A/N: First Casualty fic is here, and I'm surprised it's taken this long! And yes, I am aware the title is awful but I just couldn't let that pun go.
Just a few things to clear up before you begin reading:
I am not a doctor. Half the time I struggle to even decipher whether a cut requires a plaster or not, so please forgive any error in the technical speak I use.
This fic is based on Jonnie (Connie/Jacob) and their relationship. It's my sort of twist on them after their breakup and how they weave a path through it, and I have managed to slot a few of the Summer 2016 trailer scenes in. So there's a lack of casualties (unless you count the two of them that are suffering from broken hearts) and hospital speak. If ED practices are what you're looking for, they're not here I'm afraid. Also, I know that Jonnie have dealt quite well with the breakup on the show, but I just have fun making them suffer as it makes the happy ending even happier :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Casualty, nor the characters.

Okay, phew, hope you enjoy!

~For Jorja~

She lies in bed, her mind too jumpy to even consider closing her eyes and hoping sleep will subdue her. She gazes into the darkness of her room from beneath the tresses of hair that have fallen across her face. The looming tenebrosity beckons like a black hole, sucking thoughts out from locked depths of her brain and removing any positivity that still lurks in her being. She feels each guilty throb of her heart and hears the pumped blood rush in her ears. Each breath makes her lungs ache and the guilt grow.

Today, Connie Beauchamp let a girl die.

He flings the sheets from his body, angrily shoving himself off the mattress and going to his adjoining bathroom. He cups his palm beneath the faucet then brings it to his lips to take a long drag of the night-chilled water. God damn his conscience. That's what's to blame for this, after all. This seemingly incurable insomnia being fueled by his subconscious. That's a lie. He has a pretty good idea what his mind is trying to tell him, but he refuses to satisfy it simply because he's the good guy. He and Connie are no longer responsible for one another. She'd made that abundantly clear. No matter how much they hurt, it's not down to the other to be a confidant. He gets that. He wishes it isn't like it is, but he knows it has to be. In fact, no. He has no idea what encouraged her sudden change of heart, he's not privy to that information.

He pauses. Hands gripping each side of the sink. This thought process is not helping. It's getting him riled up. He pushes off the porcelain and goes back into his room, flopping down onto his bed again. Word around Holby today was that a young girl, eight, had been lost, not even making it to the HDU, whilst under the care of Clinical Lead, Constance Beauchamp.

He knows Connie, knows that this passing will be taunting her mind and weighing overbearingly on her heart. He has no doubt that she's tasted the bitter cocktail of blame, guilt and self-hatred tonight. She may be the queen of the surly façade but he's aware that that's exactly what it is; a façade. Beneath the stoic expression she has a heart; she has a heightened sense of emotion. Perhaps it's because of that that she wears the brave mask as she does.

He huffs and squints against the harsh light of his phone screen as he checks the time; one twenty-four a.m. He drops back against the now flattened pillows and stares at the ceiling, his arms splayed out across the duvet. He thinks of her out there. An eighteen minute drive from where he is now. He wonders if she's awake, whether she's lying in bed or sat on her sofa, contemplating the day's events. Maybe she's even asleep. He hopes it's not a restless slumber, a grouchy Mrs B is a ferocious horror, but one he can't help smirking about.

He tosses and turns for another half hour, dwindling time away with concerned thoughts of his loved one. He misses her; their closeness; the flirty, knowing looks across the room; the consolance of being in each other's company enough to soothe any worries.

But he doesn't have her to soothe his worries. And he's concerned that she doesn't have him, as he's reasonably certain that she is drowning in a pool of fear and self-loathing as he lies here thinking of her.

Her eyes tighten and scrunch up as her fists clench, her lips quivering as inaudible murmurs roll from her tongue with erratic puffs of breath. Her head is restless against the crumpled pillow, but it continues to loll back into the dip that had formed in the padding throughout the night. She's curled on her side with her arms brought in front of her face protectively, as if to defend herself from the inevitable demons that would stalk her slumber. She's suddenly startled awake, her hand immediately coming up to grip the wrist that belongs to the fingers which are lightly pressed into the flesh of her upper arm.

