I've been only writing happy Strachamp, so of course I had to ruin that...

This is really angsty, and probably really bad, but I fell in love with the idea of writing it. It was also meant to be short. That didn't happen.

Please leave reviews with your thoughts!

When she's stressed, Connie Beauchamp likes to run.

It's a well known fact among her colleagues that, when she's stressed, Connie runs. To work, from work, after work, before work. They've all seen her in her running leggings and short sleeved lycra top, and fancy ("fancy but comfortable," she always stresses) trainers designed specifically to support her ankles.

She's been running a lot more, these past few months, since Grace left. Since Sam stole her away without a moment's warning. She runs before work, because she's never been one for much sleep – and always, always after work. Rest days kill her meagre attempt at a sleeping pattern more than literally anything else – anything other than not talking to Grace, that is. Hell, she even finds it easier to sleep after she's had an argument (over the phone, of course) with Sam Strachan about his inability to set in stone a plan for her to come to New York before Christmas. Which has happened every week for the ten weeks since he left Holby.

Since he left her.

Don't be silly, Connie thinks sharply to herself. He didn't leave her. He left Holby so that he could go back to the life that he'd always wanted to lead: where he was a successful consultant who didn't even have to dream of living in her shadow. Which he would in England, no matter which hospital he went to. Even though her cardiothoracic work is still well known in the United States, it isn't acclaimed to the same extent.

There, he can have his own life – with her daughter. Their daughter.

Sighing deeply between her carefully monitored breaths, Connie pushes herself to run faster and faster, to try and beat her run last week. She does the same run once a week, to see if she's improved.

Usually, she has.

All she wants is to push Sam Strachan out of her mind as she rounds the corner sharply, checks both directions before crossing the road, and heads into the park. She's just about succeeded by the time that she exits the park, her pace set at ten seconds faster than last week. She checks each direction again before stepping out into the road, noticing subconsciously just how wide the road is.

Too wide to get out of the way as a car with no headlights careers around the corner, going at least double the speed limit, and hits her.

And at the moment that her body collides with the car's bonnet, she doesn't immediately feel pain at the impact, or the breaking of her body as it arches onto the hard tarmac. She doesn't feel the blood pouring from her body, from every orifice, or hear the noise of her legs breaking.

She sees Sam and Grace, welcoming her into the fold of their family, and she feels at home.

xxx

"Jez, can you see how far away we are from the scene?" Iain asks from the driver's seat of the ambulance, his eyes straining to see into the distance. It's pitch black outside; Holby City Council really needs to get their act together and fix the streetlamps in this part of the city.

"Just thirty seconds, but the caller wasn't really that specific about where the victim is," Jez replies, his attention focused on the GPS. "He just said that it was a really wide road near the park opening on Cremle Street. Could be anywhere, and there's no lights to help."

"Nah," Iain says distractedly. He's seen something. "I think she's over there. There's a crowd of people – and how often do you see a group of people together at midnight on a Tuesday?"

They drive as close as they can get to the crowd, and as soon as the sirens are turned off, half of the people break away to come to the ambulance.

"Here, she's over here," one particularly frightened looking woman half-shrieks from the pavement. "She was just running, bless her. Does it every week! And oh, there's so much blood…" she continues saying something about the victim, but Iain tunes her out. It's time to focus on the patient – to get them back to the hospital, alive. Then it's the doctors' job to work on her.

"Alright love, my name's Iain and I'm…" Iain trails off as he drops to his knees and turns the patient's neck slightly so that he can slip a collar on.

And sees that it's Connie Beauchamp. The same Connie Beauchamp from Holby City Hospital.

"Jez," Iain calls, unable to keep the note of panic out of his voice. "Get me a collar and board-"

"Already got it," Jez interrupts.

"And call ahead to Holby City ED," Iain continues, as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "Let them know that our patient is Mrs Beauchamp. And it's bad."

xxx

It's a little after seven thirty in the evening when Sam Strachan receives a phone call from an unknown number.

