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Much to his annoyance, he found himself humming the mournful melody as he waited for his tea order. He laughed, thinking how badly Peter would mock him if he were still humming it when he returned to the car. He took the tea – five warm cups tucked into a cardboard tray – and left the café.

It had started raining again. He paused on the kerb and pulled up his jacket collar with his free hand to ward off the damp.

He stepped off the kerb and began crossing the road.

Halfway across, a piercing scream rang out, and the car rocked.

His arm jerked in surprise, and the five cups of tea went flying upwards.

He never saw where they landed. He was sprinting across the road and wrenching open the rear passenger door, where he found a wild struggle going on in the back seat.

Lars was wielding a long sharp knife, and Ben was fighting to take it from him.

Lars pushed Ben away and lunged towards Peter.

Ben slung a clumsy punch that deflected his aim – but not for long.

Lars raised the knife again, aiming for Peter’s neck.

Josiah threw himself into the car and grabbed Lars’s wrist, holding it tight.

“Drop it,” he ordered. Lars struggled, trying to pull his arm free. “Peter – help me! Get out and pull him out of the car,” he yelled, sinking his fingers even harder into Lars’s wrist. He twisted Lars’s hand, so the man had no choice but to drop the weapon.

Lars lashed out with his free hand to deliver a stinging blow to Josiah’s jaw. “You’re a fucking investigator! I saw your badge in your wallet. You’re going to hand us in and claim the reward,” he yelled.

“Peter – get him out of the car,” Josiah shouted again, punching Lars repeatedly.

Peter made no reply. Ben scrambled out past Josiah, ran around to the other side of the car, and yanked the door open.

Josiah pushed, and Ben pulled, and between them they managed to force Lars out onto the pavement.

Lars lay there, panting, and then got to his feet and stumbled off down the dark street.

Josiah turned to Peter. “What the hell just happened? Why didn’t you help?” he yelled. Then he stopped. Peter was sitting in the driver’s seat, his hands pressed against his neck, an expression of surprise on his face.

“I…” He looked down at the stream of bright red blood gushing out over the car seat. “Joe… I think he got me.”

“Lars went for him,” Ben gabbled as Josiah ran around to the other side of the car.

“He suddenly lunged forward and stabbed Peter in the neck. I didn’t even see he had a knife until then.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could stab Peter again, and then you got here… Is he okay? Is Peter okay?”

“Christ!” Josiah pulled open the driver’s door, and Peter fell sideways against him. He sat down on the pavement and gathered Peter in his arms, trying to assess the damage. Pulling Peter’s hands away, he saw the deep wound in his neck, pumping out blood.

“Call an ambulance,” he shouted, putting his hands over the wound and pressing down hard.

Ben looked at him helplessly. His scarf had been torn off in the struggle, his hood was thrown back, and in the glow of the streetlight Josiah could see that he was very young.

He looked like a frightened child, but to his credit, he didn’t run. He pulled a nanopad out of his pocket.

“Joe.” Peter raised a bloodstained hand to touch Josiah’s face. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t see the knife.”

“Don’t talk, Peter. Help’s on the way. You’re going to be fine,” Josiah told him frantically.

“Fight,” Peter said, a little smile on his lips. “Just like the old days, huh, Joe? Scavs.”

“Shh, you idiot. Just shh.”

“Cold,” Peter muttered.

Josiah pulled him closer, holding him tight to try and warm him. “Gonna be okay,” Peter told him. “S’okay, Joe. S’all gonna be okay.”

“Yes, it’s going to be fine,” Josiah told him desperately.

“Don’t go after him, Joe,” Peter whispered. “Lars… Let him go.”

“He fucking stabbed you.”

“Not his fault. Promise me, Joe.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

Ben crouched down in front of him. “The ambulance is on its way. What do you want me to do now?”

“Go,” Josiah told him firmly.

“But…” Ben looked at him helplessly. It was raining hard now, and his dark hair was plastered to his head, his clothes sodden.

“The paramedics will be here soon – and so will the police. They’ll question you. Save yourself. Go!” Josiah ordered .

Ben got to his feet, then hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see the knife… It all happened so fast… I’m so sorry.”

There was a noise from the direction of the café, and then a group of people started crossing the road towards them. Ben glanced at them, and then back at Josiah and Peter, lying on the pavement. Then, with one more desolate “sorry”, he turned and ran.

“Joe,” Peter whispered. The flow of blood seemed to be slowing, which Josiah thought was a good thing – until he realised it was because Peter’s heart was failing. “Promise me, Joe. No revenge. Keep saving them. Promise.” Peter stroked his face feebly.

“You’ll be up and about in no time – we’ll save them together,” Josiah soothed.

“Promise,” Peter gasped. His hand fell away from Josiah’s face. “Promise.” His lips made the word, but no sound came from them.

“I promise,” Josiah told him, holding him tight. “Don’t go, Peter. Stay with me. Please don’t leave me.” He could feel Peter’s heart slowing under his fingertips – beat, pause… beat. Beat… pause… beat… pause… pause… Josiah waited for the next beat, but it didn’t come.

“Peter!” he screamed, patting his husband’s face frantically.

Peter’s eyes were still open, but they were empty, and his face was deathly white.

Suddenly, the world around him came back into focus in excruciating detail.

