It's been a rough week between work and personal things (like the anniversary of my brother's death) and outright drama (like some bitch stealing the license plate off my car, WTF), but here's a chapter that's actually crap! Because we're all worth it, right?

IX:

She had gotten up to go to the bathroom and had almost gone back to sleep when the phone rang, startling her out of the dream-like haze. Jean got up and grabbed her robe, tossing it on over her plain cotton nightgown and put on her slippers, rushing downstairs in the dark.

Lucien met her with his hand over the receiver. "It's Mr. Jones?" he said hesitantly.

Her brow furrowed; Maureen Jones wasn't due for another 9 weeks, and this was worrisome. "I've got this – go back to bed," she murmured. "Hello, Mr. Jones, it's Dr. Randall – what seems to be the problem? Is Maureen all right?"

"No, Doc, she's not – her water's broken and the midwife won't come because of the flooding."

Jean bit her lip and leaned against the door jam. The Jones farm was on a spit of land bordered by small creeks that were prone to flooding – perfect for bog crops and sheep farming, but during storms, flash flooding made it impossible to gain entry to or leave the property. Which was going to be a problem now. "Yes, well, you leave that problem to me," she said firmly. "How far apart are her contractions?"

"About eight minutes?"

She frowned – too close for comfort. "Well, then, I'd best hurry," she said gently. "And if you could boil some water and get some towels and newspaper ready for me?"

"Of course, Doc – and tea. I can make tea."

"I'll definitely need some of that," she said. "Thank you, Mr. Jones. I'll be there as soon as I can manage it." She hung up the phone and took a deep breath, then jumped when she realized that Lucien hadn't gone back to bed like she'd asked, and was, instead, hovering just outside of her peripheral vision. "Lucien –"

"You're going out in that weather?" he asked.

"I don't have much choice," she said. "Babies don't exactly wait for it to stop storming. I'll have to take the truck and probably the cable and winch in case I need to –"

"Jean, what the hell?" Lucien said, his eyes going wide.

"It's a farm on bogland," she sighed. "The only way I'm getting to the house is by harnessing to a tree and hauling myself through the creek. I've done it before –"

"No! Absolutely not – does my father know that you –"

She jutted out her jaw and glared at him. "You can't just turn up here after nearly four years away and tell me I can't keep going on as I have all this time," Jean said stubbornly. "I will be fine, Lucien. Go back to bed."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're going back to bed. I'm getting dressed and getting my supplies because I don't have time to argue with my husband who thinks he knows bloody everything about everything!" she snapped, turning on her heel and storming upstairs. How bloody dare he – who in the blazes did he think he was? She knew her business and she knew well enough what risks were too great. She had done this before, with Thomas's help, and she remembered how to do it. She gathered her things in the surgery and ran smack into Lucien, who had dressed in an old oilskin coat and hat. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm coming with you," he said firmly.

"No, you aren't," Jean snapped.

"Jean –"

"Lucien, you're going to fall over if the wind blows very hard at all," she said, grabbing her gummies and stuffing her feet into them quickly. Then she donned her raincoat and tied it down and glared at him when he seemed unwilling to move. "Lucien, I've got to go –"

"Jean, I am going with you, whether you like it or not," he said. "There is no way I'm letting you do this alone in the middle of the night in the dark."

She finally relented and thrust a lantern at him. "Fine," Jean muttered, "but you're convalescing, and you aren't meant to be doing things like this – "

"You shouldn't be doing things like this," he said pointedly.

"Stop lecturing me," she said, holding up one finger in his face. "You haven't got the right. If you're coming, you stay quiet – not a word once we get there, do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand," he said.

"I need to get the cable loaded into the truck," Jean muttered as she grabbed her bag and gestured for him to follow her. She got the keys to the truck – really, a 1940 Range Rover – and waited for him to catch up before they went into the deluge. The rain was really relentless, and they were hammered as they ran to the garage and loaded into the truck.

Once underway, she glanced over at him and fought a smirk when she noticed he was actually impressed with her driving skills. The easy part was getting through town and through the southern part of the bushland where the roads hadn't been wiped out yet – but about fifteen miles southwest of Ballarat, she pulled up on side of the bank where the crossing had been only a few hours before. Now it was only creek and banks and mess in the dark. She could barely see a tree on the other side – a big sturdy tree – and that was the one she knew she had to anchor to.

It was so much easier to do it in the daylight.

"You see the lights in the distance, there?" Jean said. "That's where we're going. We have to get across the creek."

"The road is washed out?" he asked.

