Well I'll be honest this didn't end quite as I planned - I think maybe writing at this hour wasn't my best idea :-/ But this is the last part of this and I hope that it's ok :-) Thank you to anyone who has read it.

She shouldn't let it affect her. She'd known all along that it was going to happen. He was the type of man who was destined to have that life, the cottage with roses around the door and a swing in the back garden. They'd be a dopey dog running about the place, followed by a gaggle of children all with his curly hair. In the kitchen, his wife would watch with a smile on her face, and he would come up behind her and wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. Her body would probably be soft from bearing his many children, chances are her abdomen would have a slight swell as she grew the next within her. That was the life that he should lead – a life that was never going to be hers, though once he had suggested it.

This child, the one she hadn't even known she wanted, was her one chance. Perhaps she could conceive again but she cannot quite imagine herself in bed with another man but she knows she was 'lucky' for it to have happened this time. All those times they had slept together, and yet it was that one night, that occurred after they'd separated, that placed an embryo in to her uterus. A night when she had felt no need to take precautions because her chances of conceiving had dropped even lower due to her then recently discovered condition – which combined with her age – made motherhood seem like an unlikely event. And yet it had happened, and now she was rounded with that child. Her body no longer truly her own, as the child played havoc with not only her shape but also her emotions. And still, in the cruellest of twists, motherhood may still evade her because of that hole in her daughter's tiny diaphragm.

"Stay with me baby" she whispers the words to her daughter, as she rests a hand against the swell of her abdomen. She's lost count of the times she has spoken the words aloud, or let them roll silently around. A prayer, a wish. She places something in the words; the hope that something will let it happen. She has never been one for higher beings but she would plead with them all, believe in them with all her might, should they grant her daughter her life. If she could, she would lay down her own if it meant her daughter would grow up.

She knows by now, the nurses words will have spread around the hospital and it will be alight with even more gossip than before. It is something of an event, Jac Naylor not operating when she was supposed to. Not that they have the correct reason this time, not that they did previously either. But still she imagines the idea of her pissing herself is causing a wave of delight through the hospital. She hears the door opening, and groans.

"Just go away," she speaks without even looking at whoever has chosen to walk in uninvited. If it's the nurse come to offer another massage, she is not sure she can be held responsible for her actions. She silently begs her child's forgiveness should she accidently kill the nurse, and as the child rolls inside of her, she takes this as an okay. The door closes and she smiles, guessing that whoever it was has seen fit to leave her be.

"You weren't in theatre" she curses at the sound of a voice, though she has to praise his skills. On turn she finds he is leaning against her desk, having gotten there without her noticing. There's something like concern in his face, concern she has no doubt is for the baby and not her. As everyone knows, the baby is his priority, that and building up his new life. One she hopes involves their little girl.

"Very observant nurse Maconie," it's patronising and she knows it but it doesn't matter much. He doesn't seem to take much heed of it, "but as you can see I am not pushing out the baby, so you are free to go" she adds, hoping he will get the message. She wants nothing more than to be in the theatre, to have a scalpel in hand. That is a world in which she has the control, one in which her thoughts related only to the body before her and the task at hand. In that environment she doesn't have to worry about 50/50 odds, and whether tiny lungs are developing enough or whether she will get to cradle her daughter in her arms because her thoughts are tied up elsewhere. The theatre offers her an escape, but it is one that was not open for her today. He starts to move away but rather than going to the door, he settles himself on her sofa, hands covering his face for a moment.

"I was worried about you, Jac," she scoffs as he speaks. She doubts he thinks much of her now, she is little more than an incubator for their child now that there is another female on the scene. It had hurt how quickly she could be replaced in his life, how he had gone from trying so hard with her to nothing. He had given up at the point when she had started to let him back in and for the life of her she doesn't truly understand why. But still she is taunted by the key that lies abandoned in her desk drawer, "I knew it wasn't the baby"

"How?" she asks gently, she doesn't want to let herself believe that he is here for her but it strikes her this is the most they have spoken in weeks. His lips twist in to something resembling a small smile.

