Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all so much for the lovely response to this story! I hope you enjoy this new installment. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Everything about him felt heavy. Even saddled with bags of supplies that weighed as much as he did and living on military rations during the war, he had never felt this heavy. He couldn't move his limbs and a massive weight pressed painfully against his chest. His eyelids burned against his efforts to open them, his breath escaped him in nearly invisible spurts, and his blood felt like sludge in his veins. Everything was pain and weight and darkness. He wanted to think, to find some way to escape from whatever hell this was, but even his head closed in around him and it was all he could do to stay aware.

"Patrick?"

A woman's voice called his name, but he couldn't find her; couldn't see, couldn't feel. God, he was so tired.

"Patrick, my love?"

'Shelagh?' Her name was only two syllables of thought, but it was enough to make his brain pound with overexertion and chase her from his mind. His heart fought back. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't with her and she was looking for him, and that couldn't be right.

"Patrick, darling, it's okay. Let go."

Her voice was so soothing and it made the air smell like honeysuckle and he was so, so tired.

"Let go, sweetheart."

The anchors of his body gave way to weightlessness and suddenly, there was no more pain.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, he was on the seaside. All pain was a distant memory, replaced instead by warm sand, turquoise seas, a soft breeze, and...he was missing his shoes. Where had they gone? How did he get here?

"Patrick Turner, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

The melodious voice from before stirred his memory, only now he knew it wasn't Shelagh calling for him.

"Marianne?" he whispered in awe. He turned towards the beloved voice he hadn't heard in years and he couldn't breathe. His late wife stood before him on the beach, as lovely as she'd ever been. Her soft, brown hair fell longer than he remembered, but her eyes still shone and her skin glowed. She looked the way he always tried to remember her - before illness had robbed her of so much. Awe, though, soon turned to horror. If she was here… "Am I...is this…?" he stuttered, to terrified to ask the question on his lips. She seemed to understand.

"No, darling." she promised. "Not yet." Beneath the comfort of her words lay a tinge of disappointment and he knew she was telling the truth. He couldn't blame her. Were there positions reversed, no matter how much he would want her to live a full life, there would always be a part of him that wanted her to stay by his side.

"If this isn't...where are we?" he asked. His memory was still foggy from wherever he'd been before the beach.

"You don't recognize it?" she asked honestly.

"Should I?" he asked, suddenly horrified that it was a place that once meant something to them and that he'd hurt her by forgetting. She smiled, though, and his worry faded.

"Don't worry Patrick, I've never seen this place before." she laughed. She knew him far too well. He would always worry he'd made a mistake or said the wrong thing. He wanted to make everything right. It was one of the things that endeared him to her. It was one of the things she knew endeared him to Shelagh.

"I've been here." he said quietly. She waited for him to continue. His eyes seemed lost in time and his fingers sifted thoughtfully through the sand. "It didn't look like this, though. I never thought it could look beautiful."

"Is this Italy?" Marianne asked, realizing. "You never told me about it."

"I never told anyone about it." he mumbled regretfully. "At least not until it was too late." His shoulders tensed and she gave into the urge to touch him, even he wasn't really there. Her hands on his skin felt like heaven. He chuckled to himself at the thought. "Marianne, how can you be here?"

"I don't know." she admitted. "I sensed you were in danger and suddenly, I was here, waiting for you."

"Am I dying?" he asked fearfully. "Is that why I'm here?"

"I don't know, my love, I'm sorry." she took his hand and was surprised that her heart didn't clench at the sight of his new wedding band. She'd told him when she was dying that she wanted him to find love and move on, but she never thought she'd have to see the results. Life after death was peculiar that way.

"But you told me to let go." he argued, quickly growing frustrated and scared at the lack of answers. The more he sat, the more he remembered, and the more he wanted to get back to Shelagh, no matter how wonderful having Marianne felt.

"You were in terrible pain." she sighed. "I could never stand to see you in pain. I just wanted you to stop hurting. I wish I had more answers for you. I can't see everything that's happening, I wish I could. For all I know, you might be dying and I can't comfort you." Tears fell from her eyes and he knew for certain he couldn't be in Heaven. Heaven couldn't be a place where Marianne cried.

"You always comforted me." he assured. "You still do, you know?" she looked up at him in a silent plea to continue. "There were so many things I couldn't tell you when you were alive that I found I could tell you in death. I don't know that I believed you could hear me, but maybe that made it easier."

"I've heard you sometimes." she admitted. "Not all the time, but sometimes I suppose the feelings are strong enough that I can't help it." she paused. She didn't want to keep him, though, truthfully, she suspected that he would leave when it was time and there were things she had to know. "How is Timothy?" she asked tearfully.

"He misses his mummy." he answered truthfully. There was so much he wanted to say and now he didn't know how to say any of it. "Shelagh's helped him a lot with remembering...I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Patrick, no, you don't have to feel ashamed. I asked you to find love again, remember?" she teased a bit, hoping to encourage him. The truth was, she really didn't get many glimpses into her earthly family and she didn't have many memories of Shelagh (well, Sister Bernadette). She was curious. "She's made you smile again, and I will be forever grateful to her for that."

Patrick smiled. He still didn't know if any of this was real, but he still struggled at times with reconciling his love for Marianne and his love for Shelagh and having Marianne's blessing soothed an ache he'd forgotten he had.

"She has." he agreed. "She lost her mum when she was little as well. I think it's why Tim trusts her so much." Marianne nodded her approval. She always knew she liked the little Scottish nun.

"You have a daughter now, yes?" she asked. She was pretty sure, but so much was muddled in this place and sometimes it was hard to keep track of earthly reality.

"Angela Julienne." Patrick beamed. "We adopted her."

"Adopted?" Marianne asked with great interest. Patrick had always wanted more children, but they'd never discussed adoption.

"Shelagh's TB left her with pelvic scarring. We found out a few months after we were married." his gaze turned solemn and Marianne squeezed his hand once more. Patrick froze. Marianne watched his face intentedly. Something must have come back to him. "Can't have children...pregnant…" he muttered fearfully.

"Marianne do you-ah!" he gasped mid question and his hand shot to his side. He couldn't see an injury to explain the searing pain. "What's happen-aaah!" His skin burned and he could feel his muscles tear under his clenched hand. He looked up at Marianne through blurred eyes and reached out for her in vain. His hand passed clean through her body. "Marianne!"

"They're calling you back, Patrick. You have to go." she cried at the thought of losing him again, but it wasn't fair to keep him. He had a family; their family, to get back to.

"Love you." he choked out as he faded away. Marianne felt the sand on her feet for a few more moments before she too, disappeared with a whispered declaration of love on her lips.

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