We were doing okay with our investigation into the shootings. We really were. We managed to find and trace the shotgun sniper, and the satrap that sent him and we flattened them. Mark and I along with Darkly and Fielding, we rescued the innocent woman they had kidnapped, whose son they had killed, and we blew up their base...but then Mark got shot in the chest!

They tried to kill my partner. He was covering my back and there was nothing I could do to help him! Now I am sitting here in medical, holding his hand. Right this second I don't care about THRUSH or anyone or anything else. Maybe it is unprofessional of me, but I can't imagine going back to the field without Mark Slate beside me.

We fight and argue like brother and sister, you know. I know some of the guys wonder whether he and I are secretly lovers, but its not like that. He's my partner. I have been beside him when he is throwing up after ingesting disgusting THRUSH drugs and concoctions; cared for him after THRUSH broke both his arms, taking care of his every need; and he has been right by my side through similar things. We work well together, we can anticipate each other to the extent that we can combine operations without even needing to talk aloud. I was a good agent when I worked alone. I am an even better agent now I have Mark, and now I might lose him.

I am looking at him lying there, tubes in and out of his body, breathing mask over his face, the heart monitor making my heart stop every time it pauses...and it has been pausing quite a lot.

Mark, please come through this!

The final part of this infernal affair has already been planned, and is being implemented, and it was all Mark's idea! Mister Waverly even agreed that it was a good idea, however unpleasant or off-the-wall it may be for those involved, not to mention the rest of us having to stand back and watch from a distance...but right now I can't even stand to think about that.

It has been two days already since we brought Mark into medical, and he hasn't moved, not even an eyelash. The doctors still are not giving him any more than a 50/50 percent chance of survival. They seem to think that he should be starting to come round by this time. I really wish he would. For the first time I am starting to wonder...no, I can't even think about that.

Illya's here now, to say hi and to check on Mark. He and Mark always got on really well. I suppose both being relatively new to this continent, they had plenty in common. Besides, Illya did some of his pre-section 2 time at the UNCLE office in London, so they have that in common as well.

Illya can see I am tired and I need to visit the bathroom really bad, so I have agreed to quickly go and deal with that...but I don't care about food. I am trying to tell him, but he just won't listen to me. I think that Napoleon is rubbing off on him. I tell him that, and Nurse Naomie chuckles and Illya scowls. It looks like he and Napoleon are still fighting. If I wasn't so worried about Mark I might be tempted ask him what is going on...

Oh Mark, please wake up for me. I need you. I'm not going anywhere until you open your eyes. Come on partner, please...I hope I am not going to cry...

I didn't take too long in the bathroom, but I couldn't stop myself from crying a bit, and smudging my make-up again. Illya hugs me as I get back and tells me he is going to go down to the commissary and get me a coffee and a bacon sandwich. Bacon is Mark's favourite. He suggests maybe the smell of bacon will persuade Mark to wake up. He is only half joking. I thank him and grab my partner's hand once again.

This sitting vigil is always hard, and frightening; especially when there is real danger that your partner may die...and sometimes the worst does happen. It has happened before and it will happen again, that section 2 agents have sat here in this very chair for days on end and then their partner loses their battle for life. Napoleon Solo lost six or seven partners before Illya, and I think four of them were right here in medical. He and Illya have both been in here many times to offer me food or drink and moral support. Never together, but they have both been down here.

I'm so tired. The doctor wants me to take the next bed and lie down, and I think it might be a good idea, but if my partner wakes up I want him to find me right here sitting beside him the way he has always been right here for me. Maybe I will just rest my head on my arms and rest my eyes...just for a minute...

What happened? I fell asleep! Goodness, I don't know what I was thinking last night. Fear and grief and tiredness all together...and I maybe a little bit hormonal right now which always makes things slightly harder to cope with...I am looking up and everything is still...wait a minute, the breathing machine is turned off...what has happened? I feel the hand I am clutching move slightly, and I look up into the warm brown eyes of my partner. He is awake and smiling at me.

"April!" he says to me, smiling weakly. "I'm glad you're awake...I really need your help..."

"What?" I ask him, hardly able to tear my eyes away from him. He's awake. He's awake!

"Please can you scratch the sole of my right foot? It has been driving me crazy for an hour!"

And now I really am crying!