A/N I am sorry for the lateness of this chapter! I knew what I wanted to write, however I couldn't work out the best way to write about such a sensitive topic. I really hope I've done okay, and if anyone is ever struggling with the same thing, my inbox is always open 3

The older man let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding as he sunk into one of the many plastic chairs along the hallway. He flicked his wrist over to reveal the time, sighing at the numbers in front of him. It was only 11.30 am and he was already exhausted. The events the morning had held were proving to be too much for him. The morning had begun calm, and looking back he should have realised it was too calm. Warning bells had been continuously going off in his head since the first time Strickland had walked in, and he had pushed them as far back as possible, not wanting to face the idea something might be wrong. How he wished he had listened to those bells, and left the office first thing. He gently rubbed his temples in thought before resting his head in his hands. How had it gotten this bad in just a few weeks?

Two hours previously…

His heart jumped to his throat the minute he had connected the dots. The words written on the crumpled up piece of paper were now burned into his memory with no way of removing them. Part of him wished that she had left the paper there because she knew he would find it and come and save her; yet he knew that was unlikely, and it was in fact left behind in the rush to escape the office the previous evening. He knew deep down that there was a very high chance he might not be finding her alive, but he pushed the image of his best friend's lifeless body to the deepest corner of his mind, not wanting to allow his mind to jump to conclusions.

When he pulled up to his boss's house, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, noting how dry his mouth was from the anxiety. He rose from the car, the palms of his hand coming unstuck from the steering wheel before shutting the door behind him. There was no time to lock the car, knowing that every single second could be crucial and he wasn't about to be the reason she never made it out alive. He made his way to the front door, throwing social niceties out the window and trying the door handle. Being arrested on suspicion of breaking and entering was the least of his worries now; he had to find Sandra. He assumed that she was still at home by the presence of her car in the driveway, and prayed to all the gods in the universe that she was indeed in the house. As if luck was completely against him that day, he looked around the porch for the key to unlock the door; soon finding it.

"Sandra?"

If it wasn't for the heightened sense of hearing he had out of sheer panic and worry for his friend, he would have missed the almost silent whimper coming from the kitchen. As he cautiously made his way through the hallway, he took a deep breath, scared for what he would be greeted with on the other side of the kitchen door. The door itself was slightly ajar, allowing him a quick look through the gap before he made the leap.

"Sandra, I found the note." His tone was soft and gentle, not wanting to startle her with any loud noises; especially as he knew how likely she was to panic and shut him out completely. He wasn't about to do that, not after her only recently allowing him into her mind and willingly coming to him for help. She had to realise that he was always going to be there for her and that she could always trust him.

No words were relayed back to him, just the small sniffles and whimpers coming from behind the counter in front of him. The more steps he took, the louder the noise got. As he looked behind the counter, the image of the last time he had found her behind it flashed across his mind. However this time, instead of blood and chipped ceramics covering the tiles, it was empty packets.

"Sandra?"

He approached the woman with caution, not knowing how conscious she was. The slight rise and fall in her chest caused Gerry to sigh in relief knowing she was still alive, for now. She was slouched on the kitchen tiles, using the cupboards behind her as a backrest. He noted that was wearing a pair of lounge trousers, and the same baggy hoodie she wore for comfort when she needed it most. In one of her hands was a half empty bottle of whiskey with the lid thrown somewhere on the floor. As he crouched down to her level, he noticed she was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Sandra, can you hear me?"

The minute he had seen the empty painkiller packets on the floor, he had phoned the emergency services and they had said they were on the way, but no matter what the wait time was, to him it felt like hours.

"Gerry?" Her voice was soft and almost silent, and definitely confused. Her eyes remained shut, not being able to cope with the brightness of the light from the kitchen. He attempted to get her to speak again with no avail, and instead thought to try another way of getting her to keep communicating and not slip fully unconscious.

