And then Ned was standing in a doorway.
Standing. On his own two bare feet. His fingertips brushed the doorframe as he looked out into the hall. Scuffed linoleum, sunlight pouring through windows at either end, pale yellow walls, and completely empty and quiet. He took a step without realizing it and drew a breath, and his—
(his throat hurt, everything hurt)
he took another step and it was silent too. Another step. Tentative and slow, then confident.
Something happened, something had happened, and it had hurt, it still did hurt, and Ned was walking away from it. He was almost afraid to let himself look back, into the room he had left behind.
He headed toward the sunlight, and it felt warm on his face. He tipped his chin up and closed his eyes and just basked in it. He could feel his heart beating, could hear it, like an electric chirp.
When he was in the dim, cool stairwell, heading down to the ground floor so he could leave, he heard a door open above him and looked up, calm and waiting.
She came down the stairs slowly, her expression almost distracted. She had reddish-gold hair and she wore a bathrobe, her hands tucked into the pockets. When she caught sight of him, she smiled, and he smiled too.
"Hi," he said, and his voice sounded rusty. He cleared his throat. "I didn't think anyone else was here."
"Me either," she said. She looked like she had just finished a nap. She blinked slowly. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Me too. Mind if I come with you?"
"Not at all." He waited for her to reach him on the stairs, then began to walk down beside her, not touching her. She had blue eyes, and he liked her smile. "My name's Ned."
"Oh." She glanced over at him, smiling again. "That's an interesting name. Mine's Nancy."
"That's an old-fashioned name, too," he said. "You're really pretty."
She blushed a little. "Thanks," she murmured. She started to say something else, then stopped herself. The lobby was deserted too, but it was all clean, just—empty. Quiet. Almost waiting.
The glass doors slid apart at their approach, and Ned felt a little bit of his tension fade. He didn't know what he had been afraid of, but at least this felt like a good sign.
Some part of him, distantly, had been expecting snow and ice, treacherous blue-white everywhere. He could remember why, but he didn't want to.
Instead, though, they walked out onto a lawn thick with verdant, lush grass. Through a stand of trees he could see the rippling surface of a placid lake. No cars, no people. Just a perfect late-spring day.
Nancy was grinning when Ned looked over at her, and he was grinning too. He couldn't help it. It was the kind of day that made him want to draw a deep breath and let it out in a glad, happy cry. It was the perfect day for a lazy picnic.
Ned looked down and saw a picnic basket, a folded quilt on top. It was a familiar quilt; he remembered it, from—
He exhaled, pushing the nascent thought away, and reached down to grasp the basket's handle. "Mmm?" he asked her with a little nod, and she smiled.
"Sounds perfect."
Their stroll down to the water was slow and easy. "Where are you from, Ned?"
"Around here," he said.
"Me too," she said slowly. "I think. I... I feel like my entire body is one solid bruise, and then I take a breath and I'm okay. I'm dreaming, aren't I."
He shrugged. "Maybe we both are," he said. "Although by now I'd think the scene would have shifted to something else. But I like this. It's the perfect day for a picnic."
"That's a hospital behind us, isn't it."
He glanced over at her. "Do we have to talk about it?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "I guess not," she murmured. "I guess we don't."
He spread the quilt at the edge of a shadow cast by a tree, and they sat down and opened the picnic basket. No matter how much they removed, there always seemed to be more. His mother's chicken salad sandwiches, potato salad, tall chocolate brownies, cheese crackers. Nancy smiled when she saw the brownies.
"Hannah's. Oh, they look good."
"Hannah?"
"Our housekeeper. She's practically been my mom, since I was a little girl."
Ned nodded. "My mom's chicken salad is great," he said. "I think you'll like it. Do you like the kind with grapes and pecans?"
"I like it practically any way I've tried it."
They sat in companionable silence for a while. The faint electronic chirp of Ned's heartbeat faded under the sound of the wind through the tree's leaves and birdsong. Once, when he glanced at Nancy, he saw the side of her face darkened by a massive bruise. When he looked more closely, he thought it had only been a shadow.
"You don't think we're—dead, do you?"
She said it hesitantly, her blue eyes flicking up to meet his quickly before she glanced back down, clearly afraid of his answer.
"No," he said, although he hadn't been sure of what his answer would be until he opened his mouth. "I think there would be more people here... but I think..."
