This is something of a random idea that came to me earlier (although why I decided to write it at 11pm is anyone's guess!). Hopefully this is ok :)
On the days when the ward was like this, most people couldn't wait for their shifts to end. For the moment when they could slip out of the doors, and try to push the events of the day from their mind. They would go home and pee (because chances are they hadn't had chance), eat (because all they've done is bolted small bites of whatever was to hand), drink (because technically you haven't drunk much either and you've basically just peed everything else out) before you fall in to your bed and try to ignore the fact that you have to get up and do it all again in a matter of hours – unless of course you are one of the lucky ones who has a day off, or even better a run of days off.
Normally she was one of those people. She understood the feelings of it, and yet today when she had realised that the days tasks were completed and she could finally escape the bedlam that was Darwin ward, she found herself hesitating; trying to think of some piece of documentation that needed an addition made or something she hadn't checked quite thoroughly enough. But try as she might, she couldn't come up with anything.
On regular days, you didn't want the ward to be frantic. You wanted it to be much more civilised – you daren't use the Q word – but today she had tempted fate by considering it. She had considered using the word but she had known that in her current state that it wouldn't have worked; that quiet would have equalled quiet because it was the last thing she wanted. On the regular days, stating the word quiet always ended in all hell breaking loose.
But fate had been good to her. Fate had brought her the frantic pace she had desire and refuge from the thoughts that she tried to keep at bay. The place was filled with memories of the day exactly one year ago but she had, had little time to dwell on it. The bells had rung near constantly; some requests bordering on an abuse of the call bell system and others resulting in the frantic pulling of the emergency cord. The emergency bell had sounded far too often today, the noise which caused hearts to leap in chest cavities and feet to run in the direction of the bed. It was a sound that sometimes woke her from her sleep, causing her to bolt upright in her bed before she realised that she was in the comfort of her home.
She slips away from the hospital, pausing for a moment as she considers in which direction to walk. The quiet of her home where sleep should await her or the bustle of a bar, where she can lose herself in a drink or two. She knows she should go home, she is supposed to work tomorrow but she cannot quite face the idea of being alone, of the quiet. Besides today should be a celebration. So she chooses the bar.
He shivers as he sits outside of the hospital, its July and it should be warm but the night is bitter and he misses the comfort of his grey hoodie. The warmth it would bring him. But it is providing that to someone else, someone who needs it all the more. He thinks of his daughter, sleeping within the walls of the building. The fact that she keeps the hoodie with her, as a sort of comfort blanket though she is too old, and too cool, to admit that now. She claims it is the warmest hoodie and therefore the best but he knows differently. He knows it brings her comfort, a piece of her daddy even when he is not present. He wishes he could be there with her at very moment but it is near impossible, and anyway he knows that sometimes he annoys her with his helicopter parenting.
It has been a long few months and he is weary. He feels like so much of himself is seeping away and every day is becoming more of a struggle; to keep up the pretence that everything is normal for his girl when in reality that is so far removed from the truth.
He thinks now of his boy. His little lad. The child he has not seen properly in weeks because of the actions he had taken, the lies he had told. To save one child, to sacrifice another. That was how she had seen it, or how he thought she had seen it. He understood her fear; to lose her son, their son. But he had faced losing his daughter also. And it was an impossible situation. And now it seemed he had lost the boy, though not in the way she had feared.
She hadn't been cruel. She had gone ahead for the girl, her stepdaughter. The procedures aimed at saving her young life but she had done so privately. His presence for the boy unwanted, though he knew not unneeded. He had been forced, by her, to stay away and in turn she had kept the boy away from him.
He had been grateful for what she had done, despite her reluctance but he knew it had not been done for him. She had done it for the girl who despite it all she had come to be fond of. Perhaps not love, or not love as he knew it but there was something there between them – and it had been enough. He knew that she still went to visit the girl, that they stayed in contact. But it was done when she knew he wouldn't be around, in the hope that he wouldn't know. Their work relationship was cordial, professional but he knew the stares that were being drawn. The rumours afoot as to what had happened, he knew those around them blamed her. They suspected an affair; something for which she had a reputation. And for some reason she had not denied, and he hadn't stood up for her.
He cannot sit here forever and he craves noise. He cannot face the quietness of another night alone in an empty bed, yet he knows he cannot go back in to the hospital. He is in no state for his daughter to see. Instead he pulls himself to his feet, and starts to walk. He moves on autopilot, and finds himself outside of a familiar place where a friendly barman will pour him a drink and for a time, at least, he can try to forget himself.