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"I'm going to let go of your hand and pull away, is that alright?" Dylan said quietly. He didn't know how long they'd been sitting, in absolute silence since Sam had tried to explain away her monstrous flinch at his initial touch. It wouldn't do any good, but he wanted to keep apologising from here to kingdom come for sending her, even momentarily, anywhere near that place of fear she had once been so accustomed to. Part of him wanted to hold her and never let her go, but the pain he was in would not allow that.
Sam nodded. "You don't have to announce yourself. I'll get used to you soon enough," she said in an undertone.
"I don't want you to get used to me by feeling terrified every time I move and you're not expecting it." He would not be moved on this stance.
She bowed her head, utterly humiliated. This was Dylan, she knew full well he was safe, but her stupid brain and its trauma response apparently could not be persuaded. She clenched her hands together in her lap.
"Tell me some more about your daughter, if you've still got time."
She looked up, her mind flooding with Georgie instead of fear. "What?"
Dylan smiled again. Twice in a day? "You light up, when you talk about her, did you know that?"
"I did not know that," Sam admitted, unable to stop the corners of her mouth turning upwards. She rested her eyes on his for a few moments and said nothing. She checked her watch. "Damn, I can't stay, I'm sorry. I have to go and be Mum again," she added fondly.
"That's okay," he conceded. "Something tells me you'll be back."
When his face creased in pain and didn't relax, Sam frowned. "You're hurting," she observed, a spark of something unrecognisable starting inside her. "You let me go on and on, while you're barely breathing because it hurts too much!" His face was suddenly grimly pale, belying any excuse he might have offered.
"Give me some credit, Sam, I could hardly stop you midway through telling me what that bastard did to you!"
Her cheeks glowed. "Oh my God, you really haven't changed, you're every bit as infuriating!"
She didn't say another word. She stormed out in a flurry of emotions that she couldn't hope to untangle yet. Leaning on the wall beside his slammed door, she took a few deep breaths as her heart pounded in her chest. It had only ever been Dylan that could elicit so many feelings at once; she hadn't felt this was for a very long time.
It hadn't been a lie that she had to go, so all the feelings had to be packed away in a neat little box for later. She did, however, make it known at the nurses' station that Dylan needed more pain medication. She might have been cross with him but she would not leave him in pain.
At the sight of Georgie sprinting across the playground to her, almost all was forgotten. School pickup was Sam's favourite part of the day; she'd been lucky to secure a flexible contract that allowed her to collect Georgie at least twice a week, sometimes three times.
Georgie seemed so grown up in comparison to the still-tiny children in the reception class below her, but there was so much childish innocence in the way she would joyfully recount her day with its earth-shattering victories and defeats. That afternoon, she proudly showed off a butterfly sticker on her grey pinafore, babbling a lengthy explanation of how she'd earned it.
Other parents begrudged the mundaneness of school reading books and practising spellings at the kitchen table, but Sam had always quietly remained on the sidelines of such complaints. Having such a full-one work life, she was grateful to slow down enough to undertake these 'boring' tasks. It was a pleasure to carve uninterrupted time with her daughter from a profession that regularly threatened to swallow her whole if she'd let it.
The evening passed in a comfortable blur. It was only as Sam was plaiting her daughter's damp, freshly-washed hair that her mind began to wander. Weaving the glossy, golden strands had become second-nature, so her headspace finally opened up, forewarning an avalanche of feelings. Not yet, she told herself.
"Mummy, is your friend better now?"
Georgie faced away from her mother, so did not see the aghast expression on her face. Sam continued to the bottom of the braid before answering, tying it off with a pink bobble and pulling Georgie onto her lap to give herself time to think.
"No, my darling, he's not better yet. He came to the hospital by helicopter, do you remember me telling you that my poorliest patients come that way? He was hurt a lot, and it's going to take a long time for him to be better. He has good doctors and nurses looking after him, and..."
"And you?"
Sam closed her eyes for a moment. "And me," she agreed.
She wasn't sure whether being a good doctor was quite enough.
Georgie considered her mother closely. "Are you sad, Mummy?" she asked plainly.
