Lady Sybil was playing with little Sam when the jangle of keys and the click of the lock meant her husband had returned from work. She looked up expectantly. "Well? What did-" She stopped when she saw the look on his face.

"Not now, eh?" said Vimes, not unkindly.

On her lap Sam had spread his tiny fingers wide and reached out for his father, making happy babbling noises. A smile split Vimes's face and he picked his son up easily. Sybil found herself smiling through her worry as Sam shrieked with delight as his father began throwing him into the air and catching him. She had to admit she had never expected her husband to be such a.... a 'hands on' father. But Vimes was getting very good at changing nappies and wiping up vomit, he came home early for at least half an hour to put his son to bed every evening and tried to make sure he spent weekends at home with his family. Sybil couldn't quite hide her appreciation at the effort he was making to spend time with the both of them and even now was still slightly shocked every time her husband waved away such expression of gratitude by telling her how much he enjoyed spending days with them.

Seeing that she was going to get little out of her husband for the time being she slipped out to feed the dragons. She was slightly ashamed to admit it, but they seemed to be taking a bit of a backseat at the moment and most of the actual work for the Sanctuary was being done by her colleagues. However, she enjoyed banging the feed bowls together for a while and checking on all of her charges before letting herself back into the house.

Vimes was putting his son to bed, she could hear him walking round and round the nursery no doubt with Sam on his shoulders as he sang a nursery rhyme. If you could call it singing. Despite the off key lullabies Sam seemed to enjoy the nightly ritual of being paraded around by his father before being laid down to bed. Sybil was quite sure of this because on the occasions when she laid her son down to sleep for the night he wouldn't stop crying until she did exactly the same thing.

She waited at the bottom of the stairs until Vimes came hurrying down, almost colliding with her in his haste.

"Oh, sorry," he said, "I thought you were in the dragon house, I was just going to find you..."

"Are you going back to the Yard?" she asked.

"Only for a little while," he said, "Just some things I need to sort out. Then I'll come back and... we can talk."

"Okay. Be careful Sam," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I will be," he replied before setting off out again.



Lady Sybil was in bed, although not yet asleep when she heard the door open, presumably to admit her husband. She hurriedly blew out the candle and put her papers on the bedside table before Vimes came upstairs. She listened to the stairs creak as he made his way up, his muffled footsteps moving along the corridor, pausing as always as he stopped to check on his son in the nursery before continuing onwards to their own bedroom.

"Sybil?" he said as he pushed open the door, carrying a candle.

"I'm awake," she replied. He sat down on the end of the bed and put down the candle before starting to remove his boots and then his armour, piece by piece. He kept his back towards her so she wouldn't see his face in the flickering light. He didn't think he could quite meet her eyes at the moment. He blew out the candle before swinging his legs into bed and for a moment they lay in silence, and in the dark.

"So..." she said.

"So..." he agreed, lying with his hands behind his head. There was another pause and then he added, "I guess you want to know what Igor said..." The words seemed to be crawling up from a place deep underground, each one labourious, a monstrous effort required to make them audible. Vimes's voice sounded strangely constricted even though he had not visited the doctor with any throat complaint.

"Yes please, Sam. It can't possibly be as bad as you seem to be making out," Sybil said, trying to keep her voice light even though Sam's tone was starting to worry her.

There was a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob from Sam Vimes and that scared her even more. Never in all the time she had known him had she ever seen her husband cry (except in laughter) but if ever there was a time when he sounded close to tears it was now. The silence stretched out until it seemed to form a wall between them even though she could feel the warmth of his body close at hand under the bedclothes. Eventually he spoke, six words so choked with emotion they were barely understandable, six words that made her insides seem to freeze and then, in the longer silence that followed, be replaced with lead.

"He said it's a cancer Sybil."

In the ensuing silence Vimes listened to the sound of his own heart beating and thought of the pain in his chest he had continued to ignore until today. He felt Sybil's hand reach out along the pillow for his own; he took it wordlessly and thankfully as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat that seemed to take over his entire chest after a few more moments of complete stillness.

"Oh gods," his wife breathed after a moment and she heard the sharp exhalation that was the closest Sam Vimes could ever come to a sob.

"Yeah," he replied after more quiet. "That's what I said."

Sybil took a deep breath to compose herself and her voice, when it next emerged, was flat calm. "And did he say he could treat it...?"

"Yes," said Vimes quickly, "He said there was one option he could think of. That was... that was to operate as soon as he could grow a new... a new.." Vimes couldn't bring himself to say it, the idea terrified him so much, but Sybil finished his sentence for him.

"A new lung?"

"Yes."

"And how long will that take?" she asked.

"A while," Vimes replied, "It's not like those noses or fingers he does in the little vats. He has to make sure it will work properly, and if it doesn't he'll have to start again, grow another one before he'll proceed. And then there's the fact that... well, I'm not a young man anymore, to put it bluntly. And it's a major operation and something that Igor's only done twice and both of them were on other Igors... which is different to doing it on a normal person, or so he says. I might not survive the surgery."

There was another silence. "And if you don't have the surgery..?"

"A year, maybe. Six months," said Vimes in the same choked voice.

"What are you going to do?" enquired Sybil.

"I'm not going to die, Sybil!" he responded, suddenly brimming with vehemence. "I've got to much to do yet, too much to see..." Sybil knew he meant little Sam and sternly told that to the small part of herself that briefly wondered if these things to see and do had anything to do with the Watch.

She squeezed his hand gently and turned over to look at him. His face was pale in the darkness and he was breathing in short, sharp bursts, trying to keep control. "I know that," she said quietly, and he turned over as well so that they were nose to nose. "Who else knows?"

"No one except me and Igor. I'll carry on duty for a bit, until it... it starts to get worse I guess. Igor recommended I rest if I get any chest pain or anything like that, or shortness of breath..." Vimes swallowed before he continued. "And I have to give up the cigars."

"Ah," said Lady Sybil.

"I don't know if I can!" he said, close now to almost wailing. "I mean, every time I need a drink I have a smoke instead so what am I going to do now? Can't drink, can't smoke-"

Lady Sybil put her free hand over his mouth. "You managed it before," she said. With a meaningful glance out of the doorway to the corridor she added, "And this time you have so much more to fight for."

Vimes nodded and she removed her hand. "You were always enough," he said and she smiled slightly despite the fear that was growing in her heart. She kissed him and some of the lines etched so deeply on his forehead softened slightly. "I love you," he said, breaking away, "Both of you. I'm not going to give up. I'm going to fight..."

"I've never known you do anything else," said his wife, but also mildly shocked at what Vimes had just said, it wasn't often he used those three words and somehow that made hearing them said all the more powerful. A little of the fear eased slightly, the weight that seemed to have settled on her chest lifted, just a touch.

"G'night"

"G'night."