Walls.

A/N. More fic! Jac fic. The words keep flying out at the moment so I'm rolling with it. This one is going to some dark places, just as a warning. There are big plans, so fingers crossed I'll manage to stick with it. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think! x Sarah (I don't think I've ever had this many docs uploaded at once..!)

1.

"I don't want to prescribe medication. I don't want to tell you how we'll do this. Ms Naylor, I want you to be in control. You already know what's happening. You know why I'm here, what I'm going to say and the outcome I'm looking for. Can you work with me? Do you think we can try and talk this through scientifically?" Jac's eyes flick to the hand that is placed over hers on the bed.

"Please don't touch me."

ooooo

Jac opens her eyes, or rather, eye. Her left eye, and she lets it blink involuntarily, surprised to find her living room bathed in in a soft glow of light; That it's light outside. Her right eye faces more of a struggle. It feels huge and puffy, and she knows the glue that holds is closed is blood. Her heart pounds, nay, flutters in her chest. She feels sick. Her first instinct is to cry, but instead she grits her teeth with stone cold determination.

The right side of her face is pressed against her living room carpet. From the swelling and the throbbing and the stain she can see on the floor she suspects it's stuck fast with blood. She can see her coffee table, and a litter of blurry items before her. After a few more blinks she's surprised to find that one of those things is her left hand. As if spurred on by the recollection of its existance she drags it down towards her stomach and places it on her bump. 30 weeks worth of bump, and she suddenly realises that's why her heart is so terrified, hammering away. She balks, gasps, and presses both hands hard into the carpet, pushing herself up and over onto her back. Both hands fly to her stomach and her chest screams out in protestation. Every breath, in fact, is tortuously painful. She wonders how many rib fractures she's chalked up. She's comforted by the shifting of her baby in her womb. It feels strong, and normal, and she shuts her eyes again with an incredible kind of relief.

She needs help. She looks over to the coffee table again, and reaches out for her Iphone which, smashed screen aside, is just within reach and mercifully still appears to be working. She yelps aloud as she stretches for the thing, retrieves it and breathes heavily for a few moments after the exertion. Her head is spinning, aching, and her chest is full of daggers. She almost gives up then and there, but manages to keep herself together, to not cry, as she realises she has no idea who to call. She's unnerved, inexplicably unwilling to speak to the emergency services, and sure as hell not going to let Jonny see her like this. Her tongue reaches out and touches a split bottom lip. She needs somebody practical, and level headed, and unshakeable, and before she finishes thinking she's dialled Mo's number.

"8." The registrar answers groggily, without a greeting. "My shift starts at 8, not a minute sooner." It might be the sound of Mo's voice, or the realisation that she doesn't even know what time it is, or perhaps even the full gravitas of the situation she's in, but Jac opens her mouth and nothing comes out. She tries again. "Jaaac?" Her colleague sounds annoyed. Jac lets out a sob, or a yelp, or something in between and then whines at the pain it causes in her chest. "Jac? What's going on?" Irritation snaps into concern.

"I need help." It's a wheezy croak. "I need you. My flat." Her head is spinning, and she shuts her eyes in an effort to steady herself.

Jac could swear it has only been a second, but the next thing she's aware of is a hand against her neck. She panics, and gasps, and tries to push it away with a pathetic squeal. Her eyes fly open, suddenly facing Mo Effanga. The registrar is leaning over her, two fingers pressed against her neck to monitor her pulse and another hand holding something against her head wound. The woman's eyes are wide, panicked, but in control.

"Sssh. Jac you're safe. You're safe. The ambulance is coming."

"Don't tell him." She manages softly. "Don't let him see. Please."

"I won't." Mo agrees, would agree to anything. "Not just yet."

ooooo

Mo has to steady herself against Jac's door frame for a moment as she follows the paramedics out of the flat. She takes a quick glance back at the trashed living room, the bloodstains. She thinks she might vomit, so she turns away again and jogs to catch up as they step into the lift. She's in tears by the time they reach the vehicle.

