Every day passed in a blur, but also seemed to drag on. Every day was exhausting, but everyday was the bland and the same with him gone. She wondered sometimes if he’d found someone new to love, if the distance had finally let him see how he could do so much better.

She, obviously, hadn’t found anyone. She’d been in her lab, working on the new seaweed properties he’d brought her so long ago. It was amazing - it really did seem to be able to clean blood pathogens. She told herself this was important work, as she spent nights staring at Petri dish after Petri dish, the smell of the lab starting to sink into her hair. She didn’t have time to go out for drinks or find anyone else - she would discover the properties of this new medicine first. She almost felt ready to start human trials, she didn’t think it would hurt anyone, but this was always a nerve wracking step.

Her mind strayed again from her work to him. Last she had heard, he was in New York City. She hoped it suited him, he was so vibrant and outgoing, so full of life, he should be in a city where he could be a star and be admired. She hoped the spring time was beautiful, and his allergies weren’t too bad. Surely in a city he’d be fine. He would have been so miserable trying to stay in Oxford, or even London. The trees all bloom late and it rains every spring day.

She wondered if his hair was still long, or if he cut it short to deal with the legendary American humidity. She missed the way his golden hair gently softened his face. He had a face that was so trustworthy, like you could trust him with anything. He deserves a woman worthy of him.

She cursed - her attention had wandered and she’s overfilled the latest plate, smelly agar splashing all over her trousers, and dripping down the lab bench. It would set soon and take an hour to clean. Damn. She stared at the plates she had been making and the pitcher of agar remaining. She might as well finish the last five plates, even if she had ruined half the batch. She really wanted to know how the seaweed interacted with healthy blood. Plus, she was already covered in the agar, she may as well finish and be as messy as she likes.

Just as she started to pour another plate her phone rang. She startled, cursing again as she missed the pour and got agar on her shoes and lost another plates worth of media. Damn damn damn. She let the phone ring, making a mental note to call whoever it was back. No one important called her anymore, surely they could wait.

The phone kept ringing but she paid it no mind, finishing - finally successfully- the first plate. She moved on to the second as the phone finished ringing. She was about to start the third and final pour (as the rest of the agar she planned to use was now on her, on her lab bench, and quickly puddling on the floor) when her phone rang again. She didn’t startle badly this time, although it was ominous in the quiet of the lab. She normally worked in the peaceful silence, not disturbed by human trivialities, just the steady hum of her centrifuge and auto titraters, and the occasional buzz from her microassay scanner. The cheerful bells and whistles of the phone was a contrast to what it portends. No one would ever call her twice, and it was too odd to be a coincidence. She firmly placed down the pitcher of agar. It was rubbish anyway. She put one foot in the direction of the phone, intending to quickly stride across the room and catch whoever was calling, but the combination of agar on her shoes and on the floor made it more treacherous than an ice rink, and she correspondingly slipped. As she felt her feet slide away from her, her stomach jumped to her throat. She flailed, instinctively and without purpose, slamming her wrist into the side of the lab bench but in no way slowing her fall. She continued accelerating down, time seeming to stretch and slow, as the phone continued to ring. Why was someone calling? Why was she so clumsy?

Time sped back up as the back of her head made solid impact with the tile floor. She heard the sickening crack before her vision went black for a moment. The instant disorientation and nausea, the feeling of agar seeping into her hair and making the back of her shirt and trousers wet and disgusting with the gel, overwhelmed her and she momentarily was overcome with despair. How was her life such misery, day after day? She was meant to be pursuing what she loved above all else, and yet, it was monotony and isolating. She briefly imagined he was here, laughing at her and helping her up, and it was all the more painful when she blinked and realized the mirage was gone.

She couldn’t be found like this, she had to much pride to give up and sob on the floor, covered in agar, waiting to be found by her colleagues. She grit her teeth and slowly sat up. The nausea intensified, and she made a note to check herself for concussion later. After the room stopped spinning, she realized it was quiet again - whoever had tried to call had given up.

She unsteadily rose to her feet and peeled off her ruined lab coat. This was karmic justice for not buttoning it, she supposed. She left the lab coat on the ground and stumbled over to a plastic chair that looked easy to clean later. She sat in a daze on the cold plastic, trying to gather her thoughts and plan what to do next. Right. Clean the mess. Have a sit down. Clean clothes were in her desk drawer. And -the phone rang again - and answer whoever had been calling. Her thoughts had a strange floating quality and she stared at the phone incomprehensibly for a moment. Was she remembering it ringing, or was it actually ringing?

She picked it up anyway. No one was around to see her be a fool except herself and her scanners. And the scanners would never judge her, only her results.

“Hello?” She managed to whisper out.

