A/N: This is the aftermath of the last chapter, an it's still a bit sad. Also, Chantelle features in this chapter. I love Chantelle, and I love writing her. She's so cheerful and innocent, but she does see more than she lets on, I think :) Thanks for all the reviews too.

Sarah x

They were sitting in identical positions – backs against the door, knees up, arms leaning on their knees, both completely silent. Hanssen didn't know what to do; for a woman who spent half her life slyly screwing people over, she was unbelievably screwed up herself. He had had no idea that she had a trail of destruction behind her. A dead father by the time she was nine years old, and now it seemed she had spent a good few years harming herself.

The pain she must have been in to do that herself. The image of a young Serena taking a blade to her skin haunted him.

He looked around at her; she was just staring at her hands. She looked exhausted. He stood up and held his hand down to her. She looked up at him and took it, letting him pull her to her feet. She went to open the door but he caught her wrist and turned her back around to face him.

He kissed her very lightly and felt her breath hitch; she hadn't expected him to still want her. That much was obvious.

His hand touched her face gently, kissing her until she kissed back. Eventually she started to come out of her state of shock and he felt her hand flat on his chest and her other arm around his waist. She wasn't as tough as she pretended. What he had seen in her today was the hidden fragility she had tried to forget.

"Why?" she asked him when she broke the kiss. "Why haven't you walked away?"

"Because it doesn't change anything," he explained to her. She looked confused. Was she expecting him to hate her for it? For him to be disgusted by it? For him not to understand?

He didn't understand. He admitted that. All he understood was that she had been in a great deal of pain and it caused her to go down the route of self-harm. It didn't change who she was. She was still Serena and she was always going to be. And it just so happened that Serena was the woman who had, for whatever reason, made him show real affection for the first time in years. Not the twisted, backward version everyone else saw and never understood, but the direct warmheartedness of kisses and cuddles and sleeping together.

"Why did you do it?" he asked her gently.

"I went through a phase of hating myself, and for a while every day was a struggle and every smile was forced. Well, my mother called it a 'phase' but then she never got to see the consequences, did she?"

"Depression?"

"Hmm," she nodded. "I'm sure my mum thought it was me just being a stroppy, moody teenage brat. I made her life a living hell for a while."

"While you really did live in hell," he added. He stroked her hair lightly, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck. "Serena, what you did thirty years ago doesn't change the way I see you. The fact you are covered in scars doesn't make you any less beautiful. It doesn't make you weak. They are a part of your story," he explained his thinking to her. "They are a part of you."

He didn't add that she was what he wanted now; she was dangerously close to tears again and he didn't want to upset her any more than he had already today.

Her thumb traced his mouth lightly and he smiled; she had accepted that he wasn't going to hate her for anything she did as a teenager. If he had it in him to hate her, she had given him plenty of reasons to and he would have despised her months ago. He couldn't really hate her. There was a light in her that he rarely saw in anyone. The fire that was so destructive was also the thing that burned bright in her. It was the thing that most attracted him to her.

Her arms were suddenly around his waist again and she was leaning into him. It felt so strange to have her looking for comfort, especially in him. She normally pushed everyone away and now he knew why.

He hadn't even noticed his hand move to the back of her head or his fingers in her hair; it was a subconscious reaction to her embrace. Was he now so involved with her that his mind and body worked effortlessly together to try and soothe and protect her?

The door opened silently – so much that Serena didn't even notice – and Chantelle Lane stopped dead in the doorway, an endearing look of shock on her face. Hanssen gave her a small smile and mouthed, "I'll explain later." She smiled and nodded, silently shutting the door again.

"You're too skinny," Serena accused quietly.

"Just the way I'm built, I'm afraid," he smiled, and she squeezed him tight for a moment. "Inconveniently tall and unfortunately thin."

"Since when was being tall inconvenient?"

"Since you were a good nine or ten inches shorter than me," he retorted. "Ten inches is a lot when you are trying to kiss a woman, you know," he teased. He felt her smile into his chest.

"You have to go back to work," she reminded him. She was right; there were things that needed done. "So do I, for that matter."

"Alright," he sighed. "I'll come and see you before I leave for the day," he promised her as she took her arms from around his body.

"I don't need a minder."

"I know you don't," he smiled. "I just want to know you're OK." She seemed not to believe him; was it really so difficult for her to believe he cared about her? He pressed a kiss into her hair and left her with the intention of finding Chantelle before word got round that Henrik Hanssen had been holding the infallible Serena Campbell in his arms.

