Firstly, the observant among you may have noticed I've changed my user name. Since seven dragons (thank you) has lured me back onto Tumblr (even though I'm completely inept over there), I thought it would be sensible to use the same name in all the various places I frequent, and this was the odd one out.

So, this fic looks at the episodes which Joy McDonald appears in. I didn't really like Joy the first time I watched these, but she's grown on me a bit, and I like the prickly interplay between Joy and Jean.

Going back and watching all those series 1 episodes, it was strange to see Lucien and Jean at the 'just friends' stage, though I think Jean had maybe moved a bit further along the road to romance than Lucien had by this stage.

Anyway, it's been interesting to write about, and I hope you enjoy reading it xx

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"Lucien, I'm so sorry about Joy."

Jean stood awkwardly in the middle of the police station, holding a paper bag with a sandwich in it. That's Jean all over, he thought. Always trying to get him to eat properly.

And now she's even calling her Joy. Now, when she is dead. After months of Mrs McDonald, suddenly they are on first name terms and Jean is trying to say something to comfort him, unsuccessfully.

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When Joy first burst her way into his life, he was angry and frustrated, saying far too much in front of this journalist, whom he noticed as a woman only in some far away piece of his brain. Outside the prison gates his thoughts were with Sean McBride, not the pretty woman asking all the right questions and wanting to quote him.

Lucien certainly noticed her the second time, and all the times after that. She made sure of it. She was well dressed, flirtatious, charming; but she was also intelligent, interested and provocative. Of course she had a story to write, but he knew it wasn't all about the story.

"I try never to incriminate myself during work hours," he said, and he was playing her game. A date was fixed, with the first woman to catch his eye since coming back to Ballarat.

Lucien knew Jean didn't like her much, or at least didn't trust her to keep him out of trouble. But why would that bother him? Jean was his friend of course, and an excellent housekeeper, and he'd trust her common sense any day, but what would she know about the sort of woman he would find attractive?

So the date ended with a handshake, her departure for Melbourne, and him wanting more.

He told himself he was doing her a favour with the story about factory conditions at Tyneman's, but of course it all back fired on him, and she arrived, without an appointment as usual, "absolutely bloody furious", and magnificent with it. And he had to find another story to keep her with him.

And so that set a pattern; he'd ring her with a potential story, or she would appear in Ballarat in search of one, and they would see each other, go for a drink, find out more about their pasts, step ever closer. Patrick was right; he did want to sleep with her, but maybe not just yet. He was too busy enjoying the chase, though really they were chasing each other.

Caught up in the cases, and with eyes only for Joy, he barely noticed Jean's strange behaviour. Surely drink was his weakness, not hers, yet she managed to finish all the sherry and didn't care that he knew it. Only when he saw Robert holding her hand, as she let him down gently, did it occur to Lucien that Jean might want someone to love too. And he didn't like that thought at all.

Then all of that was forgotten in the excitement of finding his daughter and a trip to China.

He was delighted to find Joy again on a bus from Melbourne, both of them heading to Ballarat. Yes, he was pleased to see Jean too, but as Jean virtually snatched him away to the town hall, it was Joy he made time for, giving her an appraising look, promising more in the future.

In just a few hours they were back to how it used to be, flirting with each other under the cover of town hall politics. He would willingly tell her more than he intended, so long as she kept looking at him like that. And she could feel his eyes follow her in open admiration to the bar, as she swung her skirt and glanced back to him.

If only he'd known that would be the last time...

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Jean distrusted her on sight, and the feeling was mutual. Not that either of them would have said that out loud, of course. They warily eyed each other, each a little jealous of what the other had with him.

Joy resented Jean trying to warn her off, telling her to be careful of Blake's reputation, and guarding access to him when she could.

And Jean considered Joy to be far too forward. Surely no one should be throwing themselves at the doctor quite that obviously.

So Jean kept her at arm's length by calling her Mrs McDonald; Joy verged on the over-familiar by calling her Jean.

And somewhere in the depths of her soul, in that part of her that had to look at situations face to face, honestly, Jean knew she was a little threatened by Joy's presence in Lucien's life.

When Jean and Lucien met around the house she was usually wearing her apron, or worse still a dressing gown and hairnet. Whereas Joy swept in in her glamorous clothes, regardless of their practicality. Joy usually carried a rather lovely handbag, while Jean was more likely to be holding a joint of meat or a pile of laundry.

But why that should bother Jean so much she couldn't really say. After all, she had admirers of her own, even if she didn't want to pursue a relationship with any of them. Why should she need Lucien to notice her as well?

Everything shifted when he went to China. She missed him, far more in the end than she would have expected. Jean was so pleased when he came back, that she then reasoned to herself that maybe Joy was the price she had to pay to keep him in Ballarat.

So just for once, she didn't warn her off but accepted her. That's not to say she was pleased Joy was back, but she'd live with it to keep Lucien happy.

But now Joy was dead, and Lucien blamed himself.

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"She was very fond of you."

"Yes, and look where that got her."

Jean had had enough of his self pity, and he got the talking-to she thought he needed. He didn't just need flattery, someone stroking his ego. He needed someone practical to love him, someone who coped with the hard things in life.

Maybe one day he'd see that for himself, and look at the woman he already had in his life. Maybe she would just have to be patient.