Andrea's heart had frozen in her chest. The shadow, illuminated by the flash of lightning didn't move. Maybe it wasn't even there. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe normally, but she knew her posture changed; she'd stiffened, her breaths becoming shallow. Then the shadow twitched, and her eyes widened in terror. Then, she heard the voice that had haunted her nightmares for ten long years.

"Do you remember when we used to sing? Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-te-da."

The song was innocent, but the mocking tone was anything but. She sat up with a jolt, her hand shooting out to turn on her lamp. The room was illuminated with light, and somehow, that made the shadow even more sinister. Andrea sat against the headboard, staring at the shadow, who stared back at her. The face looked older, or maybe that was the stubble. It hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him, or the hair, always curly and messy, was a tangled mop as if he'd been living rough, and the clothes, though certainly those of many typical backpackers she'd know, had definitely seen better days.

"Hello, Andrea," he said. "I don't look that bad for a dead man, do I?"

The only word she could utter escaped her in a hoarse, fearful whisper.

"Kit."

"Back from the dead," he said, his tone heavy with sarcasm, then got up, staring down at her. "Or back from the depths, at least."

It hadn't been the first time terror had rooted her to the spot, it was just that it was a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time, and not since the night she'd last seen this man.

"I don't understand! What do you want? How did you get in here?"

"The back door was open," Kit said, and crossed his arms. "You should be more careful. Anyone could walk in."

"Tell me what you want right now or…"

"Or you'll what? Call the police? Surely not."

He knew. Of course he knew. He always knew everything. He was right. If she called the police and they turned up here, they'd surely turn the other way the moment they knew it was her home rather than help.

"I just might," she said fiercely.

"Why would you want to do that? We haven't seen each other in a decade. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"And I want you to get out!"

"I'm not who you think I am. I've changed."

"Get out!"

"Well that's not very fair," he said. "Is it?"

"Fair?" she repeated, incredulous, then scrambled to the other side of the bed, as he advanced on her, leaning where she'd been sitting moments before.

"I've spent three years travelling thousands of miles across three continents to find you, and all I'm asking for is five minutes," he said, then leant in to her, inhaling. She still smelled the same; the sweet, spicy smell; the smell that always made him think she was a baker. "Don't you think you owe me that?"

Sam looked up from the casefile at the sound of the doors of CID opening and smiled distractedly at Smithy.

"You're here late," she said.

"Just about to finish," he said, perching on the edge of her desk, and looking down at the pictures of Bruce's brutalised face. "Any progress?"

"No," Sam said, giving him a curious look. "I didn't know you were on the case."

"I'm not," he said, and looked down, unusually coy. "Just curious, that's all."

He glanced at her, and caught her raised eyebrows look.

"Why don't you tell me what's really on your mind, Smithy?"

"You don't think she…Andrea, I mean…"

"Look, Smithy…"

"Cos whatever she is, she isn't violent. I've never even heard her raise her voice. No matter what else, I can't believe she would be capable of that."

He picked up the picture, wincing. Even though he'd been in the army, and serving with the police for years, what some people were capable of still shocked him sometimes.

"I know that."

He looked at her sharply. All day, he'd been biting his tongue amongst the whispers of; 'barely knew her at all really,' and 'we don't know who she really is,' and anyone can be capable of terrible things. Sometimes they don't even know it themselves,' until it was red raw. He'd just thought everyone was ready to think the absolute worst of her.

"You do?"

"Come on Smithy," she said, leaning back. "Just because of what's come out about her, I'm not about to believe her capable of that. If it had happened before she was exposed, maybe so. Not only do I think she isn't capable, I don't think she had any reason to do it."

"I sense a 'but' coming on," he said.

"It's just…I don't know. When Gina and I went to talk to her, and I'm pretty sure she was telling the truth when she said she didn't know anything about what happened to Malcolm, but I got the feeling she was holding something back."

"I can talk to her. Whatever it is, she'll talk to me. She'll tell me."

