Hey guys, it's been a while since the last update so this chapter is a bit longer to make up for it. I hope you enjoy it! :)


The date of Rita's operation loomed ever closer, and she developed a permanent knot in her abdomen that had nothing to do with the tumour. She found herself becoming withdrawn, despite constant efforts on her colleagues' part to keep her occupied. Her office at work had become the only place where she could get any form of peace and quiet, and even then she was interrupted every fifteen minutes by one of the nurses, or by Connie.

That was another thing - the Clinical Lead occasionally started conversations with her for no particular reason. It perplexed Rita, who was used to nothing but the cold shoulder. Still, Connie managed to talk without tripping over her words, and it was clear that she wasn't too worried of causing involuntary offence. She was one of the only people who saw Rita for what she was, and not as the cancer.

Three days before the day of her operation, the Clinical Nurse Manager was sat at her desk, an ever growing pile of papers stacked before her.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called tiredly, dropping her pen.

She didn't even need to look up; the sound of heels alerted her to Connie's presence.

"RTA?" She guessed with a weary sigh. It would be the third that day.

"Actually, I'm on a break," came the reply. Rita glanced up, surprised.

"Visits from you in your spare time? This is new," she remarked. A teasing tone had involuntarily crept into her voice.

Connie raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well, there are a few things we need to clear up."

"Such as...?"

"Your hysterectomy. I take it Dr Martins has gone through the details with you?"

"Yeah."

"And you are aware of the implications?"

"If you mean that I'll be a menopausal bitch afterwards, then yes, I'm fully aware of that."

Connie winced visibly. There was a drawn out moment where neither woman said a word. And then the Clinical Lead spoke again, her voice impossibly soft.

"Did you want children, Rita?"

Rita hadn't been expecting that. She recoiled, eyes going round as she met Connie's inquisitive stare. Then she pursed her lips, thinking hard about her reply.

"I... Well, yes. Mark and I..." She ran her tongue over her lower lip to dampen it before recovering the statement. "Mark and I always wanted children. We said that as soon as I'd settled into my nursing position at my last hospital we'd give it a go. And then the drinking started. And the online stuff. And finally the arrest."

Rita's nose twitched as she sniffed, and she blinked hard a few times before she continued.

"Anyway, it never happened. And there's not much chance of it happening at all, even without the hysterectomy. I'm not as young as I was, and I doubt I'm going to meet anyone."

Connie's expression was hard to read, but her eyes were directed at the floor.

"I've got my work," Rita concluded quietly when she didn't answer at first. The words sounded false. She had said them before, and thought them - too many times.

"Listen," Connie began, checking the time on her phone. "I've got a very long and probably very dull meeting with Guy in about five minutes so I can't stay. But would you like to get a drink after your shift? I can't say I've ever performed a hysterectomy myself but I've observed numerous times. I could take you through the procedure if you like."

Rita looked stunned for a moment. That was something she certainly hadn't expected. "I didn't think the Hope and Anchor was your scene."

"It's not, usually."

After a brief pause, a smile crept onto Rita's face. "You're buying."

"Oh, of course."


The sun was setting over the ED by the time Rita's final shift drew to a close. She made her way out of Resus, nodding blearily to Tess as she peeled off her gloves and deposited them in the bin. Her patient was stable, and a porter had been called to transfer him to Intensive Care.

"Long day?" Tess guessed with a knowing smile.

"Oh, Tess, you don't know the half of it."

"Go and put your feet up," she advised, closing her file and moving around to the computer. "And you didn't hear this from me, but a little alcohol probably wouldn't go amiss."

Rita gave her a look that was half way between amusement and surprise. "Are you or are you not an advocate for public health?"

The only response she received was a 'ssh' and a tap of the nose before Tess hurried away. Bemused, she watched her go, before making her way to the locker room to retrieve her clothes.

Rita changed quickly, taking a moment to study her reflection in the mirror. As usual, she had dressed casually that morning, donning her brown leather jacket and jeans. She hadn't even considered going for a drink that evening, and so she had put less effort into her appearance than usual. Rita tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, frowning as a spot on her temple caught her attention. She ran her thumb over the raised skin gently, brow furrowing even more.

"Acne is one of the symptoms," a voice sounded from the doorway and she jumped, turning away in embarrassment and pretending to be absorbed in gathering her belongings.

"Connie. I didn't think you'd be out so soon."

"Neither did I. As it happens, Guy is either seeing someone or he's suddenly developed a taste for women's perfume. As soon as I brought it up he became very flustered and excused himself."

Rita's lips quirked upwards into a coy smile; she did admire that about Connie, no matter how profusely she would deny it in person - the woman was never afraid to speak her mind.

"Are you ready?"

The younger woman turned to reply, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Yes. I'm dying for a drink."

"Oh, that's a rather unfortunate choice of words, don't you think?"

Rita was taken aback by the statement, but she laughed despite herself. Connie's tone was peculiar - if she didn't know better, she'd be inclined to say the Clinical Lead sounded flirtatious.

"They do say that working in a hospital makes you morbid," she returned, approaching the doorway. Connie smirked, simply turning on her heel and starting down the corridor.


