red feet upon the floor

by Emmel1118

All she's ever wanted is for the both of them to be happy. It's such a shame they couldn't find that together, because she thinks, maybe, she loves him more than the world. She always has. - the evolution of Ric and Diane's relationship, pre-Holby.

red feet upon the floor

the executioner's within me,
and he comes blindfold ready,
make up your mind, florence and the machine.

---

All she's ever wanted is for the both of them to be happy. It's such a shame they couldn't find that together, because she thinks, maybe, she loves him more than the world.

She always has.

...

She is twenty-three.

Her first day as a SHO, full of nervous smiles and shaking hands. The hospital looks too big from outside, like it will swallow her up and she will never escape its clutches. She's trained for this moment, worked every day for five years, and yet now the moment is upon her, she's frozen, scared, unsure if she should continue. Maybe she's not meant to be a doctor, maybe she's not good enough, maybe she should turn away and give up now.

(doubts would be the death of her, her mother said often)

But she doesn't walk away. She puts one foot in front of the other. She's given up too much to get to now: she can't just walk away.

...

He's waiting for her, along with her fellow SHOs, a group of five or six, obvious because of their palpable anxiety.

He waits from them to quiet and then he speaks. 'My name is Mr Griffin and I'll be your mentor here at St Cuths for the foreseeable future.' He pauses, watches them, casting his eyes around his assembled students. His gaze falls on her. 'You, there - what do you think you are here for?'

She blinks, stupefied for moment, but then she rises to the challenge, words spilling from her tongue unbound. When she finishes, he looks at her, one two three, his eyes studying her carefully and she thinks she's done something wrong, a misstep on her first day, but then his eyes crinkle (in a way she will learn later like the back of her hand), and he nods, his face breaking apart in a grin.

'Did you all hear that?' he asks, softly. 'That's why you're here.'

...

He teaches, they listen.

He shows, they do.

He tells them, they follow.

...

Until -

a Friday, a month or so after that first day.

She taking bloods from a patient; the nurse watching her carefully. It's the - what? - fifth or sixth time she's done this since she arrived, and it makes her feel good, like she can do something. She's telling the patient exactly what she's doing, just like she was told to do in Med School, just like Mr Griffin reminded them the first time he let them loose with needles on real flesh and blood.

The curtain crunches but she doesn't look up, concentrating too hard on the patient. She finishes taking the blood, then looks up. Mr Griffin is standing, arms folded, the nurse gone, watching her. She explains a little more to the patient, then nods, and makes her way out of the cubicle.

He follows.

'Well done,' he says.

She shrugs. 'Just doing what we're taught,' she says.

'No,' he says. 'You were kind, considerate. Not many people are at the beginning. They're all too worried about what they're doing to worry about the patient. That takes awareness, empathy.'

She flushes, embarrassed. 'I was just doing my job,' she says.

'My,' he replies, 'you really are modest, Ms Lloyd.'

And she smiles, and he smiles, and there's a feeling inside, one that screams at her that she'd like to make him smile again and again and again, but she squashes it down, because it's so obviously unprofessional, and he's just being kind, that's all. She shouldn't read anymore into it.

He says something else, posing a question, something to do with reality, and medicine and the moment painfully snaps away and she's reminded she's always been a dreamer, thinking things that aren't true, things that end up hurting her in the end.

She shakes her head, answers his question.

...

'Call me Ric,' he says.

They're somewhere in the middle of Wales, and it's raining.

They can hear the squeals of the ambulances in the background, as they trudge along the muddy track.

'Okay, Ric,' she says, 'which way?'

They're both wearing lime green jumpsuits, bright in the early evening sunlight, and the reflective pads are catching the rain, refracting it into different shapes and patterns.

'This way,' he says, confidently. After a pause, 'I think.'

She laughs. It rains harder.

...

The helicopter is loud, too loud for her to catch her thoughts.

The casualty is lying on a stretcher between them; the neck brace, fitted by her under Ric's supervision in the field, snug against his skin. He's out for the count, sedated before they attempted to move him. Adrenaline is still rushing through her veins; her heart is pumping hard in her chest.

She has headphones clamped over her ears, and she can hear the rush of her own blood. She glances across at Ric, whose eyes are fixed on the obs machine. He looks up at her, taking her by surprise.

He mouths something across the roar of the engine. 'You okay?'

She nods.

...

When they've landed, and handed over to the A&E team, they walk together out into the darkness of the hospital grounds. They're still wearing their green suits, except Ric's rolled his down now, to his waist, so she can see the faded grey t-shirt underneath - the one with the name of their hospital written in bold typeface right were the heart is.

They sit down on the bench. She feels jittery, on edge, and she swears she can still hear the scream of the sirens, the growl of the helicopter. She's not sure why they haven't gone back up to the ward, changed back into their clothes, and gone their separate ways, but she thinks it might be something to do with the horrors they have witnessed today. She certainly doesn't want to go back to her empty flat after that, but she can't talk for Ric. It feels strange calling him Ric, like she's crossed a line.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

'Why'd you chose me?' she asks, suddenly, expecting an answer along the lines of 'you were the closest' or 'I don't know'.

'I knew you could handle it.'

She turns her head on its side and looks at him. He looks tired, worn-out, like she knows she must. It's been a long, horrible day. She's seen things that no one should ever see.

'Does it get easier,' she asks, 'to watch people die?'

He shrugs. 'Would we still be human if it did?' He pauses, contemplating something. 'You get tougher. But days, days like today...' He shakes his head. 'I shouldn't have taken you, you shouldn't have had to see that.' He hangs his head.

'I wanted to go,' she says, defensively. 'It was my choice. And anyway, we gave them a chance, didn't we? Like the man we flew in on the helicopter, Rob - that was us, Ric, we gave him a chance.'

He raises his head, nods, then smiles. 'Who's the teacher here?'

She smiles too. She feels emboldened by their conversation, for some reason.

'I don't want to be alone tonight.'

He doesn't look at her. Inside, she crumbles, and she squeezes her eyes tight shut. She shouldn't have said that - if calling him Ric felt like crossing a line, saying what she just did certainly is worse, most definitely.

'I shouldn't have-' she starts, but she doesn't get any further, because he puts his hand on her face, and then he kisses her.

'Neither do I,' he says, softly.

...

She wakes up at four in the morning, her sleep ravaged by nightmares of the dead, images of the horrors she witnessed, people she couldn't help.

When she wakes, she is confused for a long moment, confused because she doesn't recognise her surroundings, and the feeling of an arm, draped across her chest, and the rise and fall of someone breathing, close to her.

She hasn't shared her bed with a man for a long time. She wonders what it was about Ric that made her break her promise not to let anyone in again.

Then she sees his face, contorted in sleep, and she smiles, and she has her answer.

Sleep finds her soon enough.

...

When she wakes again, the bed is cold, and light is flooding in through the curtains. She opens her eyes, bleary and still is in realm of sleep, to find Ric, hovering in front of her, a mug clutched in his hand.

'I thought you might want coffee,' he says, gesturing at the cup.

She sits up, pulling the sheet up around her, and takes the cup. It's awkward between them, neither knowing what to say. He sits on the covers beside her.

'I'll go if you want,' she offers as he sits.

She waits for his reply, sipping her coffee.

'You don't have to,' he says. He takes a long drink from his own cup, seemingly embarrassed at his sharp reply. 'I feel like I've rather taken advantage,' he adds, and she can't help but laugh.

'Don't be such an old fool, Ric.'

...

So she stays, and they small talk for little longer, and then he drives her home. They stand on her doorstep, and he shuffles from foot to foot, hands in his pockets.

'So... I'll see you at work on Monday,' he says.

She nods. 'See you.'

'See you.'

He turns to leave, but she calls out after him.

'Ric?'

He looks back and she reaches across the gap between them and kisses him.

When they break apart, she's smiling and he's looking at her with thoughtful eyes.

'What was that for?'

She shrugs.

'I think you're a good man, Ric. No matter what you think.'

He looks back at her, his eyes twinkling.

'Thank you, Diane. For making an old fool happy.'

...

She wonders what will happen now.

It doesn't take her long to find out.

They dance around each other all day at work - every time she says 'Mr Griffin' now there's a playful smile on her lips and a laugh caught in her throat, but she just about manages to keep professional, and every time he says her name, there's a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before.

When her shift's over, she finds him outside the locker room.

'Just dinner,' he says. 'I usually dine my conquests before getting them into bed,' he adds, and she smirks, raising an eyebrow.

'I'm a conquest, now am I?'

She lets him take her out to dinner.

...

And when they've eaten, he drives her home and they sit in his car, side by side, the engine running.

'What are you doing?' she asks, when another minute ticks by, and he still doesn't move.

'Trying to be a gentleman,' he replies, gritting his teeth and looking forward.

She puts her hand on his on the steering-wheel and leans across and captures him in a kiss again. It's long and lazy this time, and when it's over, he's just about to say something, his eyes watching her hungrily, when she opens her door.

'See you at work.'

And then she's gone, smirking, into the night.

...

They go on four more dates in the coming weeks.

She's not quite sure what's going on and they seem to going all backwards about things, but she doesn't really care. He has nice, kind eyes, and his arms make her feel safe and his smile makes her smile, so she doesn't mind that he's more than twenty years older than her and he's technically her boss. She doesn't think he cares either.

After the forth date, they end up at his place again.

