A/N: I'm back, finally. Sorry it's taken so long – I'm currently caught up with some family stuff that has to take priority and my internet has decided that now is the time to play up - it's being very sporadic in terms of connectivity so although this has been completed for a few days, I haven't had time to proof read it before now. It's just one big, angsty mess this chapter so if you don't like that sort of stuff then don't read it. Thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed, I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think. An especially massive thank you goes to Checky - hope you enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Casualty belongs to the BBC, no copyright infringement intended. The song belongs to the relevant artist/song writer. The song I've used in this chapter is Broken Doll by Paloma Faith because I thought it fitted in perfectly.

Twenty-Four Seven
Chapter 6: Yvonne

I'm a broken doll,
And you're the puppeteer,
Take control for me,
And wipe away my fear.
I don't claim to be perfect,
I know I'm damaged goods,
But I wanna be let out of the darkness,
Just like every lady would.
Lick my wounds and watch them seal,
With a healing heart,
Embrace my sadness, look after me
'Cause there's no-one else I'd ask.

You've done it. You've crumbled and given in to the fear, confusion...all of these emotions, some of which you just can't place, that are flooding throughout your body, more so after the last twenty four hours and you hate yourself more than you already did for hurting him. He's done nothing wrong. Nothing. All he wants to do is help you but you're refusing to let yourself be helped. You're far too stubborn for your own good sometimes and this, well this is most definitely one of those times. You're being ridiculous, you're aware of that much but there's more to it than just a matter of pride. You're too afraid to let him in, you're scared that he will see straight through your carefully arranged mask and see the mess that you're really in. If that happens, you're terrified that he'll run for the hills once he realises just how messed up, how stupid you've become in the last three years and then you won't have anyone. You couldn't cope with that, you know that you couldn't so you've had to go down the self-preservation route somewhat – lash out before you get hurt thus putting the ball in your court. You're controlling things and that's the only way you'll be able to deal with the inevitable rejection. You don't want to get hurt so at the moment being the one who inflicts the pain suits you just fine. That makes you sound like a terrible person but if you're entirely honest with yourself, you can't quite bring yourself to care. You'll keep telling yourself that over the course of the next few days, weeks, however long you have to in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better about your decision. But at the same time, you don't think you could ever forgive yourself for hurting him. He didn't deserve it.

It's all such a mess. A complete and utter mess, a tangled web that mainly consists of all these negative emotions and you're struggling to see a way out of the metaphorical darkness that has surrounded you, that's just waiting for you to fall under so it can consume you. There is no light at the end of this incredibly long tunnel, not that you can see at any rate. There is nothing that is good about this. You don't know if you're coming or going; each way you turn, there seems to be another problem, another issue that crops up, terrifying you more than you could ever coherently explain. You feel like you want to run away as fast and as hard as you can purely so you don't have to deal with anything – you don't have the strength to be able to face up to all your problems and that's another reason you can't stay, you don't want to disappoint Nick with the person that you've become since you've been away.

Your current situation is so up in the air that you're not sure what to do any more. Your brain is screaming at you to 'do the right thing' but how can you do that when you don't even know what that is? You can't even convince yourself that your decision to leave had even been the right one; your mind is so riddled with doubts about anything and everything at the moment but especially about this decision. This one hasty decision, the one decision that you might live to regret – you don't know. You just want it all to go away but you're not sure how to make that happen. You're so confused, so horribly isolated; you feel so cut off from everything that used to be familiar to you that it's a struggle to assemble your thoughts into anything that remotely resembles coherence. Perhaps that's why you started making rash decisions.

Nick had wanted you to stay, he did want you to stay; that much had been crystal clear to you in the way that he had practically begged you not to go. However fear had you in its icy grips and it had, once again, over-ridden any other emotion that you should have been feeling in that situation. In that moment when you had felt so scared for reasons that you couldn't even begin to explain, running away had seemed like the best options and that in turn had been the deciding factor in your decision. Unfortunately you had then verbalised that decision and now that you thought about it – hindsight really is a wonderful thing – you probably shouldn't have verbalised it until you were sure that it was what you wanted to do. But you thought that you did want to go, it's just that now you've got nothing else to do other than think and walk, that decision is suddenly starting to look unappealing. He's right, you know that. You shouldn't run away from your problems and although it did...it does seem like the only option, you're now completely unsure whether it's actually the right thing to do or not. When did everything get so complicated? Probably when you woke up in that hospital bed all alone and completely terrified. Things had just gone (and had continued) on a downward spiral since then. It's your fault. All of it.