Well, he thinks almost irritably as he sits down on the sofa, drink in hand, he knows where it's from. Holby. He just doesn't know who it is.

Connie never rings from a Holby landline. In fact, she almost never rings him. Grace has her own phone now, and spends most evenings texting or calling Connie. It's annoying, to be honest. He didn't expect Connie to put up such a fight – first of all over the custody arrangement, but then also to keep in such close contact with her daughter. Their daughter.

He sighs, and it's only on the tenth ring that he decides to answer it. Screw it. Could be anyone: could even be his mother, though he's not sure that he's given her this new number.

"Hello, Sam Strachan," Sam begins the call, trying to hide the tiredness in his voice. It's been a long day, and an argument with his daughter hasn't helped the situation.

"Sam, hi, it's er Charlie Fairhead. From work – well, Holby ED." Charlie Fairhead. That's a strange one – one that he certainly hadn't expected.

"Ah, Charlie, good to hear from you," Sam replies, honestly. It is. He liked the man, even if he was a little keen to give advice to literally anyone who breathed. "How are things on your end? You must be at work late?"

"Er, yes," Charlie replies, and it's only then that Sam hears the strange tone to his voice. Confused, hesitant and a little bit…nervous? Surely not, that's not the Fairhead way. "Well, I wasn't in but I came in when I heard the news…" he trails off, and Sam can't tell whether he's waiting for a response or not.

The silence elongates, and Sam decides to break it. "What news?" Then he sighs. "Charlie, if this is about Connie and coming to New York, I'm sorry that she's gotten you involved. It's being resolved-"

"No, no," Charlie says furiously quickly, his tone flustered. "It isn't about that. But it is about Connie." He pauses again, and Sam's growing irritated.

He has his own life, his own problems, outside of Connie Beauchamp. It's hard enough for him to get her out of his mind – because no matter how many times she turns him down, he still wants to be with her. He likes her more than any rational man should – though he's certainly never been rational with Connie Beauchamp. She's wound him up more times than a wind-up watch, but he still wants more. Still wants to change for her…and waits for her to stop being stubborn and accept that she wants him, too.

But she hasn't, and she probably never will, so that's why he's upped and left to head back to New York. A place where she's not the centre of his universe – and not even of his hospital. She's been out of cardiothoracic surgery just long enough that he rarely hears talk of the legendary Beauchamp across the hospital – though it's rumoured that she's making a comeback.

"Charlie, I'm sorry mate, but it's getting late and I've got to make dinner," Sam says sharply. "What's up?"

"Connie's been in an accident," Charlie blurts it out. "And it's serious, Sam."

He almost drops the phone. His drink doesn't quite avoid the same fate.

"What?" Sam splutters, feeling the colour drain from his face. No. This can't be happening. It just can't. Not again. "Is it serious?" Only after he asks the question does he realise that Charlie's already said that. But he doesn't care. He can't focus on anything.

"Yes," Charlie says simply. "It is, Sam. She was out running and a car hit her – hit and run, can't tell if it was planned or not. But they got her good."

"Good?" Sam chokes the word out. He can't make out if Charlie means that she's hurt really badly, or if the team are saving her. Surely it's the latter. Surely. "Is she going to be okay?" His voice cracks as he realises that he doesn't think that he can imagine a world without Connie Beauchamp in it.

There's a long pause that tells Sam everything before Charlie replies, "I think it's best that you get here as soon as you can. And Grace, too."

"Is she going to make it?"

"I don't know, Sam. Truly, I don't."

"But if you had…had to guess? What would you say?"

The silence this time is so long that Sam thinks that the phone's cut out before Charlie whispers, "maybe. But the odds are stacked massively against her. Please, get here soon."

xxx

Not even two hours later, Sam and Grace are on a charter flight to Holby airfield. It should take five and a bit hours, due to a favourable headwind, but even that's too long. He just needs to be there.

Because he doesn't think that he could forgive himself if Connie Beauchamp died with him and Grace in a different part of the world.