She lets him take her to bed again, and this time when she wakes up in the morning and he's there with a cup of coffee, things aren't awkward.

...

'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

Even through the wall, as flimsy as it is, Diane can hear the angry words.

'She's half your age, Ric. I thought you knew bloody better than this.'

She waits for Ric's reply, but his voice is calm and she can only hear a murmur of his low voice.

'I don't care what you bloody think, Ric! She's under your supervision, which means you can't bloody sleep with her!'

She's tempted to get up and fling open the door and give him a piece of her mind, and tell him she can make her own mind up when it comes to who she sleeps with and that it's none of his business, but she remains stuck to her seat.

She hears the rumble of Ric's voice again, then the shrill reply vibrates through the thin walls.

'You should have stayed away from her!'

She sighs.

...

After forty minutes of back and forth, she's invited into the room by the red-faced consultant in charge of the hospital SHO programme.

She passes Ric in the doorway and they share a conspiratorial smile.

The consultant takes a quieter tone with her, asking her questions about Ric from behind his desk.

She finds his questions ridiculous - she's a consenting adult, as is Ric, she doesn't see the problem. Yes, he is technically in charge of her, but it's not like their relationship is compromising either of them, nor is it affecting any of the other SHOs under Ric's supervision.

He continues to ask her questions until he gets fed up of her confident, no nonsense replies and lets her go.

She is surprised to find Ric sitting on the plastic chair outside, waiting for her.

'I feel like I've just been scolded by the headmaster,' she notes wryly.

'So do I.'

He stands and they walk along the corridor together.

'Thank you for defending me,' he says, suddenly, when they're in the lift going down to the car park.

'Why wouldn't I? It's not like I'm ashamed of you, Ric.'

He smiles at her as they to the exit.

As the go through the doors, she grabs his hand, slips hers into his grasp.

'No more secrets.'

He looks at her.

'No more secrets.'

...

She begins to notice it a few days after their rebuke by the consultant - whispers, here and there, as she walks past, or when she's talking with Ric. She catches the odd conversation here and there - 'he's so much older than her' or 'I wonder what she's sees in him' but she shrugs it off, gets on with things.

Ric can tell its riling her. They're eating lunch in the staffroom, just the two of them, and he turns to her, arms folded, leaning back in his chair.

'Why does it bother you so much?'

'Because they think they know everything,' she says, indignantly. 'And they don't.'

'What do you see in me, Diane, that they all can't?'

She shrugs. 'I care an awful lot about you, you know that Ric?'

He stares at her for a long moment.

'You've just made an old man very happy, you know that?'

'You're not old.'

'Whatever. You know what I mean.'

...

It's later that night, they're lying on the sofa, awash with the harsh glow of the TV. She can feel his arms around her, can feel his heart beating behind her.

'Do you really have three ex-wives?' she asks, suddenly.

He chuckles. 'Where'd you hear that?'

'Ali from radiography said something.'

Ric pauses for a moment, shrugs.

'Yes,' he says. 'I have three ex-wives. Married one of them twice.' She nods slowly. 'And I have five children.'

She frowns. 'You're kidding me.'

'Sorry. Three ex-wives, five children.'

She takes a long moment and she can feel Ric's worry, palpable between them. His arms get a little bit tighter around her.

She asks him a question then, about his children, his wives, his past, and the worry slowly seems to fade away.

When she runs out of questions, and her head is full of her new knowledge, Ric goes still behind her.

'Is that okay, Diane?' he asks, quietly, his voice a rumble in the dark.

'Why wouldn't it?'

'It's a lot of... baggage. And you're young and I-'

She doesn't allow him to get any further. She jumps up off the sofa and turns to face him.

'Which doesn't mean I don't know my own mind,' she replies. 'I know what I want, Ric. I want you. I don't care if you've got three ex-wives and five children. All it means is that I know more about you. Is that okay?'

He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

'As long as you don't have three ex-husbands and five kids rolling around, I'm good,' he replies, smirking. She shoves him in the shoulder, but then he catches her wrists and pulls her down, so they're lying face to face on the sofa.

'I'm far too young to have five kids, you know that Ric.'

She's smiling now and she can see he is too.

'So there are three ex-husbands out there. I knew it.'

She hits him playfully again.

'No,' she says. 'Just you.'

...

'Let's go to Paris.'

The whispers have faded now the months have gone by; the hospital at large seems to accept them - all except the red-faced consultant who glares at her every time they pass in the corridor and will only speak to her in monosyllabic barks.

'Have you gone crazy, Ric?'

They're lying in bed, her head on his chest, the early morning light creeping in through the curtains.

'No.' She tips her head so she's looking up at him and she can see he's being serious. 'I've never been to Paris before. I think we should go. Christmas is coming up and-'

'You want to spend Christmas in Paris with me?'

'Yes,' he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'I'd want to spend Christmas with you if that means being dragged to your parents' house and sitting through their awkward questions all day long.'

'My parents wouldn't- Oh, okay they would, but they're going away for Christmas anyway - some cruise or something, so I'll spare you that horror, for now at least.'

She can't help at the idea that he wouldn't mind meeting her parents. She's never introduced anyone to her parents before. Johanna was always bringing guys home, guys she barely knew by all accounts, but that was Johanna for you.

'So, Paris?'

'It's expensive.'

'I'll pay.'

'I can't let you do that.'

'Yes, you can. Come on Diane, Paris at Christmas - won't it be beautiful?'

'Yes, it would,' she says. 'But you're letting me pay for some of it.'

He chuckles, and then he kisses her, and it takes her breath away.

...

Ric jumps in the shower and she drifts from the bedroom into the kitchen.

She grabs two mugs, sets the kettle going, her head full of thoughts of Christmas with Ric, in Paris.

It sounds as she's pouring the water into the cups, the shower thumping through the pipes in the background. She thinks it's the door at first, but of course, it can't be, because she's here and Ric's here, so there's no one else.

But then she hears footsteps, and she freezes, coffee in each hand.

'Dad?' comes the shout from the intruder, and Diane frowns. 'I know you gave me the key for emergencies, and I promise this is one - Johnny kicked me out, I've got nowhere to go-'

Diane's still frozen when the girl turns to corner into the kitchen, and she is abruptly silenced.

'You must be Jess,' she says, slowly, hoping her memory serves her right. It makes sense this stranger before her is Ric's eldest daughter, a seventeen year old girl with a hint of her father in her face.

She can feel Jess' gaze on her, and she shrinks away, embarrassed, because all she is wearing is one of Ric's shirts, the grey one with the name of hospital written on the front.

'Your dad's in the shower.'

Jess stands, awkwardly, silent for long moment.

'How old are you?' It's not the question she's expecting, and it throws her.

'Twenty-four.'

'Christ. At least you're older than me.'

She has no response to that.

'Would you like some coffee?' she asks, gesturing at the cup.

Jess eyes her warily.

'D'you live here?'

'No.'

'But you spend a lot of time here?'

She shrugs, then nods.

'Christ, Dad, you've really outdone yourself this time,' Jess mutters to herself, but Diane can hear her.

They both hear the bathroom door go, and then sound of Ric's voice floats through the rooms.

'Diane?'

'So that's her name,' Jess mumbles.

Then the kitchen door opens and Diane can see Ric's about to say something, but when he sees his daughter, standing in his kitchen, unannounced, the words leave him and his face slumps into a frown.

'Jess?'

...

Again, the walls are too thin to contain the angry words.

'She's twenty-four, dad - that's twenty years younger than you. That's only six years older than me!'

She continues pulling on her clothes, shutting the wardrobe when she's finished, but clearly in the other room, they are not.

'Jess, please-'

'It's stupid, dad. She's too young. It's weird.'

She sits down on the bed.

'No, it's not,' he snaps in reply, and she knows Jess has managed to rile him.

'Christ, what would mum say?'

'Your mother has nothing to do with this.'

'I think she'll have something to say when she finds out you're sleeping with someone only just older than your daughter!'

'Jess-'

'What is it, eh, dad? A quick fling because you're getting old? Does she make you feel young?'

'Jess. Listen to me.' His voice is loud, commanding, and all of sudden, Jess falls silent. 'This is not a quick fling because I am getting old, as you say.'

'What is it then?' Jess asks, pointedly.

Ric seems to take an age to reply.

'I love her,' he says.

She thinks she stops breathing when he speaks, and she doesn't hear Jess' incredulous reply, or whatever the hell they talk about next.

...

When Ric comes in, when Jess has left, the door slammed behind her, she pretends she didn't hear him.

He ambles over to her, pulls her into a hug, fumbling a kiss to her hair.

'Sorry about that.'

'Don't worry about it, Ric.'

...

She's at Ric's, curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea. He's in the kitchen, tidying away from dinner. The TV's playing softly in the corner.

Her phone rings and she reaches to the table and picks it up. She thinks it'll either be the hospital, or her mother.

What she doesn't expect is her sister, indignant, at the end of the line.

'You're not in your flat.'

'Good evening to you too, Jo.'

'You're not in your flat,' she repeats.

'No,' she answers, somewhat cryptically.

Ric pops his head round the doorway, tea towel slung over his shoulder in an approximation of domesticity.

'Who is it?' he mouths, gesturing at the phone.

She puts her hand over the phone.

'Jo. I think she's at my flat.'

Ric frowns just as Jo bursts into life at the end of the phone.

'So where are you, Di?'

If it were anyone else but Jo, she would have told them off for calling her Di, but she lets it slide.

