'Shh…you're ok' Mark said in a vain attempt to reassure Susan. He grasped her hand tighter and tried to blink back the tears in his eyes as he slowly reached over and swept a piece of hair from her forehead.

'Everything's going to be alright. You're safe now. Everything's fine.' As he looked at her, Mark realised that the physical injuries to her body was the least of her problems – the pain and trauma in her eyes was almost too much to bear. What hurt him most, however, was her complete lack of fight and determination. He had been certain she would be causing hell when she woke up, fighting fit and trying to schedule herself for a shift tomorrow as if nothing had happened. She was usually so determined, so ballsy, invincible. Now she just lay there, looking defeated.

'Hey Susan, you gave us a bit of a scare there' Carter said quietly. He smiled at her but, she noticed, looked pale and tired. She recognised that fixed grin. It was the one he used to reassure patients – all patients, from food poisonings to people on their death beds, Carter gave them all the same expression. Since she had seen it used before in so many hopeless cases, it failed to reassure her as she tried to adjust to seeing the trauma room from a patient's point of view.

Weakly, she raised her free hand as an indication that she wanted to be extubated. Carter gently raised the top of the bed so she was sitting up and then began his usual extubation spiel:

'Now, I'm going to count to three and then pull the tube out. When I get to three I need you to blow real hard for me. Ok?' Susan looked at him disbelievingly, certain that she was the one who had actually taught him to extubate in the first place.

'Er…sorry. Just checking.' He said, embarrassed, before beginning his count. She coughed and spluttered as Mark handed her some ice chips and she took them gratefully. She had been medicated so felt no pain, but she knew how badly damaged her throat was and didn't try to speak. The fact that she didn't want to speak, didn't know what to day, was just a fortunate coincidence. In fact, no one was speaking. Susan realised that the staff who had packed the trauma room moments ago had been quietly ushered out.

'The police need to speak to you' said Mark. 'I'll stay with you.' She shook her head, insisting that he wasn't there during the interview. She knew this would hurt him, but she only wanted to protect him: the police would want to establish the facts, and they both knew from experience that they could be pretty blunt when trying to establish exactly what had happened. Normally, Mark would be insistent but in his current state of crippling exhaustion he gave in to her request. 'Jake' she mouthed, pleading for Mark to go and be with their son. Mark misread her, 'I'll bring him in right after you've done with the police.' She shook her head again, even more forcefully than last time. 'Not like this', she croaked this time, tears flowing freely down her face. 'Ok' Mark conceded again.

He slowly got up to leave and kissed her forehead, before heading for the door. She watched him say something to one of the two cops stationed outside the door, before he looked back at her once more before leaving. She thought about what he must've been through over the last few days, not knowing whether he would ever see her again, dead or alive. And then she stopped herself: it was just too raw, too awful to think about. They both had to focus now on the fact that she had been found, alive, if not exactly well. After this interview, she fully intended to wipe this whole thing from her memory. She was good at that: she'd done it before, when Susie left. She had dealt with that hurt and moved on. Now she would repeat the process: simple.

As she waited for the detective, she laid back and looked up at the ceiling. It crossed her mind that she must have stood over hundreds of people lying in this exact position, her only concern being one of two outcomes: the patients either lived or died. Today, she was the patient, and she had lived. One of the lucky ones who gets to walk out of here, go back to their families, their jobs, their lives. So why did she feel so damn unlucky right now?

Her train of thought was broken by Carol's entrance into the room.

'Hey, how are you feeling?' Carol asked, approaching her.

'Honestly? I don't know.' Susan's voice was still a little croaky so Carol handed her some ice chips. 'I guess a little guilty. I'm lucky to be alive. But…' her voice broke down as her eyes filled with tears once more.

'Hey, nobody can tell you how to feel. You have every right to feel terrible. Something awful has happened to you.' Carol wipes the tears from her cheeks gently with her thumb.

'Susan, can I ask you something?' Carol felt terrible asking, but she desperately needed to know. Susan nodded.

'Did Doug do this to you?'

'What? No! Is that what they think? Is that what you think? That the father of your child is capable of kidknapping, and beating, and raping…' Susan broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Carol instinctively put her arms around her and held her tightly.

'Shh…I'm sorry, I had no idea. It's going to be alright. Everything's going to be alright. I'll go get a rape kit.' Carol slowly let go of Susan and headed for the door.

'Carol?' Susan called after her as she reached the door. She instinctively spun around.

'He saved me. Doug – he saved my life.'