Walls.

Well here you go! C'est fin. I'm going to be on the edge of my seat waiting for your opinions on this.. on here / twitter! It's also now longer than my undergrad dissertation ever was, life fail?! Thankyou for the feedback so far & in advance for anything that anybody has to say about this bit! X Sarah

8.

"Mo!" He's breathless on the phone, distracted and jumpy. "Mo, can you looks after Becs tomorrow morning? Just a couple of hours?"

"Er, sure, I think so. Jonny what's going on?"

"It's going to happen!" He stumbles over the words, excited. "We're going to be a family."

ooooo

Jac feels giddy. Her heart is hammering at twice its natural speed and her head is spinning with surprise at herself. It's January. It's almost midnight and it's freezing, and she feels that so acutely. To feel is wonderful, magical, a privilege. Her nose is tingling in the icy air and she's grinning, eyes stinging and arms shivering with the cold. Jonny has been visiting every Saturday for six months now, and she feels closer to him than she could ever have imagined, or ever wished for. But today is Monday, and that's why she's giggling with the idea of seeing his face tonight. It's something that goes sharply against the grain of her routine, that which she thought was her crutch. No, this is spontaneity, and it feels glorious. She'd jumped on the tube at Turnpike Lane with no real action plan and now she's at St Paul's. Somebody had been smiling down on her because she'd found an Oyster card, dropped, in the entrance to the station. It has twenty quid on it, and she explains this to a tramp that she gives it to on the Cathedral steps. Once past the iconic landmark she dives down a narrow street in the mish-mash network that makes up the oldest part of the city. She's come here instinctively for this is where she lived as a student, in the basement of the hotel that she worked in. The streets are awash with faceless suits and laughter, huddled groups shrouded in cigarette smoke spill out of pubs. Some of them wander alone, stumbling, too far lost in the capillaries of confusion to be having a good time like the others. She takes the streets as she always has, catlike, sticking to the perimeters and blending into walls so that most wouldn't even notice her presence. She knows these streets better than she does the network of scars across her wrists. Streets that she hasn't crossed in years, stamped vividly on her brain, compared with the raised bumps on her flesh that she traces every night with her thumb. Her heart rate calms as she weaves expertly through them, comforted by the distant familiarity that makes her feel so alive. She turns a corner and finds what she's looking for, exactly where she left it. Her step slows and the corners of her lips twitch up a little, it feels like fate. The same cracked glass door and the same dingy neon sign. She trots up the steps and into the reception area of the 24 hour taxi firm, her eyes alight. "I need to go to Holby."

ooooo

Jonny is well aware that he shouldn't let Rebecca have any sleeping pattern that she pleases. He should be firm, and he should follow the rules set by his self proclaimed expert friends at work, and he shouldn't be sitting cross legged on the play mat in the living room at nearly 3am building a castle out of plastic squares. She's two, and she has a temper as fiery as her pigtails, and he's splitting so much time between work and Jac lately that he finds himself constantly missing her. That's why he can't resist her nocturnal tendencies. That's why he'll let the Nanny moan about her tantrums and her tiredness because she's been indulged with playtime in the wee hours. He feels a bit guilty, and selfish, but he's so worn out that he doesn't have the energy to give it too much thought. If nothing else, life has taught him that you snatch the happiness wherever you can. The doorbell interrupts him in the middle of his expressive shpeel as the Ogre that lives in the moat, and he frowns. "Who's that then, Becs?" He's confused, protective of his daughter and therefore a little more thrown off by a mystery midnight caller than he would have been as a bachelor. The doorbell rings again.

"Who dat?" She repeats the phrase, it's one of her current favourites.

