"Have you spoken to Lofty about any of this? Or your friends?"
Dom couldn't help but scoff at Ange's question, before walking away from her. His first instinct was to go the staff room, but he couldn't face seeing other people right now. Ironically, the place that he was most likely to get some privacy was Ange's office. Quickly making the decision, he walked purposefully into the room in question, closing the door and flicking the latch to give him a semblance of privacy. As soon as the lock secured in place, he sat on a chair in front of her desk, rested his head in his hands and allowed his emotions to come to the surface. In no time at all his mind was buzzing as his breaths came out in short, harsh gasps. He didn't hear the code being keyed in at the door, or the lock slowly turning. He wasn't aware of anything until he felt a pair of hands rest gently on his knees.
Opening his eyes, Dom saw the blurred outline of his birth mother kneeling in front of him. Without thinking about it, Dom stood up, shaking his head, before moving to the corner of the room, and moving to sit on the floor.
Ange followed him, sitting a few inches away from him, knowing better than to try touching him again, but knowing that he needed to calm down, before he passed out.
"Dominic, I need you to concentrate on your breathing for me. I'm going to count four seconds of breathing in, and eight seconds of breathing out. I'm not going to touch you, and there isn't any pressure. We have all the time in the world, sweetheart, but please try."
For the next five minutes, the only noise in the room came from Ange counting to four, then eight, then four, then eight; over and over again. Eventually, Dom regained control. He was able to see clearly, and his mind cleared a little bit, making it easier to think. Upon seeing this, Ange stood up, holding a hand out for Dom to take, internally wincing when he shook his head at the offer, opting to lean against the wall instead.
Slowly, he made his way to the empty chair in front of Ange's desk, Ange opting to take the seat next to him, rather than the one behind her desk.
"You're struggling, aren't you?" she asked.
"What do you think?" Dom queried in reply. "My whole life has been turned upside down, and everyone else is just carrying on as normal. I mean, why shouldn't they? It doesn't affect them."
"Are you talking to anyone?" Ange asked again, aware that he never really answered her question the first time.
"Of course not!" Dom said loudly, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Who am I going to tell? Lofty is still in America with his Gran, and she's been in and out of hospital lately. If this is the last trip they're able to take together, I don't want the memory of it to be marred by this. And my friends all work here. If you don't want Chloe to know, I can't tell them."
"You're keeping it a secret for me," Ange realised. "I'm so sorry to put you in this position."
"Not just for you. For her, too," Dom clarified. "I was going to tell her; a selfish part of me wanted her to feel just one iota of what I felt, but then we started talking and she told me that she used to have panic attacks, and I couldn't do it. It isn't her fault that you never told her."
"No," Ange agreed, "It isn't. I'm so sorry, I didn't realise. Is there nobody outside of work that you can talk to?"
Shaking his head, Dom thought carefully before deciding that if she wanted to know him, she needed to truth of what she'd missed.
"I used to," he started, "But I was in an abusive relationship a couple of years ago, and he cut me off from all my friends. I still talk to a few of them, but they aren't the sort of friends you can talk to about this stuff. The only people I would consider talking to are Essie and Sacha. They aren't always the best secret keepers."
"How bad was it? The abuse I mean?"
Laughing drily, Dom started listing the depressed fracture of the orbital socket, the broken ribs, the numerous bruises, only stopping when he saw the tears glistening in Ange's eyes. Shrugging, he tried to make light of the situation, quipping, "Well, at least he's in prison now."
"May I hug you?" Ange asked quietly, not wanting to set him back again. At his nod, she shuffled her chair forward until their knees were touching, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders, waiting as Dom slowly brought his arms to rest loosely on her waist. Not really hugging her, but still making contact.
Pulling back, she watched the myriad of emotions flitting over his face.
"What about Barry?" she asked. "I know you aren't on speaking terms with Carole right now, but how about your dad?"
"I think he'll just be glad that he doesn't have to pretend that I'm actually his anymore. He's never really liked who I am."
"What do you mean?"
Laughing, Dom recalled what his dad had said that time he and Arthur had gone to visit.
"Well, one time he said, 'You're not normal. I accepted that I got given a bad deal a long time ago. I mean, they joke about the only gay in the village, but it's not funny when it's your son. The shame of it.'"
"But, Carole said you rubbed along okay now," Ange said in horror. What had she sent her son to with a father figure like that?
"We're civil when we get together, for mum's, I mean Carole's, sake. But we never just ring each other for a chat."
"So, there's nobody you can talk to right now?"
Shaking his head, Dom rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, fighting to stave off the inevitable headache that was coming.
"Not until you tell Chloe," he said. "And I'm not a horrible person. I'm not saying it to give you an ultimatum, or a deadline. If she has a history of anxiety and panic attacks, you need to find the right way to tell her. But yes, the truth of the matter is, I can't talk about it until you do. But I'm coping."
"You're not though," Ange objected. She was painfully aware that in not telling Chloe, she was prioritising the welfare of one child over another. She looked up at Dom, who could see the dilemma in her eyes.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered. "I've coped with a lot in the last couple years; what's one more thing to add to the pile?"
Standing up to leave, he started to head over to the door, pausing when Ange moved in front of him, this time not hesitating in resting her hands on the tops of Dom's arms.
"May I give you another hug?" she asked quietly. She waited for his nod, before she moved forward, threading her arms around her son's neck, feeling his reach around her back, this time embracing her properly, his back curved so he could rest his head on Ange's shoulder. They stayed there for a minute or so, neither one wanting to be the first to pull back. Eventually, Ange felt a few tears drop on to her shoulder, and she moved away to lift her hand to Dom's face, gently swiping away the moisture, at the same time waving away his whispered apology.
"I will tell her eventually, I promise," Ange whispered. "I appreciate you not rushing it. I know things are weird right now, but if you do want to talk, you can come to me. Any time."
Dom nodded. He lifted a hand, as if to open the door, but at the last minute, spun around and pulled his mother into one more embrace. He just needed that little bit of comfort, and Ange was not going to deny him of it.
A/N: When Ange asked Dom if he was talking to his friends, I couldn't help but wonder how many people outside Holby he had, and that's where the inspiration came from for this. Please review if you liked it!