He listened to everything she had to say without saying a word in return. There was only the brief nod of his head every now and then, or the gentle purse of his lips, and only once did he glance away from her for only the briefest of seconds when Connie told him how those men had taken hold of his sister...

She told him their story from the beginning. She told him how they had battled for months at work – how they had argued and feuded, how they had hated one another...and then how they had come together, how they had found an unlikely patch of common ground in the midst of their battlefield and they had snatched at it, desperate to stay within it's confines so that they could stay close to one another, though at first they hadn't realised why.

She told him about Grace, how she had come to lose her to Sam, and she told him about that night – when Rita had asked her out. She remembered every detail. How she had changed her outfit exactly three times, how she had worried over a smudge of eyeliner and had reapplied with fingers that trembled. How she had run dark lipstick across her lips and then wiped it off almost immediately. She paid more attention to these moments, hovering on the brink of telling him what had happened. But when at last she did, she found it easier than she had anticipated – it was like telling the story of somebody else – indeed, she thought, whilst she was speaking, it was a story of somebody else, that night she had changed, she had lost who she was before entirely and had become somebody different.

The ending of her story was abrupt, it ended now...here, in this room. She looked up at him, she was still pale, even her lips were pale and dry and the whites of her eyes were a milky grey. Perhaps it was the cold that made her head ache and her throat hurt, or perhaps it was shear exhaustion from having to keep so much hidden beneath the surface.

He didn't say anything for a while after, though the silence between them didn't feel awkward. He licked his lips and inhaled slowly. His hands were clasped over one knee that he had bent up on the bed beside her.

"I have to say this isn't how I imagined today would go."

He raised a hand to rub at his hair line. Connie exhaled abruptly. She attempted a smile and looked over to the door. She didn't need to say that this wasn't exactly how she had expected it to be either...

"Your parents must think..."

She drew up her shoulders, she could barely imagine what they must think...but whatever it was, it wouldn't be favourable.

Alistair pursed his lips together and nodded gently.

"They're alright really. Not without their own baggage..."

He paused, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I have to ask...you didn't mention the police?"

She looked away, down to where her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Her fingers looked worn – as though her hands had aged without her realising it – the skin between her fingers was dry and her knuckles ached.

"Connie..."

He whispered her name, an almost groan of a breath and she raised her eyes to him though her face remained lowered.

"I know what I should have done...I know, I know that."

She interlinked her fingers together.

"I just couldn't...can't face it. I don't want to go through it all over again in every bloody detail, I want to forget it."

She watched in vague confusion as he ran a hand across his face and leant back slightly, emitting a low murmur of despair from somewhere within his chest.

"What?"

She asked, and it was his turn to glance away from her.

"Ah..."

He almost laughed at the absurdity of what he was about to say.

"I'm a DC for Holby's police department."

He said quietly, looking up only to catch the widening of her eyes and the quicken of her pulse point at the base of her throat.

She felt that all too familiar sense of panic begin to rise within her, and she clenched her fists, she had an overwhelming feeling that she had somehow been tricked into telling him...

"An off-duty DC, I hasten to add."

He tilted his head to one side.

"Connie..."

The way he whispered her name...

"What you've told me will remain between us."

She cleared her throat.

"Come on, come with me..."

He eased himself off the bed and offered out his hand to her.

"Come downstairs, have a cup of coffee...or three, and you and my sister can get things straightened out with my parents. OK?"

He held his hand in the air between them, steady and un-moving, his palm upturned, waiting.

But instead she waved it away, she slipped her legs from the bed without accepting his help. She ran a hand across her hair, smoothing it, before standing up and rearranging the hem of her top.

"Could you tell Rita that I will be down in a minute? I just need to make a phone call."

-.-

More soon, possibly tonight. I'm glad the distance between Connie and Rita was picked up on...it was deliberate. The Charlie scene is next, followed swiftly by fluff, and then Connie and Rita are going to close that distance between them...