"Your husband was shot in the back. The bullet has lacerated his liver and punctured one of his lungs. He also has massive internal bleeding. We've moved him straight up to theatre to try and repair the damage that's been done, but I have to tell you that he's very critical at this stage. I should also say that the bullet may have caused some damage to the spinal cord, but we won't know that until much later."

She blinked, trying to take in what the doctor was saying and yet failing miserably.

"What I'm saying is, that if he survives, there may be issues with his mobility."

"You think…" she heard words coming out of her mouth, but they sounded so unlike her own voice as to startle and confuse her. "You think he might not be able to walk?"

"That's what we don't know and won't know for some time. Right now, our main priority is saving his life. Anything else has to be secondary." He paused and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. "I realise all of this is a huge shock for you. Are there any other family members that we could contact for you?"

"Don't worry about that. We can deal with it."

Looking to her left, she suddenly realised that Tosh was by her side, as he had been since Gordon had delivered the news. He had taken her hand and helped her out of her seat, down the stairs and into the car, driven her to the hospital and stayed with her whilst they waited for news. Glancing down, she realised that her hand was in his. "Thanks Tosh."

"Not a problem," he replied softly. "Thank you, doctor."

"We'll update you as soon as we know more," the doctor replied. "For now, please take some time in the relatives' room."

He was gone before she could say anything more, no doubt off to deal with the next critically ill patient or devastated relative. Though she felt as though she had no control over her body, she found herself walking along the corridor and into the designated relatives' room, Tosh following.

"I'll get you some tea," he said as she surveyed her surroundings.

"Thanks." Alone, she took in the room, at the starkness of it. There were comfortable chairs and a couch surrounding a low-slung table with outdated magazines strewn on it. As if anyone could read a magazine whilst waiting for news about a loved one. It seemed so ridiculous that the latest fashion or news about Coronation Street would be uppermost in a person's mind…she sank down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. "This isn't happening…it's not happening…" Pressing her fingers into her eye sockets she tried to remember the last time she had seen her husband. It had been the night before, when he had come home late, when they had made love and when she had been thinking…

"Here you go." Looking up sharply, she saw Tosh standing in front of her, holding out a cup. Wordlessly she took it from him and sipped the burning liquid. He sat down in one of the chairs opposite and regarded her carefully. "Is there anyone I can phone? Stewart's parents perhaps?"

She shook her head, "They're on holiday in Torremolinos. I don't know what hotel or even what area…"

"Any other relatives?"

"He's got a brother who lives in Germany, but I don't…I don't know the number off by heart."

"Ok, no problem. What about anyone I can call for you?"

She looked up, "Me?" He nodded. "No, no-one."

"What about your dad?"

"No," she shook her head. "I haven't spoken to him in a while so…" instantly, she felt a wave of guilt sweep over her. It had been over a year since she had talked to him, since she had even thought about him. After her mother had died, he had moved to Brighton and the time between their intermittent contact had only increased. She knew he couldn't be of any comfort to her now and he was one of the last people she really wanted to see.

"The DCI radioed Burnside."

"And?"

"Well, he didn't want to say too much over the radio, but he told him to go back to the station urgently. I'm sure as soon as he finds out, he'll be here."

If there was anything untoward in Tosh's words, she chose to ignore it, feeling a sudden agony grip her at the memory of being convinced something had happened to Frank, at the fact that her first thought on bad news being delivered was that it related to someone other than her husband, of making love with Stewart whilst thinking about someone else. "What kind of wife am I?"

Tosh frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" she broke off, unaware she had spoken aloud. "Nothing, I just…I just can't stop thinking about every time…"

"That's natural," he said kindly. "But try and think positively, ok? Everything's going to be fine. Stewart is ging to be fine."

She nodded dumbly, aware that he was only saying what he thought she needed to hear and not because he was certain of the truth of his words. "And what if he's not? What if he dies?"

Tosh said nothing. There was nothing he could say. There was nothing anyone could say.