You just know that you're craving some sort of normality, you're desperate to try and forget the patchy memories that you have of the riots before you start to remember everything that happened properly – you're more than aware that could happen and that in itself scares you – and you want nothing more than to erase your horribly clear memories of the subsequent three years. If you could forget, would all the feelings that accompany your patchwork memories disappear? It sounds logical to you. But surely if you want to forget then you shouldn't be here. Holby is where it all happened...well it's where the events of the last few years had been put into motion and you hadn't been able to stop it from happening – once you knew anything about it, it had been too late, the deed had been done so to speak. Now you're frightened that being back in Holby is going to unlock things that you don't want to remember, the things that you had probably repressed for good reason. You don't want to be trapped in this living hell for any longer and things would only get worse if you remembered the riots in full, that much you have convinced yourself. It's already difficult enough to get through each day with the shadowy, flickering memories that are ever present as you struggle to put everything into perspective without knowing exactly what happened. Not that you would admit that to anyone – it's taken a while for you to admit that to yourself so telling anyone else is definitely out of the question. If you stay in Holby then all you can see is a dark future ahead of you and you don't want that. You can't quite see out of the darkness, see that everything could be and would be so much better with time and patience. You're very much stuck between the present and the past with the future...your future looking very much uncertain.

However there is one thing that you're forgetting or rather one person. Nick. Holby means Nick. The two words hold a positive correlation in your brain and part of the reason you had agreed to return was that you had missed him like crazy, you were desperate to see him again. Throughout the last three years you had missed him. Really missed him. Missed him more than you thought it was possible to miss someone and because you had known that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn't see him again, you had convinced yourself that if you ever did stumble back into his life or vice versa then he wasn't going to want you, that he would have moved on. It helped to lessen the pain of his absence from your life, not that it was his fault because it wasn't.

Then you had returned to Holby and Nick had blown that theory, the theory that you had spent three long years perfecting, rather spectacularly out of the water within hours of your first proper meeting. He hadn't...hasn't moved on from you and according to him, he still wants you. You can't quite comprehend that. You had expected him, almost wanted him to be angry, to hate you for what had happened because that would have almost certainly made things a whole lot easier but he hadn't. He didn't. He had been remarkably understanding which is something that you're still confused by. After everything you've put him through, you're certain that you don't deserve to be loved, not by him or indeed anyone. Yet he told you that he loved you and if there was only one thing in the entire world that you could be certain of, it would be your feelings for Nick. You love him with all your heart and you don't care if that sounds overly sentimental or cheesy, it's the truth. But despite that, despite your strong feelings for him which are apparently reciprocated, you've still walked away from him. You've walked away from the man who cares about you, who still wants to be with you no matter what. Or so he says and you've hurt him into the bargain. He's done nothing other than show you love and concern and you still walked away, knowing that it would hurt him, that your actions would hurt him. That makes you a terrible person.

You wish with all your heart that you could be brave and manage to summon up the strength from somewhere to stay and face your demons but you're worried that if you stay, you'll end up needing him too much and then he'll get fed up with you – that's if you don't manage to push him away for good beforehand. You don't want to be seen as clingy, you hate the thought of being the type of person that needs someone to protect them because that had never been part of your personality, you had always been fiercely independent but it had become rather apparent to you once you had woken up all those years ago that the riots had taken that away from you as well. You hate how affected by the riots even three years down the track – you're convinced that you should have dealt with it by now and moved on instead of being stuck with all this bottled up anger that just seems to give way to the fear, the apprehension that you feel deep down inside of you, years later. You really don't want to hurt him but you're convinced that you'll hurt him more in the long run by staying so maybe a few weeks of pain for the pair of you is preferable to the months of emotional torment that is undoubtedly waiting round the corner for you if you do stay. Even if you end up having to deal with it all alone, at least you won't be putting anyone else through it. You're already exhausted by the amount of conflicting emotions that are pulsating through your body – emotions that you hadn't even thought you were capable of feeling – a lot stronger, more powerful here in Holby than they ever had been in London. But at least you're feeling something, that's preferable to the numb, empty feeling that you feel on the rare occasions you manage to forget about everything for a while. It's never for long but you'd rather feel negative emotions than feel nothing because as horrible as they are, you at least feel a little more human when you're experiencing some sort of emotion.

