So this was meant to be a short, cute fic about Connie/Sam as a semi-established couple. Instead, it's a long cute fic about them as a semi-established couple. I'm not 100% sure how they get together in it, but they're together.
Expect a lot of flirting and outright sexual tension (therefore it's T rated for this).
It's a Thursday afternoon in Holby City Hospital's Emergency Department, and Connie Beauchamp is taking advantage of the surprising lack of patients to catch up on paperwork in preparation for tomorrow's Heads of Department meeting. This is normally the sort of thing that she'd have had done by the start of the week at the latest – there's an informal competition between herself, Ric, Jac and Guy as to who's information is the most precise and well-presented.
She's winning, of course, though she may not be this week. For she's spent less time at work this last week or two than she's spent in years – and it's all because of Sam Strachan.
Well, she mentally amends, not entirely because of Sam Strachan – the improvement in her relationship with Grace has helped to persuade Connie to spend an hour less at work and an hour more at home – but he's been a major player in making her begin to question and rethink her priorities.
Ever since that afternoon in the store cupboard, where anger gave way to the ever-present underlying passion, she's spent one hell of a lot of time with Sam. After the awkward "what is this" conversation (answer: unclear, but definitely something), they decided to actually get reacquainted with one another outside of a hospital environment. Which led to her first proper date in a longer time than she'd be willing to admit.
They stopped behaving like overly hormonal teenagers, however, when they decided that they actually wanted to tell their daughter that they were…not together, but considering it. That, for the first time in her life pretty much, they weren't at odds about everything in the world. She had accepted it pretty well, Connie thought at the time, though she didn't seem overly bothered either way; they'd never once pretended to her that there was a chance that her parents would get back together at any point.
One thing she did do, however, was specifically invite Connie to her next physiotherapy appointment – which is a little later on Thursday afternoon. Which is yet another motivation to try and get the paperwork in order as soon as possible – for the first time in a long time, her daughter wants her around.
"Oh hello, Mrs Beauchamp," a dry voice comes from the open door. Sam. "What a surprise it is to see you in here."
Connie rolls her eyes, but she can't help smiling as she coolly replies, "well, it is my office. What do you want, Mr Strachan?"
He steps inside and closes the door, and immediately her attitude changes: she looks up from the paperwork and openly smiles at Sam.
"That was pure ice," Sam says, sounding almost hurt as he steps further into Connie's office. "It's almost as if you hate me."
He picks up one of the paperweights on the edge of Connie's desk and begins to play with it, throwing it up and down in the air, and Connie winces, waiting for it to fall. Surprisingly, it doesn't.
"You know that we don't exist anywhere in this building, other than in this office," Connie reminds him gently. "Please put it down, you're making me nervous."
Sam grins, his expression a combination of daring and flirty, as he flips the paperweight in the air once more. "See, didn't drop it," he responds, sliding the paperweight back onto Connie's desk. "Aren't you looking rather beautiful today?"
Connie's lips press together as she tries to stop herself smiling, though she knows she's definitely not successful in stopping herself blushing. There's just something about Sam…
"I haven't changed since you saw me this morning, Sam…now are you in here for any particular reason, or is it just to show that you're as capable of making me smile as you were at eight o'clock this morning?" Whilst she really wishes that she could take a step back from her desk (and it's rare that she ever thinks this), she wants to get this paper done now, before she goes home.
"Well, it's always nice to receive a compliment, but I was just checking that you'd remembered about Grace's physio appointment?" Sam asks.
Nodding, Connie looks down at her watch and then back at her paperwork. "Yes, it's at five. I've got to get this paper together – I should have done it Monday – but I'll be ready to leave at around 4.30."
Sam doesn't answer, and Connie gets a strange feeling that he's waiting for her to look up at him – which, it appears, he was. His expression is a strange combination of disapproval, pride, and caution, something only Sam Strachan can combine it seems.
"Right," he replies slowly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "Just…don't forget. Please? She specifically asked for you."
