The week plods by in a congealed blur of classes, London traffic, and barely edible take-away. John can't wait to head back up to Weardale as soon as classes are over on Friday, readying his bag on Thursday night so he won't even have to head back to his flat first. He takes every opportunity between classes to text Rose - not only in an attempt to renew their closeness by continuing their former banter from before Chamonix, but also to check on Wilf. He knows the man would not appreciate a checkup phone call, no matter how well-intentioned. Still, John worries.

Unfortunately, the check-ins do little to resolve his anxiety about his friend. According to Rose, at least, Wilf is getting weaker by the day. Even climbing the stairs is leading the man to have to rest against the banister for a minute to catch his breath before continuing on to his bedroom. Yet Wilf won't hear of going to see his doctor, sternly telling Rose to mind her business any time she suggests a checkup.

It all comes to a head late on Thursday night. John is has just finished grading papers at half eleven when the phone rings. Rose's profile picture shows on his iPhone, and something cold turns over in John's stomach. She never calls this late. Never even texts this late. With shaking fingers, he hits the Answer button on his phone.

"Rose?" he asks. "What's —"

Rose speaks before he even finishes the sentence.

"We're at the University Hospital of North Durham," she breathes out through a sob. "It's his heart."

John's own heart topples in his chest, shattering somewhere near his knees upon hearing the words. He tries to take a deep breathe, feeling like he can't get any air at all. "I'll be right there."

Thankfully he's already packed for the weekend, so he heads straight to the carpark, keeping Rose on speakerphone the whole way. Wilf had collapsed while trying to salt the B&B's front walkway. Rose had already left for classes in the morning, but luckily Rodrigo was there at the time, plowing the carpark with his truck. Through his rapid heartbeat, he can hear the self-recriminations in her voice: if she'd only been there, she could have been the one to help him, to call 999, to hold Wilf's hand while he lay on the icy ground in pain.

"You were nearby, Rose," John says, thanking his lucky stars for the first time that she'd stayed in Weardale instead of coming back down to London. "And you're there with him now. That's all that matters. Wilf is strong — he'll be fine."

He tries to convince himself of that during the long drive up to Durham, praying to Gods he doesn't even believe in that he doesn't get another, worse, phone call before he gets to the hospital.

Rose is sitting at Wilf's bedside when John arrives in rush hours later, tie askew and hair likely even more on end than usual. She stands as soon as he enters, nearly throwing herself into his arms with a sob. He breathes in the scent of her hair, eyes flicking over to the man on the bed, connected to multiple wires on his chest and with a nasal cannula for breathing under his nose.

"Rose," comes a hoarse chuckle from the bed. "Let the man take a breath, love." Wilf blinks wearily at John, and gives a wan smile.

"Wilf — thank God." John prides himself on rarely crying, but he can't hold back the tears of relief that spring to his eyes when he sees his friend alert and able to crack a grin at least despite the circumstances.

"I'll let you talk — I need to use the loo anyway," Rose says, looking from John to Wilf and back again.

John watches her go, then turns back to face Wilf, finding the older man watching him as well. The smile on Wilf's face falls as Rose disappears from sight into the hallway.

"How are you feeling?" John says, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed and peering intently on his friend's face.

"About as well as I look," Wilf says, his words barely audible over the hiss of air from the nasal cannula giving him oxygen. He reaches out to pat the younger man's hand. "I'm sorry, John."

"What? You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"You and Rose were concerned for me and all I did was get snappish in return. Now here I am, in a hospital bed, bein' poked and prodded cause I thought I knew best. I'm sorry, lad."

John takes Wilf's wrinkled hand in his own. "Don't be. The only important thing is that you're getting the treatment you need. And the doctors will put you on medications that both Rose and I will make sure that you take. You'll be fine, Wilf. And that's all that matters."

Wilf shrugs, staring at the doorway through which Rose just walked. "Depends what you mean by fine. I'm slowing down. Can't avoid it. That's why I don't like to go to doctors, they tell me as much and I don't want to hear it. Don't know how I'll manage the B&B like this. Rose knows it too, though she'd never tell me as much. I'm scared, John." Wilf's eyes flick to the younger man's. "Can't believe I'm admitting it, but I am. That B&B has been in my family for generations, and to be the one who loses it — even if Rose were willing, it's too much work for one person. That's clear enough."

