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There's a man who speaks to him with a deep voice, though the words are lost to him. He holds something in his hands, a shape of colour but it's too dark to make anything out. Then there's tension, palpable and thick in the air, which covers the setting like a heavy blanket. He answers the man and the tension grows.

There's a glint.

Then a bang.

Everything fades to black and he wakes up screaming.

Francis frowned in discomfort at the light hitting the outside of his eyelids. He had been dozing contently, but now that he was fully awake he noticed all of the discomfort that sleeping in one position for too many hours on old bones brought. Shifting restlessly under the blankets he tried to shuffle in an attempt to ease away the ache in his back, but no luck. It felt like he was lying on a very unforgiving slab of stone. He teased open his eyes and squinted tiredly at the brightness in the room. Once again, he didn't sleep much last night. Noticing the colour of the light he guessed that he'd probably woken up far earlier than he needed to, again, because once again that damn window let the sun in through those permanently gappy curtains that no one would change, no matter who he asked or how much he pleaded. The orderlies also wouldn't move his bed around to a different part of the room; because this cannot be excused away by excuses of a 'low budget', Francis thought privately that perhaps they just enjoyed having him suffer as a sick form of entertainment.

He sighed and resigned himself to another long, uncomfortable morning in bed. Closing his eyes he tried to go back to sleep, or a least doze please. Taking a deep breath in, he thought about his life to try and help his mind relax again. He didn't mind his currently situation overly much, if he were to be honest. He'd lived a good, long life and he was satisfied with everything he had done in it.

The home he now lived in wasn't that bad. This was a care home, not a hospice; this wasn't a place to die, but a place to await for what's coming and be helped along the way. Francis still had his mind, he can still walk and talk and therefore he was here as a 'just in case'. Although his body was definitely becoming weaker quicker than he'd like he wasn't yet immobile, nor completely reliant on his carers, and so could still enjoy what independence he still had to the fullest. He hated being dependant on others, for as long as Francis could remember he'd always done things his own way when and how he wanted, so having carers hoist him up, help him wash and sometimes even feed him on bad days was more frustrating than he could express. His body may be going but his mind certainly wasn't and nor were his memories of who he was, whom he still felt, knew, himself to be.

Despite his reluctance to surrender his old life of living by his own rules, he knew that he was better off here, rather than facing this whole terrible business alone.

He didn't mind his carers either. Some were a little short with him for being slow at certain things when they must know that it wasn't his fault, but for the most part he got on with were those who were quite young, with vigour and cheery grins, and who allowed him to tease them and put up with his off-hand flirty comments. Well, most of them.

The next thing he realised was the door opening and one of his carers whom he most definitely did not get along with came striding in.

'Good morning, Francis, how are you feeling.' Arthur did not ask this, rather he threw the question at Francis as he came past to open the terrible floral curtains covering the window, without waiting for an answer. Francis has heard that Arthur was actually extremely nice and considerate to all of the other residents, knocking before entering and everything, but he had yet to see even a shred of proof of this when it comes to his behaviour towards himself.

'Terrible, seeing as it is you who are ungraciously invading my room this early in the morning.' Is what he wanted to say, but recently he had been finding it harder to take the long, deep breaths necessary for such a long and quick fire sentence when laying down, so instead, he settled for the far more manageable; 'Terrible, now that you're here.' Alas, not the venom he wanted to show, but it did its job as Arthur span around, thick eyebrows pulled into an ugly scowl.

'Well, I see someone is feeling happy today.' Arthur's French was softly littered with glass cut English vowels replacing the formally lovely, soft French ones and it grated upon Francis' ears to hear such abuse of the language he loved so much. It was far too early for his day to be marred with this heathen.

