Thank you to anyone who is reading this (especially MirrorSparkles1234 for again offering help on bits of this! I really appreciate it) and for any reviews left. I hope this is alright.
Somehow she manages to avoid returning to work for two days. In those two days she managed to avoid the boys entirely, claiming that entering her room would be at their peril given the absolute dreadfulness of the bug she had acquired. The irony being that this particular bug was one that neither of her flatmates could ever experience – though one was, at least partially, responsible for her having suffered.
In those two days, she had to field calls from Colette, who saw through the illness excuse. There was little hope of her doing otherwise really, but Zosia had at least hoped that Colette would get the message that she didn't want to talk to her, let alone to talk about this. It was something of a surprise that Guy hadn't been on her case yet, as it seemed improbable that Colette wouldn't have gone running to him after 48 hours of being fobbed off but so far that seemed to be the case.
But after two days, she could no longer stand being alone with her thoughts, alone with it. It still seemed impossible that she was … with child … she had yet to use the P word in relation to herself. Still she tried to convince herself that her sudden hatred of foods she had once loved, foods that now had her bent double over the toilet bowl was simply due to her stress levels and not that tiny being that had invaded her body.
It was two days while she battled with her mind, and the reality that she had to face this. She tried to imagine herself with a screaming infant in tow, to see herself as rounded like Jac Naylor had been in the weeks before her child had made her appearance in the world. Only she couldn't quite bring the image to mind. It would slip away before she could capture it, and try to understand if that was how she saw her future.
In some ways she knew. As a child she hadn't paid much heed to the baby dolls nor had she envisioned a future for herself where she would be strapped to a cot, with a baby who was constantly demanding her breast and nothing resembling an independent life. She was the one who was supposed to be out doing things. She wanted to be the independent woman, the one running the show. She had this future planned out, the things she wanted to do and achieve and try as she might she couldn't fit a baby in to the vision.
And yet there was a voice in the back of her mind. The voice of her mama talking to her about the grandchildren she hoped to have in the future, and this – this tiny being – could potentially be the first of those grandchildren. This bundle of cells was the start of the thing her mama had dreamed of and she couldn't help but think how happy that would've made mama. But what did that matter now really? Mama would never be there to see and hold such a child, nor would she be able to place a hand against a swollen abdomen to feel the punches and kicks of an unborn grandchild. Mama would want this, and she could do it for mama but mama wasn't here to support her, to help her.
She would need mama. She needed mama. She needed her mama's words of advice, her arms around her as she tried to puzzle it out. Mama would want her to keep it, but she wouldn't pressure her in to do so. She knew though she would do as mama wanted – even if mama didn't say it, she would do it. She wouldn't want to see that disappointed look in her beautiful mama's eyes. She would give anything though to see the joy, the light in them that would come if she found out she was to become a grandmama.
Only she never would find out either way. It wouldn't matter to mama now, whatever decision she made. Only she doesn't quite believe that. Mama had always spoken of the place she would one day go too, where all of them would go too if they were good people and how once you were there you could look over those you had loved, to keep them safe. And that would mean mama knew. And that makes it harder once more.
"Is she going to do any work today?" Somehow the words filter through to her, and she returns to her senses. She'd almost forgotten she was sitting at the desk in the middle of the ward that around her was the hubbub of activity. She looks up to see the way Dominic and Arthur are studying her.
"Are you sure you're well enough to be back at work?" Arthur sounds much more concerned than his colleague, who rolls his eyes slightly. Dominic had been slightly more suspicious of her illness, and still seemed to be holding on to that. In that respect Arthur was so much easier, and yet things with him were so much more complicated.
She'd tried not to think too much of Arthur in terms of this. She didn't want him to know, that would muddy the waters when it came to make decisions. Oh she accepted that he had the right to know, and even to express his opinion but it was her that would have to go through this. Arthur would still have his life, his career while she would have to make so many sacrifices.
She frowns, looking at the pad in front of her. She'd started filling it out earlier but had found herself pausing over the details. It felt strange to be using a name she hadn't written in so very long, that of her cousin from Poland who she had once pen-palled with but had lost contacted with so many years previously. She knew it was wrong, but it had seemed like her only choice – it gave her options.
"Ah Doctor March," She feels her head dart up at the sound of the voice, and there was Colette striding towards the boys. She offers them a small smile and then with a flick of her wrist indicates from them to leave. Zosia sees the glance that passes between them, a curiousity as to what is going to happen between the F1 and the Director of Nursing, but they retreat to a safe distance not wanting to risk one of Colette's tongue lashings.
