Sorry it's taken me a while to do this chapter – I think it must be the lack of Sam and Dylan in the last Casualty episode :( Anyway, enjoy and please R & R!

Though there had been no major RTCs or puzzling cases to attend to, Dylan still felt the heavy weight of exhaustion dragging him down, and not even the strong black coffee swirling around in its plastic cup could entice him back to the living. He sighed and dropped it in the bin before resting his elbow on the counter and rubbing his tired eyes. He had tried countless times to "accidentally" bump into his wife but he had failed to even see her in passing since Matt's proposal. Dubai, of all places! Sam was much happier here, in England, where she belonged. There was no way she would leave. She couldn't.

Even as he thought it, though, he couldn't help wondering what on earth was tying her down here to even give her pause for thought. After all, they were separated, and he had made sure there was no chance of a reconciliation. He should really be surprised that she hadn't jumped at the chance there and then. Except, she hadn't refused him. Yes, she had run off, but that didn't mean she was saying no, just that she didn't want to answer at that particular moment. Typical Sam, always avoiding the question.

He almost smiled to himself as he thought about his own proposal many moons ago now. The tremble in his hands, the expectant, eager, naïve look in his eyes when he had got down on one knee and asked her, quietly, to marry him. He had expected a blunt "no", but instead, she had laughed nervously and ran into the garden. He had to wait eighteen and a half minutes before she finally came back and accepted. It was the happiest moment of his life, but the memory was soured by all the events that had followed.

"Ah, just the man I was looking for! Fancy a pint?" The Scottish lilt of the junior doctor almost made Dylan groan, but he refrained from saying something spiteful and simply shook his head.

"Not tonight," he replied, fairly politely under the circumstances.

"Oh, go on! Me and the lads are hitting the town, and I think you have a better excuse than any of us to get pissed!"

Dylan felt his annoyance growing and decided to end the conversation once and for all. "Unlike you, Dr Lyons, I don't make a habit of drinking away my problems." He was about to add "not any more" to that sentence before realising that that was just another secret he was unwilling to become staffroom gossip. He had been sober long enough to know that he would never, ever allow himself to return to those abysmal days.

Lenny gave a nervous smile before quickly grabbing his jacket from his locker and making a hasty retreat from the staffroom. Silence again, Dylan thought, but strangely that gave him no comfort. Silence only brought thoughts, and in some ways he was almost tempted to stare into the depths of a scotch for any answers to his life. The door opening forced that thought from his mind.

He turned, ready for round 2 with the irritating younger doctor, but gulped when he saw a pale Sam enter, eyes bloodshot from… crying? He had never been very good at observing "women's things", but even he could tell the red, sore skin under her eyes wasn't a medical condition.

"Oh," she said as her eyes met his.

His mouth gaped open like an idiot, scanning his mind for something reasonable to say. Congratulations was too presumptuous, but would ignoring the issue be too awkward?

"I hear it boasts some spectacular views," he said finally, sounding like something out of a travel brochure.

"Sorry?"

"Dubai. Spectacular views," he paraphrased, realising he was digging an even deeper hole for himself but unsure how to get himself out of it now.

Sam's mouth became a thin, pressed line and she turned her head slightly so that their gaze was broken. "So I've been told."

Dylan nodded, understanding perfectly. "How many times, exactly?"

"Well, counting all the doctors, nurses, porters, cleaners, and even some of the patients who happened to be milling around at the time, I think we're looking nearer the fifty mark, don't you?" she said bitterly, feeling like punching the wall.

For one awful moment, he almost thought about pulling her into a hug, like he would have done in the old days, but quickly checked himself, realising that was Matt's job now, no matter how much it pained him to admit it.

"I see."

"Do you, Dylan? Because I have a feeling that you don't see at all; you never have," she replied, slumping onto the couch and resting her head on her knees.

His brows furrowed and he took a hesitant step forward, his hands clasping and unclasping behind his back. "Should I get someone?"

"Why? Don't you think you're up to the job? We're separated Dylan, not divorced – you're still my husband."

At this, Sam looked up to see how nervous Dylan now looked, and almost laughed. "You know what, just forget it. You never wanted to hear my problems before, so why-"

"Not true," he cut in. "I know I wasn't the… easiest man to get along with, but you were hardly innocent yourself."

"Of course not, because you can never bloody take the blame for anything, can you? It always comes back to me, because it seems that everything you did wrong was a consequence of my mistake. My one mistake, compared with the countless ones you made."

Dylan turned away, his hands now shaking from anger. He hated that no matter how many years it had been, they were never going to be rid of this.

"I don't think anything I say is going to be right," he said quietly, and left the room without daring to look back at his wife.

xxx

Matt folded over the newspaper he had been carefully analysing for some time, and stood up. He had been waiting in reception long enough, and he wanted answers. Seeing Sam sneaking out of the staffroom not long after her husband didn't dent his confidence in the slightest, but it did increase his curiosity.

"There you are," he called, smiling at seeing her frame go rigid at his voice. At least he still had an effect on her.

"I thought you'd gone," she replied without turning, desperate for today to be over so that she could go home.

"Not without your answer." It sounded cheesy even to him, but perhaps Sam would have become one of those women who liked those one-liners. Unlikely, but he didn't have much to go on considering they hadn't seen each other in such a long time.

Sam shuddered, the words grating on her ears. "I thought I'd made it pretty clear what my answer was, but then you've never been very good with subtlety, have you?"

Matt laughed, ignoring the insult. "Come on, Sammy. Dubai would be a relief and you know it. What's here to keep you in this dump?"

Sam turned at this remark, deciding she was going to show him once and for all exactly how she felt. "I hate the fact that I gave in to you before, and I hate that everything about my marriage is tainted by you. I never, ever want to see you again. Do you understand that?"

For the first time, Sam so a look in Matt's eye that almost resembled hurt, but not enough for her to feel remorse.

"If you change your mind," he said, handing her his card, "then don't hesitate to call me."

Sam took it, even though she knew she'd drop it in the bin the minute he was gone, and then watched him leave, praying to whoever was listening that that would be the last time she saw him again…