'Out.'

'Liar. You don't go out.'

'Look, Jo, are you just calling to insult me or...?'

'Well,' she answers, sounding slightly reticent.

'Get to it, Jo.'

'I need somewhere to stay for the night.'

'Christ, Jo, he hasn't kicked you out already, has he?'

'No,' she says, defensively. 'We just had an argument, it got out of hand. I'll go back in the morning and it will be fine, but I don't think I'll be very welcome tonight.'

'I can't just drop everything for you, Jo,' she replies, tempestuously, knowing full well she has several times in the past.

'But you do have a spare room?'

'Yes but-'

'Where are you anyway?'

'It's none of your business, Jo. I'm busy.'

'Doing what? You're not at work. I went to the hospital. They said you'd gone home.'

She rolls her eyes. Of course she did.

She's tempted to just tell Jo she's seeing someone, but she knows Jo will demand to meet him, interrogate him, probably scare him off for good.

'I'm out, like I said.'

'You're not with a guy, are you Di?' Her sister's voice has taken on a teasing quality usually found in teenage girls. 'Oh, you so are. Is he hot? Don't tell me he's another of your stuffy old guys again Di,' she complains.

'Jo-'

'He is, isn't he?'

'Are you outside my flat?'

She watches Ric sneak into the room out of the corner of her eye. He moves across the room until he's sitting next to her.

'Yeah, but-'

'Isn't it raining?'

'Yeah, but-'

She sighs, leans into Ric's side and murmurs sorry to him under her breath.

'Just wait there, Jo. I'll be there as quick as I can.'

'Thanks Di. I owe you one.'

She rolls her eyes. Her sister owes her far more than that, but she's her sister, so she loves her really, though she does get on her nerves more often than not.

She's just about to hang up when Jo says, 'You didn't say you weren't with a guy, though Di,' and she can hear the smirk in her sister's voice.

She puts the phone down, groaning.

'Sorry, Ric,' she mumbles. 'Sister emergency.'

'Don't worry,' he says, kissing her on the forehead. 'There's always tomorrow night.'

...

Jo's huddling against the rain when Diane arrives.

'You took your bloody time. Your fella must live in the middle of nowhere,' she grumbles.

'At least I came,' she snaps, and they stand together in silence as Diane struggles with her keys.

'What's his name?'

She doesn't reply, instead, opening the door and escaping the rain. She's up half a flight of stairs before Jo moves to follow.

'Come on, Di. Just tell me his name.'

She ignores her sister.

...

She lets Jo sleep on the sofa.

Her sister's watching late night crap on the TV when Diane comes in to say good night.

'One question,' she begs, 'One question, given you won't even tell me his name.'

She sighs, relents, muttering an okay.

'How big is the age gap this time?' she teases, and Diane sighs, turning away, leaving a grinning Jo on the sofa.

Just as she leaves the room, she calls over her shoulder, 'Twenty years,' and she hears Jo scoff.

'At least tell me the truth, sis!'

She smiles to herself.

...

She's munching on a piece of toast, phone clamped to her ear.

'So I'll see you on the ward, right?'

'Yeah,' Ric says at the end of the line. 'How was Jo?'

She shrugs, aware he can't see her. 'Jo was Jo. It was okay. Sorry for skipping out on you. She should be gone by tonight.'

'Making plans with lover boy?'

She flushes with embarrassment as Jo stumbles into room, bleary with tiredness.

'Shut up, Jo,' she mutters, holding the phone away from her ear and placing her hand over the receiver.

Jo mimics her and Diane shakes her head.

'Sorry Ric. I'll be in soon. Bye.'

She puts the phone.

'I'm going to the hospital now. Will you be gone by the time I get back?'

Jo wanders over to the toaster.

'Yeah, of course.'

Diane nods, makes her way to the door.

'Were you pulling my leg when you said that he's twenty years older than you?'

She smirks.

'No, Jo, I wasn't.'

She walks out the door. When she comes home, Jo's gone, with just a note left on the kitchen table that reads - I will find out his name, Di. Thanks for last night.

She smiles.

(Jo never does find out his name)

...

They end going to Paris, but not at Christmas.

They spend Christmas with Jess, in Ric's home, because his daughter is lonely, and no one should be lonely at Christmas. And anyway, she thinks Ric's proving a point about her to Jess, but she doesn't care.

It's awkward at first, but then things start to thaw when they begin to learn things about each other.

By the time Jess leaves at eleven, they are smiling and happy. Ric comes back in after taking his daughter back to her flat, brand new and paid for in part by her father, and he slumps down onto the sofa beside her.

She leans across, put her head on his chest.

'Merry Christmas, Diane,' he says, softly.

'Merry Christmas, Ric.'

He kisses her then, and then they watch late night TV together until they fall asleep on the sofa, listening to the sound of each other's breathing.

...

Paris happens in late Spring.

Their hotel is on the banks of the Seine, and from the balcony, she can see the Eifel Tower, and the river, weaving its path away from them.

They go out for dinner on the first night, in a little restaurant a five minute walk from the hotel, with breathtaking views of the river. They eat the best meal of her life, and then she forces Ric to let her pay, because he paid for the hotel and she can't let him do everything.

As they stroll back, hand in hand, she's never felt happier in her entire life.

...

She's standing on the balcony.

Ric's somewhere, inside the room, making a racket.

'What are you looking for?' she calls.

'My camera,' he shouts back, and then there's bang, followed by an 'aha'. Ric emerges from the room clutching his precious Polaroid.

She leans against the balcony, taking in the view.

'Are you ready to go?' she asks, turning back to face him, and she's surprised when she hears the click of the camera.

'I wasn't even smiling,' she says as Ric patiently waits for the photo to reveal itself.

'I don't mind. You look beautiful,' he replies. She blushes. 'What?' he says, lazily. 'You do.'

'Let's go, before you can take any more.'

...

They wander the streets, hand in hand, soaking in the sights, enjoying the company.

He finds a little book shop, just off a busy street, empty of tourists and the hustle and bustle of the main attractions and they spend hours poring over the books, flicking through the pages and showing each other parts that catch their interest.

She finds a book of poetry, Keats, a second hand copy, beautifully leather bound and clearly old. She shows it to Ric, points out her favourite poem, An Ode to Melancholy, and then she takes it to the counter and pays for it.

Ric finds a book of his own - a volume of Auden poetry, much more his cup of tea than Keats, and then they bid the shop farewell and continue their stroll through the streets, their new purchases held close in wrinkled paper bags.

It starts raining, softly, as they amble back to the hotel and by the time they reach their destination, they are soaked through, but laughing, as they stumble under the cover of the hotel porch. She leans into, and he puts his arms around her, like a reflex, like its natural.

...

They lie, tangled with the sheets, in bed together.

Ric has the camera on the sheets next to him, but every time he tries to take a photo of her, she squeals and pulls the covers over her head.

'Come on, Diane, it would hurt you. It's a photo,' he cajoles.

'No,' she replies, muffled under the covers. 'I wasn't even smiling in the one you took yesterday.'

'It was artistic.'

'Whatever. You're not getting me with that bloody thing again.'

She hears him chuckle.

'Is it away, Ric?'

He murmurs a yes, but she hears the familiar click the moment she pulls the covers away.

'Damn you, Ric,' she says, as he laughs and waits for the photo. 'Give me the camera.'

He just laughs again and she reaches out, tries to take it off him, but he moves it away.

She lunges again, but he drops the camera to the bedspread and catches her wrists easily.

They eye each other warily, but neither of them move. He steals a kiss and then lets her go, and props himself up on one elbow, watching her.

'There you go, I won't touch the camera again,' he surrenders. 'I promise.'

She smiles.

'I don't really mind, Ric,' she says, falling back against the pillows. 'It's just so fun watching you get worked up about it.'

He looks at her with mock-outrage, trying to working out if she's telling the truth.

'You won't mind if I-'

'Don't touch the bloody camera, Ric!'

...

When their idyllic four days in Paris are up, they travel home.

Ric is still inseparable from his beloved camera, and Diane keeps dancing away from its probing lens, stringing it out for what it's worth.

When they get back to Holby, they drive back to Ric's house with the radio quietly on in the background.

As they turn on to his road, she suddenly speaks.

'The lease for my flat comes up in a week.'

She doesn't say what she really means aloud, scared of his response, but she knows he'll understand. He can chose to ignore it if he wishes, spare her feelings, this way.

'Diane, are you asking if I'd take a lodger?' She turns to look at him, at the smile playing on his lips.

'Oh, have it your way,' she mutters. 'Yes, Ric, I'm asking if you'd take a poor, homeless woman in when she's desperate.' She rolls her eyes but can't help but smile.

He pulls into his drive. Ric leans across and kisses her, before opening his door and swinging round to the boot. She calls out her open door to him. 'Is that a yes?'

He sticks his head round, suitcase in hand.

'Of course it's a yes, Diane.'

...

She thought the move would be a slow thing, but it's not. They spend a weekend packing up her stuff in her house (though there's not an awful lot of it) and transporting it to Ric's. It's much quicker than she anticipates and when she sees the boxes lining his living room, familiar doubts start to find her out. She's lived with alone since the second year of university, she's become used to it. What if she's no good at living with Ric? What if the move causes their relationship, so easy so far, to break down? What if she does something wrong?

But then she feels Ric come up behind her and press a kiss to her cheek.

