[ Pictures of You ]

AUTHOR: Isabelle Kennedy

FEEDBACK: [email protected]

WEBPAGE: http://www.geocities.com/retroeighties

CATEGORY: Holly/Patrick, Holly/Ed, pre-Casualty

SPOILERS: General

RATING: R (Language, Sex)

DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the BBC, Kelsey, Huggett & related companies. No copyright infringement intended. Title is courtesy of The Cure. Archive anywhere; just drop me a line first.

SUMMARY: She had defined her life by men since she was seventeen and by him since she was twenty-two.

I.

[ She met him for the first time when she was twenty and naïve ]

She had stood hesitantly outside the hospital, examining her nails, noticing the chipped polish from a night that she didn't remember and inhaling sharply on her cigarette. Then, with a carelessness that she didn't feel, she'd flicked it to the ground and stepped through the doors.

The casualty department was exactly as she had imagined; all raw wounds and busy people and she'd paused for a moment, wondering how she was going to cope.

The voice behind her had been deep and the accent stronger than she'd expected. "Who are you?"

She hadn't realised that she was so conspicuous. "Holly. Holly Miles, the new..."

"Follow me."

She had spent the first few weeks as his student hurrying to catch up and never quite feeling that she belonged there. He was arrogant, of that she'd had no doubt, but it was his rudeness which had left her silent in his presence. She'd never known how to reply to his words, never sure whether he was joking.

She had known him for over a month when she first spoke to him properly.

She'd sat on the wall outside and lit a cigarette, relishing the smell of tobacco after the heavy disinfectant odour that permeated the hospital, when he'd walked out and asked whether she had a spare.

"I didn't know you smoked," she had said without thinking. "I thought doctors should know better."

"What about you?"

She had smiled slightly. "I'm not a doctor yet."

There had been a pause, and then he'd spoken. "You will be."

She'd watched him stroll away, taken a final drag on her cigarette, and stopped cursing her bad luck at being his student.

She had known him for nearly three months when she realised that she found him attractive.

She'd been aware of medical students who slept with their mentors, but had looked upon it with contempt, knowing that she didn't need to prove her suitability as a doctor on her back. Then she'd discovered just how alluring the power and danger could be. Nevertheless, she hadn't been oblivious to the beautiful women who seemed to throw themselves at him, his conquests were legendary. Those women she hadn't seen, she'd heard about, and had known that she could not compare.

As she'd sat up in the bed of another stranger and lit a cigarette, careful not to wake the man next to her, she had wondered why she did this to herself. She'd received little pleasure from the drunken fumbling with other undergraduates, but it had been expected of her and she hadn't known anything else.

She had known him for over four months when she'd fought with him for the first time.

She'd tried not to show her anger in front of the patient, had walked away from him and slammed the staffroom door in fury. He'd been following her, however and had opened it again seconds later.

"What the hell was that?" he'd asked, slightly amused.

"How dare you speak to me like that in front of a patient?"

He'd still been humouring her. "You're a medical student and your diagnosis was wrong, I was correcting you."

"My diagnosis was right and you were deliberately ridiculing me."

"It's not your place to be right, it's to keep your bloody mouth shut," he'd said, more angrily.

She'd looked up in shock, but had replied calmly. "Fuck you, Patrick."

Then she'd turned and walked out of the room, knowing, in that moment, that she belonged.

She had known him for six months when she'd slept with him for the first time.

She'd finished her rotation with a mixture of elation and frustration, and had been standing by the reception when he'd walked over to her.

"Apparently, tradition demands that I take you out for a drink tonight."

She had teased him loudly, to the amusement of others. "Patrick, are you asking me out?"

"Holly..."

"Well, how could I refuse such a gallant invitation?"

"I'll take that as a yes," he'd muttered as she'd laughed at him.

She had stumbled out of the pub later that evening, after drinking more she'd planned. He had been slightly more sober, but not much.

"I guess this is it," he'd said awkwardly, his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah."

There had been a slight pause, and then automatically they'd reached for each other. His hands had gripped her shoulders tightly, pressing her into the wall as he kissed her, while her nails had dug into his back, leaving red welts that he hadn't noticed until the morning.

Later that evening, she had lain in his bed, not wondering what she'd done, but what she was going to do now.

II.

[ She fell in love with him when she was twenty-two and should have known better ]

She hadn't meant to, especially not with someone as difficult as him. And she'd still been at university, he'd still been an SHO, but she wasn't his student anymore and somehow that made all the difference.

She'd lain on the bed in her ugly, undersized flat revising for finals and chain-smoking; tapping the ash onto a cracked ceramic plate while she'd stared into her textbook. As her eyes slid over the pages, there had been a knock on the door which she'd tried not to hear. But it increased and, eventually, she had slammed the book shut, stubbed out her cigarette and let him in.

"What?"

He'd been drunk. "That's a fine welcome."

"Patrick, I've got an exam in two days, I don't know a fucking thing and I haven't got time for this."

"Time for what?" he had asked, smirking.

