In this installment: The results of the aforementioned derring-do. :-(

White Card.

Karen was on her third cup of tea when the phone rang. Dinner had been over for an hour. She checked the clock – seven thirty. It was Harry, she reasoned. It had to be. He'd been kept behind at work; he was calling to apologize. He'd be home soon.

She set down her mug and picked it up just as Daisy came bounding in.

"Is it Dad?" she asked.

"I don't know, darling. Hello?"

Daisy bounced on her toes nearby, getting just close enough for her mum to cup her head and smooth down her hair. Then quite suddenly the hand on her head stopped moving. Daisy noticed the change and looked up. Mum was white to the lips.

"Thank you, I'll be right there." She hung up the phone and looked down. "Daisy, go get your coat and find that misfit brother of yours. You're spending the night at Grandma and Grampa's."

Daisy was puzzled. "Why?"

"Don't argue dear," Karen said softly. "Go on."

She shooed Daisy out, grabbed the phone, and hit speed dial three. "Mum? Hi, I need your help. Something's happened. Can you take the kids for tonight?"

Forty frantic minutes after that call, Karen blew into a hospital reception area. The wind outside helped her in a bit. Between her fluffy coat and wispy hair and wide eyes, she looked like a small frightened bird. She marched straight up to the desk.

"Hello, may I help you?" said the receptionist.

"Yes. My name is Karen Stretter. I'm looking for my husband, Harry. Someone from the hospital called me, and said he'd been stabbed on a train. I'm hoping it's a mistake."

"No mistake, ma'am. He's back there, in emergency," she said, and handed Karen her husband's overcoat, very neatly folded with sharp corners. His scarf lay folded on top of that, and his fedora rested atop both, with his sharp rectangular glasses sitting on the brim like a bizarre little bow. "The rest of his things are in a bag. You can get them later."

Karen accepted the clothes without a word. The sight of them had blown language right out of her for the moment.

"Just have a seat there," said the receptionist. "I'll page a doctor and someone will come out when they have news."

Karen sat down in the nearly empty waiting area. After ten anxious minutes, she set Harry's hat and glasses beside her and unfolded his coat so she could more comfortably hold it. A corner poked her – something was in Harry's coat pocket. Curious, she pulled it out, revealing a pretty blue gift box from the jewelers with a white card taped on top.

"Oh no," she said and her voice cracked.

Panic overtook her. Another box. Another necklace. Another woman.

Her stomach sank and cramped and she tried to distract herself with questions. Where was the doctor? Where was that idiot husband of hers? How had he managed to get himself stabbed on a train? What had he been doing on a train in the first place? And why the hell was this box in his pocket? Oh God, it was last year all over again. It was another stupid thing for Mia, she decided. Something tiny snapped in her chest, and she gripped the front of her coat very hard and put her head down. What an awful way to find out that her husband really was in love with someone else. She crossed her arms, looked angrily at the box, and decided she wouldn't read the card in the envelope. It just wasn't worth the pain.

But the minutes ticked by and there was no word. There was nothing but Karen and the waiting area, and Harry's coat, and the box. She chewed her lip and kneaded her forehead and groaned as her curiosity got the better of her. With brutal motions she ripped the envelope apart and opened the card, determined to be disgusted.

My dearest Karen, it said. She almost dropped it.

Light and love of my life, my queen, my goddess, my everything, etcetera etcetera:

NO BLOODY PEEKING.

She gasped out a half laugh even as a tear bloomed, but couldn't find the strength to still her hand; she opened the box. Inside, instead of a gift, was another card. She wiped her eyes and opened that.

Scary how well I know you, isn't it? Don't even try to look for your present because I have hidden it where you won't ever find it. Rest assured though, that you will receive it on Christmas morning, and that it is not a Joni Mitchell CD. God knows I learned my lesson from last year.

By the way, we must talk about this dreadful peeking habit of yours … among other things.