"Stay here baby girl." He leaves her on the play mat, knowing full well that she'll make it her mission to be as far away from it as possible by the time he gets back, but persevering with the instruction anyway. His breath catches in his throat as he answers the door. Her name is on his tongue but he's speechless. Her eyes are wild and she looks as overwhelmed as he feels, which is confirmed as he sees them glaze over with a sheen of tears. She's breathless, from the stairs perhaps, and her hair is loose and windswept. He looks her up and down out of habit, because often there's a new ailment of some sort and he likes to keep up to date. Sometimes her skin will be flaring up or she'll have a chest infection; The lasting effect of a dormant section of lung where a cracked rib never quite healed properly. She looks good, apart from a splint on her left wrist that he already knows was due to a faint getting out of the shower. It reminds him of her fragility, and all the reasons why she lives where she does now. But she's here, and she's traipsed across the country in the dead of night on her own, and he's suddenly as uncertain of her state of mind as he ever has been. "You left the Unit?" Stating the obvious feels like a natural way to go.

"Yep." She's stilted, as unsure of the situation as he is, not expecting this awkward greeting but not expecting anything else for lack of forethought. "It's um, they're not, coming after me or anything. I'm not absconding from prison, Jonny." He wants to ask her why, but as usual he's too scared to push her so he remains silent.

"Who dat?" Her eyes flick over his shoulder and her lips part a little in surprise. Jonny can't breathe; He studies her so intently and he wishes he could be inside her head as he watches her lay eyes on her daughter, who's on all fours in the hallway now, for the first time.

"That's um. That's your Mum, Becs." His eyes are still trained on Jac.

"Oh." It's a bright little flippant squeak; A well versed routine. A question she'll ask and a response to his answer that the toddler will repeat a hundred times a day, usually when he's on the phone. The true gravity of this situation is lost on her of course. The meaning of this moment is unimportant to a child who is loved, who has experienced nothing but love, and who will welcome new faces into her fledgling existence without prejudice.

"See." Jonny barely whispers. "You're not too late." Jac's eyes have dried. She's shivering, or shaking a bit, entranced by the child on the floor. Her expectation, of course, hadn't got this far either. She hadn't forgotten, she doesn't think, she just hadn't thought. She hadn't thought this through at all. Her head spins and she places her good hand hastily on the door frame to steady herself and blinks. Jonny's studying her closely, he looks terrified. They're all balancing in a split second of impossible equilibrium, a coin spinning on a table, baited breaths waiting to see which way it falls. A snap of pure belief says it might not fall at all, it might slow and remain balanced against the odds. "Come in." He breaks the moment with a crash, impatience winning. "Come on, come in. You're freezing." She dithers in the doorway, back to earth and head turning to practicalities.

"There's a cab downstairs. It's um, sorry, it's quite a bill." She looks at her shoes and he leads her forwards into the hallway by her elbow.

"I'll sort it." He promises lightly, grabbing his wallet from the table by the door and disappearing at a jog. He has to get back to her as fast as he can because the questions are already starting to form, piling up, craving an explanation. He rings Mo on his way down the stairs. She's unimpressed by the hour but willing to help out. He's so giddy he barely knows what he's saying and she sounds sceptical and concerned. She wants him to be careful. Her sentiment strikes him properly on his way back up the stairs. He realises he's left Jac and Rebecca alone in his flat with no idea how volatile the situation is. He's flooded with panic, oddly reminded of a Maths problem where a farmer leaves a fox and a chicken by a riverside and one eats the other, and he takes the stairs three at a time with his pulse in his ears. He crashes back through the door that's been left ajar, gasping for breath and finding the hallway empty. There's a gurgly giggle from the living room and he stops short at its entrance, pausing to catch his breath and taken aback by the scene before him.