“Clara! I’ve been trying to reach you! It’s Emily. Jack’s ill. We’re back in London. No one’s quite sure what’s wrong but he’s insisting on an early birthday party and inviting everyone he knows. He said to invite you too, and the Oxford crew. I assume you know who that is? The party is this Saturday, at Regents park, noon. I’ve a ton more of these calls to make, sorry it’s so last minute. Come if you can. Ta!” The phone went dead.

Emily was Jack's sister. They were back in London. Jack was sick. There was a party in three days? Two days? Tomorrow? What day was it today?

Clara stared around her lab, at the mess on the floor and the spots of blood where she had fallen. A loud *plop* echoed as a chunk of agar dripped off the back of her shirt onto the plastic chair. The agar was starting to chill, leaving her feeling cold and clammy. The bright, sterile lights, the white walls, seemed impossibly lonely, and she realized she'd been lying to herself all along. She may love research, but a life without Jack was colorless and monotonous. She checked the calender - oh - today was Friday, not Wednesday. She was going to go.

Just as soon as she cleaned up this mess.

-----

The party was, like most parties for Clara, boring. The "Oxford crew" all seemed to be having a lovely time, day drinking in the park, lounging on chairs, meeting a few of Jack's many, many other friends, while all Clara could think about was the plates she still needed to read, and where, where was Jack? It had been an hour on the train, an hour doing her hair this morning, and now an hour trying to enjoy the fickle English sunshine with a Pimms cup in hand. And all that she had thought about, for three hours now, was Jack.

What did Emily mean, he was ill? Clara closed her eyes to take in the sun and try to leave thoughts of blood borne illness and petri plates behind her.

A few minutes later, her sunshine disappeared. She opened her eyes to glare at whatever stray, grey cloud was mucking up their lovely day, when she realized it was no cloud. There stood Jack, sun streaming behind him, through his lovely, ridiculous hair, illuminated like something ethereal, impermanent, and fleeting. She realized she had been staring for a moment, and he must be truly exhausted, because he was staring right back. No quirk to his brow, no joke ready on his lips, just his eyes, staring into hers for a moment that was both eternity and fleeting. She couldn't help the soft smile that gently stretched her lips, it was so good to see him again. She blinked, and he was still there, no mere mirage like she had imagined so many times these past few months that he'd been gone. But still, the moment ended, and the world came rushing back in, sounds of their friends coming to greet Jack, the presence of Douglas, oddly supporting Jack. The paleness and stillness of Jack's face, usually so full of life and movement. Something was wrong with Jack.

He turned to greet their friends, the usual back slapping and boisterous greetings subdued somehow. Clara did not speak to Jack, and Jack did not address her, although Douglas stared at her intently.

Clara thought back to their last conversation, before Jack had left for New York. How they had agreed not to speak, how she had told Jack to go find someone worthy of him. How she regretted that now. But what could she say? How do you take back a selfless offer and confess your selfish desire for someone who is impossibly better than you ever deserve?

Jack stared at her again for a moment, and her eyes met his. The smile left her face as she studied him intently, trying to memorize each part of his face. Something about the moment seemed to scream she might never see him again, and if that was the case, she wanted to be greedy, to soak in as much of him as she could before he was gone forever. The look he was giving her, she could not understand, but she felt like he might be studying her as well.

"Nice seeing you, Clara. Please, take care of yourself" Jack mumbled, not breaking eye contact, before he turned away.

Douglas stood close by, and when Jack stumbled, caught him. Douglas threw a significant look over his shoulder to Clara, before they wandered off to another crowd.

Clara stared after them for a while. She sipped her drink, still staring after them. Someone tried to speak to her, but she did not hear them. What had that meant? If this was really the last time she would see Jack, was that enough?

No. It wasn't enough. He might reject her now, but fair's fair. She wanted to be with him, at least for the rest of the party. She set off determined to catch up with him.

He had just broken off from another group of friends when she saw him stumble again, and fall to his knees. Douglas was there to help him, but still Clara rushed to his side. As she took one arm and Douglas the other, she heard Douglas lean in and whisper to Jack that he should sit.

Clara felt the thinness of his arms, usually so muscular. She could smell the antiseptic that usually carried with him from the hospital, but now she smelled that odd sense of illness and decay that only seemed to linger on patients. Jack didn't just have the flu, something serious was wrong.

She swallowed hard. "Jack - "

Douglas shook his head "Let's sit down first"

Jack, for his part, was staring at her again. "You came back?"

"Jack, you are so beloved, look at all these friends that love you and want to help you. What's wrong?"

