Hi! This is the first piece of fanfiction I have uploaded to this site, and my first ever Casualty fanfiction (eeeek!) I hope you enjoy it, I'm not sure when my regular updating day will be just yet but I will let you know soon. Please review, follow and favourite- it would make my day!
Isabella :)
Chapter 1
It had been a good ten minutes before midnight on the 31st of December, and Connie had sat in the corner of the pub amongst her work colleagues. Silently listening in on their conversations, the clinical lead found amusement in the gossip being divulged unknowingly from the incredibly intoxicated people she worked with:
"You know... I heard a little teeny weeny rumour... that Rita likes to put pictures of people she hates... HATES... in...in...her washing machine," mumbled Zoe to a captivated audience.
"No! No I don't Zoe," moaned Rita "No no no I.. I put them in the dish washer! HAHAHAHA!" The uncontrollable cackling that followed gave Connie a headache.
Despite the free entertainment, she really had no desire to be there, her only anchor to the seat she was perched on, being the knowledge that the relationship she had with her staff would worsen if she ignored them completely.
The deafening buzz of noise rang in her ears, as more pints were ordered and more people entered the quickly overcrowding pub.
The tinkling of the bell over the door had naturally caused her to lift her eyes from her fidgeting fingers every time.
But the fifth jingle was different.
On the fifth jingle, Sam Strachan stepped over the threshold.
At first she did not recognise the tall man who had slipped inside the hustle and bustle of the pub on New Year's Eve, and so returned to tracing shapes over the backs of her hands.
But for some reason she felt the urge to look up again. Her eyes had locked onto his and their equally shocked faces went unnoticed by anyone else.
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, confused and dumbfounded. Sam cleared his throat and tilted his head almost undetectably to the side. With that, he twisted on his heel and walked out of the door.
Swiftly, Connie got up and followed, her heels clicking as she made her way out into the cold night air.
The first words he whispered to her were what caused her to stay starring at the sky well after the new year came in.
"You look stunning,"
After all this time? She thought. After all this time, that is the first thing you say to me?!
She had no idea what had truly made her so angry; maybe not knowing he was coming, or how he clearly wasn't expecting to find her in a pub.
Everything about him aggravated her. Why was he so overdressed? Where was Grace? What right did he have to be here and not in his precious America?!
Shards of crystal seemed to erupt in the air as the last firework of the night fizzled out. The clock had struck midnight minutes ago, and shouts of 'Happy New Year!' could still be heard, carried by the bitter wind across the ebony sky.
The looming building of Holby City Hospital was glowing with light, it's many windows reflecting flickers of blue fluorescence coming off the main road in the distance, too far away for the accompanying siren to be heard. The drunken group of staff across the road, staggered back into the pub, howling with uncontrollable laughter and ignoring the figures in the shadows.
A new year; a fresh start... For all but one.
Connie Beauchamp still stood as if entranced, glaring at the sky. If looks could kill, the sky would of been falling.
Her elegant body was wrapped in a designer shawl and sheltered in the darkness of the overhanging roof belonging to the side of the pub.
A picture of beauty, from the waves in her nutmeg coloured hair, the graceful hands settled stubbornly onto her hips, and to the glossy patent of her infamous Louboutin heels. Everything perfect, except for the forbidden tear that had escaped down her ice cold cheek.
She dared not turn around to finally face the person who embodied her past.
Sam, who stood behind her, waiting patiently, had the looks of a gentleman. Short, dark hair covered his head, a clean shaven face contorted into a frown of apprehension at the rigid stillness of the woman before him, and a black suit and tie fitted his muscled figure. He was a man who could not have been further away from the incoherence and slurring caused by excessive alcohol.
Sam Strachan knew precisely how he wanted his year to begin : in the presence of a woman he couldn't stand, whose demeanour was far from kind or welcoming, and whom he had not stopped loving for years.
Gingerly, he stepped infront of Connie, to break her death stare at the now surely frightened sky, and took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her hazel eyes boring into his soul.
"I've missed you," he whispered softly.
"What are you doing here Sam?" She choked, her strong voice inevitably cracking mid-sentence.
"I don't know. All I know is that my life has had a void in it from the moment I left this godforsaken hospital and I have been such an idiot. It has taken me too long to accept that this void, this dark hole, which has almost swallowed me up, which has torn me apart countless times, was opened the second I left you,"
The Ice Queen laughed, the sound seeming detached from her body: too harsh to be in response to such a statement.
Moonlight enhanced the contours of her cheeks, as she breathed out in a disbelieving sigh. Looking straight into Sam's eyes, with a cynical grin spreading across her face, Connie Beauchamp used the form of attack she was best at, and hissed out the venemous words;
"Now tell me the truth"