Here's the next chapter! There's no cliffhanger at the end of this one, I promise.
Dixie's shift ended early that evening, and since she was well in the habit of going for a drink after work, she headed straight for the pub. Her day had been, quite frankly, exhausting, and she hadn't had time for lunch due to a call from a teenage boy who'd been stupid enough to drink an entire bottle of tobasco sauce as a dare. Upon arrival, she had quickly deduced that his trachea wasn't, in fact, burning, and had prescribed an entire loaf of bread to ease the sensation. Of course she would laugh about it later, but all she could think at that moment was that it was a terrible waste of both her time and her resources.
A welcoming glow flooded from the interior of the pub, and as she pushed the door open she heard the familiar hum of conversation that awaited her.
"Ah, Dixie!" She'd know that voice anywhere, and sure enough she turned towards the corner to see Big Mac, a large glass clutched in one hand. Dixie frowned slightly as she took note of the other members of the table. On his immediate right sat Max, the porter, and next to him was Robyn, animated as always and mid-conversation with her stepbrother.
"Y'alright, Mac?" She asked wearily, making her way over to sit opposite him.
"I'm fine as ever," he replied, Welsh accent made thicker by the alcohol. "Say, is Iain on his way or not?"
"'Fraid not. He was pretty tired so he's gone straight home to rest."
Mac nodded, lips turning downwards a little as he pursed them. "Right you are, Dix. Fancy a drink?"
She murmured her assent, and the Emergency Care Assistant heaved himself from his seat to approach the bar. Dixie turned her head to watch him for a few moments before she focused her attention on Robyn and Max. The two were chatting in low voices, although she could pick out most of their words over the general clamour of the pub.
"So, you know how everyone's been saying that Rita looks a bit off at the moment," Max was speaking, and Dixie raised her head at the mention of her friend, subconsciously moving closer to listen.
"Yeah, I mean the whole department's noticed it," Robyn returned. "Why? Do you know what's happened?"
"Well," The porter dragged out the word, stalling the coming statement and all the while gauging his stepsister's reaction. "Lofty found a note addressed to her from Connie about rescheduling her chemotherapy." His words were hushed, and Dixie replayed them a few times in her head to make sure she'd heard correctly.
"Chemotherapy? She's got cancer? She hasn't said anything!"
"It's a bit personal, isn't it?" Max sounded almost exasperated. "I'm surprised you haven't heard by now, to be honest. I thought Lofty would have told you."
"Well, where is she now?" Robyn looked concerned.
"She went home. I think Charlie went to talk to her once he found out, and it all went downhill from there."
Dixie had heard enough. Torn between feelings of shock and anger, the paramedic rose from her seat. Robyn realised what was going on and looked up, colour flooding her cheeks.
"I- I'm sorry, Dixie, I just-"
"Yeah, well I think everyone's done enough gossiping today, don't you?"
Max and Robyn both avoided her gaze as she sidestepped around the table, heading straight for the door and ignoring Big Mac's protests as he returned with her drink.
"Dix! Where are you going?"
"There's something I need to sort out," she called as she reached the door, shooting him an apologetic glance. "Sorry, Mac. Another time, yeah?"
The man could only nod helplessly as he sat down again. Whatever was bothering her was none of his business, after all.
It was dark outside, and the street lamps were flickering on as Dixie arrived at Rita's flat. She had only ever visited three times; usually they met up in town at a bar or a club. The paramedic made her way up the stairs to the third floor, counting five doors along before she paused to think. The news of her friend's cancer had come as a shock to her. Part of her motive for visiting was completely selfish - she had already lost Carol and Jeff without saying a proper goodbye. If it was serious, she couldn't bear to lose Rita too. But the more rational part of Dixie's mind reminded her that she didn't know anything yet. It could be a completely treatable tumour.
Dixie raised an almost-steady hand to the door, inhaling deeply before knocking four times. There was a small noise from inside the room, but nothing else to signal that Rita was going to answer. She knocked again.
"Rita? Rita, sweetheart, it's Dixie."
No reply. Inside, everything was silent.
"Open the door, Reets. We can sort this out."
There was a long pause, the sound of footsteps, and then, "is anyone else with you?"
"No. It's just me."
The door swung inwards, and Rita's face came into view. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin flushed.
"Oh, sweetheart," Dixie said softly. "Come here." And she pulled the younger woman into a tight hug.
A minute later, they broke apart. Rita wiped her eyes angrily with her bare arm, and Dixie noticed that she was still in her uniform.
"Have you eaten?" She asked gently, eliciting a shake of the head from the nurse. "Well, you go and get yourself changed and I'll order a Chinese."
For a moment it looked like Rita might protest, but Dixie folded her arms and she gave in, retreating silently to her room to change.
Once she was gone, the paramedic made her way through to the living room, already flicking through her contacts for the takeaway number. As she entered the room, her gaze fell on a half-empty bottle of liquor lying on the table and she closed her eyes briefly, suppressing her anger. She knew how Rita had struggled with alcohol in the past, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that she would go back to it, especially when her health was already compromised.
Her thought process was interrupted as a voice spoke from the phone, and for a few minutes she was occupied.
Rita reappeared a quarter of an hour later, a pale blue dressing gown wrapped around her petite figure. Dixie looked up from her seat at the sofa, holding up the liquor bottle without speaking.
Rita looked hurt, and met the paramedic's gaze with wide, sorrowful eyes. Dixie was reminded powerfully of Little Abs at feeding time. "It's not like that, Dixie. I just needed to calm down a bit."
"You can't put yourself through this again, Reets. It's not-"
"Just leave it," Rita interrupted, holding her hands up in defeat. "Please."
She looked to be on the brink of tears and Dixie felt a surge of pity rush through her. She had never seen her friend so defeated. There was a silence as Rita took a seat opposite her, staring down at her lap. She chewed on her bottom lip, evidently deep in thought.
"What kind of cancer is it?" Dixie asked at last.
"Ovarian."
"Oh, sweetheart."
"I don't want to be pitied," Rita looked up, chin jutting. "That's the reason why I didn't tell anyone."
"Except Mrs Beauchamp?" Dixie leant forwards in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees. That particular question had been at the back of her mind for some time; she was all too aware of the rivalry between the two women, and couldn't understand why Rita would confide in the clinical lead.
"She looked at my notes."
"Oh."
"I would've told you first, Dix. You know that."
"Yeah?"
"Of course! Who else is there?"
Dixie was saved from answering by a knock at the door. "That'll be the food. You stay there, I'll sort it."
"Thanks, Dixie," came the quiet reply, and the paramedic offered a small smile, getting to her feet to answer the door.
An hour later saw the two women sat beside each other on the couch. Rita's head rested on Dixie's shoulder, and her legs were curled to the side. The remnants of their takeaway lay on the table, and across from them the television was showing a chick flick that they had settled on without thinking too much into it. The liquor sat untouched.
"It's been ages since we've had a girly night in like this, eh Reets?" Dixie commented quietly. But only a soft snore answered her and she smiled, glancing down at her sleeping friend. Her face was scrunched up slightly, and every so often she would wriggle her toes. For the second time that night, Dixie was reminded of her dog, and she would have been amused, had the situation not been so grave.
Carefully, Dixie moved away from Rita, replacing her shoulder with a cushion and lowering her head down gently. The younger woman stirred, but did not wake. Their night had been pleasant, and she only hoped that she had managed to keep Rita's mind off the cancer. It had worked for her after Carol's death, after all.
The paramedic stood, glancing around the room. The table needed clearing. After a few moments, she sighed and began to move the plates to the dishwasher. Rita would be alright. She was, as Jeff had once said, stronger than she looked.