"The creek is up probably three feet," she said. "So I could walk across on the road and secure the cable –"

"Absolutely not – I'll do that."

"Lucien, you've never done it," she said softly. "I have."

"Yes, and you're –"

"If you say I'm a woman, I will not be held responsible for my actions," Jean declared firmly, grabbing the cable and glaring at him. "I need you to stay here. I'll secure the cable to the truck, then walk across the road, secure the cable to the tree, and walk back. Then I'll retract the cable and steer the truck through the water."

He huffed. "I can steer the truck."

She glanced over at him and swallowed hard before she murmured, "Lucien… I don't know if you've looked in a mirror, but you're not –"

"Yes, I am aware that I look a fright."

"The current is relentless," she said, trying to find a delicate way of saying she didn't think he was up to the physical challenge. "I know you want to help, and if I need it, I will ask – I promise."

He was going to argue the point, but he stopped and shook his head. "At least take the torch," he muttered gruffly. "Please."

She nodded and slung the heavy cable over her shoulder, trying not to think about the fact that she was going to be up to her ribs in quick moving, chilly water. She smiled tightly and tucked a stray hair back behind her ear. "I'll be back soon," she promised. She grabbed the torch and was about to head out into the rain when he tugged on her hand and gently kissed her lips. "Lucien?" she whispered.

"I love you," he whispered back.

"I love you, too, ridiculous man," she scolded tenderly. "I'll be back," she assured him.

And into the darkness she went with only a feeble torchlight and a stone fence line to guide her. The water was cold and she tried to put it out of mind as she felt the chill spread through her body; she was a doctor and these were her patients – she was doing her job, trying to get to them. Once actually in the creekbed, she was at the mercy of the currents more, but she knew there was a path and she stuck doggedly to it, keeping the tree in her eyeline and never wavering, even when she was struck by something in the water and nearly fell. Her leg was an agony, but she kept going until she was on the other side and finally on the bank; dry land at last.

She secured the cable around the tree and limped back to the water, hoping she could make it back to the truck. One foot in front of the other, her only thought that she had to get back to Lucien, she slogged through the creek and the water that went higher than her waist. He was waiting for her, and she fell into his arms, gasping in pain that she finally allowed herself to feel. "Help," she croaked. "I think I got hit by a rock or something – my leg, it bloody hurts."

He took the torch and shone it on her calf, flinching. "Yes, I'll definitely need to stitch that –"

"Well, I've got needle and suturing thread in my bag," she said bluntly. "And alcohol."

"Jean –"

"Lucien, we don't have time to waste. Stitch me up," she insisted. "I trust you." Jean smiled and exhaled.

He cleaned the wound with alcohol and threaded a needle which he had also cleaned with alcohol. She knew he was going to try to spare her pain, but there was no topical anesthetic in her bag – only a heavier duty local that she used – so she gritted her teeth and bore the needle flashing through her skin like a punishment. And then it was over, he trimmed the suture and exhaled shakily. "All right?" he asked worriedly.

"Fine," she groaned. "Now… to get this truck across the way." Willpower and mind over matter was what would get them through this now: she was almost there, and there was no turning back now. It was a struggle to keep the truck on the path and she wasn't exactly going to win any awards for her driving, but they got across and onto the far shore and out of the water. She cut the engine, stopping the winch, and slumped forward over the wheel in exhaustion. "Not done yet," she murmured to herself.

"Let me undo the cable," Lucien said, "and you can head to the house."

She laughed weakly; was he insane? "You think I'm walking through a flooded, snake-infested field in the dark alone?" Jean scoffed. "Not likely. I'll undo the cable and –"

"I'll get the cable," he said softly, putting his hand very gently on her shoulder. "Rest a minute, Jean."

As soon as he came back, she looked over at him and whispered, "I didn't mean to shout at you."

"I know – it's all right. We need to go, yes? Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?"

She shook her head and started the truck again, continuing the trek to the farmhouse. When they finally arrived and she killed the engine, Jean looked over at him. "Thank you for coming. I could have done it alone, but… it was nice not to have to." She frowned. "And my leg will look a good sight better for someone else having stitched it, honestly."

He indicated the farmhouse and said, "I don't suppose you have a change of clothes before you go in there?"

Jean smiled and said, "A good lady doctor is always prepared, Lucien – I've got two, actually." She got a bag out from under the seat and quickly changed her dress right there in front of him, ignoring his piercing stare. "Are you coming?"

"Would you be more comfortable if I stayed out here?"

