Rachel spent the rest of the week mostly sleeping. Each time she awoke, she felt confused and panicked, until she worked out where she was. Usually Eddie was there, but sometimes he was not. Her panic subsided much faster when he was there.

Rachel was relieved of the opportunity to leave the hospital, even if only for a short while. She really wanted to be at home, but a short trip to the hospital garden was better than nothing at least. Whilst she cringed at the humiliation of being pushed in a wheelchair, she knew it was the only way. The few short steps she had the strength to take now were not even enough to get her to the front door of the hospital. But if there was any one person she could trust enough to see her like this, it was Eddie.

With Eddie's help, she managed to lift herself out of the wheelchair and onto the bench, beside him. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the fresh air on one side of her body, Eddie's warmth on the other. Eddie wanted to say something but did not know what. He knew she remained frustrated at her helplessness, and the uncertainty of not knowing when she would ever be able to go home. Yet he could see the progress she was making, each day she was stronger than the last, awake for longer, her thoughts less muddled, able to do more and more for herself. But each time he tried to point this out, the words just sounded trite in his head, so he did not say them. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and felt her body relax and lean into him.

"I just want to go home," she said, quietly.

"I know," he replied, stroking her shoulder, trying to impart as much sympathy as possible.

If he could, he would have picked her up and carried her away, taken her home where she wanted to be, but he knew he could not look after her yet. She needed medical care and was still dependent on others for washing and dressing, and he knew she would not accept him doing that. "I'll get you home as soon as I can," he promised her.

As he held her, she felt his lips brush against her forehead. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. He had held her before, sometimes when she could not hold herself up, and other times just for comfort. Even the kiss had become a normal part of their daily farewell routine, but this was not a goodbye. She had thought about that invite to dinner on the last day of term, shortly before the fire changed everything. She had had far too much time to think about everything. At the time she had accepted his offer, interpreting it as a professional dinner between two colleagues, but had come to realise that was not how he had intended it. It had been meant to be a date. And like that meal, the way he held her now, and the way he kissed her forehead, began to feel like more than just necessary comfort. She lifted her face to meet his, wrapped her hands around his neck, and kissed him softly, and all too briefly, on the lips.