'I would be happier if you would speak French without your crass tones slathered all about your words.' He forced out slowly, a deep breath and a slight pause halfway through. He shifted a little upwards in an attempt to see and breathe better. Arthur noticed quickly and made his way over to press the remote on the side of Francis' bed, raising the back slowly so that Francis can sit up and breathe better. 'Would you prefer I speak English?' He offered in his native language with a smirk that grew at Francis' glare. Francis loathed anything English, although he didn't really have a reason as to why. One of his favourite pastimes of yesteryears was to answer in rapid fire, perfect French, spoken quicker than he ever would normally, to any English speaker whom dared stop and ask him for help in Paris. He loved the satisfied feeling of the growing frustration of the English speakers, revelled in the knowledge that in a foreign land they were trapped in the confines their one mother tongue shackled them with. It irked him most now that he was on the receiving end, Arthur could speak both languages fluently and would often subject him to the vulgarity of English either by insulting Francis or to answer his often far too probing questions he didn't really wish to answer.

'Must you be so vile?' Francis held his breath as Arthur's cool hands slid under his arms to gently hoist him into a more comfortable position.

'But of course.' Arthur answered silkily, thankfully back in French. 'Having someone who isn't constantly stoking your ego can be good for you.'

'Ah my love, just because you don't have anyone stoking yours, doesn't mean you should deflate an old man's.'

Arthur gave a small laugh. 'Admitted you're old, finally?'

Francis gave a perfect Parisian shrug. 'I think hitting 89 does give me reason to entertain the notion of no longer being young.'

Arthur made a non-committal sound but didn't offer a response, choosing instead to check his clipboard he'd previously discarded on Francis' dresser top when he went to open the curtains. 'Did you sleep well?'

'As well as can be.'

'Not much then?'

'Not really.' Francis watched as Arthur made a little note on his paper. Arthur was one carer Francis made no point in give out white lies to, there was no unpleasant truth buttering when it came to him. Although Arthur wasn't someone Francis would go out of his way to talk to, Arthur was one of the only ones whom answered him with as much bite as Francis himself gave with his words. One of the only ones, aside from the other residents, who didn't mollycoddle him like a child and he appreciated it.

'I'll ask Julia if it's worth trying you with some sleeping pills, a different type though; this is becoming more and more common lately.'

Francis's face gave a nervous twitch and he gave a scoff to cover it before he remarked drily, 'You think I haven't noticed?' Ignoring Arthur's exasperated sigh through his nose, Francis sat up a bit higher and stretched his arms in front of him. Breathing was a lot easier now that his own weight wasn't squashing the air from his lungs. 'When are you actually going to do your job and get me up and ready for breakfast; I'm hungry.'

The nursing home was located in the province of Aunis on the West of France, in the town of Fouras. It was near the coast and not too far from farms and stretches of light green fields on the other side, with plenty of fresh air and quiet. All buildings and rooms were on just a ground floor with a flat, large parcels of land serving as the grounds next to a small suburban neighbourhood. This allowed the residents, who could, to wander about the grounds and even outside of the estate with family or by themselves. Residents that couldn't walk as well but wanted to go were often taken out for walks with a carer. There were frequent trips planned too, like outings to the countryside, or to the seaside, or sometimes even just out for a drive. The aim was to not allow residents to become disconnected from the world, to do as much as they could whilst they were still able to. There was a schedule for dinners, washing, medicine, and sleeping, but for the most part the people who lived there were allowed to spend their time pretty much how they wanted.

Francis was one of the residents whom still had quite a bit of freedom left. Although he couldn't get up on his own, (or get down again well, for that matter) and was a lot slower than he used to be, once he was up he was extremely mobile and was beginning to create a name for himself in the art of running off. Resenting the rule of having to always have someone know where he was, he was prone to just wandering off to go on a walk which caused frantic staff to dash about desperately looking for him once they'd realised he'd yet again slipped away.

That particular morning, Francis had taken it upon himself to walk down to visit a bench in one of his favourite spots on the outer reaches of the grounds, down a small public footpath and sheltered by a small glade of woods that opened into a forest. It was a bright and sunny day, the kind of weather that made you want to sit about and laze in the sun, so he had hoped that he wouldn't be missed for a while.

'There you are, you absolute arse!'

Ah, never mind. 'Hello Arthur, what brings you this way?'

Arthur said some things under his breath, which were probably not very nice, in English. 'What on earth are you doing out here?' He'd stomped to stand in front of Francis now and was panting lightly, a sign that he'd jogged the last few feet after spotting him.

