A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews, first off! Second, this isn't exactly what I planned for this chapter. Mind you, there isn't much I plan in my head that turns out the same once it's written. And last, the title and lyrics from the listings page are from the song "Twisted" by Carrie Underwood.

Sarah x

They sat down on the sofa, Eleanor putting her feet up on the coffee table. Henrik just smirked to himself, wondering whether she would have done that had her mother been watching. He sipped his coffee, noting how strong it was. Obviously this girl took after her mother in that she liked her caffeine. "Does you mother often take turns like these?" he asked, finding himself genuinely concerned.

"Not really," she replied. "Just when there's something to forget."

"Ah," he said. "You know, I never thought a woman as strong-willed and ruthless would rely on alcohol to relieve pain."

"You've not seen her in pain before now, have you?" she said, and he could do nothing but shake his head. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that she was not in fact cold or heartless. For her, two years later, to still be in pain over the circumstances surrounding her mother's death, she was not as tough as she led her colleagues to believe. "Can you stay here tonight? It's just that the roads really are awful out there, and I'm not sure I want you to drive in it."

"As I recall, you described your experience with black ice as exhilarating," Henrik reminded her.

"Doesn't mean it was safe," she retorted. "And..." she hesitated.

"And?" he repeated, encouraging her to make him aware of her true reasons for wishing him to stay the night in her home.

"And I've got to go to work in the morning, and I'm not sure I want to leave her here alone," she explained. "I'll be long gone by the time she wakes up and I was wondering if..."

"...if I would stay and ensure she is safe and well in the morning," he finished for the girl. He didn't particularly wish to face Serena's probable hungover, short temper in the morning. But, for Eleanor's sake, he decided he was going to. It wasn't fair to leave her to deal with her mother on her own, regardless of how many times she'd done it before. "Of course I will," he promised her. He looked at his watch and added, "If you intend on working in the morning, I suggest you'd better go to bed."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed the time," she confessed. "Just let me set the sofa bed up-"

"There's no need," he waved away her offer, but she was as persistent as her mother.

"Don't be silly. You're way too tall to sleep on the sofa like that," she grinned. She got up and got a duvet and pillows, and gestured for him to stand up. They pulled out the sofa bed together, and threw the duvet across it.

"Thank you," he said, and she smiled gratefully; he was quickly realising that Serena's daughter worried more than she let her mother know about, and that Serena might have been ruthless, and calculating, and she may have went around him many times, but he still wanted her to be happy and at peace. He didn't quite understand it.

"Good night, Mr. Hanssen," she smiled.

"Good night," he returned.

Hanssen woke groggily the next morning, looking at the clock on the opposite wall. To his shock, he realised he'd slept until ten in the morning. Not a normal occurrence for him, but he couldn't help but feel it had been what he needed after all the sleepless nights and over-thinking. He got out of bed, and decided that he should check on Serena.

Once he was fully dressed and awake, he made his way up the stairs to her bedroom, knocking lightly. He heard no reply so decided she was still asleep; he went in and stood over her for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure of what he was meant to be doing. He wasn't keen on waking her; he didn't want to startle her, not mention answer the questions she was sure to ask. But despite this, he crouched down and shook her shoulder gently.

"Ms. Campbell," he said quietly. "Come on. Time to get up."

She stirred and opened her eyes. "Mr. Hanssen?" she asked. The shock seemed to wake her up faster than anything else could have, and she propped herself up on one elbow, staring at him as if checking her eyes were not deceiving her. "What are you doing here?"

"I took you home last night," he told her, not at all surprised that she couldn't recall what happened. "You were drunk," he accused lightly.

"Oh, God," she groaned. "Please tell me I didn't drink Michael's stash of whisky."

"Most of it," he replied, and she buried her face in her pillow. "I'll let you get dressed and then I'll make you some breakfast," he informed her, standing up. She looked up at him, wondering why he was doing this; he could also tell she was currently thankful for the small mercy that it was Saturday and she didn't have to work. Actually, even if she was due to work today, he wouldn't have let her. He wouldn't have let her within a million miles of AAU in the knowledge that she'd got so drunk the night before.

He, for some reason unknown to him, reached down and pushed her hair behind her ear. He wasn't entirely certain why, but he felt he was softening to the woman who crossed many lines – putting unauthorised schemes into place, going over his head, sending Jac after him, and not to mention having his email accounts hacked into.