"Dad?" Grace whispers, shortly after takeoff. They're the only ones on this jet, and he shudders to think of how much it's costing him. Not that it matters. "Now are you going to tell me why we're going home?"

She still refers to Holby as home, and Sam regrets his decision to move back to America even more.

"Sweetheart, you need to sleep," Sam says, avoiding the question entirely. He's exhausted, but he knows that he won't be able to sleep. There's no need for Grace to suffer the same fate. "It'll be the middle of the day when we get home, and you want to be able to stay awake, don't you?"

Grace yawns, proving his point. "Dad, you're scaring me. Please tell me." Because there's usually nothing that Sam keeps from Grace, despite his best efforts.

"I'm sorry, Gracie, I honestly don't know the full details." At least that's the truth. "I just got a phone call saying that we need to go home tonight. I should have told you sooner, before you started your homework." But he'd wanted to let her have a few more minutes of normalcy whilst he ran round their flat, finding their passports and suitcases and stuffing them with as many clothes as he can find for a Holby winter. He hadn't had the heart to tell her that there was a very real possibility that she might only have one parent now – and he still doesn't have the heart.

"Please." And just with one word, Sam can hear exactly how scared his daughter is. Their daughter.

So he leans over and wraps his arm around her as tightly as possible, and it takes everything he has to not let the tears come out. "Just go to sleep, Gracie. Please."

xxx

They arrive in Holby a little after seven in the morning, and they're at Holby City Hospital by seven fifteen.

"Gracie," Sam begins in the taxi, realising that there's now no way that he can avoid telling Grace. She turns and looks at him, scared but prepared. She probably already knows; she's intuitive like that. "I don't know much, I just know that…your mum was in an accident last night. She was out running. And they've taken her to hospital, but that's all I know."

"Why did we have to go to stupid America?" Grace cries out, tears already falling down her cheeks. "I hate you. You did this."

Sam can't refute her statement, but he still pulls her in close in the back of the taxi, offering her the comfort she needs. As an eleven year old, she certainly has been through more than most people do in their entire lifetimes.

It takes everything Sam has to not run straight off into the ED to find Charlie upon arriving. Instead, he grabs the suitcases, gives one to Grace, and propels the pair of them to Connie's office. A hospital is no place for a child, even the child of Sam Strachan and Connie Beauchamp.

He's pleased that Connie hasn't changed the code to her office. 010506. Grace's birthday. It's a good job, too, because the department's pretty empty – and he can feel everyone's stares on them. After all, even if they didn't recognise Sam and Grace, it's pretty conspicuous: a father and daughter arriving in an Emergency Department with suitcases at half past seven in the morning.

"Gracie," Sam says quietly after closing the door. "I know this is really, really hard what I'm about to ask you to do. But I need you to stay in here, just for five minutes. I need to find Dylan and Charlie and find out what's going on. I know it's hard. Just I need you to do it. Please." He hopes that the urgency is conveyed in his tone, and that Grace hears something other than fear, because he's had no updates from anyone. As far as he knows, Connie Beauchamp could be dead – and that isn't something he wants Grace to hear firsthand.

To his great surprise, Grace nods slowly, tears in her eyes. "Please come back soon," she whispers, but lets go of his hand. Instead, she moves across and sits in her mother's chair, picking up one of the three framed photos on her desk.

Sam almost runs out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him, as he heads into resus. He doesn't think she'll still be here – if it's serious, she has to have gone to theatre – but this is where he'll find Charlie or someone who knows whatever the hell is going on.

And find them he does.

In the corner of the resus, contemplative expressions on their faces, are Dylan and Charlie. They both turn around as the doors to the department glide shut behind him, the noise startling them. It's only then that Sam sees just how tired the pair of them look.

And how messy the corner of the department is.

It's still covered in screens, but Sam can instinctively tell that this is where they treated Connie. Screens to afford her some morsel of privacy, now it only hides the piles of discarded, bloody wadding and empty bags of blood.

It's a drastically hideous sight, and Sam can't help but wonder why it's still there.

