A/N: This idea arose two days ago, and wouldn't go away. So, I've written it, or at least am writing it. This story is set to take place a couple of months after the end of series 3 of Judge John Deed. It's a possible, far more realistic alternative to the other one I wrote. I have included some Holby City characters, partly to make up necessary roles, and partly as a writing exercise for the third of mine and Richard's joint fics.
Fist of Fear
Part One
It was several weeks since the end of the Diana Halsey case, it eventually having ended quite amicably. Jo had been astonished at George's behaviour towards the end, having expected George to battle with her to the death. But it had only taken her until Diana Halsey's death, and the near miss with the child pornography, for George to give in. She'd exchanged a smile with Jo, possibly the first genuine smile of her life exchanged with Jo, and agreed to One Way's providing some sort of a stable financial future for Michael, Diana Halsey's son, now being cared for by the state. Jo was in the process of trying to adopt Michael, but she knew that it was going to be an uphill struggle, especially considering the fact that she didn't entirely have John's support. But something had been very different since the end of that case. She and George had just about managed to maintain the cease-fire. They still didn't speak to each other unless absolutely necessary, but neither had they fought at every given opportunity. A kind of almost civil detachment had arisen between them, surprising John more than anyone. He had been forced to admit that George had been incredibly shocked, when he'd shown her precisely what One Way's chief executive had planted on his computer. He'd tried to talk to her since, just to make sure she was all right, but she'd been doing her damnedest to avoid him. Whenever he'd cornered her, either in person or on the phone, she'd seemed distant, distracted, and almost desperate to escape from his presence. Quite why, he didn't have the faintest idea, though he supposed he'd find out in due course.
It was on a Monday, late in July, that some of the pieces began to fit together. They were supposed to be starting a pretrial hearing in the afternoon, Jo for the prosecution, George for the defence, and John reigning from his throne on high. They hadn't done this since Diana Halsey's case, and John was approaching it with a certain amount of trepidation and intrigue. Things might be a little different on the surface between Jo and George, but he doubted this would extend to the courtroom. Arriving at court during the lunchtime adjournment, Jo went into the ladies' to touch up her make up. Appear in front of George looking less than immaculate, she would not. But when she pushed open the door, she saw that George was already there, standing with her back to her, clearly attending to her own face in the mirror. "John warned me you were defending this case," Jo said in greeting. "That was nice of him," George said dryly, still not looking in Jo's direction. But when Jo moved to stand beside her, digging out her lipstick, she caught sight of George's face. An ugly purple bruise marred the otherwise beautiful skin, just under George's left eye. "That's a bruise and a half," Jo said, momentarily thrown by seeing such a thing, on this usually very good-looking woman. "Where did you get it?" There was something in Jo's tone of voice, something that told George she knew exactly where, or at least by whose hands she had acquired the bruise. Neil Haughton, the Secretary of State for Trade, George's lover. He had been indirectly responsible for One Way's getting child pornography onto John's computer. Jo knew very little of him, but John had always spoken of him with nothing but loathing and contempt. Jo knew though, she knew that this bruise could only have come from Neil. Had it come from anyone else, George would have reported it straight away, and it would have been the subject of gossip for all concerned. "I walked into a door," George said tonelessly, steadfastly refusing to meet Jo's gaze, and continuing to apply a fresh layer of foundation, in the hopes of concealing it from John's penetrating stare. "Whilst I know I wouldn't be your first choice of confidante, George, you might give me credit for possessing a slight degree of intelligence." "You don't need to know where I got it," George said evasively, determined not to reveal to Jo of all people, that she couldn't prevent her man from doing whatever the hell he liked to her, every time a debate in the commons didn't quite go his way. Rummaging in her handbag, Jo emerged with a tube of concealer. Handing it over, she said, "You might have more success with this." Just for a moment, George turned her eyes on Jo, just for a second meeting her gaze. "Thank you," She said, her eyes briefly showing a flicker of the pain that was going on inside her. Jo simply waited, redoing her own make up, knowing that if she even tried to press George on what had happened, it would push her away all the more. But as George continued to say absolutely nothing, Jo knew that she couldn't allow the question to go unsaid. "Did Neil do this to you?" George couldn't help a short, mirthless laugh. "You don't pull your punches, do you." "Not the best remark in the circumstances," Jo replied, inwardly wincing at George's comment. "Other than to satisfy your curiosity, which I am not in the habit of doing, what would it achieve for me to tell you?" "You can't let him get away with this, George." "Don't you dare try and give me advice on something you know nothing about," George said icily. "Yes, Neil did do this to me, but if you for one moment spare a thought to his position, which holds even more power than John's, you will realise that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. So will you please, just for once in your life, do as I ask, and forget this conversation took place, or this time I really will get you taken off the road." Jo knew that George was referring to the photographs of Jo and John in bed together, taken on the night that had