A/N: I'm still heartbroken over Saturday's ep but I've had this in my head for days now. Dylan should have been with her at the end so here's my attempt at making up for that. It's v rushed so apologies if it's not my best but I hope it's okay, sorry for all the angst and more heartbreak. I'm gonna try and get back into writing these two (hopefully fluffier stuff) to compensate for the lack of actual storylines.
Please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts, it means a lot!
For Samantha Nicholls, the most fearless woman to every grace Holby ED. She deserved so much better.
Dylan was hot on her heels when the explosion sent them all flying. He just about managed to stay upright, sheltering his face from the blast, but he watched helplessly as the force of it knocked Sam sideward into the ambulance, his ex-wife trying desperately to keep hold of their patient instead of hitting the ground. She straightened up mere seconds later, schooling her features into their usual determined frown, the way she'd learnt to pull herself together all those years ago in Afghanistan.
But Dylan was watching her – was always watching her, whether consciously or not. He didn't miss the grimace of pain that flickered momentarily across her face.
"Sam?" The words were out of his mouth before they had time to think. "Are you okay?"
He reached out almost absent-mindedly, close enough to touch - and yet instinct stopped him from doing so.
His ex-wife glanced up briefly, shrugging away his outstretched hand.
"I'm fine, Dylan. Just a bit bruised. There are more important things to worry about right now." Sam turned her attention back to the patient as they neared the ambulance.
Dylan sighed. He knew better than anyone that Sam's avoidance skills were second to none. But he also knew that in this case she was right – the patient had to be the priority. Any lost time and they'd lose her.
"Fine," he gave in gruffly. "But once you've handed over I want you to go and get yourself checked over, just in case. Got it?"
Sam's eyebrows rose in faint surprise. It was a long time since Dylan had shown the slightest hint of concern for her, and somehow it felt both reassuring and strangely irritating at the same time. She was sure he was being overdramatic – the knock had barely even winded her, in fact she'd walked away from this major incident more unscathed than any of the others she'd attended (Holby was more dangerous than a warzone, apparently). It annoyed her that Dylan could think her so weak as to need looking after, when she supposed to be the one in charge of looking after everyone else. But she couldn't deny the prickle of relief in her chest at the knowledge her ex-husband still cared about her, even in the smallest of ways.
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, suppressing the hint of a smile that threatened to emerge as she helped Iain to haul the stretcher into the ambulance. "I'll even let you do it if you're so concerned."
Dylan scrutinised her carefully. "Deal," he nodded his head slowly. "Get your patient stabilised then come and find me."
As Sam pulled the ambulance doors closed behind her, she raised a hand to her head in mock-salute. Dylan watched the vehicle retreat, torn somewhere between amusement, scorn and worry – feelings he'd experienced many a time where Sam Nicholls was involved. Having a fearless, fiercely independent army medic for a wife had never been the easiest ride – and somehow, despite the years spent apart, he found that some habits were impossible to break.
You'll be the death of me one day, Samantha.
"Charlie, have you seen Sam lately?"
Half an hour had passed since Dylan had arrived back at the ED. Emergency staff had been drafted in to cover his absence on the ward, but Connie had needed his assistance for a particularly tricky procedure. He'd expected to see the paramedic around the ward waiting for him as promised, but she wasn't anywhere to be seen. At first he'd assumed the ambulance had been held up, but as his eyes travelled the ward he noticed Iain still working on the very same patient from the roadside. A knot of worry rose into his chest, and he swallowed it down quickly, not wanting to dwell on the possibilities.
The older nurse frowned. "Sam? Last time I saw her she was headed for the ambulance bay, I think she said she needed to pick up some paperwork? That was a while ago, though."
Dylan felt the colour drain from his face, and Charlie must have noticed too as he suddenly paused. "Is something wrong?" he queried.
You're overthinking. She's just lost track of time. She'll be fine - she's Sam.
"No, no, I don't think so," Dylan shook his head, trying to quell the rising panic. "I'm just going to-" he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence, but Charlie seemed to understand. After all, he'd known them the longest of any of their colleagues. He, more than anyone, knew the complexities of their relationship. He nodded, allowing the consultant to pass by and wondering idly whether Dylan had good reason to be worried.
It took mere minutes for Dylan to reach the ambulance bay, practically sprinting through the corridors, but it felt like a lifetime. The more he ran, the worse the feeling in the pit of his stomach became. He couldn't fight it, even after all this time – it was the same, awful feeling of dread he'd learnt to live with every time Sam had flown out to Helmand, and on several occasions back in Holby where her recklessness had got the better of her.
