Chummy has her baby and she's in intensive care.

Hello! Little Bean!

She's on Pethidine.

She won't take the Gas and Air.

We need a blood transfusion –

Mr. Noakes please move –

A man in a white coat moves quickly past him-

There comes a time when you have to place your life in someone else's hands. And this was one of those split seconds where she felt her life spiral completely out of her control. She felt his hand slip through the finger tips as they hold on for a few more seconds, he reaches once again, and she's pulled away into a place he couldn't follow. Behind the doors marked Theatre. She's no longer safe and close to his reach. She will not forget the whispers of his touch as his fingers left hers. Moments like these are tangible where time stops and takes hold of your every breath and movements. Her blood is the river that pulsates through her body, and all she could hear now was the thrum of each pulse aching through her head. She hoped he heard her as she leaves him in the hallway – Name him Fredrick!

Things were happening rather quickly, she felt weightless and motionless as she was lifted from the stretcher to the table. With blurred vision she squints to focus causing her head to spin in ways it made her feel queasy to her stomach. The movement all around here is caught in slow motion, voices echoing inside her ear causing her to glance around, but it's far too late as she squeezes her eyes shut only the nausea hits.

A firm hand holds hers in place with that bally mask on. With all her strength she pushes it away for the third time. With heavy breathing she swallows hard trying to keep everything down. Tiny little beads of sweat drips into her vision the room walls move before her, creating panic in her voice , "I'm-going-to-be-sick."

Mrs. Noakes everything will be fine –breath in normally-

Find her the bowl Nurse-

Blood pressure is down-

Another hemorrhage!

Catch a falling star…

….put it in your pocket

Never let it fade away

With that her eyes close

Dim light cascades across the spacious room casting a shadow of a figure sitting across from her with his tunic as a blanket covering him. She blinks, several times to clear the grittiness of her tired and dry eyes. Moving wasn't an option she felt her arm with the IV hooked into it. The other was tucked under her it now explains the tingling feeling in her fingers; she's been lying on it for so long cutting the circulation off. What actually pulls her out of her slumber wasn't him in the corner. She felt phantom movements from within her womb; this ache of emptiness fills her heart, hope on hope her baby survived. She could feel the fullness and tenderness of her breasts, soon her milk will come in, causing her ache more for her baby. Her eyelids felt heavy with sleep and they close again.

Mr. Noakes, would you like to hold your son?

How's she doing?

Resting and her vitals are stabledo you have a name for him?

Fredrick that's the name we picked for him.

A good family name Mr. Noakes

(Memories fade from her morphine induced dreams, sifting her feet through the sandy beaches at Ramsgate.)

Was it a dream?

There was no way of knowing how long she was unconscious for but what woke her this time was the metallic taste in her mouth. Likely she had bitten down on her tongue as it felt cracked and split open. Her tongue licks her lips they were also very dry and cracked, they felt like old paper crumbling in the hot blistering sun. Her eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting in the room; she scans the area seeing that he hasn't moved since she's arrived in intensive care. Hospital air is dry and when she works in one, she always had to carry a bit of Vaseline to coat her lips to help them maintain moisture.

I need water!

The thoughts form but she couldn't even whisper them, she could feel the cracks in her lips bleed from being so dry. Movement of her lips hurts a lot, but she does it again until she could make out the words. "I-need-water." She said in a raggedy breath.

The sound of her voice pulls Peter out of a dream of dancing, drinking in a bar then the white walls come flooding back into his vision; right, he was a dad, and his wife held onto life with a thread of hope. He didn't change out of his work uniform; still clad in his work shirt, pants and boots, with his tunic and tie hung neatly over the back of his chair. He focuses on his wife awake calling for water. He had cried, but he would never tell her that, not now, not ever. What he does though is reach over to touch her hand, holding it softly drawing crazy little patterns on her knuckles. This was his sign, his way to indicate that he's always there for her.

"Camilla?" He calls to her softly while he pulls a glass out and fills it with water. "Here, sip, slowly." He helps her to wet her lips with small little sips of water.

This process took them some time to get the rhythm just right with her sipping from a straw and him holding on to her without accidently causing her harmful pain. Her mouth felt wetter and the metallic taste slowly disappears. She definitely cut her tongue open as the wounds stung a bit with each sip she took. She knew there was dried blood on her lips because Peter took her magic hanky out and wets the tip with the water and carefully wipes her mouth clean. Once she was ready to speak she does.

Her voice is weak, barely above a whisper. "Sorry Peter."

What is she sorry for?

She's fine – we are fine, our baby is safe.

Silence passes between them for a few seconds when it struck him. And a smile escapes his mouth.

"We have a son, Camilla."

Then she hadn't dreamt it. She now remembers how they enter silently, very few words spoken, only the sound of paper unwraps and their gentle movements with warmth covering her from the love they made with each stitch connecting them back to Nonnatus House.

With a flat of her hand palm down she caresses the blanket in soft gentle circles. Why hadn't she seen them, or even known. They were knitting and crocheting each square sometimes while waiting for calls. Her eyes closed she smiles for the first time in two whole days.

"Where is my little bean?"