And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down In The City That We Loved
His neck sore from where Hanssen's hand had been clenched around it, Fletch stormed off down the corridor, but before he got more than a few steps he found himself spinning on his heel and looking the CEO dead in the eye. He wasn't afraid of Mr Henrik Hanssen. In fact he didn't think he was afraid of anyone anymore. Not after everything that had happened. He was too angry and too frustrated and too damn fed up with it all. His spine was suddenly forged from titanium as he paced toward the man who'd just assaulted him.
"You know what really gets me?" he asked. "That you never even came to see her!" It wasn't anger in Fletch's voice, it was probably something closer to weary frustration because what was the point in being angry? What did anger solve anyway? All it did was provide a brief sense of relief and satisfaction before the world resumed its normal unfair order.
Hanssen just stood there.
"Who?"
"Jac!"
Her name rang in the age between them. There was definite anger in Fletch's voice that time; anger on her behalf, because Jac had been the one person everyone had just assumed was okay when she really, clearly, wasn't. Jac was the person who hadn't been okay even before the shit storm descended when Fredrik roamed the corridors all trigger happy. And Hanssen knew that. He'd stood and watched her fall apart when she was in theatre with Gaskell, but unlike Sacha, he hadn't come looking for her afterwards. Fletch had watched Sacha peek his head through the office door, had met the surgeon's concerned gaze while he held Jac tightly as she sobbed against his chest; when Sacha had tilted his head to ask if they needed him, Fletch had given a quick shake of the head that had Sacha nodding in understanding as he left them to it.
"You never – not even once – you never came to see her!"
The anger that had drained from Hanssen when he'd let Fletch go surged in one final wave. He practically spat his next words at Fletch, lashing out much as a wounded animal. "And you think if I had, she'd still be here do you!"
"I think if you had, she'd have put you straight." Hanssen practically flinched from the finger Fletch had jabbed into his chest. "And I think that's why you stayed away. Because you're a coward."
And then he was gone. Didn't give Hanssen time to respond as he marched off down the corridor and away from the man whose son had caused so much death and disruption to the place where he had once seen so much joy and hope. Fletch found himself on the ward with Becky and Ken as they were deep in the Jacky Nay-Nay Fan Club discussions that had been grating on his every nerve all night. He hated it. It wasn't right. And it was Jac. Not Jacky, not Jacs, not some other variation thereof – not even Jacqueline: Jac. Just Jac. Short, sharp, and to the point. Fletch was ready to hit the next person who dared get it wrong; was ready also to hit the next person who tried to talk to him as if they had a fucking clue what he was dealing with.
Slumping against the doorframe and staring at Petrenko, who was sat calm and collected in the nurses' station, Fletch felt himself drowning in despair. Nothing was making sense anymore. Nothing was going right. He couldn't see past the bombshells and the demands and his raging anger at the injustice of the entire situation. He needed someone to blame. Needed to point a finger and yell and scream and hold someone responsible for it all. There was little satisfaction in holding a dead man accountable for his actions; there was no justice or closure that could be given. Just a great gaping wound that refused to be sutured together.
And a man who was so very clearly broken with guilt and who, truthfully, had no reason to hold himself responsible for the actions of his son. It wasn't Hanssen's fault, but it was easier to pretend that it was because that way the illusion of control and order that had been so carelessly shattered was maintained. None of this was his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault but the person who'd shot three colleagues and left a stench of terror and uncertainty behind that still permeated the building nearly four months later.
Fletch did think, however, that it was the wrong moment for Hanssen to return. For both the hospital and for the man. He did think that it was the wrong moment for super rare and cutting edge procedures to take place. He did think that surging forwards without looking back, that transparency, and from the top down, and demands for protocols written in a single night to change the way the hospital operated was unfair and unnecessary pressure. Fletch did think Hanssen had jumped in head first without realising his domain had turned from a pleasant swimming pool into a raging ocean.
The hospital had changed; the people in it had changed too. They'd had to. Had no choice but to change and adapt in such a short space of time. They were coping with the shit as best they could. But then Jac had left and Hanssen had come back, and Fletch couldn't help but link the two events to this overwhelming sense of abject uncertainty and loss.
It wasn't that he begrudged Jac her well needed break – or Hanssen his inevitable return, it was the timing of it all. So sudden and with no time to adjust or prepare or even get his head around it. Fletch knew the timing of the two events – one leaving, one returning – was purely coincidental, and he reasoned that maybe it was a good thing she had gone before all this business with Hanssen had erupted over her ward. At least Jac had stopped trying to pretend everything was okay when it wasn't; Hanssen would rather trudge on as if nothing was amiss. He doubted Jac would be able to stay away if she knew how badly they were managing when she'd hardly been gone a shift. It was why he refused to ring her earlier; he was determined to prove to himself, and to anyone who asked, that he didn't need Jac.