Maybe Holby isn't the best place for you despite what everyone else thinks. You don't know. You're just tired, exhausted of everything. Tired of running, tired of not having the strength to face up to this unresolved situation that you know you need to deal with. Running did seem like the best option but now you're not so sure. Where can you run to? You've got no-one. No family to speak of, no friends. You're completely alone in this world and for a brief moment, that realisation hurts more than anything else.

Of course there is the option that you had initially been resistant to. Staying. You're not sure whether running away really would be the best solution. It's a solution, certainly but whether it would be the right thing for you in the long run is something completely different altogether. It might work as a short term solution but even you know that you've got to be realistic, you've got to start looking at things with a long term view despite the fact you can't see a future for yourself because you've got to start putting your life back together, piece by painful piece.

Nick had proposed a solution to your current predicament; to stay or to go. He wanted you to stay in Holby for a couple more weeks just to see how things went, to see whether you would begin to feel a little bit more secure as you settled back in. If you still wanted to leave after you had given it a try for a few weeks then he definitely wouldn't stop you and you could leave guilt free. If you left because things hadn't worked out then it would almost certainly make you feel less guilty than if you left just because you couldn't cope with Holby at first. It certainly seemed like an amicable solution for both of you but just as you started to come round to the idea, a small whisper of doubt started up in your mind. Could you really cope with Holby in the long term? Or even for just a few more weeks at best?

The positive side to this however – yes, you've finally found something in this whole hopeless situation which is enough to give you a small glimmer of hope – is that you would be closer to Nick for a little while longer even if you decided to leave in the end. You suppose that it would give you more of a chance to work you where you really stand and you would be able to see if there was any chance of salvaging anything from this mess. The fact that you would be near Nick, mileage wise at least, makes you feel a little bit better but that quickly dissipates as that annoying whisper of doubt in the back of your mind intensifies. Uncertainty fills you once again as more doubts begin to circle your mind, becoming stronger with every single step away from Nick's house that you take. You hate this. You don't know what to do; you really don't. You're so confused, you're feeling even more alone than you had before if that was even possible and these doubts that your brain keeps throwing up really isn't helping you feel any better.

Does he really want you? You're painfully aware that there is a chance that he's just saying he still loves you and he wants you to make you feel better. He's not stupid, he can probably see that something is troubling you – you had guessed that it was probably written all over your face the night before even though you had managed to sort out your 'everything is just fine, perfect, there's nothing to worry about' façade overnight. You didn't...you don't want to worry him but it doesn't even occur to you that you might be worrying him more by behaving like you are than if you just stayed and talked things through with him properly, told him all of your worries rather than just bottling them up and pretending that they weren't there, hoping that they would go away. If you're right – you really hope you're not, this is something you would be quite happy to be wrong about – and he doesn't want to be with you or if you stay and manage to push him away by being too needy or something along those lines then you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the rejection. Hang on, you're sure that your thoughts have been down this line before; they're starting to come full circle now, you're starting to go over the same thing again which seriously cannot be good. You're thinking far too much and that can't be doing you any good whatsoever.

You're in an odd place at the moment – even in your current emotional state, you can recognise that and you're not entirely sure what is best for you. You know that you should do the best thing for you, not anyone else but you can't do that if you don't know what that it. At the moment, you can't quite figure out what is right and what's not. You sort of think that it would be a whole lot easier if someone else took over and told you what to do; took that decision out of your hands. You wouldn't like it, of course you wouldn't – you've had three years of people telling you what to do for crying out loud. Three years of other people thinking that they know what's best for you without even consulting you or even considering your opinion and you resented them for that, in fact you still do. But at the moment, you can't help but feel that it would be easier for someone to tell you what to do even if it was only a short term solution. You know that no-one can take this away for you, make things easier because there is no magic fix – you've got to do it yourself, no-one can take that burden on for you no matter how much they might want to and quite frankly, you wouldn't want them to because despite how awful you're currently feeling, you know that you have to deal with it yourself if you're ever going to move on, no matter how difficult it might be or how terrified you are at the prospect of revisiting the past.

