Sally thought a lot about what Jo had said. And she had to acknowledge that Jo was right. She didn't listen nearly enough.

And the consequences were?

She had gone back the next night. Not that Stuart was a friend, but because she felt responsible, she had got him into that situation. He had risked his life to save her from disaster. And she wondered about that. In a quiet moment in the locker room, she admitted to herself that she was intrigued.

So she went back, hoping that somehow she would get some answers to the riddle that was pounding away in her head; things had deteriorated. He was no longer sitting up, they'd put his bed down into the prone position so that he could lie flat, and he was curled up on his right side; huddled into the blankets, as though he was freezing cold. But when she touched his hand, his skin was burning hot. He looked so sick, and so thoroughly miserable she couldn't help but stay. Now she really was confused, because this didn't feel like duty or responsibility.

It was quite late. He hadn't moved from the spot since she arrived, he was just curled up looking as sick as she had ever seen anyone, so she dropped the cot-side to the bed; she could get a little closer. Just to hold his hand, make physical contact and show some solidarity for his very painful situation, and that's all it is -- sympathy she told herself. "Stuart." She called his name softly, they'd impressed upon her the need to keep him quiet. His fingers closed round hers.

"Hurts." He muttered.

"What hurts? Your shoulder? Should I get the nurse?" Sally tentatively reached over and laid the back of her hand against his forehead. His skin was burning up.

"no...don't go... I'll be... alright." He closed his eyes and his fingers clutched hers a little tighter.

Sally's free hand hovered, as though it had will of its own, having made contact with his forehead. Her fingers gently stroked his hair. She surprised herself, it felt very intimate to be that close to him, and she had never imagined intimacy with Stuart Turner. Without all the smarm and arrogance, he was an attractive man. Whoa, where did that one come from?

She was looking at him with different eyes. He hadn't reacted to her the way she had expected. It felt like the whole station was blaming her for his being wounded. But Stuart hadn't. And that had come as something of a shock. He had been kind to her. Kind wasn't a word that most people applied to Stuart; Mel, only that morning, had rolled her eyes and made some off-colour comment about Stuart being an arrogant glory boy.

Seeing him like this, flat out, desperately ill, fighting an infection; and the most outrageous thoughts were running through her head. He wasn't who she had thought he was. All that arrogance was simply his belief in himself, and his barrier. Now she could see behind the barrier. She couldn't be certain if her feelings were engaged or if it was pity for his situation. It was all rather confusing really.

The door opened behind her. Sally looked round, it was Jo. The older woman acknowledged her, which was something of a surprise to Sally; Jo had been one of Sally's fiercest critics. It had to be for Stuart's sake that Jo was being a little more friendly. Sally moved over so that Jo could sit down.

"Stu?"

His eyes opened, and lit up a little at the sight of his partner. "Hi" he croaked.

"Hi to you too."

Sally's fingers let go of Stuart's as Jo's hand sought his.

Sally stood up, suddenly she needed to get out of there. Go somewhere and think. Tempting as it was to call Ben and Mel, then go out and party, she sensed she would be running away from the real issue. Her inexplicable feelings for DS Stuart Turner.

Ben. She had been enjoying a flirtation with Ben for some time. They'd partied and flirted for quite a while. Ben was safe, he liked her, and he let her be herself. Good Time Party Girl Sally! She sensed Stuart would be very different. He was older than Ben, if the rumours were true, quite well-off, had a nice flashy flat; and a good job. Sally smiled to herself. Her mother's mantra came back, find a man with a good job who works hard, no shiftless ne'er do wells. Well Stuart fit the former category.

She couldn't believe she was even thinking about Stuart in those terms. He wasn't boyfriend material, he didn't even like her. He thought she was an airhead.

Through the days which followed, she picked the bones of every conversation they'd had. From his bossy instructions to her before the operation, to all the encounters she had had with him. She replayed the arrogant office Stuart versus the much quieter version. Returned night after night to sit by his bedside, to offer him support and silently pray that her foolish mistake was not going to cost him dear.

Finally, they said he could go home. A strange stilted awareness had grown up between them as he recovered from the infection and began to take an interest in life again. But she had begun to cherish the alone time she had with him.

After shift was over, she drove by his flat. Pulled into the car park. Sat in her car and wondered what had got into her head. The rest of the relief would laugh to see her there. And pour scorn on what she was about to do.

The front door to the building was open, and she entered into the cool modern hallway. Fourth floor Nate had told her, number 65. Stuart was living the dream according to Nate. She wondered if that was what she was doing... living in a dream world, where none of this was reality. It wasn't her reality. But something pushed her into the lift and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

She was outside the door to his flat. Number 65. For second she rested her hand on the door, the flat of her palm against the cool veneer, this wasn't her, she didn't know why she was there.

She pressed the doorbell. For a moment there was silence, then the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. She stood rooted to the spot, contemplating flight in her suddenly cowardly heart. The door opened.

Upright on his feet, he seemed different, more commanding than she remembered. Then she started to notice the little things. He was paler and thinner than before the shooting, his left arm resting in a sling, he looked tired, slightly disorientated and suddenly all she wanted to do was take care of him. It's just sympathy, she convinced herself.

"Sally." The stilted awkwardness was there still, but she stepped forward, and he opened the door a little wider so that she could enter. She paused as he pushed the door closed. They were close, only a few inches separated them. He was scarcely a couple of inches taller than her, she tilted her face up slightly and brushed her lips to his. His response was gentle and hesitant, and she liked that, running on instinct she slipped a little closer. His good arm slid around her waist, and they leaned into each other gently exploring.