He was sitting on the pavement, holding Peter’s lifeless body in his arms. A little crowd from the café had formed around them, and he could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

His purple sweater was covered in blood, as was the driver’s seat of the Jaguar, and the pavement, and his hands. The car door was open, and Peter’s stupid emo music was still playing as if the most terrible thing in the world hadn’t just happened.

The rain was pouring down in earnest now, washing streaks of red water into the gutter – and Peter, who had spent his life helping others, was lying dead in his arms, killed by one of the people he’d been trying to save.

Josiah felt as if his heart had been ripped from his body. He threw back his head and howled like a wounded animal, holding Peter tight against his chest and rocking back and forth as he screamed out his pain.

Josiah sat up in bed, unable to bear it. Alex was sprawled out beside him, fast asleep. Josiah rolled out of the bed, breathing hard. He didn’t know what he was doing, just that he had to escape the pain, to do something – anything – to stop it hurting.

He ran out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and unlocked the garage door with trembling fingers.

Snapping on the light, he paused at the top of the steps, gazing at the red car.

Then he ran towards it, wanting to punch it, to vent all his sadness, fury, and grief upon it, but the car hadn’t killed Peter – he had.

He’d killed him by carrying his ID card with him that fateful night.

By opening his wallet to check he had cash cards.

By letting Lars see he worked for an investigation agency.

By being stupid and careless, despite all the times he’d warned Peter about the very same thing.

He sank down beside the Jaguar, shaking.

From a great distance he heard the sound of a door opening, and then hurried footsteps.

“Hey.” Alex knelt down in front of him. “What’s going on, Joe?”

“I did as you suggested. Let’s just say it didn’t help,” Josiah said hoarsely.

“Shit. When I told you that you should face the memory, I didn’t mean on your own. I thought I’d be there with you, talking it through,” Alex responded softly. He wrapped his arms around Josiah and held him.

Josiah was glad of his warmth, because he was shaking in earnest now. “Sorry… used to doing things alone,” he muttered.

Alex pulled his head up to face him and looked at him searchingly. “What do you remember?” he asked.

“All of it,” Josiah said through chattering teeth.

Alex sank back on his heels and gazed at him. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help.”

Josiah shook his head. “Want to. Can’t,” he refused, because he couldn’t tell Alex about that terrible night without revealing the existence of the Kathleen Line and his part in it.

Alex nodded slowly. “Okay. I understand.”

Josiah’s entire body was now trembling violently.

Alex pulled him close and rocked him in his arms as if he were a child.

Josiah buried his face in the hollow of Alex’s neck, remembering how he’d cradled Peter in the same way, willing his husband to come back and still be alive.

He let out a guttural sob that felt as if it had been wrenched from the pit of his stomach.

He bit back another sob, trying desperately not to fall apart in front of his IS.

Alex had other ideas. “Let it out,” he insisted. “You’ve been holding on to it for such a long time, Joe. It’s time to let it out, so you can start to heal. Peter wouldn’t want you to still feel so bad after all this time.”

“Can’t,” Josiah said through gritted teeth.

Alex took hold of his face and looked into his eyes. “Have you ever cried?” he questioned. “Have you ever let yourself cry for him, in all this time?”

Josiah shook his head mutely. He’d howled into the rain like a wolf that night, but he hadn’t cried. He’d forced his emotions down, frozen in that moment of time, and locked them away.

“You should,” Alex chided softly.

“Hurts too much,” Josiah rasped, wrapping his arms around his body.

“Not as much as gripping on to it for all these years does. I’ve got you, Joe. I’ll keep you safe.” Alex tightened his embrace around Josiah, holding him within the protective circle of his arms. “Just let it go,” he urged. “Let him go. Set him free. Set yourself free. Let Peter go.”

Alexander’s soft, insistent words broke something deep inside him and another great, wrenching sob wracked his body.

This time, he couldn’t hold back; he gave a wild, keening cry, then another, and another.

Then he sobbed in earnest, weeping for the man he’d lost, and all they could have done and achieved together.

He cried for the sheer unnecessary waste of a life, sacrificed on the blade of a misunderstanding, and he cried for the loss of a truly good person who’d been making a genuine difference.

He cried so hard that his entire body heaved – and through it all, Alex was with him, holding him tight, taking every ounce of his pain and comforting him through it.

Finally, his grief was spent, and he had no more tears left to shed. He sat beside the car, utterly exhausted, with Alex rocking him gently. He should have felt embarrassed, falling apart like this in front of his indie, but he didn’t.

“Come on. You’re freezing. Let’s go back to bed,” Alex said.

Pulling Josiah to his feet, he slung an arm around his shoulders and helped him up the stairs to the bedroom. Guiding Josiah onto the bed, he climbed in beside him and pulled the duvet over them both. Then he wrapped his arms around Josiah again, keeping him safe, as he’d promised.

Josiah was aware of a strange sense of peace.

The pain in his heart was gone, leaving him empty.

His body felt light, released from the aching heaviness that had weighed him down for so many years.

He was no longer a slave to the tragedy that had defined him for so long.

He’d been set free – yet the man beside him, who had helped to free him, was the one person he could never release in return.

Somewhere, at the dim, weary edge of his consciousness, there was a new set of questions:

Who was he now, and where did he go from here?