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Alec Hardy's heart has stopped, but there’s enough of him left that he's able to laugh inwardly at how cliché everything is, in the end. There's a long, dark tunnel and a bright light—so expected, so predictable—and he thinks, briefly, “Well, this is it.”
What happens after that is beyond thinking. It's all feeling.
And he feels better than he’s ever felt. Because whatever, whoever, is in that light knows him completely: the beauty and the bullshit, the entirety of Alec James Hardy, from the moment he was born until the moment he flatlined. Every good thing he’s done, every good thing he’s failed to do, every mistake, every kindness, every casual act of cruelty. Every regret. All of it.
Someone in the light is pleased with him, regardless.
It’s a blessed relief to be known yet not be required to explain, to justify. To be utterly naked before whatever, whoever — known thoroughly, and loved anyway. This degree of peace is unprecedented in his experience, and Alec wants it never to end.
But as he gets closer, he perceives that he's being asked a question. He can keep going: find out what’s behind the light, bask in eternal acceptance. No labour, no hurts, no worries, no responsibilities. Nothing but joy. Home.
Or he can return to the work and the uncertainty and the frustration and the pain and the oh-so-fragile happiness of being human. Whatever, whoever, is giving him a choice.
His mind is functioning now, sort of, and pictures are flashing: Daisy, Tom, Fred, Izzy.
Ellie.
He desperately wants to stay here, but it’s going to devastate Ellie if he does. He knows she loves him far more than he deserves; nevertheless, he can’t leave her and the kids if there’s any way of preventing it.
Whatever, whoever, is holding the question open. Looking at him, if such a presence can be said to look. Their regard feels affectionate, almost amused. He’s still enveloped in understanding, and love, and infinite patience.
Someone in the light is assuring Alec that the light will always be here. Whenever the time comes.
He can keep moving forward, if he wants to. It’s his choice.
He turns back.
***
When Alec’s aware of being in his body again, everything’s still dark. He hears beeping noises, and he’s scantily clad under a thin blanket, and something heavy is lying on his shoulder. He turns his head and smells vanilla. It’s Ellie’s hair, tickling his cheek.
He manages to open his eyes. His first attempt at speech fails, but eventually he rasps out, “El.”
She sits up. “Oh, my God,” she gasps. “You wanker. You absolute wanker.”
He sees that she’s been crying. She stands, then, and she bends over and gets her arms around him as best she can; as usual with a hospital bed there’s a railing, and he’s got an IV going.
Ellie kisses his forehead, and his cheeks, and his dry lips, and says, “You were dead. Bloody hell, Alec.”
He’s groggy, but he's starting to remember. It was supposed to be an outpatient procedure. A simple pacemaker battery replacement. He’s supposed to be going home tonight.
“ ’M not dead,” he mumbles.
“I can see that. Now.”
“What happened?"
She straightens up and looks down at him. “Cardiac arrest while they were working on you. Not for very long, but long enough. They got you going, so they were able to finish. They say you’ll be all right. You’ll have to stay here tonight, though.”
”Ah, shit,” he whispers.
“I almost lost you, dammit,” she says, caressing his cheek.
Alec frowns. “I’m fine, El. I'll be fine. Do the kids know?”
“I called Daisy, and Tom. She’s coming down tomorrow. Fred and Izzy are still at school; Luce is going to pick them up and stay with them tonight."
“I’m fine,” he says again. “Daize doesn’t need to come. And you should go home. Be with the kids.”
“Fuck, no, Alec."
His wife has a colourful vocabulary, but it’s a word she doesn’t use all that often.
“I’m staying, you knob. I’m staying with you until they let you out."
"But visiting hours.." he begins.
"I'm a cop. I'll tell them it's necessary for your security. I'll tell them something. I’m not having you out of my sight, do you understand me, Alec Hardy?”
Alec knows there's no contradicting her when she's in that mood. Not that he particularly wants to.
“Suit yourself, Miller. But I’m fine. No grapes, then?”
He’s trying to make her laugh, and she does, but she’s also starting to cry again.
“That’s twice you’ve almost died on me, Hardy.”
“Nah.”
“Not almost died, even,” she chokes. “You actually died, this time. They told me.”
“Shh. I’m not dead. I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Not today, at least,” she replies.
She makes a frustrated noise and fiddles with the railing until she gets it to go down, and then she hugs him again, properly, getting as much of herself against him as possible without actually climbing into the bed. He figures out which hand has the IV in it, and he wriggles the other arm out from under her and wraps it around her, holding her as tightly as he can in his current woozy state. He kisses her head a few times, savouring the sweet warmth of her body on his.
He feels ridiculously good, other than some soreness in his chest, and he suddenly remembers everything: the light, the love, the choice. He wonders if the whole episode was merely the byproduct of chemical reactions, an oxygen-deprived dream. It had been so cliché, after all.
But with Ellie gripping him and the monitor beeping and the IV needle pinching the back of his hand, he can still recall that floating sense of peace. He closes his eyes and tells himself to hang onto the memory. Whatever had happened had been real enough to mean something, if he lets it.
“Love you, Ellie,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t leave you.”
She sighs, her fingers sliding through his hair. "Please don’t. Not ever.”
He'll have to, someday, he expects. Odds are high that she’ll outlive him. But he doesn't think he'll be checking out any time soon. If he’s been allowed a reprieve, surely he’s meant to be here for a while.
“Mr. Hardy! Good to see you awake. You gave us a bit of a scare. How are you feeling?”
Ellie stands quickly. The doctor—who reminds him of an older version of Daisy—is professionally perky. She’s already reaching for her stethoscope, and now Alec’s fully back in the world.
“Fine,” he says. “I’m fine.”
He’s so much better than fine. But the doctor doesn't need to know everything. He’ll tell Ellie about it later, if he can find words to tell her without sounding completely daft.
“He’s too stubborn to die,” Ellie quips.
“Good,” the doctor says. “Stubborn is good.”
She asks Alec to sit up, and she places the cold disc of the stethoscope against his chest—moving it around, directing him to inhale and exhale. They're quiet as she listens. She takes a quick look at his vitals on the monitor.
“All in order,” she says. “Just a fluke, I expect. Rare, but it happens. It probably won’t ever happen again when you have a replacement procedure. You’ll need to stay here tonight, but we should be able to send you home in the morning.”
Ellie’s holding his hand in both of hers; she’s still leaking tears. She’s going to be near him all night—she’ll get all of herself into this little bed with him, he's sure—and they'll walk out of this place together tomorrow.
The doctor turns to leave. “Just rest easy, for now, and we'll have you up and moving in a while. You’re a fortunate man, Mr. Hardy.”
Ellie gives him a brilliant, watery smile. The love in that smile is so strong that it could pull a man back from the edge of forever, at least temporarily. Alec squeezes her hand.
“Aye,” he says. “I am. I know."