This is set in no particular part of a series or anything, except it's a bit in the future, Grace is in America and Connie hasn't cancelled on anything with her so her daughter still wants to communicate etc.

It's a little before midday on a Saturday when Connie Beauchamp receives a phone call from her extremely distant, yet extremely loved, daughter.

"Morning, Gracie," Connie says with a smile in her voice as she uses her shoulder to hold her phone against her ear. This frees her hands up so that she can sign off on yet another case she's dealt with this morning – unsurprisingly, on her day off. Not that she's really had days off since Sam stole her daughter away to America. "You're up early for a weekend. Got something big planned?"

A noise that sounds remarkably like a sob comes down the phone, and Connie sets down her pen so that she can grasp the phone more carefully, her attention fully focused on the girl on the other end of the phone.

"Grace? Grace, are you alright?" Connie's tone becomes firmer, less "fun", as she slips automatically into overprotective mother and doctor mode. "Grace. Talk to me, sweetheart. What's happening?"

"Mum?" Grace's voice is almost a gasp at the other end of the phone. Connie almost collapses in relief that her daughter is alive – though clearly very upset. "Mum. I think I'm dying."

If this had been four years ago, Connie would have rolled her eyes and told her daughter to calm down and to stop being melodramatic. After numerous near death experiences – from both Connie and Grace – however, she takes things like this much more seriously.

Dashing into her office and slamming the door behind her, Connie moves across her office swiftly to take a seat in her chair. She powers up the computer, ready to type in any strange assortment of symptoms to make sure that she doesn't miss a fatal disease.

"Sweetheart? Talk to me, tell me what's wrong," Connie says slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Have you spoken to your Dad?" She just about manages to keep her tone from turning bitter upon mentioning Sam Strachan.

"No…he's asleep and…and…Mum…" Grace trails off, and a fresh round of sobs breaks out.

Breathing deeply, Connie remains as calm as possible. "Sweetheart. I'm going to help you as best I can, I just need you to tell me what's wrong so I can help you fix it."

"Um…so…I went to the toilet last night…and it was all red," Grace wails, and Connie almost drops the phone in relief. "But I thought, like, it was just a bug or something but I've gone to the toilet again and it's even redder…and my bed's covered in blood! Mum, I think I've got one of those aneurysm things you're always talking about!"

It takes everything within Connie not to laugh – both at the fact that her daughter thinks that she's dying, as well as the clearly sorry state of the American public health education in private schools. As someone who had been forced to help run annual sex education and puberty sessions at Holby Grammar, Connie knew that, had her daughter remained in England, she'd know exactly what was happening right now.

"Well, the good news is, sweetheart, that you're not dying," Connie begins patiently, drumming her fingers on her desk. Whilst it's lovely to speak to her daughter, she knows that she needs to speak to Sam about this – and even thinking about that puts her on tenterhooks.

"You can't possibly know that!"

"Yes I can," Connie remains calm. "And I think that you knew that, too, otherwise you would have woke your Dad up rather than ringing me. You're not dying, but you're just going to be in a bit of discomfort, you've started your period."

"No!" Grace declares. "I'm only just thirteen."

"And it can happen any time from eleven, Gracie," Connie reminds her gently. "Haven't you had the puberty lesson from school?"

"Not yet," Grace mumbles. "So…um…what do I do?"

Taking a deep breath – because she doesn't think she'd ever be ready to hear an affirmative answer – Connie asks, "does Daddy have a girlfriend or anyone who stays over sometimes?"

"No," Grace replies glumly. "He just talks about someone he's nicknamed 'C' in his sleep sometimes."

Connie rolls her eyes. Of course, the one time she needed Sam to be a womanising philanderer, he's become celibate.

"In that case, sweetheart, you need to get a clean pair of pants. Then wrap some toilet roll around them, like a spiral."

"Then what?"

"Then, you're going to stay on the toilet until after I've rang your Dad. He'll take you to the shop and get you what you need."

"Nooooo," Grace wails. "I don't need him to do that!" She sounds embarrassed, and Connie has to roll her eyes.

"It's a perfectly normal thing, Grace. I'm sure he's bought them for lots of people." None of whom were his daughter though, Connie thinks bitterly.

"But…"

"No buts, Grace," Connie replies firmly. "You chose to live with your Dad, so you need to get him to do these things, okay?"

"Okay," Grace replies glumly. "Thanks though, Mum. Love you. I'm glad I'm not dying."

This time, Connie can't help but let a small snort out. "I'm glad you're not dying too, sweetheart."

This is in response to a prompt from tumblr - thank you!

If anyone has any other prompts or suggestions, please leave a comment here or send me a message on conniebaechamp over on tumblr.