The Hour and its lovely characters do not belong to me. I just move them about sometimes, with my mind.

Freddie was vaguely surprised to find himself alive. Not unpleasantly surprised, mind you, but surprised nonetheless. The rage he'd seen in Cilenti's eyes had convinced him that the man would not stop until he was dead. He mulled on it, turning the matter over and over in his head, as he lay prone in a drab, sterile room, suspended somewhere between pain and oblivion.

Hours later, Sissy and Sey dropped by. They filled in some of the gaps, informing him that he'd been dumped outside the studio and fortunately found before he could expire. Sey looked him over with a critical eye, but seemed to think his chances were good. Apparently waking up had been half the battle. Sissy settled a cheerful pot of flowers on the table to his right, which was when he noticed the book. He tried to speak, but found it was still beyond him.

Sissy noticed his dilemma. "Are you askin' for this, Mr. Lyon?" She lifted the book so he could see its cover.

Casino Royale. The very copy he kept in his desk, if he wasn't mistaken. She'd been here, then, and wanted him to know she'd be back.

That was good.

And then he faded, little by little, until there was only oblivion.

He was sleeping when Bel arrived. She knew he'd been awake earlier when Sissy had stopped by. She'd told Bel he'd seen the book. It was propped up against the vase holding Sissy's flowers now.

Bel settled herself in a chair and pulled out the transcripts she'd brought along to look over. If Freddie woke again, she wanted to be there.

She worked her way through all of her transcripts, left to call Mr. Wengrow with instructions and to hunt up some supper, and returned to find him still sleeping. She very much hoped it was simply sleep, but was determined not to think otherwise. Done with work but unwilling to leave, Bel pulled out the book of poems she still carried and settled in to read.

"when god lets my body be"

She hadn't gotten very far in when a small sound had her head whipping up. There he was. He looked half-asleep yet, but his good eye was open (and she'd been sure to situate herself on its side this time), and oh, it was Freddie. He looked at her and she could see the mind behind the hazel eye and knew he was all there.

He looked from the copy of Casino Royale back to her, and she nodded. "I thought you'd like to have something of home here. I put the photo of your dad from the office inside, and there's the one of-of us, too. I can put them up somewhere, if you'd like."

He gave a tiny shake of his head and tried to lift his arm. This caused an immediate and sharp intake of air, and if he'd been hazy before she could tell that this had woken him up. He'd tried to move his right arm, and it was broken. Bel reached out to take his hand, which she'd been assured was unharmed. She gripped it as tightly as she dared, and he squeezed back, just once.

"Had to be the hero, didn't you, James?"

His lips twitched.

"Have they told you what happened?"

Freddie blinked once, slowly, which Bel took as a yes.

"Good. That's good. It's not going to be an easy recovery, and the doctor said you might have to use a cane, maybe for a long time. But you're alive, Freddie. Besides, I think canes are rather distinguished." She chuckled, trying for cheerful, but her laugh sounded forced to her own ears. "You'd like looking distinguished, wouldn't you?"

He made a sound, and Bel leaned forward to catch it. "Bel."

"Yes." She felt her eyes filling, just at the soft, harsh sound of his voice.

"It will...be. Okay."

"I know. But you frightened us, Freddie. You frightened me."

He opened his mouth again and she scooted forward on her seat. The book of poems, which had been on her lap, hit the ground with a thwack. Bel leaned down to pick it up. Freddie raised an eyebrow.

"You'll think I'm daft. It's the book of e. e. cummings you gave me. I've been carting it around because...because I don't know why."

He looked significantly back at Casino Royale. "Took that...all the way...to San Francisco," he managed.

"Oh Freddie, you didn't." He gave the little nodding blink. "I did write you, you know. A maudlin little letter. I never sent it, of course. I was too much of a coward. It's inside the book, with the photos."

"Read," he said. Bel felt herself blush, and immediately felt foolish for it.

"Alright." She opened the book, set the photographs aside, and began to unfold the letter. Just then, a nurse came in. She chattered brightly, commenting how pleased she was to see Mr. Lyon awake and how wonderful The Hour had been and wasn't he a brave one? Miss Delane had been speaking to the press, it seemed.

Bel quietly folded the letter away. She propped the book back up against the vase and leaned the photographs against it so Freddie could see them. She busied herself with the cummings book while the nurse finished her checks.

"Read," Freddie said again, once the other woman had left.

Bel reached for the Fleming book, but Freddie shook his head. "Oh, the poetry? Alright. It's a little morbid, actually, but I've found myself drawn to the ones about death."

"'when god lets my body be,'" Freddie said.

"Yes." Bel opened the book to the corresponding page. "'when god lets my body be From each brave eye shall sprout a tree.' I like how this one ends, actually." She skipped ahead. "'and all the while shall my heart be With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea.'"

Bel reached out to retake his hand. "I am very glad you're not dead, Freddie."

"I rather am, too," he said.

A/N
"when got lets my body be" is the only poem in this chapter. It's number 3 in my book and Bel's. And here we leave the hospital happily behind.

Thanks so much for the feedback this little tale has already garnered. I love to hear from all of you!