"I think Brian Jones would be happier if you were in there in case something goes pear-shaped," Jean admitted. "He doesn't much approve of lady doctors, even if Maureen and I have been friends since we were little babies in cots together."

"All right," Lucien agreed.

She got her medical bag and headed for the door, limping the whole way. Her leg was burning and it took all of her strength to stay upright and walk. Once in the front door, she called out, "Brian? Are you upstairs?"

"Yes – yes – hurry up, Doc," Mr. Jones hollered in a bit of a lather.

"I'll put the kettle on," Lucien said. "You'll need the usual things?"

"Yes," Jean replied with a small smile. She kissed him quickly on the lips and went upstairs slowly, leaning heavily on the rail and wincing in pain. She hadn't looked at the wound, but he had wrapped her leg from ankle to knee in bandage, and the worst of the burning was in her calf, so she assumed it wasn't a trifling bit of a cut.

"Doc, what took you so long?" Mr. Jones asked just outside the doorway of the lone bedroom.

Jean smiled wanly and said, "I had a bit of an issue with the creek, Brian – it's very high. Now, why don't you go downstairs and have a nice cuppa?"

For what it was worth, even with arriving late to the party, and even with the baby being two months early, little Helen Eileen Jean Jones was born as the first rays of sun began to peek out around the clouds. Jean was exhausted and feeling rather light-headed by the time it was all over, but she powered through – she had lived through the first days of the Blitz, after all, and this was nothing but a little normal baby delivery.

"There we are, Maureen," Jean said softly, smiling down at her dear friend. "Finally, you've got your own wee one to spoil, eh?"

"She's perfect," Maureen whispered in awe. "Oh, Jeanie, is this how you felt –"

Jean's smile faded. "I don't really remember how I felt," she admitted. "The first week is a blur, I was on so many medications. And then I had complications and…" She shrugged and said, "Well, it's neither here nor there now. You have a beautiful daughter, Maureen. And I expect you to bring her to see me as soon as your husband can get across the road."

Maureen's pale complexion went ashen. "Jeanie, don't tell me you came all the way out here in the storm when no one else would –"

"Of course I did," Jean said in a firm voice that booked no argument. "For my best friend, what else would I do? Now, I'm going to get your husband up here to see to you and your girl and I'm going to make my husband take me home so I can get some sleep."

Maureen stared at her. "Your husband?" she echoed. "What?"

Jean bit her lip and smiled a little despite herself. "He came home last night," she murmured. "He came with me in the truck, acting all…"

Maureen rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yes, I know – just how Brian was when he came back from the war and saw me running the thresher myself," she said.

"God forbid our men understand we are capable human beings on our own," Jean muttered. She reached over and stroked little Helen's hand. "But you'll teach your girl she can do anything she wants, yes?"

"With a godmother like you, Jeanie, she'll be a doctor in no time," Maureen teased.

"Well, you know my husband is a doctor, as well," Jean said softly.

"He is?"

Jean nodded. "Dr. Lucien Blake," she murmured.

"No – no – you never married that man!" Maureen cried, her eyes wide. "You married him? Where did you meet him? I thought he'd sworn never to come back to Australia –"

"It's a long story," Jean said, "and not one for today, Maureen. Let me get Brian and go home, love. You love on that little one and I'll see you in a few days when you come into town. Yes?"

"Oh yes – and give Leigh a big hug from me," Maureen said with a smile.

"Of course, love," Jean assured her, getting up and carefully concealing her pain as she limped to the door with a bowl of bodily refuse covered by towels in hand. "Brian Jones, you get your lazy bum up those stairs right now and go tend to your women!" she shouted with a good-natured smile as she came downstairs.

"Women?" Mr. Jones said with wide eyes as he came out of the kitchen. "It's a girl?"

"It is a beautiful little girl," Jean said, her voice softening. "Helen Eileen Jean, five pounds, two ounces – mother and daughter are doing very well. I expect to see them at the surgery on Thursday."

"Yes, Doc – what time, Thursday?"

"Come at eleven," she said. "That way, we can have sandwiches and send you home with full bellies."

"You're very kind, Doc –"

"Nonsense," Jean murmured. "Now, I'll dispose of this mess in your rubbish and Lucien and I will be on our way."

"Jean, I'll do that," Lucien said," taking her burden from her. "You have a cup of tea and sit down and rest a few minutes. You look positively done in, darling."

She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of being right, and instead just poured herself a cup of tea and added three cubes of sugar for fortification while he took the placenta out to the rubbish tip to be burnt with the next fire. She examined the bandage, not at all surprised to see it crusted brown with dried blood and a patch of still burgundy, fresh blood spreading. No wonder she was feeling dizzy.