Something felt different this time, though. His instincts had been crying out ever since the explosion, telling him something wasn't right. No matter how hard he tried to rid himself of those thoughts, to tell himself she would be okay, they wouldn't shift.
As he approached the doors, a shiver ran through him.
Total darkness.
Dylan knew, the second he realised all the lights were off, that something was terribly wrong. Sam had always been afraid of the dark, something he'd been surprisingly empathetic about – they'd always slept with the nightlight on before she'd gone away, and in truth he'd not turned it off since. There was no way Sam would be alone in a dark room. Not unless…
He almost kicked the doors down in his hurry to get to her, blood rushing through his ears and heart pounding harder than ever before. He knew before he saw the trail of blood, before his eyes fell onto her smashed-up phone in the middle of the room.
He knew before he heard her faint cries, the sound piercing his heart like nothing he'd ever felt before.
"Dylan?"
Time seemed to slow around him as a sliver of light from the door illuminated her body. Slumped against the wall, looking tinier and more fragile than he'd ever seen her, clutching her side, a pool of blood spreading slowly around her.
"No, no, no, Sam!"
The strangled cry left his mouth automatically as Dylan fell to the floor beside her, eyes wide with fear. He raked his eyes over her pale form, willing himself to wake up from what could only be a terrible nightmare, clinging desperately to the hope that this was nothing more than his tortured mind playing tricks.
Pulling out his phone, he punched in the digits with shaking fingers. "It's okay, I'm getting back up, we'll get you out of here," he muttered frantically. Sam's dainty hand enclosed around his wrist, pulling him closer to her as she cried out in pain.
"Too… late…" she gasped, struggling to catch her breath.
"It's not too late, Sam, help is on its way', Dylan tried to reassure her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. The blonde's hand began to slip from his grasp but he held onto her tighter and felt her squeeze back, using every remaining ounce of strength she had.
"Don't leave me! I'm… scared… Dylan please… don't leave me."
Her broken sobs tore Dylan's heart in two, and it was all he could do not to break down crying himself. Squeezing her hands desperately, he glanced once more over the site of the injury. He had no idea how long she'd been down here, alone and terrified and bleeding to death - he knew, deep down, that Sam was right.
It was too late.
He was too late.
He couldn't save her.
"I knew you were injured earlier," Dylan scolded himself for not forcing her to get checked out. "I knew I should have checked you over at the scene."
"I should have… listened… I'm sorry… Please… don't leave me," Sam cried again, screwing her face up in pain.
Messy tears spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the dirt and blood. As Dylan looked at her, he thought she'd never looked more devastatingly beautiful than in that moment.
"Okay, it's okay," he tried desperately to soothe her. "I'm not leaving Sam, I'm right here. I'll stay with you until help comes."
He manoeuvred them so that her head rested on his chest, his arms enclosing her gently, making sure not to jostle the injury any more. She shifted almost instinctively, burying her head in his shoulder and inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of what she still thought of as home.
Dylan's mind was racing faster than he could process. Part of him was screaming out to run for help, that maybe there was something they could do, that he couldn't bear to lose her.
But the truth was, he already had.
He'd seen it in her eyes the moment she saw him – not relief that he would save her, but relief that he would be with her.
Relief that she wouldn't die alone.
"You… always said… I'd get myself blown up someday," the blonde hiccoughed, chest heaving as she fought for breath. The tears that Dylan had been trying in vain to suppress began to trickle down onto the top of her head as he fought to keep composure.
"And you always did hate to prove me right," he replied gruffly. If he went to pieces now, then Sam would too, and he couldn't bear to see her in such pain. No, he had to be strong.
Sam let out a choked laugh, before grimacing in pain once again.
"Hurts," she cried, gripping Dylan tighter.
"I know it does, sweetheart. You're being so brave. Just keep talking to me."
He swallowed down a sob at his own words, wondering how on earth he was staying so measured when his ex-wife was dying in his arms.
The only woman he'd ever loved. The only woman he would ever love.
But then, he supposed, that was exactly how he was keeping it together. Because he had to. Because when you loved someone, you'd do anything to lessen their pain, even if it killed you inside.
"I'm sorry."
She sounded so weak, so unlike his Sam that he almost lost it on the spot. Slowly, she turned her head against his chest to look into his eyes, the depths of hers reflecting so much pain and sincerity that Dylan felt his heart splinter in two. "For… everything. I hope… one day… you can forgive me."