"Elliot was far too calm," she understands the smile now. Though she is not entirely sure how he is going to react, she is certain that the old man will leave no doubt in anyone's mind that baby Naylor is on the way. Sometimes she imagines him flapping about in a panic, probably envisioning having to deliver the baby himself because she has denied that she is in labour but other times she sees him practically bursting with pride, though his eyes hold a pain from not knowing what will be. Though she has not discussed it with him, she has spoken to her daughter about her grandpa Elliot knowing that he deserves the honorary title, just as Sacha will be an uncle of sorts to the child.

"So why are you here?" it doesn't make much sense. He has made it so very clear that he is over her, that he has all but given up with her and yet here is his sitting so close with that look of concern despite knowing the baby is still in the safety of her womb. He runs a hand through his hair.

"I was worried something was wrong with you," he sounds sincere enough, but she doesn't want to trust it. Her daughter wriggles and she rubs the spot gently. She wonders if this is her daughter's way of telling her to give daddy a chance, but then what does somebody not yet born know?

"Or you've heard the rumours that I'm banned from theatre because there's a risk of me leaving behind a puddle and you wanted to get it confirmed" her words come out bitterly, and she swallows hard, "Probably so you can tell you're fiancé and she can get it spread round the hospital from the horse's mouth" if only the nurse hadn't been there this morning she would have been none the wiser. She wouldn't have been privy to the fact that her bladder is weaker than it had been previously.

"I had no idea," he sounds genuine enough but then he'd once told her he was a compulsive liar as well. It makes a man hard to trust when those were some of the first words that came from his mouth, and yet she had tried to trust him, had come so close to doing it completely and then she had hit self destruct and somewhere along the way he'd started to help her.

"So you're fiancé didn't tell you that she was witness to it this morning?" she flushes a little at the admission, "because she seems to be letting everybody else know" she adds, making it clear that she knew exactly what had been going on at the desk. He tried to fix his expression in to one of surprise but failed, giving away that he too was aware of Bonnie's actions not so long before.

"She didn't tell me anything, Jac," and that surprises him a little given she'd tried to convince him that she was trying to help, it seemed bizarre she didn't offer this little insight in to Jac's condition when she was all too willing to confirm it to a group of gossips, "are you ok?" he adds it suddenly concerned that it's more of a problem than she's actually letting on.

"It wasn't anything major" she says softly, "the baby just caught me right and it happened, but it's fine and I'm dealing with it" it's an inconvenience yes she cannot deny that but she's also aware it could be a lot worse. Unlike what the gossip seems to be suggesting she is not leaving a trial of urine wherever she goes, or puddles in the places she stands. It's hardly even a regular occurrence, and if it does happen she is well prepared with a change of clothes on standby.

"So that's not why you're not in theatre?" he sound surprised, and then a realisation dawns in his face presumably his mind settling on the fact that something else must be wrong beyond the leaking.

"No, as far as I know Elliot doesn't know about that particular problem," she sighs a little, "But by the end of today, that won't be the case" she hates her private life being the subject of hospital gossip. The fact that people will be talking about her with no idea as to the truth of the matter, and it seems that at least in recent weeks the source of such tales has been the woman to whom he's attached himself. Like her daughter's condition suddenly being common knowledge and the fact she'd spent days having to dodge faux sympathy and well wishes from people who just didn't have a clue.

"Then what's going on Jac?" he shifts forward, to rest his elbows on his knees, twisting his body awkwardly so that he is still facing her. She sighs.

"It doesn't matter," she could talk to him but being open worries her. It's not that her problem embarrasses her, but it feels strange that suddenly he is here and interested and that causes a rise of suspicion in her chest. She knows that he asks after her, indeed she's heard Mo telling him to 'shut up and ask her yourself' more times than she cares to remember but he never does. Instead he slopes away and gives her peace before he starts up again.

"I might be able to help you," he offers her a smile, "I know I'm just a nurse but I do have my uses" She can't deny that's true and that in some ways she's missed it. She knows that if things were different he would be looking after her, that she would face absolutely nothing alone but because things aren't that way she fears letting him help. If she becomes reliant on him, then what'll she do when he's no longer around because she knows he won't stick around forever. She knows because he is no longer her Jonny.