Francis looked up to meet his eyes, squinting against the sun. 'A mere walk, my dear, am I not even allowed that now?' he offered towards the angry, Arthur shaped silhouette. Arthur looked like he was swallowing back some choice words, judging by the pinched, hard line his lips were forced into before speaking again.

'You are allowed, Francis, but you know you have to let someone know where you're going. If something happened to you there's no way we'd know to help you, especially this far out.'

'And yet, you, of all people, have found me.'

'Francis, you kno-'

'Yes, yes.' Francis waved away Arthur's lecture with one hand and patted the seat beside him with the other. 'Come, sit down a bit. You're here, you've found me, and I'm safe, so now you may as well sit down before you give yourself heart palpitations.'

Arthur gave him a hard stare, as if judging whether it was worth continuing scolding someone who obviously wasn't going to pay any heed to his or anyone else's advice on the matter. After a few seconds he conceded and flopped down next to the older man, leaning heavily against the bench and allowing Francis to see him better. He had his eyes shut and looked flushed, though from the heat or the run in the heat Francis couldn't be sure, but at least he didn't look as if he was going to start telling him off anytime soon.

'I'm not foolish Arthur, I'd never leave the grounds and I never go anywhere unless I am sure I am capable. I am not unaware of the dangers and nor have I my common sense.' He spoke in a flat, almost despondent voice, like he'd given this explanation many a time before to many a different carer.

Arthur pitied all of them. He'd not even worked here for that long and he was coming close to the end of his tether half the time. He gave a small sigh but then quickly snapped open his eyes, though didn't look at Francis. He gave an intense look into a bush off where they sat as though he'd heard something before sliding his eyes ahead. 'That's fine, but for our own piece of mind, just please let us know. At the very least, the direction you're going in and how long you're expecting to be. That's a fair compromise, isn't it?' Arthur turned to look at him and fixed him with a tired gaze.

'I know you enjoy your independence,' he started delicately, 'but at this rate you're not going to be allowed out without someone firmly attached to your side and I know you'll consider that to be a lot worse.'

'I'm not yet used to all this.' Francis waved his hand absently in the direction of the home behind them. 'Three years, and I still miss being able to just go and do whatever whenever. You'd think by now-' He gave a hollow laugh. 'You don't understand how grating this is. To be watched and tracked all day every day; how frustrating it is. I hope you never do.'

He turned back to his companion and was slightly surprised. Arthur looked as though he was smothering down an expression of some sort that Francis couldn't put a name to, eyes sad and lips drawn together harshly, but whatever it was, it was replaced by his usual apathetic, unruffled stare so quickly that Francis was sure he imagined that there was anything else ever there at all.

'Well, I dare say I've got a few years left.' He patted Francis' knee. 'Come on, that's surely enough rough rambling to satisfy you for a while, we've got to head back for lunch.' He stood in one easy swift movement, noticing Francis' look of undisguised disgust at his ease, and then helped Francis to his feet, allowing him to walk ahead of him slightly. He waited a bit to make sure that Francis was out of earshot and then stood still and gave a quick look behind them, listening for something carefully. After a moment's pause and seemingly deducing that nothing was there, he quickly walked to catch up with his charge.

Dinner time was Francis' favourite time of the day, however less so for any staff member given responsibility for that day's meal. Residents of his building were encouraged to continue to cook lunches or small snacks for themselves with help during the day if they wanted something different from that which was offered, but dinners were all eaten as a single dish that the home shared. Francis wasn't too fond of not cooking or even helping, so liked to pop in and watch quietly.

Watching quietly often turned into 'helpfully assisting'.

'You need to turn them over now. That's it, see they're almost perfect! Now add the seasoning. No no, not that one; can't you see that now they're sticking to the pan?'

The person whom he was addressing was a portly, middle aged woman called Louisa with ruddy cheeks caused by a short temper and wispy brown hair bundled up into a hairnet. There were two head chefs employed at the care home and they shared the responsibly of meal planning and cooking throughout the week so as to add variety and to share the burden of planning medical needs, as well as taste. Louisa was not someone whom Francis got along with very well.

