Dylan

I watch Sam in amusement from across the room. My wife has a unique way of dealing with things (no doubt she'd say the same about me), and often I can't wait to see what she does next.

Zoe appears to be struggling to put back a dislocated joint, and Sam is hanging back – so far resisting the urge to step in. The working relationship between the two of them is somewhat strained of late – due to Zoe being called to give evidence against Sam at her up-coming GMC 'fitness to practise' hearing. It was a fact I was very annoyed about when I found out – not that I intended showing it. Zoe claims that she is not 'choosing' to give evidence against Sam – that she has no choice.

Anyway, I think I managed to convince Zoe that I'm just aggrieved on a professional level – that I don't agree with her giving evidence against a colleague on principal. The truth is, there's more to it then that. Despite our estrangement, Sam is still my wife and I care about her deeply, though it's not a fact I wish to be well known.

She's also a bloody good doctor and she doesn't deserve to have her career thrown away over this. Keith Parr is not a pleasant man – indeed, he was in the process of assaulting me when Sam restrained him. I have to admit, though, I was quite taken aback by the way she came over the second he started to approach me in an aggressive manner – like she was my bodyguard. Nevertheless, she restrained him to protect me, - and surely that has to count for something?

Anyway, unusually, Sam is hanging back from the dislocation. Maybe she doesn't want to risk undermining Zoe when the GMC are hanging over her, however, she may have to because Zoe isn't getting anywhere. I move a bit closer with my paperwork, so that I can hear if things get a bit heated and I need to step in. I know how feisty my wife can be. She doesn't suffer fools gladly – and the current circumstances will only add fuel to the fire. It's not a good idea to get on her bad side.

"No. The muscles are spasming on us." Zoe announces when she can't manipulate the joint – giving Sam the opening she's waiting for.

"Do you...um...want me to have a go?" She asks, phrasing the question carefully.

"Yeah, why not." Zoe agrees. She doesn't seem anywhere near as bothered about the GMC as Sam – but then it's not Zoe's competence that's being questioned.

This is where it gets interesting. Rather than trying a simple manipulation with her hands, Sam takes her shoe off. I know exactly what she's doing, and I can't help but smile to myself at Zoe's bemused face.

"I take it you've advised 'Mr Torquemada of the GMC' of how much you trust my judgement?" Sam comments coldly as she positions her foot.

"How about we focus on the job in hand?" Zoe responds, deflecting the question.

"That sounded very evasive." Sam retorts. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Zoe agrees, and Sam manipulates the joint, pushing with her foot and pulling with her hands. The shoulder crunches back into position. "Ok, deep breath, deep breath." Zoe tells the patient. "Wayne – sling." She adds to one of the nurses present in the room.

At this point, I decide that I had better go over – because there's no way that Sam is going to take this conversation lying down – she's not just going to let it go. Sam started the conversation and she means to finish it. She's angry – and when Sam is angry, it comes out as 'fast-cooling magma' instead of hot flames – which is rather more dangerous. If I'm there, she's more likely to keep her temper. I can keep her thinking straight.

"Course, I trust you, Sam." Zoe informs her – obviously sensing that the conversation is by no means over.

"So what exactly did you tell the GMC?" Sam snaps back icily, putting her shoe back on.

Her anger is understandable. Zoe is supposed to be a colleague - and a friend. At least they were friends before this.

"I'm not allowed to say." Zoe answers firmly – which does nothing to calm Sam's rage.

I have trouble taking my eyes off my wife at this point – Sam is, after all, undeniably beautiful when she's angry. I've always found it a breath-taking sight.

"I always knew I could count on you for your support." She fumes – though still with the frosty edge. I've always marvel at how she can do both at once – like 'hot ice' if such a thing existed. "Do you need me any more?" She adds coolly – almost daring Zoe to detain her further.

"No." Zoe dismisses her quickly and is noticeably relieved when Sam breezes past me and out the room. The atmospheric temperature certainly goes up after her departure. As she passes me, Sam's hand brushes mine – I don't know whether it was intentional or not, but it sends shivers up my spine. Her hands are cold and mine are warm, however, I don't have time to openly react as Zoe asks me a question.

"Torquemada? Who is he?" Zoe enquires to my surprise.

"Tomas de Torquemada – the Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition." I explain, baffled by her lack of knowledge. "You really don't know?" She's so lucky Sam didn't hear her ask me – I can imagination my wife's triumphant reaction if she discovered that her current arch-enemy didn't know such a thing. "Those who don't know history, are condemned to repeat it." I add as I go to leave the room – deciding that it's safe to do so now that it's a Sam-free zone.

"Those who know too much history are condemned to never having friends." Zoe replies without hesitation.

I suppose I can't argue with that – I don't really do friends.

I watch Sam from across the room for the rest of the morning, but we don't have any reason to interact. After lunch, I'm standing observing a patient, when the phone rings. I head to answer it, but at the last minute, my wife sweeps in from the other side of the reception desk and picks it up as my hand is about to close on it. She loves doing such things.

"Holby City ED?" She comments, triumphant at her victory.

Despite knowing that she 'beat me to the punch' purely to create the friction between us that she thrives on, I can't help but feel endeared to her attempts to rile me. It's always been the way of our marriage and I can't help but feel the affections for my wife being reignited – despite my efforts to the contrary.

Sam

"Right, ok." I say down the phone – aware that Dylan's eyes are now gazing at me intensely. I take a pen out of my hair to note down the details. "How many casualties? Right. I'll be there."

I try not to look up at Dylan as I put the phone down. I fear that I know exactly the way he's looking at me - and to make eye contact at this point would be a mistake. However, as I go to leave, Dylan does the same as he always does, when I'm refusing to make eye contact. I'm not even sure he's aware that he does it.

"Something exciting?" He remarks dryly – causing me to automatically turn and catch his eyes, feeling heat rising in my cheeks as I do so. His eyes are captivating.

I fan my face with the note I've written, and turn quickly to head out the door before my husband sees me blushing. I don't want him to know he still has that affect on me.

I didn't know he did until now.

Dylan

That caught me unawares, for I'm pretty sure that she was blushing. I only hesitate for a second though, before hurrying into the corridor after her - because I don't want to miss my chance. I'm not very good at noticing these things, so the 'chances' don't come along very often.

"Sam, wait a minute." I gently grab her hand, pulling her back so she's leaning against the wall next to me – then I stand in front of her. She moves her hand away from mine far too quickly for it too be an 'indifferent' reaction and she's noticeably awkward – itching to get away from this situation, but she's not going to leave until she's told me what I want to know.

Again Sam avoids my eyes. "Dylan, I've got a call out – I've got to go." She mutters uncomfortably – her face still showing signs of being flushed.

"It won't take long." I insist, determined to get an answer to my burning question.

She sighs impatiently and folds her arms, waiting – but still not looking at me.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

"What?" She does look at me then – her eyes snap up in shock at my question, but she quickly diverts her gaze back to the floor. "I could never hate you – why would you think that?"

I take a deep breath and continue in my usual gruff voice. "Since you started working here, you've never looked me in the eyes for more than two seconds." I point out. "I want to know why."

It takes her a while to answer. "You're a clever man, Dylan." She eventually mumbles. "I'm sure you can work it out." And then she's gone before I can stop her.

What is happening here?