They stood in the briefing room, Heaton, Jack Meadows and Neil Manson.

The large, weeping burn on Stu's arm had been dressed and bandaged, Jo was still shaking, and he had his arm around her. Ignoring the slightly amazed look from both his immediate superiors. Because he really didn't care. She had just been burnt out of her home, how exactly did they think she would feel?

Heaton was saying something. Stu tuned back in. And listened in disbelief.

"With respect sir, there's only one way out of this." he looked at Jo, willing her to agree with him. "We have to disappear until you catch them. We leave our mobiles here, and we go tonight. I know somewhere we can stay until it's safe to come back."

To his utter surprise, Heaton nodded in agreement. "Do you need help?"

"Just a lift to Stratford Station."

"Why Stratford...?"

"Huge, busy and confusing. Makes it easy for us to get lost."

Jack Meadows looked dubious. "You'll be on your own."

"I know guv, but if no one knows where we are, we'll be a lot safer. They've proved that they know where we both live, they've got to both of us at home, they know where we drink and the places we go to. There really isn't any choice."

Jo took a deep breath, and leaned into her partner slightly, "I don't like it guv, but Stuart's right, we have no other choice."

Neil drove them up to Stratford Station, Stu hastily bought tickets and they shot through the gates, running down the concourse, Stu pulled Jo up one of the flights of stairs, onto the platform, the DLR was about to depart, and they jumped on. Tension swept through both of them, neither wanted to sit down, adrenaline was still charging through their systems. Jo leaned her head against her partner's shoulder, it was eight pm, in one day her partner had been beaten almost to a pulp, she'd gone through the hellish distress of seeing him tortured and threatened, she'd found him, and then they had had to run for their lives to get out of her burning home. "Is there any more to come?" She looked up at him, voice trembling, "because I don't think I can take much more." He put his arm around her shoulders again, and rested his head against hers. "We've come this far, we can make it." The bouncing train rattled into the station, and he pulled her close. "We get out here." Jo followed, he was battered and bruised, and after the day's events, he must have been even more exhausted than she was, but somehow he seemed to have found a second wind, so she let him take charge.

Stu gently pulled her after him, down the stairs, through the maze of shops and out into Canada Square itself, down the escalators to the underground platform. Jo followed him blindly, letting him make the decisions, she was aware that at some level she ought to be having a say in what was going on, but she was trusting him. They zigzagged across London, until finally he drew her out of the underground system into the frosty night air, he hailed a cab, and gave the cab an address. They pulled up outside a hotel, and Jo thought they were finally going inside, but Stu pulled her after him, they rounded a corner, crossed a road, outside another hotel, where he hailed another cab.

Sitting in the cab, Jo began to shiver in earnest, it was very late, Stu pulled her back against him "are you okay?"

She nodded, rubbing her forearms with her hands, idly wondering what time it was, and realising as her left hand touched her right wrist that she was still wearing the two watches. Even though he was there, beside her, safe if a bit battered and bloodied, she felt a strange reluctance to give it back, it felt reassuring around her wrist, her link to him.

The taxi pulled up in a street, and Stu paid the driver, while Jo stood on the pavement, looking up at the row of Georgian houses, and wondering where on earth they were. There was no hotel that she could see. Stu took her hand. "Just round the corner." She looked at him questioningly. "I thought you said it was a hotel you had in mind."

"That's what I told them." he looked at her sideways. "We've been jumping in and out of the frying pan for more than a week now, I didn't want to take a chance." He looked at her. "No one knows about this place, and no one knows my connection to it, either."

He was looking at her surprisingly intently, and she was too tired and overwrought, she was having difficulty processing why. "What's the big mystery?" She followed him round the corner, there was a small mews on the other side of the road, and he drew her across the road. He headed straight to the end of the mews, and a front door. He pressed the bell. There was a sound of footsteps, and Jo had just enough time to read the name on the little card next to the bell push when the door was opened. An elderly woman, immaculately dressed, stood in the doorway. "Stuart!" She reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned with some fervour. "Tante Caro". He said something in a language that Jo barely recognised as French, and was startled to find herself swept up into a hug by the elderly woman. They were inside the house and halfway up the stairs before Stu could make the introductions properly.

