Everything was white. He was surrounded by white. On his back, he contemplated the sheets and blanket; the pillows, and there were several of those. But the white thing bothering him the most was the heavy white structure encasing his leg.

Stuart scowled. He couldn't believe that he had been so stupid. Kezia had yelled a warning, but he hadn't listened. He'd chased their fleeing suspect out onto the unstable, rotting boards of the ancient scaffolding structure, and everything had wobbled dangerously; the man had reached the end, flashed a grin at his pursuer and made the short leap onto the garage roof opposite. As the sudden change in weights had caused the already wobbling structure to collapse partially, he'd fallen ten feet into the damaged structure and broken his right leg in three places.

It hurt. A lot. Actually, it was agony. Heaton had arrived on the scene, a serene Inspector Rachel Weston in tow, and the general consensus of opinion was that it was Stuart's own fault. At least no one had said that, but he had sensed they were thinking it.

It wasn't entirely his fault: Weston had frozen again. Her plan had had a gap in it, and when their suspects had broken through the gap, as Stuart had vehemently argued they would, Weston had frozen. Leaving Stuart and Kezia to chase the main man.

Of course he'd wanted the collar too badly. So when the man cut and changed direction to flee across the waste ground and through the old factory site, Stuart hadn't hesitated. They'd reached the ancient structure, their suspect had fled and Stuart had followed. Kezia's shouted warning had made no difference.

Naturally, it was his bad luck that he'd remained conscious throughout the whole ordeal. The pain was excruciating, but they couldn't give him much in the way of pain relief before his leg was set in hospital. He'd been whisked off to St. Hugh's with Kezia for company. He'd been booked in, and everything had gone fine until Kezia, whilst filling out forms, had asked him who his next of kin was.

"Jo," he said flatly. Kezia's eyes had widened in surprise, and he'd prayed she wouldn't ask any further details. He didn't want to burden his sister, he didn't have a girlfriend, and he had made a pact with Jo a long time ago that they would be next of kin for each other in case of emergencies. Eight months in his new job had not changed their closeness, and he'd last seen her only three days before, when they had shared a pint and curry at their favourite Indian.

Indian. He would have done almost anything for an Indian. He eyed his neglected lunch sitting forlornly on the table across the bed, and shuddered. Something white (possibly fish), in a bland sauce, with watery vegetables and something gooey which he presumed was mashed potato. And a spork, presumably so patients, already delirious with boredom, wouldn't commit hari-kari with a blunt plastic knife.

Raising the covers, Stu peered under them. Staring at his problems didn't improve them. He was wearing a hideous hospital gown, the kind which opened all the way down the back and far too short, ending somewhere near the top of his thighs. It barely covered his modesty. His eyes deliberately avoided the tube which meandered across his good leg and disappeared over the side of the bed. Of all the indignities visited upon his person in the last day and a half, that procedure was both painful and embarrassing. He concentrated on the expanse of white plaster which covered his leg. Noted a handspan of his tanned, toned flesh, then his leg disappeared into the thick casing, his toes protruding coyly from the other end. He waggled them just to reassure himself that he still could. His leg ached dully, and staring at the cast wouldn't make it go away.

His health cover should have entitled him to a private room, but the thought of being stuck in room on his own, with no one to talk to, and daytime tv his only companion, was out of the question. So when the doctor had suggested putting him on an orthopaedic ward with several other people, he'd jumped at the chance. Jumped?

He dropped the covers, and sighed heavily.

"Cheer up mate, it may never happen." The occupant of the next bed grinned at him, "and it's visiting time again in about five minutes, you wouldn't want that nice lass of yours to see you down in the dumps."

Stu studied his companion, a spry looking man in his late sixties or thereabouts. He smiled a little ruefully. "I think it's already happened. And Jo's just a friend..."

"And the pretty lass with the freckles... she was here for a long time yesterday?"

Stu frowned slightly, "Kezia?"

"Think that's what your friend called her... pretty little thing." The older man grinned. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, we haven't been formally introduced, but I'm Harry. Harry Crossman."

Stu grinned. "Pleased to meet you, Harry. I'm Stuart Turner."

"Copper?"

"Er.... yes... How did you know?"

"Takes one to know one." Harry patted his chest. "Royal Military Police..." he sighed, "retired... put out to pasture like an old cab horse." He grinned. "What are you in for?"

Stu picked up the spork and poked his congealing lunch. "Food poisoning?" he hazarded.

"Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humour. Not like the gloomy gus on the other side." Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Although I was meaning that..." he pointed at the elaborate scaffolding which kept the weight of the covers off Stuart's leg.

"Tib, fib and femur." Stuart sighed, "eight or nine weeks they keep telling me."

"In the line of duty?"

"I fell through some scaffolding, then some of it fell on me."

"Ouch!" Harry smiled sympathetically.

"You?"

"Hip replacement mate, nothing near as glamorous as wounded in the line of duty. Oh lord..." Harry stared in horror at the doorway... "Second daughter complete with children."

Stuart grinned as Harry feigned sleep, and turned his attention to the doorway. Visitors streaming in, the ward was full, and it seemed as though everyone had a visitor. Except Stuart.

He looked away, out of the window, and tried not to mind too much. He was on his own, a state he was used to being in. Better get used to it all over again.

"Stu?"

He looked round, and tried to control the leap in his heart. He should have known Jo would never let him down.

"Jo." Her name was pure pleasure.

Jo Masters pulled the visitor's chair a bit closer to Stuart's bed and sat down. "How are you hun?"

"Stiff... sore... a bit bored..." Stu reached for her hand.

As her fingers closed around his, Jo gently squeezed his hand; she had heard the full story from Kezia. Stu's accident wasn't really his fault, he'd followed Weston's orders and it had all gone horribly wrong. Exactly as he had predicted it would. Kezia had been quite indignant on Stu's behalf.

And she hadn't missed the sudden flare of joy in Stuart's sad brown eyes, as he looked round and realised that Jo was standing there. Oh Stu... Jo gently squeezed his hand again. She looked at him, he was looking tired, and tense; enforced inactivity was not something that an energetic man like Stuart Turner would take easily and his leg had to be hurting.

"Stu, you have to eat." She frowned at the abandoned lunch on his tray.

He scowled, "not that I don't..."

Jo sighed. She couldn't blame him, the pile of very white food looked miserably unappetizing. "I'll see what I can do, okay?" She settled in the seat a little more comfortably and began to tell him about her day. Stu held her hand, and let the words flow over him like the waves of the sea. He smiled, all was right with the world when Jo was with him. Even a broken leg couldn't change that.