This is the penultimate chapter! It's also another long one - I'm sorry if it goes on a bit.

As usual, thank you to everyone who's reviewed. Your comments really do make my day, and keep me motivated to write when I get stuck. Keep being awesome!


Connie sat in the cafeteria at noon, fingers wrapped around a double espresso. She couldn't bring herself to eat anything for some reason. Her fingers tapped aimlessly at the screen of her phone, opening different apps and flicking through them for a while before closing them. She didn't find anything at all worthwhile to occupy her time.

Was she worried about Rita? Of course she wasn't. The idea was laughable; until a few weeks ago they had been rivals. And yet in the days leading up to her operation they had become quite close. Or closer than they had been, at least.

It wasn't like Connie at all to get close to people. But Rita was there everywhere she went, and it was necessary to speak to her frequently at work - cooperation between the doctors and nursing staff was essential for the department, after all. Truth be told, she did often enjoy the petty arguments they would have at work. Recently they had exchanged fewer and fewer unkind words and the constant snapping had become more of a game. Connie couldn't resist it.

She raised the cup to her lips, sipping at the bitter drink as she thought.

"Excuse me? Mrs Beauchamp, isn't it?"

Connie looked up to see a young nurse stood by her table, hands clasped in front of her body.

"Yes."

"Your friend woke up about fifteen minutes ago. The surgery was successful, and she's expected to be discharged in a matter of days. I can take you through the details of recovery, if you like."

Connie let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Can I see her? Please?"

"Of course," the nurse replied, bobbing her head. "Follow me."

The Clinical Lead stood, discarding her cup as she headed after her. There was a strange feeling in her stomach that she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't wholly unpleasant, just new.

The nurse stopped at the end of the corridor to open a door, and spoke briefly with a colleague who was emerging from the room.

"Right through here," she said kindly to Connie. "She's asleep again, but you're welcome to sit with her for a while."

Connie nodded and stepped through the doorway, pausing to observe the room. There was only one occupied bed, so the curtains hung open. A mess of blonde hair was just visible from where she stood and beyond that, a web of wires, leading to various different sources and no doubt providing all sorts of essential bodily fluids. It was a familiar scene to the former cardiothoracic surgeon.

Connie made her way through the room slowly, footsteps light as if she was scared of waking the younger woman. As she reached the bedside, she noticed how Rita's chest rose and fell steadily with each breath. She couldn't help but think how small and fragile the blonde woman looked in the bed. Her eyes were closed, giving her a peaceful expression free from any contempt or anger. In fact, she seemed almost angelic, with her fair hair framing her face, and her lips slightly parted as she slept.

Connie's cheeks felt warm, and she busied herself with assessing Rita's vital signs. Her gaze flitted to the screen, taking in the numbers. The Clinical Nurse Manager's pulse was steady, and for a few moments she watched the line jump up and down, somewhat reassured by its regularity. Then she nodded to herself, satisfied, before moving to the end of the bed to retrieve the clipboard of her notes and flick through them.

The sheets moved as Rita stirred, and Connie looked up. The woman's chocolate eyes opened slowly, and she blinked several times before she seemed to register the Clinical Lead's presence.

"Hey," Connie spoke, voice impossibly soft. "How are you feeling?"

"Knackered," came the barely audible response. A smile creased the corner of the Clinical Lead's eyes. She knew from experience that the effects of general anaesthetic were physically draining, and Rita wasn't likely to be awake for long.

"The surgery went well. Are you in pain at all?"

"No," Rita replied, glancing down at her fingers as she moved them experimentally. "I just feel numb."

"That'll be the spinal block. You should be fine until tomorrow at least."

"I didn't realise you were treating me," Rita's tone was teasing, and she nodded at the clipboard Connie was holding. The Clinical Lead smirked, placing the notes back down at the end of the bed.

"Yes, well it certainly brings back memories of my days in cardiothoracics."

Rita stared at Connie. She was too tired to try and hide her expression, so it was openly curious.

"What's that look for?"

"Sometimes I forget you were a surgeon before you came to the ED, that's all."