He said it with such confidence, and she gave him a slightly pitying look which made his own anger rise. Did everyone think him some pathetic lost puppy?

"I don't think that's a good idea, Smithy. I'll go back and speak to her, maybe without an intimidating dragon of an Inspector. I got the feeling…she was afraid of something."

"Or someone?"

"Maybe. She said she hadn't had any threats, but I've seen some that were sent to the news office. They weren't all about suing them."

"But if someone was threatening her, why attack Malcolm?"

"Who knows? Maybe he was just collateral damage. But it's a bit odd that she tells him he'll annoy the wrong person one day and that same night, he's beaten pretty much to death."

"Is that what they've said?" he asked quietly. "That he's…"

"They have to do several scans," she said, just as quietly. "To confirm. But it isn't looking good. I've left word with his brother, Angus, in Melbourne. Obviously what with the time difference…"

"Yeah," Smithy said, getting up. "Right. Look, Sam, you can all call me the biggest numpty to walk this station if you want, but…I know Andrea. She'll talk to me."

"All right, come with me when I talk to her. Maybe she'll say more with you there." She filed the paperwork back in her folder and stood up, putting on her coat. "We'll talk more tomorrow. If I stay here any longer, I'm going to be sleeping here."

Andrea wasn't sure how long she sat on the bed in fright, but eventually pulled herself up, and followed Kit out into the open living room. He was standing with his back to her, looking at something in his hand.

"Five minutes," she said.

"I wasn't sure if you'd gotten this," he said conversationally, holding up the necklace she'd left on her mantelpiece. "I remember the night you gave it to me, lying under the desert stars. Remember Andrea?"

"Kit…"

"I never took if off again," he said. "I was wearing it when Kirsty hit me and you left me for dead in the water."

"Kirsty said they'd found…"

"I was wearing it when I dragged myself out, to the road, and hitched to the hospital, lucky to be alive without first aid."

"We didn't have anything!" she said. "When she hit you, I couldn't find your pulse! I tried and I tried!"

"I even wore this in court when I was framed for dealing drugs," he carried on as if she hadn't spoken. "Then seven years later when they finally let me out of prison. It was the only thing I never lost, I never sold, I never traded. And it was my good luck charm the whole long way home."

"Why send it to me in the post? With no note? Why not come here then?"

"Well, I made it to London, and I wanted to get my life sorted out before I saw you. And before I found out if I was a father or not."

Andrea felt sick. Aside from the night Kit was talking about, this was another of her long buried secrets and even the very thought filled her with panic, so she'd buried it for ten long years. Kit turned to her, the cold dark eyes seeming to stare right through her.

"Did you keep our baby, Andrea?"

She wished she was surrounded by a wall of steel, remembering how quickly Kit could switch. He could be as calm and collected as anything one minute, then faster than snapping her fingers, he'd turn from Jekyll to Hyde. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shook her head.

"No, you gave our child away, or no, you didn't have it?"

"The second one," she said and looked up at him. He was tall, like Smithy, but had bulked up since she'd last seen him. He'd been strong enough before he'd gained all the muscle. "I wasn't ready to be a mother."

"I suppose Kirsty had a hand in it," he said, his lip curling as he sat on the arm of the sofa.

"Nobody had a hand in it," she said and looked at the carpet. "I booked it myself. I went myself. She didn't know until afterwards. I thought…"

"That I was dead?"

"I thought it was for the best."

"Yeah," he said sneering, ""right. Dead boyfriend, dead baby, and you go back to your perfect little life. Though, from what I've been reading, it's not gone much to plan, has it? I remember you always writing in that journal you used to carry around. I bet that would make for interesting publication."

"I burnt that a long time ago."

He gave her a disbelieving look and she coloured slightly. That was all the reaction he needed and he laughed.

"Yeah. Of course you did," he turned away from her and looked at the collage of pictures above the mantelpiece. "How is Kirsty?"