"Sandra, squeeze my fingers if you can hear me,"

He slipped his hand in hers, waiting for any movement from her. He soon felt a weak squeeze of her fingers around one of his. He took this as a positive sign that she would be okay as she could still process what he was saying to her.

"You're going to be okay Sandra."

"Gerry?"

The older man turned his sight from his shoes to the men approaching him. He knew that Sandra hadn't wanted any of the team to know, and he wished that he could have respected her wishes but the situation had majorly passed that.

"Brian, Steve, Strickland."

The three men soon made it to where Gerry was sitting and joined him on the plastic chairs on the opposite side of the corridor. All three of them could see the worry and anxiety plastered over Gerry's face and decided that now was not the right moment to ask questions about what was going on. They knew he cared deeply for his boss, and that whatever had happened, had shook him up.

"Gerry,"

He turned to face the assistant commissioner and gave a small smile as a reply. He knew what questions were coming, and he had to answer them somehow.

"I wouldn't usually press for any answers, but what happened?"

"39 tablets and half a bottle of whiskey."

Brian rose to his feet and walked back down the corridor quicker than anyone could react to.

"Brian," Gerry called down the hall after him.

Steve rose and turned to Gerry, "I'll go. Keep us updated."

The scot gently placed his hand on Gerry's shoulder, reassuring him that he was there for him before wandering down the same path Brian had gone down just a minute earlier.

Gerry leant forward, putting his head in his hands and sighing. He knew the questions from the DAC were coming. He had promised Sandra that he wouldn't utter a word to anyone else about what was going on, but he knew that the attempt she had made to take her life was definitely something that the other's had to know. He knew that the incident would mean she was made to take sick leave, that's if she was even allowed to leave the hospital.

"Sir," Gerry sat up and faced the man opposite him; worry plastered over his face.

"How long have you known?"

Rob looked at Gerry, anxious to hear the answer to his question. Sandra had done an amazing job at keeping any of this out of the workplace, and he hated himself more and more every passing second for not realising anything was wrong. If any of the team was going to have known anything, it would have been Gerry. Sandra was fond of him, and he knew the pair had an incredibly close friendship, they were practically best friends. However, he also knew that Sandra was someone who kept her cards glued to her chest, not letting on to anyone how she was feeling. It was highly unlikely she would have initiated a conversation about her poor mental health, instead she would have been backed into a corner before uttering a word about it. Anger had washed over him at the idea of Gerry knowing anything at all. How dare he learn about something as important as this and keep it from him. The anger at Gerry soon passed through him and his anger was once more directed at himself; for everything. He had failed to notice anything was wrong with one of his best detectives. He had proceeded to give her a case with evidence built around a suicide. He seriously hoped he hadn't made any matters worse without realising.

"About a month."

Gerry began to twiddle his fingers together, not knowing how to explain the situation to his boss. The things Sandra had been through, and had subsequently told him were not his things to tell to others. Robert deserved to know the truth, he cared for the woman almost as much as he did, yet Sandra had told him those things in confidence. If Rob was going to find them out, Gerry wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

As soon as Rob was going to speak up, the doctor emerged from the main desk on the ward and walked towards the men.

"Ms Pullman?"

The pair nodded and rose to their feet knowing the doctor wouldn't want to discuss the matter in the middle of the hallway; the walls had ears. He gestured for the couple to follow him to a small office opposite them. He shut the door behind them and sat at the small wooden desk in the room.

"You saved her life, well done."

Robert interjected the conversation, "Can we see her?"

The doctor smiled at him before carrying on, "She is currently being taken to the ward and settling in the room." He flipped his wrist to check the time before continuing, "The nurses should be finishing up by now. Just a warning to you, many attempt patients are very selective at what they discuss, don't expect to find out anything within a day. Just give her time. A psychiatrist will be in later on this afternoon to complete a mental health assessment. Room 172."

Without giving the men much time to comment on the information, the doctor rose to his feet before pointing them in the direction of her room.