"Yes," she said, diplomatically choosing not to lie to her daughter. "My friend is very poorly and it's making me sad. And… Grown-up friends can be infinitely more complicated than children's friends. I won't be sad forever, in fact I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow morning," she reassured. It was important for her to make sure Georgie was introduced to emotions gently and gradually. Goodness knew she'd seen her mummy sad enough times in the past, so Sam always made sure now to remind her it wasn't permanent.
Georgie seemed deep in thought for a while, before wrapping her arms around Sam's neck and resting her head on her shoulder. Sam returned the hug, letting her neck relax and her head fall over onto her daughter's. For six years old, she could be incredibly emotionally intelligent.
On the sofa alone, later, it was impossible not to think of Dylan. The same raw frustration that she'd felt on leaving his room was still present, but it was changing course, redirecting. She could not get over the fact that he'd put off asking for pain relief that he was clearly desperate for, for her. And in return, she'd exploded and left without saying goodbye. He'd let her tell him everything and that was how she'd thanked him, by flying off the handle. She was too used to being almost isolationist in her independence that it was alien to have someone put her first without warning. It had almost been as jarring as that unexpected electric touch of his hand.
By telling him everything, it felt as though a wound had been opened, and even though she'd voluntarily opened it, it was uncomfortable to feel so vulnerable. And this at the same time as feeling like a load had been lifted from her shoulders in finally having Dylan know, one of the few people she could trust without question. The internal conflict alone was enough to make her head spin.
She checked the door was locked, then returned to her spot on the sofa. She was powerless to do anything until the morning, and couldn't even cry, only sit with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly at the quiet television.
Dylan's ward was silent, first thing in the morning. Sam stood out in her different-coloured scrubs, having made her way up there briefly before the start of her own shift, to try and clear the air if not undo the damage she was sure she'd done. But when she raised her hand to knock on his door, she realised it was ajar.
Glancing through the tiny gap, she was sure she was seeing things. But when she pushed the door open, her eyes had not deceived her. The bed was empty. He was gone. Her pulse accelerated wildly, her eyes widening.
She swept back out into the corridor to be met by a nurse she recognised as having been part of Dylan's care since he was transferred up from the ED.
"Where –" she began
"He's been rushed back to theatre," the nurse explained, her voice rich in sympathy. "A couple of hours ago – he asked that we didn't call you, because he knew you had a little one to get ready for school."
Sam stared blankly. A lump formed in her throat, and before she knew what she was doing she had turned and slammed her forearm and fist against the now-closed door. The lump seemed to be growing, leaking agony as it did so. She turned back to the nurse, horrified. "Sorry, I – sorry," she stammered. "I have to be downstairs, I'm on the long day shift. When he comes out –" She faltered, not sure what she wanted to say.
"I will let him know you came by."
Sam nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line.
By the time she reached the ED, she was sure she'd rearranged her face into a neutral expression that would not betray the absolute hailstorm of distress happening beneath the surface. She owed it to her incoming patients to keep her mind free of distractions.
"Dr Nicholls, message for you from upstairs," called one of the admin staff as she passed their desk.
Sam wheeled around, her face glazed.
She took one look down at the folded sheet of paper with her name written on it.
And she fell apart.
It was Dylan's handwriting, recognisable after all these years and despite the obvious haste he'd written with. It was a brief note, but it broke her heart nonetheless.
Sam, they're taking me back to theatre. Infection, I think. Please don't be cross with them for not calling, I told them not to because your little girl deserves her mummy's full attention. And don't worry about me. I was lucky once. Twice, if you count finding you again. And I do. Dylan
As much as he seemed to be blasé about the whole thing, it felt disturbingly like a goodbye. He had never gone a bundle on saying how he felt, especially being honest about his feelings towards her. With the realisation that he was making sure things didn't go unsaid in case he did not make it through this surgery, Sam's knees gave way.
There were expressions of shock around her, but she could do nothing, practically paralysed by the waves of emotion crashing around her. The colleagues in front of whom she had never shed a tear, never showed so much as a hint of negative emotion, now hovered in confusion as she sobbed harder than she had in a very, very long time. She could barely breathe, tangled in devastation marred by deep-seated confusion.