A little irritated, Connie shakes her head. Why does he think that she's going to forget, today of all days? Haven't the last two weeks proven to him that she's willing to reassess her priorities – for Grace and for him?
"No," she says, her voice a little sharp, "I won't forget. Feel free to come and pick me up, though, if you're so convinced that I need babysitting."
Sam smiles, a little more kindly than she was expecting, given her tone. "I know. I just also know that we've spent a lot of time in bed recently, and you've not done much work."
"Well, I suppose if the paper isn't ready for the meeting tomorrow, the paper isn't ready," Connie responds resolutely. "But if you disappear now and do some work, maybe I can get it done in the next two hours…?"
After a few more flirtatious comments, she finally gets Sam out of her office, and gets back to work. Pressure's good to get work done to a deadline, particularly for Connie Beauchamp.
.x.
They arrive at the physiotherapist's office in the local gym a little early, despite relatively heavy traffic. She let Sam drive, partially so she couldn't be called back to work if an emergency case came in, but also because she's still a little hesitant to drive in this part of Holby. Though they didn't take the route which led to the crash last summer – and she hopes she never has to take it again – this gym isn't too far away. Every time she drives anywhere near it, her throat closes, and her breathing becomes more rapid – and Connie couldn't imagine having any form of panic attack when her daughter's in the car with her. Not again.
"Thank you for asking me to come with you, Gracie," Connie murmurs to Grace as they take one of the seats near the physio office. Before she left the office, both she and Sam changed into sports gear, hoping that their outfit change would psychologically support Grace in her gruelling therapy. It's unlikely to make a difference – Grace actually snorted at their almost matching outfits when they picked her up – but a study in Sweden suggested that it might make a difference with adolescents, and Connie's willing to try everything.
Grace looks up from her phone and smiles a little, but doesn't quite meet Connie's gaze. Maybe it wasn't entirely her daughter's idea, Connie suddenly realises, and turns to look at Sam. Thankfully, though, he's engrossed in his phone also, and doesn't appear to have heard Connie's comment. She'd be mortified.
"It's okay, mum," Grace replies slowly. "I actually sort of wanted you to come so that dad wouldn't be waiting for me by himself."
Connie's confused, and she knows that her expression reflects this.
"But, sweetheart, you can't go in there by yourself."
Now Sam's interest has been piqued, and Connie can feel him looking across at the pair of them over her shoulder. "What do you mean, me to wait, Grace?" he asks.
Grace shrugs, and doesn't look at either of her parents.
"I just want to do a couple of sessions on my own, okay?" She responds, rolling her eyes a little. "I'm almost a teenager, I don't need you to watch me try and walk without a stick for a full hour. It's a bit creepy."
Sam starts to protest. "Gracie, we're your parents. And you need—"
Connie cuts him off, having read her daughter's body language and understanding that there's probably a reason for her wanting some alone time. And whilst she really wants to see Grace's progress, she recognises that there's more value in supporting her daughter's right to having a bit of control over her life. Maybe next session she'll let Connie and Sam come in.
"Sam, she's right," Connie interrupts, noticing Grace's expression turn to shock. Evidently, she wasn't expecting her mother to agree with her, having fought tooth and nail to get to the point where Grace was willing to invite her. "She's growing up, we should let her go in on her own. Maybe next time, though, Gracie?"
Grace smiles and nods. "Thanks mum, and yeah, you can both come in next week. I just want to do it without you two being doctors about the whole thing."
Before either Sam or Connie can protest that, no, they're not there as doctors, Grace's physiotherapist walks across. "Grace, if you want to come in, you know where you're going."
Grace smiles and says bye to her parents, though the physio hovers outside for a moment, waiting until Grace has entered the room before speaking.
"I think she's having a bit of a progress block knowing that you're both watching everything that she does," she explains to Sam and Connie, her voice kind. "I know you're not," she adds, noting that Sam looks as if he's about to interrupt, "but that's not what she thinks. I'll see if it makes a difference this session and if it doesn't, I'll make sure you're both in there next time."
She walks away, re-entering the door that Grace just disappeared through, leaving Connie and Sam sitting together, alone for an hour in a gym.
