The call comes from Shane, of all people, and you know that probably shouldn't surprise you anymore. He's been friends with Karma for months now and it isn't like he's just tossed you or Liam aside, but there's something between them, something you know came from a good place and you're glad (truly) that they found each other when they needed it.

Glad, you know, doesn't always equal comfortable or happy or keep you from feeling… abandoned and (you know) there's something sort of… karmic… about that, if you really think about it.

You try not to.

You've been doing that a lot lately: trying not to. In fact, it seems to you that you try not to do more things than you ever have, which is really saying something. You try not to push Lauren further away, which means trying not to talk about Karma so much, which means trying not to think about Karma so much, which means - basically - trying not to think, period.

There are times, like when you're helping Lauren plot her next attempt at replacing Elizabeth (or just wondering where she went) or when you're Skyping with your father or when you're poring over the raw footage from the Pussies tour when not thinking - not thinking about her, in particular - isn't hard. You can put your mind on autopilot and laugh at Lauren, listen to your father's stories, or remember the summer and the fun and the good times and the (more than a few) kisses.

And then there's the other times. The rest of the times.

There's that old saying about not knowing what you've got till it's gone. Oddly enough, that didn't seem to apply all summer, at least not when it came to Karma. It didn't seem to fit when you left or when you cut off all contact (deleting her text messages as soon as they came in and turning off your Facebook notifications for the entire three months) or even when you woke up next to someone for the first time and realized it wasn't her.

That it stunned you more to be waking up next to someone who wasn't Reagan didn't even cross your radar.

Maybe, you think (and have even said, to Lauren, once) it was simply because Karma wasn't gone. She was still there (or here, depending on your point of view) and, really, if you were gonna be technical about it, you were the one who was gone.

Karma was technical about it. Very technical about it.

It's funny - though not in the 'ha ha' kinda way - that it wasn't until you were back, it wasn't until you were face to face with her and she was within reach that you even once felt like she was gone.

And you've been trying to get her back ever since. Or, at least, you were.

But then came the video and the journal and the fight and the other fight and Felix and Lauren and her fucking 'rabbit hole' and that… moment. The moment when you felt yourself teetering, balancing on the edge. On one side was Karma. Your best friend, the center of your universe for so very long, the one thing - the only thing - you ever trusted and counted on to always be there. Not you father and not your mother and not any the step fathers or any of the other (few and far between, at least until Shane and, God help you, Liam) friends who drifted in and out.

Just her.

And on the other side? Well… that was you. All the work you'd done, all the time and effort and sleepless nights and sheer fucking distance you'd put between you, all in the name of 'taking care of me.' You found yourself, on some random Wednesday morning, teetering on that edge, hanging on by your toenails and one wrong move, one single step out of line…

It wouldn't be a rabbit hole. It'd be a grave. One you would never dig your heart out of.

So you stopped. You stopped trying to fix it, you stopped trying to find a way to make it better, you stopped trying to find a way to explain it to her that would make sense and wouldn't be an apology.

You tried not to.

And you were pretty sure nothing else would ever hurt that much.

Until the call comes. Until the call comes from Shane, of all people, and you hesitate to even answer because you and he haven't exactly been besties lately and you really can't take another lecture about how he's Switzerland and neutral (but really, Amy, can't you see what you did to her?) and you let it ring and ring and ring and it's only the faintest of hopes, the tiniest of chances that maybe, with him at least, you can fix it that makes you answer.

He only gets three words - Karma, hospital, now - before you're out of the chair and across the room, bellowing down the hall for Lauren and texting Sabrina that you'll have to reschedule and charging down the stairs and out the front door and it's only then that you realize what you've been trying not to do all along.

Love her.

And trying not to do that, you know now, is absolutely fucking futile. You just hope it's not too late to tell her that.

There's never been a time when you can recall liking hospitals which, you assume, is kinda normal cause really, who likes hospitals except, maybe, nurses and doctors and probably the ladies who run the gift shops but, really, do they actually count?

These are the things you do think of as you try (so fucking hard) not to think of your father, some four (or was it five) floors up, your mother at his side, that crazy ass dog loving lady that they were… you knowing… with… somewhere nearby, both of them in a panic and both of them terrified and both of them looking at you to be the fucking rock.

