There is nothing she can do. She is utterly paralysed. Her body refuses to move and her feet suction onto the ground so viciously, even her animal instinct to run as far and as fast as possible proves futile. Blood pumps ten times louder and harder through her veins. Her chest contracts to what feels like the size of a pea as the oxygen she craves so badly floats sparingly in the air. She's never been the type to openly admit words could have such an effect on her physical being, but in that moment as the very marrow of her bone freezes to ice – she has never been so scared.
Of course, this does not last long. Within a few nano-seconds she has recovered and upon deciding not to turn her head and completely ignore the man (and his words) she slowly, calmly rotates her rigid back to face the wall and turns to face him head on.
"What" She says, her face tightly contorted into a 'neutral' expression.
The triumphant smirk playing on his lips wavers as he considers the impact his sudden revelation is having on the woman. He knows only too well the internal struggle and self-control it takes to conceal sheer terror when present in the work place. A sudden burst of admiration radiates from within but of course he expertly covers by returning to his safety-net blank stare. They continue to hold each other's gaze for much longer than would seem appropriate by hospital gossips. But for those two people, standing facing each other – this isn't just a place of work. This hospital is a place to escape, to feel wanted, needed. He knows it. She knows it. They would just never admit it to one another. Their personalities hold so many parallels; they are each a reflection of what the other wished never to become. However, they failed in that particular arena a long, long time ago.
The tone has turned sour now and the corridor seems but greyer, longer and more sinister than ever before. Without changing pitch Jac Naylor solemnly asks
"Know what?"
Her expression falls as flat as her hair framing her face. She already knows the answer to the question but what's left of her naivety can't help but wish with all her might that she is wrong.
Hanssen refuses to show what he's thinking. For this, they both need time and now in the middle of a busy ward neither of them has the precious time or energy needed. He resolves to use his voice he conserves only for the most serious of hospital politics and funerals.
"I think you and me need to have a little chat in my office. Don't you, Miss Naylor?"