Zoe knew what death looked like; she knew what it felt like to tell a patient and their families that there was nothing more she, or anyone else, could do for them. She knew the horrible sickness she felt when she read blood work or looked at the MRI results. Yet, despite all of this, she still held her professional detachment; her suit and armour against all the hurt in the world. When Abby had died she was more traumatised than upset, the repercussions of her death brought more pain than her passing – for her daughter, the one who was supposed to become hers until she realised she was too selfish to play families. Her own selfishness was her downfall, the chink in her armour. She had seen death, she knew how it ripped families apart, not that she had any form of functional family; but as a doctor she got to watch, to see, the sickness, the stress, the tears, the worries and the inevitable outcome. To her, it was a normal working day – nothing a bottle of wine and a bar of chocolate couldn't sort out.
To be on the other side wasn't something she liked, it made it worse that she understood what the doctors were saying at the appointments; his outcome was bleak and they both knew it. She hated being on this side of death, to have it happen to her; a bottle of wine couldn't solve her problems now. It killed her to watch him struggle, to see all the classic signs of a brain tumour presenting themselves in front of her. The Nick Jordan she knew was powerful, commanding and the only person she loved – except her self. The man she looked at now was weak, he'd sometimes ask her what their consultant was talking about; his memory not what it used to be, he wasn't a doctor anymore, he was a man who had a lose grasp of the medical world.
She held his hand through it all, from the diagnosis all those years ago until now. She'd watched him waste away in the hospital bed the first time around before she took the initiative to forge is signature. The she'd watched him rebuild his career, from the sideline this time, he didn't need her then. Eventually, he came back, she knew they'd always been in love even if they weren't together they were best friends until the very end.
The whole dynamic of their relationship changed the third time around everything was different when a tumour was killing you. They no longer went on dates, because he was embarrassed, self conscious of the tremors in his hands, scared that people noticed when he forgot words or proper etiquette. The sex was different too, it no longer happened anywhere and everywhere, it wasn't lustful and passionate. It was meaningful and tender, because both of them knew that every intimate moment could be last. The way he kissed her still sent shivers down her spine, that was one thing that would never change – the hold he had over her.
And now, here they were. In their final hours together, he had denied pain relief so he could be awake and conscious; to be with her. They'd argued, she'd called him and idiot but eventually relented. They squeezed together into the single hospital bed, covered by the duvet for their bed; Zoe knew it would be the one thing she could hold onto, her last moments with him would be there whenever she got into bed. The were surrounded by cards and flowers from well wishes, they were mainly 'get well soon' which Zoe found rather inappropriate due to the finality of their final stay in hospital. They brought chocolate too, which Zoe was steadily munching her way through as she cried the tears had been endless for the past two hours which she had blamed on the film they were watching. She fed him small pieces every so often, not that he was really up to eating but he humoured her, trying to settle into their normal watching a film on the couch routine – which normally ended in sex, but not today. When they had slept together a few days ago she knew it would be the last, he was weak, physically and emotionally and had been extra gentle with her; it was like he was worried she would break, but she knew he was worried that he would break.
"I love you, Zoe" he mumbled, his words slurring slightly with the pain and exhaustion coursing through his body. The first words spoken in the recent hours did little to break the awkwardness in the air.
She turned on her side to look at him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her and pull her close to him "I love you too" she mumbled against his lips as she kissed him, the taste of Nick Jordan now mingled with the saltiness of tears; she wasn't sure if they were his or hers.
"It's time for me to go" he mumbled against her head, cradling her crying body and rocking her slightly like an overgrown baby.
"No, it's not" she wailed as she banged her fist in his chest "it's not fair Nick" she cried, her tears soaking his pyjamas. She kissed him again as he closed his eyes and his grip on her loosened. The pulse oximeter turning into one long continuos beep drowned out by her tears.