Hanssen sat in his car, staring at this piece of paper Serena had handed him, and wondered what she had put on it. Why did she give it to him, of all the people she knew? There must have been people she trusted far more than she trusted him. She was not the most trusting of people, and from what Hanssen had heard about what went on that Christmas the year he left, he really could not blame her. Not to mention the number of times Guy Self had ruined her path and her confidence.

He didn't like to blame anyone for Serena's mistrust, but it didn't occur all by itself. It was caused by certain people, a string of events. He wondered who she had trusted when her mother died. She must have confided in someone, but it definitely wasn't him. So, why did she choose him now?

Carefully, he unfolded the mess of a piece of paper, and his first observation was that the handwriting was completely unruly. Completely un-Serena-like.

I don't know how to say this. It's all a mess. I can't sleep. I really can't sleep. I lie awake and think about everything I know and everything I don't know and everything I will never know. My brain can't stop. Can't. Just can't do it. Can't even get up in the morning. How pathetic. A surgeon who can't do surgery. A doctor that's never on the ward. How useless. How worthless. How utterly stupid.

I never know if I don't care at all or if I care too much, or if anything I'm doing is real. I've always forgotten something, too. Never know what it is, but there's always something I haven't remembered. But what is it? What don't I remember? What don't I know? It's driving me mad. But I don't care, either. But I do care. No, I don't. I do. I don't. How can I do both at the same time?

Head's too full. Everything is chasing everything. I don't know what's what or who's who or where's where, because it never stays still. But I give up. I don't care. No point in caring. Doesn't get you anywhere. Apart from abandoned and betrayed. But who cares? I care. I care too much. But I don't give a damn. But it worries me. But I don't care.

I care.

Don't.

Do.

Don't.

Do.

Beneath was a rough scribble, that seemed to be produced in temper; Hanssen sighed. He had been hoping that he was over-reacting to Serena's behaviour, but it was becoming clear that his fears were founded.

"No, no, no!"

Serena ran around the house in search of her car keys, glancing at the kitchen clock as she did so. It was already ten minutes to nine, and she was meant to be in a meeting at quarter past. This was nightmare. She had to start getting some sleep. But she couldn't, and there was no point in wishing for the impossible.

Triumphantly, she swiped her car keys from the fruit bowl, where she had inexplicably dumped them when she dragged herself in the house last night. Probably why she didn't remember where they were – she had been exhausted and she had put them somewhere stupid.

Stupid was her only attribute at the moment; after all, why else would she give Henrik Hanssen a piece of paper with a bunch of crazy things written straight from her mind? That was stupid. So stupid.

Once in the car, she rammed the gear stick into reverse and, not thinking one little bit, put her foot with some force on the throttle as she took her left off the clutch. To her horror, a small girl and her mother appeared in the rear view mirror and she pressed her feet down on the clutch and the brake, hard. She didn't realise she had held her breath until it escaped her, her whole body intoxicated by relief when the mother and child passed unharmed. This lack of concentration was ridiculous. She hadn't even checked her mirrors before reversing.

She was going to end up killing someone.

At ten past nine, Hanssen heard the handle on his office door move, but whoever was behind it refrained for a moment and knocked. He smiled to himself; Serena had remembered to knock for the first morning all week. "Come in, Ms. Campbell!" he called.

In she came, and she demanded, "How did you know it was me?"

"Just a hunch," he replied, managed not to smirk. After all, they had nothing to smirk about right now – they had five minutes to get to this meeting with the Board that neither of them particularly wanted to attend. So he stood up and said, "If you leave your belongings here, you can collect them after the meeting."

She nodded and dropped her things at the desk, and took her coat off, hanging it next to Hanssen's. She looked tired and somewhat scared. "I really can't be bothered with dealing with the Board today."

"I don't think any of us enjoy doing it, but it's a necessary evil, I'm afraid."

"Don't I know it."

With that, they headed down to the meeting room, and Hanssen wished he had the opportunity to speak to Serena. Not only did he want to know why she was late – though he had an inkling as to the basis of her reason – but he felt the need to ask her how she was feeling. In her letter, she sounded so confused. Torn. She seemed torn between not caring and caring too much; it didn't seem appealing in the slightest and he felt she might have been in need of help for quite a while now.

It sounded like she was mentally ill.