Jac feels numb. She knows that this will all hit her, that later it might hurt, but for now the feelings are suppressed. She's already overwhelmed by strange sensations so, from this moment at least, she remains emotionally detached. Warmed to her core and definitely okay. She follows the child through the flat, over to a large mat that's laid out in front of the sofa. Rebecca is silent, quietly inquisitive as opposed to shy, and she proffers a red plastic brick with a turret drawn on it by hand to Jac. She smiles, takes the present, and sits cross legged opposite the child, unable to guess that she's mirroring Jonny's earlier position. The castle is forgotten, abandoned, because Jac herself has become the most curious object in the room. Rebecca pushes herself up into a standing position, using Jac as leverage and grabs a whole fist full of her loose locks, transfixed by their unusual length and hue. Jac lets the child play, one hand instinctively hovering around her back to ensure she doesn't loose her tentative footing, the other still clutching onto the red brick. This is when Jonny reappears in the doorway, breathless and concerned, seemingly surprised to witness the smiles.

ooooo

They are resigned to the fact that they won't sleep until they've talked. Rebecca had spent a solid ten minutes examining Jac, who had remained equally as enraptured with her daughter, until they reluctantly agree that she really should be put to bed and there'll always be tomorrow. Now Jac waits diligently on the sofa in the living room, looking up with a smile as Jonny reappears clutching a baby monitor.

"Not much point." He waves the object in the air. "When she wakes up she needs a mute button not a transmitter, believe me. Quite the set of lungs." He's babbling and he knows it. In six months of visits to the Unit this is still the first time they've confronted the idea of their child together. Jac remains calm; He has a knack of making her feel like more than an outsider. Even now, as she's stepping into this life of his that she knows nothing about, his genuine demeanour makes her feel relaxed. He, in turn, looks a little uncomfortable in his own living room as he takes a seat next to her, knowing the small talk can't last forever. "So."

"So?"

"You're here." He still hasn't got past that bit. She nods carefully.

"I really wanted to see you. I'm sorry, I'll pay you back for the taxi." If she had any inkling of what kind of reception she was expecting, she thought it'd be easier than this. They've become so comfortable with each other recently, and it saddens her to think it's an equilibrium that only exists within the safe confounds of the Psychiatric Hospital.

"No, no. Don't. I'm glad you're here. More than you know." She looks sceptical, which is unsurprising considering his palpable unease. "I mean it. It's just, are you okay? Is everything okay?" He avoids the 'why' word, she notices, relieved for that at the moment.

"I'm good. I'm really fine, I promise." She holds his gaze as she speaks. It's only a sort of lie, an indirect one. A white one. "Better than ever." In many ways, it's not a lie at all. He juts his chin out a little, believing her and getting an urge to test the waters.

"So, you wanted to see me?"

"Needed. Both of you." She clarifies, glad to see that this sentiment, at least, unleashes a reckless grin from him. A happy moment that he won't let rationale spoil. It's one of her favourite things about him, his penchant for living in the now, and not questioning the good turns.

"Can I ask you a question?" He tries. His head is spinning and suddenly the things that have been on his mind for two years, eating their way through levels of his paranoia, are trying to trip off his tongue like a sandwich order.

"Anything."

"I know that you weren't yourself at the time. Maybe you can't answer me, maybe you don't even know, but, it's just, it was such a long time. More than a year, and." She's concentrating on his words intently. "Why did you shut me out? Why just me?" She bites her lip, but doesn't need long to consider the question.

"Because I love you." She speaks as if that's the answer to everything. He sighs, frustrated.

"That does'nae make any sense, Jac."

"I know. So, you're right, I probably can't explain it to you. I can't trust myself around you Jonny. My whole life has been about control, but the way I feel about you, and about that little girl, is anything but. It's a sort of love that's about instinct, and unfightable urges, and when I feel like that I don't know what I'll do next."

"I don't get it. I don't get how, out of everything, that can be what frightens you away."

"Because, not trusting myself is dangerous. On some level you've got to understand that. It's self destructing. It's almost getting myself killed in the name of protection." He frowns a little as she becomes breathless.

"Jac, it's okay. You don't have to."

"I do." She's firm and determined because she's started now. "Jonny, it's like, I can't be rational and that's what overwhelms me. I make the wrong decisions. I take stupid risks that put me on the edge of screwing up everything I've ever wanted in the name of it. You're right, it doesn't make sense. But there it is." The air is dense in the wake of her words. He still doesn't understand; Hates himself for not understanding. It's a confession that goes to explain so many of the fundamentals about Jac Naylor. The unchangeable characteristics brought about by unfortunate twists in nature and nurture. "When I'm with you, I'm standing on the edge of oblivion. I've seen the way you look at me, like you're scared of which way I'll fall. I don't know any more than you do. Can you relate to that at all?"

