Author's note: The previous chapter was betaed by a dear friend, who is extremely busy with her thesis these days. (Hold on, girl, not long now!) My other dear friend and beta is also snowed under with work, so I did not have a beta for the second chapter. Oh, and English is not my native language. Sorry for the mistakes! Any helpful remarks are welcome.

The long and the short of it, I am looking for a beta-reader for this story. Please, send me a message if you are willing to put up with me and my grammar.

When Henry comes to his senses, everything seems to be white around him. That is his first impression before a rush of different sensations hits him, making his head spin. He feels a throbbing pain in his chest. He feels weak. He feels lost and confused.

'Where am I?' he croaks, his eyes swimming.

A woman's voice comes from nearby: 'At the infirmary. You were shot.'

Henry tries to turn his head. From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a white figure, but before he could move his head properly or take in more of his surroundings, he loses consciousness again.

He repeats this three or four times: he awakens for a few seconds, desperately tries to grasp onto something, but always falls back into oblivion. There is always a white shadow with the familiar voice of a woman and once with the less familiar voice of a man, patiently answering his question.

At the infirmary.

You were shot.

These six words stay with him as he is floating in and out of consciousness. At first they burn his mind, chasing each other over and over in his head. They don't make any sense, not before his brain manages to catch up with them, setting the words out in a line until they add up to a sentence. Attheinfirmaryouwereshot. At the infirmary you were shot. At the infirmary. You were shot. You were shot. You were shot. Shot. At the infirmary.

It means that he is alive. By the gift of His infinite grace, Henry is still alive. He holds onto this thought next time he wakes and darkness finally lets him go.

Henry lies at the infirmary because he was shot. The woman with the familiar voice is Nurse Carter. She helps him piece everything together. She keeps him company, slowly filling him in with the details.

Henry was shot. Carson Shepherd is not a cook but a doctor. He saved Henry. Henry is alive.

Henry was shot. The bullet didn't hit bone or a vital organ, but he lost a lot of blood. He had to undergo immediate surgery. Carson Shepherd is not a cook but a doctor. People have their secrets, and Carson's secret saved Henry's life. Henry is alive.

Doctor Shepherd checks on Henry as soon as he arrives back to the infirmary. He wasn't there when Henry woke because he went on a house call to Mrs Kingston, who broke her leg. Apparently he is town doctor now. Henry is alive because Carson Shepherd changed his mind about his vow of never again practicing medicine.

Henry was shot and he lost so much blood they didn't know for sure if he would pull through. Abigail visited him several times while he was unconscious, sitting next to his bed, talking to him and praying for him. Bill looked in twice, asked Faith about Henry's condition, then sat in the corner for a while, in perfect silence. Faith couldn't say anything reassuring to neither of them. Doctor Shepherd and she did the best they could. Henry lost a lot of blood. But he is alive.

He feels alive. He feels weak and he has a constant pain in his chest where the bullet hit, but he doesn't care about how much it hurts to take a breath as long as he can breathe. There is still enough blood left in his body to pump his heart - or the thing in the place where his heart should be. He inhales the air in the room and he can almost taste the disinfectant on his tongue.

He can taste. Smell. Touch. Hear. See. He can see the faint sunlight coming through the window. When he was lying on the ground, consumed by fear and pain, he didn't believe he would ever see the sun again. It would have been the easy path, to give up and let go of everything - the sun above his head and the ground under his feet. Henry Gowen would have died an honourable death at the end of a dishonourable life. But he was not meant to take the easy path. Redemption has a price, and Henry got a second chance to pay it.

Although it's hard to step on the road to redemption holding his head high, while his body is aching and he can barely move.

Henry feels alive. For that he is immensely grateful - but being alive also brings a lot of unpleasant feelings. Shame. Regret. Doubt. Will he be able to work his way through them, no matter how it hurts? Time alone will tell.

The door opens, and an unexpected visitor interrupts his silent meditation.

'Hello, Henry. Faith.'

It's Bill. He looks his usual self, and Henry finds himself looking at Bill with his usual distrust. Well, he didn't take a bullet for him because he liked him. He did what he did because he thought it was morally wrong to shoot someone. That is all. Apparently his feelings towards Bill Avery weren't altered by his near-death experience.

'Bill.' Henry greets the man with a nod.

'Good afternoon,' Nurse Carter smiles.

'Carson said Henry had awaken and he could be visited.'

'Well, if Henry feels well enough…' Faith looks at him and Henry nods. He doesn't feel particularly well, but he feels alive and that's enough for now. 'Alright. Do you mind if I step out for a minute? I need to place an order for iodine at the mercantile.'

'We will be fine,' Bill promises. Henry raises an eyebrow. We?

The nurse takes her coat and heads for the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turns back and playfully wags a finger at the sheriff: 'Don't upset my patient.' She looks at Henry with a soft smile: 'I won't be long.'

Then the door closes behind her and the two men are left alone in a heavy silence.

'May I…?' Bill gestures at the chair next to Henry's bed.

'Be my guest.'

Bill takes the chair, turning it around, then straddling it. Probably a gesture of dominance, thinks Henry.

'We need to clear up a few things.' Bill starts with clearing his throat. Henry suspects it's going to be a longer conversation than he would wish to have with this very man. 'First of all: I will always be grateful to you for saving my life.'

Strong opening. Old Henry Gowen would have liked to have Bill Avery in his debt. Once or twice it surely would have come useful to remind him how Henry had saved his life. However, to this new Henry the idea doesn't sound appealing at all. He is still not a fan of Bill, but the pain in his chest seems to have taken away his appetite for having people in his pocket.

'I don't think we will ever be friends,' Bill goes on, 'and I don't think I will ever understand you, Henry.'

'You and me both.'

'Nevertheless, I won't forget to tell the judge about what you did.' How generous, Henry would like to say, but he stays silent. Cynicism might be slowly leaking out of him through his wound. 'You are guilty and you are under arrest. When Carson says that you are fully recovered from your injury, you will take your place in the jail, but you won't be transferred to Cape Fullerton before Christmas.'

'A jail is a jail, but thank you, I guess.'

It could have been different. Henry is alive, but he is probably going to spend the rest of his life in jail. Maybe not the rest of his life, but let's say he gets imprisoned for five years. Who will he be in five years? Nobody. A lonely man. Everyone will go on with their lives while his life is put on hold. He could ask Bill what is the maximum sentence for his crime, but he can't bring himself to it. What does it matter anyway? He should learn to accept his fate.

If he had died… If he had died, he would have lost all his chances to redeem himself. Being alive is his second chance, no matter how slim it is.

'I will arrange with Abigail to give you something you could pass as community service.'

Abigail. Her name alone makes Henry's chest ache. He tries to brush the feeling off with a scoff: 'I guess I will be eating my share of humble pie as soon as I am out of this bed.'

'I hope you have a big appetite.'

Henry grimaces. He will work up an appetite later. Right now he can't stomach this conversation anymore. He feels tired, fatigued even, his concentration is slipping.

'Even though you are always such a pleasant company, could you just leave now?'

'Even though I don't suppose you could slip away in your condition, I'd prefer to stay here until Faith returns,' Bill says matter-of-factly. 'But you don't have to chat with me if you don't want to.'

Henry wishes he could give him a sharp reply, but he feels too tired to argue. Bill moves his chair away from the bed, into a corner, but it still feels awkward having him around. Henry tries to fight off the weariness settling on his brow, to no avail. No doubt their conversation has tired him too much, and he can't help but fall asleep with Bill watching over him. Nothing like that has seldom if ever in his life happened to him. His last thought before drifting off is a disturbing question: would it have been easier for everyone if he had died…?