Only the fact that his stomach is empty stops him from throwing up, but he does dry heave for a moment, dropping to a crouch as he tries to stop the tears falling. He doesn't know anything yet. It could be good news. It could be.

"What…happened?" he just about manages to gasp out, as Charlie crosses the room. The older man helps him to stand upright, primarily by taking most of Sam's weight upon himself. "Where…where is she? Is she…?" he can't bring himself to ask the question, and hopes that the others understand what he means.

"She's still alive," Dylan says, none of the usual brusqueness to his tone. He sounds almost…sympathetic? "I mean, we haven't received a phone call to let us know otherwise. It took us an hour to stabilise her enough to get her moved up to theatre; she was losing blood faster than we could get it in."

"How bad?" It hurts to be this clinical about Connie Beauchamp, but he needs to know. He needs to work out her odds of survival for himself.

"Two broken legs for definite, potential spinal injury," Dylan begins, taking a deep breath. "Definite head injury, punctured lung which is potentially affecting the aorta…her spleen was shot, I could see that down here, and I'm sure there's some kidney or liver damage, too. Her blood was refusing to clot, probably something to do with the fact that she was running at the time it…happened, and it was hard to get her heartrate to do anything other than plummet."

"Oh God," is all Sam can say, and once again, he wants to throw up. It's affecting him more than he thought it would – because no matter what he has previously felt for Connie Beauchamp, he thought he was over her.

Clearly not.

"In all honesty, you know more about the surgical side than me," Dylan continues, still avoiding eye contact. His voice has become a mumble, and Sam thinks irrationally that he's trying not to cry. "But it doesn't look good, Sam. She's a fighter, though. She's fought harder than you know – both before today and now."

There's a noise behind them, and Sam realises without even looking that Grace has snuck into the room. He just doesn't know what she's heard.

"Daddy?" She whispers, and Sam turns to see that she's crumpling to the ground. "Please, please, please don't let her die. I need her. Please. Where is she, I just need her, Mum, Mum, Mummy…where is she?"

xxx

It's more than rare to see three consultants in theatre, let alone it being the CEO and two Clinical Leads.

Then again, it's rare for Connie Beauchamp to be in theatre as the patient.

They've been in for almost four hours now, and things are still pretty dire. Jac's managed to patch up most of the heart issues, though she's on standby for the general part of the surgery, but there's a kidney laceration that neither Ric nor Henrik seem to be able to resolve.

"How bad is it?" Jac asks, no hint of sarcasm in her voice for once.

Ric looks up a moment and makes eye contact with her, which probably says it all. "Let's just say, if it wasn't for the fact that it's Connie, we'd probably have just removed the kidney."

"But Connie won't thank us for that," Henrik murmurs, his attention focused on a tiny laceration to the upper right quadrant of the kidney. "And we all know that she would put this much effort into us."

"Though I do assume that she'd be working more on the heart," Jac says, trying to inject a little life into the situation. It's tough, and she wants to cry more than she would ever openly admit.

She looks down at the floor a moment to see that it's like a warzone. Discarded swabs are everywhere, and the blood's still pouring out as fast as they can put it in. Well, maybe a little slower. Things have improved slightly, but there's still a long way to go.

Blood covers the floor, and all Jac can think of is, what would Connie say if she walked into this theatre?

xxx

There's no surprise on Ric's face as he approaches Sam Strachan in the hallway outside of theatre two, only exhaustion.

"I cannot put into words how far in the woods she still is," Ric begins, raising a hand to silence Sam as he begins to talk. "And you're still not going anywhere near her. The next hour is the real test of how things are going to go. But, you know our Connie. She's a fighter."

Sam's lower lip quavers as he nods slowly, tears still in his eyes. It's like with Grace – almost worse, because at least then he could distract himself by shouting at Connie for not showing concern the way he wanted her to. "What should…what should I tell Grace?"