"Yes. No. That answers everything and nothing."

"I don't think there are any answers. You know, they used to treat psychosis with burr holes to let the evil out. And for all they know now, it could still be the most successful cure." He doesn't think she's serious but he's unnerved by how little evidence her expression holds to the contrary. He leaves a lengthy silence, and she lets him. She can feel herself tiring and she's glad he hasn't questioned her change of heart about her approach to recovery; Her sudden appearance that's ill considered at best. He watches her face, and a badly concealed yawn tells him that their situation is likely to make more sense after a few hours sleep. To Jac, it looks like he's still over thinking it. "I worry about what you must think of me, Jonny. About what I've put you through." She reaches forward and strokes her thumb underneath his tired eyes, her face full of concern. "What do you think about, when you can't sleep at night?" He can see the anguish, and the guilt in her expression. He shuffles closer to her on the sofa and urges her to lean into him a little. She does, and she turns her shoulders so he can rest his chin against her hair and they can continue candidly without the nerve shattering challenge of eye contact.

"I think." He starts. "Or, I wonder, what it feels like. For you, I mean. I try to imagine what you're going through." She doesn't know what to say to that, having already proclaimed herself exhausted of ways to explain the link between her feelings and her actions. "The thing that happened." She knows by now that he's referring to the incident in the corridor with the scissors. She's guilt ridden by how much it seems to haunt him. For her, it's part of a blurry, vacant time that she can't connect to her own reality or history. "Because, you were so scared. I've never seen anybody that scared. I try to imagine what that feels like." He shrugs against her. "I try to wish myself into your shoes because, if I could, I'd take this all away from you in a shot. But it's, you know it's so, like, I can't even imagine what I'd be taking." She twists around in his arms, cupping one of his cheeks with her hand and pressing her face against the other one. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut and is unable to combat the stray tears that trip off her eyelashes with the action. Tears for lost days, and tears that he too feels against his cheek. She doesn't think she's ever felt closer to another person, and she knows with such a certainty how much she loves him, and how much she hates that it's taken this long.

ooooo

Jonny creeps around his flat, subconsciously hunting for something that his hands could do. He feels like an idiot as he stalks stealthily up and down the short corridor between the two doors, Rebecca's and his own, each of which are open a crack and contain the two most important people in his life. He heard Jac get out of the shower in his bathroom and he's waiting for her to change into the set of pyjamas he left on the bed. Then he doesn't know what'll happen. He wonders if he should sleep on the sofa or embracing the Mother of his child, as he's dreamt about doing for so long. He pauses outside his bedroom, his attention caught by the movement from inside. From a certain angle he can see the full length mirror on the wardrobe door and she's reflected in it, dropping a fluffy towel and pulling on a pair of checkered pyjama bottoms. His breath catches in his throat and he looks away, then back again, then almost chokes. She's been picked apart and patched back together again in every possible way. That never ceases to surprise him. Her torso is mottled with over-tight skin, one patch in particular creeps from her stomach all the way around her back, shallow scarring from a previous attack of raw, itchy eczema. He sees the scar from the C section, too, and the way it's a deep purple against her pale complexion. It's messy, as were the circumstances of the Op, and not so well taken care of as her other scars. Lost in the fray, perhaps, or just too painful to face everyday? He feels tears in his eyes and he curses himself for he still loves her, and her physical appearance shouldn't affect him like this. He swallows and looks away, until he hears a gasp that draws his attention. Her arms rest forward on the dresser now. She's holding a t-shirt in a tight fist and her head is bowed, as if she's trying to steady herself before daring to put it on. He creeps back a few careful paces towards the lounge before calling after her.