"We're close," she finished for him, when he trailed off. "This is a step between."
He nodded, scooping up the last bite of potato salad. The taste of it was more intense than anything he'd ever tried before.
"How do we get back?"
He shrugged. "I don't want to," he told her.
"Why?"
He didn't want to think about it. He didn't. "Why do you?"
She looked down. She had broken her brownie in half, and held a bite of it between her fingers. "My dad," she replied. "I'm all he has, since my mother died. Hannah, my friends Bess and George... the case I was working on." She straightened a little when she said that.
"Case?"
"I'm an amateur detective."
Ned smiled. "I didn't know there was such a thing."
She nodded. "And the case I was working on... there was an explosion. I'm sure the culprit caused it. I tried to get away, but I must have been too close." She shook her head. "But someone found me."
"How do you know?"
"I can hear my heartbeat echoing in the sound of a heart monitor, the kind in the hospital. I've been hooked up to those things enough to know it in my sleep." She smiled. "I just... when I opened my eyes I thought I... oh—"
Nancy vanished.
In the blink of an eye, where she had been was empty space. Everything else was just as it had been—lush green grass, leaves rustling faintly in the trees above him, sunlight reflecting on the surface of the lake—but she was gone, and Ned was alone.
He took a deep breath and looked down at the quilt, the food that suddenly didn't seem nearly so appealing anymore. His appetite had vanished. He was alone, with nothing to distract him anymore.
He hadn't said it, but he was pretty sure she knew. Ned could sense that somewhere, somewhere in all this quiet, was the doorway, the transition that would take him away from all this. Once he went through it, he would never go back, but he could never come back here either. He would be at rest.
Ned gazed out over the surface of the lake and wondered for a moment if he could find it, diving in there... but Nancy was gone. He wondered if she had reappeared inside the silent hospital, if she would be there looking for him.
He hastily packed the remains of their picnic and gathered the quilt, then began the walk back, hoping that he would find her inside. All the charm of the perfect, tranquil day had been lost without her.
And Nancy was sitting on the beach, gazing out at the horizon. She was fully dressed, in lightweight white cotton pants and a gauzy white shirt. Her arms were wrapped around her bent knees. She felt content.
It had hurt, so much, and she had wanted to stay, but it had been so hard. She would just stay here until she had managed to get some strength back. That was all.
She couldn't help feeling lonely, though. As soon as she had become terribly aware of the staggering pain she was in, it had felt like a strange dream, meeting Ned—and then she had forgotten about it entirely. It was only here, looking out over the water, that she remembered it and missed him. But if this was a dream, and she knew it, she might have some control, and she could call him back to her...
"Nancy?"
She turned. Behind her were palm trees and dunes, and strung between two of the trees was a hammock. Ned was just beginning to sit up in it.
Ned. She had never known a Ned before. She didn't know why he would have given her that name, if he was just a figment of her imagination.
She grinned, pushing herself up as he did too, and they met halfway. She opened her arms and he wrapped his around her, embracing her hard.
"I thought I'd never see you again."
"Me too," she murmured. He smelled real, and masculine—and she could detect, just at the edge, that slight antiseptic smell of the hospital. "I'm so glad you're here."
With a sigh they released each other, and she looked up into his face.
"Did you go back too?"
Every time she had asked him a question that had been too much for him to handle, she had seen him flinch. He flinched again, so quickly that she didn't know if he realized it. "Is that what happened to you?"
She nodded. "But it hurt too much. I couldn't stay. So we can just stay here for a little while and rest."
She was hopeful, but she knew he was going to decline before he shook his head. "I don't want to go back."
"Are you in a lot of pain?"
His hand was in hers, and they turned to walk along the edge of the water. She saw a tiki bar beyond the next group of palm trees, and they headed toward that.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand. "Do you remember what happened? Or do you not want to talk about it?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay."
The tiki bar wasn't staffed, but it was fully stocked. They went behind the bar and made themselves drinks. Nancy made hers from orange juice and cranberry juice. Ned made himself a Roy Rogers, and that made Nancy smile.
"What can we talk about?" Nancy asked, once they settled onto the lounge chairs just outside the bar, still nursing their drinks. The soft susurration of the tide, the water foaming as it lapped at the beach and then retreated, served as a quiet backdrop. The sky was just barely beginning to darken. "I don't want to make you upset."
