Hi everyone! Welcome to Chapter One of my new Casualty Multichapter WIP - well, I say new, it's actually my first MC for the fandom.

Basic information about the structure of the fic. It is a Strachamp fic, and their relationship will be an important part of the fic,as well as their character development. Sometimes it might seem as if they're regressing, but that's planned. But it doesn't shy away from the fact that this fic is set in a hospital. This means that other characters feature quite prominently - some chapters, they're more prominent than Strachamp.

It's essentially an ensemble cast within the fic, much as the show is. The main characters are probably: Connie, Sam, Henrik, Dylan, Ethan, Grace, Elle in that order, though there will obviously be other characters as well!

I'd really appreciate any and all feedback that you have for me on this adventure, and though I've got a plan for the fic, I've definitely got some room for flexibility if there's something you'd really like to see. Just leave a review and let me know :)

Chapter One:

There's just something about Sam Strachan that leaves her wanting more.

He's the most irritating man in her life – he's arrogant and rude, disrespectful and stubborn – and yet he's also the most interesting. He's the one who keeps her coming back for more, because she can never figure him out. They've known each other for twelve years, and she's not sure if she could imagine life without him. For no matter how much they argue, no matter how much they claim to hate each other, they need each other.

It's just that neither of them have been willing to be vulnerable enough to admit it to the other.

It's been a constant cycle of love and irritation, flirting and cross words, ever since she told him that she was pregnant with his child – and from even before that, when their relationship was purely professional.

All this has led to an almost identical situation to the locker room on Darwin down here, in the ED's spare store cupboard, except with the roles reversed. This time, he's the one who takes the initiative. This time, he's the one making it clear that he wants her.

He kisses her, and Connie can't stop herself from kissing him back, until she comes to her senses. No matter how much she wants this, it's almost certainly going to cause both of them heartache, as they're not willing to be open with one another.

But then he kisses her again, and she can't deny that she wants it a second time. Medical supplies fall on the floor as he lifts her against the racking effortlessly, and Connie zones out from anything other than Sam Strachan, and the way he makes her feel. The future can wait. This moment can't.

"Sam," she whispers his name against his lips, longing in her voice. For the first time in a long time, when she says his name, it isn't with malice or scorn, disappointment or anger. It isn't to try and get him out of her life – it's to keep him in it. "Sam." She says it again, because it's strange and beautiful and new to Connie Beauchamp, Clinical Lead of the Emergency Department.

It's something that she wishes would never end.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later, but finally they break apart long enough for them to stop breathing heavily. Connie looks into Sam's eyes and sees none of the anger from before – instead, she sees hopefulness. Strange, for Sam Strachan is never hopeful with her around.

She breaks eye contact to look at her watch and is immediately panicked; for no matter how much she wants to stay in this delightfully small storage cupboard, she has other places to be.

"What is it?" Sam asks, his tone a strange combination of hopeful and irritated. "Realised there's somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Connie shakes her head, biting her lip at the same time. "I have a meeting with Hanssen – it's urgent, apparently. And it's in five minutes."

"Just stay," Sam croons, pressing his lips to her neck, a sudden change from seconds before.

"You know I can't," Connie replies, pushing Sam's head away from her neck. When they make eye contact again, she sees rejection and the return of the steely expression she knows so well. "Hanssen would just send a search party for me. He's probably tracking the GPS on my phone as we speak."

"Fine," Sam says, lifting his hands up and taking a few steps back. "You go ahead and sort out your career, Connie."

It's only because she's so happy – and so fearful of what might happen next – that she doesn't get angry.

"Sam," she says again, not quite desperate and not quite angry and not quite anything. "I have to go. But I'll be back soon, and I don't want to…ignore this." She doesn't quite know what to say, how to phrase anything, and that's strange for Connie Beauchamp. Yet that's always the reaction Sam's had on her.

He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak before closing it and nodding. "Good," he replies, "neither do I. I'll see you later."

Squeezing past her, Sam walks to the door and opens it, stepping out. "The coast is clear," he adds, popping his head back in. He's grinning again and, once again, Connie is completely amazed at how fast Sam's emotions manage to change. "By the way, your hair looks like you've been in a tornado. Might want to fix that on your way upstairs."

Connie rolls her eyes, but can't help but smile. He's ridiculous and he's arrogant, but he's Sam Strachan – and she's certain that he's the man for her.

