Thank you so much for your reviews – this next update is up much a little later than expected because I have been busy revising :( Anyway, I'm intending on making this a three parter, although depending on feedback, I'm sure I could develop it further. Hope you enjoy and, as ever, please comment! X

Unwanted Attentions – Part 2

It was strange the way she knew it was him, almost as though she had been expecting to see him again. Granted, she had never considered he would have a knife, but she couldn't say she was surprised. Even for the brief amount of time in the cubicle, his violent and unpredictable behaviour had rung alarm bells immediately. She just hadn't had the time or the energy to look into it properly. Perhaps if she had, he wouldn't be standing in her living room now, pointing a weapon at her.

Her eyes scanned his body language, taking in his steady composure compared with his slightly trembling hand. The analytical side of her brain processed this information with ease, breaking it down until she had come to at least a dozen different conclusions for his differing mannerisms. But the emotional side, which also dealt with her imagination, could not contain the idea that he was either psychotic, violent or both, and was now in possession of a potentially lethal weapon. Luckily, the army had taught her to shut down this part of her mind when placed in this kind of situation.

"Henry… I really think you should put the knife down," she said cautiously, keeping her voice as quiet and level as possible so as not to spook him. He seemed unstable enough already without her scaring him any more.

He seemed to register her voice, but his eyes refused to meet hers, almost as though he couldn't bear to look at her. Sam had no idea whether this was a good or a bad thing, but she knew that if she didn't get him to drop the knife, things were going to get much, much worse.

"You followed me home?" Though it came out as a question, Sam had meant it as a simple statement, her mind already replaying her walk from Holby ED to her flat. She hadn't seen anyone, but then she had been so lost in her own thoughts over Dylan that it was hardly a surprise she didn't notice him behind her. Thinking of her husband, Sam wondered whether she could distract Henry long enough to call him, or even text him to let him know what was happening. But from the way Henry was currently shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, Sam couldn't be certain she would have all that long before he decided to use the knife on her.

"My husband will be home from work soon." Had she meant to say that out loud? Surely that had just been a fanciful thought confined to the more naïve part of her mind. However, she had indeed said it, and now Henry had his eyes fixated on her.

"Your husband?" he said dejectedly, reminding Sam just how delusional this man truly was if he thought she and him had any kind of relationship at all. There was only one man in Sam's life that she would ever admit to loving, and he just happened to be the one man least likely to show her the same feelings in return. She was a sucker for punishment, always had been.

Sam nodded, trying to remain calm as her gaze continually slid to the gleaming knife. "He works a late shift at the ED, but he'll be home any minute," she replied, unsure why she had decided to lie considering Dylan wasn't going to be turning up at her flat anytime soon. "He's a rugby player," she added, now sure she was just as delusional as him. Dylan was the least hunky, muscular man she had ever met, even if he was much stronger than he seemed…

"How could you?" Henry whispered, eyes wide with shimmering tears. He looked… heartbroken.

"Dylan and I were married long before I met you, Henry. And even if we hadn't, that doesn't mean we have any kind of connection. I don't know you."

At this, he seemed to visibly freeze, his shoulders stiffening and his hand gripping the knife tighter. She should never have said it so harshly, but her emotions were beginning to take over as adrenaline rushed through her. Stay calm, she thought to herself, just stay calm.

"Well, that wasn't what you were saying in the hospital. I know you're only saying this for your husband's benefit, but you don't have to pretend now, Samantha. No one's going to split us up again."

She watched as he took a step closer, her heart and mind racing but her body remaining perfectly still, and as he wrapped an arm around her, all she could do was close her eyes and pray that Dylan saved her, before it was too late.

Three in the morning on a ridiculously busy Friday night, and Dylan, who was supposed to be asleep, was currently treating a terrified woman in cubicles. Zoe had phoned him, apparently choked with flu though he was sceptical, to beg him to swap their shifts. It had been very reluctantly that he had agreed, but in the end, he decided even the ED was better than tossing and turning all night, imagining what it would be like to have Sam lying next to him.

"You have some noticeable bruising to your chest and arms, Lillian. Would you like to tell me what caused these injuries?" he asked, watching as the young woman turned her face from his, hiding evident tears. It was remarkable the resemblance between her and his wife, Dylan thought, even down to the refusal to let a man see her crying.

"The police have been informed already, and they will want to speak to you about what took place tonight. It would be a lot easier for everyone if you simply told me what happened." He was unsure whether he was being too blunt, having never been very good with women and their erratic emotions, but she seemed to respond to his brutally honest nature.

