As Essie walked back to the nurses' station at the centre of Darwin, prepared to remain on-hand in case of any complications until her shift on Keller began, Fletch's words echoed in her ear. "Everything is as it should be." But … it didn't feel like everything was as it should be. In fact it felt the very opposite of that, and it had done ever since she'd had to scrub into theatre. Fletch had appeared almost sad as he left; worn out, drawn and drained. Disappointed even. And as much as habit would have her lay cause and blame solely at Jac Naylor's office door, Essie couldn't help but wonder if that was truly the case this time. In so much as, was it entirely Jac's fault?
She'd read the message Jac had sent to Fletch on the day of the shooting; I need to speak to you. With the multitude of missed calls the surgeon had received from Fletch that day, coupled with the whispers, rumours, and hints seeping from the sixth floor to the rest of the hospital ever since Fletch's move up there, and the existence of Jac's resignation letter found in Raf's possession, the only conclusion Essie could reach was that, before getting shot, Jac had intended – needed to – tell Fletch that she had made a very important decision regarding her future at this hospital.
Of course she'd never got the chance, and had evidently changed her mind about the whole thing too. Getting shot would do that, Essie guessed. After all, Hanssen was … well … and the hospital barely holding it together at the seams. She assumed Jac had had a change of heart and decided – realised – that without her here, the hospital would probably crumble to dust. So why hadn't she told Fletch? Essie mused that, really, there was no need to tell anyone who didn't know – this was Jac after all – and she was hardly going to wave around her indecision and uncertainty at a time when everyone was clinging desperately to every step forward in recovery.
But why had discovering that Jac had intended to leave before the shooting caused Fletch to become so distracted and distressed in theatre? So much so that Jac had thrown him out – something she'd never done, apparently, because Fletch had a knack of knowing what Jac needed moments before she was asking for it. It had looked to Essie as thought the ground had vanished from beneath Fletch's feet when she'd unthinkingly told him what Jac hadn't seen fit to mention. Why had he taken it so personally that Jac hadn't told him? It was Jac Naylor – and the only thing that truly mattered was that she'd seen reason and chosen to stay.
In the aftermath of the shooting, Essie had debated and debated what to do with the letter marked for Hanssen in Jac's scrawl. After losing Raf and David, and with Oliver in an induced coma, Essie had been clinging to the fact that by the new year Jac would be – should be – well enough to get back to work (as she imagined the entire hospital was). That Jac might leave … after all that had happened … Essie hadn't been sure she'd cope with so much change, let alone how the hospital would fare. But as Sacha had pointed out, the letter of resignation wasn't about anything other than Jac, and so Essie had given it over to the surgeon hoping she'd stay.
Essie sighed as she plonked herself down in a faded green chair at the nurses' station. Whatever was going on (or not going on) between Jac and Fletch – Essie somehow, rather guiltily, suspected she'd blundered in and once again mucked things up for them. She had disrupted whatever natural progression their relationship was taking by carelessly throwing an ill-timed spanner into the works.
What would Raf say?
Probably that she was worrying too much, and that Fletch and Jac were grown-ups, capable of sorting and defining and figuring out their relationship themselves. Regardless of whatever outside interference came at them. Of course that would be when Essie reminded Raf that Jac Naylor was hardly your average human being, and that Fletch had four kids to think about and a habit of making light of things in order to avoid them. Raf would in turn then remind her that Jac, too, had a child to add into the mix, and a well-documented habit of avoidance that was used to hide the fact that she was utterly terrified of something. Then they would probably agree that, on reflection, Jac and Fletch were actually pretty perfect for one another; the rest of the evening would no doubt be spent talking about whether or not Jac and Fletch would go for a big fancy white wedding like Oliver and Zosia, or for a more low-key affair with drinks at Albie's afterwards.
"Why are you still here?"
Essie jumped and blinked stupidly up at Jac, wondering where the surgeon had come from and how she'd not heard her coming. She noted absently that the redhead's usual pristine appearance was softened by un-straightened hair and a comfortable loose top Essie was surprised Jac even owned let alone voluntarily wore to work. But then since the shooting Jac had donned primarily black t-shirts of varying styles, first because she wouldn't be caught dead in a hospital-issue gown, and second because it was probably easier to hide not wearing a bra (which would rub and catch and irritate the tender healing wound Essie had watched Sacha carve into Jac's pale body) under a t-shirt than a blouse.
Rather than answer the blunt and abrupt demand, Essie instead found herself asking, "What's your biggest regret?"