'Mr Bonnefoy.' She responded curtly, spinning around face him and pointed a spatula threateningly at his face. 'If you do not leave this area immediately I will be forced to call the head nurse and have you forevermore banned from this kitchen.'

Francis tired to interrupt but she cut him off. 'No excuses! I don't care what you do when Belle is here and I don't care if she allows this nonsense, but I will not. I can cook, I am aware of how to cook well, and I do not need you poking your nose in and telling me how to do my job.'

'Now,' she put down the spatula and took the meat off the heat. 'This is not a five star restaurant and you are no longer the head chef of one. If the food is not done to your exact standards then please by all means complain as I will happily not be listening.' She waved one of the assistant cooks over who was chatting to a nurse in the corridor. 'Please get Amélie to take Mr Bonnefoy to the living room, I've got a meal to attempt to cook and it'll go a lot better without any interference.' With one last shrewd look she shooed him away from the countertop with her hand and towards the door.

The nurse in question was a rather timid looking girl whom Francis hadn't seen before; upon approaching his side she took his arm, patting it in a way he assumed she meant to be a friendly manner. 'Come on Mr Bonnefoy, let's get you to the living room, yes? I'm sure you'd much rather enjoy yourself in there where you can watch television or talk with the others.'

Although annoyed by the way the lady was talking to him, as if he had the brains of a small, stupid child, Francis nevertheless hooked her arm in his and lead her towards the door. 'I'd much rather get to know you, my darling. After all, we've not had any new staff in a while and I'm sure I would have noticed someone as beautiful as you breezing through these halls if you'd worked here for long.'

She allowed a small smile and a quiet giggle. 'I've been warned about you, sir.'

'Francis, please.' He offered, leading her now out of the kitchen area, past other residents lumbering along to gather and watch T.V before eating. 'When did you start?'

'Oh, not too long ago. This is my first full day though I've been doing odd shifts here and there to get used to things. I'm Amélie; it's lovely to meet you.'

Francis grinned at her easily. 'Likewise. Now, where do you come from? Tell me all about yourself.'

'Right, first we have to get him changed, so you'll need to get his nightclothes out of bed for him.'

Arthur was putting Francis to bed tonight, and it seemed poor Amélie was being subjected to his gentle tutorage.

'Er- wh- where are they?'

'Open the wardrobe, normally all of the residents' clothes are kept on the second drawer down on the right hand side.'

With a quick nod she scurried across the room, leaving her corner to retrieve the clothes where it looked like she'd tried to take refuge from the blunt instructions Arthur was giving as he prepared Francis' bed.

'All carers have two key residents and another two whom they share with another carer, so there's a ratio of 2 carers to four patients; I'm sure you'll no doubt be assigned yours soon. You'll be the first point of call for your two key patients should you be needed and second for the other two; you will compare notes and concerns with your partner carer about all patients in your care and it's your job to make sure all four residents between you are happy.'

'I'm not happy.' Francis offered helpfully from his spot on the chair.

'Shut up.' Amélie looked shocked at the exchange but Arthur continued as if there wasn't an interruption. 'Now, obviously you don't stay with these residents all day and you're expected to interact and talk to all residents in your building, but it's your two residents you manage medicine for alone, help into and out of bed, help them wash if it's needed, make sure they eat, and generally help them with whatever they need.' Arthur finished and stood with his arms crossed.

'Any patient who needs lifting or medical injections requires the presence of your partner carer, so you'll have to work out a rota between you both as to when you're both available to help patients that need more care together. Some days, however, you'll just have to use whoever is free, so please don't attempt anything that you're unsure of on your own. Any problems and you talk to the head carer, Julia. Do you understand everything?'

Amélie clutched the bedclothes with something which looked akin to fear on her face, eyes wide and unsureness rolling off her in waves. 'Yes, I think so.'

Arthur gave a sharp nod and moved towards Francis. 'Okay then, would you like to get Francis ready? He's quite easy as he doesn't need lifting but I'll be here if you need anything.'

'Are you finished talking to me as though I'm not in the room?'

Arthur hmm'd and had the gall to appear to consider it. 'Probably for now, but you never know.'

