Jo sat next to Stuart's bed and prayed; the doctors were desperately running tests in an attempt to identify the toxin, but he was deteriorating. By the time the ambulance arrived at St Hugh's a rash was spreading across his neck and down his chest, his breathing was laboured and he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

The door opened, and she looked up. Jack Meadows stood there. "Guv." She acknowledged quietly.

"How is he?"

"He's dying." Her voice trembled and he could see she was holding on with an effort. "It's some kind of poison, they're trying to identify it. If they can do it quickly, he stands a good chance. But he's getting weaker by the minute."

He looked at her intently. He knew what Stuart meant to her, and what she meant to Stuart. The two of them were the unlikeliest friendship in the station. When Stuart disappeared, it was Jo who lead the hunt for him. When he was found, she drove out to Wales to pick him up. When it became obvious that his injuries meant that he could no longer live alone, she took him in.

And now his young sergeant was dying. Unless they could analyse the poison, Stuart was unlikely to survive the night, according to the doctors. Jack had looked through the window and seen them together; and he had known that Stuart would fight, he wouldn't just give in, Jo wouldn't give him that option.

Stuart's fingers were meshed with Jo's and when Jack moved up closer to the bed, his eyes opened. "Guv?" he whispered. Jack was torn between relief that Stuart had recognised him, and the pain that his memory was returning as something worse was attacking him.

"Stuart." Jack acknowledged. Feeling old and tired, he pulled up a chair and sat down; prepared to see it through to the bitter end if need be. The look of gratitude that Jo shot him, almost made him tear up. He watched Jo's free hand gently stroking Stuart's forearm, as Stuart drifted back to sleep. Jack hoped it was sleep, because the other possibility was too horrific to contemplate.

"You know that this means one of us is responsible." Jo's voice was scarce above a whisper, but to Jack's ears her words sounded as loud as a thunderclap. As usual, Jo had voiced the words that Jack didn't want to hear, but that didn't mean that they weren't the truth.

Jack nodded. Non-verbal acceptance seemed the lesser of two evils. Through the fiasco with Zain, Jack had held onto the hope that the nightmare wouldn't break the team. Honey's murder could have destroyed them, but somehow it seemed to unify people. This had the potential to tear them apart again. Honey's shooting was to some extent an accident, a crime on the spur of the moment, for all its tragedy, it was not the deliberate and pre-meditated attempted murder of one of their own.

Stuart moved, at first he thought it was restlessness, then as Stuart's entire body convulsed, Jack realised the level of pain he had to be in. Jo's fingers tightened on Stuart's hand, and he watched her soothe her partner gently.

"Can't they do more for the pain?" Jack was horrified.

"Not until they can treat the poison." Jo's voice was shaking, and she glanced desperately towards the door.

They waited.

~*~*~*~*~

Jo sat up slowly, she'd been there all night. They'd identified the toxin, and eventually treated him. She'd waited anxiously by his side for the antidote to start working, and then scarcely slept as she hoped and prayed for his recovery. The doctor treating him had ordered a battery of tests, and the initial results were hopeful; with care he could be considered to be out of immediate danger, but there was the possibility of damage to his kidneys. They would be making a decision on the need for dialysis later in the day.

She was exhausted, but reluctant to leave. She didn't want him to wake up alone. Jack had stayed until the early hours, until well after they'd administered the anti-toxin. And she wanted answers. Why a member of their own small, trusted, team had tried to kill Stuart.

Jo opened her bag, as they were leaving, and Stuart was being taken to the ambulance, she'd grabbed her handbag, and his three note books. Now she took them out. Somewhere in his scribbling, was a series of connections that added up to a whole. She knew it. But how to work out what.

She opened the first book. He had been very ill when she'd first given it to him, and his writing was sloppy and difficult to read. It felt odd, reading it, like an intrusion. Even though they'd sat down night after night together, and tried to make sense of it. As he improved, and the gaps in his memory got less and he had started to make lists, and group things into boxes.

Jo closed the notebook for a moment, surprised at her own feelings. Reading through his writing, she could see glimpses of her friend in there, it was like a jigsaw, and assembling the pieces would take a lot of time. If at the end of it, she got her friend back, whole, and healthy; well, she'd take that.

"Take them."

She looked up, startled. "Stu?" He smiled, weak, exhausted, and still far from out of danger, but still alive.

"Fix this... Jo... please."

His hand moved, and Jo clasped it between both of hers. "I'll try, hun." She promised. His hand squeezed hers, and he seemed to drift back to sleep.

I'll fix this hun, for you, and for me... and for all the others. Someone's a traitor and I'm going to find them.