First, I do apologise for the long wait. As you can see from my profile I got distracted by other fandoms and gave into the temptation to write for those instead of WR! And then when I did plan to do more WR nasty things like kidney stones (ouch!) came out of nowhere. However, I'm back, and determined to finish this but the speed with which I do so definitely depends on you, dear readers!

Lori: Hope you're pleased to see this back (at last, I hear you thinking ;) ) and that it's worth it! About to start a rewatch so hopefully the next update will be more timely.

NiamhEmilee: Hey, back as you see! Hope you haven't given up on this altogether.

Paisley: Heh. cackle I really enjoyed writing those Kevin and George bits! I've a feeling that at bottom they're very similar. May play with that thought a bit.

Mini Peacelet: Hope you see this OK! News forthcoming... :D

Mulgrew Household, 6.40am

An insistent shrieking shook Tom out of a deep sleep and he blinked bemusedly when his phone—pulled from its customary spot under his pillow—indicated that he had another twenty minutes before the alarm was due to sound.

Then he realised.

It wasn't his alarm, it wasn't even his phone, it was Christine's. Unlike him, she did not sleep with it under her pillow but when he turned his head he could see the flashing glow of the screen from her bedside table. He swore under his breath and rolled out of bed, padding around it to snatch the bloody thing up, thumb poised to silence it. Christine needed all the sleep she could get—

He glanced at the caller-ID and swore a second time, heart rate accelerating as he recognised the number. For a moment he considered waking his partner but decided against it; if the news was bad he preferred to give it to her himself.

He raised the phone to his ear as he slipped into the hall, softly pulling their door shut.

'Hello?'

A pause, and then: 'I need to speak to Mrs Mulgrew.'

There were no clues in the blandly officious voice. He swallowed twice before he could say, 'She's still sleeping. This is her fiancée, Tom—Tom Clarkson.'

'We need to speak to Mrs Mulgrew,' the annoying voice insisted and Tom cut in before she could spout any more crap about rules and regulations.

'If this is about Connor, you can tell me. I'm on the next-of-kin list, you can check and see. Mrs Mulgrew hasn't been sleeping well and I don't want to wake her 'til I must.'

There was a pause. Then a different voice came, one that seemed vaguely familiar. 'Mr Clarkson? Tom? I'll think Christine'll want to be wakened for this. Connor looks like he's coming round!'

Tom's knees weakened and he sagged against the wall. Eventually he was able to say, 'Are you sure?'

'As sure as we can be. Obviously there's no way of knowing until he's fully awake if the coma's been hiding any damage and it could be a while before he's anything like properly conscious let alone coherent but ... He's definitely coming round. We got the consultant on-call in and she's confirmed it.'

'That's—that's ... ' He had to stop to clear this throat. 'We'll be with you as soon as possible.'

'Fantastic. Don't break any speed limits coming, though—the doctor's with him now, doing a further assessment. We just thought you'd like to know.'

'Yeah.' He couldn't say more, even though the little voice inside that sounded like his mother reprimanded him for not saying thank you but all he could think of was Christine. Christine and being able to give her good news for once.

He hung up with a mumble he hoped the nurse (he assumed it was a nurse) would interpret as a courtesy and went to sit on the edge of Christine's side of the bed.

She did not move. He did not expect her to.

He woke her by leaning over and brushing his lips against hers; he could feel the moment sleep fled when she made a little sound.

'Chris. Love, I've something to tell you.'

She sat up so fast that they banged foreheads together hard and Tom gave a groan of his own. That hurt.

'Oh, God, Tom, I'm so sorry.' His fiancée was holding her own head in both hands. 'Are you OK?'

He took his hands away from the bump he was sure was starting to form and allowed a grin to spread. 'I'm better than OK and so will you be.' A beat. 'Connor's waking up.'

She stared, her eyes growing very large before she dropped her face in her hands. A shudder ran through her but she wasn't crying—or at least not as far as he could see. He gave her a moment before pulling one of her hands down.

'Chris?'

She managed a smile that wavered around the edges. 'I'm ... I did hear you right, didn't I? Connor's awake?'

'Well, he's not quite there yet. The girl on the phone said the consultant's happy he's coming round and they've got another doctor with him now.'

'And he's ... He's gonna be fine?' Christine sounded as if she couldn't believe it and he didn't blame her. The last weeks had been nothing more or less than a living nightmare.