The sound of footsteps that could only belong to a Clinical Lead approached the throng of ED staff.
"I don't know what you all think you're doing," Ed began loudly, "but I'm fairly sure you all have better things to do than hang round here –" He froze, cut off by realising what had stopped all the others in their tracks: the sight of Sam Nicholls in a crumpled, despairing heap on the lino. It momentarily stunned him, before he snapped into action. "Make yourselves busy! Move yourselves along, now."
As the assorted colleagues began to disperse, he crouched at Sam's eye level. "Sam, come with me, please." He held out a hand to her and stood up. It took longer than he would have liked for her to take the offered hand and get to her feet. He had no idea what was going on, but he suspected he was about to lose a very good consultant for the foreseeable future.
He steered her towards his office, shielding her from prying eyes as best he could and then swiftly closing his office blinds.
By the time she sat down in Ed's office, Sam was past the point of crying, instead encapsulated in a silent state of grief. She stared blankly, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open to accommodate not being able to breathe through her nose after all the crying.
"I'm going to make tea, and then you're going to tell me what happened out there," was all he said before quietly leaving the room.
Sam rested her head down on her hands. When her forehead made contact with crumpled paper, she realised she was still holding Dylan's note. She sighed deeply, folded the note neatly and slipped it into her pocket.
"I'm sorry," she said, immediately upon Ed's return. "I'm really sorry. Out there – that was completely unprofessional of me." She accepted the steaming cup pressed into her hands.
He sat down at his desk and leaned forwards, towards her. "Good grief, Sam, I'm not worried about you being unprofessional! I'm more concerned about what the hell happened to elicit that kind of reaction from you, of all people – I don't think I've ever seen you show a fraction of that emotion. What happened?"
Her shoulders drooped. This would have been so much easier if he'd just given her a telling off for lacking professionalism and sent her on her way. Part of her knew that was never even a possibility. A strict and demanding Clinical Lead he might be, but he cared deeply about 'the department's greatest resource – the people working in it.' She'd heard him say those words so many times, but had not been on their receiving end for some time. "You know that I don't like bringing my personal life into work," she said.
"I do, but I would say it's a fair guess that you're past the point of choosing, judging by what I saw." He took a long sip of tea, not taking his eyes off her.
"Yes." She paused, grounding herself on the hot cup between her hands. "I told you that the patient the other day was my ex-husband? Well, we're… not the best at communication, let's put it that way. Even after ten years though, that's how long it's been since I last saw him, we still have the same shorthand… and, and there's still something there, I think." Her cheeks burned as she remembered she might be talking to someone who cared, but at the end of it all he was still her boss. "We had a disagreement yesterday, and when I went up there this morning to apologise..." She paused, thinking first of the sight of his empty room, then the note. "He's been rushed back to theatre, and he asked them not to call me beforehand, because he knew I had the school run to do."
Ed frowned. "Why would they call you? He's your ex, you said it yourself it's been a long old time since you even saw him, never mind were married to him!"
"It's… complicated." She cringed at her choice of words. "He's complicated, and there's no-one else. His next-of-kin list is a mutual friend of ours, over in the States. And… me. Don't ask me to explain."
"I won't. Is it not looking good, then?" he asked carefully, acutely aware of Sam's apparent stability in the moment contrasting with her red-rimmed eyes and inherent unsteadiness.
"He sent a note down for me," Sam nearly-whispered. "The things he said… He doesn't say them lightly. He doesn't say them full stop, so he doesn't think it looks good at all." Her bottom lip trembled and she wrestled with herself to stay in control but her emotions won. Before she knew it, her cup of tea had been deftly removed from her hands and she'd gone to pieces. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she stammered, ashamed of taking up space, taking up time.
"Stop apologising, Sam. You've nothing to be sorry for, do you understand?"
She nodded tearfully.
Ed logged into his computer and looked something up, thoughtfully. "You have leave booked, starting Monday," he remarked.
Sam blinked. "Do I?"
