Present Day

"I didn't know where else to go."

It was all she said, all she could think to say – how cliché. But what was she supposed to say when she showed up on her boss/fake boyfriend's doorstep with what could have been tears or could have been sweat running down her cheeks? Still, she could have thought of something more original. How had she even gotten to this point? Literally, she wasn't entirely certain whether she'd run from the park, whether she'd gotten a cab or whether she'd discovered some wholly new form of transportation and used that.

Charles Reid didn't seem to care. He didn't bother questioning her, assuming that this was just another Adventure in the Life of Samantha Stark. At least she was sober, a change from the antics of the day before. It was a brief reprieve, he guessed. It meant she had been more focussed on getting away from whatever the hell kind of scenario she'd been dumped in this time rather than desperately trying to find a bar.

He'd given everyone the day off anyway – even his secretary (he figured he could answer his own phone every once in a while). It was a Saturday, the majority of his staff had lives and wives and husbands and children and dogs and cats. They didn't need to come in. There didn't seem to be any urgent crises on the horizon. Israel and Palestine were unusually calm, and North Korea weren't threatening nuclear war for once. Parliament was still getting along in the aftermath of the bombing. Heck, even the Foreign Secretary had managed to keep it in his pants and off the front pages – a miracle in and of itself. Charles had even managed to, surprisingly, catch up on some reading before Samantha turned up. His copy of The Things They Carried lay on the coffee table in his living room.

He led her inside and into his office. The room was lined with books filling up the shelves entirely. She loved that room, he knew, she always found a new book to admire on the shelf. If tradition went as it had for the past few weeks, he'd offer to lend the book she found and she'd tell him that it was an entirely fruitless exercise because she'd read them three times already. He liked that, that they'd made up their own system. It was fun, or at least it was for him.

As predicted, Samantha examined the books, running her hand along the spines until she came across one she recognised, a silver-spined book with red font emblazoned across it. He knew the book fairly well. "I didn't pick you as the type to read Susan Faludi." She said, sounding surprised, the book – Backlash – in her hands. She had a curious smile on her face. He'd come to know that look pretty well, based off of that look, he got the impression that she would have made a good journalist if she'd ever wanted to.

"It's not bad as fare as feminist literature goes." he said as he poured her a glass of whiskey – Talisker, 21-year - from the drinks table he kept in the office, not entirely willing to admit that he'd only made it half way through before he gave up on reading it, too affronted by what he'd read on the pages. He was never happy with himself if he didn't manage to finish a book, it felt like a failure. He wasn't a big fan of failure, he supposed nobody was. However, Charles Reid had failed at very few things in his lifetime, even if he somehow managed to succeed by sheer accident, and he wasn't very willing to start failing.

The amber liquid refracted against the sides of the crystal glass when he handed it to her. "Care to tell me what's going on?" he asked as gently as his gruff Scouse accent would allow.

Samantha sighed, looking decidedly forlorn. She couldn't quite figure out how to word it. She knew the obvious answer: her father was dying. He was dying and there wasn't much she could really do about it. Still, how did you explain that to someone? "My-my dad," she began, both hands clasped around the glass as though it were her only lifeline "He's… his liver is failing and he's not eligible for any kind of transplant list so…" she stalled uncertainly, once again wondering what the hell she ought to say next. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes and she tried to hold them in but to no avail.

"Let me guess, he's not accepting organ donations," she nodded in response "And he wants you to look after Sophia as well as Emma so he can die with dignity?"

"Have the two of you been talking about this too?" she quipped back, only half-joking. The way she saw it, if her father and her boss had had one conversation, they might as well have had all of them.

"My dad pulled a similar stunt when I was about 13. He found out he had lung cancer and sent me and Mum off to live with his sister. Didn't want us to see him as weak I suppose. Knowing Mum, she probably fought tooth and nail against it," There was a beat – a moment – then, in which they understood each other. Reid shook his head as though shaking off the memory before asking "So, what are you going to do?"

Samantha's heart hammered, her breath suddenly became ragged and she found herself bringing her glass to her lips, taking a large gulp. She hadn't thought that far ahead. She rarely ever did, she tended to act on instinct and think about the consequences as and when they happened. In this case, she'd just done what she did best and ran. Suddenly, she felt like a coward because, now, she was faced with a real, legitimate question about what came next and she didn't know her answer. She hated not knowing. She'd learned that it was one of those things she must have inherited from both sides of her family, and she was not in the business of not knowing things – she hadn't been since she was sixteen. She almost feared it, the very idea of not knowing gave her chills and admitting to not knowing was something she wasn't entirely fond of either. It was her job to know everything and to anticipate everything and not knowing just wasn't in her jurisdiction. "I-I don't know," she stated. Samantha looked up at her boss and suddenly felt really weird; it was like there was something between them she didn't understand and hadn't thought was possible. Were their two scenarios really that similar? Had she really found a kindred spirit for some aspect of her life? "I-I just don't know." She added before gulping down the rest of her drink. This, she realised, was going to be a multiple drink kind of problem.