'They don't know that for sure,' he cautioned, hating to see some of the light die from her eyes but not wanting to set her up for crushing disappointment. 'The nurse—I think it was the ward sister, actually—said that there's a possibility that the coma disguised damage they weren't aware of. But if he's waking up at least we'll know something and that's better than we've had, isn't it?'

'Anything's better than this limbo,' Christine agreed, swinging her cover back and moving to stand. She sat down again almost at once and Tom looked at her in concern.

'Christine?'

'I must be more shocked than I realised. My legs are like jelly.'

'So were mine,' Tom said, grinning from sheer relief. 'If it wasn't for that narrow hall of yours I'd have ended up in a puddle in the floor. Tell you what, why don't you sit there for a bit and pull yourself together? I'll run down and get us some breakfast and bring it up. Steady us both before we get ourselves sorted!'

Christine nodded, leaning back against her pillows. 'Good plan. Thanks, Tom. Where's my phone, by the way? I'll call the ward myself and get the latest.' Tom looked at her and she gave him a sheepish smile. 'I know, I know. I just ... I need to hear it for myself.'

'Course.' He leaned in to kiss her. 'And when you've reassured yourself that I'm not making things up you should call Imogen, eh? She'll want to know too.'

He thought Christine's smile became fixed. 'Sure.'

He frowned in sudden suspicion. 'She's his wife, Christine.'

'Yes, and she's flying down to Dene Hollow in a couple of hours. This is her only chance, she can't miss it!'

Tom stopped by the door. 'I doubt she'll care.'

His fiancee's lips pinched. 'I care.' She gestured. 'Go on, you. Breakfast. I'll make those calls.'

'Including the one to Imogen?'

Christine paused before giving giving a nod. 'Of course.'

Satisfied, Tom departed kitchenwards, whistling softly as he went.

Glasgow Airport, 8.30am

Imogen sat in the VIP section for the Glasgow-Heathrow flight, huddled deep into her puff jacket and her arms wrapped around the extra-extra large handbag she was using as hand luggage-cum-schoolbag for the duration. The flight was due to leave at nine and she'd been told she'd be called at any minute.

She tried to snuggle deeper into her jacket to alleviate the chill inside. She'd been excited, after a fashion, right until the moment her mother left, Dynasty and Louisa in tow. The other two had kept her spirits high but once she was alone every doubt and fear she'd had about doing this right now came swooping back.

What if Connor woke while she was away? Worse, what if he didn't wake? Imogen didn't know what be worse; spending the next two weeks worrying about him or getting an emergency call to come home because Connor ... because Connor ... She shut the thought down, refusing even to articulate it.

Then there was the fact that she'd be at Christine's mercy for news. Could she trust her mother-in-law to give her timely updates on Connor's condition? Once Imogen would have laughed the idea to scorn, but after the last few weeks ... after Christine's ultimatum ... she wasn't so sure.

What if Connor woke up and Christine didn't tell her? What if her mother-in-law tried to turn Connor against her? She might, Imogen thought anxiously. People don't change thatmuch. Christine could be manipulative and Connor loved her too much (and feared for her too much) to reliably see through her schemes every time. If he'd just roused from a coma he'd be especially vulnerable, ripe to hear (and believe) anything and everything she chose to tell.

Imogen's tummy flipped at that. Even she had to admit that her actions in recent weeks did not reflect well on her. In Christine's hands the story could easily—so easily!—be made to sound much worse and Connor was so protective of his mother just now ...

She straightened, remembering her mother-in-law's FaceTime call the night before.

Enjoy it, Imogen, she'd said. This is your big chance. Don't blow it!

I can't wait, Imogen had confessed, excitement and nerves (and relief to see Christine smiling and looking as if she cared) getting the better of her. Promise you'll tell me if—

She told herself she imagined the pause before Christine said, Of course I will. You have my word but before she could call her on it the older woman ended the call with a motherly reminder to go to bed early and make sure she got to the airport in plenty of time to check in.

Not that there'd been any fear of that; Imogen was not blind to the irony that for once both her mother and mother-in-law were united in their desire to get her on that plane—and away from Connor, albeit for very different reasons. Sally had hustled her out of bed ridiculously early, even Lulu had commented that they were too early. Dynasty was quiet, but then Dynasty was always quiet when the topic of Imogen's possible relocation to Dene Hollow came up. Her best friend's clear dislike of the idea made Imogen appreciate her support all the more. She was very fond of Louisa but Dyn ... Dyn was special.