"You said your dad—that you're all he has."
Nancy nodded. "My mom died when I was really little. He's a really great criminal defense attorney, but he's never remarried. It's just been the two of us and Hannah for a long time. I think it would break his heart if..."
He nodded. "I understand."
She took a sip of her drink, considering. "What's your favorite memory, Ned?"
Slowly, as the sunset began and painted the sky in brilliant pink and dusky gray-purple, Ned told her about himself. He stuck to older memories, before now—but she learned that he was a student at Emerson College, just a couple of years older than she was, and he loved being there. She could imagine. He was a handsome quarterback with a charming smile, and his quiet assurance inspired confidence and trust.
He was a little old-fashioned, though, and Nancy caught herself wondering if the version of him in front of her wasn't the same one she would have seen in his hospital bed. Maybe this version of him was younger, the version of himself he wanted to recapture most.
"It's getting dark," Ned commented. "I don't think we should stay out here at night."
Nancy raised her eyebrows. Her glass had long been emptied, and strings of Christmas lights had come on at the tiki bar, but the beach remained deserted, except for them. "Will we find somewhere to sleep in the tiki bar?"
Ned shook his head, standing. "No, but I think... if we try on the other side of those sand dunes..."
Nancy had no doubt in her mind that this, what they were in, was a dream. Maybe they were creating it around them, maybe Ned was a figment of her imagination, but this was a dream. It had to be. It obeyed the strange, sideways logic of dreams.
Because of course he was right. On the other side of the sand dunes they found a small beach hut, set up on a rise so one side had a gorgeous view of the water. The room held an oversized bed made with pillowy white linens, a couch, and a refrigerator, but no television, no phone. She didn't know what they would have watched, who they would have called, if either would have worked. She didn't care.
As soon as she saw the bed, even though she didn't want to, she felt exhausted. She knew it would feel so soft and inviting. She brushed the sand from the bare soles of her feet and walked toward it, slowly, already anticipating how good it would feel.
Ned didn't ask, but he didn't need to. He moved toward the other side of the bed and they slid beneath the comforter together, and met in the middle. He felt warm and strong as she moved into his arms, and Nancy closed her eyes.
She didn't know why she felt so safe with him. Maybe because it was a dream, and he had never done anything that had made her nervous or afraid. He was hurting, and she was too, and they needed rest. She needed to get back.
Even though she didn't want to leave him.
It felt close here, the doorway, the portal, whatever it was. He could feel it tugging him.
He stood in front of the Omega house, looking thoughtfully at the shape of the letters hanging on its face. A banner made of Emerson colors was fluttering from an upper balcony. The street was quiet. The house was quiet, and he had never known it to be quiet in all his time here. The grass was a thick lush green, cool and supple against the soles of his bare feet.
He wasn't sure where she was. The girl. Maybe she had found her way back, and he wouldn't see her again.
Without her here, it would be so much easier to pass through. The sound of the machines had grown even more faint. This felt like a place he could say goodbye.
The house looked cleaned, made presentable, like guests were expected. Ned passed one particular door and couldn't look at it. He wondered what he would see if he opened it. The only other person he would ever find, in this long, held breath? Even worse, a note?
He went to his room. It looked almost sterile. The window was open, and a quiet breeze fluttered a curtain. Books had been stacked on the desk in even, neat piles. Photos were pinned to the corkboard mounted on the wall.
He opened the long, shallow drawer in the desk, took a breath, and began to look for the bracelet.
When he heard the footsteps on the stairs, light and unsure, he turned and gazed at the door of his room. Slowly the steps approached, and he watched the knob turn. His heart was up in his throat. If it...
He saw reddish-gold hair, bright blue eyes, and relaxed a little. So she had found him.
He turned back to the desk as she walked into his room and crossed to stand behind him. His fingertips brushed softness and he grasped it between his fingers.
"I'm sorry I lost you," she murmured. "I didn't mean to. Are you okay?"
He didn't know how to answer. She touched his shoulder as he pulled the bracelet out of the drawer.
"Why did you come back?" he whispered.
"Do you want me to go?"
He considered. She took a few steps and sat down on his bed, looking over at him, and he could feel her concern.
"No," he murmured. "I missed you."
"Come back with me," she said softly. "Please."
He shook his head. "I can't," he murmured.
"You can. I know you can."
