Jack lay next to Ronnie on the hospital bed, his arms circling her shoulders and hugging her delicate form to his in an attempt to protect her from anything the world threw at her. Anything at all.

He felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept, hoping and praying that her dreams were full of nothing. No memories, no nightmares. Nothing. He wanted to protect her from that. He wanted to protect her from herself.

Closing his eyes, a seemingly random thought passed through Jack's mind. Unpredictably, his stomach turned over, making him feel nauseas.

She had taken him to the club, made him sit at the bar and poured him a glass of whisky. And now, now she was sitting opposite him, holding onto his hands more tightly than he had ever felt before. Tighter than when Selena had been giving birth to Penny. Much together.

It was pitch black, the darkness shrouding the two of them like a second skin.

Ronnie hadn't turned on the lights.

And Jack hadn't asked her to.

It was better this way. In the darkness. It was better.

Jack looked at their entwined hands, his eyes beginning to adjust to the lack of light and a few moments later he was able to make out the edges of Ronnie's slender fingers and their tense grip on his.

"I need to find Max and Stacey," he whispered. His mind was so foggy, as though each thought had to wade through a pit of quicksand before his mouth could turn it into a spoken word. "I should find them."

Ronnie nodded her head, he heard the slight swish of her hair against the shoulders of her black jacket. But he couldn't look up. He had to stay looking at their hands. Something solid. Something real. Something he could feel and touch.

"I need to go . . ." he murmured.

He wanted to get up, to move upwards from his seat, but his body was so heavy.

"Okay," Ronnie replied. "But just stay here for a minute. Stay with me for a minute," she whispered.

Jack didn't say anything, he didn't need to. She knew he'd stay. Even if it was only for a moment. His body sagged with the weight of what he had witnessed. His stomach lurched as Bradley's body was flung from the roof.

Jack clamped his eyelids shut, desperately needing the darkness to infiltrate his mind, shut out everything that was filling it at that moment, drown out the horrific images that were flooding through it.

Abruptly, he pulled his hands away from Ronnie's and put them to the side of his head. The tips of his fingers dug into his skin, pressing harder and harder until several stinging sensations could be felt along his forehead.

"Stop, okay, stop, stop it," Ronnie pleaded with him, getting up from her seat and grabbing hold of Jack's curled hands. She forcefully clung onto them and moved them away from his face. "Stop it," she urged him, her face millimetres from his, their foreheads almost touching. "Stop."

"He's dead. Bradley's . . . " Jack looked into Ronnie's face, his warm brown eyes pleading with her to correct his statement, to contradict him, to tell him he was wrong.

But she couldn't do that. She couldn't.

So she nodded.

"I lied before, Ron," Jack whispered into Ronnie's hair. "I lied when I said you weren't there for me. You were, every day – in one way or another, you were. I just couldn't see that. I'm so sorry, darling. I promise you, I'll always see from now on. I'll always see and I'll always be here – whether you want me or not, I'm here. I always will be."

Ronnie swallowed the painful lump that had formed in her throat. She opened her mouth and was surprised to hear her voice sound so raw and raspy.

"My dad," she began, cautiously. "He always said that everything he did was for me, to make my life better, to give me a better chance. Everything he did . . . he did because he loved me. And I wish . . . I wish . . . he loved me less."

Hours passed as Jack lay beside Ronnie, his arms around her, trying in vain to protect her from the past. It was like trying to cup water in his hands, pointless. Because no matter what he did, the pain still bled between his fingers.

Ronnie had been sleeping for the briefest of periods, even with all of the painkillers and sedatives she had been given, it was as though her mind wouldn't let her rest. It refused to let her be at peace, even for a few blissful hours.

Using the side of his thumb, her traced circles across the back of Ronnie's hand; gentle, delicate circles. It seemed to comfort her. He remembered how she had watched her do it to Amy a few months ago when she wouldn't settle, Ronnie had simply taken the infant from Jack's arms and cuddled her. She had kissed her forehead and rocked her, singing lullabies in hushed tones so that only she and Amy could hear, and her thumb had skimmed across the baby soft skin of the little girl's chubby hand.

Jack closed his eyes, feeling tears well in them.

"Jack?" Ronnie called out his name, her voice thick with tiredness.

"I'm here," he whispered.

"Okay," she said softly, her taut muscles relaxing once again.

I'm here, Ron. Even though seeing you in pain is making it hard to breathe, I'm here for you. I'm here. I always will be.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still love me?"

