"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Connie's words were uttered in a quiet, horrified tone that couldn't fail to capture Ric's attention. "Connie," Was all he seemed able to say, as he looked up at her from where he was sitting. The scalpel was poised in his right hand, clearly ready to once again cut into his flesh. "I asked you a question," Connie said firmly, her anger now rising in earnest. Ric just stared at her, not knowing of any explanation he could give for his actions. Moving into the bathroom, Connie unceremoniously jerked the scalpel from his hand, staring for a moment at the blood stained blade, before putting it well out of his reach. Taking hold of his left arm, she closely examined the damage he'd done. There were two cuts, both lengthways along his arm, and both fairly deep. Thanking every deity that he hadn't yet moved onto the underside of his arm, which might have left him with an arterial bleed, she reached into the bathroom cabinet for dressings, alcohol wipes, and a needle and surgical thread. "Just what did you think this would achieve?" She demanded bitterly, needing to talk, needing to somehow excise her own combination of anger and fear before she could begin her task. But Ric didn't answer, he couldn't answer. What could he possibly say to her that she would understand? How could he possibly explain to her that he was bad, that his very soul was tainted with the blood of his forebears? Furiously unwrapping the sterile alcohol wipe, Connie almost viciously swiped it over the wounds in Ric's arm, causing him to grit his teeth in silent protest. "Don't bother looking like that," Connie told him disgustedly. "I thought pain was what you were looking for." "Connie, you don't understand," Ric said quietly, finally finding the capability to speak to her. "No, you're damned right I don't," She replied bitterly. "Why, Ric, why?" She demanded, the tears rising to her eyes as she threaded the needle in preparation for patching him up. "Why did you have to do something quite so stupid, and quite so unnecessary? You know, if you thought you were punishing yourself by doing this, it isn't just you that you're punishing, because this is hurting me as well." "I'd have thought the gambling might have done that," Ric said quietly, finally broaching the subject of what he'd done the night before. "No, you stupid man, of course it didn't," Connie told him exasperatedly. "Ric," She said a little more quietly, trying to calm down. "You are an addict, which means that you will occasionally come off the wagon and go back to what you did before. I understand that, possibly better than most, which is why I'm not angry with you for doing it. But this, it scares me rigid."
She couldn't prevent the tears from falling as she said this, just for once revealing her vulnerability in front of him. "Ric, I can't bear seeing you punish yourself for something you can't help. I also can't stand by and watch you carve patterns into your skin, as though it would really solve anything." With the needle poised, she held his forearm in her left hand, and began sewing up the two gashes in his flesh. Ric sucked in a breath of air through his clenched teeth, desperately trying not to cry out at the sensation of her sewing him up without an anaesthetic. "I don't mind what you call me while I'm doing this," She said without looking up at him. "Because I know it hurts like hell." But Ric just about managed to restrain himself and keep absolutely quiet. "I'm sorry, darling, I know this hurts," Connie said as she sewed. "But you've gone fairly deep, so I've got no choice but to sew it up."
When she'd finished, she put away the needle and thread, and covered the resulting scars with a sterile dressing. The only really visible sign that Ric had been in an enormous amount of pain during her ministrations was the slight tremble in his muscles. "Come on," She said gently, softly rubbing his bare shoulder. Getting to his feet, he followed her back into the bedroom, where she gently persuaded him back into bed. "We need to talk," She said by way of explanation, removing her skirt and blouse, and slipping under the duvet in her underwear. Then, reaching for the phone, she called Tricia, and asked her to arrange cover for the afternoon's list. "I will be available if there are any unforeseen emergencies," She told Tricia. "But there's something I need to deal with here this afternoon." "Don't worry, I'll find cover," Tricia assured her, hearing the real sound of worry in Connie's voice, and wondering what it was that was keeping her attention at home.
When Connie had put the phone down, she turned towards Ric, the two of them huddling as close to the other as possible, their limbs entwining so as to leave not a single inch of space between them. "Don't you ever, ever do anything like that again," Connie told him hoarsely, the tears now coursing down her cheeks, almost in relief that she'd stopped him in time. "Just how do you think I would have felt, to come home and find your dead body on my bathroom floor?" "I didn't actually intend to go that far," Ric told her quietly, softly running his fingers through her hair. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that?" She demanded bitterly. "Ric, I have no idea just how far you were prepared to go." He stayed quiet, wholly unsure as to how to explain his actions to her. "Connie, whatever I say," He began eventually. "It'll sound stupid, and I'm not even sure that it'll make any sense to you." "Try me," She encouraged gently. "Because I need a reason." "Because of what I did last night, I couldn't sleep, not particularly well anyway. All I could think about was how much I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. When I came home, I expected you to either be furious with me, or give me the cold shoulder, but you didn't do either. I couldn't understand why you were being so nice to me, why you weren't giving me the merest ounce of criticism for being the weak and pathetic individual I am. I thought you would end up despising me at the very least. While you were sleeping, I couldn't get away from the thought that it was my father's genes that were making me the person I am. Being an addict of one form or another has come down the generations, passing through me to end up in Leo. He's just as bad as his father when the urge takes him, only his poison is heroin rather than the roulette wheel. All I wanted," He continued hesitantly. "Was to get my father's blood out of me once and for all." "But darling, you can't do that," Connie told him quietly. "I know," He said ruefully. "I did tell you that it wouldn't make sense." "It does, believe me," Connie said regretfully. "It makes more sense to me than you could possibly imagine, but that doesn't mean you can ever do it. You are stuck with his genes, just as I am stuck with my father's, not something I'm especially proud of." "Why?" He asked, seeing that Connie had, just for a moment, slipped into the previously unexplored territory that he knew she usually kept heavily guarded. "That's not something you need to know," She said quietly but firmly, leaving him in no doubt that the subject was closed.
"I knew I shouldn't have left you this morning," She said, going back to their previous discussion. "I had this nagging feeling in me all morning, telling me that I should be here with you, rather than in my theatre. I wish you'd been able to tell me how you felt." "I thought you might see it as just another sign of my weakness," He admitted shyly. "And do you seriously think that it's something I haven't ever wanted to do?" Connie asked him, the tears again rising to her eyes. "So many times over the years, I've wanted to take out that scalpel and convert the mental torture that goes on in here from time to time, into something physical that I could at least partially deal with." "So why didn't you?" He asked, seeing that she had just as many hidden skeletons as he did. "Because Michael would have asked far too many unwelcome questions," She replied dully, her ire going out of her voice as soon as it had come. "Michael didn't understand mental flaws, even though he has a number of them himself. So yes, I do understand why you wanted to do this, but that doesn't mean that I can stand by and watch you do it. You mean far too much to me, for me to allow you to punish yourself for something that I do not blame you for." They cuddled even closer, their tears mingling as their souls purged the hurt they both felt. Once their grief had subsided, they both slid into an exhausted sleep, their bodies almost one, so close did they lie. Their dreams may have been filled with tortuous images, but deep down in their torment, they both knew that the other was there.