Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Holby City, let alone any of the characters. I am only borrowing them and will grudgingly return them when I am done.
Warning: Sounds ominous, doesn't it! Nothing serious just that this is really not to be taken too seriously, it's a slight departure from what I'd normally write and is quite light-hearted. There will be five chapters and they're mostly written already so it shouldn't be too long between updates, please let me know what you like, what you don't like; I've never written anything like this before so am a little nervous about posting it.
Author's Note: This story starts off some time in the future at a conference (where else?) and is most certainly a case of 'what happens at the conference, stays at the conference'. Just remember that all is not as it first seems. The idea for this hit me a little while ago whilst reading a chapter of 'Pretense' by katielex (if you haven't read the story yet, go check it out!) and only recently have I gotten around to writing it. This is admittedly a ridiculous situation, I had an absolute ball writing this and hope you enjoy it as much as I am. I've tried to keep the characters as 'in character' as possible but you may need a pinch of salt for the odd bit. For some reason, I can't see this ever happening on the show.
Big thanks to hadrians77 for her input :-)
Last but not least: Enjoy.
"Serendipity is the gift of finding things that we did not know we were looking for."
Glauco Ortolano
Serena wakes up slowly, savouring the opportunity to drift towards consciousness rather than the usual frantic rush, started by her alarm clock shrieking at her. As soon as she reaches a certain level of consciousness, she groans.
There is a rave going on all over her skull and she feels like her head is about to fall off, certain that it would if not for the pillow – she has the mother of all hangovers. She groans again, not daring to open her eyes just yet. She lies there, aware that her body seems to hurt and that no part of her has escaped unscathed from this hangover.
Serena gently rolls over, suddenly becoming aware that she feels quite nauseated by the movement and she takes a few moments to wait for the feeling to pass, whimpering lightly. She opens an eye but instantly shuts it, the early morning light too painful.
Her brain hurts but eventually, with a bit of effort, she realises what she thought she saw and with a frown she opens her eyes again, ignoring the pain lancing through her temples.
There is a chest at eye level.
A moment of squinting confirms her theory. A man's chest. A naked man's chest. She blinks a couple of times to refocus her eyes, looking at the light dusting of black hair and she follows it down over the defined ribcage, pausing to look at a clearly visible puckered scar on the pale, flat stomach which continued on under the white duvet. She frowns, staring at the body next to her, it doesn't look like her husband's torso, his skin was darker and he was never this thin.
"Oh God." She shakes her head a little to clear it, realising too late what a mistake that is. The resulting pain dissolves at a faster rate than before and Serena sluggishly thinks that she may yet survive this hangover.
Her gaze still on the spot where the body next to her is covered by the duvet, Serena realises that she is staring and she slowly drags her gaze back up to the chest that she had woken up next to before remembering that it can't be her husband – she isn't married any more and she looks up to see whose head is attached to the body and she suddenly wishes that this hangover could be fatal after all.
It's Hanssen.
A still and silent Henrik Hanssen, a very naked Henrik Hanssen. Serena feels a wave of panic sweep over her and she slams her eyes shut again, counting to ten before opening them again, hoping that the scene she has just witnessed is a hangover-induced hallucination.
It isn't.
Serena cracks open an eye apprehensively but he is still lying there, she'd reluctantly admit under duress that she has an attraction to the man, 'but what woman doesn't?' she thinks furiously, 'Christ, you can almost smell the oestrogen when he does ward rounds in that waistcoat'.
He is lying on his back, one hand resting on his side, the elegant fingers splayed over his prominent ribs and Serena stares at them, thinking that he is 'far too thin'. Her gaze jumps back to his face, more relaxed in sleep before it trails back down his body and Serena absent-mindedly names the muscles as she goes.
