27 June 1992

"I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest.

It was late on the Wednesday evening and after spending most of the day making arrangements for her father's funeral, she had finally made the trip back to London, feeling weary with all that had happened, but satisfied with what she had accomplished. The funeral was set to take place in a fortnight and most, if not all, the arrangements had been finalised. The people who needed to be informed had been, the funeral parlour was booked, the local pub organised for the wake afterwards and all that was left to do was decide what words should be said. Her father hadn't been religious, but when she had been driving up the road trying to formulate some kind of eulogy in her head, it had proved more difficult than she had imagined.

"You look like you could use a drink," he said, leading her inside and sitting her down on the couch. "Here, take the weight off."

"Thanks," she replied, kicking her shoes off and leaning back into the cushions, closing her eyes in the process. It was strange to think how much had changed in such a short space of time.

"Here," he handed her a glass and then sat down beside her. "Everything sorted then?"

"Pretty much. The funeral's two weeks today."

"That's quick."

"Really? It feels like it's ages away."

"What, after a sudden death? No, I think that's quick." He paused. "The doctor is sure it wasn't suspicious?"

"That's what he said. He seemed happy enough to sign the death certificate."

"Hmm…long as he doesn't stand to inherit anything himself."

"Nonsense," she laughed, almost grateful for the moment of levity. "I doubt there's doctors out there going around signing death certificates just so as they could inherit. Besides, Dad wasn't exactly sitting on millions. He didn't even own the flat. I'll be surprised if his estate even covers the funeral."

"If you need help, you will say, won't you?"

"Thanks, but I don't." She drained half her glass and sat back again, leaning into the comfort of his body. "Part of me still can't believe he's gone."

"And there was definitely no note?"

"Not that I could find anyway, but I still need to go through all his things, so there might be something there. I just wish…I wish he'd told me what he was planning."

"You'd have needed to stop him if he had."

"I know, but…he knew we were getting married. Wouldn't he have wanted to be there for that?" The thought had plagued her so much in the dark moments. Why now?

"Well, maybe he figured you were settled with me and knew that I'd look after you. Maybe he didn't know how ill he was going to become and whether he might end up being a burden."

"Maybe…I just feel like we still had things to discuss, you know? The past still needed ironed out."

"Maybe he didn't want to rake it all up again. You were on good terms and maybe he wanted to keep it like that. Maybe he thought if you did talk about the past, it would dredge things up and you might stop talking again."

His logic made sense, but she still couldn't help but feel cheated. "Hilary said he talked about me all the time; about how proud he was of me. She said he told her about my promotion last week before he…did it."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" she sighed, "I suppose so. Just seems like we had a lot of wasted years, that's all."

"Well, I reckon it's natural to feel that way; to think about the things unspoken that can't ever be said. You know you're going to be all right though, don't you? After all, you've got me."

"What else could I possibly ever want or need?" she joked, craning her neck back to look at him.

"Exactly."

She paused, taking in the contours of his face and the softness of his eyes. Even despite the recent past with her father, she still couldn't help but feel abandoned all over again and the thought of being completely alone struck deep inside her. "You won't leave me, will you?"

"Where would I go?"

"I don't know. You might meet someone else you like better than me or…"

"Don't talk rubbish," he said sternly. "I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't have asked you to marry me if I was planning to do a runner now, would I?"

"I suppose not."

"Of course not." He paused. "I don't suppose all this has given you any other thoughts about how soon you want to get married, has it?"

If she was being honest, the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Though he had previously pointed out that if she wanted her father at the wedding, they might have to act sooner rather than later, it all seemed a bit of a moot issue now that he was gone, and part of her did still feel that she needed some time before taking the step. "I still think we should wait a while," she said finally, well aware that it wouldn't be the answer he would want to hear.

"That's all right," he replied, seemingly good-naturedly. "I understand."

"Thanks."

"No problem." He leaned down and kissed her gently. "Whatever makes you happy."

"You make me happy," she replied softly, pressing herself against him. "Very happy."

"Oh, I see," he teased, as her hand drifted down his chest to the waistband of his trousers and below. "Like that, is it? Well, I should probably tell you it's been a very long day and I'm too tired to be used as your plaything…"

"But…?"

"But, given I haven't seen you for the best part of two whole days…" he dipped his head and caught her mouth with his, and she felt herself relax into the familiar safety of him. She couldn't help but still giggle as he led her to the bedroom, even after all the many times they had slept together, even though he was the man she was going to marry. It was as if there was still something almost forbidden about it, perhaps due in no small measure to the fact that their union remained a secret to so many.