"Tante Caro, this is my partner, Detective Constable Joanne Masters," Jo smiled, feeling a bit confused, "Jo, this is my great aunt Carola Czerda..."

Something about that name rang bells in Jo's head, she couldn't think why, and while she was trying to sort out the details in her mind, they arrived at the top of the stairs into a comfortable and cosy sitting room. "Poor child, you must be very tired and hungry," Stu's great aunt was saying, and Jo went along with whatever was being said and done, too tired to think straight, the stress of the day overwhelming her like the waves of the sea. She found herself sat at a table, a substantial plate of some kind of stew in front of her, perfectly certain that she wouldn't be able to eat a bite because it was so late, Jo made the attempt, and suddenly the plate was clean. "That was delicious, thank you." She felt disconnected, as though she was seeing herself from an out of body experience. Stu's hand tugged her to her feet, and she followed him, the images processing slowly in her mind like an old eight milimetre movie run at half speed.

She awoke to the sound of birdsong, and warm sunlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. She was naked beneath the covers of a soft and comfortable bed. She was just processing this information through her mind and wondering who it was that undressed her, when she became aware of the breathing. It was close, she turned her head. He was next to her, fully clothed, lying on top of the covers, fast asleep. She took a moment to study him as he slept, he was sprawled on his front, totally relaxed in sleep, and she decided to leave him to it. He'd had enough stress in the last twenty four hours, and he needed the sleep.

Her clothes were clean and neatly pressed and folded, on a chair next to the bed, together with a pretty kimono robe. Shunning her clothes, because she didn't feel quite ready to return to the land of the fully living, Jo put on the robe, and tied it firmly. It fit her well, the pretty turquoise and russet pattern doing wonders for her complexion and even matching her eyes. She smiled slightly. Not that she felt much like smiling. Her home was burnt and she and Stu were on the run from an evil chasing them.

Jo opened the bedroom door and blinked slightly the sudden rush of sunlight in the hall was more aggressive than the soft filtered version in the bedroom. She pulled the door to behind her and moved along the corridor back towards the lounge. She passed a painting hanging on the wall, and paused to admire it, the beautiful sundrenched scene, the colours... and suddenly she realised where she had heard the name Czerda before. The artist. Stuart's great aunt was a well known artist. Intrigued, she wandered along into the lounge. More paintings, she could hear someone moving around in the kitchen and she headed towards the noise.

"Good morning." Stuart's great aunt turned around.

"Oh my dear, you're up. That's good. Breakfast."

Jo found that she was very hungry, having been quite sure that she couldn't eat a thing. "Yes, please."

"Well have a seat."

Jo sat down at the table, and took in her surroundings. The kitchen was decorated in bright and pretty colours and reminded Jo of France, though she couldn't quite say why. There was a painting above the kitchen table, a boy and a dog, sprawled idly on an old sunlounger, half in sun half in shade, it came as a bit of a shock as she recognised her partner. Had Stuart ever looked like that, really happy, that relaxed? She studied him closely, he couldn't have been more than 12 or 13, his arm around the dog's neck, both of them totally confident that they were not going to be asked to move.

"That's my Stuart..." Jo looked up, Carola Czerda had a half smile on her face, curiously like her great nephew's, "that last summer." Jo sensed some sadness, "last summer?"

"Before his mother left. My poor Stuart." Carola seemed far away, Jo felt slightly uneasy, almost guilty, in stirring up the past. "I'm sorry." she said.

"Sorry?" Carola smiled gently. "It was all so long ago. He's a man now."

"But it's affected him, hasn't it?"

"Yes. She left, and he changed. He had no choice, his father saw to that."

"In what way?" Jo didn't mean to pry, but this was a key to her partner, a clue to who he was now.

