A/N: After enough reviews demanding that I see this one through, I decided to update and make a decent length story out of it.

Alfred sat flicking through the channels on TV. Never before had day time TV seemed so monotonous and boring to him. Chat shows held nothing for him, even the dysfunctional ones. He sighed sadly.

Everything was so bland now.

Burgers were bland. Fizzy pop was bland. Coffee was bland. Everything.

Alfred simply didn't know what to do with himself.

He had checked on Arthur less than an hour ago but, with everything else so bland and beige around him, he decided that sitting and staring at Arthur and wishing for him to wake up would be better than staring blindly at the TV.

Standing up and stretching, Alfred wore a sad expression and kept his head low as he walked back towards the guest room. How many times he had made this journey now were lost to him. He had done it too many times to count. Giving into his habit of knocking on the door again, Alfred bit his lip before he entered.

He felt his blood run cold though when he saw the bed was empty … and Arthur missing.

Racing into the room, Alfred's eyes scrutinised the area. "Arthur?" He whispered, not being able to raise his voice much higher. "Arthur?" Walking further into the room, every time his eyes came to rest upon the empty bed and the messy covers, he felt his blood run cold anew. As he progressed and walking around the far side of the bed, Alfred's eyes came to rest on a trembling, curled up body dressed in thin white night clothes.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked as he advanced. He felt his heart swell. Arthur was awake and he could once more see his stunning emerald green eyes like he had wished and longed for for too long.

Arthur's mouth moved but no sounds came out with the exception of the odd croak. His emerald eyes were wide and his blonde hair fell in front of them, shading them. Alfred let out a huge sigh of relief. "Arthur!" He shouted with joy, expecting Arthur to leap up into his arms. His imagination ran away for those first few moments. He imagined how he would hold Arthur close, kiss him, confess to him, allow his fingers to trace Arthur's jaw and cheeks while Arthur would arch into his touch and gasp as the American's lips met his neck and collar bone. However, this was short lived as Alfred caught Arthur's expression as he was about to drop down next to him, the words of his confession that was on the tip of his tongue dying immediately.

Arthur's expression was one of abject terror.

Alfred watched, his heart breaking, as Arthur desperately tried to crawl away from him. Because of the long time of inactivity, Arthur could no longer walk or use his arms to lift anything heavy. Alfred stood transfixed before doing the only thing he could think off as Arthur looked set to injure himself in his attempt of getting away from him.

Alfred grabbed Arthur's ankle after it had collided with the bed and Arthur gave a very scared, animalistic scream with the contact and continued his weak struggle as Alfred straddled him in a desperate bid not to let him hurt himself further. Alfred even pinned Arthur's frail arms above his head just to make sure that Arthur didn't get a lucky strike against him.

Alfred could feel Arthur's heart slamming against his ribs while he watched him violently shake. "Arthur! It's me! Alfred! Don't you remember me?" Alfred felt despair start to creep in as his eyes filled with tears. It was starting to sink in. Arthur did not recognise him.

Alfred looked away to hide his own distress only to feel Arthur fall still beneath him. Alfred turned his attention back to the Englishman only to find he was unconscious again. Alfred started to openly cry, fearing his beloved to be dead. Clasping Arthur's shoulders and raising him, Alfred shook him hard, trying to wake him back up. It was only when Alfred stopped in his attempts that he noticed the soft rise and fall of Arthur's chest.

He was greatly confused. Arthur had woke from his coma, but now he had fallen back into it. Alfred felt fresh bitter tears roll silently down his cheeks. Was Arthur slipping back out of his reach. He would much rather have Arthur awake and not know who he was (though it hurt him greatly), than to have Arthur still stuck in a coma.

Alfred rested Arthur up against him. He ran his fingers delicately through Arthur's hair around his ear as the Englishman's head rested on his shoulder before lifting them and running his finger tips lightly across Arthur's gaunt cheek bone. Arthur never flinched beneath his touch. Alfred buried his face in Arthur's hair and bit back another sob. What had he done, in this life or in the one before, to deserve this torment?

Placing an arm around the Englishman's back and another under his legs, Alfred lifted him easily and placed him back in his bed. He didn't care at that moment how Arthur had gotten from the bed to the floor. It never crossed his mind to question if he fell out or rolled out. He pulled the quilt up to cover the frail Englishman before placing an affectionate kiss on his forehead. It had become another piece of hope that Alfred clung on to. If he didn't kiss Arthur's forehead every time he saw him, he believed he would never wake up. He knew it was stupid, but it never stopped him for continuing what was fast becoming obsessive compulsive. Now, he viewed it as imperative that he continued this practice.

Looking back over his shoulder as he left the room just to see if Arthur had opened his eyes again, Alfred left, the dark cloud that hung over him intensifying. He wanted Arthur awake again, but he also wanted him to remember him. He didn't think that he could bear it if Arthur was but a child in mind. It wasn't that he was opposed to looking after him; he just wanted the Arthur he fell in love with.

He wanted his Arthur.

Looking down at the floor as he walked back down the stairs and into his kitchen, he contemplated making something to eat, but decided against it. He wasn't hungry. He was eating less and now and was having to tighten his belt as his clothes hung off him. Francis had been the only one with enough courage to bridge that conversation with him when he arrived on his door step demanding to see Arthur. Francis left with a black eye, a broken nose and his hair shorter on one side, but the subject matter made it through Alfred's cranium and had remained with him. It was probably the only reason he was still standing. He had been making himself eat.

Walking past his study, Alfred kept walking as the concept of work struck him as impossible at that time. His mind was only on Arthur. When he worked, his mind needed to be on the work and nothing else.

Alfred dropped down in front of his laptop, desperate to understand what had just happened in his guest room. It didn't take him all that long to find a website that was in depth enough to understand, but missed out all the medical terminology.

Running a hand through his greasy blonde hair and concluding to have a shower after he had found what he wanted to know out, Alfred began reading the web page.

Coma, meaning deep sleep, is a mental state where one will not respond to external stimulus.

There is much debate over the predominant cause of this condition. It is commonly thought though among doctors and scientists that a head trauma can result in this condition.

One who is in a state of comatose will not miraculously recover. That is a myth. Rates of recovery vary between patients and is not necessarily based on the depth of the coma. The two outcomes are either recovery or death. Pneumonia is one of the predominate causes of death in coma patients due to their limitation of remaining in a bed, but this comes about among patients that do not wake up inside the average time. It is rare that a coma should continue for more than five or six weeks.

For recovery, a patient will regain consciousness gradually. They may be conscious for seconds, or minutes at first, but gradually this time will extend itself to create much longer periods of consciousness. However, one must be sympathetic, as the patient will have many disabilities. Dyspepsia (the inability of articulate words or thoughts) is a common disability, however in many cases the patient recovers this ability to match their abilities beforehand. Some do not however, and remain in what is commonly known as a child like state, a state where by one's recovery is limited. Tasks that they before would have done on a daily basis will become incomprehensible to them; a physical impossibility. In addition to this, speech may be affected, simple words being the utmost of their ability to grasp.

A patient upon waking up will find themselves confused and frightened, especially if they do not recognise those that they may be surrounded by. Family and friends at first will find this hard to accept, but recall often happens. There are sad exceptions though where by the patient has no recollection of loved ones...

Alfred could read no more.

TBC …