DISCLAIMER: Casualty belongs to the BBC. I own zilch, so I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit ;)
A/N: Hello all :) Hope everyone is well? Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story and for reviewing, favouriting and following. Your support means an awful lot :) This chapter is about what happened to Connie with some Connie/Cal thrown in for good measure. It's longer than usual because I'm going on holiday for Easter next week so I don't know when I'll next be able to update. Pretty please leave a review if you have the time to let me know what you think? More to come soon! :) x
CHAPTER 14
Her body looks so tiny against the thin white sheets, he thinks as he watches her through the translucent glass in the door. Nobody's entered the room since her operation, since yesterday, and though she is now wide awake he hasn't yet mustered the courage to enter it. None of the staff have even ventured near the door save for himself; either too frightened or too angry to dare. Or perhaps it's because they don't really care.
He watches as she stares up at the ceiling, one hand over her stomach, the other lying still at her side. He watches as her chest rises and falls, her heart pace quickening and then slowing as she tries to calm herself. He knows he should be in there with her, reassuring her, but for some reason his feet seem to be glued to the floor, preventing him from moving in any direction.
It's not that he's angry with her, not really. He doesn't blame her for what happened (although some of the others do). Nobody could have predicted it.
Her fingers twist the sheets together, her knuckles white. He can see her trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand why. But that's a question no one knows the answer to. He's just grateful that his brother is still alive.
There's a tap on his shoulder and he turns to find Charlie watching him, his eyes tired.
"You okay?" Charlie asks, despite knowing that it is, in truth, a stupid question. Cal leans against the doorframe and shrugs. The nurse's eyes drift over to where the clinical lead lies, and he sighs. "It's a shame there isn't really anyone we can contact for her."
Cal follows his gaze slowly. "What about-"
"He's in America," Charlie replies a little too quickly, already guessing at what the doctor was asking. "And her daughter Grace is in a boarding school in Dorset. The headmistress has been informed."
Cal shakes his head. "Are they bringing her up here?"
"No," Charlie answers, "It's not the sort of thing they do. If Grace did come to see her mother there'd be no one to look after her. And Connie certainly can't look after her like this."
Cal nods, hesitating. "Should I go in and check on her?"
"She is your patient," Charlie says matter-of-factly. He turns and walks away. "Call me if you need anything."
He listens as the tapping of Charlie's shoes drift away, echoing like a sad melody in the melancholy morning atmosphere of the ED, and he is left alone in the eerie quiet of the corridor once again. Taking a deep breath, Cal places his hand against the door before turning the handle quietly and going inside.
"So, Mrs. Beauchamp, how're you feeling?"
Her head snaps to the side a little too quickly at the sound of his voice, her neck jolting painfully as her eyes widen. She winces as he moves closer.
He smiles almost worriedly. "Hey, it's just me."
Connie stares at him momentarily before heaving a sigh and leaning back into the pillows, her gaze trained on the clock on the far wall. Cal takes the stethoscope from around his neck skilfully before leaning over the bed. "Any pain?"
Her eyes flicker towards him and her lips press together. He isn't sure if he has annoyed her or whether she was too stubborn to admit to being in pain.
"So... should I take that as a yes or a no?" Cal asks as he places the stethoscope against her chest. Connie shifts uncomfortably as the cold metal meets her skin, and she watches as a variety of thoughts pass across the doctor's face.
Her heartbeat is slightly irregular, beating erratically before slowing down again. He can't hear a murmur, and, despite being inconsistent, it doesn't skip a beat. Connie swallows hard and opens her mouth to say something, but the only reply he receives is a strangled groan.
Shaking her head, Connie tries to sit up, but Dr. Knight carefully presses her shoulders, easing her backwards. She blinks at the tray on her bedside, and then he realises.
He feels like an idiot as he pours her a glass of water, her wide eyes watching his every move as he fills the glass to half full. Dr. Knight presses the button to change the bed position, and helps the clinical lead to sit upright. She doesn't look at him when he gently moves a strand of her hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear, simply because he can't help himself.
"Are you sure about that?" Cal queries as she lifts her good hand to take the glass from him, and she stops, her brows knitted together. Her fingers fumble, and upon deciding what he's going to do before she can answer, he wraps her fingers around the glass and encloses them with his own.
"Here," he says. "Let me." Cal smiles when she nods gratefully. It's funny, he thinks, how incredibly human she is. The others mightn't realise it, but in reality she's just as vulnerable as the rest of them, just as susceptible to hurt.
To her staff she is the Wicked Witch with a heart of stone, a cold Queen with an icy glare, completely heartless and arrogant, her emotions forever hidden behind a mask of indifference. Her personal feelings never get in the way. They joke about the fact that she can't possibly have feelings, that she's immune to caring and beyond the reach of friendship.
But now, now that he thinks about it, perhaps they're wrong. Perhaps all they can see is a cleverly concocted disguise to help hide something else within, a defence barrier to keep others, whether friend or foe, out.
He watches her closely, their gazes meeting for the briefest of moments; her eyes are like a thin grey veil cast across an open window that he's not meant to see beyond.