Ten minutes later, Connie arrives on the seventh floor and walks towards Hanssen's office, shoes clicking along the way. She's not managed to find any focus for this meeting on the journey, and all she can think about is Sam. Hanssen could probably tell her that he's cutting her wages by fifty percent, and she wouldn't protest.

Still, as she knocks on the door, she pinches herself to try and bring back the traditional Connie Beauchamp. The Connie Beauchamp who told Henrik Hanssen that he was a giant Swede, and the worst thing to happen to the NHS. She's a hellbeast – she can get Sam Strachan out of her head for half a bloody hour.

"Enter," Hanssen calls, and Connie enters his office. He's smirking a little as she enters, and paranoia makes her immediately question whether he knows where she's spent the last half an hour. "Ah, Mrs Beauchamp, I had began to worry that you'd forgotten your way, spending all of your time on the ground floor."

"Apologies for the delay – I had urgent matters to attend to," Connie lies fluently, shutting the door behind her and walking across to one of Hanssen's guest seats. She crosses her legs, right over left, and leans forwards slightly.

Hanssen's smirk turns into a smile and he nods. "Yes, I understand that we had a wedding in our Emergency Department today – and that you were one of the key witnesses," he replies. "Always pleasant, is it not, attending a wedding."

"I imagine it's a lot more fun when you know the people getting married," Connie replies drily. Despite their past differences, she has to admit that Hanssen's one of her favourite people. Now that they're not sharing a job – and he's not trying to make her fire her best friend – she can appreciate his funny side.

"I imagine so," Hanssen says. "Tea?"

"Coffee," Connie counters. "White, no sugar. Extra coffee granules."

"You are as demanding as ever, Mrs Beauchamp," Hanssen murmurs, but picks up his phone and telephones through the drinks request to his assistant. "Now, how are you this fine day? Still missing the glory days of replacing aortas and successfully transplanting a heart in the middle of a storm with no electricity?"

Connie rolls her eyes, forcing herself to count to five before she replies. It wouldn't do to be too rude to Hanssen. "Henrik, what's the point of this meeting? As I do have a lot of work to be getting on with."

"All will become clear in good time, Connie," Henrik replies cheerfully. "Ah, look, Duncan has prepared the drinks already – thank you very much, Duncan."

As soon as the door has closed and Connie has taken a rather large sip of her drink, she focuses her attention on Hanssen again, fixing him with her sternest expression.

"Henrik, you're not planning on playing any more games in my department are you?" She asks, noting his expression turn a little mischievous. "As you've already hired two members of staff without consulting me – and one of them is the former Medical Director, who's taken a job two grades below his training, with no formal emergency medical training. I do hope that this isn't becoming a pattern."

"On this account, Connie, I'm afraid to say that you could not be more wrong – regarding your staff anyway," Hanssen says, and Connie's heart sinks. She hadn't thought about fighting for herself; after all, she thought that causing the Medical Director to rethink his proposed cuts would have quashed all thoughts of making her redundant.

"Henrik, what do you mean?" Connie has to ask, each word hurting her to say. Normally, she'd fix the other person with a look, indicating that she wouldn't ask what they had to say, but that doesn't work with Hanssen. They're too equally matched.

"I mean that the current staffing level will remain in the ED – it didn't need to change anyway, Mr Strachan just wanted to throw his weight around, though I would appreciate it if you didn't share that particular opinion," Hanssen says, enunciating each word clearly, in a manner similar to Connie. "However, I want you to move. Not permanently – and not totally. But I want you back in Darwin, Connie."

She's shocked. More than shocked, actually, she's confused, because she could have sworn that the last time Hanssen (or Guy) asked her to move back to Darwin, she made her feelings very clear on the matter. In the future, yes, but not now.

Her expression becomes irritated, and her jaw sets for a moment in annoyed disbelief before she replies. "Henrik, I have made my thoughts on the matter very clear on the five other occasions you have asked me if I want to move back to Darwin. The answer is, as it was then, no. Not until patient care is outstanding am I willing to consider changing back to cardiothoracics."

Hanssen smiles, almost smirks really, and takes another sip of his tea. "I'm well aware of that, Connie. Which is why I'm not asking you to permanently – or even completely – move up to Darwin. I just want you working between the departments. I think you'll find that I did say that."

She has to admit that he did say that he didn't want her to leave the ED permanently, but that barely influences her irritation. Why now?