"Shh," a hushed voice soothes. She tries to focus her eyes in the dim lighting to see the features of the figure knelt on her bed. At first she thinks it's Grace, but as her brain becomes a little more cooperative she realises the wrist she's gripping is far too hefty to be that of an eleven year old girl.

"Jacob?" she asks, her senses becoming more aware of the situation. "What're you-"

He hears the vulnerability of a woman defeated by a nightmare ring in her weary voice. "Let's leave all questions until tomorrow," he whispers into her ear as he quietly sinks into the mattress beside her. Too dazed with her sleep fogged mind she lets her head fall back on the pillow as his arm slides around her waist and his t-shirt clad torso presses against her back. They lie still together. Each brain frantic with yelling thoughts, but none making it past their lips. Silently grateful for his familiar, warming embrace, Connie says nothing, doesn't fight or think of the consequences of their actions. She just lets him hold her.

Several minutes pass before he murmurs, "Are you okay?"

She tilts her head towards him, the first movement she's made since he'd abruptly nestled in beside her. "I thought we said leave questions 'til tomorrow?"

She feels him nod against her neck, as if to say 'touché' and tightens his hold on her without speaking another word. They both know that that answer was a clever brushoff of a conversation she doesn't want to have. She sounded quiet and defeated. She hates being so weak. But I just need sleep, she thinks, and the miraculous ability to bring a child back to life…

She wakes first, as is often the case. It takes her a hazy moment to realise that the accustomed warmth of having a body pressed along hers is no longer meant to be so casual and familiar. She stiffens. Then she acknowledges the time; only ten minutes before she has to wake Grace to get ready for school. All ideas of manners and keeping calm are gone as she sits upright, shoving his arm onto the mattress where her body had just been, and clambering from the bed. Jacob rouses and is immediately thrown into a storm of confusion and irritation.

"Connie?" He asks, pushing himself up on his elbows and training his eyes on her as she pads around the room.

"Come on, up!" She orders, picking up his shoes and jacket from where she's finding them on the floor.

"Con-"

"No, you have to go. Now!"

His brows furrow together in puzzlement and rejection. "What's wrong, Sweet Chee-"

"Enough!" she snaps, finally looking at him. The anger in her voice making him stop and gaze right at her. The eye contact obviously awakens something deep inside her as her voice softens, eerily close to the saddened, weary tone she'd used last night. "I need you to leave, please."

"Alright…" he replies calmly. He stands from the bed and goes towards her as she waits in front of the closed bedroom door. He accepts his belongings from her outstretched arms, watches her for a brief moment, then side steps and walks past, opening the door and leaving. She runs her palms over her face and up to her hairline as she brushes her hair back. Her ears are strained for the sound of the door clicking shut downstairs, and only when she hears it does she step onto the landing. Leaning against the threshold she stares at the wall opposite her and a reel of yesterday's events, from entering work to falling asleep with her ex-lover pressed against her, plays in her mind.

Then, she snaps into mother mode and dazedly makes her way down the stairs to begin preparing breakfast.

It feels like the globally recognised 'walk of shame,' except he's driving. The famous return home the morning after. Although this is the morning after he'd innocently slumbered beside his ex - if they could count each other as that - and is now going home to prepare for the day's shift he'll be spending with the aforementioned ex. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he has considered calling in sick, but he shan't back down from this one. No, not Mrs B.

So as he pulls off his confident stride into the ED, he goes on to continue his shift with perfected routine and charm; he smiles at the ladies, spreads a little cheer, jokes with the guys. And of course, delivers flawless medical jargon and procedures.

It's only when he exits the break room from lunch does he nearly have a collision with the pussycat herself. He holds up his hands in apology and defence as she stares him down with smoldering eyes of white hot fury, then continues on her way. She had definitely just branded her name on his mind for the rest of the day.

The list of people to avoid for the day was too long, yet surprisingly it is a Staff Nurse that's ruling the top slot. Considering the questionable ethics of yesterday's practice, she has figures of authority populating the majority of the undesirable encounters she could happen across today, so personal matters should not be primary when there are evidently bigger fish to fry.

It's just before midday when the first of those people in high places manages to obstruct her work. The on-the-spot interrogation leaving her irritated and angry. The least they could have done was allow her the privacy of an office.

