****A/N Update 9/10/13**** If you think you've already read this chapter, think again! I reposted it ;) Sorry for the interruption!

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Margaret woke with a start, drenched in sweat and sporting a horrible crick in her neck. Her arm was numb, and her head was throbbing. She had fallen asleep in the chair beside John's bed, her head resting upon his leg and her hand clenching his. Someone must have come in to tend to the fire; it was hotter than ever in the room. She lay there for several more minutes, not yet ready to face the world, not yet able to face the responsibility that had been thrust at her; she did not think she was ready even to look upon her husband. For this moment she would not think on those things. Right now she would ignore the unbearable heat, and pretend that this morning (at least, she assumed it was morning) was no different than any other morning she awoke next to her husband. She could hear his gentle breathing, the same as it ever had been. The rise and fall of his chest was no different and it was easy, so painfully easy to simply believe that nothing was different. But reality and desire were two very different things. So steeling herself against the crushing sadness that threatened to consume her, she sat up and tried to get some feeling back into her limbs.

She went about the room tidying things up, stoking the fire, washing her face, changing her clothes-anything to distract her from the still prone image of John. If she were honest she found herself almost not wanting to look upon him. To see him would make everything real, would shatter her early morning dream into a hundred pieces. Eventually she had done enough that she could put it off no longer. She made her way to his bed, straightened his blankets, and began the long process of cleaning and rewrapping his wounds. But eventually all time runs out, and before she knew it she had finished, and was staring at his sleeping face for God only knew how long. Outside her room she could hear the sounds of the world waking: a few men could be heard joking in the Mill yard, Martha could be heard bustling about downstairs preparing for a busy day, and beyond Marlborough people made their way through the streets as quickly as possible. But all the while Margaret Thornton stood frozen, staring at peaceful expression on her husbands face.

Guilt.

There was no feeling that permeated her being as intensely as that. She was responsible for this, and she had to try very very hard not to embark upon a path of self loathing because of it. She bent over to place a lingering kiss upon his forehead, before resting her head against the fresh bandages that still resided there.

"I'm so sorry John." She said miserably before strengthening her resolve, and walking determinedly toward her pressing duties as the Mistress of Marlborough Mills.

John opened his eyes slowly and found himself in the Mill. He could not recall how he had gotten there, only that he was. He was in the sorting room, but it was abandoned. Why was he here? He seemed to have a hard time remembering anything. He stared at everything knowing, understanding completely the reason it looked the way it did, but unable to actually recall why. He was suddenly aware of how overwhelmingly hot it was. As he looked around he saw for the first time that the Mill was on fire. As though it had been burning for quite some time, but he had only just become aware of the flames licking every surface. But he wasn't surprised; he had known somehow, that the Mill was on fire. It was a very unusual feeling. But there was something else; something niggling at the back of him mind…and then he remembered:

He was looking for something.

No, not something…someone. He was looking for someone. As soon as the realization crossed his mind he felt a powerful wave of anxiety crash over him, and he frantically ran about the room, searching and calling for-

For who? He didn't even realize whom it was he was looking for. But he knew, he could feel it in his bones that he was looking for someone. As if it were an instinct buried seep within him, suppressed with time, but breaking free at last. What was it? For some unknown reason he found himself turning around to look up at his office. He could hardly make out the shape through the contrasting brightness of flames and dark billowing smoke. He was drawn to it, almost against his will, and his eyes roamed the outside walls wondering, assessing, until they fell upon the window-and the distinctive shape of a person behind the glass.

He didn't think, he didn't really need to; the instinct took control of his actions, and he ran towards his office, taking little notice of the crashing chaos around him. There was someone trapped in his office, perhaps the very someone he was so desperately looking for. He jumped over a pile of burning wood that sat in front of the doorway out of the sorting room, and came skidding to a halt in front of the steps to his office. Or more accurately what should have been the steps to his office. For currently he could only see a pile of broken wooden rubble, the charred remains of what used to be the steps to his office-and the only way in or out of it. Panic seized him, and he looked around desperately for a solution, knowing all the while that there was no other way for him to get into that room. Unless… He sprinted back to the sorting room and peered into the window, unable to see anything clearly for the layer of soot now resting upon the glass panes.

"Hello in there!" He called, praying that whomever was inside could hear him. The figure turned and knocked quickly against the window. "Get away from the window!" He yelled back, bending over and grasping a large broken piece of what used to be a wooden beam. He climbed up onto loom closest to the window, balancing himself precariously on the machinery before pulling his arm back and throwing the wood as fiercely as possible at the glass. Though he had not prepared himself against the shards that would surely fall, he would never have anticipated what happened next.