led to her hearing with the Professional Conduct Committee. "That's an empty threat, and you know it," Jo replied, knowing that George didn't have the power to make that happen, any more than she had last time. "And you can't ask me to forget we had this conversation." #"Perhaps not," George conceded bitterly. "But I can ask you not to tell John about it." Jo struggled with herself for a few moments, knowing that she really ought to tell John, but that George was desperately pleading with her not to do so. "Why don't you want him to know?" She asked, though she thought she knew why. "Isn't that obvious?" George demanded scornfully. "Because ever since I hooked up with Neil, John has done everything in his power, and an awful lot that isn't, to thrust home to me just what a spineless, worthless cretin Neil is. The last thing I need right now is for John to point out that he told me so." "George, he wouldn't," Jo protested, though knowing in the same instant that yes, John probably would. He wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to tell George that she was wrong, and he was right. "You know he would," George replied, sounding utterly defeated. "So that's why I don't want him to know. I'll deal with this in my own time, and in my own way, and most of all, without his help." "Fine," Jo said, closing her handbag and feeling completely useless. "But don't let it go on too long."
However, later on that afternoon, George was forced to agree that yes, she did in fact have a problem. John had been his usual, awkward, interfering self, and with his added barrage of questioning, they hadn't exactly progressed very far. When the session finally drew to a close, John rising and sweeping out through the door behind the judge's bench, George sank back into her seat, the pain of all her other bruises, all the ones Jo didn't know about, beginning to take its toll on her concentration. Jo had observed George's gradual deterioration, thinking that George really was putting on a masterly act to keep what she was going through from John. Jo waited until everyone else had gone, stacking her papers together and putting them in her briefcase. George had uncharacteristically slumped forward, propping her elbows on the bench in front of her, and resting her chin on her hands. Her eyes were closed, as if she was trying to internally replenish her strength. As they were the only two left in the room, Jo cautiously approached her. "George," She said, trying to get her attention, but getting no response. Reaching out a hand, she gently touched George's shoulder. Instantly, George wheeled round, gasping in pain as her bruised flesh protested at the sudden movement. "I'm sorry," Jo said, sounding genuinely apologetic. George squeezed her eyes shut, biting furiously down on her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Walking round the bench, Jo reached forward for the jug of water that perpetually rested between the two fighting factions. Filling a glass, she put it down in front of George. Then, searching in her own handbag, she brought out a packet of extra strength Ibuprofen with added Codeine, the strongest painkillers that could be bought over the counter. Dropping the packet down next to the glass of water, she left it up to George to do as she pleased. "Thank you," George said, once the spasm had passed and she could speak again. "But I'm awash with those things as it is. I think I'm developing a tolerance for them." Putting the tablets back in her handbag, Jo said, "Which tells me that you not only have far more bruises than the one on your face, but that you've been acquiring them for some time." "Don't go there, Jo," George asked wearily. "Because for the first time in my life, I neither have the energy nor the inclination to argue with you." Jo stared at her. This was a George she didn't know, a George she had never encountered before, a George who was revealing her weakness, in spite of a desperate need to keep it hidden. "This isn't like you, George," She said eventually, receiving a mirthless laugh in reply. "That's all you know," George said stonily. "You're not used to seeing me without my armour, but believe me, it does happen." "That's not what I meant," Jo tried to calm her down. "You don't like discovering that I'm not as strong and impenetrable as you've always thought for all these years, do you," George added knowingly. Well, all it really proves is that I can act even better than some of my more dubious clients. Try asking John why we didn't manage to stay married, try asking him why he originally started playing away. But most of all, try asking him why Charlie lived with him for the majority of the time. That might provide you with a few enlightening answers." George suddenly stopped, as if realising that she was rambling, inadvertently telling Jo more than she'd meant to. "I'm sorry," She said eventually. "I'm not making much sense to myself today, never mind anybody else." "You can't go home like this, George," Jo insisted. "Oh, and precisely what else do you expect me to do?" George demanded scathingly. "At least being in court this afternoon has given me an excuse to stay late at the office." After drinking some of the water, George rose stiffly to her feet, and began gathering her things together. As they moved towards the door, George turned back to face her. "Please promise me you won't tell John, because I really don't need his overenthusiastic protectiveness on top of everything else." Jo smiled slightly at George's description of how John would probably react. "I won't, if you don't want me to." Then, as Jo reached to open the door, she said, "And whilst I suspect you won't take this seriously coming from me, if you need anything, you know where to find me." "Actually, I don't, know where to find you, that is," George pointed out, to cover up how touched she felt. "But thank you." Digging a pen and a scrap of paper out of her handbag, Jo scribbled down both her phone numbers, and handed the paper to George. "I mean it," she said, as they walked out of court. "Because this isn't going to go away."