"Clara, it's not your fault. Whatever happens next, promise me, you'll take care of yourself and not feel any guilt"

"What? Jack! I'm trying to tell you, we all want - I want -" here she had to swallow again, "I want to help you. Jack, I love you"

Jack laughed, but it was bitter. "Your incredible sense of timing strikes again, my love. I know you love me, and I'm sorry you only realized it now. But I'm dying, sweetheart, and so you need to move on too." He reached out, solemn, and brushed a stray bit of hair from her face. "I wanted to wait for you, Clara, I did. I would have, but now I'm dying, and I can't wait. You need to move on. Promise me."

Clara looked into his eyes. She sensed Douglas moving away, to give them privacy, but it didn't matter. It felt as if the entire world had dropped into another dimension, and only her and Jack were left on this living plane.

She leaned in closer to him, and he leaned in to meet her. Their foreheads were scant centimeters apart, and they stared at one another. So many distant conversations came back to her, like slides shuttering through a research deck. Jack was the sort of doctor that didn't want treatment at the end, didn't want to die lying in a sterile bed. Late at night, staring at the stars, he confessed he wanted a living wake, a grand party, before he died. A way to see and say goodbye to everyone he loved. That's what this was. Jack really was dying, and he was saying goodbye.

Clara felt her eyes well up. "Don't go. Don't give up. What is it? There's so many cures now, you just have to try. I know you don't want to, you think experimental medicine is false hope, but Jack. Please. Just tell me what it is and I'll do the research for you. Please, just try"

"Darling, my darling scientist, I know you would. But this isn't your fault, this isn't your problem to solve. Tragedy happens sometimes. This is just a freak accident, and I am just an unfortunate statistic. Please, my love, don't do the research, just let me go. Surely you've already begun to move on. It's been months apart"

"Jack - I can't. You can't go. Every day is the same, every day is colorless without you. Please, please let me just take some labs. Please, I know I was wrong now. I know I need you, and I want to be selfish. I want to be with you, even though you deserve better. Even though one day you'll realize and leave me. I want to be with you, I'll fight for you to stay. Please, please Jack, please let me fight for you"

Clara couldn't look anymore. She blinked, and tears fell from her eyes. She looked down, where Jack held her hands in his. He was going to leave her, just when she had realized she wanted to fight. She pulled one hand away from him and leaned back slightly, to wipe at the make up she had carefully put on for him this morning.

When she risked a glance at him again, he was staring intently. Slowly, so slowly, his free hand came up and tangled in her hair. He leaned further forward, and she met him half way. The kiss was everything she had been waiting for, and nothing like she'd hoped. It was chaste, and desperate not with passion but with fear. The fearful knowing that this could be the last. The sadness of what a lifetime together could have been. It was a beautiful sunny day, and she was kissing the man she loved, and the sadness in her heart was overflowing.

She had finally realized her love, and overcome her fear, only for the man she loved to give up and die.

They pulled back from the kiss, and their foreheads touched. A perfect distribution, she thought, two leaning bodies sharing the weight of the world and minimizing the load on both of them. Efficient triangles though, wouldn't help her now.

"Jack... what's the prognosis?"

"It's a blood disease Clara. I didn't want to say, but it's a blood disease. Stay the night, and in the morning I'll let you take a sample. Please, we're staying at the family house on Portland Place, there's a room for you."

Clara hesitated. The last time she had spent the night at one of Jack's family homes, it had been unbearably awkward, and every effort to get along had just emphasized the chasm between his family life and hers. She knew she could just as easily find a hotel and stay nearby, it's not like there was a lack of accommodation in London, but she could see in his eyes how much he wanted her to say yes.

"Yes" being with Jack was worth any awkwardness, "yes, of course. I'd love to stay with your family" she continued, gaining confidence with each word. "Anything to stay with you, Jack"

He kissed her again. "Thank you" he whispered.

------

Jack's friend, Hugh, had a practice on Harley Street, and let them borrow the space in the morning to draw blood. Clara couldn't stand the sight of it, so Hugh had to help Jack draw the blood himself. It was funny, Clara thought, how she could endure the awkwardness of breakfast with Jack's parents and sister, being poked at for her odd choice of profession and dress, but couldn't stand poking Jack with a needle. They had taken lunch together in a small coffee shop, avoiding church with Jack's family in favor of catching up on what Jack had been doing in New York. It sounded, in many ways, as colorless as Clara's life had been, but she couldn't quite believe it. Clara was now on the afternoon train back to Oxford, with plans to sneak into her lab this evening and begin sampling the blood right away.

Hugh had been very tight lipped on Jack's diagnosis and prognosis, clearly Jack had sworn all his medical friends to secrecy, but Clara could tell something was very, very wrong with the slow, agonized way Jack moved, and how they didn't venture out very far from his home.

Regardless of how bleak the outlook, or how secretive Jack was being, Clara felt determination rise in her. She could figure this out. The seaweed serum that Jack himself had brought her months ago was showing promising results, if nothing else worked. She hadn't come all this way to find love to let him leave her now.