" Do you ever wish we were still lovers? Remember that weekend in Paris? We spent two days in bed. Oysters from room service. We should do that again."
She sinks to her knees next to his chair, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"Yeah."
He brushes his fingers through her hair, smiling affectionately down at her as two fat tears slide over her cheeks. His lucidity suddenly returns, and he flinches back self-consciously.
"But that never happened though, did it?"
And this time, she can't look at him. But she grabs his hand and squeezes it fiercely.
"No, Tony. It didn't."
"And now it never will. Pity. I think I would have liked that."
She rises, grasping him firmly, and helps him to his feet.
"Tony, you're going back to the hospital now, and we're going to get this all sorted out."
He's unsteady on his feet, and he sways a moment. She cups his elbow to steady him, drawing him closer in the process. The tension that always crackles between them, she's brushed it aside too many times to count. But she's running out of time now, and she knows it. Moving slowly, trying not to spook him, she gently presses her lips to his. She expects him to balk, or demure, even push her away. But instead he kisses her very softly back, like he's been doing it for years. And maybe in his mind he has. Her arms slide around him, pulling him into an embrace. She is almost afraid to hold him, scared that he is fragile and will crumble in her arms. He remains on his feet, slight, but sturdy. His lips brush her ear and he whispers:
"I don't even know if I like oysters. Carol, do I like oysters?"
She pulls back to look him in the eye. She knows he is frightened and confused, and she has nothing to offer him except hope.
"I don't know. But if you get through this, Tony, I promise to help you find out."
And she makes a promise to herself that if he lives, if he wakes up with his mind intact and his body sound, there will be a weekend in Paris in his future.