So when she nearly gets run into by the king of the list as he exits the break room, she huffs, contemplates dealing with him now, then thinks better of wasting her time.

She's sitting in her office, the first time in nearly four hours, with her shoes secretly slipped off beneath the desk. All she wants is to be home, in the bath or on the sofa, Grace content, investigation into her practice over with, love life hassle non-existent. But that's asking for a lot, she realises. It's nearing the end of shift, which means nothing for her, just a different group of people to keep in line. But then she sees Jacob, clad in casual clothes, standing on the far side of the nurses' station talking with Charlie. She supposes the end of shift means that she's accomplished an entire eleven hours without having any verbal confrontation with him…

She continues filling out paperwork and draining the last mouthfuls of cooling coffee from the take away cup she'd bought at the café in reception. When she looks up again, he's gone and there's only a few people trickling in ready for their night shift. Suddenly she jumps, and fails at masking it, when someone knocks at the door and enters without consent. Staff Nurse Masters. So she's not accomplished anything she'd set out to do today, seeing as he's evidently about to start the conversation she'd aimed to avoid.

"I didn't mean to make you jump," he begins, although the slight smirk on his lips suggests her startle amused him. She says nothing, just slots some papers into a filiere. "Charlie advised I come talk to you."

"Great! So not only did you break into my house and charge into my office, you also discussed my love life with Charlie," she exclaims, looking at the man before her.

He steps closer to her desk, "Calm down, Sweet Cheeks, our business is solely ours. He wanted me to check on you. After yesterday."

"Why can't he do it himself?"

"He tried to earlier," he states, recalling the older man telling him about Connie brushing him off mid sentence. Evidently she remembers the scene as he sees her bow her head in acknowledgement of her error.

"Right. Well, seeing as you're here, I want to remind you that breaking in is a crime and if you do it again-"

"You'll what? Call the police? See, I know you. I know you're angry. But even Connie Beauchamp has enough of a heart to not put her… lover and employee in bracelets."

"You want to bet?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She gazes at him incredulously. "You know what? Talking through my life errors and personal relations with my ex sounds like just perfect therapy."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

She drops her eyes to the desk, hoping he gets the hint to leave. He lingers a moment then heads to the door. When she thinks she's about to be free of the heightened tension in the room, he stops and turns back to her.

"I have tried, Con. I have tried giving you space and time. I've tried to be civil and patient. I don't know what you want from me. Clearly I was out of line last night, so, for that, I am sorry. But it seems whatever I do I do wrong."

She sighs and straightens her blouse. "I have to prioritise Grace," is all she responds in a hushed tone.

"I get that, she's your daughter. What I don't get is why you had to sacrifice me. For what? I won't get in the way of your time with Grace, I'd hoped you'd known that."

She did, but Grace didn't. "It's been made clear to me that I can only juggle two things at once, and for me, that's the job and Grace."

"Who told you that? Sam?"

Now some anger boils to the surface, "I don't need life advice from him."

"Then who?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's the thing, you never will. God, I wish I could hate you-"

"You should try, it seems to work for people round here."

"That's not true. The nurses and doctors in your department have respect for you, myself included. But I can't keep up with this act."

"And what act is that?" she asks, fiddling with her thumbs as her arms rest on the desk.

"That I don't care." His eyes train steadily on hers as she looks up at his face for one of the few times in the conversation. She doesn't say anything and he can tell she has no response to what he'd just said, so he breaks their gaze and leaves.

When she gets home, Grace is in the living room with an exercise book open on her lap and pen bouncing in her fingers.

"Grace, sweetie, what have I told you about watching television whilst doing your homework?" she chides gently as she walks past to drop her bag and coat on the chair.

"You said you'd be back by eight."

Feeling guilty, Connie doesn't comment on her daughter's swift change of topic. "I know," she sighs, "I'm sorry. I got held up."

The babysitter, or as Connie prefers, The Flake, comes through the doorway between the kitchen and living room and greets her, then updates her on the details of the evening.