"Surely your fiancé needs you and your uses," again a bitterness to her words that in so many ways gives away her feelings towards him. She sees his brow crease.

"She's not my fiancé"

"Not yet maybe," she shakes her head a little. It doesn't really matter if the ring isn't on her finger yet, it will be soon enough. It seems like the end of this particular story is already written. The prince has found his princess and no doubt they'll live happily ever after – or perhaps they are the king and queen, and her daughter the princess and she the wicked queen. Whatever, everything seems to have a foregone conclusion.

"I'm not so sure," he sighs, and again rakes his fingers through his hair, "and you are evading what I asked, just tell me what's wrong Jac?"

"I can't operate," she says it quietly, an admission she hates to make, "I physically cannot operate" it pains her saying the words.

"But why?" he sounds confused, and she sighs.

"Carpel Tunnel Syndrome" she whispers, looking down at the hands she has rested on her lap. The hands which thanks to the fluid she has retained and pressure on the nerve prevent her from being able to do her job. She flexes the fingers, "It's been plaguing me for weeks, but today I couldn't" she pauses, and sighs.

"Couldn't what Jac?" his voice is soft.

"I couldn't hold a scalpel" she says it quickly, the words running together. Surgery is the one thing she can do, the one thing where she is unrivalled and unquestioned. It is her place, the place where she has the control and no even that has been taken away from her and it hurts. It hurts to admit, that now she cannot even do that. The scot leans further forward, an eyebrow raised, though he makes no attempt at speaking, "I probably could've done it, but Elliot caught me trying to manipulate the scalpel, trying to make my stupid fingers work properly."

"Maybe it's a sign Jac," he swallows, like he's about to say something that scares him. She raises an eyebrow to match his own, a challenging to him to open his mouth and get on with whatever he has to say. But he makes no further move to talk.

"A sign for what exactly?" she talks because he won't. She reaches out and makes a grab towards the pen that lies abandoned on her desk. She'd thrown it there in a fit of temper when she hadn't been able to grip it tightly enough earlier. She allows it to rest in the palm of her hand, staring at it.

"That you should stop working," he gets the words out and she has to force herself not to react as she wants to. She could scream at him, she could hurl abuse at him but instead she feels the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She swallows hard.

"There is no way that is going to happen," she cannot bear the idea of stopping work. As much as it leaves her exhausted, and she has to literally drag herself from her bed, she cannot imagine herself not coming here.

"Jac, if you can't operate …" he starts to talk, and the sensation in her stomach worsens. The idea of not operating, of not entering her domain until this resolves itself scares her. The fact that her fingers could remain like this until her daughter makes her way in to the world, and that there is a risk may not resolve itself after, that potentially she may not be able to go in to theatre for some time. And yet her body was cruel, because sometimes it wasn't so bad like that morning and she would have been able to operate. But what if it went wrong while she was in theatre, and she was forced to abandon her post, or worse made a mistake that could cost her patient dearly. So what use was she?

"I'm not stopping work," there's a desperation in her tone, the need for him to tell her that she doesn't have too. That actually she does still have her use here, and yet if she can't operate then even F1 is more use than her.

"No one will think any less of you" he tries to keep his voice level, a reasonable tone. She knows too that he is right, no one will judge her because she has taken leave ahead of her daughter's birth, or that is no one but herself will judge her. And altogether that is the crux of the issue, her own sense of failure if she cannot quite live up to her own standards.

"No?" she raises an eyebrow, "Connie Beauchamp worked up until the day she delivered her daughter, and the same is true of Chrissie Williams" But then she knows with those two women it was taken out of their hands but still her point held they had worked until the date of the child's birth - quite literally.

"But most normal people don't," he bites a little, frustrated by her but not quite able to see that there might be something more to her resistance than meets the eyes, "My sister Lucy, she was like you and thought she could do it all but y'know what Jac, she got to 36 weeks and she couldn't do it anymore and nobody judged her for that"

"Do you want me to give her a medal or something?" she shakes her head. Somehow between his sisters, Jonny has a story for most occasions, particularly when he wants to get his own way with something or to make a point about a 'female' issue.