He left her and went to the kitchen, finding the makings of pancakes. As he prepared them, he thought about Serena. Why she'd broke her own heart last night. Why she turned to drink rather than face it. Why he was feeling so uncertain about her. All of a sudden, after everything; he couldn't even begin to make heads nor tails of it.

Once the pancakes were made, he decided to find Serena and make sure she wasn't sick. He didn't know how alcohol affected her; he'd known people who'd never been hungover in their life regardless of how much they drank, and others who paid dearly for their choice the day after. "Ms. Campbell?" he called, climbing the stairs and keeping to her professional title to try and maintain some form of boundary between them.

"Yeah, just coming," she replied. When she emerged, she was wiping the last of her tears on her sleeve. Evidently the alcohol had done nothing to ease the pain. It had only delayed it for her to face when the numbness wore off. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Right," he asserted. "I have had quite enough of this. First, you get drunk on the ward, then you're in tears. What is wrong with you?" he demanded. He already knew, of course, but he wanted to hear it from her.

"Are your parents still alive?" she asked.

"No," he answered honestly.

"Did you get to say goodbye?" she added, coming closer to him just slightly. That hit a nerve for him; he hadn't been able to say anything to his mother, and only just got to say to his father that the past was behind them now.

"Yes and no."

There was a tense silence between them, and it was Serena who finally broke it. "Two years ago, my mum died. And I never got to say anything to her," she explained. "Yesterday was the anniversary and I guess it just hit me hard."

"Yes, well, drinking is hardly the answer," he told her sternly. "It did nothing to help you. And don't even bother saying it helped you forget, because when I came back to that bathroom, you were sitting there almost crying."

"You don't know what I feel," she argued, her temper coming to the surface. "You don't know what it's like to lose your mum and not even be there to hold her hand! To get the news from someone you don't even know, and know you won't get the chance to see her again before she dies!"

She was nearly shouting now, and he began to see that he liked this fire in her that came out when she felt vulnerable or when she cared deeply about something. In theory, this and his tendency to dish out cutting sarcasm was a recipe for disaster, but it didn't change it: for some reason, and he couldn't explain it, he was rapidly becoming attracted to this woman.

"Oh, I think I do," he replied calmly. He could barely believe he said that, but if it snapped her out of this ridiculously self-centred mindset, it was almost worth his secrets coming to light. She was like him in one noticeable way – she hated other people seeing her weaknesses. That much was obvious by the way she crawled inside a bottle last night rather than talk about it. "My mother committed suicide," he continued. "Do you think I got to say goodbye to her?" he demanded.

She was speechless, amazed at his candidness about his own background. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I didn't know."

"Why would you?" he reminded her. "I don't tell anyone anything, remember?"

She moved towards him, until they were almost touching. There was something in her that he found almost fascinating. The way she was so hard but at the same time, she was so vulnerable at the moment. He wasn't sure when he noticed that she – her manner, her charm, her sense of humour – was enticing. He'd known from the off that she was charming; it was the only reason Antoine Malick still had a job, after all, and he had assigned her that task in the knowledge her appeal would be successful.

And before he could process exactly what she was doing, her lips were crushing into his, her arms around his neck. He pushed her back into the wall, kissing her without thinking of the consequences for once. He didn't know why he was doing this, with Serena Campbell, no less, but it was something that, in that moment, felt right to him. She was someone who, positively or negatively, brought out a strong reaction in him. Whether he felt sympathy for her or felt like throttling her, he always felt something passionate for her, which was more than he felt for most.

He felt one arm drop from his neck as she felt around for her bedroom door, pulling them both inside. "Serena," he breathed, intending to ask her if she was sure this was what she wanted, but he didn't even get the opportunity to speak again.

"Henrik," she replied, pulling him backwards onto her bed. "Shut up," she advised, pulling him close to her. He had a suspicion she wouldn't have done this if she wasn't so fragile today, but he didn't feel it was wrong. She knew what she was doing, and she started it. It was the only reason he was allowing her to unbutton his shirt, and it was the only reason his hands were wandering to the hem of her top.

As she continued to kiss him, refusing to relinquish her grasp on him, he became used to the idea that, just maybe, she was something he wanted in his life.

Hope this is OK!
Please leave a review and tell me what you thought!
Sarah x