"Jac? You okay?"

"Um." He can still see her frame in the mirror, and he's startled her. She starts to struggle with the t-shirt, clearly still feeling woozy and holding herself upright with the dresser. "Yeah, mm hm, one minute." He curses under his breath and pushes the door open, making her jump and squirm. She snakes her arms around her stomach, self conscious and trying to conceal her reality from him, which hurts if he's honest. She's weary, stumbling, and he envelops her in his grasp and leads her to sit down on the bed.

"Jac it's fine. Hey, it's fine. Here," He helps her put the t-shirt on and she avoids his gaze, hating this sudden onslaught of vulnerability. She stands again and he joins her, instinctively acting as her crutch. "Jac, Jesus." She's stumbling again, her face almost grey and her eyes squeezed shut. "You're going to faint."

"No," she manages in a whisper. "Sick." She retches and he sweeps her towards the bathroom, letting his knees buckle with her and keeping one arm around her waist, one holding back her hair, as she expels the contents of her guts into his toilet. He sits diligently behind her, a chair, a rock, as she vomits and grimaces between bouts of it. He studies her face as she leans back into him, exhausted. He thinks this looks like something he recognises; It seems like something he's seen her work through before.

"Are you changing the meds again?"

"Yeah. Coming off them, slowly." It's not a lie, but she still feels guilty for the proud squeeze he gives her shoulder. "I've been getting dehydrated. I'm supposed to be on IV fluids." This explains the weakness, and he nods into her hair. It's still not a lie, just not the truth either. She knows she's putting an assumption, a connection in his head that she'll have to correct later, but for now she just wants a bit more time.

ooooo

"Feeling better?" Jonny's surprised to see Jac rejoin him in the living room, the colour back in her cheeks. He's been ensconced in his thoughts since he left her on request, oblivious to the passing of time and turning a red plastic brick over and over in his hands. She nods at him tentatively and he decides that she doesn't necessarily look like she's done throwing up so he jumps off the sofa and ushers her into his seat. She takes the brick off him as he does so and he looks at her strangely.

"What? She gave it to me, it's mine." He grins at her childish comment then darts off towards the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle. "Lucozade?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Rehydration. Well, the oldies are the best!" He hands it to her and she grasps it gratefully.

"No I mean, why do you have a fridge full of Lucozade?!"

"Not a fridge full just a multipack. Or two." He puffs his chest out defensively. "It's a sports drink!"

"What's that, in lieu of actually doing any exercise? I'm not sure that's how it works." He pouts at her.

"I do weights." He's stretching the truth a bit, but his toddler and elderly patients who need help to get to the toilet do in fact have weight. "Bloody heavy ones." He reiterates as he thinks about it.

"If you actually did weights your job wouldn't give you such a backache." She comments wryly, seeing right through him and causing him to snatch his hand away from the small of his back, which he's rubbing self indulgently. She makes a face as she gulps back the drink and he remembers her inhuman aversion to sweet things. He debates whether or not to get her a Berocca instead, and whether it'd be worth opening himself up to a whole new line of ridicule if she saw his extensive stash of that. It's not his fault. He's incredibly susceptible to bulk buy offers in Tesco. "I like your castle." She breaks the new silence, still turning the brick over in her hands and rubbing her thumb affectionately over the marker pen turret that he's drawn on it. He shrugs.

"Well at least somebody does. Becs doesn't fancy my carpentering skills. She commandeered all the tools and staged a vote of no confidence when I was called away to an important conference call with Auntie Mo." He indicates a corner of the coffee table as he speaks, where the wood has been stained by an extensive array of marker pen scribblings.

"Smart girl." Jac comments through a wide smile.

"Yeah, she never misses an opportunity to deface something." He rolls his eyes, remembering the incident with the last Nanny's white linen trousers, and his ill considered comment about her choice of attire that lead to her storming out and leaving him with a dry cleaning bill.

"Tell me more about her." Jac blurts out suddenly. Jonny pauses for a moment, warmed by the question and wondering where on earth to start.

