So I have been away from fanfic writing for about a week, which was slightly unexpected. Writing "War is never easy" and "Snowdrops" back to back over two weeks was quite draining and I have been suffering from a lack of inspiration ever since. I am now back with many ideas for Sam and Dylan related fanfics, so hopefully there will be some more from me up on here soon. Fingers crossed my inspiration lasts!

Anyway, this is a very random, perhaps slightly cheesy, little one-shot that just came to me about two hours ago. I thought I needed to actually write something, rather than stress about my lack of writing over the past week, so here it is.

Thank you to all of you who've been emailing and sending me PMs this week for support - much appreciated. And extra special thanks to Anny and Meggi, for everything in the last few days :)

Home

Sam stood at the kettle in the staffroom kitchen, having decided to stay and make herself a coffee before braving the icy cold and snowy weather than had caused treacherous conditions outside of the E.D. that day. It hadn't been a particularly easy shift, with multiple accidents piling up on the streets of Holby but Sam had found herself relegated to cubicles, where her cases, mostly minor fall related injuries, hadn't been too difficult to deal with but two patients had stuck in her mind even now her shift was over.

She knew there was a reason she much preferred working in resus to the other parts of the department and that mainly was down to the lack of involvement you could get in people's lives when you were actually in a critical situation. Yes, there were distressed family members to deal with but the people that ended up in cubicles usually expected a degree of being fixed that went well beyond just treating their physical symptoms. Sam smiled to herself as she remembered the clinical lead at her first hospital once telling her that the reason she and Dylan were so well matched was because they both preferred their patients to be unconscious.

The smile soon left her face though as the thought crossed her mind that it was difficult to remain together if you both preferred not to talk to people who would argue back. Yet it wasn't thoughts of her failed marriage that were causing her difficulty this evening, more the feeling she had been left with after dealing with the two cases in cubicles that had left a lasting impression on her.

Gemma Yates was a 24 year old teacher who had presented with shoulder and ankle pain after slipping on some ice. The case had seemed simple enough, a patch her up job like most of the other patients they had treated that day and Gemma had been surrounded by a supportive boyfriend and group of friends, so was in no hurry to be seen to.

Elizabeth Harris was an 84 year old woman who had presented with a few bruises and scrapes following a tumble in the snowy garden of the residential care facility where she had lived for the past eight years. She had been cold and frail, and the paramedics had queried whether she may have fractured her hip.

After a round of x-rays it had transpired that Elizabeth only had superficial injuries and whilst Sam had decided to keep her in for observation due to her slightly low temperature, she would be fit for discharge back to her carers later that day much to their obvious relief. Sam had been pleasantly surprised by how decent the staff of Elizabeth's home appeared to be, in comparison to some of the horror stories they had come across in recent weeks.

Gemma's ankle had definitely been broken, but cleanly enough that it did not require surgery to reset it, and the x-rays of her shoulder had shown nothing untoward. It had only been when Gemma reported that she felt light headed and her stomach was cramping that Sam had begun to delve a little deeper and sent off for urine and bloods.

The test results had confirmed Gemma was pregnant, much to the shock of both her and her partner, yet it was that very result that had worried Sam. She had immediately sought a gynaecology consult, knowing full well that the younger girl's symptoms could indicate an ectopic pregnancy and when the scan confirmed that this was the most likely scenario she had offered to break the news herself.

It hadn't been Gemma's heartbreak at hearing the diagnosis so soon after learning of her pregnancy that had surprised Sam, more her complete dismissal of her partner and friends despite their willingness to stay with her to provide comfort.

"I just want to go home," she had said, to which Sam remembered explaining that she would need to be admitted and treated first, but then she should be able to be discharged in a day or two.

"No," Gemma had started. "I mean I want to go home." She had clarified by telling Sam about her childhood home back in Devon, where her parents still lived and her bedroom was identical to how she'd left it 6 years ago when she had moved to Holby to study teaching. All Sam had been able to do in response was to put her arm around the now crying girl and reassure her that she would contact her parents immediately, before getting her admitted to the Obs and Gynae ward.

Sam had returned to discharge Elizabeth a little while later and on listening to the carer explain to the frail lady that they could all go soon, she had watched as the elderly woman's eyes lit up at the mention of home.

"Back to the farm?" she had queried, her face suddenly radiating a warmth that had not been present before. That priceless look had been so quickly replaced with disappointment at learning that home these days meant her residential care facility that Sam found herself squeezing the woman's hand tightly in comfort. The farm she spoke of had gone to ruin many years before and been sold off to developers, but it was clear in Sam's mind that despite that it would always remain home in Elizabeth's mind.

As Sam returned to the reality of the staffroom kitchen and finally poured herself a drink, she couldn't help but think about her two patients and their desire to return to homes that had long since not been their place to live. Gemma had the love of her partner and friends here in Holby and Elizabeth had the support of well-intentioned and seemingly lovely carers, yet that wasn't enough for either of them to feel at home. Home to Gemma was back in the familiar surroundings of her childhood with her mum there to take care of her, whereas Elizabeth's was in the freedom and independence of the farm she had kept for the majority of her life. However Sam knew that for her, the concept of home seemed somewhat abstract.