"Okay?" One of the paramedics asks carefully as they strap the patient in.

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Let's just get going."

"She was conscious?" The same paramedic asks. "Do you know what happened?"

"A bit. In and out. And no, she just called me. It was like that when I got there, she was just there on the floor."

"She's your friend?"

"Yeah." Mo considers that notion for a second, struck by the pallor of Jac's skin and the way it contrasts so harshly with the angry red wound on one side of her face, the split lip on the other. She blinks back tears and grabs Jac's hand instinctively. "She had chest pains, before, I'm worried about her ribs. Pneumothorax? She's tachycardic, what's her BP?"

"90/50. Shit."

"Okay. Well, could be that. Could be the baby. It could be an abruption. We need to get Gynae on standby. Elliot Hope too." The paramedic looks confused at the last comment, and Mo fumbles for her phone, ringing Elliot herself. "What happened Jac?" She whispers to nobody but herself as she dials. "Elliot?" She snaps as soon as he answers the phone. He's breathy, sounds like he's on the way up from his car.

"Morning Mo. What can I.."

"ED. Get there, now. I'm in an Ambulance with Jac, it could, she could have a punctured lung. She's, it's not good."

"Oh." He sounds like he's stopped in his tracks. She wants to clarify but she hangs up when she notices the paramedic struggling with the IV.

"Give that here." She demands, shaking slightly herself, aware that Jac's BP must be flooring if it's this much of a struggle. She snags it first time and pushes the fluids. "Ring ahead again." She whispers, scared. "Tell them to cross match 5 litres of O-neg."

"Yep." Comes the reply from the front seat. "2 minutes away."

Elliot is standing by the ambulance bay with a team from ED, looking fairly out of place in his jacket, still clutching his briefcase. Everybody flies into action as the back doors swing open and they wheel her into view of the Consultant, who makes eyes at Mo and visibly balks.

"37 year old female," the paramedic starts as they move swiftly towards Resus, "GCS 12 at the scene, falling to 6, and there's an obvious head wound. She's 30 weeks pregnant and she's been attacked."

"Attacked." Elliot echoes, shocked, ignored by the ED team. Mo loses steam as they crash through the doors of Resus and she's shouldered out of the mix. She slowly follows them in but watches from the other side of the room. They'd cut Jac's top off in the ambulance to reveal a mottling of angry red bruises on her chest. Now, as they shift her onto her side and move her, Mo has to look away as she spots what can only be a boot print on her back. Elliot and Mr T share the same glance of horror as they spot the injury.

It doesn't take very long for Mr T to establish that they need to deliver, Elliot in tow, and a shout to alert GS too as they grimly acknowledge how extensive the injuries could be. "Cross match 5 more units." Mr T orders at they make their way to theatre. "Quickly please. Placental abruption, they're both in distress." The words ring in Mo's ears, and she doesn't realise she still has tears in her eyes until a nurse asks her if she's alright. Then she knows she has to be, because her duty isn't done yet. She makes her way slowly to the lift, getting her phone out again but pausing as she finds Jonny's number.

ooooo

"Okay, has anybody seen a senior medic? Seriously, any surgeon will do right now!" Jonny announces incredulously at the Nurses' station, waving around the as yet unsigned-off day's theatre lists. He takes another breath and prepares to unleash a tirade of annoyance, but stops short as he sees Hanssen approach from the lift.

"Can I have everybody's attention please?" He commands an audience easily over the headless ward. Jonny stands forefront, arms folded, confused.

"Darwin is temporarily closed to new admissions." Their great leader looks at his shoes for the briefest of moments, but it's enough to tell the nurse that something's going on. Jonny's phone trills into life; it's Mo. He rejects it quickly, irked when she calls again almost instantaneously. "Take the call, Nurse Maconie." Hanssen speaks quite solemnly, and Jonny wordlessly obliges, his heart fluttering nervously as he starts to suspect the worst. He excuses himself, moving to the other end of the corridor to answer. His worry is less than abated as he watches Hanssen share something with the rest of the team, and the way hands fly to mouths and concerned glances are exchanged.

