Last chapter was incredibly fluffy by my standards. Normal service will be resumed with this one, I can assure you!
By Friday, Dylan was back in the ED, though he couldn't help his mind wandering to thinking about how Sam would be getting on. She had returned to her flat after her day spent taking care of him, but had made sure to stop at the marina on her way to the station, early that morning.
Dylan looked at her in silence for a moment; a tiny smile threatening on his lips.
"You look different," he said; he searched her appearance for the reason why.
Running a hand along the length of her plaited hair, she raised her eyebrows. She wore blue jeans and brown laced-up boots – the weather was turning colder by the day. Her hair was plaited over her left shoulder, falling down the front of her navy jacket. At the neckline, the collar or a burgundy jumper peeked from behind a soft grey scarf. That scarf was one she'd owned for years. It perpetually carried the scent of her perfume, Dylan knew. There was nothing unusual about her attire or the small backpack she carried, so what was different?
When he realised, he shot her a smile that conveyed his pride without words.
"You're standing like a soldier again."
Sam's expression was hopeful "You think so?"
He nodded. Her posture had remained very good in the time between (she had never been one to slouch) but there was no denying what her stance wordlessly said. "I'd recognise it anywhere," he confirmed. "Good luck, today."
Sam pushed out a long breath.
He stepped forward to hug her. His cold lingered a little, but he could still smell Coco Mademoiselle on her skin and her scarf.
He had expected to hear from her by now. Even a cursory update of the day's events would have pushed back the waves of worry that threatened to consume him. The data and reports in front of him demanded more attention than he could give.
It was as though they were connected by an invisible thread: at that moment, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. The relief was immeasurable when he saw Sam's name.
"Could you tell I was thinking about you?" he said before he could censor himself. Good thing he was behind the closed door of his office and not under threat of being overheard to soften so much.
"You were?" Her voice was soft, tired and slightly muffled by the noises of wherever she found herself.
Dylan glanced at his watch and frowned. "I thought you'd be on your way home by now, is everything okay?" A sigh came down the phone. It struck him that perhaps the medical had not gone Sam's way. That would certainly have the power to hold her tongue. "Sam, was… was it all alright? Did they not say yes?"
"What? No, god, no, it was all fine – I just got to Paddington and my train has been delayed by nearly three hours. I won't get back until gone eleven, and you're on an early tomorrow so I won't get any time with you tonight."
Dylan's shoulders dropped but he made no audible sound of disappointment. "But they cleared you, that's good news!" He pushed positivity into his voice, wishing her return journey could have been smooth so that she would feel it too. "Congratulations, Sam. You did it."
"I did, I'd just rather be on a train home than stuck at Paddington at rush hour."
He let out a little sigh of his own. "I know, my love, I'm sorry. But there is always tomorrow, we can celebrate tomorrow instead." He said this despite his mind already working out a plan. Sam would disapprove immediately, but forfeiting much-needed sleep at the tail-end of a cold was worth it for her, and always would be.
At twenty past eleven, Sam's train finally pulled into platform two at Holby station. She was tired and barely paid attention to putting one foot in front of the other as she stepped off the warm train into the chilly night air. Rummaging in her pockets, she made for the ticket barriers. As she passed through and picked up her ticket for the last time, she looked up. Her heart lifted at the sight of Dylan waiting for her.
"What are you doing here?" she said incredulously as she wrapped her arms around him. "You're meant to be in bed – you didn't have to come and get me!"
"Of course I did," he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You will always be more important to me than any amount of sleep." He hugged her close. "You've had a big day and I'm incredibly proud of you."
Sam stepped back with a small smile. "Thank you." She looked up at the clock on the wall and shook her head. "Now, take me home so you can salvage a few hours' sleep from tonight."
"If you don't mind, I'll take you back to the boat. You've had a long day. You need the sleep as much as I do."
Sam let out a yawn and nodded in agreement. The boat was miles cosier than her flat, and with Dylan's cold heading out now, she could savour the opportunity to sleep beside him.
They both sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, silently digesting the day. Sam thought for a moment. She was steeling herself, but when she stood up and began to change for bed it was as though she had always intended to do it.
