"You have got to be kidding me."
Fletch winced, glancing around self-consciously as Jac's voice filled the mostly silent hotel lobby. An elderly woman looked up from her newspaper, frowning over her spectacles as the thoroughly pissed-off surgeon addressed the girl behind the front desk. He attempted to smile apologetically at her, but the gesture manifested itself as a grimace on his face and the woman merely frowned and returned to her reading.
"I'm very sorry, madam," the receptionist was stammering, her cheeks flushing to a shade similar to that of the insipid-pink wallpaper behind the desk. "There must have been an error on the system – it happens sometimes when we're at full capacity and-"
"That's your problem, not mine," came the blunt interjection. Jac's own complexion was devoid of all colour; she had been tense during the flight out and had barely spoken for the entire journey. Initially Fletch had put it down to lack of sleep, but he worried privately that there might be more to it. It had only been two months since she'd been shot, after all. Two months also since Ollie Valentine had been shot, and Raf... Fletch's knuckles whitened against the desk.
"Look, it doesn't matter," He cut across before either woman could speak again. He glanced across from Jac to the receptionist. "Can't you just book us in again?"
She blanched a little at his question. "Um, I'm afraid there's only one room left. It's, er…" she looked quickly down at the computer screen and her mildly uncomfortable expression morphed into one of abject embarrassment. "It's a double."
"Incredible," Jac snorted, shaking her head. Fletch swallowed, weighing up the options in his mind. The very-important-must-not-be-missed conference on cooperation between surgeons and nursing staff in cardiothoracic surgery, which Hanssen had of course decided they absolutely had to attend, started the next morning and they were practically in the middle of the Scottish highlands; there was no chance of finding a hotel near enough to get back there in time without them having to wake up at some ungodly hour each morning to travel across a few mountains, and as much as Fletch was terrified by the thought of sharing a room with Jac Naylor, he valued his sleep just a little more. Besides, they had grown fairly close over the past couple of months, and he would almost be inclined to call her a mate if it weren't for the fact that Jac had made it abundantly clear that she didn't do friends. Sharing a room with her for a few nights would be awkward, yes, but they were both adults, and both professionals at that.
Entertaining the thought, Fletch looked across at her. The amused expression slipped instantly from her face.
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head at him. "No way."
"It's only three nights," he reasoned.
"We can find another hotel."
"This is the only one for miles."
"I'm going back to Holby," Jac stated promptly. He let out a frustrated huff.
"Our return flight isn't until Saturday."
"Then I'll walk." She pursed her lips, meeting his gaze directly before fumbling for the handle of her suitcase.
"Jac." He reached out to grip the top of her arm. "It can't be that bad, surely." She raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly retracted his hand. "Sorry. Look, you can take the bed and I'll sleep on the floor - it is just for a couple of nights."
Her nostrils flared and there was a lengthy pause before she sighed, eyes fluttering closed in an admission of defeat. "Fine. But if you snore I'm kicking you out."
"Duly noted," he scoffed, turning back to the girl behind the desk, who looked equally bemused and terrified at the exchange that had taken place before her. "We'll take that room then please."
"Just a moment," she said, relief evident in her demeanour as she tapped at the computer keyboard for a few moments. "Okay, you're booked in. I'll just get the welcome booklet and the keycards for you."
"Thanks," Fletch smiled, all too aware of Jac sulking silently beside him. Once the receptionist had retreated a little to retrieve the keys, she looked up at him accusingly. "It's not my fault," he protested mildly. "And I'm not exactly happy about it either."
"Yeah? Well I'm calling dibs on the first shower," she huffed. "I'm going to kill Hanssen."
"Say the word and I'll lend a hand," he muttered in response. Jac seemed slightly taken aback by that, raising her eyebrows at him, but before she had the chance to comment on this newfound aggression towards their CEO the receptionist returned, sliding a plastic wallet and an envelope across the desk.
"There you go," she said with an apprehensive smile. "It's the third floor, right at the end. The dining hall is through that door over there – breakfast is from 7:30. And if you have any questions there'll always be someone on reception to help you out. There's more information in the welcome pack if you need it"
Jac had snatched up the documents before she managed to finish, and was storming across the lobby in the direction of the lift. Fletch had little choice but to smile apologetically and mutter a quick thanks to the receptionist before hurrying after her with both suitcases in tow. The room had fallen silent again, except for the clicks of Jac's heels against the marble floor and the faint hum of conversation from somewhere behind the far wall.
"You forgot something," he grumbled as they drew to a halt at the lift doors.
"If you meant my rationality, I was just wondering about that myself."
"I meant your suitcase," he scowled.
"Oh. So I did." She cast a small smile in his direction and he found it difficult to respond after that; Naylor smiles had been few and far between since the shooting, even if it was just the briefest twitch of her lips. Not that they had been particularly abundant before the shooting, he reminded himself quickly.
The doors of the lift opened, putting an abrupt stop to his musings and triggering another, distinctly less pleasant line of thought. As Jac stepped forwards into the cage the image of Raf's bleeding body manifested itself in his mind. It happened every time he stepped into the lift at Holby – he had taken to using the stairs to avoid repeated reminders of his best friend's death every time he wanted to move between wards, but for some reason he hadn't quite expected the image to follow him all the way to Scotland. Fletch squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away whilst he followed Jac into the lift, and yet that in itself was futile; the vision was practically branded into his memory. The doors slid shut.
If Jac noticed he was particularly absent during the brief journey to the third floor then she said nothing, and they passed it in silence. All the same, he was acutely aware of her breathing, hypersensitive to every noise and movement beside him, however slight. It was a reflex that had come about subconsciously, following her breakdown after operating alongside Gaskell, and was one which he could only compare to the way he instinctively knew whether one of the kids was upset or angry by small changes in their mannerisms. In a way he was glad of it; the sound of her soft exhales and the tapping of her fingers against the files she was carrying were a welcome distraction from the memory of Raf induced by their setting. Still, he was relieved to leave once the lift had pulled to a halt at the third floor, and followed Jac out into the hallway with uncharacteristic haste.
The corridor was long, as they often are in hotels, with the rooms on one side forming one side of the perimeter of the building, and Fletch was reminded of Summer holidays with the kids, when Natalie was still alive and they could afford holidays with the help of Tesco vouchers and input from her parents. A lot had changed since then.
As the expanse of doors and badly-chosen carpet dragged on, so too did the silence between him and Jac, and he began to wonder how much of her reluctance to speak was a result of the room situation. His thoughts were cut short however, this time by a short, humourless laugh from the surgeon in question.
"Oh, this is unreal."
"What is it?" He asked, tugging the suitcases the extra couple of metres to join her at the very end of the corridor. Jac pursed her lips, looking pointedly to the door of their allocated room, upon which an elegant golden script denoted their residence for the next three days.
"Welcome to the honeymoon suite, Fletcher."