If you actually stop for a moment and think about things properly then you'll remember that technically – only technically, mind – someone has already made your decision for you. That decision was made the day that the idea of you returning to Holby and attempting to rebuild your life here was first thrown about. When you had stopped resisting and started looking at it without letting the emotions that Holby meant to you rule your mind, you had come round to their way of thinking and you had therefore set that decision in stone – metaphorically at least. Now you were giving up before you had even started. Suddenly it's like someone has flicked a switch in your brain as it dawns on you that Nick was right – giving up wasn't you. Even though it feels like you're stuck in a never ending storm and you can't quite see the clouds clearing any time soon, you can still recognise that running away isn't you. Before this had all started, you would never have considered it, no matter how tough things got. But you're forced to remind yourself that you're different now. Your experiences have affected you badly – why, you really don't know – and they have shaped the person that you are now, the person that you've been over the last three years. In response, your behaviour has changed, the way you deal with things that crop up has changed and you certainly don't feel as tough as you used to be. You don't recognise yourself; you don't know who you are any more and that is honestly terrifying.

A sigh that seems to come from deep inside you escapes your lips as you continue walking, too wrapped up in all the thoughts, the conflicting emotions that are ever present as your mind spins through the mess you're convinced you're stuck in to notice that you're walking in the wrong direction and you have been for some time. Your head is really starting to pound painfully now with all the thoughts, worries, everything that is rushing through your brain leaving you feeling completely and utterly drained. You just hope one of those damn headaches you've experienced ever since the riots won't materialise any time soon, that's something you could really do without. There just seems to be no end to it. Every time, every single time you think that you've made a decision, you come up with another reason to do the opposite and now it's really starting to take it's toll on you. You need to take control. You need to make a decision but that doesn't necessarily have to be done tonight as long as it gets done at some point. It could wait until tomorrow at the earliest or even a couple more days. Nothing has to be done today and although it's barely afternoon, you're exhausted and if you did make a decision when you're this tired, this confused then you'll only regret it the next day or, worst case scenario, a little further down the track.

The sound of shouting, arguing somewhere in the near distance grabs your attention and you're immediately alert as you instinctively push your thoughts to the back of your mind; the police officer in you coming to fore once more and taking over. You stop in your tracks before glancing around, a shiver going down your spine and your heart rate quickening as you recognise your surroundings. Realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, leaving you dazed momentarily as you slowly process the information that your brain is giving you. You've been walking the wrong way for...well you're not actually sure how long it's been since you hastily left Nick's house but you're quite sure that it's been a while – a couple of hours at most. However long it's been is irrelevant now though, the only thing you're bothered about is the fact that you've just noticed that your previously good sense of direction has spectacularly failed.

You take another sweeping look around, an uneasy feeling flooding over you. You recognise the dark shapes of the block of flats that indicate to you that the Somerdale estate is close by. You're there. Where it all happened and you're painfully aware that if you continue walking in this direction then you'll be back there and that's not somewhere you want to be. Ever. You feel yourself beginning to panic; your heart is pounding wildly in your chest and your palms are growing sweatier by the second. You try to tell yourself that it's okay, it's all over, nothing can hurt you, nobody can hurt you but your mind is racing and your body doesn't seem to agree with the calming thoughts that you're trying your best to focus on. Your breathing automatically hitches as your chest tightens, the simple act of breathing purely to stay alive suddenly seeming so much harder...impossible almost. You stare, wide eyed at the shapes of the buildings that are about a hundred meters away from you. They're the trigger. Suddenly your mind involuntarily flashes back to the riots and you can hear the shouts of the crowds, Nick's voice as he tries to reassure you are loud in your ears, slowly merging together into something incomprehensible but still continuing to echo round and round your brain as images dance in front of your eyes, taunting you. It's like you're stuck in your own personal horror film with some – not all – of the tattered memories that you thought you had forgotten forever coming flooding back to you as you stand there, your feet glued to the ground in fear. You can't move, can't do anything other than stand there, trembling as you struggle for breath; the vivid memories assaulting your mind. You feel like you're back there, injured and vulnerable, trying your best not to let the terror you're feeling overwhelm you.

