So, this is my first fic for BBC Casualty, so obviously I had to write about my favourite characters.
It doesn't really fall into an exact place in the show, but if I were to estimate it would be in the next few episodes. Enjoy!
edit: I've reposted this as I hadn't realised the formatting (italics etc) hadn't come across when I copied and pasted it!
Sometimes, as she looks across the department at Sam Strachan, she thinks, oh God. I've created a monster.
Because what is Medical Director Sam Strachan, if not the product of Cardiothoracic Clinical Lead Connie Beauchamp?
She has to smile wryly sometimes, as she contrasts the happy go lucky, chancer, insubordinate registrar of ten years ago with this, a man who thinks his word is gospel. A man who doesn't take into consideration the feelings of others, the needs of others, the priorities of the department. A man who would rather make an enemy of an entire department than admit he's wrong. A man who hides his feelings behind a veneer of sarcasm, for everyone except his daughter.
Oh yes, this new Sam Strachan is very much her creation.
Except he's taken all of her worst qualities - probably without even realising that they're hers - and combined them with his to make the most ruthless Medical Director, but the worst boss. Ruthlessness, a determination to succeed, a facade of separateness is all well and good, but combined with recklessness, infallible charm and even greater stubbornness than Connie Beauchamp?
It's a recipe for disaster, and Connie knows it.
For whilst people call her the Ice Queen (and worse), can't understand some of her decisions, and on occasion question her judgement...they know she cares. Her team - and her patients - are the priority. So whilst she can play the bureauctric politician better than almost anyone, she's a doctor - and a leader - at heart. And when the bureaucracy tries to harm her team, she fights.
This isn't the first struggle she's faced with staff cuts. She's fought them off time and time again on Darwin, and she even resigned from being Joint Director of Surgery on the principle that the staff are the most important part of a hospital. Without a team, there is no hospital.
As she sits in her office, watching, Sam turns suddenly and notices her gaze. He's perplexed, she can tell, that she's people watching him; she told him long ago, on one of those long nights of chemistry and illicit feelings, that she doesn't watch people.
"I don't need to watch people," she had said, her voice full of authority, as usual. "They watch me. That's the difference between me and the rest of them...as well as the fact that I'm simply better, of course."
Within seconds he's inside her office, and he shuts the door swiftly, quietly, without making a scene.
"If this is about Grace…" he begins, but Connie cuts him off. Just the mention of her daughter, her greatest gift and greatest regret combined, awakes the nightmares at the back of her mind.
"This isn't about Grace," Connie replies, stumbling over her daughter's name. Even saying it hurts.
Sam raises his eyebrows slightly, having noticed her fumble, but doesn't comment on it. Strange. He usually pounces at the first sign of weakness, especially with her.
"What is it then? We both know you don't people watch."
She notices that he directs his attention away from her, even as he speaks, to check his hair in the mirrored surface behind her desk. Now he knows he doesn't have to put up a fight (or at least he thinks he doesn't), he doesn't think he needs to pay enough attention to her.
"You need to be careful how you speak to them, Sam," Connie comments, her tone kind. Because, for every mistake Sam has made, she's made a thousand more. And she doesn't want a fight; for all his problems, she respects Sam Strachan more than almost anyone.
His attention snaps straight back to her, and he stiffens, ostentatiously preparing for a fight. Yet another indication that he's still not quite as prepared for leadership as he thinks he is.
"Need I remind you that I'm your Medical Director?" His voice is sharp, almost angrily so, though she knows he's still happy that he's her superior.
She rolls her eyes. "Need I remind you that I taught you everything you know?" She doesn't react with anger, but merely states a fact, her tone unwavering.
This shocks him, though the narrowing of his eyes suggests that he's already seeing where he went wrong in replying.
Sam takes a seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he does, and with the loss of the button his attitude changes. Again. "Well, not everything I know. Not even half."
Again, she rolls her eyes, and it feels like she's talking to her registrar again. "Really? Because I could have sworn that I read in your statement of application to Sacred Heart that you cited me, and the time you spent under me, as your greatest influence." She smiles. "Except yourself, of course. Nobody could claim to be a greater influence on Sam Strachan than himself."