"There's no shame in needing a break," he runs his fingers through his hair once more, as though trying to drag forward the next part of his argument in to the forefront of his mind, "in fact they have this thing now called maternity leave, perhaps you've heard of it?" he tries to smile, that boyish smile that she had once loved so much - though equally found infuriating.

"I'm needed here, Jonny," it's an old trick, switching focus away from herself and on to the ward which she has come to love. The ward which is very much her home, though not a conventional one. Perhaps that would have changed with the arrival of her daughter; home becoming the place in which she lived rather than the place in which she worked. But in the confines of her flat she didn't really have much of a life, but here, here she lived the life which had once seemed to object of her dreams. and it seemed that now her daughter wouldn't change it either.

"But if you can't operate," he goes back to that fact and she curses him for it, seemingly outloud based on his reaction though she hadn't intended to do so.

"There's other things I can do," she rolls the pen slightly in her hand, not quite daring to allow her fingers to close around it, to test whether she can even grip that enough to write. She looks down at her hand, a hand visibly swollen or at least to her eyes. Finally she glances up to meet his eyes, and the soft expression there.

"Like what Jac?" but she cannot answer him, "you won't be able to do any clinical procedures if you don't have the ability to hold the equipment and if you can't even hold your pen, you aren't going to be able to fill in notes and we've all seen it, Jac, your struggling to get through each day," he's not taunting her, not like the little voice in her mind that cruelly shouts each thing she cannot currently do at her.

"I'm fine," she says it as convincingly as she can manage, though she knows it falls short by the way he raises his eyebrow and tilts his head slightly to one side. She knows that he would never have believed her anyway, even if she had been more successful with the lie.

"Jac, sweetheart," it startles the pair of them how easily that come from his lips, "you look exhausted,"

"Thanks for that," she recovers enough to respond, but still she cannot quite ignore how she felt in the moment he'd used that term towards her.

"I didn't mean it like that," he slowly exhales, even she has to admit there is something of a weary tone to his voice, "You know I didn't mean it like that but Jac, you need to take care of yourself, this isn't doing you any good."

"and why does it matter to you?" The words are desperate, filled with too many emotions to name. Her eyes flash with them, each one battling for dominance though she tries valiantly to try to contain each one, to push it back from where it came but it's all together too late, for he has seen what she tries so hard to conceal.

"You're carrying my, our, daughter, Jac," he says it like it's something she's forgotten, like somehow she can ignore the increasing weight in her uterus or the oh so pleasant symptoms the child causes her.

"and I am doing my best for her," the words come in a plea. She needs him to validate this, because try as she might it hards to believe that she is doing so, not when there is so much uncertainty. Already she feels she has let the baby down, already she has failed to protect her and yet there was nothing she could have done. And now, what more can she do now when the die already seems to have been cast.

"But what about you Jac?" he says it like he's talking to a small child and yet it doesn't make any sense to her. Evidently her face but show the confusion because once again he sighs softly, "I don't doubt you are doing your best for our daughter Jac but you have to take care of yourself too"

"Why?" she blinks, "Why this sudden interest in my well-being as well as the baby's?" she understands his concern for the child, of course she does but that is all that should matter to him now, and she has not doubted that it is - until now and she cannot let herself have that doubt. Not given he has declared loved for another, not when he had never done that for her,

"Answer me honestly," she senses the change in tact, the way he doesn't want to continue that line of questioning. She tilts her head slightly, not agreeing but not refusing either. He runs his hands over his chin, before planting them in his lap, balled in to fists to prevent their restless movement, "why don't you want to give up work and don't give me all that crap about the ward needing you, I want the truth?" the words come in a rush from his mouth, and she wishes he had asked any question but that. She swallows hard.

"How many nieces and nephews have you got Jonny?" instead of answering, she questions him and sees the confusion pass across his face. Then she sees the cogs turning as he tries to calculate the number, presumably trying to factor in any new arrivals that had not featured the last time he was asked. Perhaps in a few months time, one of his sisters would be factoring their child in to such a calculation.

"5" he says finally with a smile.