He put the bracelet back in the drawer and closed it. Then he turned to look over at her, to really look at her. Was this how she really looked? Was he just seeing an echo of her? Or was she all in his head, the voice of his conscience in the skin of someone he had glimpsed in a crowd, on a train?
She gave him a small reassuring smile. Then she extended her hand, motioning for him to come to her.
He waited a moment, then obeyed her, sitting down beside her on the bed. He could still feel the soft weave of the bracelet against his fingertips. She wrapped her arm around him.
"Please," she whispered. "I don't know if I'll be able to come back. Please."
He shook his head. "I don't even know if you're real."
She smiled. "Just like I don't know if you're real. But I can't leave you here. I—I can feel it. Like a current."
He looked down at his hands, studying the fine lines, the creases. "Go back while you still can," he murmured.
She rubbed her palm against his back. "Here," she said. "Just... relax with me. It will be all right."
He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that he would stay. She would wake, or she would be gone, but he would stay here. And if she didn't come back, he would go to where that current was pulling him, and it would be done. He couldn't feel guilt or anger about it.
She pulled him down, and he moved with her, facing her. She nestled against him, her arm over him, and he embraced her too. He could feel that this was close to what his body was doing. Lying down felt—right. He just wanted to sleep.
"Come back with me," she whispered. "Please. Whatever you're going through, whatever brought you here, it will be all right."
It wouldn't. He knew that. He touched her hair hesitantly, then stroked his hand against it. He needed to sleep. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted it to be over.
It was over. He was just dreaming. That was all.
"Please," she whispered.
"Shh," he murmured. "We just need to rest."
"We can," she whispered, although he could tell that she was drifting away. "We just have to wake up..."
He stroked her hair again, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. She felt real. And if she was real, somehow, if she really was sharing this place with him, then he couldn't take the chance. She wanted to go home. He didn't want her to follow him to where he was going.
He stroked her hair a few more times, until she was deeply asleep. Then he kissed her forehead and took a deep breath.
Outside the fraternity house, all was still as it had been. A flag fluttered in the light breeze. Ned carried the sleeping girl in his arms, and it was no hardship at all. She wasn't heavy. He carried her away from that pull he felt, and she became lighter and lighter in his arms. He was surrounded by tall trees, dappled sunlight playing over his hair and shoulders, when she vanished.
He wasn't surprised. He stopped there and glanced up, taking a moment to wish her well. He would never see her again, because where he was going, she couldn't follow.
He turned and followed the current again, slow, calm.
Nancy woke in the hospital bed.
Her throat was sore. She ached all over, and her head was throbbing. She was miserable.
Ned.
"Nancy..." Her father's voice was choked. "Hey, sweetheart. Just calm down. You're going to be all right."
She couldn't calm down. She didn't know how much time had passed, but she knew he was in danger. If he found the doorway or the portal, whatever it would take for him to cross over, she couldn't follow him through it. She wouldn't leave this behind.
She wanted to live. Her father and Hannah were both in the room with her. She registered, blurrily, bouquets of flowers in the room, a few balloons. As much as it hurt, Nancy knew she would get better. She would heal. She would see her friends again, and she wouldn't hurt so much anymore.
Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination, a hallucination meant to keep her company while she was healing. But she didn't think so, and she wouldn't be able to relax if she didn't make sure. She was still disoriented and preoccupied by her pain, but after a few agonizing deep breaths, her head stopped spinning quite so much.
She moved to slide out of the bed, and her father rose, fear in his eyes. "Honey, you have to calm down. Please..."
"Please help me," Nancy replied, her voice weak and rough, looking into his eyes. "I need to find him."
"Who?"
"Ned." She coughed and moaned in pain. The skin along her left side felt like it was taut and aflame. "Please."
A nurse, alerted by Nancy's heart monitor, rushed into the room. "Calm down. Just stay with us this time. How are you feeling? What's your pain level?"
Nancy started to shake her head, but the pain was like agony. "Let me find him," she said. "I'll come back and rest as long as you want. Just let me find him."
"You're in no condition to do anything," the nurse told her sternly. "Stay still. You'll pull out your IV."
Nancy released a distressed cry, her eyes filling with tears. "Dad," she said, casting a pleading glance at him. "I'll be good. Please, just help me."
Her father searched her face, clearly anxious. "Do you promise? Will you just stay here? We can try to find him."