.x.
After a couple of minutes of Sam ranting about how they should be in there and Connie listening, he stops.
"I'm surprised you gave in so quickly," he finishes with, leaving Connie a little miffed.
"Well, I figured that if we ignored her and went in, she wouldn't work as hard as she can," Connie responds, shrugging slightly. "And anyway, it was nice to be the parent who gives her what she wants for a change." She can't resist adding this; for no matter how well they're getting on as a couple at the moment, there will always be a little resentment which lingers at how Grace has conceptualised her mother as the strict, rule-following parent, and her father as the one who gives her literally whatever she wants.
Sam opens his mouth to argue, but clearly thinks better of it, and instead nods before standing up. His expression changes from neutral to strangely flirty and competitive, and Connie's immediately intrigued. Not that this is new, or anything. Sam Strachan's always been a puzzle to her; he's always interested her more than almost anyone else in the world.
"Well, Mrs Beauchamp, it appears that we have an hour spare in a gym, and we're both dressed for the occasion," he says, raising his eyebrows a little. If Connie didn't know him better, she'd think that he was suggesting that they find a cupboard and spend a little alone time. "Now, I think it's time for you to put your outrageous claim to the test, and show me just how fit you are."
She narrows her eyes, though she can't help smiling a little, and he adds, "in the gym, of course. I already know that you're the most beautiful person in the world – after myself."
Smiling wider, her eyes crinkling a little, Connie stands up. "Well, I suppose I can spend an hour destroying that ego of yours in the gym as well as at work, Mr Strachan," she replies, pressing her shoulder into his chest. It constantly surprises her how much shorter she is than him, which definitely isn't helped by the lack of high heels. "First one to ten kilometres on the bike wins round one."
(She definitely doesn't run into the gym. He definitely doesn't cheekily grab her from behind as he follows.)
.x.
She's putting everything she can into beating Sam Strachan as she pumps her legs on the bike, one two, one two, one two, a pattern that seems never ending.
After a mutually agreed warm up of five minutes of all body parts – and she definitely noticed his inability to look at anything other than her as she started squatting – they got onto the bikes, and Connie's mind focused entirely onto the task in hand: to beat Sam Strachan.
He smiles across at her from the bike to her right, having not even broken a sweat yet. Evidently not working hard enough.
"Looking tired, darlin', maybe you should quit whilst you're ahead," Sam calls across, though Connie just rolls her eyes. She doesn't need to waste energy on talking, not this early on.
After a few seconds, she takes a furtive look across at his dial. He's only at two kilometres, whereas she's already at three and a half; she's well ahead. This isn't an opportunity for her to rest on her laurels. She wants to destroy him.
It's funny, she thinks as she continues to pedal harder and harder, how their relationship has been entirely based on who has the upper hand between the pair of them. It's been a constant game of undermining and outsmarting – until they realised that, somewhere along the line, they had fallen for one another. And whilst it might have taken them ten years to actually act on these feelings, now they're here, they're sailing new waters. For no matter how well they know each other, it's always been in an environment of conflict and competition – a little like this, even though this is entirely for fun.
She's enjoying their new relationship, by testing boundaries and opening up parts of her heart that she thought she'd locked up long ago, but it's still strange. The only thing that reassures her about the strange feelings that's she's experiencing – beyond the usual lust and desire for excitement – is the fact that she wants to spend time with him. She's willing to set aside her work an hour, two hours, early every night, because she wants to explore what they can be together.
That doesn't mean that their relationship can't ever be like it was before though, like it is here. Flirty competition has never hurt any couple that she's aware of – even with Michael, there was an element of a game to their relationship right from the beginning.
But, in short, she's willing to try and be a better person for Sam Strachan, and he's willing to try and be a better person for her too, and that's the main thing that you need in a relationship.
(Though she'll never, ever turn down an opportunity to knock his ego down a peg or two.)
She looks across at him again, five minutes later, and smiles. He's starting to sweat a little now, finally, though he's still a good two and a bit kilometres behind her. She's almost there now; a little bit further, and she'll be the victor of challenge one.