The window exploded. The moment the beam had touched the glass, the entire window burst into a thousand shards that flew angrily towards him, as though it were attempting to enact revenge. In surprise he threw his arms over his face and stepped backwards, right into thin air. Coughing heavily and attempting to regain his breath, he stood and heaved himself back onto the loom below his office.

"There is a loom directly beneath the window!" He called blindly, completely unable to see inside his office because of his current position. He heard a shuffling noise above him, and he felt the spark of hope grow warm inside his chest. "Try and lower yourself down onto it!"

"I can't!" They responded. That voice…John knew that voice. He could recognize it anywhere. But he could not remember the face or the name of the woman it belonged to. Nevertheless the very sound of the woman's voice fuelled a myriad of raging emotions within him: Anger, jealousy, fear, desperation…He jumped down from the loom, and stepped back so that he might see who she was. He recognized her the moment his eyes came to rest upon her face. With this recognition came a flood of memories that felt as though they had slammed directly into his chest and left him stumbling and staggering for breath. What was she doing here?! He felt furious with her, furious that she was now trapped and he found himself unleashing that anger on her.

"Get down from there!" He thundered, anger and fear fueling his actions. She shook her head. "What are doing, you stupid woman! Climb down from there!" She did not appear to be fazed by his insults in the slightest, but responded calmly.

"I think my arm is broken." John looked at her, disbelief and rage coursing through him as he briefly pondered how truly deplorable his luck was.

"Of course it is…" He muttered furiously before quickly contemplating his chances of being able to climb into the office and remove her himself.

"John." He ignored her call, and continued to inspect his surroundings. "John, please." He sighed in irritation, before backing away so that she had a clear view of his form. She looked over her shoulder at something, but he could not see what. Indeed from the only angle he could see being so far below her was a clipped view of her shoulders and head, and the furious flames burning on the ceiling above her.

"We do not have time for this!" He snapped. He needed to get her out of there, to get her somewhere safe, and she was hindering his progress. She turned back to look at him, but looked behind her just as quickly before responding:

"I'm so sorry John." She said. He did not have time to wonder what she mean before the entire structure that held his office crashed into the ground, and Margaret's form was consumed by the angrily burning pile of rubble.

When Margaret opened the door to her bedroom, she was more than a little surprised to see Nicholas on the floor directly across from it, fast asleep. His back was leaning against the wall, and his chin was resting on his chest, rising and falling as it did with his gentle breathing. Margaret smiled at him fondly before kneeling down and gently shaking his shoulder. Her smile grew wider as he groaned and looked up at her blearily, apparently trying to understand what was happening.

"What are you doing out here, Nicholas?" She asked as he heaved himself off the floor.

"Standing guard at the door of course." He answered simply, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Standing guard at the door?" She asked, looking bemused. "Why does it need guarding?"

"Well," He responded, stretching out his arms. " Mr. and Mrs. Watson had come to dinner, only to be told the news of Master's health." Ah, Margaret had completely forgotten that fanny had said they would come for dinner.

"Why did no one inform me?" She asked, frowning slightly.

"You were right dead to the world." He said. "And none of us were about to wake you." Margaret's frown deepened.

"So you barred the door to let me sleep?"

"Actually," another voice called from down the hall. Margaret turned and saw with delight that Hannah approached them, now limping only very slightly. "He barred the door to keep Fanny out." Hannah seemed to smile in fond irritation at the memory of her daughter, and greeted both Margaret and Nicholas with an unusual friendliness. Margaret was not used to this side of her mother-in-law, having only experienced her most disapproving emotions.

"I am glad to see you walking with ease." She said, still feeling rather perplexed with this peculiar conversation. Hannah acknowledged her with a slight nod, and continued with her earlier topic.

"I had the unfortunate task of informing my daughter and son-in-law of John's condition." She said, a frown creasing her face. "Fanny, in her usual…liveliness, demanded to be allowed to see him at once." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I did not believe it to be necessary." Margaret understood what her mother-in-law was saying between the lines. She had given her time alone with her husband, and Margaret was incredibly grateful. She did not think she would have been able to put up with Fanny last night.

"Thank you." She said warmly, grasping her hand with a smile. Hannah looked away seemingly embarrassed before continuing.

