Bernie hid her distress under her professional poker face. Underneath, she was frantically trying to convince herself that it wasn't her fault, that the young doctor's psychological problems had obviously begun long ago, and didn't have anything to do with what she'd said to her recently, but her guilty conscience wouldn't let her. Some of the cuts were still fresh, and evidently her harsh words had been at the root of some of them.

"Right – let's get you cleaned up – please get dressed and come with me."

Under Bernie's steely glare, Chloe didn't dare refuse. The young doctor got up and threw on a hoodie over her t-shirt. Bernie took her to a small consulting room and told her to sit on the bed while she rooted out the necessary items to clean the wounds. Once she'd found what she wanted, she handed the swabs and disinfectant to Chloe and sat down in an armchair. Bernie wasn't sure how to begin – she'd been told a little about self-harm during her medical studies, but not much, and it was not something she'd encountered on the battlefields. She was also aware that the new hospital policies demanded she report any case of violence, and it would mean seeing Serena again…

They both sat in silence while Chloe cleaned her fresh cuts. Finally, Bernie asked: "Is there anything you want to talk to me about, Dr Armstrong?"

Chloe stared at the floor. Bernie waited. Finally, the young doctor murmured: "It's too much …I never thought …I never thought it would be like this. My boyfriend – he said I wouldn't be up to it. He says he doesn't know why I wanted to be a doctor – he doesn't get it. He …he always complains I don't make time for him, but I can't – you know how it is?"

Bernie nodded and Chloe went on: "And when we're together, I'm so tired I just want to sleep, and …And then yesterday, he sent me this." She extracted her phone from her pocket and showed a text to Bernie. "Can't do it anymore – sorry, have a nice life. Mark."

Chloe smiled ruefully: "He's always been a cheap sod – I expect he didn't want to buy me anything for Valentine's Day …Bastard!" and she began to cry again. Bernie wanted to comfort her – the young doctor was Cameron's age, and she had to remind herself that she wasn't Chloe's mother – she was her boss. And as her boss, she was concerned about Chloe's mental health. She was somewhat relieved to hear that the young woman's distress was probably due more to boyfriend trouble than to work-related stress, but she couldn't possibly ignore the self-harm issue. And she had to disengage herself from it – the girl was a F2, and she was her superior – she had to remain distant – no emotional involvement.

She remembered telling Ric Griffiths that one of the capital rules of parenting was "do as I say and not as I do" … this was a case where it applied to hierarchical relationships too: she would refer Dr Armstrong to one of the hospital psychiatrist – she needed professional help. Bernie briefly considered asking Chloe to go and see Serena, but concluded reluctantly that she would have to do that herself.

Before that, she wanted to check on Heather. She told Dr. Armstrong to take the rest of the day off, and to come and see her the next morning. Then Bernie made her way to Heather's room. For the first time she noticed the decorations in the hallways …red balloons, and hearts garlands. Her heart sank – of course! Chloe had said her boyfriend had left her just before Valentine's Day – which was tomorrow.

Bernie hated Valentine's Day – when she had been in England, Marcus had always wanted to go out and dine in a fancy restaurant, and he'd bought her extravagant gifts, mostly jewellery she would never wear or intricate underwear to his own taste. When she'd been on ops, he used to phone her on the 14th of February, and complain if she wasn't able to answer. He'd even had two dozen roses delivered to the army camp in Kandaar, and she'd thought she'd never be able to live it down. She had no use for that kind of grand gestures. Her opinion on Valentine's Day was that it was a great date for florists and confectioners, not so much for lovers… Last year Serena had still been suffering from the aftermath of Elinor's death, and her mind had been far from pink hearts and rose petals. And this year … This year, it was all her fault…

Bernie found Heather asleep, and noted the woman was looking much better – or at least less sallow and agitated than before. She checked her file and saw her vitals were better too. She was going to slip out again unnoticed when the patient opened her eyes.

"Ms Wolfe …it seems you saved my life again …"

Bernie gave her a small smile – she couldn't shake the feeling that she might be responsible for the sepsis in the first place.

"Are you comfortable? Do you feel any pain?"

Heather made a face: " I would probably be more comfortable at home in my own bed?"

There was something very unsettling about Heather's gaze – Bernie felt as if the woman could read into her soul. She wanted to get away, to avoid being drawn into a conversation she had a feeling would turn out to be too personal for her taste, but something made her ask: "When you were brought in …you said your injuries were an "occupational hazard" – do you remember what happened?"

Heather briefly closed her eyes, and opened them again, focusing on Bernie: "Perfectly well. My brain appears to be 100% functional, thank goodness! A woman came in, asked if I was Heather Leighton, and when I said I was, she attacked me with a kitchen knife and stabbed me several times."

"Did you know the woman? Did she say anything?"

"No, I didn't know her – I knew of her – I know her partner."

Bernie's brow furrowed – her eyes must have held an interrogative look, because Heather went on : "Before you ask, this was not a crime of passion – at least not in the sense you might think. My attacker's partner had been coming to see me for some months. She was concerned about the state of her relationship, and she had told me about several instances of violence from her partner. We had been discussing the issue of her leaving, and how she could do it without endangering her life. Apparently, my attacker thought I was the one who'd told her partner to leave her …and she wasn't happy about it."

"So you're a …"

"I'm a psychologist, Ms. Wolfe. Luckily, these things don't happen everyday, but they are certainly occupational hazards."

Bernie left Heather's room abruptly, murmuring something about her pager and an emergency.