"Find who?"
As soon as the nurse left the room, halfheartedly promising at her father's behest to see if anyone named Ned was in the hospital, Nancy started to move the sheet aside again. "I'm going whether you help me or not," she told her father and Hannah.
They found her a wheelchair, which was good, because Nancy's steps were wobbly and she found it hard to focus on anything for very long. With every second that passed, she felt it somehow fading. If she wasted much more time, he would be beyond her reach, and she would never be able to save him.
He might not be real. If she didn't find him, maybe he wouldn't be real.
"He'll be in intensive care," she murmured to herself. "Because he won't wake up."
"Intensive care?" Hannah replied. "Nancy, do you promise you'll just relax after this? You can't strain yourself. Not again."
"Yes." It was already hard to keep herself conscious. The pain wasn't easing off any.
"If we're lucky," Nancy heard Hannah whisper behind her, "she'll pass out in a few minutes and we can tuck her in bed again."
Nancy's heart sank. Hannah was probably right. It was taking a lot of strength to even stay upright in the chair.
And then, once they emerged from the elevator, she pointed without knowing why. Her heart started beating faster.
Nancy knew they were just humoring her, hoping she would become tired and have to rest. It was very tempting. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him in that upper-story bedroom, sadness and resignation etched on his handsome face, just inches from her own. She felt his warm palm stroking her hair. He had to be real. But maybe he was only real there. Maybe he was an echo of someone who had passed on long ago.
But she didn't think so.
With a raised palm, Nancy gestured for a stop in front of one particular room. The door was closed. Nancy took a deep breath. "In there," she said.
Her wheelchair didn't move, though. They had no idea what had drawn her here, and she couldn't blame them for doubting her. Moving slowly, she maneuvered out of the chair and onto her unsteady feet. She was wearing a pair of thick gray socks with tread on the bottom, and a faded, well-washed hospital gown. When she reached up to shove a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, her hand felt bruised, and her hair was greasy and stringy.
She looked awful. She knew she did. And it didn't matter.
Two people, a man and a woman, were at the bedside. The woman had white hair and her face was drawn into a worried frown. The man—he looked like an older version of Ned. Both of them looked upset.
And Ned was in the bed. His head was swathed in bandages; so was an arm. The monitors were still beeping steadily, even if the chirps seemed slow to Nancy.
"Ned," she whispered. When she took a step toward him, she faltered. Her knee nearly buckled. Her father stepped up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.
"What's going on?"
"I need to talk to him," she said, then looked at his parents. "He won't wake up, will he."
His mother shook her head. "Do you know him, dear?"
There was no way to explain. She wasn't even sure if she could. "We've met," she said, and then looked at Ned again. "Please help," she asked her father.
Her father walked with her to Ned's bedside. Nancy reached for his unbandaged hand and took it in her own.
"Hey," she whispered. "It's me. I know... I know you're afraid. But please come back. Follow my voice and come back. Please."
Ned's mother sniffled. "They were in a car accident," she whispered. "His best friend—was trapped in the car. He went back in to help. Burned himself badly."
But he didn't save his friend. That explained the sadness she had seen in him. His best friend was beyond the door. Ned didn't think he deserved to live, having failed his friend. He had been distancing himself from his life every time she had asked him about it.
"Ned." She drew a deep breath, painfully, and clasped his hand in both of hers. "Your parents are here and they love you and they don't want to lose you. And my-my mom's on the other side of that door, just like your friend is. They'll wait for us. But we need to live, okay? There are people who love us and need us to stay. So please come back. Please. I don't know how to get back to you, where you are. Please wake up."
Another nurse came in. "Only two visitors at a time," she said, and her tone brooked no argument. "You have to leave. What are you doing here?"
Ned's mother had her hand on his shoulder. "Please," she said to her son. "Please come back to us, honey. We love you."
Ignoring the nurse, Nancy closed her eyes. She tried to will herself back, to that place where they had been the only people around. But she didn't know how to get there, or if it would take so long that she would be too late. Maybe now it was already too late.
Ned. "Wake up," Nancy whispered. "Please wake up."
And she felt it in her heart. It wasn't a spoken word; it wasn't some thought that traveled between their minds. It might have just been her projection of him; she didn't know. No.
Yes. Come back. "Come back," she whispered. "Open your eyes. Please. It's not time yet, Ned. Please."
