My name is Jac Naylor. I've just been shot and that bullet has taken me back to 1984. I may be one second away from life or one second away from death. All I know is that I have to keep fighting, fight to live, fight to keep my job, fight to get home.

Jac Naylor nursed her usual tiredness remedy, a hot, steaming cup of coffee that she now held in her trembling hands. As she savoured the startling warmth of her drink, her eyes locked onto her petite wrist watch, the hand of which was stopped firmly on 7:00am. Slowly, Jac inhaled, predicting that today would embrace many unusual events – a day in the life of any doctor - through the smoke of her brew. Her mind turned to Joseph. The Love of her life. Where was he know? Was he happy? Has he got someone else? Jac shook her head almost violently, to defeat the conquering thoughts that had engulfed her brain. She carefully replaced her ice-queen exterior, weakness was not an option. Glancing at the notes that she had already collected from the ward computer, she drained the last remaining drops of her drink and fished out a specific folder before heading out of the door.

"Ms Naylor!" Oliver Valentine burst onto the ward, his brow lined with sweat, waving some incomplete paper work in the air. Skidding to a halt in front of his mentor, Ollie let out a calming breath and placed his hands on his faltering knees, so that his elbows protruded at a perpendicular angle.

"What is it?" Jac replied, her steely tone no different from usual, her eyes flashing with dislike.

"We've got a patient coming in with CTU. Simon Layton, fifty one, gunshot wound to the chest, he will be here in about five minutes." Oliver answered, straightening his arched back in a flourish, so that his mentor had to look up at him.

"Right. Has he crashed?"

"No, but he is bleeding severely."

"Ok…" Jac began, her brow furrowing when Oliver stayed where he was. "...Thank you." Jac tilted her head to motion for Ollie to leave, her emerald eyes, though they enclosed no gift of speech, signalling that this was out of his league. "Well run along then." Oliver raised a sceptical eyebrow, his feet reluctant to move.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I've got some magnificent price porkers waiting for you in the wet lab." Jac said, sneering with a vestige of hate. Oliver opened his mouth, looking set to complain, but Jac cut him of with a swift glare.

"Fine." He muttered, turning on his heel and leaving.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed around the room, strident, piercing, its source alerting the raw surgeon inside of Jac, her instincts now controlling her movements. A trolley containing a riving man entered the ward; his hair tangled and matted, his eyes dark and hollow, and his screams deadly. Sahira Shah threw her stethoscope around her neck, her priceless top covered in uncongealed blood, her right hand putting secure pressure on the wound. Instantly, Jac ran to her side, pushing her silky hair behind her ears.

"RIGHT, I NEED MORPHINE!" Sahira yelled. The patient's hand reached underneath his black leather jacket, and his eyes darkened. Glancing inconspicuously around, the bulge in his inside pocket began to move. Quickly, he pulled out a gun. He took only seconds to consider. BANG! The bullet travelled in slow motion, its silvery tip, to Jac, a portal to past memories. An explosion morphed into the terrified face of a red-headed child, and then again to an expressionless Joseph Byrne.

"Jackie?" A whispering voice engulfed her ears. "Jackie?" The Bullet struck her, hard, on the head. Her screams were imminent as blood streamed out from the fatal tear.