A few days later, Connie decided that it really was about time she went back to work. Her ribs were still protesting, and her face still looked as though it had been through the mangle, but she couldn't think up any more even vaguely plausible excuses. Still not trusting herself to drive without crashing, she took a cab to work, and took the lift up to Darwin Ward with the feeling of approaching her own execution. She'd tried to cover up as much of her face as possible with make up, but she knew it hadn't been an unmitigated success. Praying that everyone would simply ignore the fact that their boss looked far too much like a battered wife, she approached the nurses' station with a certain level of caution.
The first person she saw was Lisa, who stared at her with ill-concealed curiosity. "What happened to you?" Were Lisa's first unemphatic words of greeting. Opening her mouth to deliver some highly scathing remark, Connie realised that she didn't have even the beginnings of an excuse for her appearance. Coming to her rescue, Tricia called over, "It's good to have you back. Some of the staff might not have missed you, but the patients have." Breaking into a slight smile at Tricia's assertion, Connie bypassed Lisa's enquiry. "Anything enormous happen while I was away?" She asked, moving over to where Tricia was going through a load of patient files. "A couple of your operations were postponed because of viral infections," Tricia told her, after having taken the merest glance at her boss's face. "So they will have to be rescheduled whenever you're ready for them. Otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary."
Just then, Zubin came striding down the ward, sorting through a heap of files as he walked. Catching sight of Connie, he skidded to a halt, staring in horror at her still fairly battered face, only barely concealed by her make up. "Nice to see you too, Professor Khan," Connie greeted him dryly. She might have known he would react like this, staring at her with his mouth agape, as though he'd never seen a beaten up woman before. "How are you?" He asked her quietly, not entirely knowing how to deal with her in this situation. Yes, Ric had told him how she looked and what had happened to her, and Jess had also given him her opinion, but that was nothing to actually seeing her in the flesh. Through the open collar of her silk blouse, he could just make out the faint impressions of bruises on her throat, and the mental image of what had happened to her made him shudder. "I'm alive," She replied a little stonily. "Which is more than I can say for the next person who looks at me as though I'm some new endangered species. Anyone would think you all hadn't seen a few bruises in here before. Now, about this morning's list." "Connie, you can't seriously be thinking about operating?" Zubin protested. "I don't see anyone else here who can, do you?" Connie replied belligerently, eager to get back to what she did best as quickly as possible, no matter how much agony she might be in. "Connie, you cannot operate with cracked ribs," Zubin hissed at her, trying to lower his voice a little. Just as Connie was about to retort that she could do whatever she pleased in her own hospital, Chrissie appeared, took one look at Connie, and unthinkingly said, "Wow, you look as though you had a pretty eventful Christmas." There was a stunned, awful pause, as Zubin and Tricia took in what Chrissie had said. Whirling round on her heel, and barely suppressing a gasp of pain as she did so, Connie demanded over her shoulder that Zubin join her in her office, now. When she had gone, Chrissie asked, "What have I said?" "Isn't that obvious?" Zubin told her disgustedly. "Where do you think Connie got all those bruises, plus dozens more that aren't on display for all to see?" When Chrissie didn't answer, Zubin filled her in. "She got them from her husband. You know, the man you were sleeping with last July, so perhaps that might show you how lucky you are that Connie found out about that. If she hadn't, and if you'd still been sleeping with him, that could so easily have been you. Hopefully that might teach you to be a little more careful in the future." Marching off towards Connie's office, Zubin left Chrissie staring after him in aghast astonishment. "That's good, sound advice you have there," Tricia told her quietly. "So I'd take it if I were you."
Walking into Connie's office without knocking, Zubin found her stood with her back to him, with the window wide open as she smoked a cigarette. "Don't say it," She told him, glancing over her shoulder to see who it was. "I am temporarily blind," Zubin replied dryly, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. "But I must insist that you are in no fit state for operating on anyone." "Thank you for the vote of confidence, Professor Khan, it's really much appreciated," Connie replied a little acidly. "Connie, you know I'm right," He told her gently. "That doesn't mean I have to like it," Connie said on an exhalation of smoke. "I'm running out of excuses enough as it is." "Why are the excuses so necessary?" Zubin asked. "Nobody would doubt your word of what has far too clearly happened to you." "Zubin, it is quite bad enough that you know about this, and believe me, I would give my Munnings and My Stubbs for you not to be aware of every salient detail. But to have every other individual I work with aware of the situation would be even more intolerable than all the enquiries are now." "Why is pride so important to you?" Zubin asked, genuinely intrigued. "We've all got to live on something," Connie said philosophically, ditching her cigarette end out of the window and turning to face him. "And at the moment, pride is the only way I'm going to get through this. So, as I can see you won't let me near my own theatre, though quite what you think gives you the right is beyond me, Lola can operate, and I can observe, pointing her in the right direction. Will that make you happy?" "Happier," He grudgingly agreed. "But don't try to push yourself too hard." "And don't you try to overstep the mark," She warned him quietly.