Ronnie sat beside Stacey on Arthur's Bench, the cold wood creating grooves in the back of her legs. She turned to face the young girl, the one that had provided her daughter with a home and a friend. The girl that had been there for Danielle since the moment she stepped foot in Walford.

Although she and Stacey might not see eye to eye on a lot of things, Ronnie would forever be indebted to her. She took care of her little girl when Ronnie couldn't.

"It's late," Ronnie stated, unsure of what to say to Stacey.

"I know," Stacey replied, her arms winding around her stomach, around the life that was growing inside of her. "I just, I can't . . . not yet."

Ronnie nodded. She understood.

Stacey had just buried her husband, the love of her life.

Ronnie understood only too well. Ten months ago she had buried her daughter.

"Go on, I know you think it – why not just say it?" The venom slithered along Stacey's words, tingeing them with an anger Ronnie hadn't heard before.

"What?" She asked, confused.

"About Bradley, your dad."

Immediately, Ronnie faced forwards again, no longer able to look at the grieving widow.

"I don't care what Peggy says, he was a bad man, he was a bad man and he deserved it. He deserved everything that he got, everything and more and Bradley didn't. He was good, a good man and all he wanted to do was love me and my baby, that's all. He just wanted to love us and protect us, he was a good man and Archie was scum. He was evil and-"

Ronnie clasped hold of Stacey's freezing hand and held it in her own. The action surprised the girl so much, she stopped speaking.

"Shh," Ronnie hushed, soothing the hysterical tone in Stacey's voice. "He was. He was a bad man. And . . ." She trailed off, pausing for a moment, still facing forwards and looking out into the darkness that shrouded the Square. "And if I could meet the person that did what they did, if I could meet them . . . I'd say 'thank you'."

"What?" Stacey's brows furrowed and even though she wanted to twist her body and look at Ronnie, she didn't. They just stared in front of themselves, their hands linked.

"Archie Mitchell was a bad man. . . I'd say 'thank you'," Ronnie repeated before letting go of Stacey's hand.

Jack opened his eyes, shocked to the core by Ronnie's question. "You know that I do . . . I never stopped. You know that."

Slowly, Ronnie nodded. "Yes." She swallowed the painful lump in her throat, before continuing. "I think you were right, Jack."

"What?"

"I think I'm broken-"

"No, no!" He insisted, his voice forceful and booming.

"What other explanation is there?"

Jack's chest heaved with emotion, a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around his upper body and was squeezing and squeezing until there was no breath left within him. Did I do this? Is what I said to her responsible for this? For her being here? Am I the reason she did this?

"Ronnie, what I said I was angry and hurt and-"

"To teach me a lesson – isn't that what he said?" Ronnie mused, her thoughts jumbled and not completely coherent. "He took Danielle away to teach me a lesson. What lesson could that be? . . . I wasn't allowed to love anyone else. To be anything else . . ." She murmured, trying to make sense of the tangled chains of thoughts in her head.

Archie. This is about him. He did this. He did this to her.

"Ron?" Jack tried to interject, but it was as though Ronnie was somewhere else, somewhere far away where he couldn't quite reach.

"I'm barely breathing," she whispered, her eyelids almost closing once more.

"I know," Jack replied, cuddling her closer to him and grazing his lips against her forehead.

"You don't." The sadness in her voice reverberated through the hospital room, bouncing off the walls and into the chambers of Jack's heart.

She was right. He didn't know. He didn't have a clue.

"Jack? . . . Can you get Roxy in here?"

"Erm, sure," he said, hesitantly.

"I need to speak to her."

"Yeah."

"I need to. . . I want to be here . . . with you. I want to be here, loving you. But I need to be fixed first."

Leaning across her, Jack looked into Ronnie's face, his vision blurring as his tears were reflected in her blue pools. She wanted to be here. She hadn't meant for this to happen. Is that what she was saying?

"You want to be here?" Jack asked, a hesitancy in his words. "With me?"

Ronnie nodded, and even though her arm felt as heavy as a boulder, she lifted it to gently caress Jack's stubbled cheek. "Yes," she told him, wishing that he would always look at her in the way that he was in that moment. "Yes, I want that. I want you."

Jack leaned down, his forehead touching hers, as soft teardrops fell from his closed eyes and delicately splashed onto Ronnie's cheeks.

"It'll take time," she murmured, her hand dropping to the back of his neck.

"I'll wait," Jack whispered.

"I don't know how long-"

"I'll wait. . . I've waited my whole life for you, Ronnie - I'll wait for as long as it takes . . . I'll wait."

THE END