"The brought rather interesting news with them." She said, the twinkle returning to her eyes. Margaret looked at her questioningly. "I am to be a grandmother, and you an aunt." A true smile broke her features then, and Margaret once again marveled at how very similar Hannah was to her son.

"She is with child!" She cried, a small happiness beginning to fill her in spite of the sadness of their circumstances. Hannah nodded, showing her excitement and happiness in spite of her best efforts.

"She is indeed." Margaret laughed a little, but soon found she could not contain her laughter any longer. It bubbled happily inside her, and she was powerless against it. Nicholas and Hannah both beamed at her, and Margaret suddenly felt that the day had dawned with a new brightness. A brightness that would see them through this terrible ordeal, and would celebrate a brand new life.

Unfortunately that brightness was not enough to blind Margaret when it came to her responsibilities. She had spent quite a long while the night before contemplating her choices and had come to a decision. She would rebuild the Mill, John's Mill, and restore it to its former glory. She would do it for her husband, even if he never recovered. It was what John would do, and at the moment it was the only thing she could give him. Watson had come to see her shortly after she consulted with Nicholas on the possibility of accomplishing the task, to inform her that as he was the only other male in the family, he would be taking over the Mill in John's absence.

Margaret was not very polite in her response.

Consequently he had left in rather a bad mood, ordering Fanny away with him. Hannah told her she had never felt more proud of anyone in her entire life. And so Margaret and Nicholas took to occupying John's study, collaborating their every move. Things began to look brighter for Margaret over the next several days; She spent her days working with Nicholas either at the Mill, or in John's study, and most of her nights in the chair beside John's bed, but she felt wonderful. She was doing something productive, the injured workers were healing, many even returning to their own homes, and still more others asking to be put to use in the deconstruction of the Mill. Even John was getting better. She had come upstairs one evening to find Hannah giving him water. He was not awake, but his body was responding to the need of water and food without his conscious effort, and Doctor Donaldson said that it was a good sign and that it made him very hopeful. Margaret's own arm was almost completely healed, and although she could no longer feel a good portion of her upper arm, she was pleased that it had not been worse.

When she thought about it, Margaret wondered how it was that she had been able to put aside the distress of her husband as easily as she had. She still worried for John, but it did not consume her thoughts as it had in those first few days. Indeed it was as though she had grown somewhat…accustomed to the change in circumstances, and she wondered if that was considered normal. She would rather have John awake and healthy, but she began to settle into a routine of sorts, and it brought her an unusual sense of peace. And truth be told, she would far prefer this situation to having lost him altogether. With him sleeping she could pretend that he was simply ill, or perhaps out of town on business. She still saw him every day. Not hearing his voice was nothing out of the ordinary for her; until very recently he had not spoken a word to her. Perhaps this familiarity was what brought her peace. But it brought a small happiness to her day, and she cherished every moment she spent in his company.

It was after nearly four days that things began to take a new turn, and it wasn't for the better.

The first thing to be rebuilt were the stairs to John's office. More accurately it could be described as a ladder with very deep rungs, but they were grateful to have it . Margaret and Nicholas needed the paperwork John had stored there. It took quite a long time to sort through everything and carry it all back to John's study in a somewhat organized manner, but they did get it done eventually. It was there that Margaret vicariously learned the ways of John's business. She studied every page, every letter, every record he had ever kept, and had become almost fluent in the industry of cotton. She had no choice but to understand, but she was immensely pleased that it happened to be a topic she absorbed easily.

It had been very lucky that John had been so particularly careful with his records. It meant even more time to sort through, but it was better for her to have too much than not enough. It was also a very good thing that the fire had not reached the inside of his office, and the worst of the damage were a few singed papers on his desk. Unfortunately the initial explosion had knocked over the cabinet where he kept his papers, and consequently everything had become terribly jumbled. Margaret had spent many days with Nicholas in John's study sorting everything first by topic, then by date. The most difficult by far had been the records of employee pay, and the records regarding their own personal finances. Then there was the business correspondence.

It took time, a very long time to write the appropriate letters. Margaret had to inform all of John's suppliers, his buyers, and every investor of the ill news of both the Mill and it's Master. She then had to inform them of the change in leadership, which had not been looked upon with kind eyes by many people. Industry was a man's business after all. She also had to find out from each of these business associates if Marlborough Mills owed them money, how much it was, how late it might be, and how much grace they would receive. She had to write to the buyers to collect their dues, but she had not yet discovered where John had placed the receipts for fulfilled orders. In fact, she had trouble locating any papers that pertained to the either the financial situation of the Mill, or John's personal accounts. And the finances of both subjects were so jumbled that Margaret could make neither heads nor tails it.

