"Well, welcome to Barton Street," Chief Superintendent Oliver said, looking her up and down. "Mr Brownlow's told me good things about you, so I've no doubt that you'll be able to hit the ground running and work as effectively here as you did at Sun Hill."

"Yes sir."

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you however that most people in the station will be aware of the reason for your transfer here. Idle gossip, I'm afraid. I hope that won't have too much of an effect on you."

"Water off a duck's back," she replied, with slightly more confidence than she genuinely possessed.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. There's always going to be rivalry between stations, but I hope that in time you'll come to feel as much a part of Barton Street as you did at Sun Hill."

"I hope so sir."

"Lewis."

She looked over to where Chief Inspector Cato was standing in the corner of the room, his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. She knew what was coming. He wasn't nicknamed, 'the Bald-Headed Bastard from Barton Street' for nothing. "Sir?"

"You're going by WDS Lewis, not WDS Burnside."

"Yes sir. I've always kept my maiden name for work."

"Even when you were with your first husband?" he asked, his tone clearly disapproving of her in some way.

"Yes sir." She tried to keep her tone neutral, although being asked the same question in such a short space of time irked her. "I'm my own person, nothing to do with either of my husbands'." She regretted the words the moment they had left her mouth, given how they sounded.

Cato smiled, but not in a way that held any warmth. "Interesting to hear. I'm sure you appreciate that your…current…husband, carries his own reputation."

"Yes sir." He looked at her. "I don't see what that has to do with me."

"I think it'll be very interesting to see just what sort of an officer you are."

"Yes, well it's good to have you at any rate," Oliver interrupted. "You'll have been introduced to the team?"

"Yes, everyone seems very welcoming," she lied.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. There's a bit of a shake up coming, what with WDS Johnson's imminent departure, but I'm sure you're more than woman enough to fill her shoes."

"I hope so, sir."

"Well, I think that's everything."

"Sir." She turned and opened the door and began making her way back down the corridor, stopping only when she heard her name being called from behind. To her dismay, Cato was following her, and he didn't look like he was in the mood for pleasantries.

"I hope you understand the favour we've done taking you on here," he said, when he drew level with her. "Sun Hill's disgrace really shouldn't be Barton Street's problem."

"I think disgrace is exaggerating slightly, sir."

"Do you now?" he raised his eyebrows. "Well, let's just get something straight. Here at Barton Street, we don't tolerate bedhopping between ranks, nor do we look favourably on female officers who believe that it's the best way of climbing the greasy pole." She bit back a retort and merely continued to hold his gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir, thank you."

"Good."

She felt bile rise in her throat as he turned away from her and, hurrying into the bathroom, she spat into the sink before looking at her reflection. It was obvious what they all thought of her; that she had jumped from a sergeant to an inspector to further her own ends not because, then and now, she had been in love with them. It was hard enough for a woman in CID, never mind one who was clearly considered to be a slut.

When she got back to her desk, she looked down at the case papers she had carefully gone over earlier and then turned to where John was still sitting at his desk. "John, shall we go over these now then?"

He rose from his seat and came over to join her, pulling up a chair from an opposite desk. "How was your meeting with the Chief Super?"

"Fine," she replied. "He seems decent enough."

"Was Cato there?"

"Yes."

"And?" he eyed her speculatively.

"And he was…well…let's just say he made his feelings clear."

"He's a bastard," John said, "but he knows his stuff."

"Well, that's reassuring."

"You'll be fine."

She glanced at him, "Well, that's very kind of you to say."

"I've heard a lot about your husband," he remarked casually. "Never met him though."

"Really? Which one?"

He looked at her for a moment, as though not quite sure how to take her comment before grinning. "The current one."

"Yeah," she nodded. "That's the one I thought you meant."

XXXX

George Garfield was lucky. Amanda Jones had eventually been proven to be lying about the accusations that she had made against him and not before time, Frank couldn't help but think. It amazed him sometimes that a woman could just open her mouth, spout any old rubbish, and everyone would rush to condemn an innocent man. Practically though, he knew it was an opinion he needed to keep to himself, particularly in the current climate.

"Maybe Youth Custody will sort her out," Kim said, stood as she was in front of his desk.

"I doubt it."

"You've never had much faith in the system, have you Frank?"

"I don't know. Maybe today proves something works."

"Oh, you don't see MS15 as the enemy within then?"

"You're a necessary evil."

"Thanks a lot."

"Listen I'd rather have you than some raving loony council committee. We'd still be here until this time next week listening to the latest chapter of Amanda Jones's tale of woe, and I imagine Garfield would be strung up by his tackle from the nearest lamppost."

"We have to investigate these things, Frank. Women need to feel that if they come to us, they'll be believed."