'Everything okay?'

She nods at him.

He looks at her, carefully this time.

'Are you sure?' he asks, and she wonders when he got so good at reading her.

She nods, feigning confidence, but she can tell he's not convinced.

'Takeaway?' he asks, a sudden change in the conversation. They order in Chinese, but if she thinks he's forgotten her unease, she'd be mistaken. He keeps a close eye on her throughout their dinner and as they walk up the stairs to bed, he brings it up.

'If there was anything wrong, Diane, you'd tell me right?'

The dinner and easy company have driven her doubts away, so when she says, 'Yes,' she knows she's telling the truth. She can see the worry melt from his shoulders. She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him. 'Stop worrying about me, Ric. I'm happy. I'm happy with you.'

He's still beaming when he slides into bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her and she can't help but laugh when she can hear him singing what a wonderful life under his breath.

...

Adrenaline is rushing through her, and her heart is beating at a hundred miles per hour. She dodges through the throng of nurses by the desk, darts past a flustered porter and pushes Ric's office door open, pulling off her scrub cap with her free hand.

He's sitting behind his desk, paperwork spread out in front of him, when she bursts in.

He looks up, worry etched onto his face.

'I did it, Ric,' she says. 'Mr Humphries let me place the hernia graft and I did it perfectly, just how you taught me in the lab, and he even said well done when I'd finished and he hates me because I'm seeing you.' Her words come out in one long rush and she is so caught up in her own head, she doesn't see Ric lean back in his chair and cross his arms. When she finishes, he starts laughing.

'I knew you could do it,' he says, then he stands up and pulls her into a hug, fumbling a kiss to her forehead. 'Well done.'

'I love you.'

She says it quietly, and she's not sure why. Just one moment she's thinking it so much that it's filling every sense in her body, and then she's saying it out-loud. Ric doesn't snatch away, like she was sacred he would, he just keeps holding her, pulling his head back and scrutinising her.

'You're beautiful, you know that.'

She blushes, but something inside her feels like its crumbling because he doesn't say it. She thinks he feels the same way, but why can he say it to Jess and not to her face? Or is she being a child about it all? It doesn't matter that he hasn't said it back, that's something a teenager would worry about. She's secure in her relationship, she's happy.

But she still pulls away from him. She feels his body tense, his face slump into a frown as she moves away. He looks at her, like a little lost child, afraid he's done something wrong.

He sits on the edge of his desk. There's a heaviness to the room, now, a weight pulling them down and she tries to console herself. Maybe he's not ready, she tells herself.

She can feel Ric's gaze on her and she looks down, at her feet, waiting for him to say something.

'Diane,' he says, and there's something in his voice, something that hits her like a lead weight in her chest. 'Look at me.'

She brings her eyes up slowly, but she can't meet his incessant gaze.

He reaches out, puts a hand on her cheek. 'Look at me,' he says and she does.

He stands up, takes a step towards her, until she can feel his chest rise and fall under her fingertips.

'So you love me, eh?' She tries to look away, but she can't tear her eyes away from his. 'I wasn't expecting that, I'll say, Diane. Took me by surprise.' He takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers and pressing a kiss to them. 'But I love you, Diane.'

She leans forward, dropping her head to his chest, and his arm slides around her.

'Of course you do,' she mumbles into his shirt.

'Of course I do,' he echoes.

'Can we go home?' she asks, quietly. She suddenly feels very tired, the adrenaline drifting away, reality taking hold.

'Of course we can.'

...

It's five in the morning. She wakes suddenly, her heart racing.

She hears the knocking before she hears the accompanying words - 'Ric?' yelled into the night air.

A beat, then more knocking, more yelling.

She strips the cover away, glances at the empty bed and trudges downstairs, bleary and tired, pausing in the hall to throw on a jumper, Ric's St Cuths one she's made her own recently, like his shirt, the morning chill getting to her. She's annoyed because of the early hour, and because she'd finally managed to drop off not long before after the entire night's struggle.

She swings open the door, and blinks into the early morning light, just as another round of shouting and knocking begins.

'You are aware of the time, right?' she says to the stranger on her doorstep at five o'clock in the morning.

The woman stand, agape, shocked into silence. She takes a sheepish step backwards, checking the number, mumbling something about getting the wrong house.

'But you were looking for Ric?' she says as the woman begins to back away with an embarrassed air.

'Yes,' the stranger says, followed swiftly by, 'who the hell are you?'

'Given that you're knocking at my door at such crazy hour in the morning, I think the question is, who are you?'

The woman folds her arms across her chest.

'I'm Anna. Ric's ex-wife.'

'I'm Diane. Ric's at the hospital. On call. He'll be back in half an hour.' A pause. 'Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'

...

That's how she ends up drinking tea with Ric's ex-wife while the sun rises, waiting for him to come home. She's glad for it on one hand - she never sleeps well when Ric's at the hospital, which isn't often, but often enough; as a SHO she's on call much more regularly - on the other hand, she can think of better ways to spend her morning. They make small talk, chatting aimlessly - and Diane just waits for the moment that Anna mentions the elephant in the room.

It comes after about twenty minutes.

'And how old are you, Diane?' Anna asks.

'Twenty-four.'

She can see the ghost of Jess in her mother's face as she reacts.

'Twenty-four?' Anna parrots, raising an eyebrow. 'Right.'

She is silent for a moment.

'He has an eighteen year old daughter, you know?'

Diane wants to roll her eyes, and say yes, we spent Christmas together, but she doesn't say anything, just takes a sip of her tea.

'And I'm not the only ex-wife.'

'I know,' she replies.

She's remembering what Ric told her about the woman before her: his first ex-wife, Jess' mother; married when they were twenty-four, the same age as she is now, had Jess at twenty-seven, divorced by twenty-nine.

'And how long has all this been going on?' She can hear the concealed disapproval in the words and she suddenly feels riled.

'It started last July.'

'Oh.' Anna seems genuinely surprised. 'I wasn't expecting that.'

Diane shrugs.

'So you work at the hospital, then?' Anna asks, gesturing at the hoodie she threw on after being rudely awoken so early.

'Yes, I do.'

'A doctor?'

She nods.

Anna's about to ask another question, when they both hear the key scratch in the lock, followed by the creek of the front door.

'Ric?' Diane calls, standing and crossing to the door. 'In the kitchen.' She pauses, glancing back to Anna, sat at the kitchen table, still dutifully sipping her tea. When Ric appears at the door, frowning, she put a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming into the room.

'We have a visitor,' she whispers. 'Ex-wife number one came banging on the door at five. We've been having a cosy little chat, comparing notes.'

Ric tilts his head, looks at her. 'Knowing Anna, she's been grilling you, radiating disapproval.'

Diane smirks. 'Right in one.' She takes a look back into the kitchen. 'I see where Jess gets it from now.' A beat then, 'How was work?'

He shrugs. 'Didn't have much to do. Why do you think she's here?'

'I have no idea. I think,' she says, giving him a peck on the cheek. 'I'll leave you to find out.'

She moves past him into the hall.

...

Just like Jess, Anna has little or no consideration for the neighbours.

'She's a bloody kid, Ric!'

A pause, then, 'Nice to see you too, Anna.'

She goes upstairs, decides to have a shower to drown out the shouting that begins as she stands in the bedroom.

'She's only a little older than Jess!'

Ric's reply makes her laugh. 'And Jess likes her very much.'

That sets Anna off.

'Jess knows?'

'Yes.'

'I swear, Ric...' The threat is left hanging as Diane shuts the bathroom door.

...

Anna's gone by the time she gets out the shower. Ric's in the bedroom when she comes out, lying on the covers on the bed, his arms behind his head, watching her.

She uses the towel to dry her hair as she speaks.

'What did she want? Apart from to yell at you because of me, of course.'

'Something about Jess,' he dismisses.

'What?'

'She found out I'm paying for her flat. She thinks Jess should have to earn her own keep.' He shrugs. 'It's just Anna sounding off. I'm surprised she hasn't stormed round before. I swear it's how she gets her kicks.'

As he finishes speaking, she sits on the edge of the bed.

'Is she okay with it? With us?'

He shrugs again, closing his eyes.

'She'll come round.'

She nods.

'I'll let you sleep then, old man.' Ric cracks his eyes open at that and catches Diane's smirk as she leaves the room.

...

It's the end of a long day. They're talking about a patient, walking slowly towards his office.

Her bag is on her shoulder, and they're both out of scrubs, ready to go home, going to Ric's office to collect his things before going home.

'And Mrs Prendergast will need surgery tomorrow,' Ric says. 'Want to assist me?' he asks, pausing at his door and looking back at her. Her face breaks into a grin as goes through the door in front of her.

'Really?' she asks, smiling and following him in.

Ric stops in front of her, and she bangs into him. She's about to ask him what's up, but the words die on her tongue.

'Ric, old friend - it's been too long.' She can't see past Ric, but clearly there is someone in the room - a man with a booming voice with a smile in it she can hear.

Ric stumbles over a reply. 'Uh, I didn't know you were- Zubin... I-' and then he moves to the side and Diane finally comes face to face with this 'Zubin'.

'This is Diane,' he says. 'Diane, this is Zubin, an old friend.'

Zubin is sitting at Ric's desk, his feet up, leaning back in the swivel chair. When he sees they have company, he quickly swings his legs down and sits up straight.

'Nice to meet you, Diane,' Zubin says, offering out a hand. She takes it.