It had been then in the midst of this that Mr. Latimer came to inform her of the almost crippling debt they owed to the bank, and exactly how far behind they were in paying it off. Over four hundred pounds with interest; and they would not be able to extend the loan for very much longer, as they had already done so for John twice, something that Margaret did not understand. Stress began to weigh down upon her shoulders, and the little bright light she had seen with the announcement of a new life began to fade away from her more and more every day.

As she visited with John briefly one afternoon, she desperately wished for some insight into his mind, some way of knowing how he handled this amount of responsibility every single day. How did he keep from being overwhelmed? She absently thought of how much simpler things would be for her if John kept a journal, but she laughed at the thought of it. She had kept a journal for many years, and nearly every time she wrote in it she had to fight the desire to remain as emotionally detached with it as she was in every other manner. John was even worse at showing emotion in public than she was, making the thought of him pouring his soul into a book very laughable indeed. She sighed and grabbed John's hand.

"I miss you." She said quietly, brushing a stray hair out of his closed eyes. He did not respond in any way but she had expected him to. He appeared to be blissfully unaware of the trouble existing outside his mind. She looked longingly at his face, wishing against all odds that he might move. But he did not. She sighed again and moved her hand down to the thick stubble adorning his face. She had never seen him with stubble really; he shaved every single morning. The most she had seen on him was after she had woken from her pneumonia, but he had shaved it all away the very next morning. The stubble he had now was not as thick, but it wouldn't be very long before it was. She was almost curious to know how he would look if it was left unattended. Margaret supposed she would find out soon enough. She rather liked it. It made him look more…human, she supposed. She laid her head down on his hand for a brief moment before getting up and walking out of the room.

He was in the Mill again. Hadn't he just been here? Yes, he was certain that he had already been here. Something had happened…something terrible. But he did not remember what. He turned and looked toward his office, but it stood there just as it always had, with the exception of blazing fire of course. And no one was in it. There should have been someone there, he was sure of it. He found himself walking through the destruction aimlessly, mysteriously feeling no urgency to leave the blaze as soon as possible. It was in this way that he stumbled upon Margaret.

He didn't recognize her at first, but soon enough his mind caught up with him and he saw her standing alone, looking around at her surroundings, lost and terrified. He hurried forward, and she took his hand firmly in her own when he reached her. Together they ran through the Mill, running for the door that he somehow knew led to the exit. Above them, the ceiling had begun to cave in, seemingly chasing them as they fought to leave. He heard Margaret say something behind him, but he did not have time to ask her what. They ran through the heat, the door becoming closer and closer with each step. Finally, he ripped the door open and threw himself outside, realizing a second too late that Margaret's fingers had left his. He turned in time to see her disappear underneath the remnants of the ceiling.

A/N: So the dreams, in case you're wondering: you hear things around you while you're sleeping, and your brain sort of weaves those sounds into your dreams. You know how when you're dreaming, and there's this constant noise in your dream, and you wake to find it was your alarm clock the entire time? Like that. He's hearing what Margaret is saying…I'll just say that his dreams are rather…metaphorical in a sense. I might be the only one they make sense to, but I'm hoping not lol.

Anyways, if you read the note at the beginning of the chapter, you'll realize that this is a repost. I really did not like this chapter at all. Nothing about it. But it's a filler chapter, and I think by now I've made my personal feelings on fillers quite known. Ha ha. But I fixed a few things to make them flow better. I probably should not have posted this when I did, but I felt bad for leaving you guys. Also, I'm not going to pretend I got all the typos, but if you see any that I missed that are really distracting, please let me know.

So, I still would like to know what' you'd like to see in the next few chapters (Again, excluding seeing John wake up, lol. That's obvious) But the little things you want to see =) John's going to wake up soon my lovelies, just you see. Might even be the next chapter, but I seriously doubt it. You never know, though…

Just keep your fingers crossed for chapter 30. (Oh my God, 30 chapters?! I hadn't realized this had become so long!)

Thanks once again to all my reviewers! I normally try to respond to everyone personally, but this time I didn't and I feel bad for it. So here's a shout out to everyone, especially my guests whom I can never personally reply to, just to say I love you. You make writing worth it, and I can not believe I'm up to over 500 now.

You know you guys are amazing, and I can't wait to hear from you!

~Ash