This is the sequel to Wherever You Will Go, it follows a few months after its predecessor left off. I don't know how long it will be as yet but similar to WYWG, I'll leave you in peace and savour any reviews you give me...

Part One: Somewhere Only We Know

It had barely reached dawn in Holby, the sun was beginning its daily journey across the sky, the grass was slowly shaking off it's dewy downy. The sound of birds in the sky was growing as Larks came to life; sane humans were still in bed. Yet she had been up since the small hours, unable to sleep as the events of that night a year ago played coldly on her mind, mugging her of sleep. Giving up the fight at three am she'd begun a journey she felt would become a pilgrimage.

Alighting the train her mind still ran through the motions, the sombre rush of adrenaline as she did her utmost in theatre, the sorrowful anguish of sitting with him in intensive care, the pointless heroics at the end of it all. The ultimate draining feeling of disappointment in herself, the disgust, the grief.

Autopilot had taken over as soon as she was out of the house, sitting on the train wasn't a new event, and it was just her destination that changed. She could see the taxi driver's pitiful eyes as she asked for the graveyard. Giving him an overgenerous tip she paused whilst he drove off before bracing herself. The gates were heavy to the touch, the solid iron moving with a light groan. She criss crossed through the gravestones, taking a muddled path to the headstone she was looking for.

It looked no different to any of the other headstones surrounding it, still just as shiny as a year ago, well kept with a pot of daisies sat in front of it, a simple message being displayed:

Final resting place of William Alexander Curtis Harding
Born 7th August 1963
Died 5th April 2005

Valiant fighter, provider, father and hero

Her finger traced the outline of the cold black letters, moulding their information onto her mind. "I'm so sorry," she whispered furiously wiping away a predicted tear from her eye "I wish you were still here, I wish you'd stuck around, I wish this past year hadn't happened, you hadn't died, I hadn't moved to London, the attack hadn't happened, I wasn't sat here about to lose control, my waste of space husband was rotting in jail... I'm just sorry," she sobbed her crouched position crumbling into a heap, the sticky dew mingling with the fibres on her clothes. There were collections of snow drops beginning to form on the grassy interludes, forming an unkempt path of memories, their cousins neatly tended to on the pathways.

"I bet you think I'm some sort of idiot now. I was supposed to be your boss, the strong unemotional git who forced you to try your hardest to reach your potential. You were right on target to do that y'know, I'd never let onto that fact but you were indeed bound to be one of the best surgeons going. Looking back I probably would of done things differently. Hindsight is supposed to be wonderful, I disagree, it's a bastard who keeps coming back to bite you in the backside reminding you of just how truly stupid you can be," she paused to take a breath, rekindle any kind of spark in her numb body. As she made a move to stand up she felt the familiar grip tighten on her shoulder.

"Connie," the voice was distinctly male, its husky, honey laced drawl spoke in tones intimately known to her.

"Ric," she sounded startled to him, he'd silently watched her struggle to spill out the words, the ideal councillor for her, accepting everything she said without question.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked subtly, gently letting his arm slip round her shoulders.

"It's been a year," she shrugged, nodding towards Will's final resting place.

"Oh I'm sorry Connie, I never realised," he replied, gripping her shoulders tightly as she attempted to take a shaky step, if he still knew her as well as he had, he was sure she had barely let coffee pass her lips before she'd begun her journey. Her once toned physique was slowly fading into a bundle of bones and flesh.

"I don't expect anyone to remember him, he wasn't much to most people," herb head shifted away from his gaze, her hand furiously wiping away her tears of fallen pride.

"Did you ever get over him properly?" Ric asked tentatively, bringing his arms around her into a proper hug.

"Do you ever," she sighed evasively, "anyway, why are you here? Graveyards can't be that interesting on a Saturday morning," she continued, moving off down the neat pathway, hiding in a shadow of the imposing church.

"I come here when I need space, Paris makes ideal company at this ungodly hour in the morning," he chuckled solemnly, clearly still hurting over Paris' premature death. Somehow he, like Connie, had come to decide that his faulty Ghanaian genes were the cause for both his grandchildren to have gone before their time. Connie gripped his arm in acknowledgement, looking at his face she was met by a brave smile.

"I did try my hardest," she regretted, that day when she'd failed to save Zubin and Jess' pride and joy had been tough, she could barely bring herself to look at Ric when he'd turned up at her office, crying tears she never knew a man could posses, grieving like she never seen before. All she'd been capable of was to hold him as he sobbed, talk when he needed her to.

"We all knew you did Connie, you always do," he commented, drawn in by her face turning downwards.

"Did," Connie corrected swiftly, "I haven't been able to go back to the hospital since... well since January."

"Oh, I, I just thought that when you never came to Holby, you'd returned to your half life existence."

"Its not funny Ric. I never came back because I didn't want to be a burden, at least in London I knew I still possessed anonymity, here, it, well it would have been tougher," she trailed off turning to face them as they stood just beside the church entrance, hitting the cross roads between her exit and return to London and the path leading them to his flat.