Amélie made her way over and started to undress him. Francis smiled and opened his mouth but Arthur, the demon, coughed. 'Don't even think about making any sort of comment, you, I know that face.'

Francis sneered at him. 'You're just jealous that I don't treat you kindly anymore.'

Arthur laughed. 'You wish, frog.'

'You know, you're insulting an entire building by saying that, do you forget which country you're in, rosbif?'

Arthur sniffed. 'Hardly, God damn awful food plus there's you here as well. I can't be anywhere else can I?'

'You could always piss off back to your shitty island, you know, I'm sure no one asked you to be here.'

Arthur looked shocked, and belatedly Francis realised that was far too harsh and personal. The impending awkward silence was broken swiftly by Amélie, who straightened up and clapped her hands. 'All finished. Now Francis, let's get you into bed.'

As Amélie guided and settled him down, Arthur walked across to the sink and filled up a glass of cold water. Walking back again, he set it down on a bedside table and reached inside his pocket on his pale blue uniform shirt and pulled out a packet of pills. 'I told Julia what you mentioned this morning about sleeping and she thought we could try you out on these ones for a spell. If they work and you get a better night's rest without any...problems, we'll start reducing them and hopefully sort out the issue. You may not be sleeping because it's become a pattern, so hopefully this'll break it.'

'And if it doesn't?'

Arthur popped a pill out and handed Francis it and the glass. 'Then we'll have to get a doctor in and see if there's another drug you've not recently tried, or anything non-medicinal that can be done first. We'll work on things from there.'

Francis took the pro-offered pill and stared at it warily before swallowed it with the aid of the water. He shuddered, 'I swear they get larger the more infirm you get.'

Amélie patted his hand soothingly. 'It's perfectly normal to not like change Francis.'

Francis raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Arthur, who looked as though he also disapproved of this coddling behaviour. 'Yes, well. I've got my other resident to settle in and Mrs Dubois takes a little while longer.' He glanced over at Amélie who was still standing by the bedside and gave her a small smile. 'Well done at settling him in, is this your first nightshift as well?'

She nodded. 'Thank you for showing me the ropes.'

Arthur looked distinctly uncomfortable. 'Er, of course, no problem. It's just my job to. Luckily the patients in this building aren't a high risk so you won't need to check on them much, but a quick one is usually done at three am which you need to make a note of.' He gave her a warm smile and then looked down at Francis, face blank once more. 'I'll leave Amélie to lower you down when you're ready, Mr Bonnefoy, do you need anything else tonight?'

Startled by the formal address, Francis answered, 'Nothing at all, but may I talk to you alone for a bit?' He glanced over at Amélie, 'I'll only be a little while, and then you can finish up.' He winked at her when she nodded, causing her to giggle at him as she left the room.

'Is anything the matter?'

His eyes slid from the door to meet Arthur's green gaze. 'I just... wanted to apologise for what I said earlier. It was uncalled for.'

Whatever Arthur was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. 'What?' He looked terribly confused. 'No, I'm sorry Mr. Bonnefoy, I've been speaking to you far too informally; certainly not the way to treat a person I haven't known all that long, especially one in my care and I can promise that it won't happen again. I hadn't realised I'd let myself slip that much.'

'Please,' Francis looked at him deploringly, 'you're one of the only ones here who doesn't talk to me like I'm fast becoming a brain dead vegetable. I know I'm old but that's no reason to talk to me like a child.'

If Arthur had looked uncomfortable before, it was nothing to what he looked like now. He averted his eyes and coughed awkwardly. 'If that's-' he was cut off by Francis chuckling. 'Wha- what now?'

'Do you know, I don't I've ever had the pleasure of meeting someone as socially awkward as yourself.'

Arthur turned red. 'You arse!' Poking him on the side of the head, he answered, 'I may be socially awkward, but at least I'm not going bald.'

This elicited a gasp of horror. 'How dare you! Of all the things to say to me! And I am not going bald you bushy browed swine! I'd like to see you even try to look this good at my age!'

Arthur just smirked at him and turned to the door. 'See you tomorrow, old man.'

