Sorry this is so late, I've just gotten home from watching Suffragette (which was amazing by the way) :)

Anyway, here's part two of two! Hope you enjoy and reviews are welcomed :D -Sophie x

"Hey Queen B. The funky doc over there with the big nose pimple said I should talk to you. Might bring you round or something, it sounded a load of… well I won't say what it sounded like but I feel a right fool. Wake up so I don't look like escaped from psych will you."

Partly due to the anaesthetic and partly due to the fact she wasn't sure what was going on, Connie stayed where she was and kept listening to Jacob speak, giving him no clue that she was conscious again. At least she was alive physically; mentally she felt numb and empty.

"You're too stubborn, you know that? Even after little Robyn begged you to wake up last time she visited, you didn't stir." She heard him sigh.

"We all miss you downstairs. Zoe and Dylan are sharing clinical lead until you're back in your heels but it aint the same. The place feels empty. God, I sound like a soppy teenager, you heard me?!" He gave a short laugh and rubbed his face before letting his head rest on his hand, watching the woman's soft, still face that lay flat and pale beneath the start white hospital sheets.

"Actually I hope not, never hear the end of it, how I spilled my heart out at your bedside. I'd be the laughing stock of that ED. Nah, you go on sleepin', bet it's doing you the world of good. You need a long rest after the amount of work you've done, all the stuff you've had to put up with recently. "Go talk to her, it might create some reaction"… that doc was talking out his arse, you stay where you are. We're coping without you, just. Please concentrate on getting better Connie." His voice had dropped to a soft whisper.

"If anything happened to you, I don't- oh god I don't even know what I'd do. Man, I feel guilty enough as it is that it's you laid there and not me. If you don't come back then… Jesus. I wouldn't be able to stay here. Not without you. The guilt would kill me."

By this point Connie had heard enough, and ever so slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Don't feel guilty." Her whisper was barely audible as she looked up into his face, that seemed to blossom into a smile when he realised she was alright.

"Man, don't scare us like that Queen B. Thought I was gonna have to put up with Dylan as clinical lead forever, strutting around with his hands on his hips. Urgh." He pretended to shudder before smiling and gently reaching out to hold her hand.

"I heard everything." Her eyes sparkled. "I had no idea you were capable of those types of feelings Staff Nurse Masters."

"Well, I aim to surprise." He raised an eyebrow. "So how you feeling?"

"Like I was run over. My head's thumping and my shoulder… Well. Let's not talk about that." She cleared her throat and inched herself upright slightly. "How're things?"

"I just told you that. We're coping, just. You concentrate on you."

"Oh I do that all the time anyway." Connie said airily. "I just have the amazing ability to mask it. No, I meant with you. How are you after the whole ordeal? I remember you at the foot of my bed before I blacked out."

"Me?" The nurse asked, taken aback slightly. "Yeah yeah, I'm good. Better than you anyways. It helped that I was the one to patch you up." He nodded towards her bandage, partially concealed by stray wisps of brown hair. "Made me feel a bit better."

Connie deflated slightly and moved her hand so it was clasping his.

"Please don't feel guilty Jacob." She said simply, her eyes pleading with his. As he felt his eyes watering, Jacob quickly stood and cleared his throat, laughing slightly.

"If only it were that easy Bow-champ." He said sadly, glancing down to his shoes before walking away. Before he went too far however, Connie decided something.

"Peckham." She called, watching the muscular figure freeze, before a short shake of the shoulders and he was away again; the faint sound of a chuckle was all there was to know he had visited.

That, and the feeling of wistfulness from the lady lying in the bed. A longing to be held, and to be held only in his arms.