"Thank you for staying, I'm sorry I'm late." She sifts through her wallet and hands over some notes and points out the extra fiver as compensation for her delay. They each bid farewell to the woman and Connie shows her out then returns to the living room. She sits on the sofa beside Grace and takes the book from her daughter's lap then scans over the neat handwriting on the page.

"How many more questions have you got to do?"

"Two," the girl replies, more interested in the TV than her homework.

"Come on then, come sit with me at the table and we'll do it while I eat."

Connie prepares a salad with a slice of quiche, although she's unsure whether it's completely safe to eat after a quick sniff in the box suggests it's had tastier times. She sits alongside her smaller self and offers guidance on the dull questions that's been set for homework and when it's complete she sends Grace upstairs to get ready for bed.

As she sits alone at the dining table in the kitchen, she slides her phone across the surface from where she'd abandoned it earlier. She flicks the screen on and sees that there's multiple missed calls from those looming over her head and demanding answers, so deletes the notifications as any pissed off woman would. Connie hears the soft pad of Grace's feet overhead as she enters the bathroom and wonders what runs through her mind. She'd liked Jacob, until she saw them kissing; she'd not noticed the time her mother was spending with him, until she realised they were together; she'd been content without knowing of their relationship, and she was content when she thought it was no longer. And all this makes Connie think; why? Grace could have felt threatened by him, perhaps she figured he'd be priority instead of her, or she was afraid that he was going to pull her mother away from her - keep her all to himself - or maybe she was simply jealous that she wouldn't be the only person in her mum's life anymore.

Connie taps in a message but doesn't click send, instead she switches the screen off as Grace walks down the stairs.

"Mum?"

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she calls over her shoulder. Receiving no response, Connie pushes her chair back and walks through to the living room to see Grace standing at the bottom of the stairs. "What's the matter? Grace?"

She sees the line between her daughter's eyebrows and knows that it's a result of over thinking, as she gets a similar one when she's pensive. "Are you lonely?"

Now it's Connie's turn to furrow her eyebrows, but with confusion and shock instead of deep thought. "Lonely? No, sweetheart, I'm not lonely," is the automatic response that leaves her mouth. "Why would you think that?" She signals for Grace to join her on the sofa. As she settles into the cushions Grace waits before her until she's stopped fidgeting and then tucks herself into her mother's side. Connie scoops up her girl's legs and slings them over her own, then wraps her arms around her shoulders; a makeshift cradle for a child that's physically too big, but mentally just young enough.

"Bridget asked me if you have a boyfriend."

Connie's insides flip, a curiosity, anger and irritability churning amongst her salad. "She shouldn't have asked you that," she snaps, but evidently annoyed with the babysitter, not her daughter.

"Why?"

"Because it's none of her business."

"I told her you weren't going out with anyone." Connie stays silent, just rests her cheek against the top of Grace's head. "She said that your job gets in the way of having a relationship."

"Grace, darling, I choose to have my job, if it bothered me that much I'd choose a different one. Besides, I've got you-"

"But you did have one."

"What?"

"You were in a relationship with Jacob."

Connie's unsure how to answer this, but it's clear Grace is waiting for her to. She sighs, and shuffles into a more upright position, keeping Grace still pressed to her, aiming to gain herself some time. "But things didn't work out."

"Because of me."

Yes, she thinks, but what mother is going to confess that to their child? She sits up now and turns to look Grace in the eye. "Darling… what happened with Jacob and I… well, I need to look after you now. You're my priority."

"So it is my fault?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I need to put you first and I can't be worrying about other people."

"But that's your job."

Connie smiles to herself, perhaps she sees herself shine through in Grace's pedantic side… "You know too well what I meant. Now come on, bedtime."

She gets up then takes Grace's hand and hauls her off the sofa.

When she's tucking her into bed, Grace looks up at her. "If you're lonely, I don't mind if you have a boyfriend. Just as long as we can still have our TV time on Sunday night."

Connie smiles in appreciation, kisses her daughter on the head and whispers a goodnight before leaving. When she returns downstairs she puts her used crockery in the dishwasher, pours herself a glass of wine, then relaxes on the sofa with her legs tucked up. Her phone sits beside a coaster on the coffee table in front of her and she considers the text she'd prepared earlier. Then thinks better of it and plods up the stairs to bed.