XXXX

"Look at this place," Frank said as he and Viv stood outside the Quinn family home. "Not exactly what you'd expect on a security guard's wage." It was no understatement. The house was large and sprawling, with manicured gardens and electric gates. "Hastings must pay well."

"Not that well, surely."

"You never know, I suppose." He looked through the gates at the empty driveway. "No sign of a car." He turned as Viv pressed a buzzer next to the gates, only for them to be greeted by silence. "I suppose she must be down the hospital. We'll take a swing by Simpson's place and then head to St Hughes."

"We'll need to tread lightly, Guv," Viv said as they made their way back to the car. "If Quinn's dead, his wife's going to be in a state."

"Are you saying I can't be sensitive when the occasion warrants?"

"No, of course not."

"Good." He pulled away from the kerb. "What's your gut feeling on this one anyway?"

"I'm not sure I've got one yet."

"Oh, come on Viv, everyone has a gut feeling about every crime. What's yours?"

"Well…it is suspicious that Quinn lives in a house like that, but his wife could have money, or he could have just done well for himself over the years."

"And?"

"The feud between him and Simpson; it could be about anything, maybe nothing at all to do with work. This could just all be a massively unfortunate incident for both of them."

"So, you agree with the DCI then?"

"I think we need to keep an open mind, Guv, that's all. If that aligns me with the DCI, then so be it."

"Yeah, well…" they lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey, conversation only starting again once they were outside Simpson's house. By comparison, it was a lot smaller than Quinn's, but still nicer than average. "Decent."

"Yeah," Viv agreed as they made their way up to the door. "Is he married?"

"Grant didn't say," Frank asked, ringing the doorbell. It echoed through the house, but there was no sound of any life. "If he has got a wife, she must be down the hospital and all. Come on, if their loved ones are there, then we need to talk to them before they get over the shock and start clamming up."

"Why not radio Jim, Guv?" Viv asked, as they got back in the car. "He's already down there and he could speak to them."

"No, this is our part of the enquiry Viv, and if there's any secrets to be spilled, I want them spilled to us."

"But what's the difference? Whether we get something or Jim or anyone else gets something?"

Frank shook his head as he started up the engine. She had a lot to learn. It wasn't always about being a team effort. Sometimes, it was about finding the smoking gun and catching the brownie points. Now Gordon was in charge, he couldn't help feeling that more keenly than ever.

The casualty department at St Hughes was busy, and as they made their way through the throng of people, looking for a familiar face, Frank couldn't help but think that he recognised some of the men hanging around in groups. They looked somewhat familiar, only he couldn't place who they might be or how he might know them. Before he could expend much energy thinking about it, he caught sight of Jim at the end of a corridor. "Carver!"

Jim turned to look at them, his face grave, and he began making his way towards them. "You've heard then Guv."

"About Brian Quinn pegging it? Yes, you told me, remember?" He rolled his eyes. "We went to see his wife but I'm guessing she's here."

"What? No, I don't mean about Quinn, I mean about Stewart Church."

Frank paused. "What about him?"

"You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"He's been shot. He's upstairs now in theatre. Last I heard…they're not sure if he's going to make it."

Drugs Squad. That's who the men were that he had recognised. Officers from the Drugs Squad, no doubt gathered waiting on news. Immediately, his mind went to her. "Where's Christina?"

"In the relatives' room with Tosh. She's in a bit of a state."

"Right." All thoughts of anything to do with the robbery flew from his mind and he hurried down the corridor towards the relatives' room, his heart thudding wildly in his chest at the thought of her. When he opened the door, he saw her sitting on the couch, Tosh opposite holding her hand. They both looked up at his arrival, Christina's cheeks streaked with tears, her face crumpling when she saw him, and he felt his stomach drop.

"Tosh."

"Guv," Tosh got to his feet and moved over towards him. "She's…uh…she's not good."

"I can see that."

Tosh turned back and smiled gently. "I'll get us some more tea."

