Summary: Robbie has a chat with his night nurse.

Early evening, Sunday, June 2nd, 1940

"Cee?"

His voice was so scratchy and low that at first Cecilia thought she had imagined it when she arrived at his bedside that evening. She had met one of Robbie's nurses and they spoke quietly for a minute about his progress. She sat as close to the edge of the bed as she dared, grateful she was able to take advantage of the darkened room to break a hallowed rule of hospital protocol. The room was a little livelier than the first night she had been here; soldiers caught up on their sleep were beginning to feel restless. It provided a little more privacy for their conversation.

She cupped a hand to his whiskery cheek. "It's me, Robbie," she whispered, stroking her thumb against his skin. "I hear you've had a busy day."

He let his face sink into her palm for a moment, then opened his eyes to look at her, heavy-lidded from morphine and exhaustion.

He had thought he had heard her from time to time, but by the time he found the energy to open his eyes, her voice had disappeared. He would croak out for some water and some pleasant-enough nurse would oblige the first cup, but never the second. He understood why when his stomach bubbled unhappily, the mixture of medicine and an empty stomach causing him to close his eyes and will himself back to sleep to avoid the nausea. He lost track of how many times he heard her and missed her. What a cruel joke this dream was.

The room was dark, and he remembered it brighter from before. It must be night. He blinked and in the darkness as her silhouette, pale and pretty, reached over to hold his head as she guided a glass of water to his lips. He drank and thought it only natural that he needn't have asked, that she knew his very needs.

"More."

"In a bit, love. I don't want you sick." A washcloth appeared from outside his field of vision and wiped his face. He knew he was hot but he couldn't help but shiver. The cloth was a refreshing mix of warm, with the cooling condensation being a soothing after effect. How luxurious this all was. How smooth her skin felt against his rough cheek.

She wasn't speaking. He could barely keep his eyes open and he couldn't read her expression. " Say something," he whispered.

Her voice was choked with tears. "You came back." She had been holding his hand over the covers, brought it to her mouth and kissed it. "Oh Robbie, you're back."

He thought about how wonderful this all was, and how improbable. "I'm dead."

She sniffled and stared at him quizzically, shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. Would you hurt so if you were dead?"

She had a point, so he tried again. "I'm dreaming."

"You've horrid dreams."

"I must be dreaming," he said, his speech slurred and slow. "You're here. But you work in a maternity ward. I'm not in a maternity ward, am I?"

She laughed loudly, having forgot the argumentative aspect of Robbie's personality. In her nurse's mind, she made note that he was lucid and logical. Perhaps the worst of the fever was over. Or, worse, perhaps this was just a reprieve that would lull them into a sense of safety. She did not plan to take chances.

She decided to indulge his confusion. "You're at an EMS in Morden, just fifteen minutes from my flat in Balham. I've charmed the ward sister to let me visit outside visiting hours."

"What day is it?"

"It's the second of June, almost nine o'clock in the evening. Sunday." She shifted from crouching above him to sitting on the bed with him, though she knew it was prohibited. She still held his hand and stroked it as she spoke. "A friend of a friend recognized your name when she was taking care of you – can you imagine that?" She chuckled at the realization of how far their story had spread. "Apparently, my friends like to tell the story of a girl born to a rich family who becomes a nurse after they exile her lover for a crime he didn't commit." It was a comical version of their situation she had conjured long ago, easily told to new audiences and less inclined to lead to further, detailed questions.

"I've had a busy day, too," she continued. "I was here two nights ago when you first arrived and didn't get a wink of sleep all night. Then I had the day off to recover and came back that night, too. You had a rough time then – I think the infection got a little worse before it started to respond to the medicine. Then I worked today over at my hospital, even though I was a useless wreck, and came here to see you. But you'll never guess who I ran into on my way here last night."

"Who?" he breathed, smiling at her proximity and happy conversation. Minutes in her company could cure a thousand shrapnel wounds, he thought.

She paused and met his eyes. "My brother Leon."

This was news. He took a big breath and thought of a proper response. It was exhausting to talk, but it seemed important to make sure things were all right. "Did you speak. To him?"

She laughed lightly. "I almost didn't. But he was so concerned about you I thought I might want to hear what he had to say. He had lots of news, as well." She thought of telling him about Paul Marshall but knew it would upset him, and she didn't want to ruin their reunion. "The biggest of which was that he married four years ago and has a little girl, and another on the way."

Leon a married man. That sounded right to Robbie. "That's wonderful."

"Isn't it? He married Mary, the actress. I don't remember much about her, but she seems sweet. He said to tell you they're all praying for you and thinking of you."

"How nice." And it was, to know that she was repairing her relationships with her family. She seemed animated by this news, positively bubbling over with excitement over reuniting with her beloved brother.

"He might stop by tomorrow, but your mother's taking the early train from Surrey to spend a few days with you while I work. If it's all right with you and her, I'll tell him to pop in."

"Yes," he breathed, closing his eyes and weaving his fingers in with hers, clasping them to his chest. He could still feel his wound, but it was a dull feeling of presence and not pain. He imagined her touch to be a balm that spread throughout his whole body, restoring the tired cells and replenishing his energy. Hospital or no hospital, this was a luxurious feeling.

"I'm wearing you out with all this talking," she said, amused by his contentment. "They'll kick me out for sure."

He licked his lips and she returned the water cup, wiping up after a trail of liquid missed his mouth. He drank deeply and sighed. "I could listen to you for years."

She laughed again- what a sound! "That sounds like a plan, but only if you talk back."

He opened his eyes to look at her again, which was a struggle to do. He understood he was going to sleep whether he wanted to or not. "Yes."

"Yes to what, dearest?"

"To that plan." He was dizzy and his eyes watered, but the washcloth came back and she took care of that, too.

"You're still very weak. You came here in rough shape. A couple hours more with that wound and …" Her voice trailed off, but she needn't finish. He understood.

He thought of his mental state at Dunkirk and figured she was right. How stupid he'd been, to fight the corporals about getting treatment. He wasn't about to tell her that. Not right away, at least. The whole ordeal made him feel more exhausted than he thought he could be, and they sat quietly a few minutes more.

"You're going to fall asleep," she whispered into his ear. "And they will make me leave soon."

"But you'll be back," he stated.

"I will always come back," she affirmed, kissing him lightly on the lips. A dangerous gesture. She leaned in closer and rested her forehead against his, continuing to touch his cheek and quivering hands, then kissed him again, deeply. "I love you, Robbie."

"Cecilia," he sighed, sleep winning over his other desires. She sat up and watched for a moment the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, hands still entwined with his. She couldn't help but be clinical, and was thankful he neither rasped nor labored in his breath. Septic wounds could kill fast, as she knew from her work, but she was beginning to gain confidence that Robbie would recovery soon.

"It's nine fifteen, Miss Tallis," a voice said gently behind her. Cecilia didn't know how long Sister Carruthers had been standing there observing them, but she swiftly rose from the bed, straightening the sheets around her lover, ready for a reprimand.

Sister Carruthers led her to the door, keeping a warm arm around her. Cecilia sniffled as they made their way through the ward. "He's had a good day," the matron said soothingly. "There's no need for tears."

Cecilia nodded again, more as a reflex than in agreement. The tears flowed harder. There was more to explain that could be expressed, and she hoped the woman would understand her inability to make herself communicate. "It's been a long day," she croaked helplessly.

"I'm sure," said the nurse, patting her arm as she opened the door. "Until tomorrow, Miss Tallis."

"Good-night, sister."