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Up until this moment, the hospital had been the dreariest place Win had ever been. The off-coloured walls, the fluorescent lighting, the antiseptic smells, all of it had become her world for the last few weeks. But this… This was a new level of depressing. In the hospital at least there had been hope. From the moment she’d stepped through the prison gates, she’d felt the hopelessness, the despair, like a mist drifting through the halls. Every sound was too loud, echoing down the long stone corridors. It seemed like everything in the room was grey. The metallic tables, the rickety chairs, the concrete walls. Even the wardens in their dark uniforms were grey. They'd left her alone in the visiting room, so she'd picked a chair at one of the tables and waited.
Win stood up when the door opened. A guard came in first, followed by the man she’d come to see. She almost didn’t recognise him for a moment. He seemed to have shrunk two suit sizes, though the effect may have been worsened by the too-large workclothes he was in. His hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, and the weight of it straightened his usual curls, leaving the strands limp around his face. It was a sallow, haunted face, with dark circles under skittish eyes that darted around the room. He looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Then his eyes lit on her, and his whole demeanour changed. He straightened up, his eyes widening and she was relieved to see some of the light come back into them.
“Mrs Thursday!” He exclaimed, rushing over to her.
“Win, love, please,” she answered, extending her hand to him over the table. The warden had told her they weren’t to touch during the visit, but she’d decided a handshake couldn’t hurt anyone.
The guard shot her a disapproving look, but didn't intervene. "You have five minutes," he monotoned, before taking up position at the edge of the room.
Win beckoned Morse over from where he had frozen the moment the guard spoke. He grasped her hand in both of his, holding onto her like a lifeline. She imagined she could almost feel the individual bones in them. It wasn’t just the ill-fitting clothes, or the strained look on his gaunt face. He really had lost a lot of weight, and he hadn’t had much to spare in the first place. “Oh, you look a state.”
“Is he, is Mr… Is Fred?” Morse stammered over her, trying and failing to form a complete sentence.
Of course that would be the first thing he asked after. It seemed like the only thing anyone ever asked her about these days. She knew the smile she gave him was pained, but after the week she'd had it was just about all she could manage. “He’s still in the hospital, but the doctors are hopeful."
There wasn’t relief, exactly, but there was a lightening of the tension in him, the anxiety on his face making way to uncover a deep weariness, and he seemed to sag in on himself. She let him drop himself into his chair, and settled down opposite him.
“Nobody is telling me anything,” Morse explained, “and with you here I thought...”
Realisation hit her like a sledgehammer. Just because she'd been at his side the whole time didn't mean Morse would know the latest. How incredibly untactful of her. “No, no, he’s fine. He’s on the mend.” She hastened to assure him, and patted his hand reassuringly. The man standing watch cleared his throat loudly, and she quickly drew her hand back into her own lap. “He asked after you.”
His gaze, which had drifted down to the table, snapped back to her. “He’s awake?”
“On and off for the past week. He still needs a lot of rest. There were two extra surgeries, looking for shrapnel, but the doctors have done all they can for now. Now he just needs time.” She knew she was failing to keep the worry from her voice, but even this double-edged news seemed to give Morse some comfort. His reaction niggled something in her brain. “Hasn’t… hasn’t anyone been in to see you?” Surely this couldn’t be the first he was hearing about it. It’d been three weeks! She felt a surge of anger at that, followed immediately by a pang of guilt. She hadn’t been to visit either. Sure, she’d spent her days shuttling between the house and the hospital, but she could’ve made time to stop by sooner.
Morse looked down at his fretting hands, biting nervously on his lower lip. He gave the slightest shake of his head, as if to shake loose an intruding thought. Abruptly, he looked up. “How’s Joan?” he said, “And Sam?” He added belatedly.
Win noted the sudden change of subject, but decided to let him. “Oh, well, they’ve had quite a shock of course,” Win began. “They’re handling it as well as can be expected. Sam’s got his work to distract him of course, and Joan’s still at the bank. And you?” She gently steered the conversation back to him. “How’re you handling yourself? Are they looking after you?”
“I’m not dead yet,” Morse answered, attempting to grin. He seemed to realize how edged the joke was, as his following comment was soft and sincere. “It’s good to see a friendly face.” His smile failed to reach his eyes, and Win felt her heart squeeze. He’d never been a straightforward fellow, but now he couldn’t even seem to keep his eyes on her for more than two seconds. The way his focus kept turning inward had her worried.
“I brought you some Jaffa cakes,” Win said, just to break the silence. “But the guard told me gifts weren’t allowed in.”
“That’s very thoughtful, Mrs. Thursday. Win,” he corrected at the look she gave him, and his bashful smile almost made him look like himself again.
“They should’ve seen what Fred wanted to send,” she said, and was rewarded with a huff that was almost adjacent to a laugh.
“I’m so glad he’s all right.” His look darkened again. “If he’d… I don’t think I… I don’t know what I’d...”
She hummed reproachfully, wishing she was allowed to reach over and still his wringing hands. “Now love, let’s not go thinking that way.”
He suddenly fixed her with a look of such wretchedness that she almost recoiled from him. “I’m so sorry Mrs Thursday.”
“Now, there’s no need for all of that,” she exclaimed, unbalanced by the sudden shift in tone. How long had this guilt been simmering? Morse had always been too much in his own head, and here all he could do was think.
He wrested his look away from her, addressing his soft words down at his fidgeting hands. “Will you tell him? Will you tell him I’m sorry?”
“You’ll tell him yourself in a little while,” Win said firmly. “And then he’ll tell you the same thing I will. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m sure everyone at the station is working to clear this all up.” They’d damn well better be, she thought, or she’d have something to say about it.
Morse gave another short little shake of his head, seeming to clear some of the cobwebs. He seemed suddenly aware of how hard he was wringing his hands, and he finally stopped, stretched his fingers, before slowly and deliberately folded his arms over each other, as if trying to hold himself together.
“Look,” Win began, leaning forward over the table to try to catch his eye. “I don’t know much about what happens at the station, but I’ll ask around for you.”
“Oh no that’s alright,” Morse said, his voice light again, though he still refused to meet her eyes. “Win. Really, I’d rather you ”
“Visiting time’s over.” A rough voice cut into the conversation, startling Morse out of his train of thought.
The guard had come to stand by their table, an unyielding expression on his face. She shot him a glare he seemed thoroughly unimpressed by. She was about to chide the man for his interruption, for that had never been five minutes, but Morse was already on his feet, hunching over and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his overly large jacket. He seemed too small to be a man grown, and Win’s heart ached for him. She wouldn't make trouble for him here.
“I’ll see you again soon, yes?” She said, reaching out her hand.
He shot the guard an apprehensive look, but reached for her anyway. She took his hand in both of hers and pulled him closer.
“Next time, I’m bringing carrot cake,” she assured him.
He smiled. “Include a file,” he whispered, before the guards hand on his shoulder prompted him to back away. “Thank you, Mrs Thursday,” he said over his shoulder.
“I told you: it’s Win!”
She waited until the door closed behind him before collapsing back into her chair. That had been more of an ordeal than she’d expected it to be. Going back to the hospital would feel like a reprieve, if she had any idea of how she’d tell Fred what was going on. She heaved a heavy sigh. Tomorrow's problems for tomorrow, she decided. For now, she could really use a moment in the sun.