"Except when they're lying, of course."

"She's a very mixed-up girl," Kim sighed, sitting down. "There's a lot to unpick there."

"Well, fortunately, we can leave that job to the psychiatrists. Our job is to nick villains and, thankfully, Garfield isn't one of them."

"No…" Kim mused. "And what about you, Frank?"

"Me? I'm not a villain."

"Had your character blackened a little though."

"Have I?" he replied casually, unsure exactly where she was leading him. "Is this a formal or informal interview, Ma'am?"

"Come on Frank, we're just talking. I have no professional stake in what's happened between you and Christina." She paused. "Despite our differences, I've always viewed you as an extremely capable officer with much to give the force."

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment. For what it's worth, you're not that bad yourself."

She smiled modestly, "Well, someone seems to think so at any rate. Besides, we've all seen that things can happen in an officer's career that might cause them a setback, but they soon jump forwards again. You only have to look at Jack Meadows for that."

"You don't think I've done my legs then."

"It's not really for me to say, is it? I assume there will come a point when you'll seek promotion. I'm aware the boards for DCI are coming up in a few months' time."

He paused, wondering exactly where her friendliness appeared to be coming from. Was she just making causal conversation, or was there something more to it? A warning perhaps, that she had even greater clout now than he had previously thought. "Well, we'll have to see Ma'am. Though I don't think I've ever made any secret of the fact that I don't see myself at this rank for the rest of my career."

"No," Kim got to her feet again. "Well, good luck Frank. I do hope to see you in the top corridors someday."

"Thank you, Ma'am," he replied, watching whilst she left the office and thinking, not for the first time, that he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

XXXX

She hadn't really wanted to go for a drink at the end of the shift, but when John had suggested it, she'd quickly realised that it was probably the quickest way to try and ingratiate herself more with her new team. To her surprise, he had turned out to be fairly affable and the time they had spent that afternoon going over outstanding cases had passed without incident. Morag Fraser seemed a good sort as well, eager to please, even if her broad Scottish accent made her difficult to understand at times. Tony Cutler seemed a different kettle of fish. He had kept his distance from her for most of the day and, on more than on occasion, she had seen him deep in conversation with Sally, so it was certainly clear where his loyalties lay. Tom Wilson, her fellow sergeant, seemed more of a maverick with certain qualities she could attribute to him that reminded her very much of Ted, though not in a particularly good way. It did seem, on first impressions, that Barton Street CID was rather divided.

"So, how have you found your first day then, Sarge?" Morag asked her as they stood at the bar in the Red Fox waiting for their order.

"Let's just say it could have been worse," she replied truthfully. It hadn't been the best day of her life, but there were things there she could work with.

"You must miss Sun Hill."

"Well, I was there for a long time."

"Quite romantic in a way," Morag mused. "Falling in love with your boss."

"It's had its moments." Thankfully, the barman returned with the remains of their order at that point, so she was spared the other woman's ponderings as they made their way over to the table where the others were waiting. To somewhat of her dismay, she saw that Sally and Tony had joined them in the time it had taken to order. "Sorry," she said. "We didn't realise you were coming, or we'd have ordered for you."

"It's fine," Sally replied coolly. "We can get our own. Tony?" she nodded to him, and he got to his feet before lumbering towards the bar. "I hear you've been busy this afternoon getting up to speed on our outstanding cases."

"The ones I'm going to be involved in, yes. John's been really helpful."

"I bet he has," Sally replied, shooting the other man a look. "Of course, Norris is in overall charge being our DI…" she paused. "He's not a bad looking bloke if you like that sort of thing."

Morag snorted loudly, then started coughing.

"Well, I'm married, so there's no danger from me," she replied, lifting her glass, before instantly realising that it had probably been the wrong thing to say given her circumstances.

A smile spread across Sally's face. "Number one, I think you might want to rethink that given your current marriage came about as a result of an affair and, number two, not all women in the job are like you."

"Like me how?"

"Looking for the next bed to hop into. Though I imagine you had to wait your turn given how busy your husband's bed usually is."

There was a stunned silence around the table, and she could feel everyone's eyes on her, not to mention the steely penetration of Sally's unwavering gaze. The other woman clearly had no compunction, no shame at all.

"Do you dislike me because of the life choices I've made or because you've been given the old heave-ho to make way for me?"

"Both," Sally replied easily. "Though I suppose it's no surprise given our respective colours."

"Well, that has nothing to do with me. I didn't choose to come to Barton Street."

