Henrik Hanssen, the dark angel of Holby City, loomed over a patient bed on Darwin Ward. He surveyed the ailing old man through his gentlemanly spectacles and delivered his prognosis. The man stared up into Hanssen's eyes and saw what other's could not see. The hint of tears half concealed by a determination to stay focussed. A chink in an otherwise unchinkable armour. Yet no one but this one frail man could sense it. Hanssen remained an enigma.

"You've lost someone..." the old man told the Swede. But Hanssen just fixed him with a steely look and laughed it off. The old man said no more, but he was not fooled. Without another glance, Hanssen moved away, swooping like a bat towards its cave. He threw open those doors. Did not look back. Closed them behind him. The lonely angel sat in his throne.

Hanssen sighed, a deep dark sigh. His sorrowful eyes filled with tears as he remembered the love he'd lost and yet never had. He wished he'd had the guts to admit his feelings but he left it far too late. She married and all he could do was manipulate her from afar. Guide her career and maybe lead her to him? But now she was gone. Gone forever. The cuckoo had flown the nest. He gave a hollow laugh as he reached into a drawer. Hanssen laughed to hide the pain but his steamed up glasses gave no illusions. Determined to go on, Hanssen opened up his pre-prepared supper. His preferred greek salad and like an endless routine he slowly picked out the tomatoes one by one, giving each fruit a displeased scowl.

"The devil's fruit," he murmured. He drew the salad to his mouth yet before he could take one bite, the distinctive sound of his pager filled the air. Henrik Hanssen stood up at once. He headed for the door, pulling it open with ease. He saw him at once. The old man crashing before his eyes. He watched. Waited. Surveying the Darwin team with suppressed pride. They prevailed. The stats rose. Hanssen stayed silent and overlooked until the old man was alone once more. Satisfied, the Swede strode towards him.

"I knew you would return," the old man told him, although he was now extremely weak. Hanssen said nothing, he merely sat and listened. "I see your loss in your eyes." Hanssen remained unflinchingly still. "She's gone. It's time to let her go." A tear slid silently down Hanssen's cheek.

"I know." The old man smiled. He closed his eyes. Hanssen blinked. The bed was empty. He looked up at the name: Simon Peters. He turned away and beckoned the nearest nurse. "Mr. Peters, where is he?"

"I'm afraid he died earlier this evening," Mary Claire replied with a hint of sadness in her usual cheery vogue. Henrik said nothing. He just turned away and strode back into the darkness of his lonely life. He had finally let go.