of state would he be in? He wasn't relishing the prospect of leaving her with an equally incapable husband. "Number 103," he said, as the taxi turned into her street. Moments later, they pulled up outside and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. Once paid, he opened the passenger door nearest to him and made to get out, only for her to moan slightly and grip onto him. "Come on Chris, we're here," he said, shaking her gently.

Her head snapped up and she blinked uncomprehendingly as she looked around. "Where are we?"

"Home," he replied, glancing at the taxi driver who was looking critically at him, as though he was some deviant taking advantage of a helpless female. "Come on, let's get you inside." Slowly, she unfurled her legs and slid along the seat and out of the door, gripping onto his arm as she did so. "Nice street you live on," he commented as they began making their way up the path. He had never been to her house before, a terraced property in a fairly decent area with a red front door and plant pots at the side. He could only imagine who was responsible for keeping it looking nice and something told him it wouldn't be Stewart.

"I'm sorry…" she muttered as they climbed the few steps to the door. "I'm sorry Guv…"

"You don't have to be sorry, though I reckon you will be in the morning. Have you got your key?"

"Key…" she said the word as though she had no concept of its meaning and swayed once more, so much so that he thought she might fall backwards, and so he held her tighter. "The door…" lurching forwards, she tried the handle and it opened easily. "It's not locked…"

The immediate hallway was dark, but there was light blazing under the door from the front room on the left along with the high-pitched whine of the test card, indicating that the television had been left on. At first, there was no detected movement, and he could only assume that if Stewart was home, then he was passed out. He suddenly realised that he wasn't quite sure what to do. Leaving her there didn't seem right, but then helping her to bed would be considered completely inappropriate.

"Mmmm…" she slid away from him and slumped down on the bottom step of the stairs, putting her head in her hands. "I'm so fucked."

"Well, if you will pour half the contents of a bar down your throat," he replied good-naturedly. "And don't think I won't bollock you if you're not in tomorrow. I reckon you should…"

Light suddenly flooded the hallway as the door to the front room was thrown open. "What the fuck is this?"

Turning, he saw Stewart leaning against the doorframe, his own drunkenness as apparent as his wife's. There was a can in his hand which Frank could only surmise meant that he hadn't yet reached his limit.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house, Burnside?" he slurred.

"Bringing your wife safely home," he replied, gesturing to her. "She's had a few."

"I can see that," Stewart replied, his eyes never leaving his face, "And what were you planning to do once you got her back here?"

"I was planning on placing her into your care, not that you seem that fit yourself to help her." "Yeah, and the rest," Stewart said, draining the can. "You were planning to come back here and fuck her, weren't you? You thought I wouldn't be here." He moved forwards. "Don't think I don't know your game, Burnside. I've always known."

Frank glanced between them, unsure exactly what to do for the best. Christina still sat with her head bowed and he wasn't sure if she was still technically awake. He took a step back. "I haven't come here to cause trouble, Stewart. I only brought her home to make sure that she was all right. Or would you rather I'd just left her on her own outside the pub in this state?"

Stewart looked at his wife, his lips curling into what he could only describe as a sneer. "Stupid cow. Look at the state of you!" He moved towards her. "I said, look at the state of you!"

"Piss off…" Christina muttered, raising her head, her eyes closed. She fumbled for the banister and pulled herself to her feet. "I'm going to bed." Turning, she kicked her shoes off, stumbling in the process, her free hand searching wildly for the wall as she tottered backwards.

Frank started forwards, to grab her before she fell, only for Stewart to push in front of him and take hold of her arm. Once steadied, she began to slowly climb the stairs, paying nether him nor Frank any heed. Stewart turned back around to face him and moved towards him. "You keep your hands off my wife, Burnside," he said, leaning in close, the smell of alcohol pungent on his breath. "Or I'll have you."

"You're in no fit state to have anyone, old son," Frank replied. "You want to take a look at yourself in the mirror sometime." Before the other man could react, he turned and opened the front door, letting himself out quickly and closing it behind him. As he reached the bottom of the path, he looked up to see a light on in the bedroom facing the street and Christina stumbling around next to the window, shedding clothes as she did so. She appeared to have no concept of the fact that the blinds were open and the whole word was a party to her inelegant striptease. For a moment, he stood transfixed as she tossed her blouse to one side and then bent to remove her skirt. He felt his body react, then his mind, wishing that he could be in the room with her, not for anything sexual, but simply to be there for her in a way that he knew her husband wouldn't or couldn't be. Then he turned away and began heading back down the street towards the main road in search of another taxi.

