This idea has been buzzing around my head for ages - although it's had numerous incarnations in how I've actually written it. I hope it's ok and sorry I've been useless at updating stuff recently! Luckily I have some free (sort of) days next week so hopefully I'll get some stuff written.
She presses herself down in to a chair in the break room, eyes squeezed closed and a hand rested against her face. She doesn't fear being caught in this moment of weakness, not at this time at least. She knows that many of her colleagues – those who are part of the skeleton night staff – have settled themselves in to secluded places to catch a few winks of sleep while the ward is civilised. Those few patients who have remained on the ward – given that the late shift seemed to have organised a mass discharge – all appeared to be sleeping, no calamities appeared to be brewing and for that she was somewhat grateful.
She can hear outside of the door a low humming and she silently curses the man. It was unlucky for them to be scheduled alongside each other – though that it is the wrong word, she knows he had orchestrated it to happen. He has tried to match their shift patterns, even though she has the rules about keeping their relationship on the quiet. He continues to do it, even though she had warned him against it and the suspicion it might arise but he took no notice of her, as he so often chose to do. Only tonight, after the events of the last few days, she wishes she had taken a more firm stance.
She is certain she shouldn't be upset. There is nothing to be upset about, but somewhere deep within her, she knows the sense of disappointment and the pain that has resulted from it. She tries to convince herself that she is being stupid.
Having a baby was the last thing she – or indeed they – needed. She wasn't sure how to even define the relationship they shared, nor did she really want too. A baby would have changed the game plan entirely – and she isn't ready for that.
But there had been the slight bud of hope within her, when she had realised that she was late. Not just a few days – as was common with her somewhat irregular cycle – but definitely, undeniably late. She'd wondered if she'd missed little signs, ignored slight feelings of nausea in order to carry on her work as normal or an ache within her breasts and abdomen which could have been attributed to the arrival of her period – as well as any potential embryo imbedding itself to her uterine walls. She knew she hadn't but still she had tried to analyse any little thing that could lead her to know either way before she braved the white plastic stick.
She'd had the box in her draw for so many days before she'd been able bring herself to taking it. It had sat there taunting her. Somewhere she had felt the ache, the desire, to see that she was pregnant. To know that in a number of months she would hold in her arms, a baby of her own. She'd always tried to deny that particular desire, knowing that mothering isn't really in her genetic makeup nor is she truly certain she'd be able to love a child as it deserved to be loved. And yet a little voice tells her that, maybe, this is not quite as she suspects. She has been good with babies in the past – Freya who had stolen her head, something she had been ill-prepared for, little William who she had held when Mo had been unable to, Daniel and of course Harry, who she had so nearly become family too. These babies though were not her own, their time in her life fleeting and there was the fear that maybe she could love and want for a time but that eventually she would fail.
She had tried to keep it from him too. Partly for fear of how he would react, and partly because telling him would make it all the more real. His reaction, when she had finally spoken those words aloud, had sent an ice cold dart in to her spine. She'd known, always, that he could be immature – an overgrown child – but she had not expected that from him.
She is drawn from her thoughts by the clicking of the door, but she isn't quick enough to hide the momentary lapse in her steely exterior. She sees him standing there, framed for a second in the doorway before he moves further in to the room. She doesn't follow him with her eyes, but she knows – from the noise he makes – that he is preparing himself a hot drink.
His statement that about dealing with it had forced her in to reality, to her that expression had only one meaning and though he had tried to backtrack, she couldn't push away from the fact that had been his immediate reaction. She isn't sure that she'd have been able to do what she suspected he wanted, though so much of her believed it probably would be for the best. But equally she doubts her ability in raising the child alone, the father-figure – and particularly one like him – would hopefully be enough to counterbalance her. Only he had reacted in such a way that perhaps that would not be the case.
"You alright?" he speaks quietly, settling himself in a chair next to her and she blinks. They've not spoken much in the past few days. She's somewhat missed the warmth of his sleeping body next to hers, but she'd needed the space from him.
"Mmm" the murmur she hopes sounds positive enough that he'll accept it as an answer. Since seeing those two words on the little window, she isn't entirely sure how she feels. There are far too many emotions and feelings causes a confliction within her to give a definite answer.
"You sure about that?" There's an edge of concern to his words, and she looks away from him. She doesn't want to be having this – or any other – conversation with him or at least not now.
