She woke the next morning to Fletch gently shaking her shoulder and she wondered if there was a better way in all the world to be woken. In fact, there is: Fletch could be holding coffee and like a God send, he is.
"Morning sleepy head," he greeted merrily, and she rolled her eyes at how chirpy he can be even when he's hungover. "Someone looks delightful today."
Grumbling, she rolled away from him and pulled the throw over her head. Only to have it yanked away from her.
"Fletcher, you have yet to see the wrath of a hungover Jac Naylor. I assure you, it is not something you want to see." Wordlessly, she reached out a hand for the coffee and he handed it to her without a moment's thought. "At least you came equipped with caffeine."
She sat up with her knees pressed tight against her chest and the throw held up under the chin. The bright light of the room made her squint but eventually her eyes adjusted and his face came into focus, looking miraculously acceptable for someone who had consumed far too much alcohol last night.
"Enjoying the view?" He teased as she sipped at his own coffee. "Now, don't kill me, but it's only 7o'clock. I thought, since it's both our days off, I could treat you to breakfast in Pulses and then drive you home so you can recover from your hangover in the comfort of your own home. Rather than being found by one of my unsuspecting nurses and put on fluids as some cruel form of revenge that I would never condone."
Jac stared at him for a long while as she processed the fact that he had dared to wake her at 7am, and longer still as she wondered why she hadn't thrown her steaming coffee in his face yet.
"For the record, the only reason you are not being killed is because you offered me food."
She drew her phone from her pocket and checked it quickly: no missed messages. Wiping the underneath of each eye for yesterday's mascara and running her fingers through her hair to make sure she looked at least vaguely acceptable, she stood and took a deep breath in, becoming immediately aware of how strongly she smelt of whiskey.
Her handbag was on the floor beside her, she pulled out a bottle of Dior perfume and doused herself in enough to cause anybody with lungs an asthma attack.
Fletch wheezed sarcastically and waited for her to ready herself for the big, wide world of Holby City Hospital on a Saturday morning. Eventually she took her coat from the stand and pulled it on, hoping it could mask the not-so-divine blend of Dior and Glenfiddich.
Avoiding everybody on the ward was a skill that Jac had mastered years ago, so she had no trouble making it to the lift without a single person speaking to her. Fletch, however, didn't have the same luck.
"Popularity has its drawbacks, huh?" Jac joked as they entered the lift and watched the doors close. "Bet you wish everyone was too scared to say hi to you now."
Fletch scoffed at her. He'd never really understood how anybody could be scared of her. He could see right through that façade she put up and he was baffled that other people couldn't.
Jac's head was banging and she was wondering how much they actually drank last night. She regarded herself as quite the heavyweight and yet here was, at 7am, wishing she could curl up in a ball and never see the sun again.
"Another coffee and a croissant, I'm guessing?" Fletch asked as they arrived at the ground floor and the lift doors opened; he received a slow nod. "Go grab us a table then, I'll be there in a minute."
She traipsed to the nearest table and flopped down into the chair, allowing her head to rest upon the table and praying that Fletch remembered to bring enough butter to feed a small family. He arrived three minutes later with a generous amount of butter.
"Don't you have children to feed?" Jac enquired sarcastically, spreading a thick layer of butter on her croissant and taking a large, flaky bite.
"I also have a wonderful fourteen-year-old who has yet to discover the terrible decision that is alcohol, you'll have one of your own pretty soon!" Fletch replied enthusiastically as he bit into his bacon sandwich.
Jac laughed, she knew full well that Emma was unlikely to be a wonderful fourteen-year-old who helped around the house, she would follow in her mother's footsteps and be too rebellious for her own good.
She wolfed down the croissant eagerly and chugged the coffee like a woman who knew no water. Cravings satisfied, her next and final destination was bed.
Fletch offered to drive her home and said he would pick her up on his way to work tomorrow if she didn't want to get a taxi. He dropped their rubbish into the bin and guided her towards the car; the hideous people carrier was ultimately the only model that would do the school run with two of four kids still in car seats.
Jac dropped into the passenger seat without a word. Letting her head fall back against the support and shutting her eyes. At some point in the journey, she drifted off to the low sounds of the early morning radio and started to snore so quietly Fletch barely could've noticed if the car wasn't so silent.
He drove slowly, intentionally missing a few junctions just so he didn't have to wake her yet. When he finally pulled up outside her house, he wondered whether she got lonely there alone without Emma on the weekends. She hated to admit it but she wasn't the people-hater that she liked to pretend to be.
For a few minutes, he sat there and let her rest beside him. Her presence was so quiet, so calming compared with the equally wonderful though thoroughly overwhelming presence of his brood.
Reaching cautiously towards her, he set his hand upon her shoulder and shook her awake gently.
"We're outside," he explained, and she immediately snapped upright and reached for her seatbelt in a hurry. She thanked him for ensuring her safe return home and got out of the car at the curb.
She would go and get into bed, and she expected Fletch would do the exact same. All she hoped was that she hadn't embarrassed herself too much last night. He'd been drunk too, hadn't he?
