DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Casualty or any of its characters.

A/N: Hey all, we've finally reached the last chapter. This was horribly difficult to write - I don't usually write arguments or confrontational scenes, but I gave it a good go. Thank you so very much to everyone who has read and reviewed! I've loved hearing your thoughts. I can now go and catch up on the 20 or so episodes I've missed! Please review if you have a sec. As always, enjoy. Until next time x


UNTIL WE GO DOWN

- Skin and Bones -


A monotonous beeping. Cool skin and weary bones. White lights that flicker intermittently against aching eyelids. Lingering in the air: a clinical, metallic smell that feels as if it has always been there, uncomfortably familiar.

Stiff muscles protest as she tries to move, her gaze unfocused and hazy.

"Hey." Chair legs scrape across a hard floor. "Take it easy."

Light filters in between the blinds, illuminating his slouched figure. She can't quite make out his face, but his voice she recognises instinctively. Gravelly. Tired.

"How're you feeling?"

She swallows with difficulty. A weight on the bridge of her nose; the gentle hiss of oxygen. There's no knowing how much time has passed since she'd last been conscious. The memory of pain ghosts around her ribs, followed by the sudden realisation that she hadn't expected him to be there.

"I've felt better," Faith says. "How long have I been out?"

"A while," Lev replies.

He will not, or cannot, maintain her gaze, reverting instead to staring past her right shoulder. He smells of lemongrass and vodka, the dark shadows beneath his eyes telling of too many sleepless nights.

"The kids made you a card. They wanted to give it to you themselves, but..." He shrugs, looks down at his clenched hands. "Well, I think they've spent enough time in hospital. Luka especially. And they wouldn't have been allowed in anyway with all the restrictions." A light chuckle, but there is no mirth in the sound. "You can see it when you come home."

A lump forms in her throat at the thought of her children. The thought of returning, with him, to a home now tainted with betrayal.

"Yeah." A dull ache sets deep in her bones. Vague, formless fragments of the accident flit around her mind. "Are... are Dylan and Pravi okay?"

"Yes." He nods. "Yes, they're both fine."

Relief. Gratitude. A weight she didn't realise had been there lifts from her shoulders.

"A few broken bones but nothing serious," Lev continues. "They got off lightly compared."

For a brief glimmering moment he is there, her husband, gazing at her as if nothing has changed between them. As if the space between them has not become saturated with distrust. And then his eyes flash with bitter accusation.

"You care about him, don't you?"

His question catches her off guard, and she is not entirely sure what answer he expects her to give.

"He's my friend," Faith replies indignantly. "Of course I care."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"What do you think?" His voice rises dangerously, temper already edging toward a precipice. "I've seen the way you look at him, Faith. I heard you when we exited the ambulance. You called his name. Not mine."

She doesn't remember. And yet the revelation is not at all surprising.

"I was scared, Lev."

He scoffs in disbelief, pushes back his chair and storms across the small room, chest heaving with unbridled anger. She hasn't been awake more than five minutes and already they are here again. Arguing.

"And you blame me for being unfaithful."

"Unfaithful?" Faith exclaims, pulling at the oxygen mask. "Lev, I'm not the one who's been lying to his wife for twenty years. I'm not the one who's been sleeping with... with..."

She still can't bring herself to say it, can't bear the weight of the truth.

"Dylan is my friend, Lev. A good friend." Her throat closes; it's becoming increasingly difficult to speak. "We talk, yes, we text - which is more than I can say for us at the moment - but he is not my husband."

Fatigue, followed by a wave of writhing pain. Sleep calls, brushing at the edges of her thoughts, the soft pillows promising a safe retreat.

"You know what, I can't..." She hasn't the strength to argue. "I can't do this right now."

Eyes pinched with frustration stare back at her. His hands shake at his sides. She has cherished his warmth, shared in his pain and his sorrows, consoled him in his grief. But never before has she witnessed him like this. Bitter. Recriminating. Unwilling to consider the seriousness of their situation.

It's as if there's a stranger standing before her. Staring at her through her husband's eyes. She wonders who he is. IF he has always been there. Lurking just beneath the surface.

Slowly, her mind claws its way back to unconsciousness. To safety. Her body is numb, weightless, heavy with a dreamless sleep she cannot shake. There is little daylight in the night that has descended, no reprieve from the nightmare she is living in. There is only a relentless cold.

"We need to talk about this."

Her eyes flicker open.

"About what?" Faith asks tiredly, her hands moving to toy with the sheets. White and smooth. Softer than she'd expected.

"This." Lev answers darkly, pointing between them. "Us."