Connie smiled, taking a seat at the side of Rita's bed. "It was a long time ago. The salary was a lot more generous, I'm not going to deny that, but I do have a soft spot for emergency medicine."

Rita nodded. There was a brief silence between them, broken only by the faint voices of nurses at the other end of the corridor.

"How long was I out?" The younger woman asked at last.

"About three and a half hours."

Rita pulled a face. "They said it would only be three."

"Feel free to lodge a complaint. I'm sure they'd take it very seriously." Connie's mouth quirked up in a smile, and her expression was mimicked by the younger woman. "Is there anything you need?"

"Some water would be nice," came the quiet reply. "There's a glass on the table."

Connie nodded, leaning across the bed to reach for the glass. Rita felt her cheeks grow warm as the Clinical Lead's hair brushed across her chest. A sweet scent clung to it, which she identified as sandalwood. It was a rich, warm scent, and it struck Rita as odd. For some reason she had always imagined that Connie would have a colder, harsher smell.

Not that she imagined what Connie smelled like often, of course.

Rita was quite flustered when Connie moved back, the glass in her hand. The Clinical Lead adjusted the bed so that she was in a more upright position, and lifted the water to her lips. Rita took a few sips obediently, not bothering to mention that she was perfectly capable of holding the glass herself; for the meantime she was content to let Connie wait on her.

"I got in touch with your father," the older woman sounded vaguely uncomfortable as she brought it up.

"There was no need for that, Connie. He made it quite clear last time we spoke that he wants nothing more to do with me."

"He sounded very concerned. Rita, he offered to look after you in Manchester whilst you go through chemotherapy."

"He told me he didn't want to see me again." Rita's gaze was fixed on the wall opposite her bed. Connie thought she looked a lot like a dejected child at that moment, and recognised her expression from when Grace was upset with her and would refrain from speaking for a couple of hours.

"You can't go through this on your own. You need someone to care for you. Whatever happened between you and your father in the past doesn't matter now."

Rita didn't reply. Her brows furrowed slightly.

"Look, it's all sorted. You can go and live with him until the chemotherapy is finished and you can return to work. I've had Dr Martins agree to transfer your notes to Wythenshawe. Your father really does want this. He sounded desperate, Rita."

"I'm tired," came the sullen response. Connie sighed.

"Alright, I'll leave you to sleep. Just... Think about it, please? You can't possibly manage by yourself over the next few months."

There was no reply - Rita had closed her eyes. Connie pursed her lips. She would approach the subject again the next day.

Heart a little lighter for knowing that the Clinical Nurse Manager was okay, she made her way quietly out of the room, just as the nurse from before entered for observation. They exchanged a small smile, saying nothing as each continued on their way.


When Connie returned the next day, Rita was in a foul mood.

"I take it the spinal block's worn off," she commented mildly.

The blonde woman was lying down, eyes trained on the ceiling. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

"I'll ask the nurse for more pain relief." Connie placed her hand over Rita's as she spoke, a gesture that was intended to reassure the younger woman. It only succeeded in irritating her further.

"I'm fine. Stop babying me, Connie."

"Good lord you're difficult."

Rita rolled her eyes, moving her hand away and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want to sit up."

"No you don't." Connie sighed, frustration edging into her tone.

Rita directed a glare at her before gripping the edge of the bed and attempting to heave herself into an upright position. Her face contorted in pain, and she released her grip, gasping at the sensations that shot to her abdomen. "No," she managed, blinking quickly to discourage the tears springing to her eyes. "I don't."

All the while Connie watched, eyes round with sympathy. She knew Rita's anger was only down to her impatience. It was not at her, for once. When the other woman fell silent she took a seat at the end of the bed.

"You need to take things one step at a time." Her voice had softened considerably, and Rita pouted. For the second time in two days, Connie was reminded of her daughter.

"I just feel so useless lying here."

"I know, but pushing yourself too hard is only going to make things worse." The Clinical Lead paused, hesitant to continue. "Have you thought any more about going to live with your father?"

Rita didn't reply at first. She lowered her gaze, lips pressing together. "When Mark and I got married, my dad refused to attend the wedding. He said from the moment we met that I was too good for him and that I deserved better. I don't think he could stand the idea of giving his daughter away to a PE teacher, so he just didn't show up."