Jo kept her promise, though she found it harder and harder to do so. George didn't look any worse over the next three days, but she didn't exactly seem any better either. George was aware of Jo's eye on her, and intermittently castigated herself for revealing as much as she had to her. Jo was the last person George should be confiding in, especially if she wanted to keep the situation from John. But Jo had been so kind to her, not something George had ever experienced from Jo before, because of their mutual animosity towards each other. But in the days between Monday and Friday, she more than once read Jo's phone numbers, wanting to call her, wanting someone to help her out of the mess she was in. But even though she saw Jo every day in court, she couldn't do it. Georgia Channing could never, would never, ask for help from her longest suffering rival.
On the Thursday evening, John took Jo out for dinner. Ever since he had told her about having slept with his therapist, she had been maintaining a greater distance from him, almost making him prove to her that she was still the one he wanted. She was happy to let him do this for now, because she enjoyed having him lavishing his attention on her, really going out of his way to show her how much he loved her. She was allowing him to get closer to her again, mainly because of what had happened with One Way. John had been greatly upset by finding such a despicable picture on his computer screen, though he'd never directly talked about it. Jo wasn't stupid, however. She knew that John had left Mimi with Charlie for the night, and she knew that this was because he hoped he might be sleeping with Jo by the end of the evening. She might, she might not, Jo still didn't know. She knew that it certainly wouldn't be sensible to sleep with John, but when had her actions ever been sensible when they concerned this man.
It was just after their main course had been cleared away, when they were both feeling relaxed and content, when John's mobile rang. "You'll get banned from here for leaving your phone switched on," Jo commented as he dug it out of his pocket. But as she watched an expression of concern, anger, and downright fear cross his face, Jo felt a chill settle in her bones. Only one thing could provoke a look like that. Switching the phone off, John rose hurriedly to his feet. "George is in hospital," He said, striding towards the bar and digging for his credit card to pay for their meal. As Jo picked up her handbag and followed him, she knew exactly what she had to do. When John had paid, and was striding purposefully towards the exit, Jo said, "Give me your keys." When they were outside, he asked, "Why?" "Because I need to tell you something, and I don't want an angry man behind the wheel, or George might not be the only one in hospital." Seeing that she was deadly serious, John handed over the keys to his extremely precious convertible. When they were in the car, Jo moved the seat forward, to take into account her slightly shorter frame. "Which ward is she in?" She asked, switching on the engine. "General Surgery," He replied, just for a moment thinking that he quite liked the sight of Jo behind the wheel of his car. "So, what's this little bombshell you need to tell me?" He asked carefully. "What did the hospital say to you?" Jo knew she was avoiding the question as long as possible, but she needed to know what he already knew. "Not much, just that she'd been brought in, and she'd asked them to call me. They found my number in her handbag." "I think Neil's been hitting her," Jo said quietly, wondering just what she was about to unleash. "What do you mean, you think?" John demanded coldly, this telling Jo that she was about to encounter the biggest row she'd ever had in her life. "All right, I know. I found out a few days ago." "Then why in god's name didn't you tell me!" He almost shouted, totally unable to believe that Jo had done this to him. "Because George asked me not to," Jo countered back, weaving her way through a steady stream of traffic. "And since when did you do anything George asked of you?" He threw back. "It wasn't so long ago that you were at each other's throats, in court and out of it." "And have you not considered," Jo continued, her own voice rising now. "That I did this one thing, because she did ask it of me. George has never asked anything of me in her life, nor I of her. That's how I knew how much it meant to her to keep it from you. She hated having to do it, but the last thing in the world she would have wanted was for you to know. I wasn't happy about it, believe me." Jo swore as a car leapt out in front of her, slamming on the breaks to prevent them from crashing. "Do you mind remembering just whose car your driving?" John said, receiving a stony glare in return. "How did you find out?" He asked, calming down slightly. "I saw her trying to cover up a bruise on her face. Make up can do wonders these days." "When?" "Just before the afternoon's session on Monday. She wasn't best pleased that I worked out what had happened, and it took her a while to admit to it." "How long has it been going on?" "I don't know, but at a guess, I'd say since the end of the One Way case." "Why didn't she want me to know?" "Pride, John," Jo said somberly. "She didn't want to prove you right about him." "Talk about keeping up appearances," John said in disgust. "You must be gentle with her, John," Jo tried to persuade him. "I will be," He said unconvincingly. "I'm serious," She insisted. "George is very frightened, or at least she was on Monday, and you're usual lack of tact and sensitivity won't help the situation in any way." As they pulled into the hospital carpark, she just prayed that John wasn't about to make things an awful lot worse.