The word is muddied with uncertainty.

"Us?"

"Us. Our marriage. Our family." His shoulders sag a little, even as he demands her attention. "We can't go on like this."

"No." Faith holds his gaze. "No, I don't suppose we can."

She doesn't know how they're meant to recover from this. How they're meant to start over. She doesn't know anything anymore. There is too much damage. Distrust. Hurt. Scars that cannot be erased. No matter how much she wishes she could, she cannot yet forgive him for sending their lives, their marriage, up in flames.

He's staring at her, anger gradually subsiding.

"I don't..." A long sigh. "I don't even know where to begin."

"I do." Lev leans over, readjusts her oxygen mask before sinking back into his chair. "It begins with me being honest with you. I'll tell you everything," he says. "About Russia. About my childhood." His eyes flick to hers, searching. "If you want me to."

And therein lies the problem. She isn't sure she wants to hear it.

"I don't know, Lev."

His chin quivers, face scrunching, and for a few uneasy minutes he stares long and hard at the floor.

"We nearly lost you, Faith," Lev says eventually. He sighs in frustration, palms pressed together in deep thought. "You were just lying there, and I thought..."

Recognition flickers. A voice worn with unbridled anger and concern.

"You were there."

"Yes." He nods in confirmation, shaking his head as if trying to erase the memory. "We got you out just in time. If we'd left it any longer..."

He reaches for her hand; she pulls it away.

"When we found out Luka had cancer," he murmurs, "I didn't think I could be scared of anything ever again. I was terrified, you know?"

"Yes," Faith whispers. "I know."

"But then I thought about my life without you. Having to tell our children that their mum wasn't coming home...? I've never been so terrified in all my life." His gaze lifts, voice thick with emotion. "Please, Faith. Just let me try. Let me be who you need me to be."

If only she knew who that was.

"All I needed, Lev, was for you to be there." Her voice shakes. "When Luka was going through his chemotherapy you were there physically, I know. But mentally? It was like... I don't know, it was like we were living with a shadow."

She's said this before, tried to explain the same inexplicable feeling. At the time she hadn't understood why he'd been so distant. Now she almost wishes she didn't.

Tears pool in his eyes, but she cannot stop herself from dealing the final blow.

"We needed you. I needed you. And you..." Her voice cracks. "You weren't there, Lev."

She stares at the space between their hands. Hers: open, limp, as white as the sheets beneath. His: clenched into fists.

"You weren't there because you were with someone else."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, apologising for the thousandth time.

If only that were enough.

"We used to be a team, Lev," Faith whispers. "We should have become closer through this, and instead all we've done is drift apart."

"We were both scared," he says.

"We could have been scared together," she replies softly.

She has never imagined what her life would be like without him, but she has experienced a glimmer of what it could be. The need to know is all-consuming - to know why he did it - and she is tired of asking the same questions. She is tired of wondering whether she has been blind from the very beginning. If she has driven him away. If she can ever trust him again.

"Why did you do it, Lev?" Faith asks, even as he shakes his head pleadingly, begging her not to ask. Not now. Not yet. "Tell me."

The silence that ensues is haunting, and she finds herself asking through gritted teeth: "Is... is our whole marriage a lie?"

"No," Lev replies with force. "No, no, of course it isn't. I love you, Faith. I love our family."

"Then why?"

His mouth opens in response, but there are no words. There is only a staggering emptiness. The door creaks open, and her attention shifts to the figure moving against the bright light coming from the corridor.

"Oh. Sorry, is this a bad time?"

Lev grumbles something inaudible, the shadows under his eyes darkening as he rises from his seat beside the bed.

"We'll talk about this later, okay?" he says, even though his words resemble a statement more than a question. He all but shoves the doctor out of the way as he leaves the room.

"Just thought I'd check in and see how you were." For once he isn't afraid to look her directly in the eye, and his gaze roams over her as if trying to verify her existence. "It's, um, it's good to see you awake."

"It's good to see you too, Dylan," Faith replies.

"You'll let me know if you need anything, won't you? Tea. Coffee. I'd bring you flowers but they're... well, you know. I'm just a phone call away."

She smiles her thanks, ever grateful for his kindness. But already her eyelids are drifting shut and as much as she wants to talk to him, she can't resist the pull of sleep any longer.

"I'll um... I'll leave you to get some rest, shall I?"

She watches through bleary eyes as he quietly closes the door behind him.

Waves of warring emotion. The faces of her children. A wave of lavender and sage. Vague. Comforting. Two faces: one marred with anger, the other softened by kindness. The steady hiss of oxygen.

Sleep.