"Did you know, you're looking mighty fine today?" Sam says, speaking quietly so that nobody else in the gym can hear him. "I'm wondering what you'd look like with those clothes on the floor…"
She looks back at him and smiles a little, turning her charm up as high as it can go with Sam Strachan. "Sweetie, you already know what's underneath," she reminds him, still managing to keep the same rhythm of movement to keep the wheels turning rapidly. "And trying to distract me to catch up, that's just the sort of thing that's going to leave you sleeping in your own bed tonight."
A few more minutes pass in silence, save for the increasingly laboured breath sounds of both Connie and Sam as she strives to maintain her lead, and he attempts to catch up.
It's in vain for Sam, however, as Connie's distance tracker ticks over from 9.95km to 10km, whilst Sam's still down at 9.05km.
"And that, I believe, is what is called victory," Connie exclaims, looking across at Sam and raising her eyebrows. It's a half-competitive, half-flirty look – one which probably summarises half of their relationship, in all honesty. "I thought you were going to at least challenge me."
Sam jumps off his bike, swinging his left leg over so he's standing mere centimetres from Connie. If she wanted to, she could lean over and kiss him; they're just at about the same height right now. But she doesn't; victory is hers, and she wants to revel in it.
"I'll admit you've bested me here, darling, but let's not forget that there's more than just cardio machines in the gym," he replies, squaring up to her. He wants to kiss her; she can feel it. "And whilst you're evidently very good at running, I'm not quite sure that you'll be able to chest press to quite the same level."
Leaning forwards so that their lips are millimetres apart, Connie smiles widely. "Oh, I am so looking forward to this," she whispers.
.x.
After mutually agreeing that a short stretching session is best before a weights competition, Connie strides across to the weights area of the gym, Sam following closely behind. Despite her confident quips, she's not sure that she can best Sam in this challenge – for whilst she's fit, she's no serious weightlifter. Though she's incorporated a few sets into her (unfortunately rare) gym sessions, she's not entirely sure what each piece of equipment does, and she's hesitant to ask. There are very few things that Connie Beauchamp knows nothing about, but gym equipment is one of those.
"So, just how am I going to show you that I'm stronger than you?" Connie asks as they enter the empty section. "Chest press, did you say?"
She turns to face Sam, placing one hand on his chest in a bid to distract him just enough so that he doesn't question why she hasn't selected the equipment.
It works. She can see that he's struggling for words – evidently trying to decide between flirting and fighting. It's nice to know that she still has this effect on him; for no matter how much time they spend together as equals in this new relationship, she's always going to make him speechless.
"Er, yes," Sam responds, putting one hand over Connie's, and pulling it down from his chest. "No more distractions, Beauchamp. You're not going to flirt your way to victory."
She smiles wider, the challenge accepted. "Is that right?"
He grins, and presses a kiss to the corner of her cheek, almost touching her ear. It's sweaty and cold at the same time, and she loves it.
Then he whispers, "it is. If you can tell me how to chest press, you win and we can use the rest of our alone time with you showing me just how good you are."
He knows exactly what her game is. She's busted.
She blushes, the smile dropping off her face as steely determination returns. He wants a war? He's got one…and unfortunately for her, it's one he's probably going to win.
Pursing her lips, she replies, "oh, you won't be disappointed. But I'll let you start."
"Thought so," Sam replies, taking a step back from Connie before walking past her, deliberately brushing against her arm. "I'll show you how it's done – you able to spot me?"
She nods, and follows Sam to the weight rack where he grabs a couple of dumbbells, then to one of the flat benches. He stretches out, the dumbbells on the floor by his arms, and counts to three before he picks the weights up.
Watching intently, Connie's impressed as Sam presses the weights out six, seven, then eight times, completely at ease with the weights. She deliberately refrains from making any sarcastic comment that could put him off; she's more concerned with his well-being than she is to win this competition.
"Your turn, good luck," Sam states as he gets up from the bench, leaving it free for Connie to claim. "Did you follow what I was doing?" He adds, remembering that she's never done a chest press before.