"You."

"I can help you study," he'd suggested then, touching her waist.

She had stepped backwards. "No you can't because you're pissed. Go home and let me work." Then she'd paused. "Anyway, why are you drunk? You've got a shift tomorrow."

"How come you know my schedule better than me?"

Ushering him to the door, she had ignored his question. "Go home and sleep it off."

"I can do that here."

She'd known that if he stayed, he wouldn't be sleeping and neither would she.

"I don't think so, Patrick."

He had run his hands up her bare arms and she'd shivered, despite herself. Then, gripping her shoulders, he'd pulled her against him. She had noted absently that his co-ordination was impressive even though he was drunk.

"I can't," she'd whispered, sliding her hands over his chest and pushing him away.

His hands had dropped abruptly. "Ed?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Not, don't be. I shouldn't have..." he'd stumbled, smiling crookedly.

Then he had shut the door behind him, leaving her frustrated and unable to concentrate.

A week later, she'd sat on the floor of a dingy flat celebrating the end of her exams, a bottle of beer by her knee. Ed had sat next to her and, after passing her the joint, had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned her face to his. She'd looked into his eyes, realising that his pupils were dilated and his face was flushed.

"What's going on with you and Patrick," he had asked quietly, his hand tightening on her jaw.

She'd shaken her head free and inhaled slowly on the joint, biding her time before answering.

"Nothing, Ed. There's... it's nothing."

"I know you used to fuck him. I just want to know if you still are."

She had met his gaze. "No."

"Do you want to?"

"No," she'd replied again, a fraction too slowly.

"Shit. I knew it."

He'd run a hand through his hair, slightly unsteadily. "Holly, why can't you just stay the hell away from him?"

"Why should I?"

He had stood up. "Because I want you to."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I don't trust him."

She'd stayed sitting on the floor. "That's not my problem."

"What, so it's my fault that you're screwing the bastard?"

"I'm not."

"Okay, that you want to."

"I don't."

He had grabbed her wrist and forcibly lifted her to her feet.

"Prove it then, stay away from him."

"Ed, I can't... that's not fair."

His voice had been hard. "Choose, Holly."

Then he'd plucked the forgotten joint from her hand, stubbed it out and led her to the door.

Two days later, she had stood outside his door, the morning breeze gently lifting her hair. She'd rested her hand lightly on the bell, then taking a deep breath, had pressed her palm into it. Soon the door opened and he stood there, his shirt undone and his hair dishevelled.

"Jesus, Holly, do you know what time it is?"

"Can I come in?"

He had nodded and stepped aside. She'd followed him into his living room, kicking away an empty pizza box.

"Why are you here so early?"

She'd been blunt. "I need to talk to you."

He had raised an eyebrow, and then dropped heavily onto the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Ed thinks I'm sleeping with you."

"You're not."

She'd looked up at him in disbelief. "I know, Patrick. But he doesn't believe me."

"So?"

"So he asked me to choose."

"Between him and me?" he'd asked.

She had smiled ruefully. "I know it sounds melodramatic..."

"It sounds like he doesn't trust you."

"Patrick," she'd softly, warning him.

"Who?"

She had inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry..."

"Fuck, Holly. Why?"

She'd shrugged, unable to explain. "It's difficult to... I can't..."

His voice had been, for him, strangely calm. "Not a good enough reason, Holly. You aren't the type of person to do something because their shit of a boyfriend tells them to."

"I didn't. I chose."

"Why? Why are you prepared to throw two fucking years of friendship away so easily? Do you really think that you and Ed are going to go anywhere?"

She'd been angered by his condescending attitude. "I don't know, but I won't get the chance to find out if you're there."

"What?"

She had stumbled slightly then. "You're a... distraction."

"So if it doesn't work out, you'll end up back here, on your knees in front of me again?"

Then he'd hesitated slightly. "Are you enjoying this, Holly? Do you want me to beg for scraps of your time?"

"You'd never do that for anyone, Patrick," she'd responded coldly.

There had been a brief pause, and then he'd stood. "Okay."

She had been momentarily confused. "What?"

"I accept your decision."

"I..."

"It is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..."

He'd smiled sardonically. "What did you think I'd do, Holly? Plead with you not to leave me? You're right, I won't do that for anyone, not even you."

She had lifted her chin up angrily. "Fine, I'll let myself out."

"I think you better," he'd replied, turning away from her.

She had stumbled from his flat, leaning against the wall for support. "Bastard. Stupid, fucking bastard."

Then, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, she'd walked away from him.

It had been several months later, at Ed's flat, when she had realised. He'd been lying in bed and she had been wandering around the room in her bra and a pair of his boxers, attempting to tidy away his mess. She'd stubbed her toe on the biscuit tin that held his supply of pot and papers for the fifth time when she had picked it up. There had been a container of pills in it which she hadn't recognised.

"What are these," she'd asked, holding up the bottle.

He had looked up. "Nothing."

"They don't look like nothing. Are they uppers, speed?"