"Time to go home, love," he said softly.

"Yes," she agreed. "My bag is still upstairs."

"I'll fetch it."

"I told Maureen you were home. I never told her I'd married you. She has questions."

"I don't feel inclined to answer questions," Lucien said. "I need to get you home and get my father to look your leg over properly."

"You did fine," she sighed.

"Obviously not if it looks like that," Lucien muttered. "They shouldn't have reinstated my licenses when they discharged me if that's the kind of medicine I'm practicing."

"Get my bag and let's just go home," Jean said. "I hope the water has receded enough we can just drive over the road and not have to cross the same way we did overnight."

"You are absolutely not –"

"No," she whispered, "I don't think I could if I tried." She was beyond exhaustion, in a place where weariness and shock coalesced into something beautiful, ugly, and profane at the same time. He retrieved her bag and came back to fetch her, only to find her staring off into space, startling when he gently helped her to her feet. "Oh, Lucien…"

"Come on, let's go," he insisted. "Poor love – you're so tired."

"I am," she agreed, leaning against him for support as they made their way slowly to the car. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Jean," he whispered.

She awoke to the phone ringing. "Blake and Randall surgery, obstetrics and gynecology," Lucien said gruffly into the telephone. "Dr. Randall is unavailable except for emergencies, I'm afraid. Mrs. Johnston? Oh, yes – she mentioned you on her list of emergencies. Yes, we'll be on our way shortly."

Jean reached for her crutches – which Thomas had insisted were necessary, since the gash on her leg ran from just over her knee intermittently down her calf and ended just about an inch above her ankle – and hoisted herself off the couch.

"Mummy, where are you going?" Leigh asked from where she was drawing.

"To get ready to go out," Jean sighed softly. "You'll have to stay here with daddy because grandpa and I need to go see Mrs. Johnston."

"But I don't want to," Leigh said with a pout. "Daddy don't know how ta make sammiches."

"Jean, I'll go with you and dad can stay with Leigh," Lucien said. "She doesn't know me – I've only been here a day. It's not fair to just leave her with me."

Jean looked from Lucien to Leigh, frowning, then nodded. "All right – Leigh, love, go find Grandpa, and tell him I need to see him, please?" The little girl scampered off, her curly pigtails bouncing as much as her flouncy skirt did as she went. "She has more energy than you do," she scolded her husband.

He smiled a little and gave her a kiss. "Did you sleep well?"

"Until the phone rang, yes," she murmured. "Mrs. Johnston, then? How far apart are her contractions?"

"Five minutes, and they've sent the boy around for the midwife."

"Good, good – and you'll bring me and we'll get there for the finale," she said, pushing her hair back out of her eyes.

"How is your leg?" Lucien asked worriedly.

"It aches, but there's nothing to be done for it," she said with a heavy sigh.

"I can mix you a powder before we set off."

"I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. "It's more annoying than anything. Now, where have those two gotten off to – the house isn't that big."

"Have you lost something, Jean?" Thomas asked, carrying Leigh back into the den on his shoulders. "She said you needed to see me."

"I've got to go deliver the Johnston baby," Jean said. "Lucien is going to drive me, if you can keep an eye on Miss Wigglewart over there for me while I'm out."

"Oh goodness, yes – we'll make a mess of sandwiches and have some biscuits and milk and play dominos," Thomas said. "Does that sound like fun, Leigh?"

"Yeth, Gran'pa," Leigh murmured, suddenly shy of her father, trying to hide from Lucien's gaze and smile.

"Sweetheart, you'd better be good for grandpa," Jean said.

"Yes, mummy," Leigh whispered. She blinked and said, "Is daddy gonna go 'way 'gain?"

"No, darling," Jean said in earnest. "Daddy is going to go with mummy and when mummy comes home, he's coming with me. Daddy isn't going back to Malaya. Or… anywhere else, for that matter. At least, I hope not."

Lucien cleared his throat and said, "No, Leigh, I'm not going away again. I'm staying here for good now."

Leigh paused, then nodded. "Okay."

"Is that all?" Thomas asked her.

Leigh shrugged. Then she gasped. "Daddy, do you know how ta teww stowwies?"

"No, but for you, I will learn," Lucien said, reaching over to tug on one of her pigtails gently. He was rewarded with a shy smile.

It wasn't a lot, but Jean would take it; a tenuous bond was better than no bond at all.