The nurse walked out, muttering something about finding her supervisor. Nancy didn't care. She wasn't going to leave his side, not as long as he was still alive. If she didn't succeed, she had a feeling she would be watching his last breath.
One of her hands still wrapped around his, Nancy touched his shoulder. If they had been alone, she would have carefully moved into the hospital bed with him, holding him as they had held each other in that strange place between. She could smell smoke and gasoline, clinging to his skin and hair. He had never smelled like that before.
Ned. Please, please wake up. I'd do anything...
She couldn't have explained it, then, why it was so important to her. He was in pain. She knew how it was to be in so much pain that just the act of surviving seemed more than could be borne.
The heart monitor gave the first sign that he might actually be hearing her. She glanced over at it, and at the sudden motion the throbbing in her head intensified for a second. Her vision blurred, and she gasped in pain.
"Honey?" Ned's mother's voice was shaking. "Can you hear me, baby?"
Please come back. She wasn't even sure if she could speak, the pain was so intense. Maybe she was overdue for her medication.
Then she felt the hand in hers twitch, and tears rose in her aching eyes.
"Mom," Ned croaked, and his mother released a cry. "W-water."
Nancy's father wrapped his arm around her waist again. "Come on," he murmured. "We'll let them be alone. You need to get some rest."
Nancy could only manage a slight nod. She couldn't blame her deep exhaustion and pain on contacting him; she didn't think she had. It was just coincidence. He had been strengthening, coming back to consciousness. She had just happened to be there to witness it. With any luck, he would fully recover and heal.
She let her father guide her back to the wheelchair, where he and Hannah helped her sink back into it. She kept her eyes closed, her arms wrapped tight around her, as they wheeled her back.
When she slept, after that, she never found herself back in that strange, lonely place where she had met Ned—and slowly she began to forget about it. It hadn't been real, after all. Trying to tell anyone else about it would have made her sound crazy. She just needed to focus on getting better.
A few days later, Nancy was starting to feel a little more human. Despite the packaging's promises, the dry shampoo Hannah had brought for Nancy hadn't left her hair looking freshly washed, but at least it was an improvement, and she had slowly, carefully given herself a sponge bath in the tiny bathroom. Bess and George had just left, after promising they would come back for another visit the following day. Hannah was at home, making something bland but delicious to bring for Nancy's dinner; her father had returned to work after spending his lunch hour with her. She was just beginning to drift off when she heard a quiet tap at the door, and she slowly blinked her eyes open. Probably another nurse coming to check on her.
Instead, she saw a white-haired woman. Ned's mother.
Nancy began to push herself up, but the woman raised an arresting hand, shaking her head. "No, please, please relax. Nancy?"
Nancy nodded, and was relieved when her head only throbbed slightly in response. "You're Ned's mom," she said, before she could stop herself.
"Yes." The woman took another few steps toward her. "I... thank you. For taking an interest in our son."
"Is he all right? Better, I mean?"
"He's improving. It will be slow, but we knew that. We're just glad he's awake."
Nancy smiled. "I'm glad, too."
The older woman glanced down, then back into Nancy's face. "He... wants to see you," she said. "He won't see anyone other than James and me, but he wants to see you. Would you... be able to come see him? Again?"
Nancy was nodding before Ned's mother had even finished what she was saying. "Of course," she said.
She felt incredibly self-conscious when she touched his door again. She was uncomfortably aware that she felt less than truly clean. And why did he want to see her? Did he remember it as she did? Or maybe he didn't remember it at all. Maybe it really had been just a dream.
He was sitting up in bed. He seemed to be wearing fewer bandages now, but his face was still mostly obscured. When she walked in, he turned his face toward her.
"Nancy," he whispered.
"Ned," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrible," he said, and coughed, then groaned quietly. "Thank you—for coming to see me."
She smiled and stepped closer to the bed. "I hate that you aren't feeling well," she said. "But I'm glad you're awake."
Once she was close enough, Ned reached out and grasped her hand in his good one. "You're real," he murmured. "I didn't know if you were. Everything lately feels like a dream."
She nodded. "For me too," she whispered, although she didn't add, especially this.
And Nancy woke.
She was in her husband's arms, her face nestled against his chest. She could feel his heart beating, and his skin was warm against hers.