'Pectoralis Major, Serratus Anterior, Obliquus Externus.' She labels them as her eyes move back down Hanssen's body and suddenly realises what she is doing. She looks away, the rest of the room jerkily coming into view, she starts at the bottom and notes the clothes-strewn floor, noting the style of the walls and ceiling as typical of the budget accommodation that the hospital accountants tend to use before her brain re-engages and catches up.
Clothes-strewn floor.
She tenses slightly, looking back to the floor. Unless Hanssen has taken to cross dressing, then approximately half of the clothing and underwear that she can see are...
'Fucking hell', she stiffens, looking from the clothes on the hotel room floor to herself, despite being covered by the duvet, it is obvious that she is also naked. She is in bed with Henrik Hanssen; she is naked in bed with an equally naked Henrik Hanssen, with only a duvet covering her body; the same duvet which is covering Hanssen's naked body. About a hundred thoughts flash through her mind, the most prominent is that she is never touching another drop of alcohol again as long as she lives.
"Oh God."
She shoots him another uncertain look, Hanssen hasn't as much as moved in the time that Serena has been awake. She wants to make sure he hasn't died, he has a couple of nasty looking bruises on him. It's only when she is almost hovering over him, that she can see his chest rise and fall infinitesimally. She breathes in and catches a trace of his aftershave, just at that moment, his eyes open, locking onto Serena and she shrieks, jerking back.
Hanssen wakes almost instantly, moving from sleep to consciousness as years of being 'on call' have conditioned him to do. He tenses as he realises that it wasn't his pager, phone or alarm which has woken him but a softly uttered, "oh God."
Hanssen looks up into the surprised brown eyes of Serena Campbell, wincing as he hears her shriek as she jerks away from him. He shakes his head to try and focus his eyes, only to find that a full orchestra is currently playing in his head. He winces again at the pain that reverberates around his skull and blinks a couple of times, looking around him.
He looks around the room that they are in, realising that they are in his hotel room, to his relief, before he notes the state of the bed and of their two bodies, gulping as he realises that they are both naked. An awkward silence reigns.
'What happened last night?' Hanssen wonders to himself, his head hurts with the effort of trying to recall the night's events. Hanssen wonders if this is a dream, he is certain he is hungover, the pain in his head would attest to that, all he has are fragments and impressions of last night. His whole body aches, various bruises, cuts and twinges making themselves known to him each time he breathes. He winces as he moves, he feels like his back has been positively clawed. He exhales suddenly, feeling his stomach drop and arousal surge and he shifts a little, hoping that Serena won't notice the way he raises his knees a little as his brain states the obvious.
Naked.
Clawed.
Serena Campbell.
It's beyond bad enough that he has woken up naked in a hotel room with a colleague, but to wake up with Serena Campbell, the bane of his professional existence and source of his carefully ignored personal temptation. He turns back to face her, she is still stunned, not having moved since he woke up, still staring at him like she had seen a ghost. He takes a deep breath and attempts to gather his courage.
"Err, Ms. Campbell," his voice rasps. 'Serena'? He wonders, not having any idea what the correct form of address is in this situation. She had briefly looked away from him, to something on the floor but at his words she turns back around to face him and the sheet she had been clutching slips a little. He's not been so tongue-tied around a woman since the fateful night that he suddenly realised that Maja was very much female. "You're going to lose your duvet."
"Err, Ms. Campbell," a gravelly voice says and it gets her attention, she turns back around to face her boss, trying to ignore the fact that he is completely naked under this duvet that they are sharing. "You're going to lose your duvet."
It takes a moment for his words to permeate the fog in her mind but when they do, she makes a peculiar high-pitched sound and uses both hands to drag the duvet back up to her shoulders, conscious of the way that his eyes unconsciously stray to the skin she had been showing. She feels a slight resistance as she jerks her right hand from under the duvet and it takes her aching head a moment to realise that Hanssen's hand has followed hers and is hovering dangerously close to her chest.
