Written in the middle of Conviction.

I don't own the Bill or any mentioned characters. If I did, these two would definitely be together.

Conviction: Unsaid

Smithy tried to summon something that might pass for a smile. Grim as he felt - worrying over if his career was going to end after smashing scum-of-London Jason Devlin into the ground - the woman at his side was possibly the only person who could make him feel better. It was for her he had laid into the creep in the first place.

Stevie returned the smile, thought it was a faint shadow of her usual jaunty grin. Smithy placed a gentle hand on her back as they walked the single step up to her apartment, and Stevie had to remind herself not to lean towards towards him - too afraid of what might happen if he put an arm around her.

He helped her to her small kitchen table. She was still a little unsteady, and slightly groggy after being medicated in the hospital earlier. It wasn't the first time he'd been inside her apartment and though she knew she should still be feeling self-conscious about having him there, in reality is just felt like the most natural thing that could happen. He'd been looking out for her - in his own quiet way - for a while now.

A girl could get used to having a man like Smithy around.

"Sure you're all right?" Even his familiar accent was comforting.

"Yeah, Smithy. Thanks for coming to get me." She'd never gotten out of the habit of calling him by the familiar nickname.

"Thought about letting you hitchhike." A flicker of the light-hearted banter they often found themselves wrapped up in when they were together. But tonight wasn't the night for that.

"Cuppa tea?" She asked him, feeling nerves start to flutter her insides. He put a hand on her shoulder before she could get up. "You stay there, I'll get it."

The sounds of cutlery and mugs clinking in her small kitchen made her feel safe, protected, and ultimately, drowsy. By the time he returned to the table she was almost nodding off. The scent of the freshly made tea, or maybe the quiet sound of his footfalls, roused her a little. She wrapped both hands around the mug for warmth - the evenings were getting cooler now, the light fading faster.

Smithy, looking at her, felt a flash of something now becoming familiar when he looked at his colleague of several years now. It was an odd sort of mix, protectiveness, longing, loyalty, and deepest affection all mingled together. It was impossible not to feel when he looked into those sparkling blue eyes with just a hint of grey, and it was especially heightened now with the scrape decorating her cheekbone.

He could keep this a reluctant secret from everyone else on the team - but not from her. He put his mug down on the table.

"I was the one who beat up Devlin."

Gone was the drowsy expression. Her eyes widened, staring at him in amazement. "You..."

"I came around the corner and I saw him laying into ya... I just snapped. When I pulled him off you I hit him and I couldn't stop." He couldn't keep looking into those eyes. Dropping his head into his hands, he closed his eyes.

It took Stevie a moment to come to her senses. "Looks like I was wrong."

He dared to look up. There was warmth and understanding in her expression as she explained. "In the hospital... when I woke up. I asked where you were... was only joking."

"This isn't a joke." He said heavily. Stevie couldn't bear the defeat in his eyes. She reached out for him, taking one of his hands between both of hers, the same way he had for her in hospital. "You always come through for me, don't you?"

He hung his head again. "You was just... lying there." He said softly, and before she knew it Stevie had left her chair to wrap her arms around him, feeling his arms circle her in return as she nestled her head into his shoulder. "It'll be okay." She whispered to him, feeling a slight shake of his head. He pulled back slightly so he could look at her - and was in time to see her stumble. He was close enough to steady her, and quickly got up from his chair to guide her into it. It had been a long day for her, and here he was letting her comfort him. "Got it all backwards, don't we." He sighed, placing a careful thumb on her jawline, checking she was okay. "I'm meant to be the one looking after you, here."

She smiled, but he could see the tension around her eyes, the day finally catching up with her. She shook her head to dispell his worry, but a hand went to her head. "I'm sorry, Smithy." She murmured, and he heard the weariness in her voice. After a brutal assult he really shouldn't be surprised.

"Don't apologize. Come on." Before she could protest, Smithy lifted her in his arms, carrying her up her stairs. She was fairly heavy, but she didn't resist, instead curling her head slightly to rest on his shoulder again. One hand reached up to grip the front of his shirt, thought it as hard to determine weather it was from protest or comfort.

He laid her gently on the bed, removed her grip on his shirt front, and sat down on the foot of the bed to remove her shoes. "Hey." She mumbled as he took off a sock, but she was tiring rapidly. The hospital had warned him it might happen, since they'd given her a final pain releif before they left.

He tucked the covers around her and took a last look down at her face, the lines smoothed out now she was moments from sleep. Without thinking he leaned over to press a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

The door clicked softly as he closed it behind him and made his way back down the stairs. He picked up their mugs and carried them to the sink to rinse, then stood for a moment in her kitchen. Her apartment was small - much like his own - but their were unique touches of Stevie everywhere. A brightly patterned tea-towel with jumping dolphins, the cheerful yellow trim on the sills, a small vase with coloured flowers, magnetic frames on the fridge holding photos. There was one that looked like her with a sister or a similar-looking blonde relative, a shot of her and the rest of CID standing formally in a line - but it was the last photo that caught Smithy's eyes. It was one of those endless snapshots taken down at the pub on a Friday night. He couldn't remember it being taken, despite the fact he was centered in the photo with an arm thrown around Stevie's shoulders. He was looking at her, his teeth showing in a grin, and she was laughing at the camera. Someone's arm holding a beer was behind them, to their left Ben and Sally appeared to be wrestling, and on the right was Mickey, who looked a little startled, as if the flash going off had surprised him.

Smithy picked up the photo to study it closer. Both he and Stevie looked really, honestly happy. He noticed how good Stevie looked, at ease with her friends around her - at ease with him?

Too tired to figure things out just then, Smithy replaced the photo and wandered back into the narrow hall. He suddenly realized he had no intention of going home. Pulling off his own boots, he sat down on Stevie's couch, then leaned back, pulling a cuhsion under his head. There was a rug draped over the back he pulled down for a cover.

Things might not make any more sense in the morning. But he was comforted by the thought of Stevie finding him there the next morning, of being able to look out for her, and make sure she was all right.

Sleep, at last, came for him.