The ritual was practiced, the familiarity of it so welcoming to her. The way that he undressed her, lingering over her, showering her body with kisses that began as gentle flutters before growing needy, desperate and hungry; the way that he would stop her from touching him whilst he touched her and the thrill that always shot through her at the feeling of being the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. He never failed to make her catch her breath, to shudder and gasp as he explored her and she sometimes wondered, when her brain could tear itself away from the exquisiteness of the moment, whether time would dull the sensations and deplete the magic. She loved the way that he always made sure her needs were catered to, using his fingers and tongue to always bring her to the edge of ecstasy, and sometimes over, before claiming it for himself. When he was inside her, she clung to him, warmed by the feeling of his skin against hers, his breath on her neck and his words, often too risqué for repetition, in her ear. Most of all, she loved those moments when he would tell her he loved her, right at the peak, when he had nothing left to lose and no way of holding back and they would squirm together, deriving pleasure from one another until the moment had passed and they could lie together in the darkness, saying little but feeling so much.

He was honest and true; true to her. He would never hurt her, never leave her, never betray her, of that she was sure. He was everything that she needed and more, and in the warmth of his embrace, it was all too simple to push the notion to the back of her mind that she had once thought the same about her ex-husband.

29 June

The entire drive to the prison, his mind had been working overtime. Truth be told, he'd slept badly the night before, tossing and turning, thinking about what would happen when he came face to face with Stewart and what he would say. There were so many things, so much recent history. In terms of his affair with Christina, he didn't know whether to lie, tell the truth or meet somewhere in the middle. If he lied, and said that it had just been a fling, the truth would come out eventually once Stewart found out they were married. If he told the truth, he risked directing Stewart's anger towards her. Perhaps the middle ground would be preferable and yet, he had little to no idea what that would even look like. And then, of course, there were other things; things he felt no guilt over; things he was angry with the other man over. He could still conjure the image in his mind of her lying slumped on the floor of her house, the life flowing out of her.

As he entered the prison visiting area, he was dismayed to recognise the officer on duty, having hoped he could have come and gone with preferable anonymity.

"Hello Frank," the officer greeted him. "Not seen you in here for a while. Keeping busy?"

"Oh yeah, Vinny, you know me. Pedal to the metal, full throttle all the time."

"I know you all right," Vinny laughed and glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him. "Right, Burnside…." He paused and looked up. "You're here to see Stewart Church?"

"That's right," he replied, working hard to keep his expression neutral. Vinny blinked rapidly. "There a problem?"

"No, no problem. If you head on down to room number four, I'll have him brought up."

"Cheers." Unwilling to venture much further into the conversation, he made his way along the corridor and opened the door of room number four. It was small, with a table, two chairs either side and a door at the other end through which Stewart would be brought. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should be stood or seated when Stewart appeared. Standing might either suggest he was trying to intimidate the other man or wanting a quick escape. Sitting might either suggest weakness, or that he didn't care. For a moment, he felt a sense of panic rise in his chest before electing to sit, draping himself in the chair in a manner that indicated that he felt relaxed about the whole encounter, even if the truth was somewhat different.

Five minutes later, the door at the opposite end of the room opened and Stewart appeared, the regulation prison jumper and jogging bottoms catching him by surprise. He was thinner than Frank remembered him, but his upper body looked toned, as though he had been spending time in the gym. His expression was fairly impassive, and he hesitated before making his way over to the table, pulling out the chair and sitting down. For a moment, they simply eyeballed each other, Frank working hard to maintain his veneer of relaxation.

"This is your meeting," he said, eventually breaking the silence.

"Thanks for coming."

Stewart's measured tone surprised him, but he recovered quickly. "Well, I had an opening in my diary so…what can I do for you?"

Stewart said nothing for a long moment, but Frank could see his brain ticking over as he clearly formulated what he wanted to say. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, hoping that whatever the first blow was, he was able to deal with it effectively. "How's Christina?"

It wasn't the question he had been anticipating, and it took him a moment to recover. He pondered over whether to tell the other man that his ex-father-in-law had recently committed suicide but decided against it. How would he ever explain to her how Stewart knew were it ever to get back to her? "She's fine. Doing well actually. She got promoted to sergeant the other week."

