"What does he have on you?" An innocent enough remark had it not been laced with the curiosity which the other woman had been dreading. Her stony silence causes clarifications to tumble out the mouth of the opposite woman in her discomfort. "Why did you do it? What does he hold over you?"

"Other than the obvious you mean?" She replies with a resignation grown through the realisation that she needed him far too much to ever willingly walk away. A fact which she still had trouble accepting. It worried her to say the least; the seemingly unbreakable tie adding a dangerous unknown into her mix. Dependence was not an emotion she performed well in any situation; it was met with a vehement dislike whenever it raised its head, and it was almost instantly smothered by a more pressing emergency; a bypass, a graft, a man.

The question now put to her was one over which she had spent many hours of the past week pondering. Her love for him, she supposed, was the answer, but it was barely palatable for her to admit such a vast weakness in her persona. Although it was a bit late now to admit that she had let things go too far; to confess that she had finally succumbed to the infliction she so despised; the inability to keep her personal life well and truly separate from the ward.

She had though, she supposed, gotten her comeuppance for her temporary blindness; she had lost the one single thing that had been keeping her afloat all these years; her husband.

"You loved him?" Another mindless question, one which should never have been uttered; a fact which the woman could not fail to see upon noticing the look of pure disgust on her companion's face. "Don't ask such bloody stupid questions."

Although the first woman's tone had been neutral, the bitterness evident in the reply she received was great. Looking at the floor, she sighed inwardly as silence collapsed over them once more, it's icy exterior causing her to shiver involuntarily, and so she wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them tightly as her mind drifts back into the rut it's spent the last hour being stuck; Wondering what on earth she was going to do now.

--------------------

"Did he mention me?"

Her tone was merely curious; resigned to the fact that her husband was never far from unfaithful, but intrigued as to how he played this affair in particular. The one which broke so many rules; the one which ripped away carelessly what little dignity she had remaining.

And as for the other, a new dilemma to face; tell the truth? Lie and reply with what her partner so obviously needed? Or evade the question completely? And although she contemplated the latter for a few moments, she knew that however long they went round in circles, the other woman would get the truth out of her in the end.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd voiced her query, nor could she read the woman's face. He had mentioned her, that much was clear, but in what manner, she couldn't be sure. Neither secrecy nor dislike crossed Chrissie's features; only tiredness prevailed; tiredness at being let down by man after man after man. She'd just have to get used to it, the other woman mused; they all did.

Her husband's infidelities had been viewed as little more than a lack of self-control in the eyes of her staff. She knew better, but, she supposed, she ought to by now; she'd had years of practise; over twenty to be exact. It was a sobering thought realising how much time had been lost with him. Not that she'd ever viewed it that way before. Their unconventional marriage had never seemed it to her; she guessed it was because she'd never really known anything different. Her own parents' marriage was far from ordinary, and she'd never been the type to want to blend in with the crowd; always needing to be better, always needing that little bit more; it was a trait which she and her wayward husband had shared. The difference between them being that her scruples were ingrained too deep for her to turn her back on; her ward to precious to shut down on the plea of her other half.

Time reached a point where she could no longer legitimately remain silent, so, with a slight shrug of the shoulders brought from habit rather than a lack of knowledge, she spoke. "Why does it matter now?"

It was a fair enough question. To Chrissie, she mused, it seemed a loveless marriage between two workaholics, driven to each other by a mutual desire to succeed. And it could seem irrelevant now; a few passing statements to tell his lover what she wanted to hear, but she needed to hear it all the same. She needed to know whether the fate which she had engineered willingly for Fiona, would have happened to her if it were not for her husband's greed.

"Answer the question."

No longer a question; now an order, resulting in the screwing up of the face of her companion in indigence. Now switched into the roles of Medical Director and Matron, eyes were spun to heaven with an air of exasperation at their renewed hierarchy before she finally decided to feed her own curiosity before she graced the woman with the answer she so needed.

"It hardly seems worth dredging up…"

"What did he say?"

An interruption; snappy to say the least. Tempers, by now, were too frayed to be pushed much further. The day which she had become to expect was lasting an awful lot longer than she'd ever imagined it would. She'd known he'd trip over his own feet at some point, knew their union wouldn't last forever, but she hadn't banked on the complications which were beginning to arise.

It was then that it occurred to her that Connie wasn't asking the same question as before. No longer caught up with wondering about his sentiments towards her, his wife had now astutely noticed the subconscious movement of Chrissie's hand to her stomach with a fear and a fondness that could only mean one thing.

"I didn't tell him." came the reply, ringing out deafeningly in the silence.

"Didn't tell him, or didn't have chance to tell him?" A clarification which she supposed would have been asked eventually. The difficulty was; Chrissie couldn't be sure of the answer herself. Who knows what would have happened had he not been arrested; when she saw him in the corridor; when he called her to arrange another meeting; when he cornered her in his office.

Perhaps she would have clean to him before, had she not known what his solution would be; a path which this time she was unwilling to take. Silence overcame them once more, Chrissie finding no words suitably pleasing for the other, instead, her fingers fiddling with her stomach softly, confirming her newly-found fears.