Patsy felt her breath catch in her throat as she stepped into the room. Part of her hadn't really believed it, couldn't really believe it until she saw Delia with her own eyes, as if even now it might somehow have been a terrible mistake.

But there she was.

This morning Delia had been brimming over with joy, happiness radiating from her even as she'd been dashing off with every expectation of a dressing down from the ward Sister. But now... In spite of her stature Patsy had never really thought of Delia as being small before. Her presence had always filled whatever room they were in until even the tallest man couldn't have hoped to overshadow her. Now she seemed barely more than child sized – fragile and lost, stranded in the middle of an island of starched sheets and pillows. Her face was bruised and her hair, usually so carefully arranged, had been hurriedly pulled back, fringe brushed away from her swollen and discoloured forehead.

In spite of the warning from Matron and her own expectations, Patsy's heart gave a sickening jolt at the sight. She wanted to run to the bedside and take Delia gently in her arms. She wanted to sob and kiss her and tell her how glad she was that she was alive. She wanted to stroke her hair and whisper over and over again that she loved her.

Delia looked up as the door opened, but her expression gave no hint that she knew who Patsy was and after a moment her gaze returned to the blanket, as if just raising her chin cost her too much effort.

Oh Delia.

Somehow, in spite of her own feelings Patsy kept her voice calm and gentle as she entered, closing the door softly behind her and moving slowly over to sit beside the bed, as though Delia were a wild deer who might take fright at any sudden noise or movement.

'Hello Delia, my name's Patsy. I came as soon as I heard what had happened. I don't suppose you remember me at the moment, but you and I are good friends'.

'You're a friend of mine?'

'That's right, we share a flat together'.

'Do we? How nice. Is this our flat?'

'No sweetheart, you're in the hospital. Can you remember what happened to you?'

Delia was silent for almost a full minute, frowning as much as the bruises on her face would allow. She seemed to be concentrating hard on the question, as though it required a great deal of thought to be figured out. When she spoke again it was slowly, hesitating over each word.

'I think... I think I had a fit. There were nurses, and a doctor with a torch. Are you a nurse?'

'Yes I am. So are you, we used to work here together, in this hospital. But the fit isn't why they brought you here. You were knocked off a bicycle on your way to work this morning. Do you remember any of that?'

'A bicycle? No... I don't... I can't remember anything. I'm sorry. I'm sure it'll come back to me soon'.

'It's not important now. The main thing is that you're alright... Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you? Or anything you'd like me to bring you? They gave me the things you had on you when you were hurt but your clothes will need a spot of detergent and a visit to a tailor before they're wearable I'm afraid'.

The words sounded foolish to Patsy even as she was saying them. Of course Delia wasn't alright. Since her first phone call to the hospital she had kept herself from falling apart with the thought that if she could just see her, even for a minute, she would know what to do, because it was Delia and things could never be awkward between them. But now she was here speaking to this politely distant version of Delia she found herself falling back on platitudes and stock phrases from the wards, as if fetching a cup of tea for her would somehow return the world to rights.

'That's kind, but I don't suppose I need anything. I don't know. It's still rather difficult to focus. I keep thinking that if only I could go home everything would be alright, but then I realise that I don't know what home is supposed to be like, and then I remember I don't even know what I'm supposed to be like, and it's frightening. Nothing makes sense'.

It seemed as though Delia had forgotten there was anyone else in the room, her words were addressed to the blankets in her lap and tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks. She looked exhausted and afraid. Patsy reached out to take her hand, trying to offer some comfort, but Delia jerked it back reflexively.

For a fraction of a second she sat as if frozen, fingers still extended towards the silently weeping girl, then Patsy withdrew her hand, swallowing hard around the lump that had formed in her throat at this unequivocal proof that Delia had no idea who she was. Somehow she managed to keep her voice almost steady as she spoke, though the tears gathering in her own eyes were making it difficult to see.

'It's alright. You had a bad accident and you're still in shock, even without all the painkillers they're giving you. It's wonderful stuff but morphine can leave you feeling rather disoriented. For now you just need to focus on resting. There will be plenty of time to sort out everything else, and you won't have to do it alone. I'm going to help you take care of everything, I promise. You don't need to worry'.

At that Delia looked back up at her, and although Patsy tried to tell herself not to expect it, her heart still twisted painfully when Delia's eyes did not shine with the love she was so used to seeing there.

'You're crying'.

Patsy blinked hard but fresh tears seemed to well up as quickly as she could clear them and it was all she could do to keep them from spilling over onto the vast tundra of blankets that separated her hand from Delia's.

'I'm not. Not really. I'm just sorry you're hurt. Don't worry'.

'...Patsy?'

Delia sounded uncertain, as though they had been introduced some time ago and she was not really confident that she had remembered the name correctly.

'That's right'.

'Patsy. Yes. Thank you Patsy, it was very kind of you to visit me. I really am glad you came and I'm grateful for everything you've said. I want to know all about how we met and what you can tell me about my life before this happened, but I'm so tired, and my head's hurting... everything is so foggy. Maybe we could talk again tomorrow?'

Of course, I'll let you get some sleep. I'll come back during visiting hours in the morning'.

'Good night nurse'.

Good night Delia'.

... ... ... ...

She had been telling the truth when she told the kind girl with the red hair that she was tired. She felt as though she hadn't slept for a week. But still, after the girl had closed the door softly behind her she forced herself to keep her eyes open, going over the words they had exchanged in her head. Already she was losing the finer details of their conversation amidst the dense mist that still filled her brain, but she wanted to hold onto the new information she had gained, to try and make it feel like more than a story she was being told.
Maybe if she said it enough, it would start to feel familiar. Maybe it would start to feel hers.

'My name is Delia. I have a friend called Patsy. She visited me. I am a nurse. I hit my head in an accident, now I'm in hospital. My name is Delia. I have a friend called Patsy. I am a nurse. My name is Delia'.

Even as she repeated the litany of facts that was all she had to know herself by, she found herself looking down at her hand. The skin seemed still to be tingling slightly where the girl... where Patsy had touched it. When she had reached out to her Delia had pulled back automatically, not because she had wanted to reject the offered friendship, but because the gesture has seemed an intimate comfort that didn't belong to her. To accept it would have felt like pretending to be someone she had never met, as though somehow she were stealing friendship from its rightful owner. Still, a moment after she had moved away she wished she had let Patsy take her hand. She had looked so sad afterwards. For all her effort to act as though it didn't matter, it had only been after Delia pulled away that the tears had gone from a shine in her new (old?) friend's eyes to pools just barely held in check by the long tawny lashes surrounding them.

She didn't know much, but she knew that she didn't want to make this girl cry.

AN: Much as I hate asking, if you like what you read in this story please leave a comment and let me know! (because otherwise I get all insecure and assume it's terrible and ought to be buried in the depths of my writing folder, never to see the light of internet). And if you DON'T like it then please leave a comment and let me know! (because constructive criticism is good for the soul. Or at least for writing improvement). Thank you for your continued reading :) x