XOXO

Her husband had signed his name with his trademark block printing. Karen sat stock still for a moment and tried very hard to erase all the horrible things she'd just assumed. She put the card and box back in Harry's pocket and then quietly fell apart, sobbing into her hands, secure in the knowledge that no one would bother her. There was nobody around and the receptionist couldn't give a toss about some crying middle-aged woman twenty feet away.

"Mrs. Stretter?" It was the doctor, who had appeared out of nowhere. He startled her.

She stood up. "Yes?" she said, wiping her eyes and sniffing, trying to pull herself together. "Is my husband all right?"

The doctor smiled. "He is." Then he noticed Karen's red eyes. She pulled some Kleenex from her pocket and blew her runny nose. "Erm, I don't know what you've been told …"

"All … All I know is someone stabbed him."

The doctor nodded, back on solid ground. "The paramedics told me what happened. He did a very brave thing, ma'am. He helped to apprehend a would-be thief on the train, and in the commotion the assailant stabbed him in the thigh. He slipped into shock and he lost a bit of blood, but fortunately all he sustained was some soft tissue damage. We cleaned out the wound and patched him up. He's going to be just fine."

Karen, relieved beyond words, bowed her head.

The doctor gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I have to tell you, your husband was ridiculously lucky. A few millimeters to the left, and the knife would have severed an artery. It was a very near miss."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," she said, wiping her eyes again. "May I see him?"

"Of course. Come with me."

Karen picked up Harry's things and followed the doctor. They walked through the double doors and into the ER, which was strangely calm. She flinched under the glare of the fluorescent lights.

"We have him in one of the curtain areas. He has an i.v. in with antibiotics and something for the pain."

"Pain?" Karen asked. The coat she carried smelled profoundly like her husband and she suddenly couldn't spare much attention for the doctor.

"Yes ma'am. We had to knock him out and poke around in there before we closed up the wound; it was pretty deep. He got the 'good stuff,' as we like to call it. He'll be a little loopy when he comes around, just to warn you."

They'd stopped at a curtain. The doctor pulled it open without preamble and there was Harry, flat on his back, out like a light and looking deceptively peaceful under a blanket. His color was slightly off. His left leg was elevated by a pillow under his knee, and a little tube was running under his nose. The i.v. was dripping into his right hand. Karen held his coat very tightly to herself.

"We'll keep him overnight for observation and release him tomorrow around noon."

"May I stay with him?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you," Karen said sincerely.

She stood there for a moment, staring almost as if she were watching this on the telly, until the doctor went away. Once she was alone, she drew the curtain back for privacy and laid Harry's heavy coat over his legs and feet. It didn't look like they'd given him enough covers. He was only wearing a gown and it was freezing in here. She tossed his hat onto the bed carelessly. It landed with a flump. She held onto his glasses as she pushed the visitor's chair over up against the rail, then plopped herself down and reached under the covers for his left hand, finally finding it only to discover that his skin was nearly as cold as his wedding ring. She tsked at this and began to rub his hand and arm a bit to encourage some blood flow. Hopefully the coat would warm him up a little.

The realization was sudden and unpleasant. She couldn't recall the last time she'd done this – reached for him. The idea startled her.

Once Karen had gotten his hand to warm up a little she closed her eyes, expecting to be in for a long night in the chair. She hadn't dozed for five minutes though, before something twitched in her grip. She snapped awake. Another twitch. She kept a gentle hold of the twitching thing and stood up so she was leaning down over the bed rail.

Harry was awake … maybe. He was blinking, but it was obvious he wasn't focusing well. It looked like he was trying to swim to the surface of a lake. One of his eyelids seemed to be stuck at half-mast. Undeterred by this, Karen put his glasses on him so he could at least have a shot at making visual contact.

"Harry?" she asked cautiously. "Darling, look at me."

It took him a few seconds, but he managed it. The wayward eyelid got itself in line. "Karen." He squeezed her hand and sighed. "Thank God. Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't," Karen said softly. She brushed some hair off his forehead. "Oh, Harry." She stopped then, unsure of what to do. Throwing her arms around him was out – she didn't want to accidentally injure him further. Yelling at him for being such an idiot was out, as well – he was too doped up to pay attention. She sighed.

