"Why don't you tell me, in your own words, what you think is going on with your mental health?" Sharon asks.

Jac opens her mouth, then closes it, holding back the impulse to deny that anything is going on. Perhaps it is too late for that. After all, she has already dutifully turned up to the appointment on time and all too easily disclosed the lack of sleep and her appetite's disappearing act. Her jaw tightens. It's pathetic that she's come here expecting solutions. Deluded even. She closes her eyes and makes a soft scoffing sound, shaking her head.

Sharon turns her fountain pen over between her fingers as she waits for a more substantive response. "Give it a go."

She sits forward suddenly, as if she's about to get up, but she doesn't leave her seat. She even manages a smile, but it's flat, it doesn't reach her eyes. "You know what? I am fine."

"You don't look particularly fine." Sharon comments frankly. "You look exhausted."

"I'm a surgeon. I'm a mother. I'm used to operating on minimal sleep, literally and figuratively."

"Is that what's making you tired at the moment? Being a surgeon and a mom?"

The false smile is replaced by a far more convincing scowl and a monosyllabic answer. "No."

"Oh?" Comes Sharon's equally brief reply.

"I left that job. I'm sure you know that." She tenses, preparing in case she once again has to defend her decision, but Sharon doesn't say anything. Jac pauses for a beat. "Emma is with her father and step-mother in Scotland. She's settled there. We made that decision together."

Making a mental note to explore the family dynamic further later, Sharon presses on. "So, you're not working at the moment, and Emma isn't at home with you. What are you doing with your days?"

"Am I not allowed to take some time for myself?" Jac counters brusquely, feeling defensive. In truth, she's unhappy with the honest answer to Dr Kozinsky's question. She's always been a high achiever and she gets results because she puts the work in. She'd managed to accrue more unused holiday leave than anybody else in that godforsaken hospital, HR had told her as much when she'd handed in her resignation letter. She might not have won any popularity contests, but she knew her work ethic had won her colleagues' begrudging respect. It's hard to reconcile that version of herself when she considers her current daily routine.

"Of course you're allowed to take time for yourself." Sharon answers calmly. "Give me an example. What did you do yesterday?"

There's a long pause. Jac is disconcerted to find that nothing is coming to mind. "I- " She starts then falters. The gaps in her memory unnerve her. It's what happened last time, and she doesn't want to go back to that place. "I don't know. Nothing much."

The hesitation doesn't escape Sharon's attention. "Can you remember? Did you go out? Stay in?"

"Stayed inside. I haven't been going out much." She admits in a quieter voice, deciding to opt for some honesty. "It's not easy to tell the days apart. I spend half the day in bed and the other half on the sofa."

Sharon nods her understanding. "You haven't felt like doing anything?"

"No."

"Have you been enjoying the activities you usually enjoy?"

Jac sighs and tiredly runs her hands over her face, rubbing her eyes. "I enjoyed surgery. I enjoy spending time with Emma. I'm not doing either."

"That must be difficult for you." Sharon responds sympathetically.

Jac gives a slight shrug, ignoring the sentiment. She repeats what she told Nicky on her last day of work. "You know what, Freud? You're right. I am tired. I'm tired of theatre. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of everything." She turns her gaze back to stare out of the window, unsure if she wants to see the psychiatrist's response.

"How's your mood been?" Sharon tilts her head, waiting to see if she'll look back at her and meet her eyes.

Jac shrugs again, she doesn't feel much like talking. "I've been better."

"Sure." Sharon agrees softly – that much is evident. "Have you been feeling low?"

She looks away from the window and turns back to her with a frown. Describing how she feels has never come easily to her. "Maybe."

"You're not certain?"

"I don't feel much." She blinks and briefly wonders if that's normal. She vaguely remembers somebody discussing it with her when she was in the unit.

Sharon hums as she listens. "Have you been feeling anxious or on edge?"

Jac picks at the loose thread on her top again. Her hands needs something to do. "Somewhat." She allows, reluctantly.

"Are you feeling worried about anything in particular?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and wonders how best to explain. "It comes out of nowhere. And sometimes it is about Johanssen, or the other loser with the gun. Other times I can't place it."

"That sounds difficult." Sharon puts her pen down and leans forward. "Thank you for telling me. I can help you with this. Things are going to get better, Jac."

Jac snorts disbelievingly.


She leaves the appointment with two things. The first is a prescription for sertraline, that she has no intention of taking. The second is a request form for a host of routine bloods, from which neither doctor is expecting to find anything interesting. They both know it's not her thyroid that's the problem.

She's walking across the hospital carpark, eyes fixed on the ground as she tries to avoid being noticed, when a familiar voice calls her name. She doesn't stop. Picks up the pace, in fact.

"Jac? Hey, wait up!" Sacha calls again and jogs over to her. He's a little red in the face as he comes to a stop in front of her, and he gives her an affronted look for making her run. "What are you doing here?"

She looks towards him, unsure of what version of the truth is going to leave her mouth. "Appointment." She settles on. "Routine. Nothing important."

Having caught his breath back, Sacha straightens up and sticks his hands in his pocket. "Oh. You should've told me you were going to be in the area. Do you want to grab a coffee?"

"I can't." She lies automatically. "I've got plans."

Sacha frowns, a little disappointed, then shrugs. "Well, another time then."

"Another time." Jac agrees quietly.

"You said that just because you were done with this place-" Sacha waves a hand to gesture to the hospital building behind him. "You weren't done with me."

"I'm not." She softens, a guilt gnawing at her. "I'm not done with you, Levy. It's just… It's complicated."

"What's complicated about it?"

Jac shakes her head and doges the question by digging out her key and opening the car door. "Bye, Sacha."

She gets a text from him later that evening. She's already made her way through a bottle of wine. He tells her that he cares about her and that he's worried about her. She turns her phone off without replying and blinks away the tears.