Ric's expression becomes sympathetic as he reaches out and places a hand on Sam's shoulder. There's a time for old time catchups, but this is not one of them. "Tell her that her mother is the strongest person that any of us know. And that she's still hanging in there."

.

They're allowed in after six more hours. Six more hours of waiting, of hiding from anyone who could vaguely recognise either Sam or Grace, to avoid their concern. They've eaten cardboard hospital food, and he's forced Grace to drink a couple of bottles of water to keep her hydrated, but neither of them talk. Neither of them want to jinx things – and talking about how things will get better seems the surest way of ensuring that Connie dies.

"Remember, Gracie…" Sam begins, his hand on Grace's arm as they're buzzed into ICU. It's bigger and better than the last time he was here, with Grace. But all he sees is Connie.

"I can't touch her," Grace whispers, and she suddenly stops walking. "Dad…what if I do something? What if me being here hurts her?"

"It won't," Sam reassures her, pushing the parallels between Connie and Grace to the back of his mind. For these few minutes, he has to be strong. For Grace. "Just go over and tell her that you love her."

As they approach the bed, she's barely recognisable. Only the barest slither of her face is visible, and every other bit of skin is either bruised or cut. White gauze covers her midriff, and Sam can tell that they haven't closed her up.

No point, as they'll probably have to go back in to resolve a bleed or three.

"Mummy?" Grace whispers, her fingertips grazing the bedsheets. She looks nothing like the mother that she's always known, and it scares her. "I love you more than anyone in the entire world. And I need to see you wake up. So…please…wake up."

Sam doesn't have the heart to tell her that, no matter how many times she says it, Connie won't wake up at the minute. She's too heavily sedated. But if Grace wants to beg her mother to wake up, he won't stop her. At least she's doing something. Unlike him, the perpetrator of this entire mess.

After a minute or two, Charlie comes through and escorts Grace out, leaving Sam alone with Connie for a moment.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what words are, to be honest; because what words could fit here? I love you? But that seems a little twisted and unfair, given he ripped her life away from her when she was just beginning to open up to him. I miss you? Equally unfair. I need you? Accurate. But probably not the words that he should use.

Slowly, gently, Sam reaches out and takes Connie's hand. It's floppy, and it doesn't feel much like her hand, but its shape reassures him. This feels more natural than talking.

It's at that point that he sees once again the parallels between Grace and Connie. Through all the times that Grace was injured, Connie was by her side. She protected her from anyone who could do her harm – and that involved going after the people who hurt her. The nurse who gave Grace morphine when she was born. The babysitter who let her fall down the stairs.

It's only now that Sam realises the anger that Connie must have felt at those times. The pain and desire for revenge – the desire to do something that could help her. Because, right now, he wants to find this driver and rip his head from his body. To hurt him a million times worse than he's hurt Connie.

But he can't. So, second best, is holding Connie's hand and wishing it will all be okay.

xxx

"How is she?" Alicia asks quietly at the workstation.

"The same." Charlie sighs, and drops his head into his hands. "It's been three days, though, and she hasn't had another bleed. Mr Griffin says that that's good news."

"Have you been to see her recently?" Louise joins in the conversation, dropping her pen on top of a file. "I can't imagine going up there…to that place."

"I popped in last night," Charlie replies, and his expression can only be described as lost. "Sam's there, though. She's not alone. I don't think he's actually left the hospital since he arrived home from America."

"I didn't realise that he cared so much," Louise comments, though there's no trace of bitterness in her voice. "Like, I thought he couldn't wait to get away from this place – and her."

"I guess that things like this really make you realise who you care about," Alicia adds, her voice lost in painful memories of her own. "And, I mean, they liked each other before. Maybe he just realises that he can't imagine a world without her."

She's more accurate than she could ever possibly know.

xxx

He's lost track of where Grace is – first Charlie had her, then his mother, and then her brother, and then his mother again. But he knows that she's looked after, cared for. That's why he needs to be here now, for Connie.