On impulse she pulled out her phone and began to type an affectionate message of thanks. The air stewardess would be coming any minute to board her and then she'd have to turn her mobile off.

Thanks for everything she typed. No matter what, you'll always be my best mate, the epicest best mate—

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. It was the air stewardess, gesturing towards the open gate. Another passenger, the one in a wheelchair, had already gone ahead.

'Ready?'

Imogen nodded and rose, still clutching her phone.

'Got your boarding pass?' The woman held out an expectant hand. Imogen fished it out of her coat pocket and handed it over.

'Great. Just go on through down the stairs. There'll be someone to tell you where you're going next.'

Imogen smiled and nodded and stepped forward, her mouth going dry. This was it, in a few minutes there'd be no turning back. She hesitated and the air hostess frowned.

'Are you all right?'

Imogen stared at her, longing to say No, I'm not. This was a mistake, I don't want to do this but years of being told not to make a nuisance of herself came to the fore and she nodded dumbly. The stewardess urged her forward with a gesture and she obeyed, her free hand gratefully gripping the plastic-covered stair rail. If only her knees would stop trembling!

She managed to get down the stairs. At their foot was an open door; the draught coming through it was bitterly cold and she shivered. A uniformed young man was standing, clearly awaiting her, and he beckoned her forward.

'Heathrow?'

She nodded.

He pointed to the nearest plane, the one with two sets of external steps. 'It's that one. Can you go up by yourself?'

Annoyance flared; she was deaf, not stupid. 'Course. Nothing wrong with my legs.'

He flushed. 'Sorry, miss.'

She relaxed, suddenly feeling guilty. 'Me too.' A pause and she stepped out into that wind, pausing to say, 'Thanks.'

It was so cold, she thought. Cold enough to hurt.

She quickened her pace, almost reaching the foot of the nearest set of steps when her phone started to vibrate in her hand. She stopped and glanced at it, her heart missing a beat.

Several beats when she saw the sender.

It was a message from Christine. Two words that changed everything.

He's awake.

She wheeled away from the plane and started running.

Inverclyde Royal, 9.45am

Christine's heart stopped along with the lift as it jolted into place, the tinny announcer proclaiming their arrival. Tom's hand was warm on her back, urging her forward, but all at once her legs felt as if they'd turned to lead.

'Are you comin' or goin'?' a young woman with a nose-ring and purple hair demanded as the lift doors threatened to close. 'Make up yer bleedin' mind. Some of us have places to be.'

'Wind your neck in and give us a minute,' Tom snapped and Christine could see the purple-haired one draw back at his tone. 'Chris. Come on, this is it!'

She nodded and expelled a shaky breath. 'Yeah.' With Tom still holding the doors back, she stepped out and looked at the young woman waiting. 'Sorry.'

' 'S OK. Place is hell, innit?'

Christine forced a smile. 'You could say that.' She took Tom's arm but hesitated when he started to walk. She wanted to see Connor desperately but fear was bubbling too; at that moment ignorance (and hope) was almost preferable to knowledge—and their unexpected companion was a useful and momentary distraction.

She jerked her head in the direction of the double doors that lead to ICU.

'Got someone in there?'

The other woman gulped. 'Yeah. Yeah, it's me brother. A brawl. He got ... he got stabbed.'

There was a painful silence before Christine asked, 'Is he going to make it?'

'They ... they don't think so.' The young woman's mouth worked. 'Y-you?'

Christine squared her shoulders. 'My son.' A beat. 'He got stabbed too, but the worst of it's been the coma, he's been out of it for weeks.' All her hesitance and fear suddenly fled, a compulsive need to see Connor flooding her in its place. 'I'm sorry, we need to go. They think he's waking up—'

Pain filled the young woman's eyes but she nodded. 'Good luck.' She turned back to the lift, thin shoulders slumping, and Christine squeezed Tom's arm as they moved away.

'Do me a favour, love?'

His eyebrows went up in silent query.

She indicated the girl. She really wasn't much more and she looked so alone. 'Check on her. Check she's got someone other than the brother? She shouldn't have to do this alone, I couldn't have done it without you.'

Tom's frown faded. 'Course.' He grinned. 'Once a headmistress, always a headmistress, eh?'

'If you like,' but it wasn't her teacher-instincts coming to the fore in this case. She kissed him quickly and pushed him towards his new charge. 'See you soon. I'll be fine, I—I need to this by myself, OK?'