"Why?" he'd countered. "Do you have a problem with it?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

"I don't know," he'd responded. "You're not exactly a stranger to illegal substances, are you?"

Her hand had tightened around the bottle. "There's a difference between the odd joint and whatever these are, Ed."

She'd shaken it for emphasis. "And you're a medical student, for god's sake, you know the risks and you know what'll happen if you get caught."

"Holly, I went to medical school to get away from my mother, I certainly don't need another," he had snapped, throwing back the covers. "Anyway, when did you become so bloody sanctimonious?"

"I'm not; I'm only looking out for you."

"Just leave it, come back to bed," he'd asked, leaning across the mattress.

"I'm serious, Ed, I don't want you to..."

He had stood up then. "For fuck's sake, Holly, stop it. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Perhaps you should think about getting..."

He'd crossed the floor, snatched the pills out of her hand and thrown them against the room where they'd hit the wall with a dull thud.

"Don't tell me what to do," he had said, grabbing her upper arms painfully. "Ever."

And then he'd pulled her against him and kissed her roughly, silencing any protests that she might have made.

A fortnight after that, she had been at her flat when he'd arrived, furious. She'd known immediately that he was high; his eyes had been glassy and his face flushed. He had strode into her tiny living room and she'd followed, anticipating his anger.

"Where were you today?"

She had folded her arms over her chest. "Why?"

"Answer the question, Holly," he'd snarled.

"School. I had a lecture."

He had snorted. "I don't believe you."

"Why did you ask, then?"

"I was giving you a chance to explain."

"I told you where I was," she'd snapped. "What more do you want?"

"Were you with him?"

"Who?" she had asked, confused.

"Patrick."

"What's your problem with him?"

He had persisted. "Were you with him?"

"No. I haven't seen him for months because I was foolish enough to choose you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I stopped seeing him because you were jealous," she'd explained irately. "But it doesn't appear to have worked."

He had clenched his fists. "Can you blame me for being jealous?"

"Look, Ed," she had sighed. "I'll go and fuck him now if you really want me to, just to put your mind at rest."

Then she'd paused as he glared at her. "Perhaps I should anyway, because he's better than you could ever be."

She had realised that she'd gone too far when she saw something snap in his eyes. He had raised his clasped fist and had then punched her hard. Immediately, she had felt the pain explode down the side of her face and had stumbled back onto the sofa.

Later she'd rung Patrick's doorbell, her head bowed in the darkness. It had seemed like an eternity before he'd answered and the mixture of surprise and contempt had been evident on his face.

"What do you want?" he'd asked bitterly.

She had looked up at him then, her right cheek swollen and bruised, a black eye rapidly appearing.

"I didn't know where else to go."

He had been stunned for a moment, then furious. "Ed?"

She'd nodded gingerly.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Don't, Patrick," she had pleaded, her hand grasping his sleeve. "It's not worth it..."

He had nodded slightly in acceptance, then led her into his flat. She'd perched on the sofa while he had fetched his first aid kit, absently observing the neatness of the room. Then he'd returned and knelt in front of her, cupping her face. She had flinched at the contact and his closeness, had felt his breath on her cheek as he'd worked silently.

His voice had been piercing in the stillness. "What are you going to do?"

"Sorry?"

"Well, there's not much point in me doing this if you're going to turn round and go back to him."

She'd breathed deeply. "I've got no illusions about this, Patrick. I've seen far too many women who've fallen off ladders and tripped down stairs to believe that he won't do it again."

There had been another silence. "Can I ask you something?"

She'd nodded, realising she was responsible for this distance between them.

"Are you in love with him?"

"No. I thought I might be, but I'm not."

He'd dipped his head slightly, but had made no remark.

"There," he had murmured, throwing away the cotton wool. "I'll get a t-shirt and you can sleep in my bed."

Then, despite herself, she'd started to cry.

"What did you think I was going to do, kick you out onto the street?" he'd asked, flustered at her tears.

She had shaken her head.

"I think I made the wrong choice."

He'd looked up regretfully. "It's a bit late for that, Holly."

"Is it," she'd whispered softly, catching his gaze. "Patrick..."

He had stroked her face lightly. "Get some sleep."

Then he'd stood up and begun to walk out of the room.

"You asked the wrong question," she'd blurted out desperately.

"What?"

"It's not Ed I'm in love with."

He'd stopped, but she hadn't been able to see his face. "Don't fuck me around, Holly."

"I'm not."

She'd stood up, brushing away her tears.

"Patrick, I know that you're arrogant, you're rude and that you have a complete inability to let anyone else see what you're feeling. But, god help me, you're still the first person that I want to see when I have good news, the only one I want to share it with."

Her voice had become softer.

"I'm in love with you and I wish I'd realised it sooner."

Then he'd crossed the room and grabbed her, almost roughly, by the shoulders and kissed her firmly. At first, she had recoiled at the pressure on her bruised face, but almost immediately had tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him closer. They had stumbled to the sofa in an ungraceful waltz and sprawled across it, his body pressing into hers.

To be continued.