He's slept in the on-call room for the past three nights, though sleep isn't really the word. He just tosses and turns, thinks of all the good and the bad times that he's ever experienced with Connie Beauchamp, and then gets up again a few minutes later. The codes are the same to get into ICU – and his old badge still works to buzz past the system – so he just breaks in, and hopes that the overnight nurse is sympathetic.

Tonight, it's Donna Jackson. She doesn't say a word as she lets him in, just smiles sadly and pretends that she doesn't know him. It's for the best, in this sort of situation.

The first thing he does, as usual, is take her hand. There's a stool placed next to her, and Sam takes a seat gingerly, transferring most of his weight from his feet. Only then, does he realise how much the balls of his feet hurt.

"I'm back," Sam comments, trying to laugh. It fails miserably, breaking halfway through. "Just couldn't keep away. I guess it's the complete opposite of what I was like before last week. Shame I didn't try it sooner – you'd probably have been running to get away from me!" another attempt at a snort ends in a half-sob, and it takes a few minutes for him to compose himself again.

She doesn't need him to cry. She needs him to be strong – for her, and for Grace.

"I want you to wake up," he begins again, his voice furious. "I need you to wake up. Grace needs you, too. And when have you ever let Grace down? Never. Never. I'm sorry if I ever said that you did, but you didn't. Absolutely you didn't. You were there for her whilst I was off running around the US.

"Because I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything I've ever done." He doesn't let go of her hand as he reaches up to wipe the tears from his eyes. Stupidly, he hopes that the physical contact will wake her up, even though such a thing is impossible. "And I love you. I need you. Did I say I love you already? I don't know. But if there's one thing you know about me, Constance Beauchamp, it's that I only say I love you when I mean it. And I do. I one hundred percent do.

"We're a strange pair, aren't we? We hate each other and we love each other, and we pretend that the other doesn't exist to make things easier for ourselves. Because neither of us have wanted to put the effort into making this thing – us – real and legitimate and perfect. Because, really, it would be. If we put work in. If we got past our prejudices and preconceptions and misconceptions and everything else that's been a barrier for us in the past.

"And we can do it. If only you wake up, Connie. That's all we need.

"You just need to wake up."

xxx

He's half asleep as someone walks into ICU, and Sam has to jolt himself upright to appear awake. He doesn't want to be sent off to the on-call room to sleep, especially not by Henrik.

It's a major shock, however, to see his mother walking into the room.

"Hello, sweetheart," Audrey says gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Have you had something to eat yet today? And a shower? You need to look after yourself."

"I'm looking after her." His voice is flat, emotionless. Every iota of emotion is directed towards willing Connie to wake up.

"You still need to look after yourself, Sam. For when she wakes up." There's disapproving note in her voice, though Sam isn't surprised. "Grace is asking after you. Wants to know when she can next come visit. It isn't fair to leave her without both parents, my dear."

Suddenly, the emotion is back, and Sam feels the anger rising. He wants a fight. Just appears that it'll be with his mother.

"Outside, Mother," Sam says sharply, jumping off the stool and heading towards the ICU door.

She follows without argument, though she does look confused when he directs an angry glare at her.

"Grace doesn't need to be here," Sam insists, his hands on his hips. He's so tired, he can barely open his eyes, but he needs to. He needs to fight his corner. "She saw her the other day. There's not been any change yet – she's still got a long way to go before they even think about saying that she's out of the woods. I don't want to give her hope that Connie's getting better when she isn't."

"But you don't need to be here, sweetheart," Audrey says, giving a disapproving sniff. "I mean, it isn't your fault that she's got nobody else. That she's alone, except for Grace."

And that's exactly where his mother is more wrong than she's ever been.

Turning swiftly, Sam rams a fist into the wall, then again and again. It doesn't hurt, but it probably will later.

"That's what you don't get!" Sam cries, turning back to face Audrey Strachan. "It's more my fault than anyone else in the entire world's."

Audrey's eyes narrow, though she reaches out to touch Sam. He steps backwards, to stop her doing so. "And how did you get to that conclusion, dear? You've lived across the globe for half the time that you've known her! You're not responsible for Connie Beauchamp's happiness, even if she is the mother of your child."