"She's a cheeky wee madam." He summarises. "Not shy. I guess you got that." He stops again, trying to find the words to describe the personality of a toddler, who he usually only talks about in anecdotes until colleagues roll their eyes with boredom. Mary Claire openly threatened to un-friend him on Facebook if he uploaded one more 'cheesy photo.' He smiles as the thought pops into his head, and leaps back up off the sofa to retrieve his laptop from his bag. "Hang on a sec," Jac shifts in her seat, intrigued by his sudden action. "I've got a ton of photos." He starts to fire the thing up. "She has this little thing she does when she says 'no', stropping, she puts her hands on her hips and just glares at you, I swear she's the spit of you! It's so hard not to laugh. It kills Elliot." Jac leans in over his shoulder as he starts to scroll through albums.

"Wait." She holds her hand over his. "Go back. Start here." She picks the date that has so much gravitas attached to it, the 20th October 2013, and quickly locates the first few snaps that she's looking for. They're a little blurry at full screen size, taken hastily with a shaky hand and a flash reflected in the grainy perspex that separates the photographer from the inquisitive little face. She squeezes his hand more tightly, tears springing to her eyes, mesmerised by the image of her newborn baby. She clicks forward a couple of times and exclaims aloud, a choked gasp, when she finds the moment that Rebecca opened her eyes for the first time. She's oblivious to the way Jonny's eyes are trained on her so intently. His hands are clasped around her forearm now and he doesn't ever want to let go. He feels as if he's being given everything he ever wanted from day one, her pure unadulterated joy a gift to watch. It's unlike him to keep such an organised documentation of anything, that's more her style, but as he watches Jac's reaction to each photo, and hears the genuinely instinctive noises she makes at them, he realises this has been his purpose all along. After a little while he takes control of the keypad again, and accompanies the slideshow with a babbling commentary as she leans her head against his shoulder. His voice becomes hoarse and his back aches from the slumped position they're in before he eventually sees that she's fallen asleep against him. He smiles and shuts the laptop, placing it silently down onto the coffee table. She's woken by his stirring. "Mmm. Sorry." She speaks groggily.

"Shh." He tells her instinctively. "Let's get some sleep. Are we, sharing the bed?" She looks unsure at his suggestion, and he wonders if it's the self conscious anxiety from earlier. He doesn't know how to approach that, reassure her, without making it worse.

"If you want." He sighs.

"I just want to look after you." She nods and he hopes it's genuine. They head to the bedroom and she sneaks gratefully beneath the sheets, eyelids already drooping before he sets a glass of water on her bedside table and brushes a strand of hair away from her face. By this point his alarm is less than an hour from sounding, so he flicks it off. She sleeps fitfully, and he barely closes his red rimmed eyes at all. Every time she murmurs or shifts under the sheets it piques his attention and distances him further from slumber, just as he had been when he first brought Rebecca home. She creeps closer to him over the next few hours, and by the time the pale winter sunlight creeps through the blinds and a tiny set of hands push the door open she's nestled in his embrace.

ooooo

"Morning." Jac opens her eyes with a sleepy smile. Sunlight fills the room and Jonny perches on the bed and sets a steaming mug beside her. "Double strength filter coffee with steamed milk, no sugar." He announces proudly, and she draws herself up against the pillows as her nostrils welcome the scent. The action sends a searing pain through her skull and she winces, bringing her injured hand up to her head. "How're you feeling?" He adds, with a note of concern.

"Headache, it's fine. Morning. And thank you." She takes a tentative sip of the coffee, feeling achy, stomach churning, which makes her acutely aware that she needs to end this fairytale.

"You look pale." He speaks carefully. "You said you should be on IV fluids." She shuts her eyes, the topic a little heavy when she hasn't even brushed her teeth yet, and she heaves herself off the pillows more energetically than she'd like to.

"Where's Rebecca?"