As they followed the signs up to Keller Ward on the fifth floor, they were virtually silent, both wondering just what they were about to be told. When they reached the front desk of the general surgery ward, they were greeted by a woman whose name badge said Sr. Lisa fox. "I'm Mr. Justice Deed," John said to her. "Someone called me about George Channing." "That was me," Lisa replied. "Mrs. Channing's in theatre right now, but you're welcome to wait." "Can you tell me what happened to her?" John asked, determined to try anything to get at the truth. "No, I can't, I'm sorry. Ric Griffin, that's the general surgeon, he'll be able to tell you more when they come out of theatre." Just then, a tall, beautifully striking woman came rapidly towards them from the adjoining ward. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Connie Beauchamp. Stopping briefly at the desk, she said, "Lisa, can you get Chrissie to find Will, and tell him that he'll have to take over with Mr. Jackson. It seems Mr. Griffin requires my assistance." "Connie," Lisa said carefully. "These are the patient's relatives." "I will do all I can for her," Connie said, looking a flabbergasted John straight in the eye. "And I will hopefully be able to put you in the picture when I come out of theatre. I'm sure Lisa will look after you." Without another word, Connie turned on her heel and began running down the empty corridor. Lifting his eyes to the sign above the door to the ward from which Connie had emerged, he read the words, Darwin Ward, Cardiothoracics. "Why does George require a cardiothoracic surgeon?" He asked. "I'm sorry," Lisa insisted. "But I really can't tell you. As a judge, you should know that." "She's right, John," Jo said persuasively. "We'll have to wait." But as they spent the next two hours in the relatives' room, John couldn't sit still. He kept pacing between the window and the door, sitting down for five minutes, and then starting the routine again. Jo was forcefully reminded of the time when her son tom had been knocked off his bike, and she'd had to drive all the way to York while he was being operated on. The fact that George had needed the services of both a general surgeon, and a cardiothoracic surgeon, really wasn't a good sign. John was also mulling this one over, though his thoughts did keep straying to the woman who had spoken to him. He'd never known they made surgeons as pretty as Connie Beauchamp was. Where did the name Beauchamp come from, he wondered, because her voice was undoubtedly, indisputably, upper class English? But then his thoughts would flick back to George. How the hell had she got herself into such a mess? Why hadn't she come to him? She surely knew he'd always help her, she knew he would. Even after all the arguments and all the tears, and yes, all the silences, she would still be there for him and he for her. Look what she'd done for him with the One Way case. She'd warned him to be careful, knowing that her disreputable clients would surely try something to unseat him. But she hadn't had the slightest idea of just how far they would go. Was that what this was all about? Had Haughton started beating her up, just because she'd failed to win One Way's battle for them? Just wait till he got his hands on that evil piece of scum. He'd show him a thing or three about only picking on people of one's own size and strength. Neil Haughton would regret the day he'd ever laid a finger on George.