Connie tilted her head, watching her with round eyes. She got the feeling that Rita didn't open up to people very often, so it was a somewhat humbling experience.

"Anyway, we managed for a few years. I didn't go to visit him very often, only when Mark was away with the school. And... And then the accusation was brought forwards. Dad told me that he expected nothing less, and offered to house me whilst I arranged a divorce. But I believed Mark was innocent, and I stood up for him in court in front of everyone. So he told me to never speak to him again."

After she'd finished speaking, Rita looked up at Connie through her lashes, vision blurred with unshed tears. She half expected the Clinical Lead to turn away in disgust after what she'd said about defending Mark in court.

But, not for the first time, Connie did something completely unexpected.

A curious look in her eyes, the Clinical Lead reached forwards and brushed a few strands of hair out of Rita's eyes, her fingers skimming along the younger woman's forehead. She drew back again almost immediately, casting a confused look down at her hands before she spoke again.

"Rita, none of that was your fault. Mark lied. And you loved him - of course you believed him. Your father understands that. Just please, give it a chance."

There was a moment of silence, and then Rita nodded. It was a quick, constrained movement, but it was enough for Connie.

"Okay. Well I should get going. My shift starts in ten minutes."

"Wait," Rita held out her hand, fingers closing around the Clinical Lead's wrist.

Surprised, Connie halted. "What is it?"

The Clinical Nurse Manager offered a small smile, a faint blush gracing her cheeks.

"I just wanted to say thank you."


Rita spent the next few days recovering her strength as Connie had suggested, eventually feeling healed enough to sit up. It was only a matter of time before she could walk again, albeit slowly. Every step felt like a stab in the abdomen, but it was apparently normal after surgery of that nature for women to struggle with movement. Besides, Connie visited frequently and would entertain her by keeping her updated on the goings on in the department. She had grown to quite enjoy the Clinical Lead's company over the past few weeks, a fact that both surprised and disturbed her to some extent.

"Miss Freeman," one of the nurses poked her head through the curtain one morning. "You have a visitor."

"She can come straight in," Rita said with a yawn, closing her magazine and placing it down on the side table. She presumed naturally that Connie was the visitor in question.

"Erm, Mrs Beauchamp has a man with her. She says it's your father?"

Everything seemed to stop for a moment, and the blonde woman swallowed. She hadn't expected him at all, despite what Connie had said. She was under the impression that she would be travelling up to Manchester to stay with him.

The nurse cleared her throat anxiously. "Miss Freeman?"

"Um, yes, sorry. Send them both through. Please."

Rita took a few breaths as the nurse ducked out of the cubicle, and ran her fingers through her hair, slightly self conscious of the fact that it hadn't been washed for a few days. It was a trivial thing to worry about when she hadn't seen her father for a number of years, yet she couldn't bear to think of the larger concerns just yet.

Connie entered first. The Clinical Lead took a seat by Rita's bed, giving her a reassuring smile and resting a hand on the younger woman's arm.

"Don't worry, Rita."

"I'm not worried," came the stubborn response.

Connie sighed, gaze flickering down to where her hand touched Rita's skin. Her thumb traced small circles there absent mindedly as they waited. She didn't believe that Rita wasn't worried for a second; the blonde was an open book to her, and it was surprisingly easy to work out how she was feeling. Connie could sympathise to some extent - her relationship with her own father had often been rocky.

The curtains rustled and both women looked up at the same time as Rita's father entered the room. He was a relatively short man with greying hair and kindly blue eyes that seemed to observe much more than was expected of an elderly man.

A thick silence pervaded the room as father and daughter stared at each other. Connie simply watched, not wanting to disrupt the moment and so retreating to her own thoughts again.

Rita's father made his way slowly to the bedside opposite the Clinical Lead, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the cubicle.

Then, at last, Rita spoke, her voice hoarse.

"Dad."

And the elderly man smiled, his wizened eyes creasing as he reached down to cover her hand with his.

Connie's gaze softened. Everything was going to be okay after all.