31 August

It was the morning light that woke her, that and the sensation of feeling cold. As she blinked, trying to focus, she realised that she was lying face down on top of her bed, wearing only her bra and knickers, her whole body chilled from being uncovered. Lifting her head, it immediately started to pound, and the world tilted slightly on its axis, causing her to groan and bury her face once more in the duvet. After a prolonged moment, she tried again, this time forcing herself up onto her knees. It was no exaggeration to say that she felt like shit and as she slowly manoeuvred herself around on the bed, her feet eventually hitting the floor, her stomach lurched.

"Jesus…" she whispered, getting slowly to her feet and stumbling out of the room across to the bathroom. Once on her knees, she retched into the toilet, but nothing came up and she was left with the terribly sweaty sensation of wanting to purge herself and yet being unable to. Rising slowly, she looked at herself in the mirror and winced. She had clearly been in no state to take off her makeup after arriving home and it was smeared across her face to the point where it looked as though she had two black eyes. Her hair was in equal disarray, her face pale and blotchy. Grabbing a wipe, she scrubbed as much as she could, before taking off her underwear and stepping into the shower. She turned it to the hottest setting she could bear and then stood underneath the spray, letting it slam into her body and reawaken her dulled senses. As she shampooed her hair and then washed her body, she realised that she had no concept of how she had gotten home, her last memory being speaking to Ted at the bar. "Gordon and June," she said, remembrance flooding back to her. How had she not known about that?

Once cleaned, she dried herself and then dressed in clothes suitable for the workday ahead before applying fresh makeup and heading slowly downstairs. She could hear the sound of the radio coming from the kitchen and found Stewart sat at the table drinking black coffee, clearly nursing his own hangover.

"Oh," he said, somewhat contemptuously as she came into the room, "It lives." Ignoring him, she poured herself a cup. "Feeling proud of yourself this morning?"

"Not really."

"No, I can imagine you wouldn't." He looked at her as she sat down opposite. "Do you even remember how you got home?"

"No, taxi I assume."

"And do you remember who you were with in the taxi?"

She looked up at him, "Who I was with?" he nodded. "Nobody, I assume."

"Well, you'd assume wrong. I only found you and your boss in our hallway when you woke me up coming in."

"My…Frank?"

"Yeah, Frank." He shook his head. "It was pathetic seeing how wasted you were, hanging onto him like some sort of drunken limpet."

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, and she tried to avoid a flush covering her face by ducking her head, "Did he say anything?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like why he brought me home?"

"Well, I reckon he was hoping I wouldn't be here so as he could have his wicked way with you when you would be too drunk to say no."

Ignoring her own feelings on the matter of Frank escorting her home, she looked up and glared at him, "That's out of order. Frank would never take advantage of me or any female in that situation."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, how dare you say that!" Anger flashed through her, the memory of June's comments about not wanting to be alone with him coming back to her mind. "Do you know how much trouble you could get him into by suggesting something like that?!"

"In my own kitchen? Not very much trouble I wouldn't think!"

"You know what I mean!"

"Can you stop shouting please," he closed his eyes, "I've got a bit of a headache too in case you hadn't noticed."

Grateful for the change in direction of the conversation, she seized on his own inadequacies, "And how much did you have last night then?"

"Not enough to not be aware of you coming tripping in the door with him," he replied. "Honestly, Chris, it's not like you to get so drunk. I don't think you've been that wasted since that Christmas party a few years ago when I had to come and pick you up. It won't do your career any good, you know."

"You're worried about my career? What about yours? When are you next due back to Occupational Health?"

"Next week," he looked down into his cup. "I can already guess what they're going to say."

Glancing at the clock, she saw that she was already over an hour late, and though she knew that she should seize the opportunity of her husband potentially opening up to her about his fears for the future, a bigger part of her was desperate to get to work and make amends for what had happened, for the sake of her own. Not to mention the fact that she wanted to see Frank. "You've come on so much since the last appointment though," she said, draining her cup. "I'm sure they'll see that."

"I'm sure they will," he replied, "but don't let me keep you."

"Stewart…"

"Go, it's fine," he waved her away. "It's not as though I've got anywhere to be, is it?"

She paused again, torn between wanting to stay and wanting to go. Rightly or wrongly, she chose the latter and, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek, grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. As she drove towards the station, she could only hope that Frank was there and available. An explanation, not to mention an apology, were top of her list of things to do that day.

XXXX

"I've seen more atmosphere in a morgue than there is in here this morning," Frank observed, looking around at his clearly hungover colleagues. "You lot are pathetic."

"Can you keep it down to a low bellow please Guv," Jim said, where he was slumped at his desk. "I'm not feeling too perky this morning."