But he did need Jac and that was the problem. He wanted Jac, and that too was the problem.
Oliver wandered past him then, gazing around the centre-point of Darwin in something of a daze, with curiosity and awe plastered on his face. He stumbled steadily over to the nurses' station and ran a hand along the glass counter. The sound of rubber soled shoes squeaking on linoleum floor proceeded Hanssen's arrival as he carefully emerged from behind the corner, carrying himself much as a wounded man who'd escaped the battlefield in body but not spirit would do. Oliver was already looking at him when Fletch turned his gaze back to the nurses' station.
"Where is she?" he asked quietly, a spark glinting behind his eyes.
Fletch glanced at Frieda, and then at Hanssen when he failed to comprehend what Oliver meant. From their equally blank looks, they didn't know either.
"Who?"
Oliver laughed at the question and swept his gaze around Darwin as though he was seeing it with new eyes, and clearly searching for someone in particular. "Oh come on! She's always here!" Then his face fell slightly as some snippet of memory slotted into place in his fractured mind. "She was leaving …"
Fletch's heart clenched uncomfortably.
"I remember," Oliver threw his gaze down the corridor towards the lifts. "I remember … she was going to leave. She was saying goodbye … but she stayed." Fletch met the bright blue frown directed at him. "She was here," he repeated carefully, looking from Fletch to Frieda to Hanssen as if waiting for them to smile and direct him to the office or theatre two. "She was here. I was … I was talking to her. Today. I spoke to her today … so where is she?" The fact it was past the middle of the night probably hadn't occurred to him.
"She's gone mate," Fletch found himself saying with a shrug. "I guess it all got too much."
Oliver shook his head. "No! No. She belongs here. This … it's …" he groaned loudly and shook his head, pounding the desk in frustration. "She can't leave!"
"Annual leave," Frieda assured Oliver, placing a careful hand on his arm. "She'll be back."
"When?" he demanded. "I need to … I need to talk to her. It's important."
Frieda shrugged.
"When?"
"Why is it so important that you talk to Jac Naylor?" Hanssen asked cautiously when no one else spoke. Like Fletch, Hanssen's strings had been cut, and he leant heavily against the wall beneath the theatre list as if afraid his legs would give out.
Oliver shook his head, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. "I just … I remembered what she said to me." He smiled slightly, a hint of his boyish grin that could have girls swooning from fifty paces on his face. "My biggest supporter."
Fletch wasn't too sure about that; all the evidence on the matter pointed to how irritating Jac found her registrar.
"What did she say?" Frieda asked after a moment. At Fletch's glare she shrugged. "What? Like you're not curious?"
Well he was now wasn't he? Because on the day in question, if it was the day he thought it was, Fletch remembered how horrible Jac had been to Oliver. He knew it was her fear and her anxiety and her need to control the uncontrollable that had her take it out on the registrar, and he hoped Oliver had realised that too at the time. Because no matter how horrible she was, Jac never actually, truly, meant it. Not really. The problem lay in the fact that the Oliver before him now wasn't the Oliver that had said goodbye to Jac on that fateful day. She could have cursed him until his teeth fell out and this Oliver, in the effort of putting his mind back together, might have misjudged the meaning of whatever it was she had said. But as Oliver began to speak, reciting words that clearly weren't his own, Fletch realised he needn't have been so worried.
"You have the ability in abundance," he began slowly, gazing once more around the ward, allowing the words Jac had spoken to him to rise to the surface of his mind. "You have integrity and you have determination. But most of all, you have courage." Oliver smiled fondly. "Cuts are killing … bureaucracy reigns … and the truth is that no one's in charge when it matters. And yet, amongst it all you remain constant. It's your duty to stay." Every word was spoken carefully and precisely, and Fletch could feel the echo of Jac in every one of them tugging at his chest. "It's your duty to become the consultant you should be. The future's here … and it needs you."
As poignant and heartfelt as those words were, especially to Oliver – then and now – they felt flat and stale. Empty and hollow and forlorn. A farewell from someone who had found a path forward, only for that path to be violently disrupted, and permeantly altered. How hard must it have been for her to visit Oliver all those times knowing those uplifting words of encouragement she'd given him would never be fulfilled? Fletch couldn't find his voice, and the silence from Hanssen and Petrenko told him they too were at a loss. Far from the inspiring speech Oliver remembered it as, he seemed to have recognised that there was something profoundly absent. Lacking.
He frowned heavily. "She taught me everything … and she just … left?"
"Yeah."