"Thank you," Connie whispers quietly, her voice hoarse as she brings him back to reality. Cal places the glass back on the bedside, and then glances up at the monitors. "Do you need anything else, Mrs. Beauchamp?"
Connie hesitates, biting her lip before replying, "No."
Can frowns, unclipping the clipboard from the rail and flicking through the papers. "Do you have a headache?"
"No," Connie replies.
"Any nausea? Aches? Pains anywhere else?"
She pauses. "No."
He senses the tone change in her voice, the clipped, slightly quivered remark. She meets his gaze slowly; uncertain as to whether she should bother him with what's troubling her. "I-"
She swallows; her voice is thicker than she anticipated. "It's just... my heart, um..."
"Is irregular," Cal says, "but that's largely to do with stress and worry, I think." He moves closer again. "You haven't got a murmur and it's not missing a beat either. As far as I'm aware your heart is perfectly healthy."
"Then why does it hurt so much?" She whispers so quietly that he only just hears it. Cal frowns, unable to think of an answer as he holds her steady, almost frightened stare.
"Is it like an ache?" Dr. Knight asks slowly. "Or is it more of a stabbing pain?"
Connie shakes her head, her right hand fisting the sheets. "It's like..." She clears her throat. "It's like someone's got their hand around my heart, and, and they're squeezing it tightly."
A silence falls between them, neither looking away, neither saying what they truly mean.
"How's Jeff?" Connie says suddenly, breaking the silence like a knife cutting through butter. Cal purses his lips. He's not going to lie to her, not going to sugar-coat the truth to keep the bad news at bay. "He's in an induced coma."
She nods slowly. "And is he stable?"
He doesn't miss the crack in her voice as he sits down in the chair beside the bed, his back protesting at the change in angle. "For now, yes."
"Good," Connie says, her eyes downcast. She can't help but feel responsible; deep down she knows it's a battle that she's lost. She's lost the respect and trust of her staff - although in truth, she's not entirely sure whether she had earned it in the first place. As clinical lead it is her duty to care for and protect her staff, to ensure their safety at all times and, in general, see that both their professional and personal lives do not inflict on each other.
"Connie?" Cal's voice snaps her back into reality.
She stares at him, frowning as his deep blue eyes stare back at her worriedly. She forgets his use of her nickname, she forgets that she's supposed to be strong. "Will he be okay?"
Cal leans back in the chair, jaw clenched. "We don't know."
She looks away, not knowing what to say in response. "And the others?"
"Lily, Tess and Ash will make full recoveries," Cal replies, the ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly consuming his senses.
"And Ethan?" Connie asks tentatively. Cal musters half a smile. "He'll be fine."
He realises she suddenly looks much paler than she did a few minutes ago, and turns his attention to the monitors. Her heartbeat is rising too quickly.
"You're gonna be okay," Cal mutters as if saying it to himself, and rises from the chair. Connie tries to control her breathing, but only succeeds in quickening a state of hyperventilation, further sending her into a state of panic. "I can't breathe."
"Okay," Cal says calmly as he perches on the edge of the hospital bed. "I need you to calm down for me, Connie." He takes her hands in his own. "Just breathe."
She hates that she can't do it, can't be as cold as ice and pretend that there isn't anything that can harm her. The sense of panic only retaliates and rises up like a wave in a storm, threatening to drown her in the darkness.
She doesn't want to drown.
It feels like a large weight is sitting on her chest, pushing down, spreading the pain through her ribs and crawling across to her spine. Cold fingers clutch at her throat, making it hard to breathe. She closes her eyes, her heart hammering as the waves crash down on top of her and she holds onto the only thing keeping her afloat.
"I'm here," a voice says reassuringly. "Don't worry. Just focus on my voice."
He helps her to breathe, helps her to hold on tight and bring her through the rain and thunder until the waves become calm and the clouds disperse. Tears stain her pale cheeks and he has to stop himself from raising his hand to wipe them away.
Even in this dreadful state he thinks she's beautiful.
"You okay?" Cal asks when her breathing returns to normal and her BP is average. She nods hesitantly, still holding his hands tightly, feeling too shaken to let go. "I've had panic attacks before."
"Do you have them often?"
"I used to get them when I was a child," Connie replies, tears stinging her eyes. He smiles sympathetically, and they sit in silence for a little longer.
A knock at the door startles them out of their thoughts, and Tess enters, her bright eyes red rimmed with anxiety. "Dr. Knight, you're needed in resus immediately. I'll take over from here."
Cal slowly pulls his hands away, not caring at all that Tess is staring at him like he's done something wholly unforgivable. He smiles, "I won't be gone long," and then he rushes out of the door.
Connie stares down at her hands, wondering why they feel so cold all of a sudden. She lifts her eyes to see Tess closing the door; she doesn't miss the worn expression that fleets across the nurse's features.
"Is it Jeff?" Connie asks worriedly, fearing the worst. Tess sits down in the chair beside the bed with a weary sigh, shaking her head. "Ethan."