It was midday before he resumed consciousness, and before his eyes even opened, he knew.

Eyes opened, completing a two second scan of the room. Just him.

'Oh, Alicia.' He mumbled, tasting her name on his lips. It sounded foreign, unfamiliar, like a language he'd forgotten how to speak.

He knew she wouldn't stay. He knew it when he closed his eyes, yet he let himself drift off anyway. It wasn't even sadness he felt, nor was it relief. It was just nothing. A blanket of emotional indifference. His ambivalence towards the whole situation was so strange it even led him to consider whether or not it had all been one bizarre dream. He coughed once and his throat scratched; a reminder of all the words he'd hurled in the hallway. In a sense, he felt he'd found closure. Things were less foggy. He knew all the reasons he'd wanted to know for so long.

Fumbling for his phone, he checked the display with a wince. 1 message from Max, 2 new messages from Robyn, 4 missed calls from Connie. 2 missed calls from an unknown number.

He rung the unknown number first, mouth dry. After the dialling tone, a voice crackled through the speaker almost straightaway.

'Ethan? Have you heard any news?'

He frowned at the tones before recognising they were Geordie.

'Ah, Mrs Munroe.' He held the phone to his ear gingerly. 'No. I've just woken up.'

'She's on the news and everything now. I'm sure Alicia will have seen her, if she's still in the country.'

He paused, thoughtful, choosing to ignore the first statement. 'The news, you say? H-have they used a recent photo?'

'She looks about seven or eight months, I'd say. All smiles, bless her. She's so like her mam.'

'Right.' Ethan replied. 'Uh, yes. I suppose she does. How did you get my number, Jackie?' He asked weakly.

'I rung the hospital, spoke to a chap called... Noel... I think.'

'Right.' Ethan answered again, making a mental note to not share personal information with the over-enthusiastic receptionist ever again. 'I see. I'll let you know if I hear anything.'

The phone went down and he tossed it aside, not caring to entertain the idea of getting back in touch with her. He had planned to systematically respond to all the missed calls and messages, but he'd neglected the state of the flat and his stomach has already growled, notifying him of the missed meals. He had to eat, because if Delilah was found, he'd need to care for her.

Making his way into the kitchen, he tugged out a box of cornflakes from the cupboard. They were soggy and moulding, but he reasoned they wouldn't harm him and so splashed milk over the top. If you couldn't see it, it wasn't there. He listlessly lifted the spoon. He let go. It dropped. The clang of the metal against the ceramic didn't even cause him to flinch. Then, a noise that did. His phone.

He was at the phone in less than a couple of seconds, frantically swiping right to answer.

'Ethan Hardy?' A woman's voice travelled down the phone evenly.

'Speaking.'

'We have found your daughter, she is safe and she's with our urgent care team. We have a few enquiries we'd like you to help us with if at all possible. Please make your way to Holby station within the hour.'

'A- that's marvellous. Thank you - thank you so much!' His voice was noisy, filled with relief.

'No problem at all. See you soon.'

'Yes, I'll be there as soon as possible. As soon as possible.'

-x-

Although Ethan was over the moon to see his daughter, she didn't seem to reciprocate his elation. Instead, she screamed when torn away from the social worker who she'd taken a shine to.

After nervously laughing it off, he tried to concentrate on the relentless questions from the social workers and police.

'Who were you with? Their name? Who do you think might have a motive? Have you been witness to anything remotely suspicious?'

There were several frowns as he answered, coupled with urgent scribbles in tatty notebooks. Delilah grew restless, seemingly not fussed in any way by the events and quite intent on wriggling out of her father's grasp, which certainly wasn't happening.

After what felt like forever, a male police officer looked up and grimly, yet evenly, spoke.

'We are bringing in a suspect for questioning, Howard Munroe. We believe he may have taken your daughter on the night of the 15th. Do you know of this man at all, Mr Hardy?'

Ethan froze, blood running cold. 'I...'

People seemed overly generous in terms of patience, dropping their eyes to the floor or their notes while he gathered his thoughts. They respected him and let him take his time. Even then, no thoughts of a coherent nature were assembling in his brain, and so he just gave a small shake of the head.

The social worker cleared her throat, readjusting her glasses and looking stern in doing so. Out of the four in the room, Ethan found her to be the most unnerving. She was almost like a headteacher; she spoke carefully and purposefully and seemed to carry power in her tone.

'We accessed Delilah's birth certificate as part of our protocols and log. I see Miss Alicia Munroe is listed as the mother.' She chimed in.

'Y-yes. That's right.' Ethan stuttered.

'I'm sure as a doctor, you'll understand the boundless capabilities of authority computer search. We can track data, history, criminal records, family trees...'

He gave a sigh then, holding the baby more tightly. 'I have met Howard once, in my place of work. He was a patient. Not that I am under any obligation to disclose this information.'

'Mr Hardy, we're trying to help you and your daughter.' The younger police officer reasoned.

'I have no idea why he would try and take my little girl. I am not in touch with her mother, so why her maternal grandfather would be involved at all is disturbing. Jackie Munroe - Howard's ex wife - has been visiting me recently regarding contact with Delilah. She has threatened to take it to court as I do not wish for them to be a part of our lives.' He paused. 'Uh... I can't say whether or not she is in contact with Howard. Before Alicia left, it was my understanding that Jackie and Howard were not even on amicable terms.'

The room fell silent as three frantically took down notes. The remaining police officer stared a little too intently at him.

'We must ask. Any contact with Alicia Munroe, at all?'

He swallowed, wondering what good, if any, the truth could possibly do. She didn't want to be found. A few piddly hours did not constitute contact by his definition.

'Uh, I've tried, but she hasn't responded. The last time I spoke to her was the evening we brought Delilah home, 31st December 2016, and we went to sleep around midnight. It was somewhere in the early hours when she left, as when I awoke the next morning, she was gone. I- I'm sorry. You already know all this.' He said flatly, squeezing his eyes closed.

'Thank you. We'll be in touch. On this leaflet, there's a helpline and weblink for useful sources of advice. I trust you'll make use of those if the need arises. There is always support available.' All four nodded in unison and dismissed him with a smile.

He was out the building with Delilah under one arm in a heartbeat.