"Take Mr Strachan," she finds herself saying, grasping for a solution. Whilst she wants to work with him a lot more than she would admit, if they don't resolve the question of "what are they", it'll just be a rerun of the previous battle they fought, again and again. "He's perfectly qualified, I believe."

Henrik's eyebrows raise slightly for a moment, apparently surprised at her solution, but he shakes his head. "I don't want a consultant up there, I've got two of them already," he explains. "I want you."

"Henrik, get to the point, or I'll be walking out of that door," Connie snaps, fed up with the word games. "What is going on and why do you suddenly want me working in Darwin?"

Infuriatingly slowly, Henrik takes a few sips of his tea before he sets it down and leans forwards, pressing his long fingers together underneath his chin.

"Connie, you are well aware that you are the most qualified cardiothoracic consultant in this hospital – I don't need to remind you of that – despite your insistence on remaining in the Emergency Department," Henrik begins. "Whilst Ms Naylor is an excellent consultant, she lacks a little…diplomacy, shall we say. She hasn't quite figured out how to combine leadership with being a surgeon – something that, I'm sure you would admit, you also struggled with at times.

"Now, Guy Self is seeking to expand his neuro department again, at the threat to the cardiothoracic ward. I cannot say that I am the most interested in cardiothoracics, but I am sure that you of all people understand the importance of having a cardio unit which is a Centre of Excellence."

Connie begins to understand why exactly she's needed: it was her own hard work which gained Holby City Hospital a Centre of Excellence up on Darwin, and it's going to be her involvement which allows them to maintain it. Plus, she's a formidable character – Guy facing Jac and Connie might make him reconsider. However, she doesn't speak; she waits for Henrik to speak.

He caves, and continues. "Ms Naylor is amiable to the idea, though she would like it stressing that she remains Clinical Lead for Darwin, and believes that having someone of your…standing on board may make it a little easier to keep the status quo. I feel that having you up on Darwin when the inspection team come will make it easier to maintain our status."

Connie smiles slightly and narrows her eyes, tilting her head slightly. "But Henrik, it's been so long since I've practiced," she replies, feigning a little ignorance. "Just how will I cope?"

Henrik returns her mock naïve look. "You know as well as I do that you're as competent as ever, Connie – after all, why else would you demand that the hospital maintains your surgery insurance?" He has her here, she has to admit. "Plus, the IT system has come a long way since your days on Darwin. Did you know that we can actually track how many times a journal is opened through our membership? And did you also know that you read and download more cardiothoracic articles than any member of the actual cardiothoracic team? If you don't know the most up to date information, what chance does the rest of them have?"

She purses her lips, pretending to consider the offer. In all honesty, it's something that's more than a little enticing. She still gets to maintain her control of the ED, and yet has the opportunity to practice the discipline she actively chose when she entered medicine – and still actively chooses, whenever possible. The only issue is timing…

"I won't be working ridiculous hours, Henrik," Connie says sharply. "One or two days here and there, I don't mind, but I do have a life outside of this hospital. Weekends off, no ridiculous shifts, and if the ED struggles without my presence, you hire a locum to lift some of the strain."

Henrik meets her gaze. "Mrs Beauchamp, this is not a negotiation."

"Mr Hanssen, it most certainly is."

There's a minute of a silence with both of them staring at the other, waiting for the other to break. Connie's smirking a little, well aware of the fact that she will not cave, and well aware of the fact that the ball is almost entirely in her court.

Henrik finally caves. "Very well. No weekends or ridiculously long shifts, and I will ensure that the ED is…adequately staffed in your absences," he agrees, sitting back in his chair. "However, I do insist that you put all of your effort into resolving things on Darwin. Otherwise, I fear that your pride and joy will disappear from Holby City Hospital within the next decade."

Connie smiles a little wider, and nods. "I'll start Monday. Tell Jac that I'll meet her at 9am on Monday morning – after her ward rounds, of course. Goodbye, Henrik."

She doesn't wait for a reply or comment on the fact that she's treating the Chief Executive as a secretary, simply walks out of the office, heels clacking the whole way.

Downstairs in the ED, everything's rather calm; there's not been any large scale major incidents today, giving the staff a little breathing space in the run up to one of the busiest times of the year.

However, in cubicles, things are a little less peaceful. For one doctor in particular: Dylan Keogh.