When the door had closed behind the other man, Frank hovered for a moment by the couch before sitting down beside her, making sure to keep a distance between them. "I only just heard, I'm sorry."

Christina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He was shot in the back. What sort of coward does that?"

"Do you know anything about the circumstances?"

"No, his DCI won't tell me anything other than the facts about what happened. Operational security, apparently."

"Who's the DCI, Alan Baker?" She nodded. "I can have a word, or maybe Wray can, given they used to work together." He paused. "Have the doctors given you any update?"

She shook her head, "No, nothing since I first got here. Just that he's in surgery and that, as well as the internal damage, they're not sure whether or not his spine might have been affected." She broke off and put her hands over her face.

Ignoring what might have been considered proper in the circumstances, he slid along the couch towards her and put his arm around her shoulders. She turned her face into his neck, and he felt the dampness of her emotion against his skin. "It's all right," he said softly as she cried. "I'm here, it's all right."

If she thought his choice of words strange, she didn't voice it. If anything, he felt as though she pressed herself slightly harder against him and he simply allowed her to cry until her body stopped convulsing and she drew back. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Making a mess of your suit."

"Don't be daft. I reckon you're allowed to be upset under the circumstances." Before he could stop, he found himself taking her face in his hands and wiping away the excess tears with his fingers. She stiffened slightly at his touch, her gaze swivelling to meet his and, for a moment, the air hung heavy between them until the door suddenly opened and Tosh reappeared carrying a tray of cups. Immediately, he dropped his hands. "Thanks Tosh."

"No problem." He put the tray down on the coffee table and handed Christina a cup. "The DCI's here."

"I'll have a word," Frank got to his feet and moved towards the door. "Look after her, yeah?"

"You're coming back, aren't you?" she asked suddenly, a tangible note of fear in her tone.

"Yes," he replied, "I'm coming back. Just give me a minute." She nodded imperceptibly and he opened the door back out into the hallway, letting out a long breath as he did so. Before he had the chance to think about what had just happened, he saw Gordon striding towards him.

"Where have you been?"

"I was doing my job, sir, as instructed," Frank replied.

"I ordered you to go back to the station over two hours ago and you ignored me!"

"Yes, because I took the view that the information we had received was time critical and I felt it needed to be followed up. And I was right. There was a feud between the two security guards which might…"

"You can hand that line of enquiry off to someone else," Gordon interrupted. "When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it, Frank. I do not expect you to go off cock-handed following your own agenda!"

"I didn't know that Church had been shot."

"If you'd come back to the station when I asked you to then you would have found out! I'm guessing it's only dumb luck that brought you here."

"Martella and I were looking for Brian Quinn's wife."

"Exactly, and if you had found her the chances are that you still wouldn't be here." Gordon shook his head. "The job is important, Frank, I'm the first to admit it, but when something happens to one of our own, that has to come first."

He knew he could have argued the toss, could have given Gordon chapter and verse on his commitment to the job and how it took nothing away from his commitment to his team, but instead, he chose to close his mouth and simply nod.

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other." Gordon paused. "How is she?"

"Devastated, as you'd expect."

"All right, stay with her. I'll brief the others in continuing on with the robbery investigation."

"You want me to stay with her?"

"Yes Frank, I do. Do you have a problem with that?"

Frank paused, thinking on how strange his boss's words were given what he had said to Christina about her being so closely linked with him. "It's just I would have thought you would have preferred someone else to do the hand-holding, that's all."

Gordon eyed him speculatively. "Something tells me Christina will feel better if she's with you and, right now, looking after her wellbeing is of paramount consideration. That is, unless you feel you can't do it and the robbery investigation is more important?" He said nothing. "Good."

"Oh sir? Can you talk to DCI Baker for her? He won't give her any more details about what happened, operational security apparently, and I reckon she needs to know a bit more."

