First off, I want to apologize for how many months this took, but I finished my exams last week and I wanted to get it out there asap! Since it has been so long, you might have to re-read the previous chapters haha :')
Day Seven
It was blank, this place. Whites and greys and not much else. The space was expansive, with a cinereal mist undulating and arching as if alive and thinking. There was almost no noise, spare the soft whoosh of passing vapour, and the silence seemed to weigh heavily on the dense air.
It had been a week since Jac Naylor had awoken here.
She could not determine where, or when, or even what, here was, but a strange acceptance had come upon her on the fourth or fifth day of nothingness, as if she knew it was temporary. The boredom, of course, had been harder to bear, for she was alone in this purgatory that stretched further than she could see. Sometimes, there were chaste whispers riding the spray of fog, a tumbling of timbres and tones that she thought she recognised, but they whipped away before her memories caught up with them.
Sitting cross-legged upon the ivory floor, Jac closed her eyes, her forehead creasing in concentration, her ears pricked, attuned to any atmospheric shift.
There.
The dim, dulcet tick of a clock swam around her. It had become a comfort these past few days, grounding her to the real world. She felt a slight tingle in her hand, a feathery touch traversing her palm, and ached for the concreteness of real sensation.
Her reverie did not last long, for the rolling fog skulked over her, and the sky mutated into some overcast beast, slit by contours of light. A rolling groan from above, and the splatter of rain upon her face, were enough to have Jac prise her eyes open in surprise and glance upwards.
This was different. That unnerved her.
She swivelled in reaction to a sound at her left, a quiet shuffling of indeterminate distance. In her periphery stood a figure, indistinct against the mist and the hail. Jac squinted, desperate to identify the peculiar thing. It was when she blinked that she felt its breath tickle her neck, and a cold hand on her shoulder.
"Jasmine," she murmured softly. The apparition blinked out of existence.
Day Eight
It took some time before the shift in the atmosphere presented itself once again. Jac closed her eyes against the cold, bracing herself for both the creeping chill and what, or rather who, it signified. She forced them open to turn slowly on her heel. The pellucid phantom sat a few metres away, cross-legged and flickering like some abandoned ember. In Jasmine's hands was a small paper plane, crisp and rustling underneath her fiddling fingertips; she flew the aircraft, adding sound-effects to her little game.
Jac had dreamt of this moment. She had spent months imaging a re-do, a last conversation that wasn't shrouded in spite, nor panicked utterings and bleeding wounds. And, yet, when she stood, staring down at her sister, her mind saw only blankness, as if it had permeated from the outside.
She fell back to her old routines. "Shouldn't you be six feet under right about now?"
Jasmine did not spare her a glance. "And it's nice to see you too, sis."
"Can't say the feeling's mutual," Jac drawled, but even to her ears the words felt fake. Jasmine lifted her head up, abandoning the plane in the hollow between her legs.
"Yeah? Then what am I doing here?" Her sibling challenged, raising an eyebrow.
Jac narrowed her eyes. "I don't know, but I'd say a flying visit is too much to hope for."
"You really don't know? I'm your sister-"
Jac chuckled darkly. "Only now you're more Jacob Marley than little Fan."
Jasmine raised her hands in defence. "Okay, Scrooge," she teased gently, earning herself a glare, "I'm just saying your subconscious is a little more transparent than you'd think."
The glower reshuffled into incredulity. "Bloody delusional, more like," Jac muttered with a shake of her head, "This is- "
"Mental? Cuckoo? Stark raving mad?" Jasmine propounded, a little too eagerly.
"- an absolute nightmare," Jac finished, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Her sister paused. "Little bit harsh."
Before an appropriate response was made, there was a soft thud. Jac, unaccustomed to such blatant noise, flinched, but Jasmine seemed unfazed.
"That'll be Fletch with the morning report. Consistent, your fella."
Jac reeled, eyes widening at the news, and the naturality at which it was said. Filled with some blossoming of feeling, a small smile crossed her lips at the image of Adrian by her bedside. This was why it took her far too long to register the second sentence. A flurry of rose bleached her cheeks at the implication, and she tugged at her fallen composure.
"Oh, please, I'd rather be strangled by my own intestinal organs than sleep with the likes of Adrian Fletcher." Again, her lies were tragically incredible.
Jasmine winked at her. "If that's your kink." Her sister scowled, which only made her smirk grow. "Sorry, I just think it's nice that you let him in. It's not like you."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
Jasmine faltered under Jac's demanding stare, and she sighed quietly. "I never got the chance to get close to you. And I tried so hard, but it was always one wall after the other." She looked down, once again tempted to cradle the paper plane in her palms. "I know you think that makes me naïve and stupid, but- "
"It was never worth the effort," Jac interrupted, her voice sharp and edging on cruel. "I was never worth it," she clarified, emphasising the pronoun. "Whatever lies that woman spewed about me, and whatever childish fantasy you had somehow contrived from them, they set you up to fail. I pitied you for it, yes, but I was never going to let you in." Jac kept pushing and pushing, and yet she couldn't stop herself. "You were naïve to believe that I would. You were stupid to keep trying."
Jasmine listened intently to every word, all the hurt and the pain amalgamating to form the tears that wet her eyes and splintered Jac's icy heart. She shook her head. "You still don't get it," Jasmine murmured, collecting the courage to look up at her. "I came to Holby to find you. My sister."
She grasped the plane tenderly before standing tall, on level with Jac. "And you didn't want me to go, not in the end." Their eyes met, and, in that moment, in the creases that crept onto Jac's skin and the stunned, overcast silence, Jasmine knew she was right.