She shrugged. "We don't really talk anymore."

"Because of what happened in Venezuela?"

"Amongst other things," she said, her voice strained. "She's fine. As far as I know."

"She always did know how to wind people up, didn't she? Maybe she'll annoy the wrong person one day too. That's if she hasn't already."

"Too?" she said, then recognition sank in. she'd said the same words to Bruce and a few hours later, someone caved his head in. She took a step back, her eyes widening. "Bruce? That was you? You did that?"

"Now why would I want to do that? Just like you said; he annoyed the wrong person."

She noticed though that he didn't deny knowing who Bruce was.

"You would only know I'd said that if you were there. Were you following me?"

She remembered the feeling she'd had when she'd stepped out of her house that day; the way the hairs on the back of her neck had risen. She'd been so sure someone had been watching her. It looked like they'd been right. She also remembered the sting of Kit's fists ten years ago, when he'd been scrawny, they'd probably be worse now, and even more so with a weapon in his hands.

"How else was I supposed to get any answers?" he said, and got up, walking towards her. It took everything she had not to step backwards. "Anyway, he deserved it, didn't he?"

"Not that," she said, feeling sick. "He didn't deserve that."

"But I deserved to have my head caved in and pushed from a waterfall?"

"Kirsty said they'd found you," she said. "That you were…"

"Well, maybe I have a long-lost twin out there," he said. "Because you're not dreaming or hallucinating."

He reached out and touched her face with a cold hand, making her flinch, though she wasn't sure if that was the touch itself or the icy hand.

"See?" Kit dropped his hand and turned away from her again. "I always knew she couldn't be trusted."

So did Andrea now, but she wasn't about to give Kit all the sordid details. She brushed through her hair with trembling fingers.

"Kit, I need some time to get my head around all this. Please go now. Please? We can talk later, I promise."

"Well I guess I've had my five minutes, and more," he said, then pulled a card out of his pocket which he handed to her. "Call me. When you feel ready to talk some more."

"Okay. I will."

He left without another word, through the still unlocked back door, pausing before he closed it to let Hugo back in. As soon as Kit disappeared out of sight, she rushed to the door and locked it with shaking fingers. As soon as she could, she was getting a cat flap. She scurried around, checking the front door, all the windows were tightly locked, and all the curtains pilled. She slid down the wall to the floor as what happened sunk in. He was alive. Kit was alive.

Her chest began to tighten, her heart thumping so loudly she could scarcely hear the separate beats. She'd started having these, after she returned from Venezuela. After the abortion. A hand resting on her chest, she sat back, trying to slow her breathing. She hadn't lied to Kit; the only person she had told about the abortion was Kirsty, but that was because the only person who knew, apart from Kit, that she'd fallen pregnant, was Kirsty. It was after the abortion she'd started having the panic attacks, and her poor parents, they'd had no idea what was happening or how to help her. They'd gotten her into therapy, but she hadn't even been able to tell the therapist, terrified she'd tell her parents. Instead, she'd talked about her travels, the things she'd seen, the voluntary work she'd done, and how overwhelming she found it, now she was home and facing university. The therapist had recommended she defer entry for another year. Her parents loved to look after her, and had jumped on the idea, but she'd refused. She needed something to stick her head into, even though in hindsight it was probably the proverbial sand. And it had stayed there ever since. Gradually, the attacks had stopped, but Kit was back in her life for all of ten minutes, and here they were again.

And Kirsty. Why had she told her they'd found his body? Clearly they hadn't. She'd thought Kirsty was just as effected by their travels as she was. Why on earth would she lie about Kit being dead? She'd made a vow to never speak to Kirsty again and for four years, she'd kept that vow. It looked like she'd have to go back on that, though. Her chest was feeling less taut now. The attack was passing. She pulled herself up from the floor, and went out to the kitchen to make a coffee. If she could help it, she wasn't going back to sleep tonight, or ever again until she knew why Kit was really back and what he wanted.