"Right, can we have a bit of quiet please," Dylan says to his patient, who seems incapable of ending the conversation on his mobile phone. "This is an emergency department and you're clearly here for a reason, so can we end the conversation until after I've examined you."

The patient, a teenage boy with a poor sense of fashion in Dylan's opinion, sneers as he ignores Dylan, evidently preferring to chat to the anonymous person on the phone.

Dylan stands, hands on hips, staring at the boy intently for a number of seconds.

"Now," Dylan adds, his voice a little sharper. "I do have other patients to see. You're not the centre of everyone's attention."

The boy looks at him again. "Yeah, Laura, I'll call you back. Bloody doctor's infringing on my human rights and demanding I put my phone away. Don't see why he can't just read the form. Love you too, bye."

Dylan can tell that the boy's comments to Laura – whoever Laura is, he doesn't know and he doesn't care – were actually intended for him. Not that he particularly cares or not. As far as he can tell, this boy's airway is clear, he doesn't appear to be in any obvious signs of discomfort, and he hasn't demanded an immediate supply of pain relief, so it's unlikely that he's an addict.

"Right, thank you, Mr…" Dylan continues, a little sarcastically, taking a look at the patient name board to the right of the bed. "Ah, Mr Anonymous. Any particular reason that you don't want us to know your name, or did you just decide that telling a receptionist was a little too basic?"

The boy glares at Dylan. "You can't speak to me like that. And I don't have to give you my name, do I?"

"I need your name so that I can get your medical records," Dylan explains. "So how about we get the name first, and then you tell me why you're here…"

The nurse assigned to Mr Anonymous appears – Louise. "Sorry, I got caught up with Mrs Matthews," she explains.

Dylan nods, not particularly bothered at her absence – he also doesn't particularly care about her explanation. "Perhaps you'd be better at getting a name from our patient here. He's unwilling to share it."

Louise steps forward, but the boy continues to look defiantly at Dylan. "Look, we really do need your name," she says, trying the gentle approach. "If you've got any allergies or any previous complications in your treatment, it could really affect you now. And, if you're over sixteen, we don't need to contact your parents if you don't want us to."

Dylan rolls his eyes. The overly sympathetic approach definitely isn't his style, though sometimes it yields results. Like today, apparently.

"Fine," the boy says, turning away from Dylan and towards Louise. "It's Sean. Sean Taylor. I'm seventeen, so you don't need to call my dad."

"Ah, progress!" Dylan contributes sarcastically. "And whilst we're on a sharing spree, can you tell me why you're in my cubicle?"

Still looking at Louise, Sean replies. "It's my ankle. I think I hurt it the other day, and figured I should come in."

Dylan just about manages to bite his tongue, resisting berating the boy for wasting the department's time rather than going to the Minor Injuries Unit. It'd be too easy to do that, but there could be something wrong – if there's one thing that Holby has taught him, it's that sometimes, he needs to believe the patient. That's probably not the case with Sean Taylor, but that won't be clear until he's ordered an x-ray.

"Right, well, an x-ray please, Louise," Dylan says, walking around to the end of the bed to take a look at the clipboard. "And can you fill in the registration paperwork, now that Mr Taylor has decided to give us his name." Turning his attention back to Sean, he adds, "pain anywhere else? Strange feelings, inability to give up your mobile, chest issues?"

"I don't think you should be speaking to me like that," Sean says, ignoring Dylan's questions. His tone is arrogant and cocky: he plays football, Dylan decides on the spur of the moment. "And no, I don't have any of those – I'm not old."

"Just the x-ray then. Let Nurse Tyler know if you develop any other symptoms – and don't play on your phone."

Dylan walks out, wondering why on earth he decided on a profession which involves working with people.

.

A short time later, Sean's results come back and, unsurprisingly to Dylan, they're clear. There's not even a sign of a sprain when he returns to examine the foot – it looks as if the kid's here purely to annoy him.

"I'm sorry, but why exactly have you wasted my time coming in here?" Dylan says sharply, after telling Sean that there's nothing wrong with his foot. "There are other patients – patients who actually have something wrong with them – and you've just wasted my time."

"You can't talk to me like that!" Sean replies.

"You're sounding like a broken record," Dylan counters, rolling his eyes. "I don't know why you bothered to come in today. Just get out." He doesn't see the point in staying, so walks towards the curtain, pulling it open, already thinking of the next patient.

"You're going to get in so much trouble for that," Sean calls after Dylan, causing Dylan to stop.