Ironically enough, it was her normally reserved and reticent husband who rescued the situation. "Karen, I have to tell you something. And … I have to say it … before anything else ridiculous happens to me."

Karen smiled. "Okay. I'm listening." Here was her quiet, stoic Harry on painkillers, emotionally defenseless with absolutely no filter. This was going to be interesting.

"Are you sure? Because iz really important," he slurred.

Karen did her best not to laugh. "Yes, I am absolutely listening, dear. Go ahead."

"All right," Harry acquiesced. "Karen, I love you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He looked absolutely honest, like he was holding nothing back. It was amazing how expressive he was in his sadness. Some wall inside him had been shaken down by the drugs. He was staring deeply into her eyes (or perhaps through her head – she wasn't quite sure) and clutching her hand.

It didn't take a great brain to figure out what Harry was referring to. Karen sighed. She was not ready for this conversation. In fact, she doubted she ever would be. They'd stepped around it for a year after all, and she'd mostly put it out of her mind, until tonight. She smoothed her husband's tousled hair back again and tried to ignore what he'd just said by taking in the details of his face – those soulful eyes set against pale skin, the nice if unremarkable jawline, those thin lips, that adorably prominent, slightly crooked nose.

"I love you too, darling," she said quietly, ignoring his apology for the moment. "I always will." She leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. The contact felt ludicrous. Foreign. When she came up, Harry was looking at her with some surprise. It had just been too long since they had touched each other this way. Little things like this felt alarmingly new.

She did love Harry. She did. And she definitely believed he was sorry. But with him doped up like this, it was just too tempting. She had to ask … even if the answer killed her.

"Harry?"

"Mm?"

"What happened between you and Mia?"

Harry looked very depressed at this question. "Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing happened. Nothing. She took the necklace. And then you told me off, with good reason. I did … a terrible, stupid thing. Surprised you didn't throw me out."

Karen had no idea what to say to this. She settled for smoothing his hair back. Harry didn't seem to notice her silence.

"I transferred Mia. She came back."

"I know." Karen did know. Sarah had kept her up-to-date on this particular issue.

"I hated every second of it," Harry revealed. "Hid in my office last week … to avoid her."

"Shh-shh-shh-shh," Karen breathed, trying to quiet him without laughing. After all the stress she'd just been through and now seeing him here, stoned out of his gourd but otherwise okay, his admission amused her rather more than it should have.

"But I finally did something right," he said. It sounded like he was lobbying desperately for some clarity. "I gave her the sack."

Karen stared at him in shock. "What? When?"

"This morning. I think she slashed my tyres in revenge. Not sure, though. Can't be sure."

Whatever clarity he'd captured was flitting away. "Darling, you're babbling."

"Don't care," Harry grunted. His thoughts seemed to have taken another sudden left. "S'all your fault anyway."

Karen raised an eyebrow in amusement. "What's my fault?"

"You beeked in my pluddy … my coat pocket. If you hadn't looked in my bloody coat pocket last year, none of this … shite would have happened. Man neez his secrets," he finished, sounding a little irritated.

The other eyebrow joined the first. "I beg your pardon."

Karen had dipped dangerously into her chest voice. She ignored for the moment that her husband was obviously drugged to the gills and treated his asinine argument like it meant something.

"Yes, all right, I peeked in your pocket. But that does not negate or excuse the fact that you gave a very expensive piece of jewelry to another woman, Harry!" she scolded.

"I know," he groaned. "God, I know! I was an arse. But she was just so … I dunno."

Karen decided she had to know exactly what Mia was, so she switched tactics. She leaned in close and smoothed his hair back, over and over again, until he actually hummed a little with pleasure. Harry, despite his quiet demeanor and occasional bouts of grumpiness, responded remarkably well to touch. Perhaps if she kept petting him, he'd keep talking. She winced at exploiting this weakness but plowed on.

"What? What was she, Harry?" she crooned. She hated herself.