The Hope and Anchor was considerably quieter than usual as the two women chose a seat in the corner. A group of band 5 nurses gave them a curious look, but as soon as Connie passed by they returned to their drinks.

"I'll go and order," she said briskly, withdrawing her purse. Rita nodded, taking a seat and watching as the other woman made her way over to the bar. She was left to her own thoughts for a while.

It was so unlike the Connie she knew to act like this. For whatever reason, the Clinical Lead was being entirely civil towards her. She wondered briefly if it was because of the cancer; that seemed like the most likely explanation. And yet she hadn't expected Connie to start acting nicely purely out of sympathy. Not to her, of all people.

Ever since Mark had wound up in the ED, Connie had held a grudge against Rita. And the situation with Grace certainly didn't help. But he had done nothing wrong, so as far as Rita was aware, the contempt she was used to was entirely unsolicited.

That still didn't answer her question.

Her thought process was interrupted as a wine glass was placed delicately before her. Rita looked up, a smile gracing her features.

"Thank you."

Connie took her seat on the chair opposite and studied Rita subtly, fingers lacing around the neck of her own glass. One fingernail tapped quietly at the side.

"There is the matter of who will accompany you to surgery," she spoke at last, swilling the deep red wine and lowering her gaze to watch it.

"I didn't realise that was necessary," came Rita's reply.

"It is advised. Just in case."

"Oh... Well, there isn't really anyone who'll be around at that time of day..."

"As it happens," Connie said slowly, lifting her eyes from the rim of her glass and fixing Rita with an unreadable stare, "I'm working the night shift that day, so I will be able to go with you. If you like."

"I..." Rita frowned, falling silent and thinking before she spoke again. "Don't you want to catch up on sleep? Or paperwork?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Sister Freeman?" Connie smirked, lifting the wine to her lips and taking a brief sip.

For some reason, Rita felt her cheeks burn, and took a long drink from her own glass. At last, she placed it down upon the table.

"Thank you, Connie. That would be nice."

Satisfied, the Clinical Lead crossed her legs and withdrew her phone from her pocket.

"Good. Now, about this hysterectomy..."


An hour and a few glasses of wine later, the last of the dusky light was beginning to fade outside of the pub window. It was much busier than before, and most of the tables were occupied. Rita's laugh sounded from the corner.

"So then I listed his nicknames - Henrik Hitler, Bjorn the Slasher, the lot of them - and told him that I was resigning. And that was that."

Rita was almost in tears of laughter as Connie finished her story, and she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, placing down her now-empty glass. At some point the two women's chairs had ended up next to each other, and they were close enough for their elbows to brush at the movement.

"I can't believe you called Henrik Hanssen a depressing- what was it?"

"A depressing giant swede," Connie too was barely containing her laughter, and she seemed much too relaxed given her current surroundings. The alcohol had certainly loosened her tongue, Rita noticed blearily, her own intoxicated mind stumbling to get to that particular conclusion.

"He sounds worse than Guy Self," she mused with a small hiccough.

"He was more tolerable, actually. Sometimes he seemed like he did actually care. Most of the time, though, any sort of emotion petrified him."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Rita said pointedly, the statement slipping through her weakened sense of self-censorship. Connie met her gaze, something stirring behind her green-brown eyes.

"You think I'm emotionless?" The Clinical Lead questioned softly.

"Can you blame me? Every time someone gets close to you, you push them away!"

Rita had been looking down at her hands, and now she raised her gaze tentatively to gauge Connie's expression. In her drunken state she couldn't discern what the older woman was thinking, although it looked like she might either shout or burst into tears.

What happened next was completely unexpected.

Connie's gaze flitted down, her eyelashes fluttering in the brief movement. She seemed to lean closer, and almost instinctively, Rita mimicked her.

She was close enough to count every single freckle across the older woman's cheeks, and her eyes explored them for the briefest of moments before they were drawn towards Connie's lips, which were ever so slightly parted and tinted red from the wine. Rita wondered if she would be able to taste it if they were to kiss.

This was mad.

Her heart raced as she closed the small distance between them, pressing her lips to Connie's. For the briefest of moments, neither of them moved. And then she responded.

Signing softly, Connie threaded one hand through Rita's hair, scraping her nails delicately along the blonde's scalp as she pulled her deeper into the kiss. The noise of the pub was replaced by the pounding of blood in her ears. She felt a hand at the nape of her neck, drawing her closer still. Rita's lips moved softly against hers and she furrowed her brow, tongue slipping between them. She could taste the bitterness of wine on the nurse's breath and it suddenly occurred to her that they were both far too intoxicated, probably leading to the intensity of the kiss.

Realisation seemed to hit them both at the same time, and they jerked away from each other, Connie's hand tugging at the blonde woman's hair in her haste. Rita's cheeks were flushed, either from insufficient oxygen intake during the kiss or from abject humiliation. Her hair was dishevelled and Connie noted with a sense of mortification that a few pale locks were still looped around her fingers. She pursed her lips, uncertain of what to say.

"I... I should go," Rita said at last, standing and moving away from the Clinical Lead as she gathered her bag.

Connie said nothing, just watched as she murmured a hasty 'thank you' and headed straight for the door.

Perhaps it was the influence of alcohol, but the weight in her chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.