John thinks of Wilf's B&B, with its rustic decor and wooden walls and bonnie bits. His home, that over the past few months has become John's home, too. Faded pictures of generations of the Prentice family and Weardale miners, long gone, alive only in the memories of those who bother to remember, and in the stories that Wilf and Rose repeat to the B&B's visitors. Stories that could so easily cease, just like the beating of a man's heart. John knows that firsthand — he hardly knows the first thing about his own family other than the genealogy that Rose was able to find for him. To think that Rose would lose that connection to her long-gone family, that she would share John's loneliness —

No, John thinks, no. A fierce resolution overtakes him, and he gives Wilf's hand a firm squeeze, meeting the older man's eyes and giving him a look weighted with intent. "I won't let you lose it, Wilf. I promise. You and Rose will be able to keep the B&B. I swear it."

Wilf smiles tiredly, and pats his hand. "You're a good one, John. I know you'll try."

Wilf is napping along to the steady beep-beep of the heart monitor, and Rose has stepped out for a cuppa, when the door to Wilf's hospital room quietly swings open. John turns around, expecting a doctor or nurse, and startles a bit to see Bev Stone of all people standing there, holding a small vase of cheerful-looking flowers John recognizes from the little shop in the hospital lobby.

"I came to see Wilf," she whispers, nodding at the bed where the older man lays. "I heard …" she swallows, her eyes flicking to the NHS-supplied portraits of the Cliffs of Dover lining the hallway in a feeble attempt at cheer. "Rose called Rodrigo. He told me."

John nods, unsure of what to say, and the last thing he wants to do is inadvertently say something to trigger a waspish reaction from Bev in front of his ailing friend. But Bev interrupts his thoughts, sighing and shaking her head. She sets the flowers down on the table, and motions with her head for John to follow her out into the hall. He goes after her, gently clicking the door closed behind him.

"Didn't want to wake 'im. I just … I wish Rose had called me herself. I've known her since she was a lil' girl, you know? Hardly big enough to walk, but standin' on Pete's knees, that one, pretending to ski down his legs."

John can't help but chuckle at the thought, he can imagine it so well. Rose, with such a big smile even as a little girl, balancing on her father's knees and trying for Olympic gold on the slopes of his legs.

"But I guess it's my fault. I shoulda called Rose sooner to clear the air. I … heard a few things. I heard about the rent money from Trish's mother of all people, tryin' to call out Rose for leavin' Trish to pay the rent on her own, but then she let slip as to what Trish and Jimmy did and why Rose left …" Bev takes a deep breath, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I want to make things right with Rose. I might not have liked how things went down between you, Rose, and Jimmy, I'm a protective mom and I don't like seeing my boy's girl getting so close to another man. But Jimmy had no business takin' from Rose like that. And cheatin' her like that. That's too like his father and I thought I raised my boy better'n that. And then he tells me he ain't gonna give her a cent back. I didn't raise him to be a thief or a cheat, and Rose was right to leave him. Even makes it worse that was really Pete's money — Jackie was my best friend. She and Pete must be rollin' in their grave, thinkin' that I'm letting my boy cheat their girl and steal from them like that. I can't do nothin' about the cheatin', but as for the money … I'll make it right."

"Bev … it wasn't your fault," John says with a shake of his head.

Bev huffs. "Might as well have been. If I'd raised him better, he wouldn't ever have thought of doing something like that. He wants to take care of his new girlfriend, it should be him earnin' the money to do that, not takin' from Rose. I want to do right by Rose and the memory of Pete and Jackie. I want to make amends here."

"They'd both hate for you do take that on yourself, and you know it, Bev," Rose says softly from behind Bev. She must have walked up without either one of them noticing. "None of this was your fault. And you raised Jimmy the best that anyone could. You're not responsible for his choices."

John can tell Bev is trying to stay stoic by the tightness in her jaw. Still, a tear rolls down her face, and she swipes it away with the back of her hand. Rose takes a step towards the woman and folds her into a tight embrace.

"It's OK, Bev. I don't want your money. What Jimmy did doesn't reflect on you at all, in any way. You're still the woman whose been there my whole life, who cheered me on with Gramps every ski contest I was in, and who let me sneak as many cherry lollies from the store as I could eat in one go. You're family, Bev, and as far as I'm concerned, we're fine, you and me. I'm sorry I didn't call — I wasn't thinking of excluding you, I wasn't thinking at all really. Rodrigo was there when it happened, and I called 999 and John, and came straight here."