It was Jac's turn to blink stupidly for a moment as she processed Essie's question. Essie was wondering where the hell that had come from and why the hell she'd asked it of Jac Naylor of all people. Thankfully Jac seemed torn somewhere between scorn and amusement. Between dismissal and curiosity. Sacha had told her one quiet evening at Albie's that curiosity was what had lured Jac into medicine in the first place; the topic had come about because Essie had needed a bit of Dutch courage to ask Sacha why he and Jac were friends. It turned out that one of Sacha's favourite topics of conversation was his partner in crime, and once he'd explained to Essie's satisfaction why and how Jac had become his friend (or as Sacha put it, how he had become hers), Essie realised she could ask any question about the Ice-Queen of Darwin and Sacha – suitably drunk – was likely to answer.
(Of course it turned out later that Sacha wasn't nearly as drunk as he'd let on, and that he'd texted Jac while Essie was in the loo asking if he was allowed to answer her questions.)
Apparently when Jac was fourteen a friend of hers had ended up in a hospital bed in need of surgery (for reasons which may or may not have involved robbing a corner-shop and climbing over a park fence – Sacha never told the same version of the tale twice), and Jac had tagged along in the ambulance to get out of going to school (or to avoid the authorities). Once at the hospital, according to Sacha, Jac had been a goldmine of question after question to the annoyance and amusement of the surgeon assigned to her friend (although in some retellings it was a class-mate Jac hated, and in others it was a boyfriend whom had either been the bad influence or was under the bad influence). Each answer from the surgeon only ignited that initial spark of curiosity further until it had become a raging thirst for medical knowledge and set her irrevocably on the path to where she now stood in front of Essie with narrowed eyes and a calculative expression on her face.
Somehow Essie spotted the moment when Jac decided to give in to that curiosity. A curious gleam glinted in her green eyes, and she appeared to relax slightly; an indiscernible change in the way she held herself – as though, for whatever reason, she'd decided to forgo locking the giant ice-gates in the insurmountable wall of her defences. Jac sat down gingerly in the other seat with a heavy sigh; though Essie suspected that was more to try and hide the small groaning wince of pain than an actual display of weariness. She'd overheard Gaskell mentioning in passing to Roxanna a few weeks back about Jac still being in severe pain – he'd been showing Roxanna some scans and asking for a second opinion on possible nerve damage. Essie wasn't sure if the mention of Jac and the scans were related.
"What's your biggest regret?" Jac challenged.
"I asked first."
Jac shrugged, "Which means you've had more time to think up an answer."
Essie swivelled in her chair to face Jac, marvelling at this rare opportunity to have a conversation with her about something that wasn't Sacha, or Raf, or Fletch, or a patient. Jac always had an air about her – an aura, or presence that Essie knew she maintained in order to keep people at bay. The strong and ever-present 'fuck right off' vibes were, however, tinged with so much more than thinly-veiled hostility and out-right hatred; regret, pain, sadness, loneliness … fear … uncertainty … a whole other layer had been permeating Jac's aura since Jasmine had died.
As if Jasmine had been an anchor against an ocean tempest and now that she was gone, Jac was cast adrift in a sea that she had forgotten how to swim in.
The whole hospital knew Jac had been struggling, but how many people knew just how hard she was fighting to keep up this constructed persona? How many people took the time to consider why it was so clear now to see that she was full of regret and fear and guilt and doubt? How many people had cared – really cared – about Jac's plight? Most probably got some sense of morbid satisfaction that such a conniving bitch was crumbling from within … Essie conceded that until the shooting, she herself had, like the rest of the staff, just left Jac to deal with it all alone feigning ignorance because, well, it was Jac Naylor. Jac Naylor didn't need help, did she?
Essie had experience with that so-called elusive other side of Jac. The side that had listened when Essie voiced her concerns about Sacha and his depression; the side that had prompted the surgeon to offer an ear and shoulder should Essie ever need it despite being, as she freely admitted, "really not good at that stuff"; she'd encouraged Morven to do what was best for her and damn everyone else; wheeled herself down to Keller in order to visit Oliver right when he most needed a friend; and done her damn best to keep the hospital running Christmas Eve from her sick bed. When she stopped to consider it, Essie realised the whole hospital was in on Jac's worse-best-kept secret. Perhaps they were all so lost in playing their parts that they'd become trapped by them; afraid to act out of turn because that would mean addressing things that others demanded stay ignored.