Tom's gaze on her was far too knowing but he did as she suggested, leaving her to square her shoulders and march into the ICU with her brisk professional stride. Hearing her low work heels click against the floor was oddly steadying, and she felt reasonably in control of herself and her emotions by the time she came to the tiny side-ward that had been Connor's home for the past weeks.

She paused to peer through the window.

Connor was lying half-upright, propped against pillows against of nearly prone as he'd been for so long. His eyes were closed, but she knew the improvement in his condition was real by the disappearance of the wires and tubes that had snaked over him ... and her heart sank as she noted how thin and frail he looked without them, so much younger than his seventeen years.

Was he really OK? Had the coma masked any damage?

She dithered between going into him and turning back to the nurse's station to demand the latest; forewarned was forearmed, after all—until he opened his eyes and looked straight at her, his lips quirking in the old familiar smile.

Christine's breath caught in her throat and she lingered no longer, pushing through the door and crossing to Connor's side in a few steps. She wanted seize him tight and never left him go; she longed to cover his face with kisses as she'd done long ago when he was just her little boy and alcohol had not yet become her crutch.

She did neither, pulling the chair as close to the bed as she could and sinking into it. She perched at its very edge and leaned in to stroke Connor's hair off his forehead. It was longer than he liked, she saw.

'Decided to wake up, then?' she said when she thought she could speak without howling.

Connor's eyes drifted shut before opening slowly, the grey-green of them gleaming slits of brightness in his white face. 'Hey.'

'Hey yourself.' Christine's throat was tight. 'How are you feeling, son?'

'Dunno.' A pause. 'Weird. Tired.'

'After all that sleep?' Christine tried to tease. 'You should be better rested than any of us by now!'

That quirked half-smile again. 'Gotta ... gotta get ready. For Squirt.'

Christine bit into lip, thankfulness rushing through her. At least Connor's memory seemed sound. He looked at her, a line indenting between his brows.

'You ... you OK? And ... and Squirt?'

Her eyes were wet and she dashed at them with an impatient hand.

'I'm fine, son. We're all fine.' She wanted to add: thanks to you but she didn't. Besides, she still couldn't think of the events that had lead them to this without wanting to murder Joe and throttle her beloved son for being such a bloody heroic idiot. He wasn't ready for that yet.

And he looked so tired ...

She rested her hand on his cheek with a murmured, 'It's OK, Connor. We're fine, even better for knowing you are. Just ... just rest, all right? I'll still be here when you wake up, I promise.'

Waterloo Road could go to hell today, she decided. She'd tell Tom when he came in, he'd be delighted.

Connor had turned into her touch as he'd done as a child. He'd had the occasional nightmare, she remembered, and sitting with him like this had always comforted him ... even if she wasn't long back from the pub and (she was sure) reeking of it. But he was too young then to care, she was just 'Mum'...

Christine heard the door open. 'He's awake,' she murmured for Tom's benefit and Connor's eyes opened once more.

'Imogen,' he murmured.

'Shh,' Christine told him. 'I've told her, she knows you're awake. Sleep, you can speak to her later—'

'Imogen,' he repeated, his gaze going past her and Christine turned, lips already pinching in anticipation.

Sure enough, her daughter-in-law was at the door, triumphant smile in place. 'You didn't wait long enough,' she said as she brushed past to get to Connor. 'I got your message just before I boarded.'

Christine swallowed and glanced at her son. He was staring at his wife, love mingled with confusion.

'Im?'

'I'm here,' Imogen told him softly, positioning herself in such a way that Christine had no choice but to push her chair back or risk causing a scene. 'I'm here and I'm not leavin' you again, no matter what anyone says.'

Connor was still staring at her, that worried indent between his brows. 'I know I'm ... slow,' he said carefully, 'but I'm not gettin' it. What'd you mean, Mum didn't wait long enough?'

Christine knew this was her chance but Imogen got there first. Her fingers were tightly entwined with Connor's and Connor's eyes remained fixed on his wife as the younger woman half-twisted to face her mother-in-law.

'Well? Are you gonna tell him about your plot to get me away from him or will I?'

TBC

Hope you enjoyed that and it was worth the wait! Please do give feedback even if you don't do so as a rule—especially as I'm anxious that the delay and fragmented writing approach this time round has affected quality. Plus, no WR on the tv combined with apparent declining enthusiasm for this makes it difficult to remain motivated. I have stories for other fandoms to write also, and at this point my update speed will pretty much come down to which gets the best response.