Sorry I completely forgot to update this - too busy rewatching that kiss! This chapter is a bit short, but the next one is longer. Enjoy :)

SIDE B

Track 1: Love Is A Stranger - Eurythmics

For about a week, I cared for nothing, taking every chance I got to be with her, to talk to her, to ask her for a drink.

Perhaps this was why I was so oblivious.

"Small mercies..."

I should have recognised that tone, that lie that was so obvious it was almost said as sarcasm. I should have recognised the way she turned her head, averted conversation, didn't commit to any definite statement about what had really happened. I should have known.

But I was so blinded by my pursuit, my one-track mind telling me just ask her out.

"You act so innocent but I heard them talking about how you cheated on your husband with a woman."

I felt my stomach drop, and her eyes immediately flit up to mine. She looked terrified.

They teach us in medical school that anger is a secondary emotion; it is always in reaction to another, deeper initial emotion that the individual does not wish to show. This is exactly what happened next. I was absolutely seething.

"Maybe we should both leave it at home in future."

The words tore at my throat as I spoke them, my gut twisting sickeningly as I cemented what I saw as the final wall to our reunion. It simply could not happen; it would never work, especially not now. She had lived her life, and I had mine. We had both moved on, forgotten one another, and that's how we should stay.

Except I didn't forget her.

How could I ever?

When I arrived home that night, a sudden wave of emotion overcame me, consumed me almost before I managed to unlock the door. My fingers trembled as I tried to push the key in and tears swelled behind my eyes, ready to rush down my cheeks the second I unclenched my jaw and allowed myself to breathe. Eventually I got in, my legs feeling heavy as I dropped my bag and keys at the front door and allowed the tears to fall. I didn't even know why I was crying, at that point. Good riddance to her had been my attitude all day, but now the sense of loss and disappointment I felt was overwhelming. I had wanted her so badly, had been so hopeful for us, and was partly angry at myself for letting her back in so easily like that, for allowing her to have such an effect on me.

But what really caused my anger, I knew, wasn't the betrayal, or the immorality of her actions; it was jealously. Would I really have reacted half as bad if she had cheated with a man? I had taken the fact that she had a husband easily, after all. Somehow, the fact that she had had a relationship with another woman, and been in love with another woman, felt like a slap in the face, a definite signal that she had moved on, and we were finished. A ridiculous way to feel, really. She had been married, for Christ's sake, of course she had moved on. But something about not being the only one, as she was to me, made it hurt unbelievably more.

Over the next week, I made my best efforts to avoid her, though my anger had lessened towards understanding at that point and I felt more embarrassed than anything, after I had overreacted the way I did. And when she told me to see her offer for a lift home as an 'olive branch' I felt further shame for my treatment of her, knowing that it really had very little to do with her indiscretions, as she had assumed. I spent the whole car journey deep in thought, willing myself to say something to her, but couldn't bear to bring it up, for fear of what else might spill from my lips if I did so. Butterflies still swarmed in my stomach, my heart palpitating and my nerves on edge as we sat in such close confinement, so close that I could hear her breaths over the faint murmur of the engine. I would have switched on the radio, but that would risk one of our songs coming on and I think that might be more than I could take, so we sat in silence, brains whirring with the unsaid words which lay between us.

The following day it was dismissed in a sentence. "We can draw a veil under all that now." It was almost laughable how much time I had spent fretting over how to broach that subject, only for it to be over in less than five seconds. It was, in fact, the distraction which had caused me to forget to take my laptop out of the car. Stupid.

After I was suspended, she asked me out for a drink, again. It seemed to be our 'thing', asking each other out for drinks constantly and declining, as though it wasn't what we had been angling for for the other twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes of the day.

Unfortunately, it had escaped my attention that it was raining quite sharply that evening, ruining my plan to walk home. After some deliberation I decided that it was best to order a taxi, and went and got a coffee whilst I waited. She passed me without realising, as I sat there in Pulses, sipping my latte, and I had to stop myself from calling out to her to come and get that drink with me. I mentally scolded myself. Why couldn't I take my own advice, and keep away? I had vowed to myself that I would, but as I watched her climb into her car, and imagined what would happen if I were to climb in next to her, the memories were again triggered, and I had barely taken off my coat when I flopped down onto the sofa and flicked on the waiting cassette player.

