When Allie was six years old, she had almost drowned.

More than almost, really. Her brothers had found her face down in the swimming pool, her honey coloured hair matted together and billowing around her head as she floated there motionless, blue. She would tell them when she was older than save for reaching in as far as she could to get hold of the peacock feather on the surface on the water, she couldn't remember a thing. But it was a lie.

She had remembered every moment; the dull sounds coming from above her, the echo of her own panicked scream following her into the icy cold depths. Everything had spun, yet she knew she was completely still, her tiny feet kicking relentlessly, hoping to feel out the tiles below. Her nose had filled with water creating a waterfall of fire which led straight down to her lungs. Eyes open, lungs burning, legs aching, she had fought her way towards the side of the pool, knowing that if she could get a hold of the wall and pull herself up, she would be ok.

She would be able to breathe, to think, to live. But it had evaded her; until that was Richard, her older brother, had spotted her amongst the knotted blue pool cover and ran screaming towards her.

She had hoped never to feel anything like that again.

She wasn't quite so lucky.

"Dobutamine, we need to get it in her blood now,"

Jesus, the noise. It was like someone was screaming in her ear; metal scraping, material scratching. Something sharp and cold shot through her right arm and she jolted slightly, the movement so slight to those around her but inside, she was screaming, throwing herself around, wanting to rip the foreign objects out of her body. Everything felt foreign.

"Bloods?"

"On their way,"

"How the hell is this even possible?"

"No idea. Right now I just want to keep her with us, I want her waking up slowly, gently."

Slowly.

Gently.

Nothing about this was slow or gentle. They were killing her; she so desperately wanted to tell them so. Beg them to stop. To actually BE slow and gentle.

"Alyssa?"

It hit her then; like a wave, something rushed through her. She was acutely aware of the searing pain in her stomach, the burning of her lungs as she fought to breathe, the apparatus in her mouth making it near impossible to move her lips to form words. She panted and forced her eyes to open, instantly regretting her decision when she was met with a piercing white light.

"Alyssa," It was a man's voice. Pete? "Alyssa, my name is Dr Hilliarde, you're in the hospital, we're taking care of you but I need you to breathe a little slower for me, ok?"

Hospital. The gun. Pete. Sarah. Eddie. Pain. That was all she knew.

Owen Hilliarde stared down at the young woman, her beauty unmistakable even with the paleness of her skin. Her lips were almost blue, her entire body shaking as they fought to get her body temperature back to normal. He had never seen anyone come back from what she had been through. If he was honest, he still wasn't willing to bet money she would pull through especially as...

His eyes widened as out of nowhere, she reached out and snagged his hand, squeezing it with all her might as she met his gaze, her eyes strong and determined. She nodded at him slightly and he understood her completely.

She was alive. She wasn't going anywhere.

The midnight blue Porsche wasn't Harry Harding's definition of incognito and as he watched his brother in law run yet another red light, the unmistakable flash of a speed camera caught his eye, causing him to wince.

"Pedro," he leant forward, grabbing onto the dashboard over the heaving bag of clothes in his lap.

"Think about what you're about to say and then picture my reaction," Pete told him, his eyes still on the road. "And then ask yourself if its worth it,"

Harry pursed his lips before sitting back and shrugging with defeat, hugging the back of Allie's clothes closer to him.

"Carry on,"

He could mention the fact that they were probably going to get banned from driving due to the fact Pete hadn't shifted out of 5th gear since they'd pulled out of the driveway. But then again, he valued his life.

"She's ok, mate," Harry told him, reaching over and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She's going to be ok."

Suddenly, Pete slammed on the brakes, pulling up haphazardly on the curb before opening the door and bolting out, bending over and vomiting violently onto the grass. A few tourists who were apparently enjoying their walk along the Thames until that moment gave him a look of confusion and disgust before hurrying along.

Placing one hand on the lamppost to his left, Pete heaved again, ignoring the car horns that were sounding as lorries and taxis alike dove around his car which was still jutting out into the middle of the lane. Like he gave a fuck.

"Pete..."

"I'm sorry, Harry," he sobbed, standing up and turning to face the older man. Harry gulped when he saw Pete's face was streaked with tears, his blue eyes red rimmed and raw, almost inhuman. "I thought she was gone, mate. I spent every night, every fucking night in that house," he coughed and sobbed hard. "I fucking buried her in my head, they made me choose an outfit to put her in..."

Harry watched as the younger man fell to his knees and sobbed heavily, his head in his shaking hands as his whole body began to heave. Pete had kept it together the last few weeks, never letting the façade slip. He knew it was what he had to do for Poppy and Alex, for himself, too. But now everything was hitting him at once and he felt as though he couldn't breathe.

Knowing that words were useless at this point, Harry simply crouched down in front of him and pulled him into a tight hug, fighting the urge to cough as Pete grabbed onto his collar for dear life and pulled it too tight for him to breathe. He had no idea how long they had in that position, but the rain broke them out of their reverie. Both of them stared up at the sky for the longest moment neither saying a word or even knowing if there was anything to say.

"I keep waiting to wake up, mate," Pete snorted, his hands still clutching Harry's jacket. "So many fucking times I've had this dream, I've walked down the stairs and she's been there and..." he shook his head and met Harry's green eyes, so like his sisters. "I can't do it again, Harry. It'll fucking end me,"

Nodding silently, Harry Harding knew all too well what he meant; he had had numerous dreams when Lara had died that he could come home one day and find her in the house demanding to know where all her stuff had gone, shouting at him for being so stupid as to think she could leave him and never come back. And then he would wake up.

"Well I'll let you in on a secret," he half laughed. "The only risk you have of your life being ended is if we sit here any longer instead of going and seeing her," he swallowed the lump in his own throat and pulled Pete to his feet. "We need to go get her, mate."

Pete nodded, letting the icy rain run down his face and calm him; he was going to get his wife. And he wasn't ever going to let her go, ever again.

I know it was short and I'm sorry! But I've been so unwell the last few weeks so you'll have to forgive me, I didn't think writing while pretty much high on co-codamol would be the best idea. :p still, cheer a girl up and review :) big hugs and kisses x