"Seems pretty straightforward," Connie replies, though she does bite her lip as she sits down on the bench. It doesn't feel right, stretching out on such a narrow piece of equipment. She does like the view she gets of Sam, though, as she looks up at his face.
Gingerly, she picks up the weights, and almost drops them in relief. They're very light, and she's pretty certain that she should be alright with these.
Once, twice, three times, she pushes them up and out above her chest, and she can see Sam spotting very intently. She would make a comment, but she's too focused on keeping the weights going up and down without his intervention. Six, seven, eight – she's done, but it was a little harder than she had expected.
"Are you sure you're not a secret weightlifter?" Sam asks as he grabs the weights from the floor and returns them to the stand. He comes back with two which, Connie assumes, are a little heavier than the last two.
He doesn't ask her if she's going to be alright spotting, assuming that she will be, and the cycle repeats itself.
And it repeats itself.
She only just gets through the third set, though Connie's not too fussed about it; it's her first time doing this exercise, whereas Sam's probably been doing it for years.
So whilst she might not win this one, she might as well have a bit of fun.
"You can do it, sugar plum!" She calls out as Sam starts his final rep, just loudly enough for the people who have moved into the area to hear. "Sugar muffin, I'm sure you can do it, it's only two kilograms! I have complete faith in you, my prince."
She can hear the people sniggering, and she just about manages to stop herself joining them. She's a better actress than she thought.
Sam drops the weights and they drop onto the floor to either side of the bench, just about missing Connie's toes. He's laughing, she can tell, but he also appears slightly embarrassed – probably at the fact that there are now people in the world who think that sugar plum is Connie's preferred nickname for him.
"Sexy biscuit, you are just so motivating, I don't know what I'd do without you, little silly sausage," Sam responds, putting on the highest pitched voice that Connie's ever heard him do. "I know that my progress from not being able to lift my arm to now being able to lift two whole kilos would have been impossible without my adorable honey bunny by my side."
She can't stop laughing now, and she has to bury her face in Sam's chest to disguise it; she's not sure that it's successful in doing anything other than muffling the noise. She shouldn't be surprised that they've gone from being in a serious competition to taking the mick out of each other – it's probably a little symbolic of the changes to their relationship.
Managing to compose herself a little despite Sam whispering stupid nicknames over and over again into her ear, Connie pulls away to see the men in the corner of the weights area look away from them quickly. She's pleased to have managed to put on a show for them, as stupid as it was.
Unfortunately, now it's her turn to lift the weights that are definitely more than two kilos. She manages four reps before her arms fail her and Sam has to grab the dumbbells before they fall directly onto her chest.
"Guess that means I win this round, Beauchamp," Sam says proudly as he reracks the weights. "One all. All to play for in the final round, which is…" he trails off, evidently undecided on what the final round should actually be.
"Flexibility," Connie responds, thinking of the way that Sam watched her earlier, and the simple fact that she's almost certainly more flexible than he is. "We'll keep it simple – whoever can do the splits for the longest wins. Though there'll be a lot of stretching first." She can't resist flirting a little, and she's pleased to see that Sam responds to it.
"Well, as responsible doctors, we should absolutely stretch out all muscles during exercising," Sam continues, taking Connie by the arm as they head towards the stretching area. "And ladies first, of course."
"Of course," Connie agrees. "Perhaps if you just stand there, just on the off chance that I should fall forwards," she suggests slyly, pointing to the area just in front of her.
He looks affronted for a moment and shakes his head. "Well, I think you're actually more likely to fall backwards, so I think for your safety – and that's the most important thing – I should stand there," Sam retorts, pointing just behind Connie. They're close enough to touch now, and she takes advantage of this; she's not sure how much longer she can keep tormenting herself, because they've only got a finite amount of time before Grace's session ends.
She doesn't press the issue any further, and instead takes a step backwards from Sam and turns around, facing the wall. Then she drops into a deep squat, feeling the burn from her previous exertion on the exercise bike, counting to ten before standing up. She repeats, turning around to see that Sam is doing exactly what she expected: staring at her.