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Yes, and next week you won't be, so what's the problem? And don't say it's because I'm a slag again, because you're really starting to bore me with that tired old argument. Yes, I slept with my boss, yes, I'm now married to him and yes, he has a reputation with women. If anyone wants to ask me anything about any of those things, please do so now or forever shut your trap." She looked around at the assembled company hoping that she was projecting the air of confidence that she really didn't feel. It could either go one of two ways; they would bombard her with questions or stay silent.

"Was it exciting?" Morag piped up. "When you were having your affair?"

She paused, momentarily thrown. "Uh, yes I suppose it was in a way."

"How long was it a secret for?"

"About two months."

"Did you ever have sex in the station?"

"Morag!" John exclaimed.

"What?"

She found herself fighting against the smile threatening to spread across her face. "Well, we…" then she paused, suddenly acutely aware that there could still be repercussions, for both her and Frank, in the future over what had happened between them and that her desire to be accepted by her new team didn't necessarily need to extend to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "No," she replied finally.

"Your husband stabbed you," Tony spoke up suddenly, returned as he had from the bar. "When he found out."

She met his gaze, "Yes, he did." She waited for him to say more, but instead he simply nodded. "I'm not a slag," she addressed the table. "I fell in love with someone when I was married to someone else, and he just so happened to be my inspector. I'm not going to apologise for it anymore. If you choose to dislike me, or not want to work with me, because of that then it's your problem, not mine. I'm a nice person and a good police officer. Whether you want to get on board with that is up to you." Glancing back at Sally, she saw that the humour had left the other woman's face and she looked nothing short of furious. "All right?"

"Well…" Sally said acerbically. "Let's just see what happens, eh?"

She turned away from her and started talking to John again about one of the cases they had discussed earlier, though she could feel the other woman's eyes on her back. By the following week, Sally Johnson would be a Barton Street memory. Chances were, they would never cross paths again, at least not in a full-time work setting. She owed the other woman nothing.

XXXX

"Sally Johnson? She's a mouthy cow. Barely in the job five minutes and she's already a Detective Sergeant. You've got more experience than she'll ever have, and she knows it, not to mention the fact that, as far I hear, she plays on the colour of her skin at every opportunity."

"She had a fair bit to say about you too."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Like you weren't bad looking…"

"She's got eyes at least."

"…and that you tried it on with her."

"I tried it on with her? She's dreaming. No chance. There isn't a barge pole long enough to keep me away from her and, before you say anything, it's got nothing to do with her being black and everything to do with her being trouble." He paused, suddenly curious. "What else did she say?"

"Well, those were the more flattering statements. I'm not sure you'd like to hear the rest."

"Oh really? Try me?"

"Well, she alluded to your bed being busier than the M25."

"I hope you reminded her that I am a married man now."

"Of course, but then she also seems to be of the opinion that my thighs are as wide apart as the Dartford Tunnel so…"

"Well, I hope you put her in her place."

"I did. At least I hope I did. Anyway, can we stop talking about her? I'll be rid of her by next week."

"Is this everything?" he looked down at the bags that littered the front hallway. "Or is there more to come?"

"That's pretty much it bar a few bits and bobs," she replied, closing the front door. "I have to hand the keys back in a fortnight, so there's still time for a last clear-out. Oh, I called my lawyer earlier and the sale of the house has gone through, finally, so I should get my cut hopefully in the next few weeks."

"And where are they going to send Stewart's cut? His prison account?"

"I have no idea and I don't care." She stepped into the living room and looked around. "It'll be strange for you, sharing with me that is."

"No stranger than you sharing with me. I've made space in the wardrobe and there's two drawers free in the dresser. Should be a start at least."

"Thanks." She turned back to look at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. I suppose part of me just can't believe I'm here. Can't believe that we're official and that it's all right. There's no sneaking around, no dishonesty. Not to mention the fact that I survived day one at Barton Street relatively unscathed."

"Well, I reckon that calls for a celebration, don't you? Come on, I'll take you out for dinner."

"Oh…no, let's not."

He looked at her. "Why not?"

"It's just…it's been a long day. I'm tired and all I want to do is get out of these clothes and flop down on the couch. Why don't we get a takeaway instead?"

"All right, if that's what you want."

"Thanks." She disappeared into the bedroom with two of the bags and he could hear the sound of doors and drawers opening and closing as she co-mingled her belongings with his. He'd always thought he'd feel threatened or uneasy at the prospect of sharing his space with anyone again. Perhaps that was always why he had tried to ensure that he never brought any women home to his flat, preferring instead to go to theirs. But, with her, it felt right, natural and normal that she be there.

"Indian or Chinese?" he asked when she re-emerged wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Ummm…Chinese," she replied, before sitting down on the couch. Ten minutes later, food ordered, he joined her. "You don't mind if I dress like this, do you?"