This seemed to solidify Ed's thinking, as he nodded when she spoke. "Yes. And I'm extending it on compassionate grounds, to start today. Take the time you need and don't give us a second thought. I don't quite understand what's going on, and it's none of my business, not the ins and outs, but I do know that you're not in a fit state to work."
Sam felt a strange sense of release. It hurt and it was embarrassing, but she made her way to the changing room with her head down. Back in jeans and a jumper, she neatly folded her scrubs and placed them in her locker, her faithful yellow stethoscope looped on top of them. She hesitated a moment before closing the door. It was an alien feeling, being unsure when she'd open it again.
At least she was able to take up her space outside theatres again, without the need to return to the ED on her mind. With her tear-streaked face, passers-by knew better than to interrupt her silent vigil. Even the scrub nurse who last time had offered Sam greater comfort on the recovery ward, left her be, recognising the unrelenting determination of someone waiting for one that they loved.
"Zoe? It's me, again." Her voice cracked almost immediately.
"Sam, darling, what's happened?"
It was hard to push the words out around the immense lump in her throat. Sam was in bits, having paused her immense wait outside theatres when she could no longer bear the silence. Outside, she had pulled out her phone and clicked Zoe's number before she'd had chance to talk herself out of it. In the moment, however, it was every bit as hard as she had feared.
"Sam? Are you by yourself?"
Between undignified sniffs and sobs, Sam managed to affirm Zoe's question.
"Oh God, I wish I could be there with you."
She hung her head, aware she hadn't actually broken the news yet. "I just wish it wasn't happening. He's back in theatre," she stammered at last.
Zoe's voice seemed strained. "Why?"
Sam swallowed and forced out a breath. "Infection. I don't know how, I don't know when he started to get unwell, I hardly know anything. I don't know what they're going to do, and… Last I spoke to him, yesterday..." She paused. "I… I was stupid, I wasn't particularly nice to him, and now..." Sam's voice tailed off to nothing. She could not bring herself to say her thoughts aloud.
"No, you're not to think like that! You go and be with him. I will speak to Nick about bringing my leave forward and start looking into flights."
"You know what Dylan would say if he knew," Sam said, shaking her head.
"It's not his decision, it's mine," Zoe said firmly. "And besides, if he wants to be difficult about it, I'm coming to support you, if you want me there."
"You really don't have to drop everything for me," Sam said quickly.
"Do you want me to come?" Zoe persisted.
Sam hesitated. She bit her lip, as though trying to hold the words in. "Yes, please." Her voice was small, reduced to a vulnerability that betrayed her chronological age and status as a mother.
"Then it's as good as done."
Sam was there beside him when he woke up, hours later. The last time she'd seen her appearance, reflected back at her from the screen of her phone, she'd been white-faced and terrified. She tried to arrange her expression into one that wouldn't immediately worry him, but knew even in his dazed, post-anaesthetic state he would probably see straight through her.
"Three in a row?" he said, and it took Sam a moment to realise he meant she had been to see him on the three consecutive days since his admission. "I am honoured."
She smiled softly: he had the soft and fuzzy air of someone pleasantly inebriated, perhaps feeling the effects of laughing gas. She was just so damn relieved that he was alive, that to hear something close to his usual acerbity was a miraculous added bonus. "Please don't make a habit of getting yourself put in hospital, just so that you can see me," she said shakily.
"You look scared. Don't be scared," he said, with something like childlike innocence.
Sam couldn't help her eyes filling with tears. "If you start getting better, I promise to stop being scared," she whispered.
He tried to nod, realised that this hurt and quickly stopped again. "Hold my hand?"
She was quick to oblige. His fingers closed around hers, although they slackened again a moment later as he drifted back to sleep. His hand was still hot. Sam hoped with every fibre of her being that they had managed to get all of the infected tissue out. She couldn't bring herself to inspect his leg for herself, not yet.
She put both of her hands around his. "Please, please, please get better, Grumpy," she murmured. "I think I need you around."
Admitting it aloud was huge. Love was not logical, and she had realised that she could not help being in love with him.