After two hours, Jo decided to go and see what she could do about finding them a coffee. But as she began walking down the corridor, she saw a group of doctors pushing a trolley towards them, one of them being the woman who had spoken to John. Catching a glimpse of George's all too familiar blonde hair, Jo ducked back into the relatives room to tell John that George was back. They stood on the fringes as George was taken into one of the High Dependency rooms, transferred to the bed and hooked up to several monitors. When everyone stood back, John and Jo could see the bruised face lying on the pillow, the blue eyes still closed. Both her eyes were slowly turning black, and her lip had clearly been split, though her nose was still in tact. When Connie looked up and saw them, she gestured them forward. "Ric, these are George Channing's relatives." Ric held out a hand. "Ric Griffin," He said. "John Deed," John replied, seeing that he wasn't going to have to use his status to get information out of this man. "Can you tell me what happened to her?" Ric tried to mask his anger, though not entirely. "As to how Mrs. Channing ended up in my theatre, I couldn't possibly tell you. However, she arrived with a ruptured spleen, which I have removed, a tear to her liver, which has been stitched, several cracked ribs, two of which are already healing, meaning they were done some time ago. She also has any number of bruises old and new. One of her cracked ribs had slightly punctured her right lung, which is why I needed the assistance of Mrs. Beauchamp." "Would I be right in thinking that you are Mr. Justice Deed?" Connie asked, suddenly knowing where she'd heard the name John Deed before. "Yes," John replied, looking over at her. "Why do you ask?" "I do read the Times' Law section occasionally," Connie replied, telling John that she could only be referring to his highly sensational conversation with a journalist, over the debacle of the James Brooklands case. "Whoever did this to Mrs. Channing, deserves putting behind bars without delay," She said firmly. "One could hope, that you might use your tendency to ruffle the feathers of the Lord Chancellor, to dispose of the animal who did this." "And what would you do?" John asked Ric, liking Connie's turn of phrase. "You want my opinion?" Ric replied. "Whoever did this, deserves a taste of his own medicine, but far be it from me to encourage a judge to break the law." "How long will she be unconscious?" Jo asked, hoping that John wasn't about to do something stupid. "Probably for a couple of hours," Ric said, finally taking her in. "Though you won't get much sense out of her for the rest of the night. If all goes well, we'll be able to take out the chest and abdominal drains tomorrow, but she'll need to stay here for a few days." "Thank you for everything you've done," John put in, thinking that if George was going to be out for a further couple of hours, now might just be the time to teach Haughton a lesson.
When everyone had gone, with Lisa saying that she would be checking on George every fifteen minutes, John and Jo moved to stand on either side of the bed. "I'll kill him for this," John said quietly but vehemently, as he looked down on George's sleeping form. "Which wouldn't exactly help matters, now would it," Jo carefully reminded him. They could see the dried blood in George's hair, making it stick up in little spikes at one side. Someone had washed the blood from her face, taking her make up with it, and making her look older and thinner than Jo had ever seen her. "I can't believe she didn't tell me about this," John said into the silence, only broken by the soft, regular beeps of the monitor. "I can't believe that none of us knew it was going on," Jo replied, thinking that George's acting skills had almost caused her to lose her life. "Well, as she'll probably be asleep for a while," John said, reaching for George's handbag which had been left on a chair. "I think now might be the time to fetch a few of her things." Removing George's house keys from the bag, he gently tossed them between his two hands, and then looked up to see Jo watching him. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid," She said quietly. "Promise me, John." "If he's got any sense, he won't even be there," Jon replied, not giving her a straight answer. "I mean it, John," Jo persisted. "He really isn't worth it, and it won't help George." "We'll see," He said, walking towards the door. "If anything changes before I come back, I've got my mobile." Turning to take one last glance at the occupant of the bed, he walked out of the door.