"Nurse Lane," Hanssen said when he found her at the nurses' station. "Can I have a private word please? Perhaps over a coffee?" he offered.

"Sure. I'm due a break anyway," she smiled brightly.

Once they were sat at a table, and Chantelle was happily munching on a cinnamon roll, Hanssen explained himself. "About what you walked in on-"

"Oh, it's fine," she waved his concern away. "I won't tell anyone." Hanssen smiled to himself; so Digby hadn't said anything about witnessing the pair of them just about ready to rip each other's clothes off in the office. On reflection, it was just as well the boy had walked in on them. There may have been an extremely upsetting conversation had that happened and her bare skin had been under the unflattering glare of the white lights.

"I feel I should probably explain myself. After all, Ms. Campbell isn't the type to simply fall into one's arms," he admitted.

"Everyone needs a cuddle sometimes," she replied. "Even Ms. Campbell. Actually, especially her." Hanssen gave her a look, curious as to what she meant. "Well, she's not exactly happy, is she?"

Hanssen was surprised. Serena had always seemed, to him, to be at ease, contented, happy, even. But to Chantelle she wasn't. Chantelle had seen her façade of sparkling, fearsome spirit for what it was – a façade. It wasn't always false, but Hanssen realised now that there were times when Serena was not what she appeared.

"What makes you think that?"

"She has this thing where she smiles when she doesn't want people to see what she's really thinking, but I can usually see right through that," Chantelle explained. "She's lonely."

"Is she really?" Hanssen asked into his cup.

"Not anymore," she reasoned as she tore a piece of cinnamon roll off and put it in her mouth. "I worked that one out the second she started being nice."

Hanssen started to worry that Chantelle had worked it out for herself; she had a reputation for being a bit dim but Hanssen knew she was capable of being very perceptive when she put her mind to it. "So what is your theory regarding that?"

"You," she said simply. "You're the change. I watched you leave with her last week. I saw you let her out of your car the next morning. And then you slipped out of the party on Friday," she recounted. "You managed to get her out of the bathrooms the morning she took that little funny turn."

Hanssen couldn't help but smile. Why did everyone write Chantelle off as air-headed? Even Serena, regardless of the incident with Adrienne, mothered her slightly, like she was incapable of thinking for herself. But Chantelle had taken all the evidence and found the right answer where nobody else but Jac and Malick had noticed the slight shift in their personalities.

"I'm blonde, Mr. Hanssen," she said. "I'm not stupid."

"I never did understand that," Henrik replied. "What has the colour of one's hair got to do with their intelligence?"

Chantelle just beamed and continued on her coffee and pastry. "I think it's a good thing. You and Ms. Campbell, I mean," she elaborated. "I know she's hardly Mother Theresa, but she's nice really. She just tries to protect herself. She's damaged," Chantelle shrugged, like it was obvious. But it wasn't obvious. Not to Hanssen and not to anyone else.

"Can I ask a favour?"

"Of course."

"Do you think you could keep an eye on Ms. Campbell today, just to make sure she is alright?" Hanssen asked. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted someone to make sure Serena was alright today; the state she had been in was the complete opposite of what he was used to, which frightened him a little. He didn't know what it was he was feeling for Serena right now, but at the forefront of it was a concern for her.

"Sure," Chantelle smiled. "Is there something wrong?" she added.

Hanssen hesitated. He had no intention of telling Chantelle of what had caused it – that was Serena's business – but he knew she would need some kind of reason why the Director of Surgery was asking a nurse to keep a watch on the Clinical Executive Director. "She had a bit of an upset earlier," he allowed.

"OK," Chantelle agreed brightly.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. He looked at his watch. The three hours he had spent dealing with Serena, Michael and Chantelle had severely set him back work-wise, but he was glad he had taken that time to get to the bottom of things. Hopefully this would be the final hornets' nest he kicked when it came to Serena.

"Back to work, Mr. Hanssen?" Chantelle suggested, rising to her feet. He too stood up, and Chantelle patted his back happily. "If anything happens, I'll get you. I think she'll be fine though."

"And how can you be sure of that?" he remarked as they approached the lift.

"I can't," she admitted. They stepped in the lift together, Chantelle pressing the button for Keller and then the button for the fifth floor. "I just know she's found a really good friend, and everyone feels better when they've got a real friend, don't they?"

Hope this is OK!
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!
Sarah x