Gordon nodded curtly, "I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, sir." He watched as Gordon walked away down the corridor and then turned back into the relatives' room. Tosh got to his feet when he entered while Christina sat at the far corner of the couch, her legs drawn up underneath her. "DCI wants a word, Tosh. He wants to speak to the troops about continuing on with the investigation."

"What about Chris?"

"I've to stay with her."

"Right Guv." He couldn't accurately read Tosh's gaze and yet he could tell that the wheels were turning in the other man's head.

"Well, off you go then."

"Guv. I'll see you later, Chris."

"Thanks Tosh, I appreciate everything you've done."

"No problem." Tosh turned and opened the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"Well…" Frank said, turning back to look at her. "I guess it's just us then."

XXXX

She had no concept of how long she had been in that small, airless room. It reminded her of the police witness room at court and of how she had felt the last time she had been there, waiting to testify against Ryan. And yet, this was so much worse, as worse as it could get. She could be on the brink of losing her husband, of losing all that she had ever known, and she was powerless to do anything about it. She glanced over at Frank who was flipping through one of the discarded magazines and couldn't help but feel gratified by his presence in a way that she couldn't really explain. She wasn't sure if he had pulled her to him or she had pushed herself against him, but when he had held her earlier, things had felt a little better, a little less bleak, even though there was no reason for such hope.

Her limbs felt stiff, and she got to her feet and crossed the room, stretching them out and willing the blood to return to her extremities.

"Do you want more tea?"

"No," she shook her head. "I've had enough already to float the Titanic. I just wish…I wish someone would come and tell me something."

"I know," he put the magazine to one side. "But I suppose no news is good news, right?"

"I suppose."

"Your husband's a tough old bastard, Chris. I might not like him very much, but I can recognise determination when I see it. If anyone can survive this, he can. Besides, he's got you to come back to, doesn't he?" She nodded, feeling her throat choke with emotion again. "That's enough to make any bloke fight for life."

Looking over at him again, she found herself reliving the moment after he had comforted her, when he had held her face and wiped away her tears and she had ashamedly found herself wondering what it would be like if he were to kiss her…disgusted in herself, she turned away. "I'm not sure I deserve him."

"Why the bloody hell would you say that?"

"Because…I don't know…"

"He's lucky to have you."

"Is he?"

"Of course he is. And when he's better, maybe he'll learn to appreciate what he has a bit more."

She turned back around to face him. "You don't think he appreciates me?"

"Well…" he looked uncomfortable. "I mean, you've said a few things yourself about him in the past, haven't you? All I'm saying is, when something like this happens, it should make you thankful for the things you have. If it was me lying in that bed you can bet your life there wouldn't be anyone in here crying over me."

"That's not true. You've got family."

"Not quite the same though, is it?"

"I would…" she stopped herself suddenly before going any further.

"You would what?"

"Nothing," she turned away again, berating herself for the inappropriateness of what she had been thinking. If it were him, if it were Frank, she knew she would be equally as devastated and that thought alone chilled her in ways she couldn't describe. But Stewart…her Stewart…the boy who had taken her away from the shitty life she had otherwise been destined to lead, the first man…the only man…Stewart was all she had ever known, all she had…she felt her chest tighten again with both fear and guilt. "I'm scared, Frank," she whispered. "I'm scared that he's going to die. He's all I've got…"

"Chris…"

"If I lose him…if I lose him then I've got nothing…" she put her hands over her face as, once more, emotion overtook her. "No, don't, please," she twisted away as he made to physically comfort her again suddenly desperate for him not to touch her. She was Stewart's wife. He needed her at that moment. Whatever silly crush she thought she might have on someone else needed to be stamped out once and for all. "Don't put your hands on me." The words were out before she could stop them, and she immediately recognised how accusatory they sounded.

There was a moment of elongated silence before Frank responded, his voice tight. "Why don't I go and see if Gordon's managed to get any more information out of Baker."

The realisation of being left completely alone suddenly overtook her and she pulled her hands away from her face, her mouth open and ready to stop him, to ask him to stay with her, only to see the door swing shut behind him.