As John drew up outside George's house, he was surprised to see that Neil's car was still there. He thought that Haughton would have scarpered by now, but perhaps he was trying to get rid of any evidence. Acting as if this was his own house, he fitted George's key into the lock and walked in through the front door. There he was, in the lounge doorway, trying to scrub something off the wall, something that looked suspiciously like blood. Glancing up, Neil was astonished to see Deed. What the hell was he doing here? The silly bitch must have phoned him, or told the hospital to phone him. "What are you doing here?" Neil asked, as if scrubbing blood off the wall of his lover's house was a normal, every day occupation. "I might ask you the same," John said coldly. "I happen to live here, which is more than you've done for many years." Neil knew that it certainly wasn't wise to verbally tangle with this man, but he just couldn't stop himself. Everything Deed did, everything he stood for, wound him up to distraction. "You don't live here any more," John said, almost conversationally. "Because I hardly think George is going to want to come back into this house, knowing that your sorry hide is still here waiting for her." "What are you talking about?" Neil demanded ineffectually. "I'm talking, you pathetic waste of space, about why my ex-wife is lying unconscious in hospital. I'm talking about why she has multiple injuries, both old and new, and I'm talking about that blood that you are clearly trying to eradicate from the wallpaper. What did you do, tell them she fell down the stairs?" Seeing as this was exactly what Neil had said to the paramedics, he just gaped, hearing the steady rise in John's voice that only signaled immediate danger. "What made you do it, Haughton? Did you find out that you were in serious danger of being dropped from the cabinet, just because your live-in lawyer couldn't come up with the goods, and keep the corrupt institution you care to call a government, out of the future firing line? What's the matter, have I hit too close to home? You're pathetic, totally, and utterly pathetic, nothing but a whinging, sniveling minion who gets his kicks out of overpowering defenseless women. Is that how you like it, Haughton, beating women black and blue if they don't fulfill your requirements? What else did you do to her, or would it offend your delicate sensibilities to tell me? After all, someone who uses the planting of child pornography to achieve their ends, wouldn't exactly be above a bit of rape and pillaging, now would they." Neil couldn't find anything to say. He just stared at John, mouthing as ineffectually as a goldfish, suddenly removed from its homely bowl. "Now, listen to me, Haughton, because I am only going to say this once. Go upstairs, pack everything that belongs to you, and get out. I'm sure that one of your Whitehall confederates will find you somewhere to stay." Under John's watchful eye, Neil walked up the stairs, feeling as if his legs were acting of their own free will. Whilst Neil was otherwise occupied, John turned his attention to the state of the lounge, which looked to be where this very last fight had taken place. Apart from a table lamp having been knocked over, there was broken glass from a vase scattered over the floor near the sofa. This was possibly what George had cut herself on, as there were traces of blood on the coffee table. Clearing away the scattered fragments, and righting the table lamp, John set about trying to clean away the blood. He heard Neil come downstairs a couple of times, clearly putting things into his car. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief, until he heard the roar of the engine, and listened as George's ex-lover boy drove away.
At around eleven o'clock, George began to stir. Jo had been sitting by her bed, George's hand in hers. It had initially felt very odd to do this, to hold the hand of someone she'd fought with for most of her life, but George's hand was small, delicate, with the long, spatulated fingers of a pianist. She occasionally chafed it between her two hands, trying to keep it warm. She could hear various sounds from the ward, but it was mostly quiet. The first she knew of George's emerging back into consciousness, was the twitch of her hand. "What are you doing here?" George mumbled, struggling to open her eyes, one of which had almost closed because of the bruise. "How did you know it was me?" Jo asked. "Well, this hand certainly isn't John's," George replied dryly, giving said hand a little squeeze. "Please tell me he doesn't know I'm here?" She said, the thought gradually occurring to her. "I'm afraid he does," Jo told her. "You asked them to call him." "How very stupid of me," George said groggily. "I don't remember doing that. In fact, I don't even remember coming here." "That's hardly surprising," Jo said, wondering just what John was up too all this time. "Where is he?" George asked, as if catching the same suspicion. "I'm not sure," Jo said evasively. "He's gone to find Neil, hasn't he," George said, clearly becoming agitated at the idea. "I've got to stop him, he'll beat Neil to a pulp for doing this to me." Trying to pull herself into a sitting position, she cried out when the movement tugged at her stitches. Jo was immediately at her side, gently persuading her to lie down again. "He'll be here soon, and he won't do anything stupid. I made him promise." "And we both know just how empty John's promises are," George told her, allowing herself to be cajoled into staying still. Possibly having heard George's cry of pain, Ric put his head round the door. "You're awake earlier than expected," He said, coming into the room. "How do you feel?" "As though I've been under a train. Why, what did you do to me?" "Removed your spleen, repaired your liver, repaired your lung, though that was done by Mrs. Beauchamp, and tried to patch you up. I think we can safely eliminate falling down the stairs as your cause of injury." As he said this, he fixed his gaze on her blurry one. "And I believe that the cause of my injuries would be my business. Wouldn't you agree?" "Don't tell me," Ric said in realization. "You're a lawyer as well." "As is Jo, yes. So, thank you very much for putting me back together, but I do hope that any speculation as to the cause of my being here, might be curtailed forthwith." "With three of you all under my roof at the same time, of course, Mrs. Channing." When he had done a few checks and left them to it, Jo smiled. "George, only you could come out of an anaesthetic, and talk to your surgeon as if he were on the opposite side to you in court." "I'm getting in training for the positively enormous barrage of questions, that I know John is going to throw at me the minute he appears." "You ought to be getting some rest," Jo insisted. "No rest for the wicked, as they say," George murmured drowsily, clearly sliding briefly back into unconsciousness, as the residual effect of the anaesthetic tried to cling onto her.