"Yeah, I heard. Good for her. She's staying at Sun Hill then?"

"Well, we wouldn't want to lose someone with her potential."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't. Harry said he saw her the other day on some domestic violence course. He said she looked good." Frank said nothing. "I wanted to hear your side of the story."

"What story?"

"The story of how you seduced my wife."

"Ex-wife."

"Whatever. She wasn't my ex-wife at the time." Stewart's gaze bored into him. "You can't deny it. She admitted it to me, not to mention the fact that everyone at court heard about it. So?"

He shifted slightly in his seat, "What can I say; it just happened."

"That's what she said, when she came to the house."

"When you stabbed her," he remarked, hot anger flooding through him at the memory. He had always wanted to get his hands on the other man because of what he had done, and those thoughts hadn't changed. Sometimes he wished he hadn't listened to Kim and had pummelled Stewart into the floor that day when he'd walked into the station.

"She said that, after we had an argument one night, she came to your flat and ended up in your bed."

"I suppose that's a fair assessment of the situation."

"She said that she loved you and that you loved her."

"She said a lot." Under the weight of the other man's gaze, he found that he couldn't lie. What would be the point? It would all unravel and come out at some point. Why not now, when he could control it. "I did," he heard himself say. "I do."

Stewart blinked. "I asked her, when she left me, if there was anyone else and she said no. I asked you if there was anyone else and you said that you didn't know. You must have had a good old laugh at my expense that day."

"It wasn't for me to tell you."

"No, you just lied for her."

"Yes, and I'd do it again given the same circumstances, even if I might do other things differently."

"Like what?"

"I'd have nicked you for what you did to her. I wanted to nick you after you assaulted her in the pub, after you threw that glass at her in her own home. I would have had you banged up long before you were ever able to get near her with that broken bottle if she had let me." He tried to keep his tone even, but he could tell the other man had sensed his anger and he waited for a barbed retort.

Instead, Stewart lowered his gaze, "I'll never forgive myself for that, for hurting her like that. I thought I'd killed her."

"You very nearly did."

"You found her," he looked up again. "When I was interviewed by your DCI, she told me that you were the one who found her, the one who saved her."

"Yeah, well…" he shifted again, discomfited by the memory. "When I heard she'd gone to meet you at the house, I was concerned. With good reason, as it turned out."

"I was drunk…I didn't know what I was doing…"

"You knew exactly what you were doing!"

Stewart's head snapped up. "Like you did when you took her away from me?"

"I didn't take her anywhere," he sat forwards and eyeballed the other man. "She came to me because she was fed up with the way you treated her; because she finally understood that all those years she'd been second best to you climbing the greasy pole, because wanted something better, something more." Stewart laughed. "What's so funny?"

"You talk about me and the greasy pole? We all know that your career's what drives you, Frank. Not to mention the fact that you were not exactly known for your fidelity and commitment, are you? Your reputation precedes you. When she told me about the pair of you…" he shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that she had fallen for whatever line you'd given her, that she'd spread her legs for you. Truth be told, I still can't quite believe it. She was mine, mine since we were kids. We'd been through everything together. My family took her in. I never thought for one moment that she would ever betray me."

"Well, I suppose it's a matter of opinion who betrayed who."

"I never cheated on her."

"No? What about that snout you had when you were on the squad? The one you supposedly slept with that got that Ryan bloke's back up. So far up, in fact, that he would concoct an entire reason to get your wife undercover so that he could try and get her into bed, whether by force or otherwise."

"There was nothing in that."

"No? She was almost raped that night. And then of course there was another occasion when I saw you in the pub with your arm around some blonde…"

"Don't try and change the subject, Frank, this isn't about me. This is about you and my wife."

"Ex-wife."

Stewart paused. "You said 'I do' when I said she'd told me you loved her."

"So?"

"So, does that mean it's still going on?"

He paused, weighing up how far to go and then deciding that it was better to be in for a penny, in for a pound. "Yes. We're engaged." It gave him a slight sense of satisfaction to see how surprised Stewart was. No doubt the other man had assumed that whatever flame there had been had long since been extinguished given that everyone knew Frank Burnside couldn't commit to anyone.

"Engaged? Wow. I suppose I should congratulate you. Not your usual style though, is it? I've always had you down as more of the type of man who simply has his wicked way, pulls up his trousers and then pisses off."

The depiction irked him. "Like I said, I love her."

