Landing in Heathrow a week after they'd left so abruptly, bar Diane at the hospital no one had come to know of their elopement if it were called that. Connie felt far more at ease with herself, somehow managing to mix the old Connie who she'd come to accept no longer existed with the more vulnerable person she'd become. Ric too had laid a few more daemons to rest, namely that the urge to visit one of the numerous casinos in Nice, but also the overriding guilt about Paris' death. They were each others worst nemesis, somehow managing to wrangle the most deep seeded information from the other without realising. Finding companionable silence for two people who'd lived life for its worth, sex drugs, rock and roll and the rest. Having seen so much of the world on their various travels, they knew the inevitable lull after being away would soon kick in, the inane questions of where they'd spent the past week, why they'd ditched everything to go on holiday.
Eventually clearing customs they made it out to the bag carrousel's they waited hoping for a taxi in the stretching queue outside, compared to the balmy warmth of Nice it was considerably Baltic in the cold April evening, Connie finding solace in Ric's arms as they huddled together for something resembling warmth. Drawing her phone out in boredom, Connie switched it on fully expecting there to be at least one monotonous message from her husband worried that she'd stumble him on something extra entertaining him in lieu of her. As per usual she felt the phone vibrate as she shifted her sizeable case one more place forward in the queue. Lifting the receiver to her ear she tapped her foot impatiently, wanting her guilt to last as little time as possible, "Hi Coco, its Mike, you'd probably guess that anyway, but I thought I'd tell you that the police were in touch, it appears they've caught your attacker, the DNA matched, it's brilliant news, anyway the date for the hearing is set for the 14th, they don't need you to be there for that but it would be extremely helpful, I'm not sure how this will find you, or who with, but please get in contact with me soon."
Closing the phone and replacing it to her pocket Connie stuttered slightly, attempting to process the latest revelation, it was certainly a bombshell to say in the least. "The police have caught him," she stuttered, haplessly letting a tear fall down her cheek.
"What do you mean, him," Ric asked slightly puzzled, she was going paler by the second as he slipped his arms around her, nodding in a polite way as bystanders looked bemused.
"The attacker, somehow they've caught him and he's standing trial tomorrow, Ric, why can't this just be left alone, why …" Connie mumbled, the feeling of her entire world crashing down around them was too much, Ric had been the person to keep her going before, when she was going through all of this the first time round. It was different now, she'd seen on holiday just how easy it would have been for Ric to return to his vice, the airport, in Nice. She was one risk he'd allowed himself to take, their relationship had always been constructed differently to others, built on tempering the other, leaning on them when they needed wordless support. Bringing him through all of this again would just jeopardise that further still, or so she thought. "I'll understand if you want to leave me here and go back to Holby," Connie continued eventually, releasing from his hug.
"Don't be so silly Connie, I'm not going to just leave you here," Ric smiled, reminding her slightly scarily of her dad, when she was little the little time he'd lavished on her between jobs he'd smile like that. Reassure her that she wouldn't be hurt by the world, that everything would be all right. That had been true of every year of her life till her daddy had had one too many drinks in the pub and driven himself off a bridge.
"So what do we do then," Connie enquired miserably, unable to stomach the thought of Ric and Michael in the same house. It had been bad enough in the New Year, the two clearly knew too much about the entire situation. Both doting on her in their own way, Ric with words of encouragement, Michael with the physical ability to care for her, deep down she'd know Ric to be of more use. Returning to her London abode tonight would be pointless, Michael would ask her the some total of three questions, where? Why? Who with? All of which she would answer with a single syllable purr.
"Its up to you," Ric sighed, pushing any idea towards her at this moment would be lethal, either she'd flip off the handle, as had been demonstrated at various points in the past, or she would go silent, something he'd really rather avoid.
"A hotel, I can't take Michael tonight," she whispered, shuffling unsteadily into the taxi. The rode in silence, it wasn't unusual for them. Yet tonight somehow it was different, Connie sat hunched at the left hand side window, glaring out into the rainy nothing, her hands playing nervously on the edge of her skirt, trying to somehow cover up something, something that was invisible to anyone but her. Eventually Ric could spot the tiny dot of a tear playing in her eye.
"Are you ok," Ric asked tentatively, slowly catching her eye as she turned round to talk to him, furiously wiping the salty liquid away before he supposedly saw it.