"No, I'm not surprised the amount you put away last night. And you, and you…" he looked at Tosh and Mike in turn. "But I suppose at least you're all here, unlike some I could mention." Glancing at Christina's empty desk, he shook his head in a show of exasperation whilst, inside, he found himself wondering if she was all right. When he had finally got back to his own place, he had lain awake with visions of her choking on her own vomit or getting into a fight with Stewart or perhaps something worse.

"I'm sure she's fine," Ted spoke up, looking remarkably fresh. "She's a big girl and you did make sure that she got home safely."

"Yeah, well…" he shifted uncomfortably at the sensation that the other man might be able to read his mind. "It's no less than I'd do for any of you."

"Oh really?" Ted laughed, "I'd like to see you carry me home, sometime. Was she all righg then, when you got her home?"

"Well, she stumbled off to bed, alone as far as I could tell."

"No Stewart there to welcome her home?"

"Oh, he was there, but he wasn't exactly in a fit state himself."

"I see…" Ted smiled somewhat knowingly. "Speak of the devil…"

Frank turned in time to see Christina coming up the corridor towards the CID office, her expression nothing short of sheepish framed in her pale face. "Well, look who it is!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "So, you're not lying dead somewhere then."

"No, I'm alive and kicking," she replied, putting her bag down on her desk, "Well, alive anyway, I'm not so sure about kicking."

"You, my girl, were a disgrace last night," he chastised her. "I expect that from this lot, but not from you. I thought you knew better."

"I'm sorry Guv. It was a one-off and it won't happen again, I promise."

"Well, I suppose you're here at least. I don't have to send out a search party for you." She smiled wanly. "But if you were hoping for a day at your desk to recover, you can think again. Uniform pulled Jack Dickson in last night for careless driving and Stamp, knowing that we were looking for him, made sure that he was held in. So, you and Tosh can go and interview him about the assault on Darren Dodds, all right?"

"Yes Guv. Oh…Guv…" she followed him as he made his way back into his office. "I wanted to say thank you for taking me home last night. Stewart told me this morning. I'm afraid my memory of last night's a bit lacking at the moment." She smiled sheepishly. "It was good of you to care."

The word seemed to barely cover how he felt and yet he simply nodded at her, "Well, you were lucky I was in the mood to be chivalrous. Your old man wasn't exactly pleasant about it though, but then he'd had a few himself by all accounts."

She looked down, "Well, he tried to suggest that you had brought me home only to have your wicked way with me, so I can only imagine what he might have actually said to you, especially after what he did say when I was undercover last year."

"Well, let's just say he alluded to my having a nefarious purpose in helping you."

"I'm sorry."

"I've told you before that you don't have to apologise for him, only for yourself."

"Well, I'm apologising for myself. It was unprofessional and…well…you'd have been well within your rights just to leave me there, especially when you had your own girlfriend to consider."

"Girlfriend?!" he exclaimed, slightly more animatedly than he had intended. "Fiona is not my girlfriend."

"Oh."

"Did she tell you that she was?" He would have to have words with that one.

"No, I suppose…well, I suppose I just assumed. You don't normally bring women out drinking with us. I suppose I thought she might be a bit…"

"A bit what?"

"Special."

He held her gaze, trying to read what it held. Was she challenging him? Wanting him to admit something that he knew he never could? Or was she fact-finding, trying to get at a truth that he knew he couldn't reveal. "She's just someone I know, and I thought she might fancy a night down the pub," he replied, the explanation sounding pathetic even to his own ears. "You seemed to hit it off at any rate."

"She was nice, from what I can remember, and quite taken with you, I think."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah…maybe you should see her again."

"Maybe you should keep out of my business, Constable," he said, though he could tell by the smile on her face that his tone had been soft, rather than gruff. "Maybe I should keep out of yours."

"Well, you did save me the price of a taxi, so I suppose I at least owe you for that."

"Consider it a gift. Now, I reckon you and Tosh should be getting your little interviewing hats on, don't you? Time's ticking away on that PACE deadline and Cryer's custody officer today, so you know how much he loves to quote the rule book." She rolled her eyes as she turned to leave his office and though he fought it, he found himself saying her name, causing her to turn back to look at him. "Stewart was all right with you, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," she replied, though her eyes told a different story. "He was fine."

When she had left his office, his found his mind wandering to dark places, to the real fear that had kept him awake the previous night; that Stewart, drunk on the idea that Frank had brought her home to take advantage of her, might well have done the exact same thing himself.

XXXX

By the time her shift ended, Christina was running on empty. No amount of coffee or paracetamol seemed enough to lift her from the fog and Dickson laughing in their faces when they had tried to suggest to him that he had assaulted Darren Dodds hadn't helped. He had feigned innocence at the whole thing, claimed the barman was mistaken in what he had seen and that he barely knew the boy. With Darren still too scared to make a positive ID, they had been left with no choice but to release him.