XX

Samantha awoke the next morning, curled awkwardly in a chocolate-coloured leather arm chair. A blanket, weirdly soft, one she didn't recognise, was draped over her as her brain pounded against her skull. She looked down at the two empty glasses (one, a crystal whiskey tumbler and the other a small shot glass) on the coffee table beside her and groaned. She couldn't help but think that – and maybe it was the horrendous aftertaste in her mouth – she had swapped whiskey for tequila. Two days in a row? This was the sort of thing she couldn't allow to continue.

She rubbed at her eyes, knowing she'd be ridding them of what little mascara she still had on her eyelashes, before stretching out her limbs. She was only half-sure she recognised her surroundings. It was only when she saw the books lining the wall-to-wall shelving that Samantha realised where she was – that she was, for all intents and purposes, safe. Clearly, she'd gotten too blackout drunk if she couldn't remember turning up at Reid's house – her place of work – like this.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up." Samantha heard and looked around: Reid stood, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, bearing two large, white mugs brimming with coffee. It seemed an odd look for him – Samantha had only ever seen him in perfectly tailored suits. Still, casual suited him. He passed her one and she smiled graciously.

"I-I'm sorry for intruding, I just-"

"Didn't know where else to go? I know, you told me about ten times last night." He finished and she gulped, the piping hot mouthful of bitter coffee she'd just taken burning its way down her throat. How drunk had she been that she couldn't remember saying something like that multiple times over? She didn't think she'd been blackout drunk since college. Oh how things had changed since then. She'd changed since then. Or, at least, she thought she had.

"H-how drunk was I?" she asked cautiously, suddenly concerned that she'd been inappropriately drunk.

"Well you didn't vomit before you passed out in that chair but you did try and prove that you could still remember the Macarena." She explained and she groaned again. The Macarena? What was this, some kind of 90s sitcom?

"Next time, just stop handing me drinks." She told him and he rolled his eyes.

"I tried but you tried to bite me," he explained, raising his hand to show the mark her teeth had left. She winced, looking away apologetically. "So, am I going to have to get used to having an out of control drinking buddy or…" he trailed off as she shook her head.

"No, I think this should probably stay a two-time thing." She responded. This was not – at least in her mind – going to become a regular thing.

"Charlie? Oh Charlie?" someone, a scouse-accented someone, female, in her late-50s, called out. "The front door was unlocked."

"Your mother's here?" Samantha exclaimed incredulously, desperately trying to pat down the back of her hair so that she looked semi-presentable. If she had access to a mirror, she would have used it.

"It would appear so." Reid responded.

It was at this point that one of the most elegant women Samantha had ever seen walked in. her silvery grey hair was brushed back into a chignon, wearing head-to-toe Chanel (Samantha had managed to get a knack for identifying designers over the years). The only visible wrinkles Samantha could spot were some barely there crows' feet at the corners of her ice blue eyes – this woman was a far cry from the docker's daughter Samantha had always heard about. "But I see I've interrupted something."

"No. Not at all," Samantha said quickly, smiling, feeling a little flustered. "I was just leaving," she added before turning to Reid and saying "Good chat, I'll… make sure I write up that press release first thing and… if anything crops up just call me." before rushing out, not giving anyone the chance to say anything else.

She was just outside the doors to the house when she heard her fake-boyfriend's mother call her name. Samantha turned around to see her standing, a look in her eye that Samantha couldn't quite identify. "Samantha, I… I just wanted to say thank you." She stated.

"For what?" the younger woman replied, confused.

"Charles, well, you've made him very happy. He's talked of nothing but you of late."

"Well, he's a good man Mrs Reid. He deserves to be happy." Samantha replied, blushing and smiling politely.

"Are you sure you can't stay? I can't say much of my son's kitchen or his cooking ability but I'm sure we could rustle something up." she suggested.

"I'm sorry, I-I really do have to go. My dad's in town and I was so angry with him yesterday I left him stranded." Samantha said by way of an excuse. It wasn't like it was a lie, she had left her father stranded and she had been angry at him, she still was, but she couldn't stay a minute longer, she really couldn't. Her boss deserved a day in which he didn't have to deal with Samantha's issues.

"At least let me call you a cab, it's the least I can do after all you've done for my son."

"Oh I don't mind the walk, my flat isn't too far from here and the walk will give me a chance to clear my head." It seemed like such a forced response. Okay, her flat was a fair way away from the house she had come to know as her workplace but she did need to think through what she was going to say to her father. He deserved something by way of an apology.

"Only if you're sure." Was the response that came.

XX

Samantha was just a little weirded out by the fact that the door to her flat was open – she was now the only one with a key to it since Wanda had left. She hunted around in her purse for her gun – it was legal that she carry concealed so long as no one else knew where it was (she'd checked) – eventually grasping hold of the cool metal. Her heart thumped in her chest as she brought it out and held it in her hands (at least they were steady). She counted her footsteps as she strode inside, holding the gun in front of her only to be faced with the one person she didn't expect to see "Steve."