She stares at the metal implement binding her to the Director of Surgery, she chances a quick look at said Director of Surgery to find him also intently staring at their wrists and a bandage wrapped around his lower arm. Not a bandage – his white dress shirt, it makes sense that he couldn't remove it with the handcuff in place; Serena tenses again when she realises that she doesn't have her own shirt wrapped around her wrist, instead she spots it on the hotel room floor, not far from the bed.
Not only has she woken up in bed with the Swede, but they're both naked and handcuffed to one another and of all the questions flying around her head, there is only one she is able to voice.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?"
"I think you'll find Ms, Campbell, that this is my room."
"Oh hell." She sits up, simultaneously trying to keep herself covered as well as look around the room and she splutters as she realises that he is quite correct, this is his room. "What the hell happened last night?"
"I was rather hoping you would tell me, Ms. Campbell." She looks at Hanssen is askance but his focus is still captured by their cuffed wrists. She tugs her arm slightly to get his attention and he elaborates as he briefly looks at her, "I'm afraid I don't remember much of the evening."
She sighs, "me either." All she has is vague impressions. "How did we end up like this?" She didn't realise that she'd asked the question out loud until Hanssen answers her a moment later, looking understandably uncomfortable.
"Providing the obvious answer to your question would seem quite unnecessary, given our current situation."
"Oh for crying out loud-"
"This isn't how I usually wake up, Ms. Campbell." He raises his hand and hers follows as if she could have forgotten and her anger deflates at the reminder that she isn't the only one affected by the situation they've found themselves in.
"Serena." He frowns and she sighs, "call me Serena. Considering the situation and all..."
"Serena." He mimics and she isn't sure that she's ever heard him say her given name. "I really don't remember."
"I don't remember either." She sighs, falling back against the pillow, making sure the duvet covers as much of her as possible, as an awkward silence threatens to reign once more. She is having trouble processing the situation, first of all, she is in bed and handcuffed to Henrik Hanssen and secondly, no - she's having enough trouble dealing with that first point on its own.
She looks at the man half lying on his side next to her out of the corner of her eye, he is once more staring at their wrists and Serena rolls her eyes, deciding that she'll have to take charge of the current situation if they are ever going to get out of it, at the rate he is going, if it was left to Hanssen, the hotel cleaners would find their dead bodies in a couple of days.
"Seriously though, how did we wind up in this situation?"
"Well, the evidence would point to us-"
"Getting horrendously drunk and managing to handcuff ourselves together, then coming back to your room and fucking like rabbits all night?" Serena slams her mouth shut, throwing her free hand over her face in horror, she hadn't meant to voice the sarcastic internal thoughts and wishes that the ground would swallow her up, never to be seen again.
"Well," Hanssen starts, clearly uncomfortable as a red flush colours his cheeks, "that would certainly be one way of putting it."
'I've made Mr. Hanssen blush', Serena thinks distractedly, desperately avoiding looking at his face. "It, err, it would seem to fit the evidence," she gestures at them weakly, "that we, err, that we-"
"Fucked like rabbits all night?" Hanssen dryly comments and Serena's embarrassment reaches new heights.
"If that is the case, I seem to have done rather well for myself..." His voice trails off as he shifts a little, moving closer to her and, "it's a distinct improvement to the last time I was handcuffed."
Serena stops thinking about when Hanssen could possibly have been handcuffed before and she stares as Hanssen's face lowers towards hers and she keeps her gaze fixed on his mouth, she's wondered what it would be like to kiss the mouth that lets insults fly so readily and whether he tastes as sharp as the tongue he wields so effectively.
"Wait." He pauses at her whisper and she can feel his breath against her face, all she would need to do is tilt her head fractionally... she shakes her head mentally.
"This isn't right, I don't think we did anything like this last night."
"And how do you conclude that, Ms... Serena?" She blinks a couple of times, trying to pull her gaze away from Hanssen's mouth and focus on what she had been about to say to him.
"Because if we had, I sure as hell would have made sure I remembered it, Henrik."
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Second chapter soon :-)