A little while later, John appeared, slipping silently into the room so as not to wake her. "She woke up for a while, and wondered where you were," Jo told him quietly, wanting an answer to that one herself. "I told you," He said, putting an overnight bag down on the floor. "I was getting some things for her." "That must have been an experience for you," George said dryly, their voices having woken her again. "You can't have been through my underwear drawer since we were married." Jo smiled George's words having had the desired effect of taking the edge off the situation. "So, what did you do to him that I need to worry about?" She asked him, knowing that plainspeaking was the only way to get through this with John. "Oh, don't worry," John said bitterly. "He's still alive. I sent him crawling back to Whitehall. I don't think he left even one possession." "That was very sweet of you," George said groggily, and both John and Jo realised that she would probably slip in and out of consciousness for a few hours yet. But it seemed that John wasn't quite prepared to wait until she was in a more mentally active frame of mind. "I think you owe me an explanation, George," He said carefully. "Do you?" George replied, struggling to keep her eyes open, wholly unable to focus on him. "Yes, such as why didn't you tell me?" "You'd have loved that, wouldn't you," She replied, her usual level of sparring, not sounding quite right in her drugged state. "It would have given you an immense amount of satisfaction, for me to tell you that you were right all along. But then, Mr. Justice Deed is always right, I'd forgotten that." Said in that drowsy, groggy, slightly slurred voice, the words sounded even more poignant. "That isn't fair," John said quietly. "I'd have helped you get rid of him." "Yet another stunt to fulfill your bruised ego, no doubt," Was her response, her use of the word bruised making him wince. "Why do you always have to hide things from me?" He asked, now beginning to lose some of his perpetual cool. "You always do this, even when whatever it is you're hiding is causing you harm, or should I say especially when whatever you're hiding is causing you harm." "You always want to hear the truth," George said almost flatly. "But the actual discovery of it always hurts you. Part of you hated and despised me, when I told you the truth after Charlie was born, and most of you probably despises me for this. So, that's why I didn't tell you, because I knew it would hurt you, and because I knew that it would only add to the antipathy you feel for me." Jo just stared at her, thinking that perhaps she really oughtn't to be here for this, but unable to get up and leave. They both however realised, that most of the comments George had thrown at John, were the result of months, if not years of self-loathing. John gave her a few minutes to recover herself, and then started in on another tack altogether. "What else did he do to you?" He asked gently, though with an underlying firmness. "Nothing," She replied stonily, her tone of voice immediately telling them otherwise. Getting to his feet, John began pacing round the room, occasionally pausing to watch the monitors, though having no idea what he was supposed to be looking at. "Keeping important things undercover, yes, George, you are good at, but lying to me, you are not." "Don't do this, John," George pleaded, though trying not to show him how desperate she was that he shouldn't stumble on the truth. "Why, would I have to get him arrested for rape, as well as grievous bodily harm?" "No," George almost shouted, and they were greeted to the pitiful sight of George cringing away from John's penetrating gaze. "Funny," John said, almost conversationally. "He looked like that when I asked him." "John, drop it," Jo said warningly, but he wouldn't listen to her. "Why would you let him do that, George? Why would you let him keep on beating and doing god knows what else to you, when all you had to do was walk away?" George had been about to speak, but the door opened with a swish. "Mr. Justice Deed," Connie said icily. "A word."
Connie had overheard some of the steadily growing row, and thought that she may as well nip it in the bud. Waiting till she and John were outside the room, she nevertheless left the door ajar, giving Jo and George the opportunity to eavesdrop. "Now, really isn't the time for this type of discussion," She began stonily. "Oh, I quite agree," John replied. "That should have taken place at least two months ago." "Do you have any idea just what Mrs. Channing has been through today?" "That's what I'm trying to find out," John quipped back. "Don't you dare try to exhibit a level of expertise that you clearly do not possess. Mrs. Channing has not only been through a systematic and prolonged period of domestic violence, but she has also just been through two forms of major surgery. Whether or not she has also been sexually assaulted, is for her to tell you, if, and when, she is ready, not before. I will not have your barrage of cross-examination, being thrust on a seriously ill, emotionally vulnerable patient, no matter how much you think it vital to get at the truth." "But..." John tried to interrupt. "No buts," She insisted. "Oh, you may rule supreme when you are in court, Mr. Justice Deed, but here, in this hospital, and especially when it concerns my patient, I do. Now, if you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with the Medical Director. Oh, which would be me," She added almost nonchalantly, turning about and stalking back into the room, and firmly shutting the door to keep him out. "Don't worry," Came Ric's voice, from a little way down the corridor. "She tries to treat us all like that." "And how do you handle her?" John asked, walking towards him. "That would be telling," Ric said with a wink, telling John in no uncertain terms just how he had handled Connie Beauchamp, on her very first day no less. "Could you do with a coffee?" Ric asked, gesturing towards the rec room. "Yes, thank you," John replied, though thinking that any more nervous stimulation this evening really wasn't necessary.
