A/N: This is a new one that came to me this morning (ill again) while I was lazing around the house, extremely bored.
Sarah x
Hanssen strode down the corridor towards the lift, for once more than ready to go home. He was beginning to find that he was sick of the sight of this place by the time five o'clock came. Between Tara Lo's ever-growing brain tumour, Serena Campbell's impending wrath over her mother's stroke and Jac Naylor hiding whatever it was she was hiding, abusing junior doctors and nurses alike, those three women alone were enough to drive him to the brink of insanity at times.
He walked into the lift to find Serena Campbell frantically looking through her pockets and her handbag. "Lost something?" he asked.
"My keys. Both sets. Brilliant," she sighed. "And Eleanor, of course, is at her father's. Locked out of my house and locked out of my car. This is a lovely end to the day," she rambled on. Hanssen had to suppress a smile; for such an intelligent woman, she could be rather dimwitted at times.
"So, in essence, you have no means of getting home, and even if you did, you wouldn't be able to get in?" he surmised her rant for her.
"Yes," she snapped. "Eleanor's got the spare key."
"Call her and ask her for it," Henrik suggested, trying to help her out of the situation she found herself stuck in.
"And admit to my ex-husband I'm an idiot?!" she demanded incredulously. "I don't think so!"
"So stubborn pride is going to keep you out of your own home?" he asked her, not believing there was this childish side to Serena Campbell.
"I don't care if you think I'm being stupid," she asserted as the lift doors opened. "If you knew him, you'd see why I don't want to give him the satisfaction." She stepped out and Hanssen found himself following her, keeping in step with her.
"I don't think you're being stupid," he told her. "I was going to make an offer."
She stopped dead, turning to look up at him. He looked down at her face and watched her become slightly nervous. "Go on," she ordered, and he heard the suspicion in her voice; he found it amusing that she was already distrustful of him.
"Stay at my house tonight," he offered. To him, it was simple; she had nowhere to stay, no access to her car and was too proud to ask her daughter for help.
"What?!" she replied.
"Stay at my house tonight," he repeated. "It's after five o'clock, Ms. Campbell. Do you really want to play phone tag, looking for a locksmith all night?" he reminded her that it would have been hellish to get hold of someone to smooth it all out at this time.
"You know I'm not in the mood for phone tag," she sneered. She tried to out-stare him, but he won, and she finally gave in. "Fine. Thank you."
He walked her to his car, unlocking it so she could get in. The silence was awkward; they couldn't really be described as the best of friends. Though Hanssen remembered when he once found Serena amusing. And, of course, charmingly devious – that was the reason he'd hired her in the first place. But after all that happened, after he left to attend to matters in Sweden, he'd found Serena had taken his position in the hospital. And that wasn't pleasant.
She was sat next to him, staring out the window as he drove the familiar route home. "What would you like for dinner?" he asked, remembering neither of them had eaten properly all day. They'd both been at meeting after meeting, both living off coffee and getting on each others' nerves.
"What?" she asked, turning to face him. She seemed to take a second to process his question before she answered him. "I don't know. Whatever you were going to have."
"Let's think about this logically," he decided, knowing it would wind her up. "First, can either of us be bothered to actually cook tonight?" he asked, briefly looking round to see her face. Her look of distaste answered his question. "I didn't think so. Which, of course, leaves a takeaway of some description."
"You, eating a takeaway?" she snorted.
"Is there something you find funny about that?" he asked, intrigued as to what Serena thought of him. He wasn't sure of her anymore; when he'd first hired her, he'd known from her references that she was ambitious and charming, with a wicked sense of humour. What they'd left out was that she had it in her to scheme her way into a higher position.
"Just didn't think you were a takeaway kinda guy," she replied.
"Believe it or not, Ms. Campbell," he began, forcing back a smile., "there are nights where I, like many other people, would rather have someone cook for me. So, what would you like to eat?"
"I don't know," she said again. "Good old-fashioned fish and chips?" she suggested. Hanssen thought for a second; eating from a paper was less than dignified. But if she was doing it too, what was the problem?
"Good. At least we have that decided," he said, pulling over and getting his wallet out when he got to the takeaway. Serena pushed his hand down; her hands were warmer than he'd been expecting.
"I'll pay for it. Least I can do," she said. She got out of the car before he could stop her. He looked down at his hand briefly. This was why he never let people touch him. He always wondered what the purpose of it was. He'd seen Serena do it to others before; in that sense, she was more loving than she let on. He'd seen her with the younger members of staff, touching their arm or shoulder in an almost maternal fashion. Then, of course, she proceeded to scare them senseless.
She was not a bad person. He gave her that much. She just had two enormous flaws: excessively manipulative ambition and a tendency to show nothing more or less than aggression when she was vulnerable.
Before he knew it, she returned with a paper bag and put her seatbelt on. He drove the rest of the way home silently, resisting the urge to spark a conversation with her. For whatever else she was, he had to admit she was good company. She was renowned throughout the hospital for her smart comments and wide smile.