'Nice to meet you too,' she mumbles in response.

'And Diane and I were just going home,' Ric says, gesturing at his desk, and his things, dotted around. She sees Zubin's eyes narrow a little, looking from her to Ric, and back again.

'And you two are...?'

'Yes,' Diane snaps. She wonders if anyone who discovers about their relationship could, shockingly, take it well. Maybe that would be a miracle. She shudders at the idea of her parents - or Jo, god help her - meeting Ric. There'd probably be yelling, lots of 'what the hell are you doing, Diane?' or 'this is something Jo would do,' muttered between courses. Jo still hasn't given up teasing her about the twenty year age gap yet and she thinks maybe her sister still doesn't believe that its true. She wonders what she would make of Ric.

'Right,' Zubin says.

'And you're here because...' Ric prompts.

'I start work tomorrow. Locum anaesthetist on your ward. I wanted it to be a surprise.' A pause, a beat, then, 'How's Jess? Still spending all your money?'

Ric views him warily for a moment, expecting more comments about her, she thinks maybe, but then speaks.

'Of course. That's what teenagers do right?'

And the tension seems to seep out of the room after that.

...

She likes Zubin, she thinks, later that evening, after they've accidentally invited him to dinner at their place and they've spent the evening talking. She likes it when Zubin talks about his and Ric's time at med school, and as SHOs, and smiles at his recollections of all Ric's failed marriages.

And best of all, apart from that one moment in the office, doesn't mention his disapproval, if he has any, all evening.

...

She finds herself working alongside Zubin at work.

When Ric tells her, he has a smile on his lips and tells her they'll get on like a house on fire.

And he, of course, is right.

All day, Zubin tells her stories about Ric, from their youth, whilst he gently poses questions about her relationship with his old friend.

She finds herself liking him a lot more than she anticipated. They joke a lot, about Ric, about anything. She is glad, for Ric's sake, that it seems like they're going to be good friends.

...

It's the end of a long day, three weeks or so after Zubin's first shift, and she's curled up in the swivel chair behind Ric's desk, paperwork in front of her. Zubin is on the sofa. Ric's in surgery and she's watching the clock. It's been a hard day. She wants to go home.

'Diane?'

She doesn't look up from her paperwork, mumbling a yes.

'I've known Ric a long time, right?'

She nods, frowning, wondering where he's going.

'And I've met all of his wives,' he continues. 'And you know what?'

She looks up then, and finds Zubin leaning back on the sofa, his own paperwork strewn before him.

'What?' she asks.

'You might be wildly too young for him, and I'm sure Anna thinks he's having a mid-life crisis,' he replies, and Diane smirks.

'Anna was quite... vocal in her disapproval,' she notes, wryly.

'Yeah, well,' Zubin says. 'And Ric can be a miserable git sometimes. But you make him happy. Happier than he's been in years.'

'Do you... Do you mean that?' she asks, quietly.

'I wouldn't say it if I didn't,' he says, shrugging. 'But I want you to make sure it's what you want. He's a lot older than you-'

'Just because I'm young doesn't mean I don't know my own mind, okay?' She doesn't mean to sound so defensive, but she's sick and tired of people asking her if she knows what she wants. She can imagine her mother now, needling and questioning, probing and reminding her of the age gap, asking her is she's sure. She shudders at the thought.

'I love him,' she says.

Zubin is the first person she's told other than Ric, but she doesn't even think about it. It's natural. She loves him. She smiles.

'Well that answers that then,' Zubin says, raising an eyebrow. 'I just don't want to see either of you get hurt.'

'We'll be fine, Zubin. We're adults. It'll be fine.'

...

After a month, Zubin's post comes up for renewal. He doesn't go for it, choosing instead to return to his old hospital, where a new post has just come up.

Diane smiles and bids her goodbyes during his last shift. She's glad she's learnt more about Ric's past, and made a very good friend out of it too.

She promises that she'll make sure Ric keeps in contact as they watch him drive away.

...

It arrives in the post, with a sticker saying it had been forwarded from her former address, not long after Zubin's departure.

Ric finds it first, and brings it to her as she eats her breakfast at the kitchen table, along with a pile of junk mail and bills.

She frowns at the unfamiliar handwriting on the front and opens it carefully.

Dear Diane, it reads.

Its Jenny here. I know it's been a while, but me and a couple of the others were thinking of holding a sort of catch-up evening - see how everyone's getting on. We'd love you to come.

She scans the rest of the letter, full of the plans for the reunion.

She can feel Ric at her shoulder, munching away at his cereal.

'You going to go?'

She shrugs.

'Might be fun,' he says.

...

And that's how she ends up wandering from the hospital two weeks later, at seven at night, after a long, difficult shift, to a bar a little walk away.

She told Ric that morning, in the brief rush before she left, that she'd be grateful if he could come and pick her up at nine because she was planning on leaving her car at the hospital. He had nodded and now she can't wait for nine to come and for Ric to save her.

What Ric doesn't know is that the definition of her hell might well be spending two hours with her former university colleagues. There were a few she was close to, but she knows they went far away for their SHO placements and likely won't return for this 'catch-up evening'. But Ric said it might be fun, so here she is.

She enters the bar, and is greeted by a sea of faces she should probably recognise, but seems unable to. Her world has changed so dramatically since she associated with these people. Maybe it's her who's changed, not them. Maybe they're all still the same.

She sits down, takes an offered glass of wine. Jenny - the one who penned the letter - drifts over one point, and they talk briefly about their work, but when that's exhausted, they have little to add and Jenny moves away to more animated conversation.

She sighs, takes a sip of her wine.

...

It's when the clock's nearing nine. She's had a drink or two, but everyone else seems to have drunk too much; They're too loud for her liking and she's reminded that she never really liked these people and the distance has done nothing to change her mind. They are all absorbed in their personal worlds, their own happiness, their own struggles, and she's no different.

Nine comes and she catches a glimpse of Ric through the glass. She's in conversation with Kitty, her former roommate from first year, now a SHO at the hospital on the other side of town. They're talking about something, nothing, and Diane is remembering how they had nothing in common all those years ago, let alone now.

She makes her excuses when she sees Ric duck his head into the bar. She stands, just about to leave, when she hears the murmur of voices behind her.

'That her fella?' someone asks.

'He's ancient,' someone else chimes in.

'I wouldn't say no,' a third person adds, a voice she can recognise but not place.

She's just about to turn around and say something - she's not sure what, just that she's angry at their gossip - when Ric reaches her. He leans in close so she can hear him over the din. 'You ready to go?'

She nods, but at the same moment, the song changes and the bar is suddenly quiet. They both hear it, clear as day.

'Getting to the top flat on her back, that's our Diane.' The words are slurred, but it does nothing to hide them, nor the venom they contain.

She looks at Ric, the seconds ticking away excruciatingly slowly, sees he's still wearing his hospital identity badge, knows now where the comment came from.

'Let's go,' she says, pushing Ric away but he won't move.

'No.'

'Ric, please, leave it,' she says, but he shakes his head and pulls away from her.

She takes a few breaths, the wine she's drunk feeling sour in her stomach, and then turns back.

Everyone's sitting together; people she claims she used to know but now can barely recognise, Ric standing before them.

'Would you like to repeat that?' he says, his voice dangerously low and she knows him well enough to know that is not a good thing.

'Diane always did know how to sleep her way to the top,' someone sneers.

'Shut up, Sean,' someone says, elbowing the eponymous Sean in the ribs.

She sees red flash across Ric's eyes, watches as he curls and uncurls his fist. She's never seen him this angry before.

She reaches out, tugs on his sleeve, flashes him a desperate look. 'Ric, please,' she begs.

He half-turns to look at her in the glare of the bare and his face softens.

'Let's go,' she mumbles and he takes a long moment to look at her, before he nods and lets her lead him away, leaving the harsh whispers behind them.

They spill out on to the pavement, and the cold air greets them. They stumble a few paces, before coming to a halt.

Ric can't look at her. She can still see the tension in his shoulders.

'Where's the car?' she asks.

Ric doesn't reply.

'Where's the bloody car, Ric?' she snaps, impatiently.

'You should have let me-'

She cuts in before he can finish.

'Hit him? And what good would it have done?' she says, contemptuously. 'You're not a teenager, Ric. I just saved you from doing something really stupid.' She shakes her head.

'But what he said-'

'I don't care what he said, Ric. He can say whatever the hell he wants for all I care.'

'You don't mean that.' Ric's voice has changed now; it's calmer, the adrenaline has faded, replaced by a more introspective tone.

'I don't need you to charge in to save my honour. I can fight my own battles, Ric.'

She looks up and down the street, searching for his car, feeling the first pin-pricks of tears start. She spots it, lurches off towards it, not even waiting for his reply. He follows, sheepish, after a moment.

The journey home is completed in silence.

When he pulls up on the drive, she goes to leave, but he flicks the locks so she can't get out.

'Ric-'

'What did he mean?'

She can see the question has been looping round his head the whole trip, but she frowns. 'Who?'

'The guy in the bar.'

'Ric-' she says, but he stops her.

'Come on, Diane - he said you always knew how to sleep your way to the top.'

'For god's sake, Ric; he was drunk, he-'

'I'm not the first, am I?'

'The first man I've slept with, no Ric, you're not.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'And I'm telling you it doesn't matter. You really think I'm with you because I want a promotion?'

He doesn't reply quick enough.