Sam sighs, and breathes heavily once, twice, three times before he replies. "I told Grace to act like a brat when Connie was with Jacob. Just as I did with the long term boyfriend she had when Grace was little. I told her about the feelings I have for her mum, and suggested that we'd get back together if she kept her alone. Which was stupid and selfish, but I did it anyway. And then, when Connie actually tried to make us a family unit – I upped and left! Took Grace without even telling her, Mum. So if Connie's alone, which she isn't, it's because I made her that way. Not because she pushed everyone away."

"And these feelings…did you just make them up to Grace?"

"I don't know what I feel now," Sam says honestly. It's nice to actually tell someone, even if it is Connie's biggest enemy in the Strachan household. "But I know that the feelings were real all the time I was in America…and before I left again, they were there. I wanted to be a family. She wanted to be a family, and be with her. And…I suppose I still do."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"What does it matter now?" Sam barks a harsh laugh, and balls his hands into fists. "She might not ever wake up, Mum. I'm certainly not going to tell Grace about this all; she barely knows anything about what happened between me and Connie in summer. So don't tell her."

"I won't," Audrey promises. "But if things are as dire as you suggest – and, truly, I hope they're not – then you need to let Grace come and see her. Every day. And you need to be there for her."

"Why not you?"

"Because if Connie dies, Sam, and you're not there for her as you're wrapped in your own grief, she'll hold it against you for the rest of her life."

xxx

More days pass, and Sam's completely lost track of the time. He still doesn't really sleep, so that doesn't help him keep track of where he is. The only reason that he can tell that any time's passed at all is because the nurses change shifts, sometimes a doctor pops in, and Grace comes up twice a day. Once to sit with Connie, and once to make sure that he goes and gets something to eat.

She tells him – and Connie – about everything she's done that day. It's as if she needs to tell Connie everything she's doing, just in case her mum can hear her and ask later about the pretty flowers she drew earlier.

When they're at dinner, Audrey sits with Connie. Or sometimes Charlie. Or sometimes both of them. Dylan pops up once a day, Ric and Jac come in more often than that, and Henrik loiters outside sometimes. It's busier than the ED in here, but Sam wouldn't have it any other way.

There are also more cards than visitors. Cards from all over the world, from people as varied as Michael Spence to Nick Jordan, from the head of the Cardiothoracic Institute to the CEO of his hospital in America. Tokens from old patients who have heard about the accident, and from old patients' relatives who remember how much Connie did for them, and how much she would do for them again in a heartbeat.

Elliot's on his way back from the Middle East. Jac called him, Sam thinks. But he got in contact a few days before, and said he wanted to be there for them. And Sam can't think of a better person to come.

But after he's choked down some food and made sure that Grace is okay and coping without him, Sam's back to ICU. Sometimes, he heads there via the on-call room so that he can pretend to Hanssen that he's looking after himself. Some other times, he goes via Darwin, to have a physical connection to their old memories.

Other times still, he heads there via the ED and the store cupboard he pulled her into all those months ago, and realised that she liked him more than she was letting on.

But the rest of the time, he sits with her hand in his, telling her literally anything that comes into his head. The day's news. The time when he was a toddler and he bounced so high on the trampoline that he ended up on top of the fence. When he gets jealous at how happy Grace is when she sees that her mum's calling.

How much he loves her, and how much he wants to be with her.

But, most importantly, how much he wants her to wake up.

"Con?" Sam whispers. He decided to start calling her Con when he did it once and her heartbeat levelled out. He tells himself that she heard him, and wanted to show that she likes it. "Con…are you there?"

Because she could wake up any day now, and maybe, today is the day.

There's a noise from one of the machines, but Sam can't tear his eyes away long enough to look at what it means. It isn't bad. It'd be beeping louder than that.

But then her eyelids flutter once, twice, three times, and Sam feels his heart about to explode.

She's back.

Hope you all enjoyed it!