Carla's p.o.v

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 'Peter…' I paused, ensuring I had heard him correctly. 'No', I uttered.

'Why not?' he asked as if he was oblivious to the implications this could have. 'At least let me get tested'.

'No', I said stubbornly as I remained strong. I wouldn't allow him to do this for me. 'Don't be so stupid'.

'Stupid?' he asked rhetorically. 'I don't think you should be calling someone stupid who is offering to potentially save your life', he responded indignantly.

'I said no for a reason'.

'And I'm asking why.'

'Because…'

'Because', he playfully repeated as he played with my hair, twirling the ends with his finger as he attempted to break my walls down until I gave in.

'Because… Well it would be totally selfish of you to do that'.

'Selfish? Oh yeah, how selfish of me to want to help get you better', I joked sarcastically.

'What about Simon', I said.

'What about Simon?' he repeated, completely incredulous as to what I was hinting at.

'Peter,' I sighed. 'There are one million things that could go wrong-'

'-But they won't. Not as long as I've got you. I need you in my life, Carla. So if that means me giving you a kidney, then so be it'.

'Hmmm', I hummed not wanting to continue this conversation as I knew it would just inflame Peter. Instead we sat in silence. A comfortable one; or a "companiable" one as Roy often like to say. With me lying in the pathetic excuse of a hospital bed, and Peter in the chair next to my bed. Somehow he'd managed to scoot the chair strikingly close to my bed, almost as in protest that he wasn't going anywhere. It reassured me just knowing he was there. And likely to remain there. Initially I had feared that by rekindling our relationship after four years, I had openly allowed myself to be hurt. However, simultaneously, if I was to die at some point soon, then I'd be happy to have spent those last few weeks.. or months of my life meaning something.

I was too tired to argue with him. I knew, in theory, that he was doing an admirable act of kindness as well as bravery. He hadn't even been tested yet and that is what I had to keep reminding myself. It might not work out the way Peter had mapped it out in his head. The true irony of Peter offering me a kidney was that he is a recovering alcoholic. His organs must be robust.

All these avenues of thought which flooded my thoughts was draining me. I was tired. And right on cue, Peter whispered in my ear, 'You look like you could do with some rest'.

'Mmm', I mumbled as I turned onto my side in an attempt to reach a more comfortable sleeping position.

'Sweet dreams, Carla'. He pressed a soft kiss into my hair.

'Don't go', I pleaded rather weakly as I stretched my hand out which he immediately took in his own. His touch providing me with a safe space within the hospital ward. Almost as if his touch barricaded me from the reality of my situation. Slowly, I drifted off. I could hear Peter, murmuring something, but as sleep took over I was unable to decipher his words.

'Never. I made that mistake once; I wont be making it again'

I was weak; he was pillar of strength, and somehow I had become so reliant upon him as days progressed into weeks and my body began to rapidly deteriorate.

Peter's p.o.v

Once I was certain that Carla had fallen into a deep sleep, I slipped out of her room in search of the doctor treating Carla. I was sure I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the corridor, however it must have been my lucky day when I bumped into the very person. 'Ah, just the person!'

'Mr. Barlow, isn't it?'

'Yes, that's me. Listen, Dr. Smith I don't suppose you've got a minute. There's something I'd like to run past you…'