Kian

'Jac? Jac, come on wake up,' Connie begged, 'Please wake up Jac.'

'Connie? Connie what's happening?' Kian asked, panicking slightly, 'And who the hell are you?' he turned to face the man he had pinned down to the ground.

'Does it matter? I've done what I came to do. I killed the bitch,' he replied indifferently.

'You filthy piece of sh-'

'Kian! Kian she's not breathing!' Connie screamed, 'Leave him and get the defibrillator outside. Now Kian!' She began chest compressions, trying to avoid the stabs wounds on her friend's chest.

He ran out of the office and found the machine. When he returned to the office, he saw that Mark was standing directly behind Connie, his hands held out to her throat.

'Jac?' she whispered desperately, oblivious to the danger she was in. Mark grabbed for her throat at that exact moment, strangling her. She clawed uselessly at his hands, but she was too exhausted and he was too strong. Her face turned bright red as the air was cut off from her head.

BANG.

A gunshot rang clear through the dark, silent night. A dark stain spread across Mark's back and he crumpled to the floor, releasing Connie who immediately brought her hands to her pale neck. In the half light, Kian could make out the bright red marks on her throat, and in his shaking hand which was held out in front of him, he saw the gun.

Horrified, he dropped it immediately.

'Kian, the defibrillator. I need the defibrillator. Pass it, now. Mr Madani!' Connie snapped him back to the situation at hand and he handed it over. He took over compressions as she attached the defibrillator to Jac.

'Charging to 100. Clear. Shocking' she repeated again. Kian resumed compressions after checking for a pulse that he couldn't find.

'Charging to 180. Clear. Shocking.' Connie's voice was a monotone: she gave nothing away. 'Again?'

'Yep,' Kian nodded.

'Ok, charging to 250. Cl-'

'Wait!' Kian held out his hand and watched Jac intently. He put his fingers to her neck, and to his relief, he felt a pulse. 'Well done Naylor,' he whispered.


Connie

'Jac Naylor, 46. Stab wounds to the chest; lacerations on her face, arms and left leg; query internal bruising; possible broken ribs,' Connie recited. 'We need to send her for a trauma CT, and...and….' she faltered.

'It's ok, Mrs Beauchamp,' Max McGerry soothed. They continued pushing Jac towards Darwin theatre, 'we've got it from here. Get yourself checked over in the ED and I'll page you the minute she's out.'

'What? Who's "we"? No, I need to go in, I need to make sure she's ok, Max, what if she's not ok?' Connie cried hysterically at the thought of not staying with Jac.

'Connie. Connie, look at me. You are not going into that theatre. Look at you, you're a mess. You're no use to her in there, you're far more likely to be a danger to her. Do you honestly think you can think rationally right now? Henrik and I will be assisting- I will personally make sure that we do everything possible for Jac. Now, get yourself downstairs, and I'll page you when this is all over. I promise,' Max spoke kindly, but firmly, 'Do you need me to get someone to come up?'

'But if you're assisting, who else is going in with her?' She turned as she heard a familiar sarcastic voice from down the corridor behind her.

'Go on, Mrs Beauchamp. Get yourself down to the ED and I'll do what I can to get Ms Naylor back to you as soon as I can. I'm losing time here, so either let Ms McGerry page someone or go downstairs yourself.'

'Serena?' Connie asked incredulously.

'Yes dear, well done. Right, I need to operate now. So if you don't mind…' She pushed the doors open and began scrubbing in.

'It will be fine, Connie,' Max told her one last time, before she and Hanssen took Jac into the theatre.

Connie stood there for ten minutes, the image of Jac lying on the floor motionless and covered in blood stuck in her head. She walked to the nurses' station and picked a phone.

'Jacob,' she whispered, 'I need you.'