"Oi miss, you alright?" A voice interrupts the memories that are running round your brain like a video tape stuck on loop and you turn, still struggling for every breath, still shaking violently, to come face to face with a boy of about fifteen sitting on his bike. He's peering at you with a mixture of concern and uncertainty and you know for sure then that you're in a complete state. Fear is gripping you, washing over you causing nausea to bubble in your stomach. You just want out of this place, you want this to all go away. Keep calm, you're okay. Nothing can hurt you, you're okay. Just breathe, all you have to do is your body doesn't agree with yet another of your attempts to calm yourself down – if anything, you're working yourself up into more of a state – and your flight or fight reflex is screaming at you, louder than ever before to get the hell out of there. Now.

"F-fine...I'm fine.." you manage to gasp out as your left hand flies to your chest, pain exploding through you. Your right is holding your bag close to you in a protective manner. God you wish you could breathe properly. Why can't you breathe? It hurts. It really hurts and you just want, you need someone to take it all away; to make it stop.

Please make it stop, please.

He's still there, frowning at you with his elbows resting on his bike. He obviously doesn't believe you're okay either despite your best efforts to convince yourself and him that you are. You've tried everything you can think of to calm yourself down but it's not working and you can't breathe properly. Every jagged breath you take hurts more than the one before but it's necessary pain. Keep breathing. It's painful, so painful. It feels like a thousand sharp knifes are stabbing at your chest as you hyperventilate; a band of fear compressing your chest tightly like a belt that is far too tight as your body struggles to get enough air. Your head is swimming, everything looks weird, feels strange. The boy and his bike suddenly seem so far away even though they're right next to you. You feel dizzy, light headed – it's an odd feeling, you can't quite describe it properly – and your limbs are tingling. Pins and needles. You need Nick now, you just need him but he's not there with you and it's your own stupid fault; you ran away from him.

"Fine..." you rasp again, your voice sounding rough, unlike you even to your own ears. You stumble away from him, nearly falling as you head back in the direction you had come from. Why you're attempting to talk, you have no idea but you feel compelled to try and wipe that worried look off of his face. It's sweet that he's stopped, that he's concerned but you just wish that he would leave you alone. You're terrified and you're embarrassed by your rather violent reaction to one place. You know that it's unlikely that he'll know why you're in this state even if he does remember and recognise you from the riots or from the events that led up to the riots but you're not thinking straight, you feel trapped. It's just a place, it can't hurt you but you just know that you need to get away from it. You're not even sure if you're supposed to be walking around when you feel this ill, when you're caught up in a haze of panic but you have an overwhelming desire to get away from here, to get back to Nick's. You'll be safe there. You're terrified, alone and you just want to feel safe again. Nick makes you feel safe, he makes you feel secure and at the moment, you're craving the feeling of protection. You absolutely hate the thought of needing someone, of being reliant on someone – it doesn't sit well with the fiery, independent streak that is still in you although it's stifled somewhere under the mess of panic, fear, anger and god knows how many other negative emotions that all charge through your body on a daily basis. Right now – although you'll feel differently later, once you can breathe, once the shaking has stopped, when you feel less sick – you don't care about these new layers that have formed, adding to the already complex layers that make up your personality, control the way you react to things even if they are bringing out insecurities and fears you didn't even know you had. Now you just care about finding a way out of this mad panic, a way to feel better. As pain stabs through your chest again as you're forced to take another ragged breath, your jumbled thoughts dissipate as you're overcome with a desire to find Nick. You just want this to stop.