"I didn't see him," she whispered, eyes cast downwards so as not to meet Dylan's gaze. "One minute I was just walking home, and the next he was behind me… He pulled me round and then… he started shouting at me. I don't know why… I think he thought I was someone else, but suddenly he just…" Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where purple bruises were already blooming over her pale skin. Dylan nodded silently, frowning slightly as he took in what she was trying to say.

"He assaulted you?"

The woman nodded before stifling a sob, and Dylan quickly gestured for a kind-looking nurse to sit with her while he went to meet the police. He had no idea why it unnerved him so much, considering he had seen many incidents such as this one before, but he couldn't shake the terrified feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, almost as though he could sense something bad was going to happen.

He was sitting across from her now, twirling the knife sadistically in his hand, slender fingers skimming the sharp blade almost for comfort. Sam felt sick thinking how close he was to the edge, knowing he believed them to be lovers or something similar, and that he could do anything to her with such a weapon at his disposal. She didn't like to think about the injuries he could inflict on her, both mental and physical, but she had been a doctor for so long that the several rape cases she had seen were now spinning in her mind.

"Where is he then?"

She flinched slightly at his sudden question, no matter how quiet his voice was, and shrugged, unsure if her voice was strong enough to speak yet. He had held her so tightly in his arms, the knife digging into her back to remind her who was in control, but no matter how much she had tried, she could not pretend it was Dylan embracing her. Her husband may be cold and unfeeling, but he when he held her it was as though reality disappeared, and she was safe.

"I think you're lying to me. I think you don't have a husband. I think you're trying to make me jealous," he spat, digging the knife into the table and scoring the wood. She tried not to think what it would do to her skin.

"You think a lot," she muttered fiercely, feeling her blood begin to boil as she realised how frightened he was making her. She had always prided herself on being fearless, but that maddening look in his eye terrified her more than any suicide bomber or machine gun.

The knife clattered onto the floor as he took in what she had said and before she knew what was happening, his hand was around her throat and her back was against the wall. The first thing she sensed was that she couldn't breathe – his fingers were constricting her airways so badly that she could barely even gasp. She grappled with his vice grip, her leg kicking out in anger but missing the intended target. He gave a bitter laugh before bringing his face close to hers, staring at her with cold, blue eyes. He didn't look so innocent and ingenuous anymore.

"Please…" she managed to whisper, feeling herself go suddenly light-headed as her eyes rolled backwards.

He let her go hastily and she collapsed to the floor, coughing as she tried to breathe properly again. She could still feel his hand around her throat, and touching her neck, she felt the painful marks branded on her. In that moment, Sam had never hated anyone more.

"She's really shaken up," came the distinctive voice of the ED's very own blonde bombshell. Dylan turned to see Linda watching the young woman he had just treated with concerned eyes, before glancing up to see his response.

He nodded by way of agreement before turning back to check his mobile. No texts. No missed calls. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he continued to check every couple of hours, just in case. Tragic, he thought bitterly.

"Are you all right? You look a bit…" Linda trailed off, realising that she had just jolted him from his thoughts.

"Pardon?" he asked curtly, giving her a rather impatient look.

She shook her head, knowing not to continue any further when he was being like this. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Well, evidently it does if you have so obviously taken the time to talk to me. What do I look like?"

She wavered, unsure whether to tell him the truth. She hadn't failed to notice the pleading looks he gave his wife when her back was turned, almost like he was hoping she would leap into his arms right there and then, and nor she had been oblivious to his increasingly short-tempered nature whenever Sam wasn't around to calm him.

"You look lost," she finally replied, watching for his reaction but getting none, as usual.

Behind his stony mask, he was surprised – usually Linda rather missed the point where he was concerned, but she had hit the nail on the head this time. He was lost. Whenever Sam wasn't around, he felt as though he was just floating through life without an anchor. It was as though she made him whole, and without her near him, a very important part of him was missing.

Linda watched his lips flicker into a smile before it disappeared again, and she wondered whether it had ever been there at all. "Dr Keogh, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but if you really want to get her back, why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

It was a fair point, even if totally misguided, Dylan thought. If he had been different, more confident like Dr Lyons or Dr Kent, then perhaps he could have told Sam that he loved her, that he had never stopped, but he wasn't good with words or feelings or people in general. He never would be, and trying to turn him into that person had only made him more spiteful and frustrated than before. He could still remember when he had attempted to cook a romantic meal for them both one night, which had ended up being flung at the wall when he had inadvertently said something wrong. He couldn't even remember what the argument had been about now…

"Right, well, I'm going to go and see if she's ok. Tom'll be on in a few minutes, so why don't you go home? Get some rest and then call her in the morning?"

