The last time Alice had seen Matthew this still was after the mad man ran him over with a car and permanently crippled him. They'd barely known each other back then, no more than passing acquaintances with a common thread - one Dr. Lucien Blake.
Now, however, now Alice could scarcely breathe as she watched his chest rise and fall in the low lamplight. Now Matthew knew how she took her tea, how she didn't have a high tolerance for wine, how she liked to curl up on the couch with a trashy romance novel (or two or three), how her feet always ran cold, and that she didn't like overly sweet things, but she'd always say yes to chocolate cake.
Now Alice knew how to brew tea to his exact standards, how to make him smile when a tough case came across his desk, how he liked to shout out the answers while watching quiz shows in the parlor, how he liked to bake and cook for others (sometimes giving Jean and Amy a break in the kitchen), how he tapped the pen against his chin as he carefully filled in the Courier's crossword, and that he adored having Geoffrey over to mentor and read all the interesting books and novels in the Blake household.
The bruises darkened on his face the longer she sat there and somewhere she could hear the ticking of a clock; it echoed the ticking in her mind, the bits of sand of her happiness and sanity that slowly sifted through the cracks in her fingers no matter how hard she tried to hold it all together.
Matthew hadn't woken since getting out of the OR and Radiology. Luckily, he didn't have any bleeding on the brain or in his abdominal cavity, but Alice still chewed on her lower lip the longer he stayed unconscious. The tears that she'd pushed back as she barked out orders and demands over his body came rushing back the moment she'd taken time to let it all catch up to her. She'd left so much unsaid, she'd let others dictate how she lived for once, and while it seemed like they'd have a boundless amount of time to figure it all out, the proof of how fleeting life could be lay before her in the dark splotches littered on Matthew's face.
She felt like she was running out of time.
If she looked away for a second, would he slip from her grasp without a sound?
Would she be able to fathom a future without him in it?
I need more time. I need him.
The tears started and Alice couldn't stop them if she tried.
A faint knock on his door startled her from her thoughts and Alice looked up to see Jean Blake peeking in.
"Am I interrupting?"
Alice shook her head and her friend settled into the chair next to hers. She tried, valiantly, to wipe away her tears, but when Jean's hand grasped hers tightly, Alice knew she'd failed spectacularly.
"How is he doing?" Jean asked softly, the hushed question reminding Alice of the oppressive air of an old church, or the quiet before a storm. They all teetered on the edge of something, and Alice itched to get it over with.
"Recovering," Alice answered flatly. She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks - more tears falling when Jean smoothed a hand over her back, much like Lucien had done during the Orton debacle years ago. "He thankfully doesn't have a concussion, a few fractured ribs, and the stab wounds of course, but they missed vital organs and arteries. No internal bleeding, but he'll hurt for awhile."
Jean sighed beside her - her hand still warm on Alice's back. "He won't like being back here."
"He should have thought about that before going on that raid," Alice replied, wincing at her own sharpness and the way Jean's fingers dug slightly into her back. "I'm… I'm sorry, Jean, I don't…"
"You're scared, I understand, Alice."
Tears sprang to her eyes again and she tried to wipe them as they fell; the press of a handkerchief told her how bad it was and Alice gave Jean a rueful smile.
"I just… there's so much to say and… I thought we had time."
"You still do, Alice. Matthew's right here, he's alive - a little bruised, a little battered, but alive and before you know it he'll be grouchy and grumpy towards the nursing staff."
They shared a chuckle at Matthew's bluster and sour moods whenever he felt the slightest bit sick and knew the hospital staff had their work cut out for themselves during his recovery.
Alice wiped up her tears and twisted the handkerchief in her hands as Jean pulled her into a one-armed side hug. She leaned her head against Jean's - this hospital vigil so poignantly different from the one with Lucien before their wedding, and yet Alice was struck with a feeling of deja vu.
How many times had the two of them bonded over Lucien ending up in the hospital? How many times had they shared cups of tea in sterilized hallways and rooms, frantic with worry over whether or not their men would come out alright in the end?
(And they always were their men, Alice mused, they always had been intertwined just so since the moment Lucien returned to Ballarat in 1958 and set in motion the series of events that pulled the four of them together in a way akin to wool fibers spinning into thread.)
Even with a piece missing, their bond remained strong.
Jean's presence soothed Alice's frayed nerves, her whirling thoughts slowing with each pass of Jean's hand over her upper arm.
"I…" Alice whispered, biting her lower lip as she struggled to put her thoughts into coherent words. "Jean?"
"Yes, Alice?"
"What if… what if I lose him?" She looked to her friend, eyes glassy with fresh tears. "There's so much… that I want to tell him and what if I don't get that chance?"
Jean's face was half-anguish and half-empathy. She knew exactly what Alice was feeling at this moment and Alice worried at the memories it'd bring up, but she had no one else to turn to.
"Oh, Alice," she sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen, but I think you should tell Matthew how you feel."
"I-"
"I know you're holding back because of talk, but to hell with them, you deserve to be happy."
"I want to be," Alice whispered, her knuckles white as she clung to the handkerchief. "I so badly want to be, Jean, I just…"
"You're scared… I remember being that way too with Lucien. I was caught between what society told me what was right, what the Church told me was right, and what my heart wanted. Alice, you've never been conventional, you've never bowed to society and I've always admired that about you. Why are you going to let them stop you from the one thing that'll make you happy?"
"I don't want it to reflect badly on him, Jean. Melbourne is always looking for a reason to sack him, I won't be that last straw that pulls him away from the job he loves."
"Alice," Jean gently pulled the mangled handkerchief from her hands and waited until she looked up to continue. "Matthew deserves a say in this. You should tell him how you feel, tell him your fears and doubts… he may have a solution, he may not."
"And the talk, the whispers?"
"Let them talk, my dear Alice. Take a chance while you still have it."
Alice nodded, more tears slipping down her face (she thought she'd cried them all out at this point, evidently not) as Jean pulled her into a hug - her hands smoothing up and down Alice's back.
"Now, let's get you home to get some rest, or if you'd like you can come and stay over in one of the guest rooms at the house if you don't want to be alone."
She sniffed and drew back from the hug, smiling fondly when Jean brushed away the lingering tears. "I'd like that, actually. Thank you, Jean."
Jean's hand was warm and motherly against her cheek, echoing in her smile as her friend nodded. "We've got to stick together, us girls. You're always welcome in my home, Alice."