He opened the door and Amélie looked in. 'You can come in now.' He said, though not unkindly. He was about to leave, but stopped suddenly and checked his clipboard frowning. 'Actually, if you don't mind I'll stay for a bit- probably wise to see if the new pills actually take effect like they should.'

She nodded and moved into the room. 'Sure.'

He inclined his head towards her to speak to her softly. 'Do you mind just talking to him while you get him down, sleeping pills have never been his good point.'

Francis was starting to look a little wary at this point, but visibly brightened when she came closer. Picking up the remote, she lowered him gently downwards and helped him adjust. 'You have a lot of interesting knick-knacks here, Francis.'

He scoffed at her. 'Nothing much, I can assure you. You should have seen my old house; it was teeming with the most beautiful things, as well as my old paintings of course.'

'You used to paint? I thought you were a chef?'

Francis gave a soft smile. 'Ah, I was. I painted in my spare time.' He paused for breath, feeling the effects of laying down settle on his lungs. 'My wife had a little art shop and I use to sell some things in there, but mostly it was just a hobby.'

'Your wife?' she started.

'She died 13 years ago.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry.'

'Please, don't be. Marie was a wonderful woman who died peacefully surrounded by family; we both could not ask for anything better.'

She gave him a sad smile and looked about the room. 'Is that what you used to keep your art supplies in then?' She looked over at a battered briefcase, sitting forlorn and hidden in the right hand corner. It was a greyish brown and must have been quiet clean once, but age had battered the light leather covering and had softened the edges.

Arthur glanced up.

Francis gave her a cheeky grin. 'I'll tell you something, little one, I don't actually know what's in that case.'

'You don't?' She asked, confused.

'No, not at all.' He took a deep breath as he tried to fight off the drowsiness that he could feel start to creep up on him. 'I moved out of my parents' house when I was 23 and settled into a small place by the coast, in a small town near here.' Deep breath in. 'The house was quiet old but perfect. I met my wife and we had decided that she should move in with me so we could start up a life together.'

He was starting to blink more intensely now, fighting off the effects of the narcotic. 'I had to clean out a few things to make room, but wished to keep some so I went into the loft to store them. It was so cluttered that I ended up rearranging that about too.' The sentences were becoming very drawn out now, slow and heavy with sleep. 'I found it up there, tucked away under some boxes. It looked interesting so I tried to open it, of course, but couldn't. Firmly shut. Haven't been able to open it.'

He had finally closed his eyes and his breathing was starting to even out, but Amélie nudged him awake again. 'Why didn't you throw it away? Why keep it with you? What's so important about it?'

'Amélie...' Arthur spoke up quietly from the side. 'Let him sleep...'

'Why?' She ignored him and questioned Francis again, more vehemently this time, insistent that he finish.

'I don't know.' Francis mumbled drowsily, eyes still shut. 'It had a pull on me; no matter... what I did I couldn't... throw...'

She made a move, as if to nudge him again but Arthur stepped forward and caught her hand in his own. 'What are you doing?' he whispered angrily in her ear. 'I said talk to him to keep him occupied, not interrogate the poor man!'

She stood, pulled her hand back, but wouldn't look at him. 'I was interested... I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I just felt as though I had to know.'

Her eyes darted back over to the case in the corner and she rapidly looked away again, looking conflicted. 'It's strange, don't you think? There must be something important to him in there.'

With that, she walked quickly out.

Francis didn't have very pleasant dreams that night.

He dreamt he was in a large room which was empty apart from himself and one other person. The dream was darkened, but he knew there to be large, brilliant windows beautiful statues and old damask chairs, with painting in ornate gilded frames hung on the walls. In the dream it was dark, so dark, and so very cold.

The person he was with said something, but the sounds were muted and didn't register. He responded in the same manner, laughing.

The man held out a thing he'd been carrying, but it blended in with the swirling colours of his suit and didn't register as anything recognisable. Just a lumpy shape. He passed it to Francis and he held its heavy weight carefully.

Although he knew it to be heavy, it had no texture nor did he have any sensations of holding it.

There was another, slow this time, flurry of sound from the other man; the conversation tone had changed.