"and what did your sisters do when they were on maternity leave?" again she questions him and he looks confused for a moment before he smiles.

"Besides run to the toilet every five minutes, and complain you mean?" she shoots him a dirty look at that, one which is met by a cheeky smile, "well I suppose they went shopping a lot, y'know Caz almost gave birth in mothercare she was there so much, and Matt - Soph's husband - joked she could go in to decorating after all the work she did on the nursery" there's a happiness in his voice as he talks of his family and these little things and it breaks her heart a little to hear it.

"Don't you get it Jonny?" she asks quietly, allowing the pen to drop back on to the desk, the object sickening her. Instead she lets her hands fall back to her abdomen, to feel those small movements that let her know her daughter is awake.

"Get what?" he looks genuinely confused before a smile once more dances on his lips, "and with each one, Granny tried to teach them to knit but not one of them can, not even a stitch and poor granny would knit something pink everytime and not one of them has had a girl ..." and then the smile widens, as his brain twigs that he is indeed having a baby daughter.

"Jonny" she draws out his name, and he becomes less animated, "think about me, us" she strokes her bump silently willing her daughter not to be listening.

"I don't understand," he shakes his head, lost in the conversation.

'yet you are the only one who should understand' she wishes she could say that aloud. He is the only other person who should be able to understand and know what is going on inside of her head and yet he is sitting opposite her clueless as to why maternity leave is not an appealing prospect - other than the not having to leave her bed other than for toilet breaks.

"Your sisters, your granny, they knew they were going to get to bring their baby home" the words come quietly, so quietly she isn't even sure she's spoken them aloud, "I can't sit in my flat and look at the bare room that may never be used as our daughter's nursery even though I've already decided that's what it is, I can't buy her things that she may never need and then have to give it away, I can't sit on my own everyday just thinking about the what ifs, wondering if this is the day I'm going to lose her and trying to work out what the hell I'm going to do when I do" she looks away from him, turning her chair to face in the other direction so that he cannot see the tears that have welled in her eyes and threaten to fall.

"Jac" his voice sounds closer, and she feels hands rest against her shoulders, feels a gentle pressure as her chair is twisted back round and she is left having to face him. She could push him away, but she cannot quite bring herself too, "this is why I need you to look after yourself," he reaches to wipe away tears she hadn't even noticed begin to fall.

She shakes her head not comprehending.

"What happens when she's born Jac?" she looks down, away from him, "when you don't have her inside of you to sustain, when you don't have her to fight for" he's breathing hard, trying to contain emotions that are so close to the surface.

"I've managed before," but it's not really the truth. She's survived, she gives her body enough to keep it going, to get her through the day. She's come to learn that she doesn't need much, that she can run on the highs of the job. It doesn't keep much to keep a shell going.

"Look at me, Jac" and rather than give her the choice, he places a hand under her chin and tilts it upwards, "you've never looked after yourself properly, but I can't watch you waste away, not this time" his eyes shine back at hers, She thinks of those weeks after her endometriosis diagnosis, when she had slipped in to old ways, when nothing seemed to matter anymore because her body was as damaged as her soul - not that she entirely believed in the existence of a soul. No instead she had slipped in to a world where all that mattered was her work, but she had found that in those weeks things that would once had caused a shard of joy made her feel more hollow than before. The realisation had dawned that perhaps there was more to life, and more importantly that she wanted that.

"I won't ..." but the words sound empty.

"Every day that our daughter fights, I am going to be there by her side and yours, and if the day comes when she is struggling and she is losing her fight, I can't be watching you fall too" he swallows hard, "our daughter she doesn't get a choice, Jac, she can't chose but you, you don't have to make this harder on yourself"

"Make this harder, how can this be any harder?" as she talks salty tears fall in to her mouth. He shakes his head once more.

"We are in one of the worst situations imaginable, and I can't fix that and neither can you, but Jac, you don't have to be superwoman, you don't have to prove to me or to Mo or to Elliot that you can do this because we know, just as we know you are absolutely terrified but you can't go on like this" he pauses for breath, taking her hand in his, "neither of us can,"

"Jonny," she whispers his name, but he barely hears, sinking down on to his knees in front of her.