It was easier to assume Jac hadn't a heart that face the alternative; that she cared so much the only way she knew how to deal with it was to pretend otherwise. Easier to have her be the manipulative bitch out for herself than accept that Jac had dedicated her career to this hospital.
Jac was watching her with that glint of curiosity in her eyes – and something else. Essie couldn't put her finger on it for a moment, and it wasn't until she noted how Jac was subconsciously wringing her hands together in her lap that it came to her. Uncertainty and desperation. Something was bothering Jac, and she'd elected to humour Essie's question in the hope it would distract her from whatever it was that was causing her so much doubt.
"Everything is as it should be," Fletch had said.
Fletch had lied.
It was that realisation that prompted Essie into speech. "Tell you what," she said hurriedly, "answer this instead. If there was one moment from your past that you could go back to, if there was one moment that you could change, what would it be?"
Jac raised an eyebrow. "What happened to my biggest regret?"
Essie shrugged and sat back in her chair, not prepared for how easily it rolled across the linoleum floor; the chairs on Keller were much less responsive, and folded her arms. "It's the same question," she pointed out. "Just phrased differently."
"Which makes all the difference in the world," Jac agreed sardonically. Essie resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and prepared herself instead for the inevitable slog that translating Jacasm into English would be. Thankfully she'd had many lessons from Sacha when they'd been together.
"Sometimes it's easier to answer a question when it's more open ended."
Jac glanced about the ward as she quipped; "Surely that just makes the question all the easier to avoid?"
Essie wanted to laugh. "If you didn't intend to answer the question in the first place then why did you sit down?"
The subtle agitation that was responsible for Jac's wringing fingers and darting eyes stilled; Jac met Essie's gaze and held it for a long moment before letting out a huff of amusement. Either she didn't mind being caught out, or she hadn't realised what she was doing.
"You first," was all Jac said. "Biggest regret."
This time Essie didn't protest. "Not having more time."
The look on Jac's face told her she didn't need any more explanation than that.
"I think everyone wishes for more time," she said after a moment.
"Do you?"
Jac shrugged uncomfortably, which Essie took as a yes. "He was happy though," Jac assured her quietly. "Any idiot could see that. He was happy with you – annoyingly so. It was actually quite nauseating. The stench of joy reached all the way up here even."
"Love is infectious," Essie smiled tolerably. "Maybe you were just having an allergic reaction to it."
"That must be it," Jac agreed, fading into silence as she watched the nurses on the night-shift prepare for the hand-over. A nurse called Jac's attention, and the surgeon rose stiffly to her feet to answer the query and check whatever detail was on the notes. Essie would have to make a move in the next half an hour; but since all she needed to do was pop downstairs she felt she could linger a little longer.
"What's yours then?" Essie asked after Jac had returned to the nurses' station with a patient file and leant easily against the counter like she probably did a hundred times a shift. She cocked her head at Essie perplexed, a frown creasing between her eyebrows as she pulled her handbag closer and dug through it for her glasses. "Your biggest regret …" the only reason Essie knew Jac had caught up was the subtle rolling of her eyes as she put her glasses on. "Come on, it's your turn."
For one wild moment, Essie thought Jac was going to bail; indeed she could see the indecision on Jac's face. The surgeon appeared frozen much like a deer in headlights. Hints to the conflict that was waging in her mind: stay or run. Take a leap of faith, or slam the door shut. Her hand hovered with the patient file half open. She stared unblinkingly at the blue card with the printed label peeling at the corners. Just as Essie was about to say that it didn't matter, and that she had to go anyway and get ready for her shift, Jac spoke.
"Not being brave."
Essie hadn't expected that.
She sat back down in her chair and asked, "What do you mean?"
Jac shifted uncomfortably, closing the file and resting her elbows on the counter, unable to look anywhere but at the strap of her handbag as her fingers resumed their fretful worrying. "Not being brave enough to tell people I love them."
If she spoke, she might frighten the surgeon off. Essie held her tongue and waited.
Thankfully it seemed that now Jac had spoken she was afraid to stop. "Saying it makes it real, and if it's real then it can break. It's easier to say nothing and pretend that I don't when I do. Even if all I want is to tell them the truth."
Intuition connected Jac's admission to Fletch's words as he'd left, although Essie was at a loss to explain to herself why the two events were connected – other than just the feeling that they were. She took a few moments to respond, letting Jac's confession settle between them unchallenged. "I remember asking Sacha how you and he were friends once," Essie began.