He made a soft noise and stroked his palm over her hair. "Just a few more minutes," he mumbled.
She smiled. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, and once his breathing evened out again, she still lingered in his arms a little while longer. Maybe they weren't on their honeymoon any longer, but they were still newlyweds. Waking in his arms was still new and wonderful.
Then she forced herself to get up, and stretched slowly. Ned was deeply asleep again. His broad tanned shoulders were visible above the sheet.
She went to the kitchen still dressed in one of Ned's pajama tops and a pair of fuzzy socks, shivering until her exertion and the warmth radiating from the stove reached her, and made breakfast for both of them. Toast with butter and a thin layer of jam, bacon and eggs and banana. She put both plates on a tray and brought the tray to the bedroom, a mug of coffee perched in each of two corners.
For a while she had doubted if any of those dreams she'd had while recovering were true. As soon as he had been able to, though, Ned had wanted to see her, spend time with her, talk to her. And from their first conversation, she had known it was somehow all true, that she and Ned had shared those dreams. It made no sense to her, but it was true.
As they had both healed, as they had learned more about each other, Nancy had fallen in love with him. Ned had fallen for her too. She had comforted him when he had told her about the accident, trying to save his best friend, the story that had been too painful for him to tell when they had first met in that dream. She had craved the comfort and peace she had felt sleeping in Ned's arms, in the dream they had shared—and it had been impossible, inexplicable, but still true. It wasn't sexual. It was just—that he was her home.
They had come so, so close to never meeting at all. Nancy had heard two of the nurses talking about it. When he had first come into the hospital after the accident, burned and injured, they hadn't been sure if he would ever wake again.
Nancy knew she hadn't called him back to life. But maybe this had. Maybe her heart, the affection and the small seed that would blossom into love, had done it. Otherwise, she would never have met the man who would be her husband, the only man she had ever loved so completely.
To her, he was beautiful. She had watched him heal; she had seen the pain in his eyes, his clenched fists, his gritted teeth. He had watched her heal, too, most often right beside him. And she had never known him as he had been before the accident. Her eye could trace nearly imperceptible scars, skin that had healed almost perfectly after such terrible injury, and she rejoiced that he was so nearly whole again. She thought that had bonded them, too. She wasn't holding him to some standard or ideal he could never again meet; she had just been glad to know him as he was, as he grew into his new skin.
She felt like she had grown into new skin too. She had changed after her own accident; she had changed as she had grown to love him, and then she had become his wife.
He wore a plain gold wedding band around his left ring finger; he wore a woven friendship bracelet tied around his right wrist. When he had planned to find the doorway and walk through it, the bracelet had been a bit of baggage he didn't need to carry. He wore it on this side for Mike, for the friend he had tried so desperately to save and had lost too soon.
Mike had been a man, both good and bad, both mischievous and passionate. He had been Ned's best friend. They had shared so much, and for Ned, for the rest of his life, Mike's absence would always be felt.
Nancy had grown to become Ned's best friend, and he hers. Every time she looked at his handsome face, she felt such a swell of love.
"This looks incredible," Ned said happily, running his fingers through his disheveled hair, sitting up in bed waiting for her. "Thanks, honey."
She couldn't help beaming as she maneuvered the tray so they could both use it. "You're just excited about the bacon."
"And about finishing my food so I can cuddle up with my beautiful wife again."
She grinned, tucking a loose strand of reddish-gold hair behind one ear. Ned reached over and took her hand in his, holding it as they ate.
She couldn't imagine her life without him. She couldn't imagine how it would have been.
And she was infinitely glad that now, the soft strange unreality of her dreams was nothing more than that—and when she woke, it was to see her husband's face.
This story was based on the following prompt, from otpprompts on tumblr:
Imagine your OTP/OT3 having never met before. They are very sick or badly injured and in the hospital, fading in and out of consciousness, and things are looking bleak with exception to the fact that whenever they fall asleep, they share a dream of getting to go anywhere they want together and do whatever they want, free from physical limitations, and become close through their sharing of this strange world as they attempt to recover. How the relationship grows is up to you.
Bonus option A: someone dies, though the other(s) are still able to enter the dream after they recover, waiting for their missing compatriot until they realize they're not coming.
Bonus option B: they survive, and the first time they see each other in the waking world after, they share a knowing smile and/or embrace each other much to the confusion of others present.