As far as Hanssen knew, even Michael Spence had taken to her in his absence. It made him rather glad he'd posted her down to AAU before he left. Punishment had only been one part of his decision, though he had definitely wanted to penalise her. He knew, in the back of his mind, that Serena and Michael would come out as friends. After all, what use were two brilliant consultants when they were at each others' throats?
He parked outside his house, taking Serena's handbag while she took the food. He unlocked the door, put the light on and bent down to take off his shoes, a routine he'd followed most of his life. He felt a hand on his back suddenly, hearing a tiny yelp from behind. "Sorry," he heard Serena say. "Tripped."
Her hand came off his back to shut the door, leaving a strange warmth in his body. The idea of someone physically relying on him to keep them standing was unknown to him. Taking the paper bag from her, setting her handbag down, he headed to the kitchen for wine. He had a feeling Serena Campbell and alcohol was not a wise combination, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
He sat down next to her on the sofa, placing the glasses on the coffee table and pouring wine into each one. He handed her a glass and a paper packet. "Thanks," she said. Was she nervous? She had an odd pink tinge about her cheeks, and a sparkle in her dark eyes he'd never seen before. "So," she said. "This is where you live."
"Yes," he said, swallowing a mouthful of battered fish. He watched her survey her surroundings, her eyes taking in the light walls, the open space. The wall-hanging fire. The contrasting black glass table and pale wooden floor. She looked out the door to the wide hallway and staircase, and the glass paned doors.
"Are you claustrophobic?" she asked, and he nearly choked on his food.
"Excuse me?" he replied, taking a drink of wine to clear his throat and cloud his mind. "What on Earth would give you that impression?"
"Your house," she shrugged, drinking from her glass. "It's very light and open. I just thought you maybe don't like being enclosed, or feeling trapped."
"I don't," he replied, honesty coming from him for the first time in a long time. "But I wouldn't class myself as claustrophobic." She was smiling into her glass, leaving him to wonder what she was really thinking.
"There are no pictures," she stated. "No photographs."
"Your powers of observation are unearthly, Ms. Campbell," he quipped.
"Why, though?" she asked, and he was becoming wary of her asking such personal questions. She filled her glass again, and his, and returned to her food. "Why don't you have any photos?"
"I don't have any," he answered. It was almost true – he had a couple of Maja, and a few of his mother, none of them easy to look at and none of them he was likely to hang on the wall.
"You must do," she argued. He'd known the wine was a bad idea. "Everyone has photos."
"Not me," he insisted. They sat in silence yet again, but it was not awkward anymore. It was...peaceful. He thought the alcohol must have relaxed her a little. And he was glad she'd stopped with the random questions. Claustrophobic? Where had that come from? When had he displayed anything that she could have construed as claustrophobia?
He finished his dinner and folded the paper neatly, hearing Serena scrunch hers into a knot. He took it from her, and handed her the television remote. "I do not want to hear heavy metal music," he warned her, and her face broke out into a grin. He was, of course, joking. He knew Serena well enough to know heavy metal music would not appeal to her.
He scoured the freezer for something sweet, feeling she probably needed something extra to eat to counteract the alcohol. He found some chocolate ice cream and scooped some into two bowls, returning to find Serena leaning back, watching the news. He sat down next to her, handing her a bowl of ice cream.
"You are not good for my waistline," she scolded, tapping his stomach lightly. He flinched slightly before realising the alcohol had finally gone to her head and she was being playful. Once he figured that out, it was really quite endearing.
"There is nothing wrong with your waistline," he replied. Her head whipped around and she gave him a funny look before she returned her gaze to the television. What had he done wrong this time?
They sat there for a good three hours before he noticed Serena start to drop off. It was ten o'clock before he had to wake her up. "Ms. Campbell," he said, shaking her shoulder lightly. She stirred and turned her head. "Time for bed, I think."
"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, her hand running through her hair.
"Yes," he said. She got to her feet to wake herself up, and he decided what the sleeping arrangements would be. "You can take my bed tonight, and I will sleep here."
"On the sofa?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Yes," he said. He led her to his bedroom, going into his drawers for a pair of pyjamas for himself, and a shirt for Serena to wear to bed rather than her work clothes.
"You're nicer than I thought you'd be," she announced into the silence of his bedroom. He turned and handed her his shirt, not really knowing how to reply to being told he was nice. It wasn't a word often used to describe him. "Thank you," she said as she took it into her small hands.
"Goodnight, Ms. Campbell," he said, meeting her eyes. There was something different to her when she was relaxed. Something more human than usual. Something that told him that, though she had the whole world thinking she was unbreakable, she was actually a gentle, funny, affectionate woman. She'd shown him that much tonight; he was just glad she hadn't made him regret becoming her saving grace tonight.
She stretched up and kissed his cheek, and replied, "Goodnight." He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he turned away, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Hope this is alright!
Please feel free to leave a review and tell me your thoughts!
Sarah x