"Mo?" He answers nervously. "Are you okay?"

"Um. You need to come downstairs."

"What, why? Are you okay?" He keeps eyeing the scene on Darwin. Shocked faces, and Hanssen taking Ollie aside to establish if they have any urgent cases, by the look of it.

"It's Jac. Um. Gynae Theatre 1. I'm outside." The news silences him. He's rooted to the spot for just a moment. Jac. Why the hell didn't he guess it was Jac? He should have known. He catches Ollie's sympathetic gaze as the F2 turns away from Hanssen, and then he's running for the stairs, cursing every extra wasted second.

Jonny barrels straight into Mo outside theatre as she blocks his path. "What's happening? Why's? I don't, tell me!"

"Jonny calm down."

"Are you bloody kidding?"

"They've delivered." His blood runs cold.

"But it's too soon." 30 weeks, that's all. She's in danger, he knows it.

"You're a Dad, mate, you're a Dad. It's a girl." He's tense. Mo looks terrified, and this is far from the whole story. He just knows. "She's just been taken to SCBU. It took a little while but she's breathing by herself, nice and strong. You should go down there."

"Jac?" He asks, and Mo bites her lip. He pushes past her to get to theatre, ignoring her protestations, his heart in his throat.

"Packs! She's in DIC. Shit!" Jonny's rooted to the spot immediately in the viewing gallery. Mr T is frantically trying to stem a bleed, and he's shocked to see Elliot there too, monitoring her with the anaesthetist.

"Airway and breath sounds still clear; It's definitely your end. Checking her pupils. Fine, Sats dropping though. Mr Thompson, BP is 70/30. Falling."

"Clotting factors, now! I need to perform a hysterectomy. Hang in there Jac." A scrub nurse moves out of the way and Jonny suddenly sees her face. He places his hands on the glass quickly, steadying himself as the scene swims in front of him. The angry red swelling around her right temple, and the wound that's being stitched by a surgical registrar.

"Jonny Mac." Mo's voice is soft behind him. He turns, and they stare wordlessly at each other. Shock, horror, all of that stuff they see in strangers every day, plainly on one another's faces.

"What happened?"

"Sit down." She orders, joining him on the plastic chairs. "Here's what we're going to do."

ooooo

Jac's in her own head, and she can't see a way out. Her subconscious is stronger, she fears, than any other part of her at the moment. It's determined to rerun her nightmare over and over, and she's woefully without the control to stop it.

She wakes to a bang, like something falling over in her living room. Or, the sobriety of midnight tells her, someone in her living room. She's annoyed, ratty and high tempered already through sleep deprivation. Instinct draws her out from under the covers, and leads her into the badly thought out, ballsy set of actions that every woman wonders if she'd be capable of. When it ultimately comes down to fight or flight. Her breath catches in her throat as she crashes into the living room, and the man who's rifling through a cabinet looks up, straight at her. His eyes are childlike and naive, and she knows how momentary her window of action is so she brings the paperweight that she's wielding up above her head. But then she realises that he doesn't look scared, and just as that thought reaches her integrated consciousness another set of arms, big and burlish, grab her from behind. She's relieved of the paperweight, a hand clamps over her mouth, and she could swear that all of her breath leaves her body. Suddenly she's not the protector anymore. She's the foolish little girl who's put the welfare on her unborn child on the line in a reckless act of anger. He's still holding her arms above her head so they can't snake over her bump, and she's powerless to stop the punches, kicks, seemingly endless impacts against her body. She shuts her eyes. She wails pathetically. And then she feels a dagger through her skull before she's plunged forcefully into an inky black nothing.

She wakes to a bang, and it starts all over again.

ooooo

Mo bleeps herself into SCBU with her ID card. Jonny doesn't react, and despite all the heartache she can't help but smile at the scene in front of her. The tiny little baby is wired up to monitors, locked into a plastic box, the smallest little mask providing her with 100% oxygen. Jonny's hands are prone against the the box, his head resting on it too. His gaze is so fixed on his baby, watching her breathe, Mo's sure she could start a marching band and he wouldn't notice. She places a hand on his back.