He turns back to face Sean, hands on his hips again, his expression bored. "And why, exactly, is that?"

"Because my dad's a medical inspector or something for hospitals – and I'm going to tell him exactly how shit a doctor you are!"

As the lift doors close, Connie stands in the centre, a rather large smile on her face. She can't resist – it's pretty much everything she could hope for. She gets to spend time in her specialised department, essentially picking and choosing what she wants to do, and then spend a couple of days a week in her actual department. More than that, she can actually spend time with Grace, whenever she makes enough of a breakthrough with her that her daughter actually wants her mum around. There's going to be no stressing over whether or not she can make it to an appointment: she'll be able to get to almost anything, within reason.

And there's the obvious benefit of the situation, for whatever happens between her and Sam. She's extremely anxious for her return to her department, for when she gets there, she has to speak to Sam. Whilst the meeting with Hanssen was an annoying interruption at the time, now she's glad that it happened – for it gives her a little time to think: just what does she want?

Whenever she's with Sam, she wants to be with him, no matter how annoying he's being or how insubordinate he's acting. But when she takes a couple of steps back, she questions whether it's what's best for them. Sure, she wants it…but are they willing to put the work in to make them a good couple outside of the workplace?

For the first time, Connie thinks that she, at least, is willing. She's taking a small step back from work – albeit for a few weeks, or however long this partnership with Darwin lasts – and that means she can spend more time with Sam and Grace, figuring out exactly what they are. But can she do this to Grace? Should she do this to Grace – to offer up the opportunity for her parents to be together, and then rip it away from her if it doesn't work out?

They're very different, her and Sam, just as they're very similar. Both of them, she recognises, are stubborn, intelligent, drawn to power. Both have an issue accepting that they're wrong, and, once they've decided on something, they're very difficult to persuade otherwise.

But, at the same time, they're both loyal and passionate. They share hobbies, careers, priorities. They could be a recipe for disaster – or they could be the best relationship either of them could ever hope for.

It all depends on whether they're both up for the challenge of forgetting elements of the past.

All too soon, Connie's back on the ground floor, and she emerges into an empty looking ED. Good, she thinks, at least she's not going to be needed in resus – and she should be able to extract Sam from the floor relatively easily, without bringing about suspicion. Not that it would anyway; pretty much everyone must know by now that he ordered an experimental, non-approved drug pretending he had her authorisation. Knowing her team, they've probably got another bet on whether or not he'll still be part of the team come tomorrow morning.

Nobody bothers her as she walks past the team desk in the centre of the department, which makes a pleasant change. When she enters her office, Connie notices that she did leave her phone in here earlier – there's a missed call from Hanssen's assistant, and a text from Elliot Hope, but nothing else.

Nothing to distract her – or provide an opportunity to avoid this discussion with Sam Strachan.

She emerges from her office again, impulsively deciding that this is the moment to get him. It only takes a minute to find him across the hall in minors, signing off a patient's treatment. She watches him for a moment, taking the time to think not only about how handsome he is, but also the way that he treats the patients. He's kind, she remembers, and focused. Patient care is the centre of his way of working.

He looks up and catches her watching him, but she doesn't mind. Or at least, she doesn't mind until he tells her that he doesn't want to work on them, and that it was a moment of weakness when he kissed her – twice.

"Sam," she calls, deliberately neutral. "My office, please."

She turns around and walks away before he can reply, re-entering her office and taking a seat. She leaves the door open, though, keen for him to enter as seamlessly as possible.

Before he enters the room, though, she decides that it's too…strange to have the conversation with her behind the desk. It would incite the feeling that she's his boss immediately – and that would be too similar to how they were before, and how their roles were reversed during his brief stint as Medical Director. So Connie moves across to the sofa, taking a seat on the left-hand side of it, taking a moment to glance around the office and check that all of the blinds are closed.

They are – good. It's not suspicious to have them closed, she decides; at least three or four days a week, she leaves them closed, to stop people peering in. It gets so distracting, sometimes, when random people look into her office. Though, of course, her official reason is that it's a potential breach of patient confidentiality.

Sam enters, and she notices the look of confusion on his face when he doesn't see her sitting behind the desk.

"You're over here," he says, his tone questioning, as he closes the door. "Makes a change."

Connie begins to wonder whether she's made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Thanks for reading chapter one! I'd really like to hear your thoughts, so please let me know :)