'You seriously think that? God, Ric, if you think that you're no better than him.'

He seems to take an age to respond. She tries the car door again and it rattles against the lock.

Ric sighs, and then he seems to deflate, slumping in his seat.

'Sorry,' he mumbles. 'And no, Diane, I don't think you're with me to get a promotion or anything like that.' He pauses but he still can't look at her. 'But sometimes I do wonder why you're with me. You're twenty-four, you're young, you're clever. Sometimes I wonder why you stay with an old fool like me.'

'Because you're my old fool and I love you.'

Ric closes his eyes.

'Diane-'

'What?' she says. 'It's true. It's the truth, Ric, whether you like it or not. I love you.'

'God, you're beautiful when you say that.'

He turns to look at her then.

'I'm sorry,' he says again.

She shrugs. 'Let's just forget about it.'

He unlocks the doors and she makes to get out.

'Diane?'

She turns back.

'I love you.'

'I know that, you silly beggar. Don't look so miserable.'

She smiles then and Ric climbs out of the car.

He wraps his arm around her and presses a kiss to her forehead as she struggles with the lock.

'You're distracting me,' she murmurs.

'Good,' he replies, and everything is forgotten.

...

She can feel the pillow, soft behind her head. She can feel the sunlight, creeping in through the curtains. She can feel the-

'Ric, wake up!'

He stirs beside her, and she shakes him again.

'Go back 'sleep,' he mumbles.

'Ric! We're late for work. My alarm didn't go off and yours didn't either and now its eight and we're already so late and-'

'Back sleep.'

'No, Ric-'

'Sorted it with Humphries,' he says, sleepily. He rolls over, reaches out with a heavy limb and pulls her towards him and kisses her.

'Happy birthday.'

...

She wakes slowly this time. She can still feel Ric's arm across her waist and she leans back into his embrace.

It's then she sees he's awake, watching her.

'Sorry about earlier,' he says as they lie together under the covers. 'I forgot to tell you last night.'

'You nearly gave me a heart attack,' she says and he chuckles.

'Anyway, I got us the day off. For your birthday.'

'Is that my present? A lie in?'

'Course not,' he replies, a smile on his face.

They lie in silence for a long moment.

'Well,' he says , 'as much as staying in bed with you all day sounds lovely, I actually have planned something.'

She looks up at him. 'You have now, have you?'

She kisses him.

'Dibs on first shower.'

She slips from his embrace and pads across the room.

'Pack a bag when you get out,' he calls after her.

...

When Ric emerges from the shower, half an hour later, she's pack and ready to go, though where she's entirely uncertain.

'How long are we going for?' she asks, sitting on the bed whilst Ric changes.

'We're coming back Monday.'

'You got Monday off too?'

He nods.

'And where are we going?'

'That's for me to know and you to find out.'

He grins at her.

...

A five star hotel was not where she had been expecting to spend her twenty-fifth birthday.

'Happy birthday,' Ric says as they wander hand in hand into their room.

'Thank you,' she says, leaning into his side and smiling.

He shrugs. 'We didn't do anything last year.'

'Yeah, but-'

'You'll just have to up your game for my birthday,' he replies, eyes twinkling.

...

They spend four days at the hotel, spending most of the time in their room, but sometimes they go down to the little village not far away.

The first night, her birthday, they sit on the plush bed, eating room service, when Ric's face suddenly lights up.

'I forgot to give you your present.'

Before Diane can say anything about the trip being a present enough, he's up and away, searching through his bag.

'Aha!' he says, lifting out a wrapped gift and handing it to her.

She opens it and grins.

A book of assorted Keats poems, different from the book she bought in Paris, but just as beautiful.

He looks at her smiling, waiting with bated breath for her response.

'Oh thank you,' she says, reaching over and pulling him into a hug. 'Thank you so much, Ric.'

...

They're in the car on the way home.

'Can we stay this way forever?' she asks, staring out the car window at the wisps of trees as they fly by.

He laughs.

'Course we can, Diane. Of course we can.'

...

After their trip away, it seems that everything goes to hell in a handcart, at least where the hospital is concerned.

She's on her feet more often than not, on call twice a week near enough just to make sure the hospital doesn't grind to a halt.

Often, she won't see Ric all day apart from when she pecks him on the lips before running out the front door.

He's worked off his feet too, she knows, but they hardly see each other and she'll go into the locker room half way through a shift and find a message from Ric telling her he'll be at home, asleep, if she needs him, or vice versa. The Gods cannot seemingly schedule it so they work at the same time.

Sometimes, she'll come through the door at eight at night just as an emergency calls Ric back.

Even, for a little while, their days off don't match, and she's left, stumbling across the house, catching up on lost sleep, but unable to because he's not there.

...

It's no different on Ric's birthday.

She wakes up extra early, knowing she has to go in for five, and Ric for seven. She watches him sleep for a long moment, feeling cruel for what she is about to do, but at least they'll see each other before she rushes out of the door, and she thinks he'll be glad for that.

'Ric?' she murmurs.

He mumbles something incoherent and turns over.

'Wake up, sleepyhead.'

He stirs at that, cracking open an eye.

'Happy birthday,' she says, quietly. 'I have to go to work.'

He nods and reaches up and kisses her.

'I'll give you your present later, okay?'

He nods, still half in the land of nod.

'See you later,' she says.

'See you,' he mumbles, closing his eyes.

She sighs.

...

Later turns out to be ten hours later.

She's walking down the corridor, heading to locker room to get changed and go home - knowing his shift won't finish for a good hour or so more.

He pops his head out of a door and her face is lit up with a smile.

'Would you mind coming and cheering up a lonely birthday boy?' he says, grinning, leaning on the doorframe.

...

She returns five minutes later, his present safely in her grasp, and pushes the door to.

She frowns and freezes in the doorway, his name half-formed on her lips.

'Oh, hello Mr Humphries,' she says, quietly, instead.

Ric and the lead consultant are standing behind the desk, and both look serious and for a second, she is assuaged with doubts and worries.

'I was just going,' Humphries says. 'Don't look worried, girl.'

He shuffles past her and out of the room, muttering something about how relationships between staff should be against hospital policy.

The moment he leaves, Ric bursts out laughing.

'You should have seen your face.'

'It's not funny, Ric,' she says. 'He has the final say on whether I pass the year. I don't want to get on his bad side.' She pauses. 'Any more than I already have,' she adds, before she shakes her head and laughs.

'He surprised me, asked my opinion on a surgery,' Ric shrugs. He sits down on the desk. 'What do you think of my new office?'

'Bet that's the best present you've had all day, ' she muses. 'All ten foot square of this room. Bit dingy isn't it?' She finds it hard to speak whilst keeping a straight face.

'Are you going to keep me in suspense all day?' Ric jokes.

'Oh, right,' she says. She hands him the wrapped gift and he opens it slowly. 'Sorry this day's been so crap,' she says. 'You made my birthday so lovely and all you get is-'

He cuts her off with a kiss.

'I love it,' he says, his eyes bright with happiness.

'I'm glad you like it,' she says. 'It's not a Polaroid, it's-'

'Fantastic.' He looks up at her, grinning. 'I've got a break now,' he adds. 'Want to go try it out?'

She shakes her head, but lets him lead her by the hand out the back of the hospital, to the fresh air and away from the rush of the ward.

'Go on,' he says, waving the camera at her. 'Pose then?'

She shakes her head, leaning on the rail, shivering against the cold. She's wearing Ric's jumper, the one she stole off him so long ago its certainly hers now.

She doesn't look at him, but she knows he's taken a photo anyway.

'Come on,' he says, and she turns, and smiles at him, and he snaps away with his camera.

'Happy birthday, Ric.'

...

Work begins to abate a little.

Gone are the days where they would miss each other like ships in the night, gone - mostly - are the nights spent alone. They're still weary, and tired, and spend most nights curled up in front of the sofa, too wiped out to do anything more.

But she doesn't mind. He's there, that's all that matters.

...

One year.

She's expecting flowers and chocolate and a fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant, but instead, when she wakes, he hands her a wrapped present.

She opens it slowly, and gasps when she sees the contents.

'Ric,' she says, 'you shouldn't have. This must have cost you a fortune.'

It's a book of Keats poems, old, beautiful, a third or fourth copy, and she just smiles, because she's remembering Paris, and her birthday. She flips it over in her hands.

'Thank you,' she says, after a pause. 'Thank you so very much, Ric. Now my present's going to look cheap.'

He laughs.

'I'm sure it'll be lovely.'

She goes into her draw, hands him his present, hastily wrapped in her lunch break whilst she hurried looked over her shoulder and waited for him to catch her.

He opens it, and she watches as his face breaks open in a grin.

'Great minds think alike,' he laughs.

'It's not an old copy like yours, it's from Smiths in town but-' He doesn't let her get any further, kissing her.

'It's wonderful. Diane, it's wonderful.'

She kisses him this time.

...

In a flurry of work and more work, Christmas arrives.

Jess comes to visit on Christmas Eve, planning on spending the day itself with her mother, to make up for the year before.

Diane's parents are away again, which relieves her. She wants to keep Ric to herself for a little while longer, at least.

...

And so it ends up just being the two of them.

They wake late, eat a lunch that mainly consists of burnt turkey - Ric's doing - and mountains of roast potatoes, and when it gets late, they sit by the Christmas tree and swap presents, nothing big, just little things.

