DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Casualty or any of its characters.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic so far! I forgot to mention before that each of the chapter titles are taken from songs by Ruelle. I wrote this fic listening to them, particularly Secrets and Lies, Bad Dream and War of Hearts. Hoping to post once a week from now on. I'm not quite sure how long this story is going to be (my brain keeps adding more!) but here is Chapter 2. As always, enjoy x
UNTIL WE GO DOWN
- Downfall -
Through the opaque glass of the ambulance windows, the world passes by in a blissful blur, unhurried and uncomplicated. On occasion she has sat here, staring through the darkened glass without focus, dwelling on the uneasy. And though her perspective does not always change, and a conclusion does not always arrive, she is never afraid to confront her own thoughts.
She cannot, Faith realises, ignore the situation forever. But perhaps, on a quiet afternoon in the back of an ambulance, she can afford to forget for a little while.
The city roads morph into old buildings and unkempt woodlands. Potholes litter the road beneath. There are no cars to pass them by, nor the usual build-up of traffic to slow their journey. The lanes are abnormally quiet, and all she can hear is the rushing of blood in her ears and the low friction of rubber against tarmac. Eventually the scenery opens up to reveal a much pleasanter view: green fields and the winding river that runs toward the Estuary only a few miles south of Holby.
"Just taking a quick shortcut," Pravi calls over her shoulder. "It's only fifteen minutes out of the way. Won't be long."
"Okay," Faith calls back.
Her gaze settles on the opposite side of the ambulance, her feet swinging restlessly beneath the seat as she determinedly prises her drifting attention away from the man in the front passenger seat. The man she considers - or had once considered - to be her best friend. Hurting him had never been her intention, as he in turn had hurt her, and the memory of his expression upon receiving the full brunt of her anger is an image she may never be able to forget.
"What I wouldn't give for a traffic jam right now," Pravi is saying, mostly to herself. "Honestly, the roads have been so empty since Lockdown started. It's like we're living in some kind of post-apocalyptic universe. Like the Walking Dead or Survivors. Or something like that anyway," she mutters. "I mean, how many cars have we passed? Five? Six?"
"Uh, two, actually," Dylan replies.
Faith rolls her eyes inwardly. Of course he's been counting.
"Exactly," Pravi agrees good-naturedly. "You know, this place down here does the best burgers. And by the best I mean the best. Once you've had a Hildy's there's no going back." She groans in exasperation. "Gosh, I hope they haven't closed early. I missed breakfast. Didn't have time to grab anything before work."
Dylan grunts something in reply. Left uninterrupted, the paramedic seems determined to fill an entire journey with non-stop conversation without receiving a verbal response. It might have been irritating had Faith not welcomed the sound of another's voice filling the void between her own thoughts.
"I tell you, even a vegetarian couldn't turn their nose up at a Hildy's burger. Some of my veggie friends have actually been converted - and I'm talking proper long-time veggies here. My one friend, Jen, hadn't so much as looked at a chicken nugget for eight years, but as soon as she smelled a Hildy's... that was it. I swear it's whatever they put in their sauce. No way is it anything healthy." Pravi laughs. "You should try one! I promise you won't regret it. My treat."
"Oh. No." The apprehension in Dylan's tone is evident as he endeavours to back his way out. "No, thank you, Pravi. I, uh, I had quite a big breakfast."
"What about you, Faith? Fancy a burger?"
"No. No, I'm good, thanks."
Pravi tuts loudly.
"Oh man, I'm telling you, you're missing out here. Maybe next time, eh?"
"Maybe," Dylan grumbles. His hand appears at the open compartment window, and the memory of Pravi's laughter, the moment of light-hearted relief, is instantly forgotten. "If we're not wearing masks we should keep this shut."
He closes it with a finality that physically hurts. Like a punch to the stomach. A blow to the jaw. He is, she now realises, deliberately shutting her out.
For a while Faith stares at the hatch, unable to shake the impression that she should attempt to retrieve what little remains of their apparent friendship. She wonders how - if - she can break down the wall that has risen stiffly between them. Perhaps she has over-stepped the mark. Perhaps she has impressed her emotions, her feelings, her life on him once too often. Perhaps she has offended him with her honesty. Worst of all: perhaps she has taken him for granted.
Reaching into her pocket Faith pulls out her phone and searches for his name.
'I'm sorry, Dylan', she types slowly. Purposefully. 'I don't want to lose you.'
Such simple and innocent words. And heavy with an indeterminable consequence. Her thumb hovers hesitantly over the send button.
'As a friend,' she adds quickly, echoing his earlier response.
The compartment window may be closed, but she can still hear the intermittent beeping of his phone as he receives her messages. She stares nervously at the screen, waiting with unfulfilled anticipation. One minute stretches into two with no reply. Then three.
Her heart begins to hammer. An unbearable awkwardness and uncertainty. Pressing a hand to her jaw, Faith feels the flurry of her pulse brush against her fingers. A familiar sensation she has experienced many times over the years: the fear of losing a friend.
Or is it fear of losing something more?
'Dylan?' she types anxiously. 'Talk to me. Please?'
Another minute. The chances of ever receiving a reply dwindle significantly.
"Oh, no, come on! You've got to be kidding!" Pravi's voice pierces the quiet. The ambulance rolls to a stop. "There's me fantasising about a burger all morning. Should've known better." She sighs loudly. "Closed due to Covid. That's just my luck."
The rumble of the engine. Wheels moving in reverse. A low branch whips against the window with a loud thwack, but Faith's attention is absorbed by the screen held tightly between her hands.
'Please don't shut me out.'
Three dots - the promise of a reply - wave in repetitive synchronisation. Over, and over again. He's seen her messages, and the idea that he is now purposefully ignoring her drives her to unclasp her seatbelt and reach for the compartment window.
She feels the impact before she hears it: the sudden rush of unexpected force that flings her across the back of the ambulance and into the adjacent wall. Bone cracks against metal. Breath rushes from her lungs. Outside: the burning squeal of tyres against tarmac. Pieces of equipment rise like a wave, suspended in mid-air before clattering down against the floor. Her body falls limp to the ground.
A sharp pain at the base of her skull. A sudden ebbing coldness. And fragments of glass that glitter in a growing darkness.