" I am terrified Jac, terrified that I am going to lose the best thing that has ever happened to me," tears start to roll unashamedly down his cheeks as he holds their hands against her abdomen, "and I am terrified about what that is going to do to you, because,"

"Because what Jonny?" somehow she chokes out the words, and he swallows hard.

"Because I know she's all you've got," with careful fingers, he strokes the skin of her hand. She squeezes his hand as best she can, trying to make sense of those words, "I know there's Elliot, and Mo, and Me but this baby, she was gonna be yours and I don't think I've ever seen so much love in a person's eyes as I see in yours for our daughter"

The tears threaten to choke her.

"I know I've let you down, the both of you" he shakes his head mournfully, "and I can't ever go back, but for what it's worth I'm sorry" he could reel of a list of things for which he apologises but it isn't needed, she understands. She understands that it goes back before their daughter's conception, and that it extends to the present day.

"I'm sorry too" she whispers the words that feel so unfamiliar on her tongue. An apology for pushing him in to making choices he probably wouldn't have made, an apology for not being the woman he needed her to be.

"Jac Naylor, apologising, I should get out my phone and record it," he smiles shakily, a watery smile that doesn't quite extend to his eyes. She forces her own lips to do the same.

"It's a one time deal Maconie," she answers, finally freeing her hands from his.

"Y'know my granny's got a wee cottage we could have for a few days" he rocks back a way, and at her raised eyebrow he smiles, "she's not there so no knitting lessons for you, just a couple of days rest" its a tempting offer but one she cannot take.

"Maybe you should take Bonnie," the words are soft, and as she says them she has to force herself not to let on any emotions. The idea of her meeting his family when she never has, despite the fact she carries his child, when at one point they were contemplating a life together.

"I'm not sure .." he warily eyes her bump, and she pats it gently,

"I've had no signs of labour, and Scotland isn't a million miles away and this is a first labour" she smiles wryly "besides a child that's half you and half me is hardly going to give me an easy ride is she so you'll have plenty of time to get back"

"I probably can't even get the time off," he argues slightly,

"but you suggested it to me" she answers almost instantly, and she sees in his face that she has beaten him with that.

"I suppose I did" he shakes his head, cursing his stupidity. She offers him another smile.

"Go enjoy yourself, and do all those annoyingly Scottish things you enjoy so much" she swallows not wanting to give in to the tears again, "and we'll see you when you get back, maybe you can bring her back a teddy bear or something" it's the first suggestion she's made of buying something for the baby, and it brings a momentary look of surprise to his face, before he nods and grins.

"A wee one in tartan" he sounds genuinely quite excited, "and perhaps a wee outfit for her too, she'll be the best dressed baby in NICU, our girl"

"You can go now" she's suddenly tired and, even more than before, she wants to be alone. He nods and pulls himself up, walking to the door. With his back turned, a tear slips free but she bats it hastily away as he turns back to her,

"You sure your going to be ok?"

"I'll have Elliot, and Mo, and Sacha" she sighs, "and Mr Thompson is sniffing around Mo again so no doubt he'll be close at hand too" it's becoming a little bit frustrating, the ever increasing presence of her obstetrician / gynaecologist. Jonny smiles at that, seemingly reassured.

"and I'll call you as soon as I'm back?"

"We'll look forward to it," she forces herself to smile at him, not wanting to think of the hours she's likely to while away watching her telephone and waiting for his call, to hear his voice once more. It isn't really her role to do that now, it should be Bonnie and yet she knows that is exactly what she'll end up doing though she'll probably slip in a quick nap.

"You look after yourself,"

"I will Jonny" and with a smile and a wave he walks out of the office, leaving her in silence once more. She turns her chair, twisting it so she is facing the window rather than the door, so that anyone entering will see only her back and she'll have enough time to hide the evidence of her tears. As her eyes studying the sky, already tinged red and orange with the fading day, she feels the tears begin to fall. Her arms forming a cradle around the bulge that is her daughter.

"It's just you and me" she whispers, and while she wishes it were different, she cannot help but feel a sense of peace settle over her.