"I've just come from ITU, they're going to extubate Jac. The DIC's reversed but Elliot's getting antsy. She's punctured a lung before apparently." He turns to face his friend.

"Is she alright?"

"Looks like she'll be fine." Mo gives his shoulders a squeeze, feels some of the weight lifting from them. Jonny puts his head in his hands.

"Thank god." He lets his friend pull him into a hug. "How am I supposed to be in two places at once?"

"That's what I'm for." Mo answers gently. Tears prick her eyes for what must be the thousandth time in a 24 hour period as she peers over Jonny's shoulder at the baby. "So I'll go back up there, and you just stay here for now. That little mite needs you."

Michael Spence is sounding out two Police Officers as Mo approaches ITU. He grabs her arm as she walks past him, sending the Police back down to the cafe. "Damn vultures." He announces under his breath.

"She awake then?" Mo asks, wondering why she's being detained.

"Yeah."

"And, she's okay?"

"Physically yeah. It's all good."

"But not mentally?" The registrar gets a strong sense of foreboding.

"I'm not sure."

"How are you not sure?"

"Well, you know Jac. She can be.." He stumbles over the right word.

"Moody? Sociopathic? Verging on a complete mental breakdown?" Michael squirms as she speaks, and she suddenly realises that's exactly what he means.

"I've ordered a head CT and I'm keeping Neuro in the loop. But, I dunno. It could just be Jac being Jac. Maybe she just needs time and space. I'm toying over paging Psych, once we've ruled out cranial swelling."

"Have you mentioned any of this to her?"

"You try." He orders, then heads away from ITU to chase up the CT. "Hey," he stops a nurse, "I want you to transfer Ms Naylor to Holby Care this afternoon."

"Yes Mr Spence."

Mo bites her lip nervously, then pushes the door to Jac's room open with a false smile. The response she gets from the woman in the bed is somewhat lacking. "Hey," Mo tries, taking a seat by the bed and grasping Jac's hand and bruised wrist in hers. "How're you feeling?"

"Like my ribs are broken." The comment is flat and factual.

"I just came from SCBU, I've seen her!" Jac looks genuinely confused, bordering on uninterested at this remark. "Has nobody told you anything?" Jac shrugs slightly.

"I haven't asked." Mo hears the door swing as Michael reappears in the room, and she takes it as a warning to tread carefully.

"Okay. You've got a beautiful little baby girl. Not out of the woods or anything quite yet, but she's breathing by herself. She's strong, it looks good." Mo feels her own voice cracking a bit as she speaks, desperately trying to make eye contact with Jac, who's staring at the ceiling. She's outwardly unaffected by Mo's words, not even a sheen of tears, not even a flicker on the monitor, just indifference.

"Oh." She answers quietly. Michael moves to the other side of the bed.

"Jac, I just want to check your pupils. How's the head?" He leans over her with the torch and Mo feels her stiffen at his actions. Her jaw's set and she doesn't react to the violation, just tugs her hand back from Mo.

"Head's fine. Actually, could you not touch me?" The second bit is aimed at Mo, who shares a glance with Mr Spence. They excuse themselves.

"I think page Psych." Mo announces, leaning on the wall outside ITU. "Something's not right."

"You don't think it's just Jac?"

"She's completely detached. She's acting like she's not even bothered about the baby."

"Well, she knows it's okay." He reasons. "And yeah, she's detached, but like I said it's Jac. I've seen her go through worse, you know, and pick herself back up again."

"Have you?" Mo's unconvinced. "Do we really even know what happened yet? Her flat was trashed." They both turn to observe the patient through the window. "I think she's a fighter, and a crier with all the hormones in her head at the moment. I think she should be pushing you out of the way, demanding to get down to SCBU, and ignoring reason."

"Yeah," Michael reluctantly agrees, "me too." He sighs. "What to do think, acute stress reaction?"

"I think, end amateur hour and page Psych." She repeats more forcefully.