A/N: Hey! Here's the third chapter, and for some reason, it's ended up a fair bit longer than the others!

Sarah and Caja xxxx

The weeks passed slowly for Sahira, and a part of it was because of the fact that she knew there was something wrong with Henrik. Given that he had allowed her to embrace him for so long the other night, he must be absolutely terrified of whatever he thought this thing was. If he was not, he would have thrown her away from him for even attempting to touch him.

Then there was what was going on at home. Her children were both frightened and, though they said nothing, they were scared of what was going to happen to their mother. Scared of how far their father might actually go when he was drunk, scared of what they would be forced to witness if Sahira could not get them out of the room in time. She walked outside for a moment, the bitter winter wind meeting her and blowing across her face.

This, all of it, was utterly wrong. Why did Henrik have to be so sick? Yes, yes, yes, he could be a little more respectful and less snide towards some people at times, but what had he really done to deserve the turmoil she knew this was causing him?

After a few minutes, she went back up to Darwin to find Greg and Jac bickering as usual. Both were about to go off duty for the evening, but still the pair argued over something they wouldn't have to deal with until morning. Sahira smiled just a little; at least there was something that would never change.

She made her way to the man who had got a fence post stuck in his chest. He was stable but unconscious and all of his stats were normal, but that thing needed to come out. The problem was that the post was too close to the liver to be removed without her hearing the point of view of a general surgeon. Michael and Malick were far too busy to take another case on and the other GS's were either too preoccupied or too busy to care. This left the one person who, right now, did not trust his own hands.

Once again, she found herself knocking on Henrik's office door. She heard him telling her to come in, although it was a strained sound, as if he was trying to appear as if he was not tired when he actually felt incredibly run down. And, if she was honest with herself, he didn't look great at all. In actual fact, the dark shadows under his eyes shocked her, and his normally pale skin had taken on a strange almost grey tinge. This explained to her why he had confined himself to his office all day; he didn't want anyone to see him looking so sick.

"Did you sleep last night, Henrik?" she asked him solemnly, still staring at the darkened skin under his eyes. She could tell from the look on his face that he hadn't, and that the same was probably true for the night before last, and the one before that.

Henrik gave her a tiny smile, one that showed how much he actually did appreciate her having his back like she did. He took in her appearance as she stood before him. She didn't look so great herself. She also looked tired, and he was sure there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes. The thing was, while he knew she was scared for him, he also saw another, stronger, more crippling fear there. One that told him she was hiding something from him. She stood in her green scrubs with her hair tied back in a pony tail, and yet there was something different about her appearance.

It was only when she moved her arm to check her watch that he realised what it was. "You're wearing full length sleeves under your scrubs," he observed. Her head snapped up at this.

"It's winter, Henrik. It's too cold to be walking around in just scrubs," she replied. He could see her shifting her weight on her feet uncomfortably.

"The hospital is perfectly warm, and you have a sweater and coat if you want to go outside," he challenged her. It was his turn to be suspicious of what came out of her mouth. She had never, in over sixteen years, worn a long sleeve shirt under her scrubs. He got out of his chair and lifted her left arm. His shaky hands were still strong enough that she could not effectively take her arms away from his grasp. Gently, he pushed her sleeve up. He felt his stomach turn when he saw what she was hiding.

"Tell me your husband did not do this to you," he demanded, his voice coming out in an angry whisper. She looked down at her bruises and then up to his face. He was horrified, and she just couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. She couldn't deny what he so cynically assumed. Her husband had last night, in his drunken anger, grabbed her by the arms so tightly that there were now purplish bruises in the shape of fingers around her small arm. That anger, however, was nothing compared to what she saw in Henrik's face right now. She had never seen his temper rise so quickly. If she didn't know him so well that she knew he would never lay a finger on her, she might actually have been scared of him.

He walked away from her to the window and stared out of it for a second, calming that part of him that wanted to find her husband and make him sorry for what he was doing. "This isn't the first time he has hit you, is it?" he asked her, in a silently deadly tone. He turned to face her, his already unsteady hands shaking even more in his rage. It was the only real sign he showed of it, but he was ready to lose his temper.

Sahira closed her eyes. This was not happening. She was not going to make things any harder for him. He was ill, that much she was certain of. She figured he must have whatever his mother died of when he was a child, because he seemed to already be sure of what was wrong. It had seemed like the blood test was merely a confirmation. He was worried enough about his own health as it was; he did not need the troubles of his naïve little protégée to get in his way as well.

"It's nothing, Henrik, really. I'm dealing with it. I'm hoping to leave with the children by the end of the month. I'm just waiting to see what the landlord of the flat I'm interested in says," she explained, hoping to put him at ease. The part about the landlord and the flat was a lie. She did fully intend to leave in the next three weeks, but she had no idea where she was meant to go or what she was expected to do.

"Stay with me," he offered desperately. "If it gets you and your children out of his reach, come and stay with me." Sahira was shocked into silence. Did he actually just invite her and the children to stay with him?

Henrik gazed out the window, dealing with his thoughts and his fears. Though he needed to know that Sahira and the children were safe, he was also scared of what was to come for himself. He had seen someone he loved dearly die slowly and painfully through this. His cousins had committed suicide eight years before just to avoid the pain they would have to endure. That terrified him. But if Sahira was there, would that just make it that little bit easier? To know that she would always care for him?

Sahira thought on the offer for a moment. It was very kind, and she could see the sincerity of it in his eyes. Would it not be easier to take the children to stay with him? He had nothing against her children, though he often joked that they cluttered her clear career path. In fact, she knew he had a strange way with children. He was more at ease with them than he was with adults.

Her attention was diverted, however, before she could fully make her mind up. A large white envelope that lay open on the desk caught her eye. She had seen such an envelope many times in her career, and she knew therefore that they generally contained test results. It had been a fortnight since that day she had walked in on him taking a sample of his own blood.

Silently, as she checked that he wasn't watching her, she picked up the envelope. She slowly and quietly pulled the single piece of paper out, and she was horrified by what she read. This was not happening. She desperately tried to make herself believe that, but she could not deny the words there on the paper, in black and white. "Henrik," she said quietly. He turned and faced her, knowing what she had done. He honestly did not care about that at the present moment. So, she knew what was going on with him. She was going to find out sooner or later anyway.

The second utterance of his name was a fearful, broken, tearful whisper that it pained him to hear. "Henrik..." she forced out. She stood directly in front of him, her eyes asking him to tell her it was a lie, a sick joke. But he couldn't. That was the worst thing about it: it was frighteningly, unbelievably, unavoidably true.

Hope it was alright!

Please leave a review and let us know what you think of it!

Sarah and Caja xxxx