::

The following Saturday night I almost expected her not to call, thinking it might be better to get some distance for a while, after everything, but still, at four o'clock sharp, she gave me the three rings to let me know that we were still on. Part of me was nervous, and debated calling her back and feigning illness to get out of it, but I could never do that. I couldn't drag myself away from her if I tried.

I act as though moving on had been easy, as though I no longer wanted to be with her romantically. The truth was in fact the opposite; I couldn't stop thinking about her. No matter the distraction, everything always led back to her. At school, I might as well have not turned up, seeing as the work there was the last thing on my mind. I spent every lesson trying not to steal glances at her, trying not to figure out ways in my head that I could convince her to give us a try, playing out each scenario in which I would tell her I love her, kiss her, and she would reciprocate. I was so preoccupied, on more than one occasion I didn't even notice the bell had gone for the end of lesson. I was starving for her.

Now, walking up to the bus stop, my knees trembled and my palms were sweaty, and when I saw her standing there, illuminated by the warm glow of the street lamp, I had a desperate urge to run - though whether this were to run away or into her arms, I don't know. She was smoking, a sure pointer that she too was nervous about tonight, and I slowed for a few paces, taking in the sight of her as she blew out steady swirls of smoke, her neck stretching as she tilted her head upwards to do so. I ached to place a kiss there, right on the ball of her throat, and feel her swallowing beneath my lips. I could picture every sensation perfectly, could almost taste her on the tip of my tongue, but it wasn't enough.

"Busted!" I said jokingly, as I came up behind her. She turned around sharply, then laughed.

"One won't hurt," she smiled, blowing out a fresh stream of smoke. "I'm stressed out with that bloody awful biology project we've got due on Tuesday. I think I might have left it a bit too late."

I smirked. "Is that your way of saying, 'please can I copy your biology research, Serena?'"

"That depends," she replied, stamping out the cigarette as the bus came round the corner. "Is that your way of saying, 'you'd be very welcome to use my work as a guide, Bernie'?"

I bit back a smile, shaking my head at her. "I'll drop it round tomorrow afternoon."

She grinned at me. "What would I do without you?"

We boarded the bus both feeling a little more at ease after our light-hearted exchange, but still taking care to keep well apart, knowing that even the slightest touch threatened to unravel our carefully constructed resolve. My heartbeat never slowed, feeling the tension and the unspoken words between us, and we spent a lot of the journey in silence, contemplating, unsure of what to say to one another and instead lost in our thoughts and worries about how we would get through this. I simply could not envision us ever being apart; I wouldn't allow it. But something had to give.

The club was absolutely packed when we arrived, typical of a bank holiday weekend. The air was thick and sweaty, almost suffocatingly so, and the bar queue about six deep, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing as it made it difficult to go up for quick shots whenever we felt like it. I had decided that it was probably best to not drink as much as usual that evening, not wanting to end up in our usual position around the back of the club at 2am, but after a couple of glasses of wine I still didn't feel quite as in the mood for dancing as I normally would by that point. I felt deflated, in all honesty, and rather than the wine remedying this it instead seemed to amplify the feeling until I felt completely exhausted, emotionally and physically, and just wanted to go home.

Still, I made an effort to get on the dancefloor, which turned out to be the most detrimental of all.

I had almost begun to feel better, after dancing for a while, letting loose and allowing myself to relax a little. But then it changed, with a song that hit just a little too close to home.

Love is a stranger in an open car

To tempt you in and drive you far away

The repetitive, trippy beats of the song, accompanied with the strobe lights that the DJ seemed to be having fun experimenting with and the lyrics which hit both of us like a train led me to feel spaced out, loose, unbounded.

And I want you

And I want you

And I want you so

It's an obsession

Somehow, almost magnetically, we were lured closer to each other, despite previously having danced as far apart as this bustling crowd would allow, and she was right in front of me, swaying to the beat, her arms in the air, and her eyes firmly on me. They looked hazy and distant, but I knew right there that she was fighting, struggling against this draw between us that seemed unbeatable. I wanted, needed to escape, but just couldn't seem to. She was all-encompassing, everywhere, and I couldn't extract myself from the swing of her hips and the dark need in her eyes.