When it was nearing lunchtime, and Connie was feeling that a cup of tea and a sit down certainly wouldn't go amiss, she was standing in the middle of the ward, going through a patient's post-operative pain relief with Zubin. They had worked fairly amicably all morning, something Connie admitted to finding quite a relief. When Tricia approached them, she looked slightly uncomfortable, as though the news she had to bear was something she would rather avoid. "Connie, there's someone here to see you," She said quietly, breaking in on their conversation. Hearing a note of warning in Tricia's tone, Connie turned round to glance in the direction of the Nurses' station, seeing Michael stood there as though nothing had changed, as though his being there to see his wife was perfectly acceptable. "What do you want me to do with him?" Tricia asked, breaking in on Connie's contemplation. "Put him in my office," Connie told her stonily. "And I'll deal with him in a minute." When Tricia had gone, Zubin moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, but Connie flinched away from him, all her defences shooting up at the prospect of actually talking to Michael again. "Would you like me to be there?" Zubin asked her quietly, not really knowing where this offer had come from. Connie laughed bitterly. "Believe me, Professor Khan, this isn't going to be a conversation you want to hear." "Connie..." He stopped, not really sure what to say in the circumstances. "I'll be fine," She told him stonily. "This had to happen at some point, so it may as well be now." Signing her name at the bottom of the patient's file, she handed it over to him, and walked thoughtfully towards her office.
Going in and closing the door behind her, she saw that Michael was sitting very stiffly on her leather sofa. "Well well, this is a nice surprise," She greeted him coldly. "To what do I owe the distinctly dubious pleasure?" "I wanted to see how you were," He told her quietly, his eyes rising to scrutinize her bruised face. "Like the look of your handiwork, do you?" She taunted him silkily, moving to lean on the edge of her desk, so that she was facing him. Glancing round at the blinds that she had purposefully left up, so that everyone could see into her office, he said, "I feel as though I'm in a goldfish bowl in here." "You'd feel a hell of a lot worse, if I were facing you across the table in the visiting room," Connie replied bitterly. "Which we both know is precisely where you should be. So, did you really come back to see how I was, or did you come back to find out whether or not I was still alive?" "Connie!" He sounded shocked, hurt and thoroughly insulted. "Don't sound so tragically aggrieved, Michael, because dead is what I certainly could have been. As it is, you are incredibly lucky, that I didn't suffer any internal injuries that might have forced me to seek medical attention, other than that which I received at home." "Oh, from Griffin, I suppose?" Michael put in nastily. "Quite right," Connie told him bitterly. "So you see, I do have a witness to how I looked only hours after you beat the living daylights out of me, a witness who would be delighted to testify for me if I should so desire it." "Connie, you can't," He insisted vehemently. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just angry. You kept throwing Griffin's prowess in my face. Any man would have reacted like that after hearing the things you were coming out with." "A real man wouldn't have done," She told him blithely, willing to take such a risk because she knew that whatever he might attempt to do to her in here, it would all be seen by any number of her staff. As her eyes lifted to the glass, she saw Zubin moved to stand outside her door, acting as though he was waiting to see her, but probably there to be of any help should his assistance be required. "What do you want from me?" Michael asked her dejectedly, knowing that she must have something up her sleeve. "A divorce for a start," She replied curtly. "And your resignation from the board for seconds. After today, I don't want to see you anywhere near this place again. I want you to go home, and remove everything that you don't want me to burn. You even think of going back on this deal, and I'll have you banged up in a cell, quicker than Sr. Williams managed to put her clothes on, after I caught her in bed with you, and as I'm sure you'll remember, that really was pretty swiftly. So, do you accept my terms, or are you willing to take your chances in a court of law?" Michael shuddered, his face going white at the thought of being put in prison, with all those worthless individuals, and of being brought up before a jury to justify his actions of Christmas Day. "No, I didn't think you would," Connie told him sweetly, seeing the colour positively draining from his face. "I'm sorry," He said, sounding more pathetic than she'd ever heard him. "You're not sorry, Michael," She said resignedly. "You're sorry that I found someone to satisfy me far better than you ever could, and you're sorry that at last, I've found something worth holding onto, but you're not sorry that you hurt me. If you were, it wouldn't have taken you nearly a fortnight to come back and face the music. Now get out, and I don't want to see hide nor hair of you again."
As Michael stumbled from the office, looking utterly shell-shocked, Connie walked round the desk and sank gratefully into her leather swivel chair. She was exhausted, in pain, and wanting nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep, or at least to bury herself in Ric's strong arms. But he wasn't here, and she wouldn't see him for at least a couple of months. Zubin watched Michael exit Connie's office, and gave him a look of such disgust and loathing, that Michael had no doubt that too many of Connie's staff now knew of his Christmas misdeeds. But as he walked towards the lift, a young nurse he didn't know, who's name badge proclaimed her to be Donna Jackson, walked into him, spilling the bowl of vomit she was carrying all down his perfectly immaculate suit. Frowning at her in complete disgust, Michael strode towards the lift, scrubbing at his clothes with a handkerchief. "Well," Donna said, looking at the stunned faces around her. "The suit's got to be as evil as the man that's wearing it. That's what I say." Zubin couldn't quite believe what he'd just seen. Laughing silently to himself all the way back to his office, he couldn't help but admire Donna's ingenuity.
A little while later, Tricia made Connie a mug of tea, and took it into her office. "I thought you could probably do with this," She said, putting the mug down on Connie's desk. "Thank you," Connie replied tiredly, absent mindedly picking it up and taking a swig. "How's the gossip fountain out there?" "Well, I think Donna's just given them all something else to talk about," Tricia said evasively, wondering how Connie was going to react to this. "Let's just say, that I think she managed to give Michael something to remember this place by, something that might just make him not want to come back here in a hurry." "What?" Connie asked ominously, wondering what on Earth Donna had done. As Tricia filled her in, Connie's face broke into a broad smile, with a laugh beginning deep in her chest. "Oh, god, I wish it wasn't such agony to laugh," She said eventually. "But I wish I'd seen his face." "It's far less than he deserves," Tricia said quietly. "Yes, I know," Connie replied seriously, her laughter immediately abating. "But as long as he does what he's promised to do, and stays away from me, that's all that matters."