The piercing screech of bike tyres as the boy accompanied by his cycle come to a stop next to you breaks through your fogged mind a few moments later and you stumble violently against a nearby wall, scraping your hand hard against the rough bricks. The pain doesn't even register – you're too busy trying to control your breathing, trying to calm yourself down – so you don't feel the searing pain that shoots up your arm nor the warm, sticky sensation that is created by blood slowly dripping down your fingers. You feel sick, very sick, almost like you might throw up any minute which is something you really don't want to happen. You have no issue with throwing up other than the fact that if it happened in public, you have no doubt that it would be incredibly embarrassing especially whilst you're in this sort of state. It certainly wouldn't make you feel better, if anything it's likely to make you feel worse. Your thoughts turn back to your symptoms, your analytic mind slowly processing them. Your breathing is slightly easier – that's good – but your chest still hurts badly every time you inhale and then exhale – not so good. The tingling in your hands and feet is still there, worsening if anything and that's enough to scare you senseless. Not that you need to feel any more terrified that you currently do.

The boy looks at you, tilting his head to the left. "Hey miss, where you going?" His accent is local, rough around the edges and it breaks into your thoughts, stopping you from focusing on your fears as you focus on his voice, the question that he's asking you, all the time attempting to slow your breathing enough so you can coherently talk. "D'ya need anything? Ambulance?"

You shake your head frantically at that question, unbidden tears stinging the back of your eyes. He's just trying to help but ambulance means paramedics, paramedics mean hospital and you're all too aware that the hospital means Nick's colleagues. You can't cope with them seeing you in such a state, in fact you can't cope with them seeing you at all yet. It's too much to deal with in such a little space of time. You're not sure whether Nick has actually told anyone whether you're alive or not, you suspect he probably hasn't which undoubtedly means that as far as they know, you're dead and you're really not in the mood to give anyone a shock or even attempt to explain to anyone else at the moment why you're not actually dead like you're supposed to be. You push yourself away from the wall and try to take another few shaky steps before you give in and collapse back against it, the firm structure supporting you but for how much longer, you don't know. You can't move. You feel sick, dizzy and pain is continuing to explode through your body. Your breathing is better but still not great. The thought of being stuck there, helpless and vulnerable, is enough to send another major wave of panic through you which really won't help you or your current situation.

You lean against the wall for a few more moments, your breathing jagged and uneven and just then, out of nowhere, a thought pops into your mind. You vaguely wonder why you didn't think of this before as you shakily push your hand into the pocket of your jeans, your fingers closing around the shape of your mobile. Perhaps he could call Nick for you – he's still there, watching you anxiously. It's a worth a risk – your phone is old so if he runs off with it then you won't miss it too much. That's an awful thought, you know that but years of experience has taught you that people aren't usually what they seem and you'd rather be wary than too trusting. Decision made, you pull your phone out of your pocket and hold it out to him, trying to regulate your breathing enough to make this last request. Now that just sounds melodramatic, you're probably not dying even though it feels like your chest is about to explode. "N-Nick..." you gasp out as your head spins, your legs shake violently as if they're jelly. You give in, too exhausted to fight any longer and slide to the floor, your eyes slipping closed against the sudden, stronger wave of nausea that engulfs you. "P-phone..Nick..please?"

Your eyes stay closed so you don't see him nod in agreement but seconds later you hear the sound of him getting off of his bike and then the sound of it being laid gently down on the ground. Footsteps approach you, quiet and timid and he takes your phone out of your grasp, immediately taking a step back from where you are slumped on the surprisingly cold ground, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. Too fast. Pain continues to assault your body as you take ragged lungfuls of air, trying to normalize your breathing. But it's still not working and everything hurts. It really hurts. You hear the small sound of buttons being pressed and relief takes over fleetingly – those buttons will eventually lead him to Nick's name in your sparse contact list.

Not long now. Just breathe.

Please answer Nick, please.

Piece me all together,
The broken high and sweet,
You thought my heart was made of wood,
But I can hear it beat.
I'm scared of the shadows in the night,
When you're not there by my side,
Sick of nightmares in my sleep,
There's no place I can hide.
I'm a broken doll,
And you're the puppeteer,
Take control for me
And wipe away my fear.

There you go. This chapter sort of evolved so it's a lot longer than I had originally anticipated. The next chapter is Nick's take on things and things will start to move on a little more from there. Thank you for reading and if you have time, it would be great if you could leave a review even if it's just a few words. The next chapter will be up as soon as possible but I can't put a time frame on it. I will try my best not to leave you waiting for too long though.