"Yes, it's just a bit of shock that's all," she replied coolly, battling every word down to her equilibrium, rocking it viciously as sat perfectly still. She had been completely unprepared for this event, she'd expected to return home to near normality, to go back to Holby, possibly returned to her job as queen bee, force a proper separation with Michael, completely move on.
"It's bound to be Connie, you're just going through the phase of blaming yourself and wondering what the hell is going on, what's going to happen, I'm just the unfortunate person clouding you're judgement by being here," Ric smiled, she was still gazing at him, looking intently at him.
"Don't psychoanalyse me, not now," she spat, turning back round to the window and shifting as far away as possible from him, though slightly infantile he felt guilty, doing that as two year old was understandable, yet doing it as fully grown up woman concerned him. Far from discussing it a unkindlier friend of silence cast over them until they reached the hotel, not as posh as in Paris, yet on the opposite side to town as Michael, not a mistake Ric figured. It was her way of dealing with things.
The room was far less decadent this time, the double bed consumed most of the room bar a sofa, fridge and TV congregated in the corner of the room, opposite was the rather cramp bathroom. Dumping her stuff on the bed Connie curled up on the sofa, clutching her knee's in her arms. Slowly Ric made his way towards her, flopping down next to her, yet keeping his arms to himself. "I'm sorry Connie, I'm just worried."
"Don't be," she retorted coldly, fiddling with her nails in nervous habit, it was far too uncomfortable for either of them, "I'm going for a shower," she continued, reversing her steps until she threw the case open and whipped out her bathing stuff, and his just for the sake of it. Closing the door forcefully behind her she left him somewhat rattled, never before had she been this irately mad around him.
Sighing he stood up, leaving her to cool off was the best policy, he busied himself unpacking various items that they would need, making a point of neatly stacking the clothes on the dusty shelf. He picked out Connie's nightie and laid it fresh onto the bed, attempting to make it as easy for her.
Meanwhile Connie stood under the poker hot water, turned up on its highest heat setting. It left tiny mottled red marks on top of her freckles, as she stood for longer it merely turned her skin vibrant red, as if she were fantastically sunburnt. Yet it wasn't releasing any of the tension she'd pent up, the anger at having to relive the sorry saga, the invasion of memories of him fingering her, of him touching her, the disgust; the stupidity. Deciding she wasn't going to get the needed result from the shower she stepped out and dabbed lightly at her blistering skin, slumping onto the floor in an untidy heap. She sat for a moment, the damp coolness of the bathtub soothing her skin marginally. Near one of the angular corners she spied the wash bags, hers was devoid or any sharp implement, she dragged it across the worn tiles, turfing his toothpaste and other obligatory objects to the side, finding the razor stuffed right at the bottom. It was like the gold medal to her at that very point in time; she lifted it out and cradled it lightly in her hand. It took some manoeuvring to release the blade. She held it between her forefinger and thumb. It glistened bright silver in the light as she let it fall towards her forearm, the bright blood bore so much familiarity, it ravened into red trails onto her towel, mixing with the debris of broken skin and drying blood. It was a release she craved. The distraction came as Ric scuffed lightly on the door, forcing it open with a single movement, she didn't agree with locks either she forgot about them, or they weren't there when she remembered.
"Connie, what the hell…" Ric's voice trailed off, he was dumbfounded into silence, she looked pitiful on the floor, curled up, verging on tears as she looked away from him; ashamed. He sat down beside her, taking her arm in his hands, slowly twisting it cracking the first layers of dried bloody forming over the neat slash. She looked worryingly like a pro, the slash sat just below her elbow joint, easily hidden by appropriate tops, close enough to the surface for her to use as reminder.
"You've not done that much damage," he told her eventually, leaving her free to whip her arm back into her own care.
"Leave it," she sniffed, verging on completely disarming herself of dignity, the red pigmentation in her skin had gone complete missed by Ric who had placed an arm around her, sending nerves into a muddled frenzy with pain and self loathing.
"No, you need to tell me what's going on," Ric told her stubbornly, not prepared for her reaction as she slowly melted down into tears, resting her crest fallen face on his shoulder, all he could do was hold her. She was a proud woman who was loosing the one thing she loved and craved. It broke his heart, to see her like this. The rape, the humiliation after it, the continuing grief of loosing Will, the admission that she'd lost a child, it accumulated into a confusing rabble. Her release just happened to spread more pain than others.
Eventually, emotionally drained and in an uneasy slumber Ric lifted Connie from the bathroom, teasing gently at the towel virtually sticking to her back, replacing it with her white night dress and laying her softly under the covers.