A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who has read, followed or reviewed this story! It's very much appreciated. Please keep telling me how you think I'm doing!

Sarah x


Hanssen stared at her for a second before he let out a soft sigh. "Of course," he agreed. "It would not be wise to operate on the father of your child, whether you still feel anything for him or not. But, unfortunately, Mr. Griffin will be absent all day tomorrow, and Mr. Malick will be away for the rest of the week. Those are the only two surgeons who would be bound to do it, as they are working on Keller already," he explained to her what she already knew. "I cannot do it because I have a full theatre list already, plus too many meetings."

"Mr. Spence?" she asked him desperately. She needed to be kept as far away from this man as possible. "I don't want a bed being blocked for an extra day until Ric comes back," she told him, not adding that she couldn't bear to be in the same room as Fraser Pickering.

"That is at Mr. Spence's discretion. He has his hands rather full with AAU as it is, I'm sure you understand," he reminded her. "But if you can work something out, then, by all means, go ahead."

Serena nodded thoughtfully. She still felt sick from the shock. She couldn't go home, and let Eleanor see what had happened to her mother. She would demand answers, and they were answers Serena did not want to give. She couldn't talk about him truthfully. "Thank you for your advice, Mr. Hanssen," she said gratefully, before leaving him without another word.

She refused to go home without the security of knowing she would not be forced to resist the temptation of killing the man who changed her very being. The thought of having to operate on him...she shuddered slightly as she stalked the corridors with her head held high. She had learned a long time ago that she could not speak about it, but she would not cower, either.

She entered AAU quietly and asked Eddi, "Is Mr. Spence around?" Eddi pointed to the consultant's office, so Serena followed the direction and found him sitting at his computer. "Michael," she greeted him.

"Well, well, Ms. Campbell," he answered her cockily. "What can I do you for?" he grinned, and she had to smile back, so he could not see how bad she felt for what she was about to ask of him.

"I need a favour," she began, sitting opposite him. "I have a patient, and I am...ethically forbidden from operating on him," she revealed, after searching for the right words.

"Oh," he said, his interest picking up. "Who is he? Brother? Father? Boyfriend?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Nothing to do with you," she retorted. How could she tell the womaniser of Holby City Hospital why she would not carry out her duty of care on a particular patient?

"Oh, come on," he drawled. "Fair's fair. I wanna know who I'm operating on," he challenged her, and she realised he was telling her he would help her out.

Reluctantly, she met his gaze. She could not speak. She could only object silently, with her stony features and her cold eyes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you running from?" he demanded in a low tone.

"I'm not running from anything," she quickly lied, surprised that her voice came out in a defensive growl. Too defensive for her liking, and it was clearly not a lie that Michael was willing to swallow. "I just cannot do this procedure."

"Can't or won't?"

"Hanssen says I'm not to," she clarified for him. "Malick and Ric are away, and Hanssen's busy. Please, Michael. Please don't push this. Just take my word for it."

"Alright, I'll make you a deal," he proposed to her. "You cover me down here while I'm in theatre, and I'll do it," he offered.

"Done," she immediately agreed. To be honest, she would have agreed to anything to be freed of it. Of course, she wasn't truly free. She would never really be free again.

"OK. Now, you better go home," he suggested. "You look like hell," he smirked at her. She glared at him briefly, but was somewhat glad he was trying to crack a joke for her. She nodded and headed for the door.

She turned to face him again. "Thank you, Michael," she said sincerely. "You don't know how much trouble you've just saved me from," she added, trusting that, although Michael had one of the biggest mouths at Holby, he would keep the situation quiet. "I'll be down here for nine tomorrow."

"Sure," he agreed. "Goodnight, Serena," he added, and she felt him searching her for a reason for her sensitivity. She hoped to God he could not see how the appearance of the man had affected her.

She went to collect her belongings, and got down to her car, where she could think in peace. Except she didn't really want to think. She wanted an escape. So she texted Eleanor, giving the excuse of covering for Ric, and told her to take money from the jar in the cupboard and buy herself a pizza for her dinner.

She drove to the nearest off-license, and bought a bottle of the strongest bottle of alcohol she could find, which turned out to be whisky from the Highlands of Scotland. She returned to the car park, just so she could not drink and drive without being caught on her way out. Whatever she was feeling, she didn't particularly want to drunkenly wrap her car around a tree.

She opened the bottle, and took a sniff. She'd never drank straight whisky before, and now she realised why. It smelled awful. But still she took a mouthful. She coughed and spluttered as the amber liquid burned her throat. It tasted awful. But it was strong stuff, and she could feel herself drifting after the second mouthful.

She couldn't stand the taste anymore, though, and this was enough to send her drowsy enough to eventually sleep in her car. She was not a big drinker, which was probably why she hadn't needed more than two good-sized mouthfuls of straight, very strong, whisky to make her drift.

She began to fall asleep, but the thoughts did not leave her alone. The fears. The trapped feeling she endured every time she thought of him. She had let him into her mind less and less over the years, but certain things would occasionally remind her of him.

She was haunted again when she finally fell asleep by memories of her back against a wall, strong hands restraining her, bruising into her arms. Being thrown to the floor and dragged back up again, over and over. A hand colliding roughly with her face. The sound of ripping cloth, of brute strength.

She was suddenly twenty-six years old again, terrified and bleeding and bruised. She'd trusted him, her best friend's step-brother. And she couldn't tell a soul what happened. After all, how could they believe her next to Fraser, who was a master liar? A manipulator. An attacker.

She did not wake. She didn't want to face the reality of the waking world just yet. She would rather remember than accept he was here again, and she had to work on the ward where he lay, ill and apparently innocent.

Serena was not weak, but she was not indestructible, either, and Fraser knew this very well. In fact, he used it against her once. He was not using it to hurt her again. She would not allow it. For the sake of her daughter, she would not allow it. Eleanor's face weaved in and out of her dreams, and she was in the corner of the room the next time Serena relived that night eighteen years ago. Telling her to run. Telling her to do the impossible.


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Sarah x