He responded in kind, but with a touch of confusion.

Anger, sudden thick, intense anger. That's all he could sense, that's all that mattered. Something had gone wrong, so very very wrong, and he tried to think quickly, tried to bring the conversation back to what it was like in the beginning but through the swirling of noise and colours Francis had no idea of what was going on, nor what he was supposed to do. A loud voice, a shiny thing, him throwing the lumpy thing away and then a sudden bang.

He awoke screaming, a pain like a fire burning in his chest and spreading rapidly across to the other side, smothering him in an inescapable pain. His lungs were constricting and he was finding it so hard to breathe, his shirt collar felt like it was choking him; it took everything he had to reach out and press the emergency button, blindly and widely groping about in the dark until his fingers hit the buzzer.

He didn't hear the door to his room bursting open, nor did he know how many people were in the room, but he could feel cool hands prying away the one hand he had clenched in his night shirt and then opening his top shirt buttons, as well as a calm voice talking to him, telling him to breathe deeply and just calm down, he was going to be fine.

The hand that was extracted from his chest waved widely for a bit and then gripped onto the nearest solid mass, which happened to be an arm, tightly whilst the other reached up towards his face. He registered that he was crying, tears were sliding unabated down his cheeks and settling in the hollows and ridges of his neck and clumsily tried to wipe them away.

After a few seconds the pain had receded slightly; he could hear better and became aware that what sounded like wheezy and drawn out sobs were actually coming from him. The rest of the room was silent, save from what he now realised was just his crying and the voice of Arthur talking to him.

'You're alright Francis, take a deep breath in and then out again. Come on.'

Francis tried to do as he was told but he ended up producing a quick breath in and a choked sob out.

'That's it, well done. Try again. Can you open your eyes?'

He forced them open but shut them again quickly as the tears around his eyes made him blink rapidly. He felt a tissue being pressed into his hands and he gratefully wiped his face, breathing slowly evening out as each second passed and the burning pain in his chest dissipated. He finally opened his eyes fully, and saw Arthur, face as blank as usual, bent across the right side of his bed and leaning over him, right arm being clenched in Francis' own vice like grip and the left holding a box of tissues. He gently placed them down on Francis' leg and said, 'I'm going to check the pulse on your neck now, okay?'

Still unable to speak, he simply nodded in a single jerky movement and then flinched back slightly at the sensation of cool fingers on far too clammy skin. He absentmindedly wondered if having such cold hands all of the time was healthy. As Arthur was taking his pulse, Francis noticed other carers on the nightshift awkwardly crowded around the room and looking very unsure of themselves. Arthur looked over at one and gave her Francis' heart rate before looking back at him. 'I'm going to raise you up so that you can breathe better, alright? Squeeze harder on my arm if I'm going too fast.'

He pressed the button and the small churning noises of the electric mechanics underneath him gave Francis brief warning before he was raised slowly upwards so that now he was sitting at a gentle incline. He took at deep breath, easier now due to lack of constricting pressure and a loose collar and opened his eyes properly. Asides from Arthur and himself, there were four other carers in the room, including Amelie. All were standing about the bed and room but had formed a wide berth around Arthur.

'Are you feeling okay now?' Arthur drew his attention back again, and to the hand he still had clamped to Arthur's forearm which he promptly, upon realising what he was doing, released.

'Yes.' He was ashamed at the pitiful croak he produced.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room.

'We'll leave you alone for a bit with Arthur, okay Mr Bonnefoy? Come on everyone.' Another male carer, by the name of Jean, started to shepherd everyone else towards the door and before long the room was empty and peacefully quiet again, broken only by the occasional hiccoughing breath from Francis.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the footsteps of the other retreating down the corridor before Arthur broke it. 'Did your chest hurt again this time?'

Francis nodded but offered nothing else; the silence returned.

'It was clearer this time.'

Arthur started a bit; he was just starting to relax, but recovered face quickly. 'Oh?'

Francis nodded but wouldn't look at him. 'There was definitely another man with me, he passed me something but then he suddenly got angry at something I said, though I couldn't hear anything that was going on. Then he shot me.'

'He shot you? Are you sure?'

