Hours passed and she began to toss and turn fitfully, as sleep eluded her and she was plagued with memories of what she had endured. He didn't move from his position beside her with his arms wrapped around her, even when her thrashing became almost more than he could stand. He needed to continue holding her – it was the only way he could think of to protect her from getting even more hurt and ending up even more broken. It destroyed him to see her so upset and even more to know that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Every frightened whimper she released was like a knife to his heart but he knew he could never release what he felt inside. The last thing she needed was for him to break down – someone had to be the strong one and for once it couldn't be his wife. Her attacker, whoever he was, had taken that from her. Even worse, he had stolen her control and her power, two things that were the essence of her personality.

When she did drop off into a restless sleep he knew that she was suffering from nightmares but he couldn't bring himself to wake her, knowing that she needed her sleep no matter how broken and restless it was. Instead he felt his own eyelids droop and he dozed beside her, knowing that he would be there for comfort her when she awoke. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

He had been asleep for no more than half an hour when her screaming penetrated his dreams and he realised that she was waving her arms in front of her, desperately struggling to escape her attacker, clearly reliving it all in her dreams. Slowly his brain came into focus and he realised he couldn't possibly let her continue in this state.

'Connie' he leaned over and shook her lightly, not flinching as her right hand connected sharply with his left shoulder and she dug her nails into him, unaware that it was her husband and not her attacker who she was hurting.

'Get away from me' came her terrified scream and she thrashed some more, hitting him alongside his left cheek causing him to lose his balance and crash down onto the bed, immediately sitting up again as he prepared to re-enter the battle to return her to consciousness. For a moment he contemplated pinning her hands to the bed so he could attempt to wake her without running the risk of receiving a black eye for his troubles but he quickly realised that would be the worst thing he could do. Pinning her down by her arms had been what her attacker had done and he couldn't bring himself to do that to her. Instead he leapt to his feet and sprinted to the far side of the room where he switched on the light, praying that it would wake her. It didn't. If anything her thrashing and screaming became more frantic as she slipped deeper into the dream. The nonsensical screams she released chilled him to the bone as he desperately tried to come up with yet another way to wake her but he feared that he was out of options.

'Get off me…' her voice rose with hysteria as she started to once again scream out coherent words, cries of absolute desperation 'please, get off me Zubin' she repeated and he froze in his tracks, barely able to believe what he was hearing. Zubin Kahn, the man who's job he had saved only weeks before had done this to her.

'Connie, please wake up' he knelt by her, ducking low to avoid the flailing limbs, praying that she would come back to him 'sweetheart, it's me. Please, just wake up' he added and tentatively shook her shoulder, feeling relief surge through his body as her arms returned to the bed and her eyes snapped wide open in horror.

'Michael' she whispered eventually, her breathing heavy with panic, her face clammy with fear, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

'I'm here' he whispered and stroked her hair lightly, moving damp curls from her forehead as she lay, pinned by horror to the bed. She was trembling with fear and her screams had given way to small whimpers but the torture inflicted on her by her mind had not abated. She was just learning to deal with it.

'I'm going to…' she trailed off as she pushed him from her path and shot from the bed towards the bathroom where she knelt at the toilet and heaved over and over again until she didn't think there could possibly be anything left inside. Feeling utterly helpless Michael had followed and rubbed her back in rhythmic circles as her stomach lurched and she threw up.

'Do you want to come back to bed?' he asked softly as she lay back in his arms, her whole body trembling with exhaustion from the nightmare followed by the effort of being sick. He had never seen anyone look so vulnerable, let alone his strong, beautiful wife. She was destroyed; utterly broken. The worst part was that he knew exactly how Zubin would justify his actions. At the hands of the highly strung medical director she had once been he had endured months of belittling and professional mind-games that bordered upon bullying. He did what he did to prove to himself and to her that he was better than her. That he was, despite the aspersions she liked to cast, a 'real' man. In his mind the proof of this lay in the way he had beaten her into submission. Just the thought of it filled Michael with rage.

'I'd like to take a shower' she eventually spoke, bringing him back from his rage and hate filled reverie. Glancing down at her body he stifled a sigh. He would have to be blind not to see what she had done to herself and he knew that if he allowed her to take another shower she would simply remove another few layers of skin until her entire body was weeping and painful.

'Perhaps a bath' he suggested quietly 'a nice warm bath' he nodded, emphasising the word 'warm'. He knew as well as she did that her first shower had been little short of scalding – the plumes of steam that rose under the bathroom door told him as much.

'No, a shower' she repeated 'I'm all sticky' she gestured towards her arm that was sticky with sweat and broken skin.

'Do you want me to wait with you?' he suggested, reasoning that at least if he was here with her he could attempt to curb the worst excess of her behaviour. From the look of horror that crossed her face he saw that he had said the wrong thing and in his heart he knew why. She felt ashamed of her body and what had been done to it. She was so ashamed she couldn't even bring herself to allow her husband to see her any more.

'I want to take a shower, alone' she snapped, turning and switching on the shower to it's highest setting once again. For a moment he paused, debating his next move and he was left with only one option. He nodded slowly and methodically removed the loofah, his razor and any other sharp or abrasive instrument that she could use to harm herself. As a final precaution he removed several packets of painkillers from the cabinet and threw them onto the bed.

'What on earth are you doing?' she asked in surprise as he glanced around him, satisfied that there were no implements of self harm left for her to use.

'Headache' he muttered gesturing to the painkillers 'I'll wait in the bedroom'

'Pass me that sponge' she gestured to a particularly coarse sea-sponge that had come back from a long ago holiday in Madera. It was easily abrasive enough for her to inflict some serious damage and he silently cursed his lack of attention as he passed it to her and went into the bedroom to wait while his wife scrubbed her skin raw.