Just before she had finished her shift she had offered to stay on for a double due to the snow-triggered staff shortages, but her offer had been quickly turned down.

"Go home Dr Nicholls," Mr Jordan had said. "It's been a long shift, so just go home."

Those words were still playing in her head as she brought the cup of coffee to her lips and winced as the hot water almost burnt her tongue. Sam's own family had never been one for sentiment and due to her father's army commitments they had moved bases on an almost yearly schedule throughout her school life, an arrangement that was hardly inducive to creating a lasting sense of home.

From the point she had moved away to university, before taking up a hospital placement, things had been difficult to manage, money wise, and Sam couldn't count the number of times she had moved from one bedsit or share house to another in an effort to stay afloat and make ends meet. The first time she recalled having any stability in her living accommodation was when she moved into Dylan's house in the months prior to their marriage, and in which they had spent a reasonably contented 12 months before her tour of duty had pulled them apart. However even despite the happy memories of that time, that house had never felt like a home to her and had always been very much Dylan's domain.

She almost laughed aloud at the thought of her current flat being considered her home, given that she detested every second she spent inside it and willingly offered to take on extra shifts to ensure she had to be there as little as possible. Her comrades back in Afghanistan had considered the army their home, but Sam didn't even feel like she had that to fall back on these days given how distant she felt from that part of her life since she had moved to Holby many months ago.

A home was supposed to anchor you and give you a safe place to run back to when things got bad, well at least that was Sam's understanding of the word anyway but given how isolated from the world she felt for the vast majority of the time, Sam wasn't exactly sure whether she had ever really had that. And yet there were definite times where she had felt safe and loved, she could remember those well.

Her trail of thought was rudely interrupted by her ex-husband entering the staffroom, grumpiness written all across his face.

"You don't like snow do you?" Sam asked, knowing full well that his answer would be a very gruff "No."

"I don't see the point in it and all the disruption it causes," he answered curtly. "Which I seem to remember you used to find hilarious."

Sam nodded and smiled, remembering two years previously when she had woken him up by allowing a very cold, icy and snow covered Dervla to jump up on their bed after a long walk through the wintry countryside. Dylan had huffily refused to speak to her for two days, but that day along with his astonishment in coming face to face with a life-size snowman, dressed in Dylan's own clothes, on their path a few days later, had kept Sam laughing for weeks.

"Can I give you a lift?" Dylan asked, meeting her gaze for a moment before looking away. "It's quite bad out there apparently."

Sam considered his offer briefly, before accepting with only a hint of hesitation. She wasn't sure she was ready for Dylan to see the exterior of the awful place she was meant to call home, but the thought of being warm inside his car rather than braving the elements was very enticing. She tipped the remainder of her coffee away, knowing her husband well enough to know that he wouldn't want to stick around the staffroom for long before joining him at the lockers to collect her belongings.

They stood in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, as they both added various coats, hats and scarves to their daily attire, along with a warm winter coat. Dylan waited for Sam to finish before exiting the staffroom with her by his side and it was all Sam could do not to make eye contact with any of her colleagues as they left the department, so sure she was that their shared departure would raise eyebrows.

As they reached the main exit, Sam braced herself for the icy wind that she knew would immediately freeze her face upon walking outside but continued to follow Dylan out into the car park despite the bitter chill.

"You can walk Dervla," Dylan stated upon them reaching the car. "I'll drop you home after," he continued as if that was the most matter of fact conversation topic in the world. "She likes the snow almost as much as you do."

Sam turned to look at Dylan, meeting his gaze for a second feeling somewhat stunned that he would be taking her back to his boat before dropping her home. She couldn't help but consider that this one small gesture felt like a huge leap forwards in the progress they were making towards getting back to a semblance of friendship after their acrimonious split.

However as she was thinking this, Sam ceased to pay attention to where she was walking and felt her feet slide from under her as she crashed down onto the cold, hard ground next to Dylan's vehicle. Almost immediately a hand appeared beside her and she looked up to see her husband, arm outstretched to help her and silly half-smile across his face.

"Now that is why I don't like snow," he stated simply, causing Sam to roll her eyes back at him.

And it was in that moment that he pulled her up from the ground, brushed the snow off of her clothes and then bundled her safely into the car that Sam felt back where she belonged. As Dylan started the engine and pulled out of the car park, Sam leant back into the seat she had sat in many years previously surrounded by a clutter of her husband's possessions and dog-related items and remembered that she did know what it felt like after all.

There might not be a particular building or place that she could call home, but for her Dylan would always be her anchor and the centre of everything she did. He was her home, and she knew that there really was no place like it.

Thanks for reading and for all your support. I know this was a little random and rambling, but I just needed to get something down on paper!

I'll be back soon with something a bit more coherent! Callie x