"His father wanted a proper Englishman, not a half gypsy. He decided that Stuart should spend less time with us and his mother's family. So he raised a proper Englishman, Stuart has become a success."

"But he's not happy." Jo couldn't say why she knew this, because outwardly Stuart seemed content with his life.

"He's successful." there was a dryness in the older woman's tone which made Jo glance sideways at her, "he became what his father wanted him to be."

A sound behind them, and both women looked towards the doorway. Stuart stood there. "Gossiping about me already?" He was still wearing his jeans, but the shirt had gone, and he was barefoot. He kissed his great aunt gently on the cheek, and sat down opposite Jo.

She looked at him closely, because the light tone in his voice did not match the flash of something in his eyes as he caught them discussing his past. The man sitting opposite her and the boy in the painting were from different worlds, but they were one and the same. Jo looked into the eyes of the man, and for the first time wondered about the boy. Who was Stuart really? There had to be something of the boy in that picture, still, somewhere deep inside. Intrigued, she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Carola served breakfast and urged them to eat. Jo downed the croissants, and ham and cheese, and juice and coffee until she was certain she couldn't move from the spot let alone take another bite. She watched Stu shovelling happily, his momentary discomfort at being discussed forgotten, and she watched him interact with his great aunt. This wasn't the cocky, slightly detached, metrosexual cop she was used to, this was the teenage boy who still had the whole world before him, he slipped naturally back into the language he had clearly spoken from birth with his mother and the family. Jo pondered as she ate. She understood that it was French, but the accent was strong and she didn't really understand any of what he said to his great aunt. She thought about how different he was with his great aunt, how much more relaxed. He didn't have anything to prove, he was secure, he knows he's loved. She realised that she preferred this version to the cop, now to find the key to unlock the man he truly is.

More practical matters first. She looked down at the bandage around Stuart's arm. "We need to change the dressing on that."

"I know." He didn't look to happy at that. "Later."

Jo got to her feet, "no, I'll clear and then we'll take a look at that." When they'd treated his arm at St Hugh's, he'd been given a bag full of supplies to change the dressings with.

"Don't fuss."

Jo's lower lip trembled for a second, as the horror of the night before resurfaced. "If it hadn't been for you, we would both have died. I'm entitled to fuss."

"I know... I know..." he looked ashamed for a moment... "I didn't mean..."

I know... I know you don't mean to... but you do... anyway... It was that side to his adult personality which bugged her. The attitude thing. When she had first worked with Stuart, she hadn't been sure if she could do it. Everything was attitude. The things he said. His body language. The way he behaved. Then came the Statham case, and gradually as it cracked wide open, she had found a way through. She could work with him. Then when she had been trapped by Rachel Inns, it was Stuart who had toughed it out, Stuart who had persisted, pushed the DI, got up people's noses, snapped at people. She hadn't known he cared. Then as time had gone on, they'd gelled. She had got to know him, or thought she had, he'd stopped pulling some of the strokes that he pulled with the others without a second thought, because it was her.

Now they were running for their lives together. She looked back over the last six months, and the subtle change in the office dynamics and she realised that she missed the closeness that they had shared. That in many ways, Stuart had almost reverted to his bad old self. The syringe incident had taken the wind out of his sails, and he could have died. Being brought slap up against his own mortality had shaken him. He'd bounced back from there, but it seemed as though the rebound was too severe, he was overcompensating for his months of fear. His old insecurities were resurfacing.

She finished helping Carola clear up, and turned her attention to the burn on Stuart's arm. "Come on." Reluctantly, he held his arm out, and Jo stripped away the bandage. The dressing was sticky and she carefully peeled it up. The burn was nasty, a large, weeping blister almost four inches long by nearly three wide. "Jeez, Stu... why didn't you say something?"

He looked sideways, away from her, and she could sense his tension. He mumbled something.

"Pardon?"

"I didn't want to add to your worries." his voice was so quiet she could scarcely hear him. She bent over the wound, carefully cleaning it and dressing it. He flinched a couple of times, but when she looked up, he had the strangest look on his face.