When they go to bed, later, Diane thinks to herself that she wouldn't mind spending the rest of her Christmases, just her and Ric, together and happy.

...

New Year sneaks upon them.

They have no plans, even when everyone around them seems to be doing something to celebrate the millennium.

They both end up working, as it happens, together, on the ward and roll in home at half eleven, bone tired and world-weary after a draining day.

She's lying in bed, safe in Ric's embrace, lulled by his heartbeat. Her head is on his chest, and they're talking quietly, when Ric suddenly falls silent. She looks up at him.

'Happy New Year, Diane,' he says, suddenly.

'Happy New Year,' she says sleepily.

He goes quiet. She looks up at him again, and smiles.

He fumbles a kiss to her hair, mumbling as he does so.

'Marry me.'

...

(in the years that follow, she thinks back to that moment often

she thinks about his face, caught in that moment, happy, and hopeful

she thinks about what she should have said:

'Yes, Ric,'

instead of what she did, her heart full of regret.

how could something she feared so terribly turn into the only thing she wanted in the entire world?)

...

She freezes, unbelieving.

'No,' she says, flat. 'No, Ric, I...'

She feels him draw away from her in that moment, as she struggles for what to say, struggles for a way to make this right.

'I understand,' he says, in a voice that sounds confused, like a child, like he doesn't understand at all.

She's too young. She's got her job to think about. She's too young. It's too soon. What if it all goes wrong?

No, it would be stupid. Marry Ric? Don't be silly. She should laugh at the absurd idea.

But as she lies there, she feels him pull away, rolling out of bed and she hears him pad to the bathroom in silence, she feels awfully like she's broken his heart, and she thinks that might be worse than marrying too young.

But there's no going back now.

...

They hold on for a month longer.

They both throw themselves into work, spending time at the hospital rather than at home.

She finds it strange how quickly intimacy evaporates between them, how quickly things fall apart.

They don't talk about it. Not even a word.

Then, one day, she comes home, late, to a dark house, and silence.

She creaks up the stairs, and finds Ric lying on the bed, arms behind his head, waiting for her and she knows, she knows.

'It's over,' she says, into the pitch dark room. 'Isn't it Ric?'

She can't see his face in the dark.

He doesn't answer. His silence talks for him.

She turns on her heel, shutting the bedroom door behind her. She leans up against it, the wood cool against her hot skin, as she begins to cry.

...

She sleeps on the sofa, or more accurately, tries to sleep on the sofa.

She knows Ric has an early start, and when six o'clock rolls around, she turns over, closes her eyes, pretends to be asleep. She hears him come down the stairs, knows he's being careful not to wake her.

When she hears the creek of the floorboards in the hall and the soft click of the front door shutting, she opens her eyes, stares at the ceiling.

She doesn't have to be at work for another two hours.

She slips off the sofa, makes her way to the hall cupboard, rifles through it until the finds the cardboard boxes, used to move her things in so many months ago now.

It takes her longer to pack up here things here than it did at her old flat and she doesn't think it's because she doesn't have Ric's help now.

She thinks it might be because it kills her inside, slowly, with every object she removes from their home and places in the box.

She has no clue where she is going to go, but she know she must.

It's not fair on Ric for her to stay.

...

She finds them in a box under the bed that she didn't know was there.

She tells herself not to be silly, not to cry.

They're only photos after all.

She leafs through them, feeling like she's being kicked in the ribs.

There are photos of Paris, photos of her she didn't even know existed, alongside photos from his new camera, the one she got him for his birthday.

Before she can think, she takes a handful, ones of her and Ric, ones of just Ric she took on the rare moments he relinquished his beloved camera, and ones that make her smile because she remembers when they were taken.

Call it sentimentality, but she feels a little better with them safely tucked away in her box.

...

She's only got a few minutes before she needs to leave for work.

Her things are packed, she's left her key on the kitchen table, along with a note that tells him she's taken her things, and a few photos, and that she's glad for all the happy times they shared. She signs it, all my love and she's not quite sure why. It seems hollow, after everything.

She doesn't say in the note, but she's taken his hoodie, and his grey shirt, the St Cuths' ones she has made her own. More sentimentality, she guesses, but she doesn't think he'll mind.

...

Work goes past in a blur.

Her things are in the boot of her car and she spends all day trying to avoid him.

She is successful and when she comes to the end of her shift, she stands in the locker room, feeling so terribly alone and with nowhere to go.

She spends the night in the on call room, promising herself she'll start flat hunting in the morning.

She lies in the cold, unfamiliar bed, staring at the blank ceiling, just like she did at home (which is no longer her home) because sleep is an elusive friend she no longer knows.

...

In the morning, her phone rings. It's Zubin.

'Ric told me what happened,' he says and she laughs. Of course he did. 'I'm sorry,' he says, and she feels like crying.

'Yeah, well. It happened. We were never going to last anyway,' she snaps.

'Diane, don't say that. I know you-'

'Don't say it, Zubin.'

'What, it's the truth.'

'I don't want to hear it.'

'Okay. Are you okay? Got somewhere to stay?'

She lies and says yes. She's not sure why. Maybe she doesn't want anymore pity from Zubin.

'Well, don't be a stranger eh?'

'Yeah. Course.'

He hangs up then. She cries.

...

She finds a flat after a week of restless nights in the on call room. It's in a good location, a stone's throw away from the hospital, with a reasonable rent. Most importantly, the landlord says she can move in over the weekend.

It's the same day her carefully constructed plan to avoid Ric falls apart.

She's hurrying down the hall, towards the locker room, ready to leave, to go and grab her new keys.

He opens his office door just as she walks past, head down.

'Diane?' he says, and she hopes that it is something work related, because she's not sure she could handle anything more.

'Could I have a word?'

She's tempted to say no, walk away, but instead she shrugs and follows him in.

She sits in an uncomfortable chair and he slides behind his desk.

'Diane,' he says, pensively. 'You don't need to avoid me.'

She wants to laugh - of course she does.

'I'd like us to be friends.'

Of all the things she is expecting him to say, this is not one of them - nowhere near.

She is stunned into silence for a long moment.

'I'd like that,' she says, slowly, looking up at him properly for the first time, giving him a shy smile.

He grins at her, nodding. She wonders how he can seem to be so happy, after all that happened, but she doesn't complain. To have Ric in her life is important to her, the week without him has shown, and it makes sense to be friends, to put it behind them.

Doesn't mean it won't hurt, mind.

...

In the following months, they form a tentative friendship, consulting each other on cases, working side by side without issue.

It's easier than she thought it would be, and they are more comfortable in each other's company than she thought was possible.

After a while, they even take to eating lunch together, talking and laughing.

A mutual understanding is reached - she'll have his back because he has hers. They still care about each other, after all. Those feelings don't just disappear overnight.

Things feel natural, and the hurt is less now.

But he still goes home to the house they shared, and she still goes home to an empty flat, still with boxes strewn around that she hasn't got around to unpacking.

...

It's a year later.

A year where they fall into an easy friendship, and she thinks maybe they've moved past it. Zubin comes for a three month stint in the middle, and it's just like it was before, except from the fact that Ric is just that little bit further away, and of course, she has her home, he has his.

They're eating lunch, talking aimlessly. She's curled up on the sofa, her salad held in her hands. He's sitting at the table, his sandwich long finished.

She can tell something is up, but she doesn't ask. It's not her place anymore.

The drift into silence, easy and comfortable, and she leans back on the sofa, watching his surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye.

'I've handed my notice in.'

He throws it in like a hand-grenade and she struggles to understand what he is saying.

'What?' she splutters.

'I got a job offer. From Holby City. Consultant.'

She stares down at her salad, suddenly looking limb and unappetising. She feels sick.

'Holby?' she says and he nods. 'That's far away,' she adds, wondering if that's the point.

He shrugs. 'It's not too bad.'

'And this is... certain?' she asks, quietly.

He nods.

'When do you go?'

'The job starts in October.'

'October,' she muses. 'That's not long.'

'A month,' he says, somewhat pointlessly.

'Well, look at the time, I should be getting back,' she says, suddenly, hurriedly, stumbling over her words in her haste to flee.

She keeps waiting for him to call her back, but she gets to the end of the corridor, and she can imagine him, still sitting in the staff room, world-wearing, sighing.

She shakes her head.

...

October comes around too quickly.

On his last day, she tries to avoid him, but it's like he's everywhere.

Someone's throwing a leaving do for him, but she stammers out an apology and says she cannot go, though all she has waiting for her at home is emptiness and a bottle of wine.

She's walking away, and she suddenly thinks about how things have been between them since the split, how they seemed to fix things, how their easy friendship had come as a surprise but a welcome one.

So she turns around and tells Sonya the nurse that she's managed to rearrange that thing and she can come after all.

For Ric, she tells herself.

...

He grins as he sees across the room and she feels vindicated for coming.

She's holding a glass of wine and watches his steady progress across the room. Everyone here - and there are quite a few - all seem to know him and what to say something to him, probably along the lines of 'good luck'.

When he finally breaks free from the crowd he smiles at her.

'Thanks for coming.'

What is left unsaid (I didn't think you would) hangs heavy between them.

She shrugs.

'Couldn't miss the free wine,' she says, gesturing with the glass.

Things begin to slightly thaw then, and the conversation comes a little more freely, like before.

...

