Rita, completely oblivious to her surroundings, gently hummed to herself as she made her way to her locker, intent on grabbing her forgotten keys, and joining the others for a well deserved breakfast.

'If you're here for coffee, the milk's gone bad' murmured a distracted voice.

'Fucking hell', Rita exclaimed, as she jumped around to face the noise, hands clutched to her chest in shock. On the floor, with an almost empty bottle of spoilt milk absently balanced on her thigh, sat Connie.

'What the? Connie?!' Rita spluttered. '... why are you on the floor?!'

'The milk. Its gone off. Can't make coffee.' She replied quietly, as she distractedly gestured to her leg. Rita stood frozen, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Connie simply sat, her gaze unfocused. The strands of hair which had come free during Charlie's CPR still hung loosely, and her cream blouse was marred with blood. She looked small, and she looked vulnerable. Rita's heart clenched at the sight and she snapped out of her daze.

'Are you okay, Mrs. Beauchamp?' Rita said, as she moved to join her Clinical Lead on the floor. Receiving no reply, Rita moved the balanced milk bottle onto the floor, gently placed her hand on Connie's, and tried again, 'Connie? Please look at me. What's wrong?'

Connie, briefly meeting Rita's eye for the first time, dipped her head and smiled a bitter smile. 'What's right?', she offered softly. Rita, unsure exactly how to respond, began slowly stroking her thumb across the back of Connie's hand as she waited patiently for an elaboration. Closing her eyes and tipping her head back, Connie huffed out a tired breath. With an unsteady voice, Connie continued, 'Charlie, Rita. Charlie almost died tonight.'

'Almost did, yeah', responded Rita. 'But we got him back. You got him back. You saved his life Connie'.

'Barely', Connie scoffed angrily, 'the lab was ready to take him. Dylan -'

'- made the right call. And so did you Connie. You know that. You know you had to prioritise the mother and child', interrupted Rita, as she scooted around on her bum to face her distraught boss. Hesitantly, Rita slowly lifted her hand towards Connie's jaw, gently tipping her face until she was looking her in the eye.

'You made all the right calls tonight, Connie.'

Connie began to shake her head as Rita's thumb carefully swiped away a tear from Connie's cheek.

'I didn't save Roxanne.' Connie whispered.

'No, Connie, no. We couldn't save Roxanne. Her injuries were just too severe.' Smiling sadly, Rita finished, 'all we can do is our best.'

Shrugging off Rita's hand, and moving to stand up, Connie retorted sharply, 'and what if our best isn't good enough? What if my best just isn't good enough?!'

Before Connie could fully straighten up, Rita caught her hand and tugged her back down onto the floor. 'Connie, trust me. If your best isn't good enough, frankly, we're all fucked.'

Her anger leaving her as quickly as it came, Connie puffed out a small laugh, brought her hands to face and carefully rubbed at her closed eyes. 'Thank you', she murmured. 'Thank you for now, and thank you for earlier'.

'You're welcome', Rita smiled. 'Right, up you get, we're going for breakfast. You must be starving'. Pre-emptively responding to Connie's refusal, Rita leaned over Connie's outstretched legs, and flicked at the bottle of spoilt milk. 'Come on, you're at least in dire need of a cuppa.'