"Sexy," he slurred. "Also … she was a slut. She sat there … in that ugly office chair … and opened her legs just a little bit … and offered me everything. Said so in my ear … when we danced at the party. All I had to get her was … something she wanted."

Karen had stopped hating herself. She had successfully redirected her hatred at Mia. That girl had brass, playing with another woman's man, trying to catch Harry and blindside him and bring those considerable Stretter defenses down.

"So I did."

Karen worked her jaw for a moment. "Why?" she finally asked.

"She wanted me. … And you don't."

The statement came as such a shock that Karen actually made one of those "ukuh" noises.

"What? Harry, that's not true. Of course I want you."

"No you don't," he insisted. His voice was barely audible now, and his face was blank. "First … you were tired. Then … you had headaches. And since Mia … every time I touch you … you turn over and face the other way."

"Harry."

Things were crumbling inside her. Mostly assumptions. She couldn't believe this.

"Don't … 'Harry' me," he said. "I get it. I'm old … and saggy … and grumpy. I don't blame you."

His eyes were sliding shut; he was going under, drowning in whatever cocktail they were pumping into him. It occurred to Karen almost too late that their talk was not ending well. She had only precious seconds to correct that.

"Harry, look at me." He dragged his sleepy gaze towards her, and she cupped his face in her hands. "I happen to think you're very handsome. And you probably won't remember this in the morning but … I forgive you, darling."

To her great surprise, she realized she meant it.

"We all make mistakes. Just mind you don't make that one again. Now go to sleep, that's it. I'll be here when you wake up."

She leaned down and kissed him again, this time on the lips, and stayed for a little while. By the time she'd pulled away his eyes were closed and his breathing was even.

Karen hung her head and sat down heavily in the chair, taking his hand again. Harry had exaggerated slightly about the 'turning over' thing, but there it was. Raging insecurity was the reason behind this whole ridiculous mess. It never occurred to her that he could have such issues about his appearance or his appeal – she assumed she had a monopoly on that. Granted, their sex life hadn't been that great for the past few years, what with her running around after the kids all day and him working all the time. It almost made sense that he would take it personally. She hadn't really made anything clear to him, she suddenly realized and honestly, what else was he supposed to think? It gave her rather a lot to chew on. There would be plenty of time later to harangue her husband for trying to act the hero on a commuter train. She had too much else in her head right now: his motivations, Mia's behavior and, jammed in there with everything else, a possible explanation of what he'd been doing on mass transit in the first place.

On a rational level she dismissed Harry's nutty hypothesis about his ersatz secretary slashing his tyres. But on a purely emotional level she hoped Mia had done it, just so she could catch her somewhere and box her ears, maybe shake the younger woman violently and howl at her for all the misery she'd caused. If only Harry had never hired her in the first place. If only he hadn't been entranced by her charms. If only she hadn't taken the sack so badly. Karen imagined a different Harry for a moment: one who was home right now, safe and sound, perhaps groggy from a leftover turkey sandwich she'd made him and still diligently looking over some reports on the couch, not belly-up in some hospital bed. She looked over at her husband. He snored.

Karen smiled. She had a mother to call, and an office to call, and fresh clothes to fetch, and come morning, some forms to sign. She had a frozen turkey to buy and some last-minute presents to find. But for now she had to sit here and rest beside this man. She closed her eyes.

A/N: Yes, I made up a last name for Karen and Harry. Come on, I had to! Just imagine Karen's exchange with the receptionist if I hadn't:

"Hello, may I help you?"

"Yes. My name is Karen. I don't have a surname, but I'm the Prime Minister's sister, and my husband is called Harry. He wears glasses and has a very interesting voice. Is he here?"

A few hours later Karen woke up in the mental ward, groaning and miserable, pinned down in five point restraints.

For Nitpickers: I rented the Love Actually DVD. In one of the deleted scenes ("Bernie's Christmas Wish," which was OMG T3H AWESOME) the headmistress talks to Karen and calls her Mrs. Williams. Then when she's alone with her cancer-stricken lover, she refers to Karen as Mrs. Taylor. I figured if the character couldn't even keep it straight, I'd just make up my own name.