To his relief, there was not the same stigma around mental illness these days. There was still a bit of a taboo around it, but it wasn't nearly as bad as twenty, even ten years ago. If it was dealt with, Serena probably would be able to practice as normal. After all, Arthur Digby had general anxiety disorder and was coming back to work. Zosia March, one of the brightest young doctors he knew, was bipolar. To the best of his knowledge, Zosia's father had let that go too far before he did something to help her, and Hanssen didn't want Serena to treat her own health like Guy had treated Zosia's.

But as they walked into the room to meet the Board members, Hanssen had to let his anxieties about Serena go, and trust that she would be able to behave in a respectable manner. Despite her obvious exhaustion, he had no reason to believe she would be anything but professional when placed in this room.

He sat down next to her, and watched her pour herself coffee; she needed the caffeine. He wondered if it would be the only thing to keep her awake through this meeting.

Serena found herself scrubbing out of theatre at twenty past eight that night, having been forced to perform emergency surgery with Raf and Fletch. It was the nature of AAU that there was very little one could actually predict or schedule, so when Serena ended up running this late in the evening, she just accepted it. Besides, she had been ten minutes late for work this morning, anyway.

Her mind raced back to this morning, when she had almost run that child down with her car. This wasn't sustainable. It was going to get someone hurt; in all honesty, she wouldn't have been comfortable in theatre this evening without Raf as a backup. She was tired. Actually, she was amazed she didn't look like some zombie yanked straight out of a horror movie.

She wondered if Hanssen had stayed behind to make sure she was leaving when she ought to, or if he had assumed she would be alright.

When she eventually left the scrub room, she had had enough for the night. She wanted to go home, have a shower and go to bed. She didn't care about food, despite barely eating a thing all day – probably why she was unintentionally losing weight.

By half past, Serena was ready to go home. She'd had her fill of the Board, and of emergency surgery, and of life in general, for today. She was even starting to entertain the idea of throwing herself off the roof just so she didn't have to do it again tomorrow. It was never-ending. Just this circle of being miserable.

Before she knew it – without even registering that it was what she was doing or where she was going – Serena was at Hanssen's office door.

She knocked and was predictably invited in, but it was different. It was after half past eight and he obviously hadn't even thought about going home yet. It was a break in his routine.

"I'm leaving now," she told him. "I'm only late because we had to take Melanie James into theatre. Her kidney was poisoning her."

"Ah. But I'm sure your expertise has saved her life."

"Raf helped," she allowed.

She looked at Hanssen and realised just how serious his expression was. "I read your letter," he told her. Her heart sank. She had been hoping he would have ignored it. "Have you considered the idea that, rather then being useless, worthless or stupid, you might be ill?"

Serena stared at the floor. She knew he was right, deep down. She knew this sensation of losing control of everything. "I've been ill before," she gently admitted, sitting down on the sofa. "When I was at Harvard, I was diagnosed with depression."

"I see."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "That look! That look is exactly why I don't tell anyone."

That look of concern, almost pity, was the worst look in the world. To her, it was, at least.

"Do you think your depression has reared its head again?" he asked her, quite calmly. That irritated her; he was almost always calm when any normal person would freak out. "Or do you believe it is something else?"

Serena couldn't quite answer that. Truthfully, it didn't feel the same as when she was young. It was worse in many ways. Back then, because she was depressed, she just hadn't cared at all. She didn't care about when she showed up for work or class, or about what she looked like or about how she came across to other people. But now those things tied her stomach up in knots. She was all too conscious of it all now.

And yet, she didn't care enough for it to be something she willingly did.

When Hanssen understood that she wasn't going to give him an answer, he said to her, his voice soft and tinged with something that vaguely resembled compassion, "I think you need to see your GP, Serena."

She looked up at him; his expression was very strange, probably because she had just never seen that look about him before. "That's easier said than done."
"I can make it as easy as possible for you, in terms of getting cover on the ward and in theatre, for any appointments your recovery may entail."

Serena sighed. "Alright," she agreed. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew she had to if she wanted to keep her job and her career. "I'll make an appointment first thing in the morning." It didn't feel like it was her choice, but she also felt that Hanssen was right and this couldn't continue.

"And..." he began, but he hesitated; Serena raised an eyebrow at him, trying to force to say whatever he was going to say. "And, if you need someone to talk to, you know how to contact me."

Serena shifted uncomfortably in her seat. What was it that made Henrik Hanssen reach out to her like that? She had never seen him do it. Nonetheless, she knew he was well-intentioned, and she only had one response left for him.

"Thank you, Henrik."