"I'm sure" she answers finally, though she wonders how truthful the words sound to his ears. They haven't really spoken properly since she'd confronted him in the charge nurses office. She'd told him the result in a bay, trying to sound detached like it was just a bit of patient information and not something that was causing a small piece of her to break. It had stung when his reaction had been 'that's good isn't it' – something she had failed to respond to, for fear that she may crack ever so slightly.
He doesn't say another, but she hears him swallow hard. She guesses he's taken a gulp from his cup, forgetting that the liquid is likely still too hot to actually drink. Beyond that moment they have shared patient information and she had informed him that she wanted an early night and to be alone and he'd seemed to accept it without question.
She shifts in her seat, and tries to stifle the low groan that wants to escape from her lips. She presses her hand flat against the table, fingers curling ever so slightly. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut; for fear that he will see the sting of heat. Finally she releases the breath, she'd been unaware she was even holding in and opens her eyes to see the worry that is painted across his features.
"And this is alright?" she looks at him sharply, trying to regain herself enough to be able to talk. Not that she has any idea of what she is going to say, but she isn't even going to attempt it until she feels able. She watches as his brow creases, his mind seemingly deep in thought, "Jac" he says her name gently.
"It's nothing Jonny" She speaks the words softly.
"It's obviously not nothing." He's like a dog with a bone in his ability not to drop a subject. She wants nothing more than for him to leave her be now, but she knows he won't not now.
"It's doesn't matter" She tries again, biting her lower lip slightly. She had known this was coming and yet it hadn't quite prepared her for how it would feel.
"But you're in pain" his words sound childlike, a sweet innocence in the way he speaks that makes her feel all the worse.
"Like I said, it's nothing and it doesn't matter" Only it isn't nothing, and to her it does matter. As soon as she'd felt the ache low in her abdomen on waking that morning, she'd felt another little piece of her heart splinter that little bit more as the reality hit her fully.
"Talk to me Jac" He reaches a hand and places it over hers. It's warm from where it had been clasped around his mug, and for the first time she realises that actually she's feeling more than a little cold. She swallows hard, the words edging closer to the tip of her tongue.
"I got my period today" she says finally, in a voice so quiet it is unrecognisable as her own. She feels his warm fingers curl around her hand lifting it slightly until it is encompassed by his hand. It's only then that she feels tears slip down her cheeks. She has resisted them for days; felt them filling her eyes before she had quickly managed to squander them. Only this time they had caught her unawares and she'd been unable to prevent them creating a pathway down her face.
"I" She can no longer see him properly, her vision now blurred but she thinks he has shifted a little closer. And then she feels his arms around her body, and she thinks perhaps he knew that words wouldn't help her right now. She stiffens for a moment before she relaxes in to his embrace. She feels the wet patch developing on the material of his scrub top as her tears pool, but unable to see his face – and knowing he cannot see hers – relays some of the feelings of self-consciousness she feels at her emotional display.
Against his chest she tries to verbalise how she feels. That she knows that now isn't the best time for her to be having a baby – and especially one she isn't even sure she wants but that still she cannot help but feel upset because it doesn't exist, even though that makes her feel stupid. She tries to say these things but somehow the words get stuck in her throat, and she cannot bring them any further forward. But somehow it doesn't matter, as she feels his arms tighten just that little bit more around her. A silent acknowledgement of what he knows – and an acceptance that now is not the time to discover what his doesn't.
Resting her body against his, she allows herself to draw comfort from his embrace, while trying not to give in to the cramps which twist at her abdomen. She bites down on her lower lip to prevent another groan escaping, her body tensed in his arms.
"Do you want me to get you some painkillers?" he speaks finally, breaking the moment and she could curse him for that. She feels his grip loosen, as though he is already prepared to move away from her and she cannot help but think he is trying to escape from her. She shakes her head before she looks up at him, "I don't know how to help" she hears the slight desperation in his tone, and she understands. He isn't used to seeing her this way, so few people are. Normally she would have disappeared to a place of hiding and yet the only place in which she has felt something resembling alright has been in the moments when he had held her. She swallows hard, dreading saying words that show weakness, that ask of him something he may not be willing to give.
"Hold me," she speaks quietly, "Just hold me." it's a simple request that's met with a momentary look of surprise before his arms pull her more tightly against him once more. She feels his lips connect with the top of her head, and the whisper of words – that she cannot quite distinguish – in her ears, and slowly she allows her eyes to close.