They are the last people left in the room, everyone else has gone home. There are streamers and balloons and she thinks there's a cake hanging around somewhere, but they represent a joy she does not feel, but is trying very hard to replicate in false smiles and forced laughter.

It hasn't been all bad - she found Ric's company easy, like always - but there was always the shadow of what this is all for.

They stand in the room, silent, contemplative.

She picks up a bin bag, starts chucking things into it. After a pause, Ric does the same. They work quietly, only the odd word spoken. Neither know what to say.

When they've cleaned up - Diane feels like it shouldn't have really been their job anyway, but hey - she stands, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for Ric.

It's late, and she's tired, and she has work (without him) in the morning so she wants to go, but he's seemingly taking an age.

'Come on-' she starts, at the same as Ric says 'Diane,' in his serious low voice that gives her butterflies.

'Thank you for coming,' he repeats.

She shrugs again. He moves up, until he's beside her.

'I just hope they treat you well at Holby,' she says.

'I'm sure they will.'

She frowns. 'And remember to call.'

'Yes, of course,' he says, bemused.

'And don't forget me, eh?'

He smiles at her.

'How could I do that?'

She smiles sadly at him, then presses a kiss to his cheek.

'Good luck,' she whispers and he pulls her into a hug.

There are too many words unsaid in that moment, but she doesn't care. She's tired and weary and he's leaving her, and she's lost already.

...

He goes. She stays.

And so starts the cycle: she wakes up, goes to work, comes home to the empty flat, goes to sleep. She finds herself taking on more double shifts, more nights on call. It's better than going back to the flat she can't bear to call home.

She enjoys the work, so that's okay, she reasons.

But it does get awfully lonely sometimes, when all she wants is his arms around her in bed, or just to tell him about something she's done, an operation completed, a patient successfully saved, anything.

Not that she thinks about that.

Much.

...

Christmas isn't the same without Ric.

...

He calls on her birthday at eight o'clock in the morning, when she's rushing to get ready for work.

'Happy birthday!'

'Hello Ric.'

'Having a good day?'

'It's eight. My day hasn't even started. It'll probably be crap. The wards are full. Mr Sampson - your useless replacement, by the way - is, I'm not sure I said, useless. But, hey. It is what it is.'

'I'm sure it'll be better than you think.'

She shrugs, knowing he can't see her.

'You'll just have to have a good day for me.'

'I will then.'

'Right, I better be going. Don't want to be late.'

'Keep safe, yeah?'

'Course I will, you silly beggar.'

...

His birthday passes with a rushed phone call at four o'clock in the morning the day after - a calculated gamble that she won't wake him, that he'll be just as awake as she is.

And he is.

They speak for three minutes. It goes like this.

'It's Diane. Did I wake you?'

'No. Just got out of surgery.'

'Happy birthday. I know I'm late. Sorry. It was manic yesterday.'

'It's fine.'

'Well, happy birthday then, Ric.'

A noise on the end of the line.

'I've got to go. You know how it is.'

'Well, keep safe yeah?' She echoes the words he said to her, on her birthday.

'Of course I will, Diane.'

And then he'd hung up.

...

It's a Friday. Lunchtime.

She's sitting outside the hospital, wearing the hoodie as protection against the cold.

Her phone, slipped into her pocket, rings. She dusts her hands on her scrub trousers and draws it out, flipping it open and putting it to her ear.

'Diane Lloyd.'

'Hi Diane, its Ric.'

She smiles despite herself. He hasn't called in a while. She thought, maybe, he'd forgotten what they'd said, that last day, in the empty room full of party decorations.

'I've got some news.'

There's something in his voice, and she knows that, whatever his news is, she will not be smiling by the time he has told her.

What she does not expect him to say, crackling down the line, at one o'clock on a Friday seven months after he has gone, is 'I'm getting married.'

She thinks back to a trip to the cinema she and Ric went on, quite early in their relationship, to see something like Titanic, or whatever, she can't really remember. All she can remember is that when Ric had turned to her at the emotional climax of the film, he'd found her, instead of holding back tears, biting back laughter and he'd begun to chuckle too.

By the time they'd split from the dark screen into the cinema lobby, they'd been doubled up with laughter, with a sea of disproving faces everywhere around them and mutters of words she didn't catch because she was laughing so much. She'd laughed so much she'd cried, in the end, and so had Ric.

That had been the moment she'd known. It was the moment she was certain she loved him more than anything, or anyone else, in the world.

'Oh,' she says, into the phone, flatly.

She thinks maybe he's hung up on her.

'Her name is Sam. She's a doctor.'

She finds herself pulling on the hoodie sleeve, the hoodie that still smells like him, holding so hard her knuckles go white.

'You'll like her, I'm sure.'

You'll like her, he says, like she's going to go all the way to Holby to meant the fiancé he's marrying so soon after leaving her. But it's not soon, is it? How long has it been, now? Long enough, she guesses. Long enough for Ric, at least.

'I'm sure I will.' She tries not to be curt, but she's not sure she succeeds.

'We're getting married in July.'

She wants to laugh. It had to be July.

'Okay,' she says.

'I'd like you to come.'

She takes a deep breath, wants to scream, 'no way in hell am I coming to your wedding, you bastard,' but she doesn't.

'Maybe. If I can get the time off.'

'Okay,' he says in reply.

She makes an excuse after that, when the silence reigns between them, and hangs up.

She cries, then, into the sleeve of his jumper, the one she stole so very long ago.

...

She's coming out of the hospital, desperate for fresh air, desperate for a break.

She falters when she sees her, considering whether to give up her well-earned time outside, to just duck away and back up to the ward, because she's not sure this is a conversation she wants to have.

The decision is, however, taken out of her hands.

'Diane?' Anna Griffin says, wheeling her way through the crowds towards her.

She wants to hide, to run away, instead she says, 'Anna,' nodding sharply.

'I went round to the house, no one answered the door.' Anna pauses. 'Anyway, where's Ric? I need a word. About Jess,' she says, face set.

She doesn't think about what's she's going to say before she says it.

'Ric's gone.'

Anna looks at her, frowning, and Diane stuffs her hands into the pockets of her (his) hoodie.

Sighing, she speaks again, her words perversely echoing the words she said all that time ago, standing in their front door.

'Do you want a cup of tea?'

...

They end up sitting in the cafe, regarding each other awkwardly.

Anna breaks the silence first.

'When you say gone-'

'He's at Holby City now,' Diane says. 'I thought he would have told you.'

Anna considers the words.

'Ric and I haven't really talked since... I said some things about you, and about him, that day I came to the house,' she says, haltingly. 'I said them in the heat of the moment, but Ric isn't the type to forgive and forget.' She shrugs. 'And the two of you, are you still...?'

Diane shakes her head. Anna seems to understand the implication.

'Sorry.'

She shrugs.

'He's getting married.'

It comes out of her mouth before she can stop it. Ever since Ric told her, a week ago now, it's been building inside of her, an ache so big she needs to say it out loud to believe it.

Anna raises an eyebrow.

'That's quick.'

She shrugs again.

'Some woman named Sam he met at Holby. She sounds lovely.'

Anna doesn't know what to say to that, hiding her face in her tea.

Then after a moment, she speaks, surprising Diane.

'When I first saw you I thought Ric had gone crazy.'

'Thanks,' she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

'And I told Ric so. I yelled at him until my face went blue but he wouldn't listen to me. And then when I got home, I realised something. He looked happy. Because of you. You made him happy.' She pauses. 'I'm sorry you broke up. I'm sorry he's marrying someone else.'

They fall into silence after that. Diane sips her cold tea, embarrassed, and wonders what happens now.

In the end, what happens is that Diane's pager goes off, and Anna mumbles something about needing to be somewhere and they go their separate ways and never see each other again.

Ric's gone after all, and without him, they have nothing to talk about.

...

He asks her again, on the phone, to come.

'I need you at my stag do,' he says, and she smiles, bemused. 'Oh, come on, Diane,' he pleads. 'No one's coming.'

She's never been very good at saying no to him (except the one time it mattered, of course, but shush) so she says, 'Alright then.'

'I heard there's a position going,' he says, after they've ironed out the details about her visit. 'At Holby. I think you should apply for it. It would be great to have you here.'

She smiles wistfully. 'Might look into it.'

And she does, when the phone's switched off, and she's numbed from the pain by slightly too much wine. The ache of his impending marriage has faded, slightly, since he told her. She's coming to terms with it, she thinks.

She finds Ric is right, applies, gets the job. Packs up, gets ready to join Ric in Holby.

...

She sits in her empty flat, wine glass in hand. She goes tomorrow.

She's thinking about all the memories here, in this city. Maybe a new place, a new start, and the memories will abate.

She takes a sip of her drink. Thinks about that night, about the 'no' stumbled out into the dark millennium air. Tells herself it was the right decision.

Puts up a facade. Get's ready to face the day.

Holby, and Ric, beckon.

...

(Holby and that fresh start don't turn out as planned.

A little over five years, and one memorable trip to Ghana later, and she's idling in a car on the tracks, waiting for oblivion to come and mark her as his.

Ric's gone. For good this time.

The facade's gone, too. She loves him. She'll admit that to anyone who'll listen. Except maybe him.

He doesn't anymore. And that kills her.

It kills her)

...

But right now, she's sitting in a car in traffic, windows thrown open, the sign that reads 'HOLBY' in big letters just a few feet away, with hope in her heart.

...

A/N The title comes from What Kind of Man by Florence + the Machine