Cause, really, nothing screams rock like a sexually confused (and you didn't think you were but then your parents and poly and that woman and… fuck… who wouldn't be confused) sixteen year old, right?

Zen isn't here (like that's a shock) and you can't find him, no matter what number you dial, and you can't exactly call Dylan (break ups make for awkward 'my dad's in the hospital and might die and I could really use an 'it's all good'' calls.) Shane's on his way and you know if he knows then Liam probably knows and yeah, you told him you didn't feel anything for him (and you really don't) but any port in a storm, right?

Especially if that port has arms you know for a fact can (and will) hold you and right now…

You're still clutching your phone in your hand and you've started dialing the number (the one you been trying not to call for weeks now) at least a half dozen times, but you keep chickening out, you keep freezing before the last digit, you keep clearing the screen and thinking you should put the phone away.

It's still in your hand and you try not to think how badly you want it to just fucking ring. How badly you want it to be her on the other end and somehow she just… knows. You try not to think about how much you want her to just somehow sense it across all the miles between here and her house or wherever the hell she is (and God, who would have ever thought not knowing where someone is at seven-thirty on a random Thursday night could hurt so fucking much?) and, honestly, you don't even care how she knows.

Just that she does.

Because fuck any port, there's only one, only one pair of arms that can hold you and actually help. Trouble is, even if they can, you don't really think they will.

You never thought it would last this long, this cold war between you. You thought she'd crack, you thought she'd say she was sorry and plead for forgiveness and you could go back to being you and her, the way it always was. And every day, every single one when that hasn't happened, you've tried not to think about the possibility (the ever growing one) that it never will.

And the worst of it? The absolute total worst of it?

You don't even want her to apologize or, at least, you don't want her to mean it. Yeah, you want to hear the words and you want her to say them but you don't need her to actually feel it, you don't need (or want) her to really be sorry.

It's ironic, you know, but all you really need is for her to fake it. For you. Just for you, just to show that yeah, she still cares and yeah, you're still everything to her (or almost everything, cause you know sooner or later there's gonna be another Reagan and you're good with that, really you are) (as long as it isn't Sabrina) (but even if it is - please no - you know that you've learned your lesson and you won't mess it up for her.)

(At least you'll try not to.)

You've tried, though not as hard as you should have, to tell her. And by try, you totally mean you've given her every opportunity to say it (even if it's a lie) so then you can tell her that it's all good (except you'd say 'ok' or 'great' or anything but that) and that you understand why she did it and that you're so very sorry for playing even a small part (and it was so the opposite of small and yes, you know that) in making her have to do it.

You want to tell her all that, you've wanted to tell her all that for weeks but you can't. You can't be the one to reach out, you can't be the one to show weakness, you can't be the one to let her know that your heart is still in her hands. Not after she left, not after how she left, trying to steal away without a word and then leaving you there, sobbing in the street. Not after she disappeared for the entire summer (fucking vanished) and you spent so many nights wondering if she was ever even coming back.

After all that, you need something from her. You need something more than 'I'm over you' and 'let's get back on track' and all the other words.

You need her. You try not to, but…

"Karma?"

You turn, your phone still clutched in your hand and you have to blink to clear the tears from your eyes but, yeah, she's there and she's looking at you and you can see the fear (the absolute terror) in her eyes and you don't know if it's for your father or that she's afraid you'll tell her to go but then she opens her arms and you know.

Even if you told her to, she'd never fucking leave. Not now.

Not ever.

You don't even feel yourself move but you know you do because you're there, with her, and she's wrapped around you and you can hear Shane and Liam and Lauren mumbling in the background and you can hear the doctors being paged and the nurses hustling by and you can hear the hushed voices of everyone else waiting for news of their loved ones.

But none of it is as loud as the 'it's gonna be OK, it's all gonna be OK' she whispers into your ear.

And as much as you know she might be wrong, as much as you know the bad news could come at any moment and that everything could be so not OK, as much as you know you should try not to believe, try not to get your hopes up, cause it'll just hurt more in the end?

When she says it?

You can't help but think maybe, just maybe, it really will be OK after all.