Author's Note: the title of this fic is a lyric to a Coldplay song, Clocks. Listen to it, it's really good.
Anne had been sitting in the hospital for four hours. During that time, she had been sitting next to Phillip for three, since she wasn't allowed to be there while the doctor was there. Stupid snobby New Yorker laws. The nurse who came in later told her that Phillip was unlikely to wake up that night, but Anne didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. She pulled Phillip's hand into hers.
"What if we… rewrite the stars?" she sang softly, her voice breaking on the notes. "Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could… keep us apart, 'cause you are the one I was meant to f-f-find." A tear rolled down her face as she sighed, praying that Phillip would be alright and everything could go back to normal. Just then, the door opened.
"Phillip?" asked a voice Anne knew far too well. Phillip's parents strode into the room, seeming to bring a chill with them. Anne didn't move. Maybe if I don't move, she thought, they won't notice me. Sadly, she was wrong.
"What are you doing here?" Phillip's father asked her angrily. Anne looked up at him, counting to ten in her head like W.D. taught her before she said anything in reply.
"I'm waiting for Phillip," she said quietly.
"What was that?" Mr. Carlyle asked.
"Waiting for Phillip to wake up," Anne told him again, louder this time. She took a deep breath, trying not to say anything rash. "Why are you here?" she said, a touch too angrily. Phillip's mother gasped.
"We're his parents," she told Anne. "We're the ones who should be here." Anne tried not to laugh, but a harsh chuckle escaped her mouth.
"Really? His parents, you say? What kind of parents would ignore their only child until he did something to increase their social status? What kind of parents would deny their son even a small bit of happiness in his life? Well, Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle, Phillip told me a bit about his childhood, and what you did to him. Your 'discipline,' Mr. Carlyle, I must say, leaves a lot to be desired. You don't beat a child because he makes a mistake." Phillip's parents were shocked, but Anne wasn't finished. A nurse came in to check on Phillip, but Anne was still talking, yelling now. "How are you so heartless? Why don't you care about Phillip? You're too wrapped up in your money and rich little lives to care, and that's just plain wrong!"
"Excuse me," said the nurse, but Anne didn't stop.
"Just… just go!" Anne told the Carlyles. "I don't want to see you again, and frankly, I don't think Phillip does either!" As two more nurses entered, trying to see what the fuss was all about, Mr. Carlyle's face grew livid.
"How dare you address us like that, little circus freak?" he shouted. Anne stood up, letting go of Phillip's hand and marching over to where the Carlyles stood.
"I'm 'addressing you like that' because I'm tired of you hurting Phillip!" Anne hollered. Two more nurses walked in. "I love Phillip, and you obviously don't. So I'm really not sure why you're here. Please leave," she said, trying to regain her temper. Mr. Carlyle glared at her, and she held his gaze. Finally, he stepped back and stalked out the door, Mrs. Carlyle following him. Anne sighed and sat back down next to Phillip, a single tear trailing down her face as one of the nurses walked over to the bed.
"That was impressive, Miss Wheeler," she said, smiling. Anne looked up at her and managed a small smile in return.
"Will Phillip be okay?" Anne asked the nurse. The other woman nodded.
"He has a few burns that may take some time to heal, but he will be okay, Miss," she replied. Anne breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm allowed to stay here, right?" she asked the nurse, who nodded.
"Would you like a cot?" the nurse asked. Anne shook her head.
"I'm alright, but thanks," she said. "I'll just stay here; I can sleep on the floor if I need to." The nurse nodded, then started walking back to the door. "Thank you!" Anne called after her. The nurse turned back to look at her and smiled, then walked out. Anne sighed, alone with her thoughts again. She wished Phillip hadn't gone into the circus, wished he had just stayed out with the rest of the performers in the front. And now, here he was, badly burned and unconscious, while she was fine and sitting here with him. She felt tears falling down her face and sniffed, lying down on the bed next to Phillip, being careful not to disturb him but taking his hands in hers as she cried herself to sleep.
Anne woke up the next morning to a nurse coming to check on Phillip. She recognized the woman as one of the five who saw her yelling at the Carlyles. She sat up, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders and putting her hair into a messy bun so it was out of her face. The nurse quietly made some notes, then left Anne again. She held Phillip's hand, willing him to wake up, but he didn't move. She stayed next to him all morning, as the hall slowly filled up with other patients from other rooms.
Sometime that afternoon, a nurse came again, but didn't speak at all and left soon after she arrived to go check on other patients. Anne didn't go anywhere all day and barely moved, hoping Phillip would be okay.
Suddenly, Anne felt Phillip's hand move in hers. She looked at his face, holding his hand tightly, and saw his eyes flutter open.
"You're here," he said hoarsely. Anne gasped, overjoyed that Phillip was awake. She leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. He smiled at her, and she kissed him again. She felt the eyes of everyone in the room on them, judging them for who they were, but she ignored them as she pulled Phillip closer, laying her head down next to his.
"I love you, Phil," she whispered.
"I know," Phillip whispered back as he held tightly to her hand. Some things didn't need to be said to be true.
THE END