Dylan raised a hand and softly brushed away the tears adorning her cheeks. "We don't have to do this now, Sam. Save your energy."
"No."
There it was - a tiny hint of the steely, determined Sam he knew and loved, and despite himself he felt his heart swell with hope. "If this is… the end… I want you to know," she vowed.
He tilted her chin upwards, making sure she listened – really listened to him, for the first time in a long time.
"You were forgiven a long time ago. And I'm sorry too. We both made mistakes, we were just too proud to admit them."
Sam's eyes glossed over once more. "If only… we'd known… how little time… we'd have."
Dylan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Maybe things would have been a lot different," he hummed. The blonde smiled gently, eyes fluttering momentarily shut as she slowly exhaled.
"Sam?" Dylan raised his voice, panic flaring once more in his chest. "Sam, stay with me darling."
Her eyelids were heavy but she managed to prise them open, meeting the sorrowful eyes of the only man she'd ever truly loved.
"I need you… to know… it's always been you," she managed, breathing more erratically now. "It… always will be."
"And you for me." Dylan's voice broke at this, turning his head away to prevent Sam from seeing him in such despair. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her even more. However, his ex-wife clearly had other ideas. Reaching up shakily, every moment causing a flash of dull pain in her side, she gently caressed his cheek, tilting his face back towards her.
"Please… don't cry," she begged. "Just hold me… Just… stay… with me."
"Until the very end," he promised hoarsely. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself.
It's now or never.
"I love you, Samantha Nicholls. Always have, always will. Remember that."
Sam could feel herself getting lighter, Dylan's voice echoing as though from miles away. Desperate to hold on to every last second with him, she forced her eyes to stay open despite their longing to droop. The corners of her lips turned upwards as the words sunk in.
"I… love you too… Always." Summoning every drop of energy she had left, she raised their connected hands slowly to her face and kissed them gently. "I'm… so glad you're… here."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else." Dylan stroked her hair gently as her breathing began to slow, the weight of her body against him becoming heavier as she began to fail.
"I'm… so scared, Dylan." He could barely make out her murmurs this time, so faint he had to strain to hear them.
"Don't be scared," he soothed. "You're the most fearless, intelligent, wonderful woman I've ever known. It won't hurt, I promise. Just be brave for me. Can you do that?"
She nodded feebly against his chest.
Dylan knew by now she had only moments left, and his brain was screaming at him to do something, screaming at him to run and get help – back up would surely arrive too late.
But he knew, realistically, that all he could do now was hold her. Make sure that when it happened, she wasn't alone. Make sure she was at peace.
He felt her head twitch before her eyes met his for the last time, the twinkle he'd always adored dimming slightly as she struggled for breath. For a moment they held each other's gaze, both brimming with tears and things unsaid. Sam tightened her grasp on his hand as she struggled to form the words on the tip of her tongue.
"Look… after… yourself… Grumpy."
Dylan found himself laughing despite himself, a strangled sort of laugh that merged into a cry as the reality of the situation finally hit. As he murmured words of love into her hair, Sam's eyes fluttered slowly shut once more. The pressure on his hand became lighter as her she slumped heavily onto his chest.
Glancing down at her peaceful expression, tear tracks still glistening on her pale skin, he finally let himself break.
She was gone, and he couldn't save her.
He'd lost the most important person in his life, and nothing would ever be the same again.
But he'd been by her side right until the very end, held her as she slipped away, knowing she was forgiven, safe – loved. If he'd left her to get help and returned too late – if he'd not gone looking for her in the first place – if she'd died, scared and alone, without him beside her – he'd never have forgiven himself.
Dylan had no idea how long he sat there, huddled on the cold floor, cradling Sam's body in his arms. Whispering reassurances, promises, things he'd never found the time to say to her, as though she could still hear him.
He knew once his colleagues found them that would be it – she'd be taken away from him forever. But she was scared of the dark, and hated being alone, and he couldn't leave her.
Not now. Not ever.
Sam Nicholls was gone.
Beautiful, frustrating, endearing, inspiring Samantha. His Samantha.
He'd never really considered what their future held, whether they'd end up back together again for good. They were like magnets, always had been - two unstoppable forces drawn to each other over and over no matter what.
And now she was gone. He was alone, really, truly alone, every chance at happiness ripped from under his feet.
But to have known her – to have loved her, been loved by her, to have witnessed the sheer unstoppable force that was Sam Nicholls – he wouldn't change it for the world.