A/N: So sorry for not updating for so long. I blame college. Though I am pretty pleased with myself - I somehow achieved the miracle of getting 100% in my engine lubrication systems test. Don't ask me how, because I have no clue whatsoever.

Sarah x

"Good morning," she said to the doctor cautiously, tapping Gerry's cheek lightly to wake him up. He stirred lazily and quickly woke himself up when he realised there was a doctor standing over them. "Have you found anything out?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Well, it's not a stroke as there's no sign if it anywhere in your MRI scan," he explained. "I honestly think it was a form of panic attack," he admitted. "Did you struggle to breathe at all before you collapsed?"
She thought on it for a second and decided the answer was 'no.' But then she thought again. Her breathing had become ragged last night, and she'd put that down to the insane amount of crying she did. But what if it wasn't just the crying, that might have been contributing to her ill health now. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I was crying a lot last night, and my breathing obviously went a bit funny, but I just thought it was because I was crying."

The doctor pulled up a chair next to her, and she watched him share a dark, worried look with Gerry. "I hate to ask this Sandra, but the ward sister said you lost your temper yesterday. Did you suffer any trauma at all the morning of this attack, or the night before?"

Sandra looked around to Gerry, who gave her a meaningful look, telling her to spit it out to the doctor, so he could at least try and help her. "No," she said. "Well, yes. I don't know!" she sighed again. "I wasn't hurt."

"But it was enough to upset you," the doctor concluded. "Do you mind me asking exactly what happened?"

"Yes, I do mind, as it happens," she immediately snapped defensively. She could hear Gerry sigh and she didn't even need to look to know that he was shaking his head at her stubbornness. He took her hand in hers and squeezed gently, and she could feel him urging her to tell the doctor the truth. And she knew now that if she wouldn't, and it was imperative to the doctor's ability to help her, Gerry would say it.

"Sandra," she heard Gerry say. "You've gotta tell him what happened. Then he can help you get through this. She turned to look into his eyes, and she saw the now undeniable truth right there in front of her: he loved her. And he loved her enough to ignore her wishes if it was going to help her. She refused to underestimate Gerry Standing. He'd proved her wrong before, and she knew he would do it again.

She looked back to the doctor, deciding to tell him before Gerry did. "My boyfriend," she stated. "That night I came home, and we'd had a really horrible case we'd just managed to solve. We're police officers. Well, I am. Him and the other two are semi-retired," she explained the basis of UCOS. "Anyway, I came home, and my boyfriend, Jamie, he came into my house and started throwing things at me – me was drunk – and accusing me of cheating on him. Not my best night ever," she concluded.

"I would have to agree with you there," the doctor gave her a soft smile. "So after he left, what did you do?"

"Drank a little too much wine, and went to stay the night in my office," she said bluntly. "I knew there was a decent chance he'd come back, and I wasn't about to wait around and find out," she rationalised her actions. "It's a bloody wonder I didn't crash the car," she added.

"Do you remember everything you felt?" he asked her. "Do you remember what you were thinking?"

She looked at her hands for a second before beginning from the start. "I went into the office, and I was far from sober. I started crying, and I felt my chest tighten, and it was quite sore, but I just assumed it was the strain of crying. Then I remember thinking, Oh, shit; I must be going mental to be getting so upset..." she trailed off for a moment, deep in thought. Now she thought on it, that was no ordinary way to cry. "My hands were shaking, and I was overheating, and I was actually convinced for a moment that I'd let myself come off the rails," she confessed, relaying the entire experience to the doctor and Gerry.

"Sounds like a panic attack to me," concluded the doctor. "You'll be fine once this after effect wears off. The probability is that this will not be the last you see of the attacks, but in time you should find a way to control them. And lying in a hospital bed going over it in your mind won't do much to help, either," he added as an afterthought.

"So can I go back to work?" she demanded, very predictably.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "But don't over-exert yourself, and keep someone with you all the time in case this happens again." They were strict orders, and she knew she had to follow them to the letter if she was to get any peace and quiet from her boys and Strickland. And she had no intention of telling the other three of this. No way was she letting them think she was weak.

"OK," she agreed. Gerry gave her a sceptical look. "I promise!" she exclaimed impatiently. "I won't do anything that could bring this on, and I've got no chance of physically exerting myself in this state, have I?!" she demanded. "I'll be lucky to hobble out of my office for a cup of coffee."

"Would you like crutches to support you, as we don't know how long this sensation, or lack thereof, will last in your leg?" the doctor offered her.

"No, thanks," she replied, almost coldly. She did not need a crutch of any kind, literal or figurative. She was independent – she needed nobody. She didn't rely on anything, as she'd once told her mother, who was trying to wind her up. All she'd received in return was a reminder of how much she resembled her father.

"Alright then," the doctor said, not at all taken aback by her icy reaction to his suggestion. "I'll be able to discharge you. I'll just go and get a nurse to finish the paperwork," he added before he left Sandra to glare at Gerry.

She rounded on him immediately, making sure he knew damn well that word of this was not to reach the ears of anyone else. "If you think I'm going to be seen as some weak little woman who has panic attacks left, right and centre, you are sadly mistaken," she growled. "You do not tell anyone what that doctor said, you hear?"

"Sandra, having panic attacks does not make you weak," he told her sternly. "You are not weak," he repeated, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair. "You'll be OK. Now, lets get you out of that hospital gown and into your own clothes," he ordered her.

"Get out and draw the curtain," she snapped, her temper wearing thin in her exhaustion. He raised his hands in acknowledgement and left her to try and struggle into her shirt and jeans. She managed to pull the shirt on, just not to button it up, and she couldn't lift her leg high enough to get it in the appropriate hole. She sighed in defeat and popped her head outside the curtain. "Can you please...?" she asked, unable to utter the last two words she ought to have said. Sandra Pullman did not ask for help.

He obliged graciously, and pulled her jeans up her legs and buttoned them for her, and fastened the buttons on her shirt. And, even in her state of ill health, she felt a white hot flash of desire as his hands brushed her chest. His fingers lingered on her waist a little too long, but for some reason, she didn't particularly care. He'd seen her ill, so what difference would seeing her skin make? Not much.

Her left hand, the one that was still fully functioning, reached for the back of his neck, and she pulled him in closer to her, crushing her lips into his. And then she realised where she was, and why she was there, and all the reasons why this was a very, very, very stupid thing to do. She decided to say nothing as she one-handedly packed her things into a bag. "Can you please drive me home for some fresh clothes, since I slept in these ones?" she asked him, completely avoiding the subject of what happened.

"Yeah, of course," he smiled at her, keeping his hand under her elbow in case she stumbled. And by the time they were finished gathering her stuff, the discharge forms were signed and she was free to go. So she let Gerry put an arm around her waist and walk with her to her car, for the simple reason that she would rather be tempted by what she couldn't have than be lying on the floor again.

She briefly thought, just for a second, about if she hadn't chickened out. He wasn't that bad; actually, he was loyal to her, and he cared about her, and he wouldn't try and harm her. Was it really so terrible to have fallen for him?

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