"Just like that?" A flicker of irritation squirmed in his belly, but he smothered it quickly because Oliver was trying his best and so very clearly needed something from Jac in this moment. But Jac was nowhere to be found.
"Just like that."
"But … she can't!"
But she had.
It crept in like a storm cloud that had no end; gloom and hopelessness settled over the ward and slunk through every corridor, every doorway, every window. It was as if they were clinging to a lift raft that was drifting in an everlasting sea that stretched beyond horizon; a life raft with a slow puncture. Any semblance of control and truth and purpose shattered. It all vanished in an instant leaving Fletch standing on the ward unable to see past the list of the dead. Unable to see past those who lives could not, and would not, be made better.
To his right, Hanssen slumped to the ground, knees finally giving way as he landed in a heap with long limbs tangled together. He stared into oblivion as though he could see into the very heart of hell itself. Petrenko was watching Oliver with unwavering attention, no hint or clue on her pale face if she was feeling this hopelessness too, while Oliver stared at Fletch.
What was happening to them?
How could it have come to this?
Why had she just gone without saying anything?
Everything was fine – as fine as it could be; this morning things had been fine. Ric was facing the decision of his life, yes, but Fletch had been quietly confident that sense and reason would win out; and it had, thank god. But there ended the levity. After that it was one thing and then another falling gradually apart as everyone tried to change or couldn't change or wouldn't change. Lies and half-truths. Uncertainty abound in an institution where they had to be certain and they had to be sure.
Fletch didn't know what to do. He couldn't see a way forward. What was the bloody point? The righteous anger he felt earlier rose in a furious panic and helpless defeat. A low buzzing filled his ears, his chest tightened, palms grew clammy, dots floated in front of his eyes … He wanted to scream; needed to let it out. Had to … Fletch buried his face in his hands and bent forward over his knees, unable to supress a loud moan of frustration that had risen straight from his gut.
Then she was there.
Jac.
Just standing there like some god sent angel, bathed in the harsh glow of the industrial lights. A look of confusion and concern on her face as she stood among the wreckage of battered souls and broken spirits. Petrenko's words echoed in Fletch's ears. We needed her. She knew that. Gazing at her, worn and tired and with Emma asleep in her arms, Fletch understood then why she'd done it. Why she'd just gone without a word to him at the end of her shift.
Because everyone needed her; in one way or another, everyone had needed her. Needed her to be strong, needed her to lead, to be healing, to be recovering. To be some twisted beacon of hope in all this relentless darkness. They were relying on it. Depending on it. Craved the normalcy and the charade that everything was as it had been before. Everyone had needed something from Jac, even if they hadn't realised it, even if it was just the comfort of knowing she was here, on Darwin, doing what she did est. Saving lives and dishing out the snark whilst elbow deep in a chest cavity and utterly unfazed by it all. Utterly unmoved. Somehow she had seen what the hospital needed, and she'd done her best to provide it.
Everyone had needed her. Even him. Especially him. And now that she was here when she shouldn't be, he realised how selfish he'd been. How selfish they'd all been. And Jac – good, kind, dependable, loyal, determined, stubborn, if slightly prickly, defensive, and emotionally bruised, Jac – had said nothing and just got on with it. For them. For the hospital. For Ric who had been stuck in prison, and for David who'd flat-lined on the table; for Oliver who would never be the same again and for Raf, who had died alone in a lift with no one to help him.
"I leave for five minutes and all hell breaks loose?" she quipped.
He had never been more relieved to see her than in that moment. Not even watching her clinging to the edge of life in ICU matched the comfort that her presence gave him as he saw her standing somewhat uncertainly on the other side of the nurses' station in her new coat and with her daughter fast asleep on her shoulder. Like some fucking saviour.
Oliver's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Jac!"
"The very same … oh." He had launched himself at her and swept her into a rather suffocating hug. With Emma in her arms, Fletch knew she'd had no hope of avoiding the unwanted display of affection. He felt a flutter of smug delight when he saw how Jac made no move to hug Oliver back. "Okay – that's enough of that."
She rather firmly, but gently, used her free arm to push Oliver away and caught Fletch's eye in the process. She tilted her head toward the office and he nodded once in reply, deciding not to try to decipher whatever it was lurking behind her eyes, or why his heart was thumping in his throat and his belly dancing the Macarena.
He attempted some semblance of authority. "Right. Let's get on with that transfer please, Ms Petrenko." Frieda nodded, watching Jac pass Hanssen without a word on her way to the office. Fletch took a moment to take it all in – eternally glad that the fan club behind him hadn't spotted their idol – before following Jac.
As he rounded the corner he heard Oliver approaching Hanssen. "Why are you crying?"
After a beat, the CEO replied in a muffled voice. "Because I lost my son … and I don't know when."