'I could see a flash of what must have been metal and then a bang. It also felt like I'd been shot.'

Arthur worried his lip. 'You can't know what being shot fee-'

'I know what it felt like!' Francis protested vehemently, 'I know...I've just always...' He broke off and clutched at his chest again looking pained. 'I can't explain it but I know what being shot feels like and I know that's what happened. I want to say it's the same as other times, but like you helpfully pointed out, I've not been shot before.'

Arthur said nothing and continued observing him. Francis turned to look at him with scared eyes. 'Why do I always dream the same thing as soon as I take any form of narcotic? That's not normal, it's never been normal!'

'Calm down.' Arthur snapped, unnerved by the sudden out of character behaviour from his patient. 'Just calm down for a second, you're over thinking things.'

Francis shook his head despondently, silver hair falling loose from his hair band. 'Listen,' Arthur began, leaning forward again, 'when we're asleep, our brain sorts through what we've been through in dreams to help understand things, but it doesn't necessarily use memories to do this. Maybe when you take sleeping pills your brain just gets a bit more creative as it experiences a reaction to the drugs; maybe that's just the way your brain deals with chemicals in your body, I don't know. But don't work yourself into a panic for no reason.'

Francis sighed heavily. 'But why the same dream? Why is it getting clearer the older I get?'

Arthur leant back against his chair, crossing one leg over the other and he shrugged. 'Maybe the more you take them the more your brain reacts to them, or maybe your brain has associated drugs with that dream and the fear that goes with it, so it's created a pattern. It's okay to be scared of a dream, Francis, none of this is abnormal.'

Francis didn't answer so they settled back into the silence again. After a time, Arthur straightened his crumpled uniform shirt and got up to continue his shift. He left Francis, in accordance to his wishes, with his bed still at the slight incline to help him breathe and the lamp left on to bask the room in a dim orange glow, as well as the promise to return to check on him in a few hours.

Francis hated this; he'd had this problem since he was a young adult when he'd acquired the need for sleeping pills for the first time. The fear, the loud bag, and the large lumpy thing he received; they were all the same details. But the older he'd got, the more details he dreamt with and thus the more the fear grew as the more real the dream became. Recently, however, the dreams were becoming very clear, and because he had been having the same one his whole lifetime it now felt more akin to a dream of a memory, rather than a dream itself.

He shook himself and willed his body to relax and forced his muscles to stop tensing. Arthur was right, not that he'd ever tell him. He was over thinking this too much, the fear was from the dream, not for it. He'd experienced this before; he knew it would go away soon. Taking a deep breath in, he open his eyes to gaze around the room, lazily looking at everything cast in the warm, cosy light. Slowly, he slipped asleep again.

He came to at the sounds of a door clicking shut. It was probably Arthur, leaving again after his promised check up. The light in the room was now turned off, but the moonlight from the chink in the curtains allowed him to make sense of his surroundings in the dark. He shut his eyes and turned onto his right side to go back to sleep again when sudden cold panic filled his stomach and he flicked his eyes open again. The briefcase; he'd dreamt about the briefcase! The outline was the same, the faded colour was the same; his tired eyes and the lack of light made him see the damn thing nestled in the corner in a whole new, horribly familiar way. That wasn't made him panic though, what made him freeze in sudden, irrational terror, stiff under the covers, was the fact that it had moved slightly forwards, now jutting out at an angle from the corner, and a few books that were nestled on top had been moved onto the floor.

Someone, most definitely from the home and whilst he lay sleeping, had tried to break into or open his stupid tatty briefcase.

Footsteps faded down the corridor outside and he started to shake.

AN:

Hello and welcome! This is a new story of mine and it's gonna be a big'un. Pacing will pick up soon but I hope you like this introduction chapter regardless. It has now been heavily edited (16/02/2018) as my writing has improved quite a bit since this was posted in 2014: I have rewritten the first section to make it read easier and which was written in a completely different tense from the rest of the story and then switched abruptly halfway through the chapter. I did not even notice that until a few days ago; years have passed with that glaring error and I am ashamed.

Thank you very much for reading, if you've enjoyed it please let me know!