Chapter 21

One week. Seven days. Seven deep and dreamless sleeps.

No more nightmares for Simon.

One week passed with bland hospital food, annoying backless gowns, embarrassing bed baths and much prodding and poking.

"The gunshot wound nearly did me in, now the humiliation has almost finished the job," Simon muttered as Robin helped him tie his shoelaces.

"The important thing is that you survived," he told Simon.

Simon nodded.

"Takes more than a bullet to get the better of me," He said.

"I wasn't talking about the bullet, I was talking about the backless smocks and bed baths!" Robin grinned cheekily.

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling.

"Well look who's developing a promising career in stand up comedy!" he teased.

Robin poked his tongue out and got to his feet as he completed his shoe-lace task.

"You're all done," he said.

Simon slowly pushed himself off the end of the bed and stood up experimentally. He couldn't quite straighten up but he was on his feet and ready to leave which was the most important thing.

"Promise me you've got no Boy George docu-dramas to make me watch when we get home this time?" he asked.

"Promise."

"And you've not recorded a ton of eighties specials for me?"

Robin gave a gentle laugh.

"No," he said, "none."

"But you're still making the homemade pizza?"

Robin smiled.

"If you promise to do the washing up," he said.

"What, with my terrible gaping wounds?" Simon asked pitifully which earned him a pillow thrown at him.

"Yeah, you're all better," Robin laughed, hauling Simon's bag onto his shoulder

Simon smiled at him with a very deep, sincere happiness. He took Robin's hands and squeezed them.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" Robin frowned, "surely not my jokes?"

"For everything," Simon couldn't pin it down to one thing, "for everything."

Robin wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve such a deep thank-you but appreciated it never the less. He linked his arm through Simon's to support him and asked,

"Are you ready to go?"

Simon nodded.

"Very, very ready." He paused for a moment. "Can… can we take one detour before we go?"

Robin gave him a tiny smile. He didn't even need to ask where.

"Of course we can."

It gave Simon chills to walk back down the corridor, knowing what fate had befallen him the last time he was there. He couldn't help but recall moments from the day and the fear he'd experienced. How could one man bring so much evil and anger to the world? Even now he wasn't sure that Keats was a man at all.

There were guards outside Alex's room now. Simon felt it slightly unnecessary since the antagonist of the piece was laying in a mortuary somewhere. It seemed comparable to the old saying about locking the gate once the horse had bolted, but he appreciated the gesture for Alex's sake.

He turned to Robin.

"Do you mind if I…."

Robin didn't need to wait for him to finish.

"You need some privacy," he whispered and nodded, "I'll wait here."

"Thank you," whispered Simon.

He walked slowly and painfully forwards the doorway, fearful of a frisking, but the guards simply stood aside and nodded respectfully. Simon's image had been on every news report for the last ten days, there wasn't a person in the country who didn't recognise him now.

"Uh, thanks," he said quietly, slipping through the doorway.

Once in the room he was surprised to find that Alex was not alone. Sitting in the two hard, plastic visitor's chairs were a teenage girl and a man that he'd met once before. As soon as he entered, the teenager stood up in surprise.

"It's you!" she whispered.

Simon gave a nervous smile.

"Hi… Molly?" he asked, unsure if he remembered her name correctly.

Molly returned his nervous smile.

"They… they say you saved mum's life," she said quietly. Simon spread his hands bashfully, still not sure what to make of the hero status he seemed to have gained. Molly walked around from the opposite side of the bed and reached out her hand. "Thank you, Mister Shoe-Man."

"Shoebury," Simon smiled. He shook her hand. "And it's Simon."

The man got to his feet and followed Molly's lead, coming towards Simon with his hand outstretched.

"We can't thank you enough for what you did," he began, "it's bad enough that Alex is still here… we never thought her life would be put in danger this way." He shook Simon's hand firmly. "Thank you."

Simon recalled meeting him once before, the day he'd bought Molly the smiley biscuit in the canteen.

"Anyone would have done the same," he said sheepishly, knowing full well that it sounded as corny as anything, but he wasn't used to this kind of attention and didn't know how to deal with it.

The man nodded.

"I'm Evan White. Any legal implications that come from this, just say the word and I'll do all I can."

"Oh," Simon said nervously, "thank you. I think."

Molly smiled at him.

"When mum wakes up we'll tell her all about this," she promised.

Evan looked a little nervous.

"If she wakes up," he said cautiously.

"When," Simon countered.

Both Molly and Evan stared at him; one looking at him gratefully and hopefully, the other aghast that he could say something so flippantly and give a teenager false hope.

"Yes, well," Evan began, "we all hope that will happen. But it has been two years."

"She'll make it back," Simon said with total conviction, "I know she will." He looked at Alex laying in the bed beside them, peaceful and still. "Uh… I know this must sound really rude but… can I have a moment with her? Alone?"

Slowly, Evan nodded.

"I think that's probably the least we can do," he said. He took Molly's hand. "Come on, Molly, let's get a drink and let Mister Shoe-Shop have a word with your mum."

Simon scowled.

"It's Shoebury," he said, watching them leave. With a sigh, he sank into a chair beside Alex and pulled it closer to the bed. Watching her laying there, so still and oblivious, he couldn't help but envy her in one way. She had no concept of the danger she'd been in just a week and a half earlier. She'd never had to see Keats aiming a gun at her or listen to his insane rambling.

"Hey," he began quietly, "It's me again. Simon." He paused. "Well…. I… I guess we're pretty much even now. When I said I didn't know how to thank you for saving my life I wasn't intending to have to return the favour!" He stopped for a moment, trying to work out what to say, then took her hand. "He's gone now," he whispered, "Keats. He's dead." He hesitated as something dawned on him. "Actually, I've… I've probably sent him back to where you are now." He bit his lip sheepishly. "Oh, I hope not… I'll feel really guilty about this if I have! Like we're playing Keats tennis with each other. Back and forth…" he gave a nervous laugh. Keats wasn't a subject he wished to dwell on for too long. "I still believe you're going to wake up, Alex. I did… I know you can too. And when you do I promise I'll be there to help you in any way I can. I'll take you out for a coffee, get you round when Robin makes his brilliant pizza, take you and Molly to the cinema… anything you want. Do you know why?" he paused. "Because we're destined to be friends. Whatever time, whatever life, whatever year, we're supposed to be friends. I've no doubt about that." He watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed in and out. In 2010 her body was alive. In 1985, her soul was positively living. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead before saying his goodbyes and getting slowly to his feet.

He knew that he'd be back every so often to make sure she was OK, to talk to her, to help her know that any time she was able to return she'd have friends waiting for her. Until that time came, he was going to go and live his own life, knowing that she was happy and safe with her friends and lover in the eighties until it was time for her to come home.

Friends for life. And beyond.

Epilogue up later!