"I'm quite busy," Zosia makes a play of shuffling some of the papers in front of her, hoping that she hasn't messed anything up and that it is a credible enough act to foil the other woman. It also worked to cover the pad in front of her. Colette stepped closer to the desk, making it easier for her to be able to talk without being overheard.
"So I can see," But from the tone of her voice it's evident she believes none of it.
"So can we do this later?" Not that she wants to do this, but it seems safer to do it on her terms. She could come up with some excuse later as to why she can't meet Colette, to be able to delay this even further but the older woman is likely to already be aware of avoidance tactics.
"I think we'd be better doing this now," and Zosia has to accept her fate. She slowly pushes herself up from the desk, and makes her way round to stand by Colette, "is there anywhere we can go?" it doesn't need saying why they cannot use Colette's office, Guy would be there.
"The break room should be free," She could have made something up, that there was nowhere they could go but it is near certain Colette would find them somewhere and it would probably be a lot less comfortable than the break room. At least then she'd have control. She could make sure that there's no smells that might trigger a wave of nausea that she might not be able to avoid elsewhere.
"Ok then," and with that the two of them started to walk together, neither one speaking. A small part of Zosia thought she should let someone know where she was going but the hospital seemed to have ears of it's own and no doubt it was already halfway around the ward that she was heading off for a chat with Colette. She knew it would raise interest, given the curiousity surrounding Guy's relationship with Colette and his relationship with her. Chances are by the time the door closed behind the pair of them, new theories would already be circulating as to what was going on.
In the privacy of the room, Zosia settled herself down on one of the seats, choosing the one that was the most comfortable for herself. She rested her head forward slightly, dropping it on to her arms as she watched Colette busying herself for a moment, pouring herself a glass of water.
"Tiredness getting to you?" As Colette settled herself down opposite the F1, she couldn't help but notice the way in which the young woman was looking. The effects of her pregnancy were already written over her face though it seemed that many were ignoring it – or were buying in to this illness story she'd concocted following her departure home after she'd received that result.
"It's nothing," but her voice was weary. It was only 3 and a bit hours in to her shift and already she was struggling, and what really did she have to show for it. She didn't have the excuse that Ms Naylor had, had when she'd been caught napping in the office on Darwin for her own abdomen was still flat and the embryo still minute. There was nothing that should be zapping her energy so efficiently and yet her body was already struggling to cope with the increased demands.
"You are many things Zosia, but a good liar is not one of them," There was a slight grimace on Colette's face as she took a sip of her water.
"And as I have told you before, you don't know me," It wasn't true what Colette said. She was a skilled liar, indeed she lied so very often that sometimes it became hard to tell what was the truth and what wasn't any longer but in her weakened state perhaps her abilities were slipping, "Not enjoying your drink?"
"It's not my normal choice," at that Zosia raised an eyebrow. Despite Guy having worked with Colette for so many years, she actually couldn't recall what the other woman drank regularly and yet she was sure she would have seen her with a cup in hand at home, "I wasn't sure how the smell would affect you, so I thought water was the safest choice," the older woman added it gently.
"I …" Zosia paused, unsure of how to continue. She didn't want to make a habit of thanking the other woman, and yet it was unusual for someone to do something for her without being asked. She saw the way Colette smiled, an understanding of why the sentence couldn't be continued.
"How've you been?" Placing the cup down, the concern paints Colette's face. It's almost as though she cares, but that seems a ridiculous notion given the way Zosia has treated her over the years.
"The bug really wiped me out," she answers on default, the way she did with her colleagues when they had asked her that morning. It seemed easier to carry on with the story.
"That's no way to talk about your baby," At those words she feels a flash of panic, she cannot let anyone hear them and yet she knows there is no one around. She watches as Colette's face softens once more, evidently struck by her reaction. Tentatively, a hand is reached out and placed on top of hers for just a moment before she pulls back, "Zosia,"
"It's embryo not a baby," she talks low, "it's barely out of the point of being an embryonic disc, let alone being a human infant" in the dark of the night, she had poured over textbooks, rereading the sections of embryonic development, working out what point the being was at. It was barely anything at all, and yet to so many it would already be precious – to mama it already would have been but she couldn't see it as such.