"Do you know something…?" Stewart nodded slowly. "I believe you. I can see it in your eyes. And I suppose that would give you ample motive to want me to back off then, wouldn't it?"

He felt his stomach turn over slightly, now that they were getting to the true crux of the matter. "You're divorced. Whatever you might think has no bearing on either of us."

"But we weren't divorced until a few weeks ago. We weren't divorced when I wanted to write to her. I wanted to try and explain why it had all happened, how my life had gone to shit after I got shot. I wanted her to understand…and then I got threatened. Someone came to my cell and told me that if I so much as put pen to paper, I'd regret it."

He blinked. "Well, you get all sorts in here, don't you?"

"Don't treat me like I'm simple, Frank. I know it was you that was behind it."

"Why would I care whether or not you wrote to her?"

"I wasn't entirely sure. I thought maybe you were just angry at me for what had happened to her, that you were just throwing your weight about because you know people in here. But it's obvious now, looking at you, hearing what you've just said. You were terrified that she'd dump you and come back to me. You were terrified about losing control over her."

The truth twisted in his gut, even if it was only half a truth. Control had never come into it. Love…well that was a different matter. But then, he was never going to admit anything. "For your information, when she told me that you wanted to write to her, we weren't together. She had ended it. Not that I think there was ever any danger of her coming back to you. Eight years is a long time to wait for someone who knifed you in the back."

"What about later?"

"What about later?"

"I know my brother talked to her. I know he suggested she come and see me and that she spoke to my mum about it. My mum spoke to me, told me she wanted to visit."

"So?"

"So…I was going to agree. I wanted to see her, to explain face to face, and then, surprise surprise, I get another little visit to my cell and another warning to stay away. So, I told my mum I wouldn't see her." He paused. "That was only a few months ago."

Frank held his gaze, watching the slight mocking look in the other man's eyes. He thought he had him by the short and curlies. It was time to bring the whole sorry encounter to an end. "Is this conversation actually going somewhere? I'm a busy man. Villains to nick, and all that."

"I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say that you got someone to put the frighteners on me, twice."

"Why? Even if I were to admit to that, which I'm not seeing as I don't know what you're talking about, what good would it do you?"

"It might not do me any good," Stewart replied. "But it wouldn't do you any good either, would it? If it got out that DI Frank Burnside, who's always walked on the wild side as it is, had actually gone as far as having a prisoner threatened twice to try and maintain a relationship with that prisoner's wife, a relationship he shouldn't even be having in the first place, I doubt very much that all you'd get would be an unofficial slap on the wrist. I reckon you'd be out, possibly facing criminal charges."

"And that's what you want, is it? Me, out of the Met, or in here with you?"

"You can talk about love all you want, Frank. I know men like you. I did the wrong thing and I'm paying for it now. I hurt Chris and I don't want to see you hurt her."

"Yeah, well…" he got to his feet. "That's never going to happen."

"No? Men like you can't help yourselves."

"I'm not the one doing eight years for the attempted murder of the person I claimed to be in love with."

"She'd drop you soon as look at you if she knew what you'd done."

"It really gets to you, doesn't it Church? The fact that she came to me, the fact that I had her whilst all the time you were writhing around in your own filth, too pissed out your face to be a husband to her. You can't stand that fact that she's mine now, that she always will be mine, and that you've got the next eight years in here to stare at four walls and think about how badly you screwed your life up whilst I get to make love to her every night."

Stewart's face darkened. "You're a bastard, Burnside."

"Yeah, takes one to know one." He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, closing it firmly behind him and blocking out the words he could hear Stewart throwing at him.

"Everything ok?" Vinny asked, as he tossed the visitors badge down onto the desk.

"Terrific." He didn't stop for conversation, choosing instead to make his way as quickly as possible back to the car, letting out a long breath once he was inside it. He supposed it had gone well, relatively speaking. Church had nothing on him. His accusations were simply the jealous product of a man who knew he'd lost everything. No-one would ever give credence to his ramblings, least of all Christina. But as he drove back towards the station and thought back on all that had been said, he suddenly realised that Church knowing that he and Christina were still together and, more than that, engaged, created a problem all of its own.

"Oh Guv, you're back," Alistair greeted him when he walked into the CID office. "You've had an urgent phone call, about half an hour ago."

"Oh yeah, from who?" he asked, walking around his desk and sitting down.

"Some bloke called Stan. He said you'd know what it was about. Asked you to give him a call right away."