Jac's fingers had turned white from the pressure she was gripping them with.
"He just smiled and told me that under all the ice was a beating heart of gold." Essie smiled encouragingly at Jac when the redhead met her gaze.
"Then you started plying him with drink and questions about me," she muttered.
Essie's smile grew, silently allowing Jac to deflect and flee within her walls (she swore she heard the ringing clang of iron gates closing shut) as she said; "You did give him permission to answer."
Jac's lip twitched, colour was returning to the tips of her fingers, and she let out a heavy sigh. "Well I figured I liked you better than the last one he dated so …" she shrugged, turning her attention once again to the patient file and apparently shrugging off her out of character confession.
Even Jac Naylor needed an ear and a shoulder now and then. Essie made a mental note to ask Jac for a drink the next time their shifts coincided and Albie's was on the table. Maybe with a bottle of wine she could ask what was going on between her and Fletch, and maybe Jac would actually tell her. Failing that she could always get Sacha drunk and ask him.
At the sound of a text alert, Jac dug once more into her handbag, and Essie glanced at the clock. If she left now she'd have time to grab a much-needed coffee from Pulses before her shift. Turning back to Jac, she watched as the surgeon finished typing something out on her phone while trying to gather up her coat and her bag.
"You off?" she asked as Jac dropped the phone into her bag and looked up.
Jac rolled her eyes, "Jonny is meant to be having Emma until Thursday, but apparently there's something important he's got to do that can't wait, and he can't – or won't – take Emma with him to do it."
Essie winced in sympathy. "There goes your day in bed."
Jac nodded irritably, pulling on her coat and grabbing her bag. Her swift exit was marred however by the sharp hiss of pain, the hand clutching at her side, and the desperate grab at the counter to keep her balance. Essie watched, half out her seat with a hand extended to help (and knowing it would be unappreciated and unwanted), as Jac's eyes close tight, mouthing silently words that were probably best left unsaid in polite company.
A clanging of a trolley up-ending itself jerked Essie's attention away from Jac. By the time she'd located the commotion, ensured that adequate help was available and turned back to the surgeon, Jac was already halfway down the corridor heading for the lifts. Essie shook her head and smiled to herself in amusement before deciding she might as well make a move herself if she was going to get that coffee from Pulses.
She managed to slip into the lift before the doors closed and earned a roll of the eyes from Jac in response. The trip down to the ground floor passed in silence, but not awkwardly so, much to Essie's relief. In the dim light of the lift, Jac seemed even paler than usual – almost as pale as she'd been when lying bleeding out on the table in the wet lab the day of the shooting.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
"Why did you decide to stay?"
She hadn't been looking at Jac when she'd asked the question, but the strangled silence sent alarm bolts through Essie and she quickly flickered her gaze to see the return of that stricken deer-in-in-head-lights look. Then, much like a switch being flicked, Jac closed off. A chill seeped into the confined lift and any comradery that had existed between them since Jac sat down at the nurses' station vanished.
"Did Fletcher put you up to this?" she demanded.
"I – no. No I was just wondering … why?"
Jac's unblinking green gaze bore into her own, and if she was a member of staff who actually feared the heart surgeon then she would have squirmed. But one couldn't exactly date Sacha Levy without realising and accepting that his best friend wasn't nearly as terrifying as was assumed.
Jac shook her head.
"Is that why he stormed off earlier with that unconvincing line about everything being as it should be?" The dots slowly connected themselves in Essie's head as she put the pieces together. "Because you didn't tell him why you stayed?"
The fist clenching around the strap of her handbag and the way her forehead creased confirmed the answer Jac didn't verbalise.
"Why didn't you give him the answer?"
"Because I don't have one."
Essie shook her head, "Why is it so important to him?"
Jac's answer was a half whisper, full of confusion. "I don't know," she met Essie's gaze as the automated voice announced the ground floor and the doors opened, "I don't know what he wants from me."
With that final startling confession, Jac was gone. Out the lift, past security, and striding through the grounds to her parked car and home. Essie shook her head and made her way to the caffeine queue, remarking on the revelations of the past hour. Jac might not know what Fletch wanted from her, but Essie was certain she did, just as she could see what Fletch was blind to about Jac.
Sacha appeared at her shoulder then, humming a jaunty good morning, and an idea began to take shape in Essie's mind.
A/N : not my first Holby City fanfiction, but it has been years since I last wrote for this show. Let me off easy if anyone is too ooc :)