"It isn't always going to be that way," Colette is gentle in the way she says it. It's something Zosia has tried not to think about. She can deal with this embryonic thing that dwells in her uterus, but the idea of it becoming more human, more real frightens her. It will develop arms and hands, legs and feet from those limb buds that sit paddle like on its side. In not so many weeks, it will be fully recognisably human and not this strange creature that barely looks like anything. It easier to ignore the strange creature, it's almost a non-entity compared to the almost human that will take its place so she tries to forget that is to come.
"Do we have to do this?" Her voice comes childlike. She knows what Colette is trying to do, but she doesn't want too. In her more alert moments, she's thought. She's come close to making a decision before she's slipped back in to her state of denial, or trying to pretend that she doesn't have to deal with this at all. If this would all just go away it would be easier.
"You're going to have to deal with what's happening Zosia," It's a mothering tone that comes from Colette's mouth. If Zosia closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the older woman using that exact voice when talking to a younger child, but Colette has never been a mother and Zosia herself is no child – and especially no child of Colette's – and so it riles her.
"I don't want to do this," And yet she plays in to it with the childish response. She gets up quickly before Colette really has time to react and disappears back out on to the ward. She doesn't quite know what she is going to do to make herself look busy, because by her estimation she has all of two minutes before Colette follows her out here, and that could lead to something of a scene.
"Doctor March," She hears her name said hesitantly by a healthcare assistant whose name she doesn't know. She turns round to look at the girl.
"What?" She almost barks the response and yet this is almost perfect. It gives her something to make her look busy and to push Colette away for a bit. The girl bites her lip slightly, evidently somewhat startled by the reaction.
"Doctor Digby asked me to tell you that there's a bag from pharmacy arrived up but he doesn't know who the patient is, and he thought you might?" She talks in a rush as though she cannot get the words out quick enough to end this conversation. This time it is Zosia's turn to startle, she hadn't even realised she'd been gone long enough for the pharmacy orders to be sorted, or how that one would've been.
"Did he say where it is?" She speaks much more quietly, her words hesitant. She watches as the girl thinks, and wishes she could shake her until the answer comes.
"On the drugs trolley," she says finally and Zosia walks off, her footsteps quick. Stopping in front of the trolley, she finds herself pausing before she takes hold of the bag, and she holds it like it is some sort of explosive device. She studies it in her hand, it looks exactly the same as any other pharmacy bag, and yet the sticker on the front bears the name of her cousin.
"I found the chart under the notes," Dominic approaches her and flashes a smile, showing that he is rather pleased with himself, "though I don't recognise the patient name," he adds it with an almost knowing glint in his eye.
"She was discharged the other day without medication," It is the first thing that comes to find and she silently praises herself because it is at the very least slightly plausible. She grips the bag that little bit tighter, "Now if you'll excuse me,"
And with that she leaves her colleague. She slips in to the locker room. She wasn't sure what she had been trying to do when she'd filled out that form. She doubted she would have sent it, but it was there if she wanted too and now it had been done. The bag weighs heavily in her hand, though in truth there is so little in there.
She opens it cautiously, almost expecting it to be empty, that she didn't really fill it in but then pharmacy wouldn't send up an empty bag. She sees the boxes as she would have expected, two of them lying in wait.
She had thought of mama when she had filled it out, thought of her face and how she would feel. She had thought too of herself and what she would be doing but then she had considered what the alternative was. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing that someone could just tell her what to do and how she could fix this.
She stares down at the boxes, before she swallows hard.
"Zosia," She hadn't heard the door open. She throws the bag as discretely as she can in to her locker, and hopes that the newcomer didn't notice. She pushed the door shut and spun round.
"What are you doing here?" She didn't really need to ask. It was inevitable and yet she had hoped it wouldn't come to this.
"Colette said you walked out while she was talking to you," His disappointment is evident in his tone, but he shouldn't be surprised. She can see in his eyes that he is fighting against admonishing her, for what would be the millionth time on the subject, instead he inclines his head to one side, "She seemed concerned about you,"
"Well she has no need to be," She tries to force herself to sound more in control than she feels, pushing herself to move passed him.
"I'm worried about you Zoshie," He calls it out after her, and she has to fight even harder to contain her emotions. She could shout and tell him not to call her that, or argue that he has no right to worry about her but she cannot trust herself to do so. Instead she keeps walking, wishing for an escape.