If anyone else was in the room, they would think this exchange consists of flirting. It doesn't.
At least not consciously, anyway.
Sam just about stops himself blushing, and attempts to disguise his uncomfortable expression with a small cough. He can't quite bring himself to look Connie in the eye, which amuses her on some small, petty level. Even now, he can't quite win.
"Yes, well...anyway, what relevance does this have?"
"Its relevance is that you should consider listening to other people when they offer you constructive criticism, Sam. I'm not trying to get you sacked."
"But you would like the job." Sam grins, and it bring back all the memories of Darwin and Sam and cardiothoracics for Connie. "Because I'm not giving it up without a fight. And this time, I'd win."
Connie just stops herself rolling her eyes, and instead stares stonily at him from across her desk. "No," she states, her tone firm. "If I wanted that job, I'd have it, Sam. I want this one. So I have this one." She enunciates every word, almost spitting them. "Not everything needs to be a competition. Or a fight. You could just accept that I want to help."
Because she needs to fix her mistakes, and prove that it isn't weak to show kindness every once in a while. To prove that integrity is worth more than a pat on the back.
To show him that she isn't everything he thinks she is.
He simply looks at her for a few seconds, evaluating her words, before he replies.
"Go on, then. Impart your words of wisdom, and make yourself feel better." Is he mocking her? She can't tell. Sam Strachan has always simultaneously been the easiest and most difficult person to read, and time hasn't changed this.
"You need to show that you're a team player," she begins, and he snorts.
"Team player?" Sam repeats, incredulous. "How many strikes did your lack of team play cause on Darwin?"
"And I learnt from my mistakes," Connie retorts, leaning forwards and placing her elbows on the desk. "And anyway, the culture's different down here. You pitch in or you get out of the way so someone else can make a difference. They will only respect someone who works as part of the team, rather than above the team."
"So your advice is to...lose the suit, get some scrubs, and start working on the next trauma victim who comes in?" Sam asks, now a little sarcastic. "Really great advice, Connie."
"You'd be sorting ingrown toenails in cubicles," Connie corrects him, a glimmer in her eyes. "You're a liability in my department. And keep the shirt if you want, just prepare for vomit. It's about the act of team work, rather than what you wear. If the team perceives you as someone who is one of them, they're firstly more likely to help you.
"And secondly, they're more likely to cope and carry on when things go wrong."
There's silence for a moment as Sam reflects on her comments; she can see him processing, and she hopes, pleads, that he at least takes them on board. If he does, he's on the long road to becoming the best version of himself. The work equivalent of the way he acts with...Grace.
"I'll consider it," he says, to her great relief. "Now, if the advice offering is over, I've got a meeting to get to."
She nods, smiles slightly, and leans back in her chair. She's still got another four, five hours of paperwork to go, and that's without any interruptions from resus. It doesn't matter, though. Going home to an empty house isn't at the top of her priorities.
"Enjoy," she says drily, before turning her attention to her computer screen. As she shakes the mouse to turn the screen on, she catches a glimpse of her screensaver - her with Grace, before - and gasps a little. Excel can't load fast enough to obscure the happy, smiling little girl with a mother that Connie doesn't recognise anymore.
Sam, who's already over by the door, hears her, and turns back. He's used her office enough; he knows the screensaver. For once, as they make eye contact, he's sympathetic, on her side.
"She'll come back to you," he says softly, and Connie almost believes him. Almost. "You're her mother. She needs you."
Connie nods, unable to speak, and turns to face the computer again. He probably saw the tears forming in her eyes, but she doesn't need him to see her cry. He's seen that more times than probably anyone else.
Just as she thinks he's gone, Sam pops his head back around the door, his expression perplexed, and it changes the mood from somber to almost...comical. Trust Sam Strachan.
"Just how did you read my application to Sacred Heart?"
Even now, he can't hide his curious streak.
Connie can't bring herself to smile, not after he mentioned Grace, so she simply states, "Steve Jackson thought that I'd like to read such a flattering commentary from an ex-student. Also, he wanted me to confirm that you were as good as you said you were."
Sam smiles slightly, hesitates, and asks, "And what did you say?"
"That you were almost as good as I was at your age."
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