He'd be lying if he'd said that he hadn't been hoping Connie would contact him last night. For some reason he felt she would after their conversation in her office yesterday. If there's one thing he's noticed about Connie Beauchamp, it's that she likes to have the last word and she's not said anything since he'd delivered his final line. If he's being brutally honest, he wants a fight from her. Wants a reaction. At least that way they could get the entire ordeal over with and find a way to weave a path through their current predicament.

He'd indulged in pizza and beer yesterday evening with nothing more than endless comedies and documentaries for company. He wasn't celebrating the awakening of self pity with a party for one, but rather allowing himself to brood in a way only a man can. And apparently that included sleeping through his alarm.

He runs through the ED doors and hopes his late arrival isn't noticed, as any person would. But, he should have known that involving himself in personal matters with the boss was going to come back and sink it's teeth into his backside one day.

"Staff Nurse Masters, you're late," he hears over his shoulder. He freezes like a schoolboy caught in the act of skiving and grimaces before turning to confront, what he can only describe as, a face of slow burning fury.

"Apologies, Boss."

"You do realise you're half an hour late to a shift? In a place like this, that's the line between life and death."

"Good job you know how to get yourself in on time then, isn't it?" He regrets the cheeky remark as soon as the words pass his lips.

She steps closer, her features tightening. "I've told you before, and I'm going to tell you again, sleeping with me does not give you an advantage over others. I am still your boss, you understand?" she snaps, lowering the finger she has pointed at him between their bodies, as if to jab him in the chest.

He nods, guilt turning down the corners of his mouth. She aims one final gaze into his eyes, then struts off to collect files at reception. He can't help but stand there a little stunned, questioning her word choices. He's no longer sleeping with her, but he's to assume that the principle's still maintained?

After that confrontation, he plays the shift safe and doesn't fall into the familiar role of hero and class clown. Perhaps giving into her and not trying to challenge her is the best way to go? He's not usually one to take the easiest route, but who's to say it is the easiest?

Connie's mind is driving her crazy so she must keep busy. Keep on the go and keep treating patients. She's got a battle of conflicting emotions purging her mind of any clarity and understanding. She wishes desperately to shut it off, just for an hour, because a slight dip in the noise around her and she's distracted by the colossal weight in her head. That's why she forces herself into alleviating patients in cubicles and lingers there most of the day. Jacob seems to have been picked up on the critical cases and is, surprisingly, rarely seen, by her at least, around the nurses' station the entire shift. The constant soundtrack of phones and talking and papers rustling means her mind doesn't have the quiet to contemplate. She's not even sure what there is to consider.

Once again, it's nearing the end of one shift and smoothly transitioning onto the next. Still she's not seen him. Connie hadn't been too concerned about his presence, she can handle being in a room with him if the situation arises, but she can't help but be surprised that she'd spent all day in cubicles and not seen him once. Perhaps he's gone home sick?

She sits in her office and inks her name onto several blank lines, signing off patients and accounting for the drugs and medication they've used the past day. When she finishes, she pushes the files aside and leans back in the chic white office chair. Her mind is in a right tizz. She knows it's about Grace's words, about the possibility of rekindling a relationship. But what right does she have to go crawling back to a man she'd reprimanded only this morning? And should she really try to salvage the relationship he'd tried to use as a get out clause for his error? The point at which she'd tackled him with verbal abuse because he thought he could give her back chat.

All of the answers to these questions are warning signs, ones urging her to not look back, to not consider the issue any longer. But she blanks out the blaring sirens in her head and marches on. They were happy. He made her happy, and that in itself was one mountain he'd escaladed that others had given up on. Grace makes her happy, of course, but it isn't the same. It's a joyous affair, motherhood, but so much pain has been plunged into her heart. Every missed call, every lost day, every cruel word… it all amounted to so much heartache. And she's had that with Jacob- heartache- but the relationship she'd had with him allowed her to receive as well as give. He'd provided her with contentment that her daughter can't, and Connie certainly doesn't expect her to in some circumstances. It was just different, and nice.

And after all, Grace has expressed her, albeit naive, understanding of her mother's situation. So what's holding her back, other than her pride?