Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.

-Dion Boucicault

"Good morning," she chimed as the door shut behind her, a silent click that hung in the silent room. Her arms were full of brown paper bags, rumpled from being jostled around much too often and torn at the edges, her things from work stuffed in a knapsack that was worn around the seams. There was a thin sweat on her brow though she was smiling as if the effort did not bother her. Her smile no different from yesterday's or any other smile she had ever offered him.

The person in the bed stirred from the covers and sat up upon hearing her voice, wincing when he felt the tug of the needle on his arm as he moved. The room was dim, the light of late morning peeking in from between the cracks in the curtains. The color of the flowers on his bedside seemed to dull as she approached, as if she were bringing with her the very things he missed from the outside world in the tawny gold of her hair and in her smile. But whenever she was around everything else he yearned from the outside, flowers and sunshine and warmth, everything, would fade in comparison and there was only her.

His dear sweet Jeanne. Of course there would be nothing but her.

"Good morning, Jeanne. Let me help you with that, mon cher," Francis offered moving to get up off the stiff bed and the mass of pillows that weighed him down into the sheets. He could feel the creak of his bones and how his muscles strained with the effort of lifting his body as he tried to swing his legs off the side of the bed. Since when did the floor suddenly get so far?

"No, you stay put," she laughed as she chastised him gently, swiftly moving to the small table by the window, the clack of her shoes ringing against the empty noise of the air conditioned room. "You are sick, Francis. You don't have to do anything aside from get well. I can manage this much." She dropped the bags onto the table and wiped the sweat off her brow with a lacy handkerchief, a small sigh escaping her delicate lips. "It's so stuffy in here, why didn't the nurses draw the curtains?"

"Jeanne, I may be sick, but I am not an invalid," he attempted at a joke but there was an empty silence that followed as she averted her eyes and a twinge of hurt gracing her features.

"I… I did not mean it that way," she said in a small voice.

You are worrying her again. He sighed and drew his feet back into beddings, "I just woke up a while ago, and the nurses didn't want to wake me when they came in to leave my medicine."

Somewhat satisfied with his answer she turned her back to him and walked back towards the windows. Francis slumped back into the bed, sinking into the pile of pillows, and looked fondly at the girl as she pulled open the heavy white curtains letting in the golden sunlight.

"There we go." She turned to him and smiled softly, dispelling whatever other emotion that threatened to brim over the top. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Uh-uh," he shook his head. Some of his hair came loose from where it was tied at the back of his head. The color of his locks were looking less faded than it did the day before and this made Jeanne feel less uneasy.

"Are you up for anything with more flavour today or are fruits just fine?"

"I'll go with the fruit," he smiled back at her.

She rummaged around in the paper bags and pulled out two apples and a sandwich wrapped in thin clear plastic. She arranged everything onto a paper plate and then dug into her belongings and pulled out a small pocket knife. She pulled the chair from the corner of the room towards the bed and sat down, the plate placed delicately on the covers between them.

"So, what book are we onto today, ma chérie?" she asked clicking open the pocket knife and with a deft hand started to peel and cut one of the apples into smaller pieces.

He studied her for a moment, watching how her fingers moved over the fruit and how the light flashed against the blade of her knife and on her hair and on her eyes. As she set down the peels on one side of the plate he took her hand, so small and delicate in his, and kissed the thin silver band on her finger.

"No story books today, Jeanne," he murmured into her palm placing several light pecks on her fingers and wrist breathing in the faint smell of her perfume. Lilies. "I want to hear about you. How your work is, how you are feeling today." He smiled keeping her hand close to his lips.

She stared blankly at him for a moment, and then a wave of surprise and a light blush colored her cheeks. Slowly Jeanne clicked her knife closed and put it down on the table beside the bed. She gave him another one of her sunny smiles and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"Alright, we'll talk about anything you want to today." Suddenly she picked up a piece of fruit and shoved it into his mouth. She then leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. "But first you have to eat and take your medicine, mon amour."

He smiled back at her and licked his lips, the fruit bulging in his cheek. He chewed slowly, the crunching of the fruit slowly disappearing and he swallowed, the taste of the apple slightly bland on his dry mouth. "Of course, ma petite," he said when he was finished.

Francis took another piece of fruit and popped it into his mouth. His chewing was weak but at least he was capable of eating something solid again, though he preferred the taste of Jeanne's lips against his to any kind of food any day.

"So tell me, how are your students doing?"

She picked up her sandwich, unwrapped it and bit down with a smile taking her time chewing and swallowing. "They are full of energy as ever, I can barely manage to get them to calm down during break time. Though running around after them all day is fine with me, it gets tiring. Just this morning I had to climb the tree out in the back to get Giselle and Leone to come down." There was a sigh at the end but it was one of fondness rather than of exasperation.

"Ah, but you are always so wonderful with the children and that is why they have so much fun all day," he said raising a hand to stoke her cheek.

Her smile dropped slowly and she grew silent for a moment, just looking down at her plate. Her hand was calm as she placed the sandwich on the plate. Her eyes looked watery against the light and she blinked like she was biting back whatever was threatening to spill out.

"They wanted to see you today, Francis." Her voice was light and he had to strain to hear her. Though he wasn't sure if it was in his mind that he heard her pitch falter at his name.

The corners of his mouth pulled down momentarily. He took another piece of fruit from the plate and put it in his mouth, this time he attempted to chew with more vigor. With his left hand he lifted her face to meet his gaze. "Tell them that I miss them and that I will be back as soon as I can. I am getting better each day, Jeanne," he nearly choked out the words but he pressed on. "Of course I will be able to come back and visit you all soon. Trust me, alright?"

She lifted her head and nodded slowly, as if not thoroughly convinced, but she smiled nonetheless. It didn't matter to her if he could see the start of tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

"Now, finish your food and smile. You still have a long afternoon ahead of you. Tell me again, when did Tonio and Gil say they were visiting next?"

Their conversation went on as it would on any day until the time came Jeanne had to pack up leave for her afternoon classes, leaving him with some books he knew he would keep putting off to read, just so she would offer to read it out to him, and food gifts from their friends he knew he could neither eat nor enjoy.

Author's note:

My first attempt at a long fic in years.

This is set in an alternate universe and the idea is just something that wouldn't leave my head for a while.

Please tell me if you see some grammar mistakes and typos. Also I know zero French so forgive my horrible use of words.

I've been writing this on and off for almost half a year now, I think. I hope I can finish it.

Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated!

Thank you for your time.