Dylan turned to face her, now sure she had crossed the line by advising him on his marriage. "I could be wrong, Nurse Andrews, but I hardly think you are in any position to be giving out advice on relationships, judging by your own series of one-night stands."

It took everything Linda had not to respond with some harsh remark, but she knew that he was the unhappy one out of the two of them, and that was victory enough for her. Thinking that, she turned on her heel and marched off in the direction of Dylan's patient, deciding to immerse herself in someone else's problems; someone, in her head, that deserved her attention far more than Dylan.

I am not a victim. I will not let him do this to me. I will fight back. I will.

She had been saying it to herself like a mantra for over twenty minutes now, her eyes following him round the room as he paced backwards and forwards. He hadn't touched her since he had slammed her against the wall, which she was deeply relieved about. However, if she wanted to disarm him, she was going to have to get closer, a thought which filled her with dread.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam didn't want to know the answer, she didn't care about his insane reasons for keeping her locked in her own flat at knifepoint, and nor did she want to hear his excuses that he didn't want to hurt her. But if it got any kind of reaction from him then she had achieved what she wanted.

Henry seemed to slow his pace but didn't stop, the knife still gleaming in his hand. "You know why. I can't live without you."

Sam's lip curled in disgust at such a soppy, romantic gesture, knowing she would have hated it if Dylan had said anything like that. Not that she had ever been any danger of her husband being romantic, she thought wearily.

"I want you to go."

"We've been over this, Sam-"

"I want you to go," she repeated, feeling her throat closing up as tears threatened. She was tired, she had no idea what time it was anymore, and she was terrified.

Henry came towards her, knife in hand, and crouched down in front of her. "You don't want to make me angry, do you?"

The blade was unbelievably sharp, Sam noted, and it was inching every closer towards her.

"No," she whispered, trying to shuffle backwards but being halted by the wall behind her. He was going to hurt her, she knew it now, and her hands were shaking so badly that she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop him.

He leaned in close, the knife brushing against her arm as his lips came to meet hers. Sam whimpered slightly as he kissed her, knowing that to fight back would ensure a fatal injury. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted the seconds for it to be over. She felt his hand slide to her waist, and immediately flinched while her feet stayed rooted to the spot. Her mind screamed at her to stop him, to hurt him, to do whatever it took to get him off her, but the knife in his hand just reminded her how much danger that would place her in.

As he finally pulled away, she saw the blissfully happy look on his face and realised she had only one choice, even if it killed her.

"Dylan? Dylan, are you all right?"

It had taken him over half an hour to even find the courage to locate her name in his contacts, and now he was seriously struggling to call her. It was almost four in the morning, and he was sure even Sam would be asleep by now, and yet he was still tempted to dial her number.

"Dylan?"

His head snapped up as he finally registered the younger doctor standing over him, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you'd gone home ages ago?"

Dylan shook his head slowly before returning to his phone, his finger hovering over the call button.

Meanwhile, Tom had finally realised why Dr Keogh was acting so strangely, or at least more strangely than usual. "Why not call her in the morning?"

"I need to do it now, or I never will." It was the most feeling comment Dylan had ever made, and both men were surprised at the sudden note of desperate sadness in his tone.

Tom sat next to the older doctor, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. "You still love her, then?"

He didn't know how to reply without completely breaking down, so Dylan simply nodded.

"Right, I'll leave you to it," Tom said quietly, having noticed Dixie rushing out of the entrance doorway and knowing instinctively that there was an emergency. It was only when he reached the door of the staffroom that he saw Jeff quickly pulling his mobile from his pocket, looking unusually worried.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked.

Jeff jogged over to meet him. "Do you have Dylan's number?"

"I can do better than that – he's in the staffroom. Why?"

Jeff looked over Tom's shoulder and rubbed his forehead. "We've just had a call out to a flat near the ED. A terrified female… It was Sam. Apparently someone was in her house… We don't know whether she's hurt or not because the line went dead."

Dylan appeared behind Tom at that moment, fully aware that Jeff had said his name, and raised an eyebrow at the paramedic questioningly.

Tom gestured for Jeff to go and that he would talk to Dylan, but on seeing him sprinting outside, the young doctor suddenly realised that he could be informing Dr Keogh that his wife was injured, possibly dead.

"They've had a call from Sam… I'm sorry, Dylan, but someone broke into her house. They don't know whether she's hurt or not…"

That was all Dylan needed to hear before he was running for the door, his heart slamming against his chest as he pulled open his car door, promising himself that he wasn't going to lose her a second time.