"Time to see what you can do, sugar plum," she says as she rises once again, this time turning around to face Sam. Whilst she's never been one of those people who lets terms of endearment roll off her tongue – darling and sweetheart are usually the only ones, and they're reserved for Grace and Sam – it's been strangely fun to incorporate them into this session. Perhaps they'll use them, ironically at least, another time.
Sam grins, challenge accepted, and drops into his best approximation of a squat. Whilst it's not…atrocious, his form certainly isn't there, and she can tell that he put more effort into watching her than he is into exercising. It doesn't surprise her though. Sam's always been the sort for instant gratification.
After they finish stretching, Connie turns to face Sam and says, "time to do the splits, Strachan. Show me exactly what you're made of."
He looks a little apprehensive but drops to one knee at the same time as Connie, before gingerly stretching his legs out. Meanwhile, Connie's already in position, arms balanced on either side to ensure that she doesn't get too uncomfortable. She's smiling a victor's smile, because she can tell that Sam, if he even manages to get into the splits for a minute, would be in too much pain.
"Get a bit distracted when stretching, sweetie?" Connie says, watching for Sam's reaction.
To her great dismay, he doesn't give her one, simply stands up and moves across so he's standing directly above her.
"I hereby declare you, Connie Beauchamp, the proper and fair sugar plum of the gym," Sam concedes defeat gracefully, extending his hands to Connie to help her stand up. Though she doesn't need his assistance, she takes it, jumping up from her position on the floor.
"Why thank you, my…sexy biscuit," she replies, forcing herself to use his ironic nickname from before. Man, they really need to agree to never use these names seriously.
"And now for your prize," Sam continues, bending over towards Connie.
"Not in here," she murmurs, taking a discrete look at her watch. "We've got ten minutes before we have to go and meet Grace."
"I know the perfect place."
.x.
Nine minutes and forty five seconds later, Connie's frantically pulling her shirt over her head and Sam's struggling to fasten the zip on his jacket as they're almost late for Grace.
"Your hair is a bit…" Sam trails off, looking at Connie's hair, which can only accurately be compared to a bird's nest.
"Yeah I know," she replies, dropping to one knee to tie her shoes. "Tie it up for me, will you?"
It's an oddly intimate thing for her to suggest so casually, and she can sense that Sam's a little thrown by it. Still, she thinks, he wanted her to open up – and here she is, asking him to do something as little as tie her hair back relatively neatly.
He doesn't do too bad a job, and they're soon able to dash out of the family changing room and head down a floor to meet Grace, who's waiting outside of her physiotherapy room with a huge grin on her face.
"Where have you two been?" Grace asks, a little demanding, as her parents round the corner. "And why are you so sweaty?"
They exchange a glance, and Sam replies, "we went to the gym whilst we waited for you, Gracie. How was your session?"
"It was good," Grace replies, her expression turning a little suspicious. "Mum, I didn't know that you went to the gym…"
"I used to go a lot more than I do now, Gracie," Connie replies, walking up to her daughter and placing an arm around her neck. She doesn't pull away, and Connie's heart swells a little. "But I'm glad that it went well. Can we come in next week?"
Grace nods. "Yeah, it was good, but it wasn't the same without you staring at me and cheering me on."
The three of them talk as they head back out to Sam's car, before they help Grace into the backseat.
As the door closes, Sam presses a gentle kiss to Connie's forehead and says, "that was really fun. I enjoyed it."
Connie smiles, placing her hand on Sam's arm. "Yeah, I enjoyed it…we should try and do something that's just us, every once in a while, explore a little more."
He grins and takes a step back. "As long as we're agreed that sexy biscuit are two words that are never used in the same sentence again."
As she walks around to the other side of the car, Connie shrugs. "I'm not sure, Sam, I think it suits you…"
(She calls him sexy biscuit every night for the next week until he threatens to send an email to Hanssen calling him a 'sexy giant swede biscuit' from Connie.)
((He doesn't stop using the nickname sugar plum, though.))
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