And she dissipated.
Day Nine
The cold before the storm was now becoming a familiar distraction from the vast nothingness. Still, Jac played her part and groaned when the chill hit the back of her neck. "Oh god, it's like trying to shake genital herpes."
Jasmine appeared to her left. "Charming." Tucked under her arms was a frayed, tan box. She boosted it slightly, stressing the thing's presence. "Figured you might be bored."
"So, you thought, 'hey presto, a cardboard box', Jac drawled wryly. "How scintillating for my psyche."
Jasmine rolled her eyes. "It's a chess set," she stated dryly, plonking it on the floor before doing the same. She unhurriedly assembled the pieces, twisting her white queen into the two-dimensional square. Once the last pawn stood in formation, she gazed up at her sister with an expectant eyebrow. "Well, are you game or not?"
They played for a while, albeit one party a little begrudgingly. It was when Jasmine had set her last plan into motion that she spoke. "Mum taught me how to play," she risked, her voice soft. Jac's hand stilled, fingers strangling a black knight. "It was nice – me and her, bonding over some silly board game." Jac's steely gaze enveloped the girl whole.
"What she did to you was cruel, but she got better, you know? Really tried to be there for me, in her own way." Jasmine exhaled. "I miss her."
An image of herself, young and frail and cowering in a corner, crept upon Jac with legs of steel, anchored to her psyche. A wretched urchin, dull hair tatted, and skin smeared with dirt, watching her mother take hit after hit. Jac wished she could melt into the wall she so desperately pushed against as the needle came skidding towards her, some cruel punishment for her whimpering mouth.
"I guess what I'm really trying to say is that every kid needs her mother." Jasmine's sentiment plucked Jac from her memories.
"What, and I'm no different?" She said defensively, frowning. "Newsflash for you, Casper, but mother dearest is rotting in the ninth circle of hell."
"That's not what I meant. Emma is no different. She needs you."
The name twisted through her internal organs with the merciless apathy of a whirlwind. "And there's nothing I can do for her while I'm stuck here in limbo." Jac waved her arms around, before they settled to move her knight. "Talk about divine comedy."
Jasmine was quiet for a few moments, until she slid her bishop forward. "Check," she murmured almost apologetically. She caught her sister's eye, holding her in a soul-searching trance. "If you ask me, Jac, 'stuck' is a pretty strong word."
With that, she was gone.
Day Ten
Jac's eyes were closed as she focused on the soft tumbleweed of tones passing her, seemingly swishing through her ears. Some were gangly, barely a low whisper, smothered beneath the fog. Others had left their mark – sweet murmurings of heartfelt promises that tore holes in her equanimity. She could discriminate between the low voices of two males, one rough and rugged, the other posher, but both with the sincerity that came with caring.
Jasmine wiped a nail down the cheek of the older face, over the blotches of red, traversing the trickle of a lone tear.
"Here," she said gently. "Let me show you." She clasped her sister's hand, and Jac marvelled at how solid it felt. This thought did not last long, however, for she had only to blink and they were in the hospital room, the clock chuckling down at them with unveiled mirth.
It was strange looking down upon her own body, to follow the path of greying wires burrowing into her arm. What was even stranger, Jac mused, was the smattering of personal possessions around her sleeping form. Flowers, photographs, books, and even the ruby ball cactus she thought would have been abandoned at home.
She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to accept what he had done for her, and what that truly meant. Indeed, it took a nudge from her sister for her resolve to crumble, and she laid eyes on him for the first time in god knows how long.
The dark bags that pressed into his skin, and the unkept shadow of stubble, compelled her nearer. Fletch was saying something.
"If you wake up now, I promise that I'll make more of an effort in getting to know you. Kid's books. Chicken salad. Blondie. Everything."
Unbidden, a small smile upturned the corners of her lips. With this, Jasmine let go of her hand. Jac sensed the finality of the action and whipped around to face her.
"He needs you more than I do," she said in explanation, her figure flickering, and opaqueness bleeding away.
"No." Jac shook her head, wisps of golden hair whipping about as if in mutual disagreement.
"It's time to wake up, sis."
Jac glanced between the two of them, a perfect picture of a torn being. Her sister smiled encouragingly, and, in that second, Jasmine was her elder, wise and reassuring and selfless. Jac knew what she had to do.
"I…" She began, swallowing away her fear, desperate to right her wrong. Almost translucent, it was the twinkle in Jasmine's eyes that remained. "I... love you," Jac stuttered out.
But Jasmine had vanished. Fraught optimism toppled from Jac's face, replaced with forlorn anguish, and a desperate hope that Jasmine had heard her. Her heart hurt, and it panged in grief, pained by the possibility that she had missed her chance again.
Jasmine blinked back into the nothingness. "I know," she whispered sadly. It was then that the paper plane soared above her, Jac's learned cursive glinting lovingly as Jasmine followed her peculiar guide into the white light.
Day Eleven
Fletch had began to lose hope, hand wrapped around hers, and back bent from leaning over her bedside. His face was buried into the sheets by her hip, exhausted and seeking comfort in their closeness. His promises hadn't worked. Fletch was starting to believe that they never would.
It was as this thought passed him by that he felt the weak pressure squeezing his fingers. Lifting his head in disbelief, he waited with baited breath, his words escaping him. He, in his buckets of time since that day, had, however, worked out a whole speech.
Still, he was not prepared when Jac Naylor opened her eyes.