And love love love is a dangerous drug

You have to receive it and you still can't get enough of the stuff

We were so close, so intimate, that my heart felt as though it were being ripped out of my chest with the torture of not being able to touch her, to show her how much she meant to me. But still I couldn't drag myself away. We swayed and twisted around one another, pressed close by the crowds and our loosened control, trying to keep our eyes away from one another, averting them at all opportunities but still finding ourselves drawn together, breaths mingling, hearts racing in unison as we searched each other's gaze, trying frantically to regain our resolve.

And I want you

And I want you

And I want you so

It's an obsession

I felt sick, dizzy, watching her eyes crinkle with torment and restraint, my own jaw tightening and forehead creasing. With each line of the song we inched closer, almost against our will as desperation threatened to take over, the lights and the music putting us in a sort of trance and making us feel separated from our bodies, out of control. I could smell her breath as it tickled my nostrils, Shiraz and tobacco combined, and could feel the heat of her body radiating against mine. Salty perspiration peppered her neck and forehead, and I ached to taste it, lap it up with the tip of my tongue in a long line across her jaw before moving in for an open mouthed, sensual kiss. She was so close, I could almost feel it, taste it, all it would take was an inch...

Then the track changed, the spell was broken, and we both felt sick. We couldn't trust one another to resist, and the stress of it just seemed too much.

Back at the table, I made a decision.

"I think I should go home," I said, as quietly as the music would allow, and averting my eyes from her gaze. "I'm not feeling too well. I think I might be coming down with something." The lie caught in my throat as I said it, and I half expected her to call me out on it. Instead, she nodded, with a look of understanding that let me know that she understood what I meant.

"Yes, of course," she replied. "I suppose I should be getting some rest before I attempt that God-awful biology project tomorrow, too." She drained her glass.

"Yes," I forced a smile. "I'll make sure to drop mine off for you at a reasonable time tomorrow." I finished of my glass too, before pulling on my coat and grabbing my bag. "Sorry about this."

"No worries," she smiled, but it didn't quite meet her eyes, instead clouded with worry and sadness. And I felt it too. I couldn't bear to lose her.

The air outside was cool as we made the short walk to the bus stop, hoping to make the 12:30am bus home. But we arrived in good time, and waited silently for it to turn the corner, occasionally attempting to make some small talk as she smoked thoughtfully.

It was almost one o'clock by the time she thought to check the departure board.

"Oh fucking hell."

I heard her curse and turned my head in inquiry.

"What?"

"Bus strike."

My stomach dropped as those words left her mouth. "You are joking?"

She ran a hand through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut in exasperation. "Forty-eight hours, effective 12am, Sunday 1st May."

I stared at her in disbelief. "What a ridiculous time to have it," I replied, incredulous almost beyond words.

"Bank holiday, isn't it," she ranted. "Thatcher's Britain! They'll probably be on strike again at the end of the month."

"We'll have to get a taxi," I said, looking around me for a pay phone. "I think I've got just about enough for one."

"Good idea."

We must have called at least seven different taxi agencies from across Holby, the shortest waiting time on any of them being five hours, before we finally gave up.

"Fucking shit buses!" She raised her voice, gritting her teeth.

"Temper, temper," I chided, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

She came and sat down heavily next to me at the bus stop. We were silent for a few moments, both contemplating our situation despairingly. I got the sense she was going to suggest something almost a minute before she finally worked up to saying it.

"We'll have to get a hotel for the night."

My heart seemed to stop as she said that, and start up again at twice the speed.

"Jonty has a car. He'll pick us up in the morning."

I hesitated, staring at the ground, processing, and when I looked up I saw in her eyes that she was having the same reservations as I. But it was this or the streets.

"Won't that be too expensive?"

She broke my gaze to nod across the street. "We'll get in one of these B&Bs for a tenner or so. It won't be any dearer than a taxi going all that way."

I held my breath, staring intently across at her as I began to feel butterflies swarm in my stomach almost sickeningly, and my heart race. Both of us knew the risks that sharing a room for the night held, and neither of us wanted to take them; our friendship meant too much for that. However, at the same time, anticipation was already rising in my stomach, the delicious excitement of the unknown. Surely it was okay to enjoy the thrill, even though I had no intention of acting on it?

"Okay."

I saw her release a large breath as I replied, and I too exhaled shakily as she stood up, picking out another cigarette from her bag as she did so and lighting it unsteadily. I waited for her to zip up her bag, before following her across the street.