"Like what?"

"Well, you know. Perhaps you were hoping when I said I wanted to get out of my work clothes that I was going to walk back in here in a baby doll dress and crotchless knickers."

"Well, I wouldn't have turned you away if you had but trust me, you turn me on just as much dressed as you are."

"Thanks," she laughed.

Half an hour later and the food arrived, which they ate on their laps on the couch before she insisted that she help him find homes for the remainders of her possessions, leading to a good-natured argument about a particularly ugly ornament that she clearly loved and wished to display prominently, and he would rather found a home at the back of a drawer. That, in turn, then led to a playful fight that ended in the bedroom with him carefully helping her remove the aforementioned sweatpants and t-shirt.

"You turn me on even more when you're naked," he murmured against her skin, as he kissed down her body to the juncture of her thighs and dipped his tongue between her folds. Nothing aroused him more than pleasuring her and he felt himself harden almost to the point of pain as she gasped and writhed above him. Moving upwards once more, he repeatedly kissed her flushed form before reaching across towards the table next to the bed.

"Don't," she said softly, causing him to pause and frown. "You don't need to."

"But…" he paused, understanding of what she was saying and yet unable to help wondering if she herself was. "If we don't…"

"I know," she interrupted him. "Don't."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Any man would have been lying had he said that protected sex felt better than unprotected sex. Why else would there be so many men too eager to be liberal with their own responsibilities? Nothing felt like having no barrier between you and being so intimately connected that part of your body mingled with hers. In the early dawn of their marriage, Julie had insisted he always used protection, as she hadn't felt ready for the potential consequences of him not. Later, when she had felt ready, it had been the last thing he had wanted, and so any encounter between them in that fashion had been rare, despite how much more pleasurable it had been. And, of course, with every other partner he had ever had in the intervening years, he had always been careful. Even with her, until now.

"Frank?" He looked down at her again and realised that his thoughts had kept him in a frozen state of limbo. "It's all right if you don't want to…"

He pulled her legs around his waist and sank inside her before she could finish her sentence, taking her breath away and stifling his own. They moved slowly together at first, their gazes locked, understanding passing between them that this was the start of a whole new life, a whole new path and that whatever was meant to be, would be. As the pleasure increased, he started to move faster and harder until he was pressing down on top of her, pushing himself to the maximum, spurred on by her cries, until he felt himself reach the point from which there was no return. For a split second, he considered pulling out, but almost as if she had sensed his hesitation, she tightened her grip on him and he allowed himself to climax inside her. Free from the restraint of the condom, he fancied that he almost sensed how far inside her his seed had travelled and though he had no earthly clue as to where she might have been in her menstrual cycle, he couldn't help but wonder if the first time would be the charm.

"I'm sorry," she said, as they lay together afterwards. "Maybe I should have said something before now but, honestly, in that moment, I just realised it was what I wanted."

"If you get pregnant, you'll have to tell your DI."

"I know, and I would."

"Don't you think it's just what they're expecting though?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, all this crap you're getting over what happened between us; they're probably all thinking the logical next step is for you to get pregnant."

She looked over at him. "Would you be happy if I was pregnant?"

"I'd probably be scared more than anything else. Scared that you would be all right. Scared that I wouldn't be cut out for the job."

"I told you before, I'm sure you'd be a better father than you give yourself credit for."

"What about you?" he asked. "Would you be ready to potentially sacrifice your career?"

"Any time in the past that Stewart talked about me getting pregnant, I always knew he was hoping it would happen so that he'd have an excuse to stop me working, not because he particularly thought I would make a good mother, or that I'd be capable of doing both. I know it's hard for a woman to be a working mother but…I'd like to think that being a mother wouldn't necessarily stop me progressing in the job. And I don't care what anyone at Barton Street says or what they expect of me." She paused. "I remember you telling me once, a long time ago, that maybe my talents lay outside the job, at home, pushing out a few kids."

Though there was no malice in her words, he felt himself inwardly cringe at the memory of what he had once said to her. "Yeah well…I said a lot of things back then that I didn't mean. I also told you, at one time, that I thought you could be the next woman commissioner after Reid if you put your mind to it. I suppose having kids shouldn't put the kibosh on that if it's what you want. Besides, neither of us are getting any younger."

"Speak for yourself!" she gasped, poking him in the ribs. "You should think yourself lucky that a good looking thirty-two-year-old woman like me is in bed with a forty-six-year-old man like you."

"Once you've had an older man, you never look back. I told you that before too."

"Yeah, you did," she moved closer to him. "And I can't imagine being with anyone else ever again."

"I can't imagine letting you be with anyone else ever again," he said, kissing her. "Unless, of course, I get to watch."