It Won't Always Be Like This (Alan Wilder x Martin Gore)

4 ~ Pleasure, Little Treasure

'Depeche Mode are regretful to announce that the first date of their tour for their newest album Music For The Masses has been postponed until a later date, of which is yet to be decided. The band were forced into this "extremely short-noticed" decision after members Alan Wilder and Martin Gore's infant daughter suddenly fell ill on arrival to the airport. She has since been taken and admitted to St Mary's Medical Centre, London where doctors are still reviewing her condition. Dave Gahan, Andrew Fletcher, Martin Gore and Alan Wilder sincerely apologise and will be refunding those of whom purchased tickets for tonight's concert. More details on the reschedulement of the concert will be shared in the forthcoming days.'
~~~~~
Two days later, October 24th, the medical centre:

Alan rocked himself back and forth in a chair, looking over the cot. Inside slept his daughter, tubes that connected to multiple machines stemming from her limbs and a breathing tube attached beneath her nose.

Without making a sound, he slipped his pinky finger through the railing, allowing Poppi to grab hold of it. She did so weakly, her eyes still tightly closed.

"Daddy just wants to see your smile again," He whispered whilst tilting his head back as an attempt to contain his tears within his eye ducts. "I know you probably can't hear me right now, baby girl, but Papa and Daddy love you more than they've ever loved before, and we know you can pull through this. You are such a fighter. Everyone is rooting for you."

Incapable of containing his riverful eyes any longer, a timid tear fell down his face like that of a raindrop on a windowpane.

"Aw, look at you two." Martin emerged from the bathroom.

Leaning against the arm of the chair he sat on, a contrast was created between the saltiness of his drizzling tears and the sweet sight of his partner.

"I was just having a chat to her," He responded, his voice wobbling as if it were on stilts.

"Were you?" Martin chuckled, walking over to stand beside the cot.

"Mhm... I j-just wish she could babble back to me like she usually would."

"I know, Al." He patted Alan's shoulder, his eyes beginning to well. "I really do know."

Casting his mind back to his pregnancy with their now nearing one year old, he struggled to believe the state she lied in at that moment.

"Bronchitis, eh, sweet girl." Alan reached his hand into the cot and brushed the loose strands of Poppi's hair out of the way of her face.

"Bronchitis. I don't believe it. I don't want to believe it." His partner sighed heavily, an obvious pain to his voice.

It was an anxiety neither of them had ever known.

"But she's stronger than that, my love. Poppi versus bronchitis; there's an obvious winner to that fight."

"The winner takes it all. She'll beat this."

There were only so many words Martin could speak.
~~~~~
Three hours later, 1:01pm:

Her frail and fragile limbs draped over him, Martin cradled Poppi in his arms. Several nurses surrounded him as they checked the infant's blood pressure and heart rate.

"Well, you'll be pleased to learn that her heart rate is normal," One of the nurses nodded.

"That's great," The father replied, looking down at his daughter.