She had slept for weeks, and he had been by her side every moment. He had listened to her speak in the troubled language of dark dreams, names he did not know followed by words that lie just on the other side of comprehension. Her fever had come and gone, the fire was constantly tended, and Hamish discovered a gentleness in his hands he did know existed as he applied herbal wrappings and massaged pressure points.<br/><br/>He slept in a chair at her doorway, a large but comfortable monstrosity that Chaya and Josef had wrestled up the stairs but he refused to be more than few steps from her. While he tended her, his friends had tended him. Myra made sure he was eating; Chaya made sure he was at least resting, and Josef had often sat with him and simply chatted while they both smoked a pipe.<br/><br/>When her fever had finally broken, Hamish had started going out at nights again. Mostly he was simply gathering information on what the word on the street had been. He found little had changed. The Nazi’s were still spreading fear and hate, and few were doing anything to even slow them down. Rumors of a resistance fluttered like newspaper in a strong breeze but by all accounts it was a small and rather underwhelming operation. But Hamish knew small groups could do a lot of damage if they had proper leadership and drive.<br/><br/>When he had returned to the house the day she had awakened, the streets seemed back to normal. The clinic remained closed; no one spoke her name without regret and tinge of fear in their whispers. Seeing her wake and speaking softly with Chaya brought an immense relief to Hamish. She would survive. She had fallen back to sleep almost immediately but unlike the past few weeks, her sleep was undisturbed. Chaya left her to sleep and gave a smile and nod to Hamish as she passed him.<br/><br/>“Perhaps it is time for you to sleep now, Herr James,” Chaya said softly. Hamish could only smile, no one had ever looked out for him before, he was extremely self-sufficient and the attention was odd but Hamish no longer fought it.<br/><br/>“When she is walking and eating properly,” Hamish told her, “Then I will sleep.”<br/><br/>Chaya gave a small nod and looked as if she wanted to say more but shuffled on. Hamish watched her go down the stairs, her head down, feet moving forward. He finally resumed his position in his chair and lit his pipe. A paper and a pot of tea sat at a small table on his right, but Hamish bothered with neither at the moment. Instead he sit as still as his training, the soft curling smoke of the pipe the only clue he moved at all, and he planned. It was almost time for him to go to back to work.