Dylan's eyes widened as she peeled off her jumper and took hold of the bottom of her t-shirt. Did she mean to undress in front of him or was she so tired as to have forgotten her usual inhibitions about her body? He cleared his throat.
"I can go, if you want me to – I'll change in the bathroom if you need some privacy."
She met his eyes. "No, stay. I'm okay," she insisted, though she knew the tremble in her hands gave her away.
"If you change your mind at any point, I will respect that," he added quietly.
"Thank you." It was no more than a whisper. She took a steadying breath and pulled the shirt over her head until she stood before him in her jeans and a white bra. In a moment of distraction, she was relieved to have selected a newer, ergo nice, bra that morning.
"Well, there it is," she murmured, fighting the urge to cross her arms in front of herself or else lie down flat on her stomach to hide it all.
Dylan blinked in shock, assimilating the long-held memory of a flawless, toned abdomen with what had been vulnerably presented to him. Sam's body was still slim and toned, her undamaged skin still a beautiful shade that he'd always seen as so much more alive than his own pasty Irish white. But interrupting it all was an enormous chevron scar that came down from her breastbone in an inverted Y-shape. The incision stood out stark and reddish-pink in comparison to the surrounding skin. He couldn't tear his eyes away, but on hearing a sorrowful sniff he snapped his gaze back to her face at once. To his horror, Sam was on the verge of tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first.
"Please say something, please don't just stare at it like a hideous sample in a museum," she begged.
The way she separated the scar from herself, saying 'it' instead of 'me' was a knife in Dylan's heart.
"I know it's awful and I know it's not the body you fell in love with or imagined I'd have –"
"Samantha, my darling, stop, please," he said gently. "I can't bear hearing you say those things about yourself." He reached for her and put his hands on her bare waist. He looked into her glistening eyes. "I was silent because… I had no idea it was like this. All this time I thought they'd done it laparoscopically and you were self-conscious of all the patches of scar tissue. I never thought it was like this – why did they do it open?!"
"There wasn't time!" she cried, filling with relief as it became clear he wasn't disgusted by her new body. "There was a bit of shrapnel that had torn into my liver and I was bleeding out. If they'd wasted all that time preparing a laparoscopy…" She looked at him, hoping he'd catch her drift without the words.
"Sam," he breathed. "I wish I'd known. I don't know what I'd have done, but I'd have done something!" He leaned forward and gently kissed the midpoint of the scar, where the vertical line diverged into the two sides of the inverted Y.
She let out a half-sob, half-giggle and wiped her eyes. It was going to be okay. Something didn't add up though. "You were there – you were in ICU when I woke up. My notes were right there, the surgical team was right there, why didn't you –"
"Sam, we weren't together or even close to it. I was there because I loved you, obviously, but I couldn't bear the thought of you being alone up there. It wasn't my place to know all the details. I never would have dreamed of invading your privacy like that. That was yours, and yours alone, to share or not share. I absolutely respect that you didn't want to."
At these words, Sam broke down completely.
As quickly as he could, Dylan got up and changed into his pyjamas.
Sam, assuming that he was done talking, clumsily followed suit, still in floods of tears. But to her surprise, when they were both changed Dylan gently pulled her down to the bed to lie in front of him, his body pressed close to hers as she shook with raw emotion.
"Samantha," he murmured softly, "you are still exactly as beautiful as the F1 I shouldn't have taken home with me. Do you still remember that first time? I do – I remember a woman way out of my league, far too pretty to be mine. You are her. She is you. This doesn't change who you are, it doesn't change that I love you." He made a point to rest a hand over her stomach, on top of her pyjamas of course, where he now knew the scar lay. "I love you, okay? No matter what."
Sam was exhausted, barely able to form words around the lump in her throat. "I love you too," she whispered tearfully. She interlinked her fingers with his and guided both their hands under her pyjama shirt, to rest on her skin. She'd missed his touch so much.
They were still wrapped around each other five hours later, when an unwelcome alarm clock started the new day as if nothing had changed at all, when in fact hardly anything was the same.