Jo and George had listened in silence, taking in every word Connie said to him. They exchanged a glance, both trying desperately not to smile, for fear they would both laugh. They knew that Connie's point was a serious one, but neither woman could fail to be impressed that someone, especially a woman, had finally put John in his place for them to see. When Connie reappeared, George waited for her to close the door. "That is definitely the funniest thing I've seen in a long time," George said quietly. "And believe me, if I ever needed a laugh, today was the day, though I wish you could have waited until it wouldn't be such agony to do so." Connie smiled. "I wouldn't have thought that you would be a stranger to putting men in their place," She said, moving over to examine the readings on the monitors. "Well, seeing as I've ended up here, I'd say that was a fairly pointless assumption." Connie could have kicked herself. "How do you feel?" She asked in lieu of an apology. "As though I want to be at home, in my own bed," George replied. "Well, that's going to be at least a few days, I'm afraid." "So, you couldn't consider letting me out tomorrow then?" George thought anything was worth a try. "Absolutely not," Connie said gently but firmly. "I've just sewn up a thankfully, very small, puncture in your right lung. I am not about to let you go home, to do too much too soon, and undo all the good work both Mr. Griffin and I have done on you this evening. I just want you to rest, okay?" George didn't look convinced. "I would rest far more if I was at home in my own bed," She persisted. "Oh, and would the man who did this to you, be there to nurse you back to health, only to put you back in here, and with far greater consequences?" "I am reliably informed that my house is now my own again," George replied, almost lusting after the opportunity to tangle with this woman in court one day. "Please will you at least consider it?" "All right, I will consider it, but don't expect any miracles. We'll see how you are tomorrow, and I will talk it over with Mr. Griffin. Now, as it is after midnight, and I have another eight hours to do before I can go home, I think you should go to sleep. Professor Kahn has put you on a PCA pump, so if you feel any pain, just press this button." When Connie had left, George at last went quiet. "I'm sorry for dragging you into all this," She said, sounding utterly exhausted. "Don't be," Jo said, gently taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "And John will calm down, eventually." "I know, I just can't deal with him in full prosecution mode at the moment." "George, I will try to persuade him to drop the questioning, but I wouldn't bank on me having much success." "He's not going to leave it alone, is he?" She asked, though already knowing the answer. "No, you know he isn't. He just wants to know what's been happening to you." "You already know, don't you." This was a statement rather than a question. "The fact that you were so desperate for him to stop questioning you, does give me an idea, yes. But as Mrs. Beauchamp said to him, that is for you to discuss if, and only if, you are ever ready to do so." "I feel so stupid," George said bitterly, brief tears rising to her eyes. "Sh," Jo said, gently smoothing George's hair back from her face. "You should get some rest." "Jo, why are you doing this?" George asked. "Let's face it, it's not as if I've ever given you any incentive to be even remotely civil to me." "I don't know, if you want the truth," Jo replied. "Ask me again tomorrow, and I might have an answer for you." As she watched George gently drift off to sleep, she heard John quietly re-enter the room. He sat down on the other side of the bed, taking George's other hand in his. They waited until her breathing became a little more regular, her cracked ribs preventing her from breathing easily. They gently put her hands under the covers to keep them warm, and walked silently out of the room. As they approached the desk, John asked, "Was she all right?" "Yes, but you've got to go easy on her, John. She's not going to tell you anything if you go in all guns blazing, and I'm not sure that she will anyway." Asking Chrissie to ring them if there was any change, they walked out to John's car. As they drove away, John behind the wheel this time, John asked, "Can I ask an enormous imposition of you?" "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" Jo replied, knowing that he needed the company. "Is that all right?" He said, not wanting to pressure her into it. "Yes," She said simply, briefly meeting his gaze in the driving mirror. "There aren't likely to be any hidden cameras peeping in my windows, so it's fine." "Thank you," He said, taking her hand in his.