"Mo's taken her for a few hours." He utters the words apologetically and her eyes flick to the alarm, widening when she notices it's gone nine.

"Right."

"There's breakfast in the kitchen. You need to eat." He gives her shoulder a squeeze then leaves her to get changed. Jac takes the process slowly, and with the bedroom door firmly closed this time, before padding through the flat to find Jonny hovering over a sizzling pan that smells like eggs whilst smoke starts to billow from the toaster. She flicks it off and snatches the toast onto the waiting plate as she walks past, grabbing his attention, and noting that this is the most domesticated version of him she's ever seen. "Food!" He announces decidedly, tipping the eggs from the pan onto the plate she proffers, balking a bit at the amount of oil he lets slither on after them. "You need to eat." He repeats quietly, noticing her expression.

"I know, but don't take it personally if this reappears." She tips the plate and her expression turns into a grimace as a yolk breaks and mingles with the puddle of grease. "Actually, do." He laughs and pushes her in the direction of the sofa, muttering something about a good hearty breakfast in a comically broad accent. She munches carefully through a slice whilst he wolfs down the other, and then they find themselves in much the same position as the evening before. Slightly refreshed, but with unfinished business nonetheless.

"Jac-"

"Why?" She finishes for him, and he pauses, then nods. "I have something I need to tell you." Her tone turns, silencing him, and for a moment she has absolutely no idea how to start. She opens her mouth to say it but chickens out, and an image of the person she's been thinking a lot about lately springs into her mind. "My Mother." She twists inwardly as she exclaims the words under her breath, surprising herself, and then she starts to talk. "It's funny really, that this all comes back to her. It feels a bit like fate. Of course, I never believed in fate. But it feels like it was always meant to be this way, or something." He takes her hand in his, foreboding, silent.

"What do you mean?"

"These past two years I've had a lot of time to think. Thinking about how a Mother could leave her child, could be anywhere else but at home, and all the different kind of motivations for that. I always used to think it was simple but it isn't. I know my Mum was a really, really crappy parent. I know that what she did was wrong, but, I'm starting to think I can empathise with it. That there can be reasons. I understand her and I see that in myself, too. That selfishness." Jonny shakes his head vigorously.

"You're wrong. You'll never let us down because you won't stop fighting. You're the most unselfish, loyal, strongest person I know." He harks back to words spoken to him by Sacha Levy, as Jonny had cradled his newborn in his arms, a lifetime of hope ago.

"I've already let her down. More than she'll hopefully ever have to know."

"You haven't. You're here now, that's what counts." She looks away from him, eyes glazing over and a head full of conflicting emotions.

"I got my tests back." She speaks quietly, regretfully, referring to the routine set of samples that were taken after she fainted because she was probably a bit anaemic. "I'm ill, Jonny." His heart thunders in his chest as he tries to read her expression, frightened of what it might tell him. He wants to say 'yes', yes I know you are but you're getting better and everything is going to be okay. He knows that isn't what she's talking about though. He just knows something big must have happened, that before this is over there's got to be one final twist. There'll be a knife in his gut, a cruel trick from the gods that just aren't done torturing them yet. One more hurdle. The last hurdle. He just knows.

"Go on."

"It's the long term medication. I always knew this might happen, it's not really a surprise."

"Jac, tell me."

"My kidney's failing." The room is dampened with her words. The life is crushed out of his flat for a minute. The implications are clear. She always knew this might happen. She always knew it was kill or cure.

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"No, not now, no."

"Jonny,"

"You'll be okay." He pulls her towards him and she's a featherweight in his arms, brimming with lethargy. "I'll sort it. We'll find a donor, everything will be okay."

"There's nobody." She whispers, trying to abate his optimism because what goes up must come crashing back down and the higher you climb the harder the fall. She knows that better than anybody. She knows what it feels like to be left to rot and to be broken in every way. The last twist is a harsh one, a little bit of evil, a mocking joke that her own Mother still had something left to take and to be blamed for; Another way to hurt her that's out of anybody's control.

Fin.