Author's Notes: No Otis in this chapter except in spirit.

There's some obvious changes from the TV show but everything else is the same as the last few scenes of Episode 7.

Chapter 2

Day 1

Maeve stepped into the darkness of her caravan and knew Sean was gone. She didn't even have to look for his bag. She knew.

Stealing away like a stranger in the night and she didn't even care enough to see what else he had taken from her this time.

She walked into the bedroom and started taking off her dress, eyes drifting over Otis' jumper peeking out from beneath her pillow without even seeing it.

She slipped out of her dress and held it before herself, staring at it resentfully, wishing she had never even gone to look for it, thinking she could have worn a burlap sack instead for all the unhappiness it had brought.

Hating it for giving her even a moment's hope that she could claim one bright shiny night for herself.

Fuck Sean.

Fuck Jackson.

Fuck Otis.

Not a single man she cared about had ever failed to let her down.

She tossed the dress onto the clothes hamper with a promise to herself to throw it in the trash in the morning then picked up her bedtime shirt and began to put it on.

She heard a distant knock on the caravan door and she knew it was one of them and knew also that it would be the wrong one.

Jackson lay shirtless on the bucking bed and looked up at her as she stood in the doorway, unable to read the expression on her face or the look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Maeve," he managed to get out.

"Whatever," she murmured. "I'll get a bucket. If you miss, you'll be paying Cynthia to get everything steam-cleaned."

She disappeared from his view and he stared at the ceiling, willing the rolling earthquake happening beneath him to stop.

When Maeve returned and silently placed the bucket by the bed within easy reach, he stared blearily at her and murmured, "I don't expect you to say it back, Maeve."

She didn't react to his words but straightened and said, "I'll be on the couch. I'll leave the lavvy light on so you don't trip over and break your neck."

She disappeared from the room and he knew she wasn't coming back that night.

He closed his eyes, breathed slowly and deeply and just as the darkness was about to swallow him for the interim he heard her bare feet moving quickly across the bedroom floor, felt one hand leaning on the bed beside him and her presence leaning over him then something was snatched from beneath the pillow and the change in support height almost made him need the bucket and by the time he had taken enough breaths to steady his roiling stomach and he managed to open his eyes she was gone.

After the darkness finally claimed him, clattering from the kitchen forced it to let him go.

Jackson stumbled blearily into the kitchen and watched Maeve as she washed up her breakfast dishes.

"Maeve-," he began.

"I don't want to hear it." Her voice was curt and flat.

Jackson fell silent and then the floor began swaying and he quickly sat at the breakfast table, holding on so he wouldn't fall further.

He took slow deep breaths to soothe the hurricane raging in his stomach and as he raised his head to draw another breath into his lungs he saw his shirt hanging on a portable clothes airer in the corner of the room. He could see she had rinsed the sick out of it as much as she could but he could also still see a faint tinge of orange. The stain would come out but christ, how had he fucked this up so badly?

Her voice was still flat but the curtness was gone and the sound of the past in her tone brought tears to his eyes.

"There's leftovers in the fridge. Should be alright. Or there's eggs. Just leave me one for tonight. I'm short until our next clien-" She stopped as the truth returned to her.

"Just leave me one egg," she continued and he had to strain to hear the sound.

He couldn't say anything.

"And don't you dare leave money in the drawer again. I told you. I'm not a charity case. I did just fine before you and I'll do just fine once you're gone."

He already knew but it still felt like another punch to the gut. He had known at the dance that he had been losing her and he knew now he was never going to be able to make it right.

The clatter of utensils was the only thing keeping the silence at bay until suddenly she slammed her fists against the sink.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him start to move and, with a voice as cold as iron, Maeve said, "Don't you dare fucking move. If you come near me, I will swear it was self defence and there will be no-one around to contradict me."

He sank back into his seat, staring at her as the wall between them crystalized.

After a few moments of gazing forlornly into the sink, she drew in a deep breath and then he could sense how much of the anger she was still keeping hidden. "Christ, Jackson! Why couldn't you have just accepted it? You could see that what we had was ending. You had to have known. Ever since Sean came back."

Her voice was quieter as she spoke almost to herself. "Even before Sean came back."

She paused again and when she continued the anger was still clear. "Why couldn't you just let it be? We could have still been friends. Could have still hung out sometimes. And I could have lived in blissful ignorance that both of you fucking bastards tricked me into being with you and I could have told—" Her voice faltered again and she closed her eyes and dropped her head even further.

When she spoke again he could hear the tears. "But, no. You had to go and pull the pin. Blow everything up. If you weren't going to be with me you were going to make damn sure Otis wasn't either."

She breathed deeply again, raised her head then turned slowly around, regaining her composure and after she finally saw him in the morning light she let her shoulders slump and dropped some of the armour.

Her voice was gentler as she continued. "And that's the thing. It wasn't bad between us, Jackson. It was nice. It was better than nice. It was great. I'm glad we were together. I'm glad Otis was hinting that having a boyfriend wasn't a bad thing. That opening up – to you or whoever – wasn't a bad thing."

Frustration broke from her voice. "And that's what makes this whole fucking thing so damn confusing. I don't love you and the guy I do love-"

She seemed to collapse in on herself as she ogled the floor.

Jackson waited until he was sure she wasn't going to speak again before saying quietly, "Don't blame mum man."

She didn't raise her head and her tone was flat again. "His name's Otis, Jackson."

He took a breath and tried to start again -"Don't-" – and then he realized. "You're going to see him."

She nodded but didn't look at him and her voice was still flat and he couldn't sense hope. "Yeah, I'm going to see him. See if I can salvage anything from this whole fucking mess."

Jackson swallowed and blinked tears from his eyes. His voice was even quieter than before. "Tell him I'm sorry."

She raised her head and glared at him, pressing her lips together to prevent herself saying anything she couldn't take back.

Jackson leant forward and hoped his voice carried the promise he was making. "I'll—I'll tell him myself when I see him but… just…' He hung his head as the shame washed through him. "Tell him I'm sorry," he finished, murmuring.

She dropped her head again and ogled the floor for a few moments more then sighed and pushed herself away from the sink. She grabbed her jacket and stopped in front of Jackson, looking down at his bowed head.

Her voice was gentle again but the past was screaming in his ear as she spoke. "Goodbye, Jackson. I hope you work things out with your mums."

She walked to the door and paused. Her voice was even softer still but she didn't look back at him. "It'll lock behind you when you leave. I don't want you here when I get back."

Jackson's face was stone as the door quietly closed behind her.

Author's Note: I have more chapters or part-chapters written already. I'm just needing to polish them or fill in the gaps.