'It's not Purgatory,' he says immediately, like a father defending his child.

'No ones atoning for sins.'

He sees the scarf and deflates a bit. He was going to give that back to her. And her words - he can't defend against an accusation like that, and he doesn't have the energy to try.

She's folding that thing around her hand, and he remembers that Christmas. She as much as told him it would never happen, and he'd been quietly gutted. But now...they're here. And ruining it all over again.

He looks down at the floor, the fight draining out of him.

'It wasn' about giving up,' he mutters. 'I just want the team to work, an' when someone doesn't fit in...'

He shrugs. As far as he's concerned, it's man-management. Like he said to Sam once, he spends his time listening to the cogs in the machinery. She was out of sync, just like he was.

'When you talked about leaving, I thought you were on about transferring out. Going back to where your daughter was. Or, I think I did. I didn't give it much thought.'

He pulls smoke from his cigarette, and blows it out carefully. Christ, he is knackered.

'I just didn't want you to go away.'