"Well, I'm going home," Tosh announced, rising from his chair. "I've had enough for today."

"You and me both," she replied. "I'm just going to finish writing this up and then I'll be right behind you. Early bath and bed I reckon."

"Be grateful you haven't got five kids," Tosh said. "The fun only starts when I get home."

As she watched him amble down the corridor, she couldn't help but wonder how on earth anyone coped with five kids. The thought of going home to that, feeling as she did, was enough to make her want to weep. Perhaps there was a lot to be said for being childfree.

"So, nothing out of Dickson then," Frank said, coming out of his office and hovering beside her desk. "Little scroat."

"Without an ID from the kid, we're up shit creek without a paddle," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Maybe he might change his mind further down the road but for now…"

"Yeah, frustrating though. A sixteen-year-old kid shouldn't get his face slashed up by a moron who knows how to work the system. Better luck next time, I suppose." He paused. "You heading home?"

"Yeah, once I've finished this." She looked up and met his gaze. "You'll be relieved to hear that I can get myself there tonight." He smiled indulgently. "What about you?"

"A quiet night in, I reckon."

"No Fiona tonight then?"

"No." He paused. "Or would you rather there was?"

The question took her aback slightly and she felt a shiver run up her back, wondering what he was expecting her to say. If she said yes, it would be as though she was pushing them together and, deep down, she knew she didn't want that. But if she said no… "Well, like you said Guv, it's not really my business, is it?"

"No, I suppose it isn't." He continued to hover in front of her and she found herself holding her breath wondering what, if anything, he might say next. "You would tell me, wouldn't you, if anything had happened between you and Stewart last night?"

She blinked, confusion flooding her brain, "How do you mean?"

"Well, he made out as though I had taken you home to have my way with you, without your consent and, well…" he suddenly looked uncomfortable, as though he wished he had never started the conversation.

"Well what?"

"Well…I would hope that if…well that if he had done anything like that…well…you would tell me."

She paused as the true meaning of what he was saying slowly sank into her consciousness. He was asking her if Stewart had raped her. There could be no other slant on it, and the suggestion both repulsed, amused and irritated her, to the point that she wasn't entirely sure which reaction she should give. "You're asking if he raped me." The words came out bluntly.

"Well…"

"You're asking me if my husband raped me." Anger started to creep through her. "Do you actually think…?"

"Look, I was only asking," he said, moving back towards his office. "Forget I mentioned it."

"I…" she sat in her seat, momentarily stunned and wondering if she had hallucinated the entire exchange, before getting to her feet and following him. "How am I supposed to just forget you mentioned it? Why on earth would you think he would be capable of that?" Frank said nothing and merely shifted some papers on his desk. "Is it because you would be?" His head flew up and she immediately knew that she had said the wrong thing, though part of her didn't care, and she elected to barrel on, even in the face of his own indignation, because her husband, her Stewart, would never for one minute think of behaving in that way. "Because if he hadn't been there, you would have tried something on?"

For a moment, he simply stared at her, and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he fought for an answer. Once more, she held her breath, the air around her seeming to still as she waited for his answer.

"Sorry for showing concern," he replied finally, his voice tight. "It was clearly misplaced."

"Frank…" she felt herself crumble, her indignation and anger flowing away from her like water over rocks at the naked sight of his concern for her and the part of her that held feelings for him, inappropriate as they were, burned brightly within her. But as she continued to look at him, the other part of her that was a married woman, and loyal to her husband, also fought for supremacy and she found herself conflicted beyond all coherence. "He never touched me," she said finally. "I promise you, he never touched me." He didn't say anything. "And I would tell you if he ever did."

His expression softened slightly, "Good. And just for the record, the answer is no; I wouldn't have tried something on, not when you were in that state."

In the silence that followed, she fought for some further response, something to close the conversation, to allow them to go their separate ways satisfied that the question had been asked and answered and the matter laid to rest. "Ok then," she said, turning for the door and heading back to her desk. The words on the document in front of her danced before her eyes and, eventually, she gave up on finishing it, realising it would be better served waiting until tomorrow when her head would be clearer.

Lifting her bag, she swung it over her shoulder and then paused at the door, turning to look back into his office where he still sat at his desk, "Night then, Guv."

"Night," he replied, failing to lift his head.

She made her way out of the office, down the stairs and out through custody into the yard to where she had left her car, grateful in so many ways that the day was over. And yet, as she turned the key in the ignition and the car grumbled to life, she couldn't help but ponder on what he had said.

"I wouldn't have tried something on, not when you were in that state."

She shook her head, metaphorically trying to clear the fog that lingered in her brain, telling herself that there was nothing more to the comment than what he had said and that, in no way, was he alluding to the fact that he would have tried something on had she been sober.