"You would never be a burden to me," Ric sighed, immediately thinking her to be foolish, yet reconsidering in the next second, she was clearly going through an incredibly tough tumultuous time hankering after her past self, a strong, yet vulnerable confident woman and her present personality of depression and self loathing.

"How did I know you would say something like that," she smiled weakly, " I thought if I stuck it out in London then it would have worked out, that after several attempts at returning to work I would have made it back into that building." Finishing her sentence in a rush Connie let a tiny shiver creep up her body, without actually hitting the bulls eye she'd explained it explicitly enough for Ric to understand what she meant, any woman, or man for that matter who had been what she'd been through would find it hard to trust anyone more alien than a previous lover or close friend.

"Lets go back to mine, I think I've got some coffee sitting in the cupboard," Ric smiled, leading her gently out of the graveyard and off down the quiet residential street. They lightened the conversation immediately, filling the other in about idle gossip they'd picked up along the way. Ric didn't want to force the subject of her long term holiday getting her to open up at all had been a minor success, pushing her further would only reseal the lid on her anguish.

He still possessed the same tiny, enchanted flat that he had done months before. It still held the same damp stench as it had done; slightly more if Connie was a perfectly honest, new patch of off green had formed. "Coffee?" he asked politely as she took off her coat and various other layers, slipping into a vacant seat once she was done.

As he placed the coffee down on the table, he took a moment to remind himself of how she looked, without the bulk of the coat she looked even skinnier, more withdrawn and even more alarming he could see the outline of her collar bones clearer than the day he'd parted several months before. "It may seem a stupid question, but why, I know your pride was bruised but..." he asked eventually, not forcing her to answer.

"Something changed," she told him evasively, letting her gaze drop towards the coffee fixating on the intermittent swirls swimming on the surface of the novelty mug.

"You were bound to change Connie, who wouldn't given the circumstances," he replied, taking her shaking hand in his, gently steadying it as she lightly shook her head in preparation.

"I can't deal with things the same way now, the rapist took more than you can imagine, having... having, him touch me like that it..." she trailed off biting her lip slowly, taking a sip on her coffee to avoid his tell tale worrisome gaze.

"Made you vulnerable," he finished her sentence eventually.

"Yes," she smiled meekly, "and you know how well I'd of taken that. The attack was like taking candy from a baby, men were like toys, something, people, I enjoyed being around. You know I played some like cards in a poker game, its different now..."

"Now they scare you?" he questioned, her blunt, vulnerable body language was neatly filling in the gaps she was unable to discuss.

"I guess they do," she admitted draining her mug in one swift movement. Ric was acutely aware that there were fast approaching an unread border, pushing it too far would be just as devastating as stopping to soon.

"Have you heard from Zubin," Connie enquired, closing the conversations several statements earlier than Ric would of wanted to.

"He's baring up, working in a hospital in Chicago," Ric shrugged, they'd clearly held differences over what to do after Paris' death.

"And Jess?" Connie questioned inquisitively, they were each other's worst enemy, possessing the ability to get under the other's skin in an instant. Slowly his smiling face unfurled into a sad frown.

"Well she is coping if that's what you mean, she passes from one day to the next in a blur, I think my constant running off to London was good for her." seeing Connie's guilty look he continued, "I don't regret it, neither should you, she needed space and said it would be ok," he shrugged. Finishing his drink he replaced the debris to the sink, clearing his newly acquired sofa of junk so she could sit down.

"Drifting is sometimes what a grieving mother does best," Connie sighed, drawing, her knees up to cradle them in her arms.

"You sound like you talk from experience," Ric asked gently turning into an awkward situation on the sofa so that he could see her face more clearly.

"I got pregnant when I was Michael's registrar, we were the scandal of the hospital," Connie smirked, seeming pleased with herself, " I had had a hellish pregnancy and went into premature labour at 28 weeks, all in all I landed up in intensive care and the baby..." she bit her lip in a tell tale crackdown on any tears that were willing their way down her cheeks.

"Did the baby not survive?" he asked slowly.

"She did make it through the birth miraculously, but she wasn't right, the two months she spent in special care were horrible. I spent every waking moment with her, adjusting to the ideas of having the perfect little family. It ended abruptly though, she caught a major infection and died shortly after she turned two months,"

"Did you give her name?"

"Georgia Isabella" she sighed, shuffling along to his waiting arms.

"How did Michael take all of this,"

"He didn't as far as he was concerned she was an untimely mistake, he did the glorious father routine and accompanied me to the funeral, but he just seemed to numb it out."

"Men do that best," Ric smiled, "you really are an enigma sometimes, why didn't you tell me any of this before."

"It tends to kill the atmosphere stone dead, don't you think," she smiled, snuggling in closer to his slowly beating heart.

"Perhaps," Ric smiled in response.

"Anyway I don't like to be judged on it, it's something I doubt many couples would broadcast,"

"You know I'd never judge you on that, Connie," he smiled, gazing into her face for a moment, gladly feeling her hand slide up his chest moving her slender frame up to meet his gaze, stretching his hand round the back of her head he drew her face in close. For the instantaneous moment their lips brushed, a sensual healing took place, wounds sealing for forever. Ideals being disproved, barriers being rebuilt, defeated, and redone stronger and more solid than before...