Well you know what they say... about hating!!! Phil Hunter scowled irritably and shook his head. Trying to get Jo's teasing grin out of his mind. It wasn't true. She was just messing with me.

"Sarge?"

Grace's voice from the passenger seat yanked him back to the present.

"What are we waiting for?" Phil growled, embarrassingly aware that his churlish response was doing nothing for his credibility. Jo had really done a number on his head, and he could sense her grin widening without even checking in the rear view mirror. Phil shook his head clear; he had to get out of that frame of mind right now, because Sam and Stuart were in trouble.

GO, GO, GO! sounded over the radio, and he abandoned whatever he was going to say. He left the car, without even checking to see whether Grace and Jo were following, and headed across the road.

The backdoor to the warehouse was unlocked, so he had little choice but to open it slowly, carefully, aware that Grace was just behind, Jo, Mickey and Terry spreading out to cover.

Phil slipped inside, the others following, and crept quietly along the back wall and reaching a small office door. Something made Phil pause, and he pulled open the door. Sam and Stuart were inside on the floor. "They're here." Phil hissed. In the distance he could hear the shouts behind as DCI Meadows co-ordinated the arrests from the front of the factory. It looked like it was mostly over bar the shouting, but that was still no reason to go rushing in blindly. He pushed the door open.

Sam was closest and he rushed towards her. "Sam!"

She was sitting up, and shook her head, deflecting him towards Stuart. "I'm fine, help Stuart."

As Jo had moved in behind him to help Sam, Phil really had no choice.

Stuart was lying on his side on the floor, his hands tied behind him like Sam's. He had a very prominent black eye. Phil knelt down in front of him, and helped him up into a sitting position. "How do you feel?" The most redundant question possible, and I had to ask it. Phil winced: it was embarrassing enough to have come to the aid of his enemy, but asking that? It had the dignity of positive imbecility.

Stuart didn't seem to notice. He coughed a little and rasped, "Just peachy. Some git used me as a punching bag." Phil reached round behind him to free his hands, as Stu leaned into him ever so slightly, his cheek was resting against Phil's shoulder, as Phil struggled with the knots in the rope, fingers suddenly clumsy. No... Phil's fingers itched to caress the back of Stuart's neck. WTF?

It's all in the mind. Phil almost took a step back, covered in confusion. It's Jo. She's filled my head with this gay stuff. As he gazed down at his rival, a strange little alarm bell went off in Phil's head. He had to get out of there. Sam was up on her feet and moving under her own steam, Jo was moving towards them, and Phil got out of the way.

As he scrambled out after Sam, confused as hell, Phil heard Jo's anxious query after Stuart's health, and Stuart's slightly grouchy although affectionate response. Slimey git, Phil thought, and then felt ashamed with himself. Jo and Stuart had a genuine friendship which nothing could dent.

The situation didn't improve any when they got back to the station. Sam and Stuart were checked out by the FME, and Phil burrowed down into his paperwork like a termite in wood. Perhaps a couple of hours of hard typing would sort out whatever head job Jo had managed to do on him. He just couldn't get it, whatever it is, out of his head.

It was late. He was tired, stressed and annoyed with himself. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the bruises on Stuart's cheekbone, the rather careful way he sat in his chair. This feeling that really shouldn't have been there was still nagging at his soul. Phil screwed shut his eyes, Sam... not Stuart... SAM... NOT Stuart... Then the grin on Jo's face would swamp everything and he was right back exactly where he started.

DAMN IT. Shower. Shower and then home.

He could hear the sound of the shower running as he stripped off in front of his locker. Damn. The one night he really did want the place to himself. Phil shrugged. Can't be helped. He grabbed his shower gel and headed towards the sound of falling water.

He had the tiniest inkling as he rounded the corner.

Crap.

Stuart was standing there under the flowing water. He was trying to soap his back, but every time he raised his right arm, he would hiss, and drop his hand again, folding his left arm across his body, as though he were trying to hold himself together.

He might have had the all clear from the FME, but Phil could see the bruises on his side, one the clear outline of a shoe on his rib cage.

He watched the water flowing over Stuart's slick tanned skin, his black hair plastered to his head. And every tiny thing that Phil had been thinking and avoiding all day came back full force. He stepped forward, Stuart turned towards the sound... and they were inches apart, Stuart's dark eyes stared at Phil in utter confusion.

A feeling rocketed through Phil's soul; he closed his eyes... no... this couldn't be true.

A clatter came from behind them, and Nate and Leon appeared in the doorway. Phil turned away, but not before glancing at Stuart's face, the shuttered look in the dark eyes haunting him.