Bev relaxes into Rose's embrace. "We're OK, Rose, as far as I'm concerned too. I'm just sorry it worked out this way."

Rose shrugs. "It worked out the way it worked out. Not all that great, true, but it worked out all the same. They have a phrase for it in skiiing, you know. When it gets icy one day and slushy the next. And you can't prepare for it because you never know what the weather's going to throw at you, you just know it'll probably be bad and you have to do your best to work around it. Spring conditions, it's called. That's all this is, Bev. Just a little bit of spring conditions. We'll get through it. We always do."

Rose gives Bev one last squeeze and lets her go, taking a step back. "I'm gonna go check on Gramps. You stay a while if you want, and come back to visit any time you like, too. And I'll keep you updated on him from now on. I promise."

Rose gives Bev's hand a squeeze and turns to enter Wilf's room. As Rose steps away, Bev shakes her head, brushing one more tear from her face as she turns to glance at John.

"You'll take care of them, won't you, John?"

"I'd do anything for them, Bev. I've never had a real family to call my own — Wilf and Rose are it for me, and I'll protect them til my last breathe."

Bev gives him a small but earnest smile. "That, I believe, Dr. Smith. You're a good man."

Despite his lack of sleep the previous evening, John feels wired all day through a combination of caffeine and nerves. By the time the cardiologist finally makes her rounds, John is nearly trembling in fearful anticipation of Wilf's prognosis while Rose, for her part, looks resigned. Like she's expecting the worst and is just waiting for it to be confirmed. It's a look he hates to see on her. Wilf sleeps for most of the day, waking blearily when Dr. Martha Jones walks in.

"Ah! Mr. Prentice, I see you're awake. Any chest pain or shortness of breath?" Dr. Jones says as she starts her physical exam. Wilf denies any symptoms, letting Dr. Jones perform her assessment. He grimaces slightly as her cold stethoscope touches his skin, and as she peels back his hospital gown to examine the wired ledes on his chest.

"Looking good, Mr. Prentice." Dr. Jones turns to Rose and John with a small smile to include them in the conversation. "The echocardiogram is normal, but the EKG and labwork are showing that you likely suffered a mild heart attack yesterday. The symptoms you were having are consistent with something called angina, which occurs when your heart isn't getting enough oxygen. We'll start you on an aspirin a day, a cholesterol medication, and a blood pressure medication. We'll also have our dietitian counsel you on nutritional modifications you'll need to make — less fatty food, for example. You'll need to follow closely with your GP to make sure everything stays under control. We'll keep you here another day or so for observation, but then you're free to go home."

"Doctor … I run a B&B. Will I be able to keep working?"

Dr. Jones smiles. "I don't see why not. But it will be important not to overdo things - rest when you're tired, and try to minimize stress."

Wilf huffs. "Good luck to me with that."

Dr. Jones' smile fades slightly, and a small frown line appears on her forehead. "Stress relief is important, Mr. Prentice. Too much stress can increase your cortisol levels, and make another heart attack more likely. We were lucky that this one was mild — but your heart is weaker now, and a second attack could be much worse. We want to keep you healthy. Do you understand, sir?"

Wilf nods, staring at his bedspread. "Don't worry doctor, I hear you. I'll think of something."

"We'll think of something," John adds meaningfully. Wilf's eyes flick up to his briefly, morosely, and then back down to the bedspread.

Dr. Jones nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright then. I'd like to do a walk test with you down the hall to check your oxygen levels with activity. Will your family wait here or —"

"Best be heading home, both of you," Wilf says. "Get yourself some dinner and rest. I'm not going anywhere and I know neither of you slept a wink last night."

John squeezes Wilf's hand and Rose leans over to give him a hug. "I'll be back first thing in the morning, Gramps." John nods his assent — there's no way he'll even think of going back to London until Wilf is back home.

John guides Rose out of the room, his hand stroking down her shoulder and coming to rest on the small of her back. He pauses in the door to gaze back at Wilf, who is looking back at him with something akin to a twinkle in his eye, despite the circumstances. "Have a good night, John."

John doesn't quite blush in response, but swallows quickly and darts out of the doorframe, nearly bumping into Rose.

"Are you headed back to Weardale?" she asks. "If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift, that is."

John smiles. "Of course I'll give you a lift back… but …" he pauses. He's been thinking about this all day, and it's now or never. He takes a deep breath. "Do you mind waiting here at the hospital for a bit? There's something I have to do first."