And I'm back with another Ricky/Amy fic. Haha. I was in my first car accident back on Friday (I'm fine, the car isn't) and this just needed to be done. Hope you like. =)

Disclaimer: Would Ben be alive if I owned Secret Life? Seriously?

Jesus, Take The Wheel
One-Shot

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she ran down the halls of the hospital, blood pulsing in her ears so loud she was sure the entire hospital could hear. But no one turned at the sound. They turned to look at the fifteen year old girl running down the hall, brown hair billowing out of her tear stained face as her blue sundress bounced with her.

She smiled at her mother as they shared a baby-free day for the first time in three months. The credits for "Pirates of the Caribbean" were rolling as her cell phone rang, the low volume ringtone doing nothing to interrupt the popcorn fight her father and Ashley had begun. She frowned slightly at the unfamiliar number but accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Amy? It's Margret; Ricky's foster mom." She sniffed and she was sure she heard John cry softly in the background. "You need to get to the hospital."

One of her flip flops flew off and she stumbled, but didn't turn back to get it as she rounded the corner.

"Why? What happened?" she asked as she shot from the couch, "Is John okay?"

Her family went quiet behind her.

She heard John before she saw him, heard his cries as she turned another corner and saw him, cradled in Margret's arms, face red as fat tears rolled down his face. She ran to them, not even seeing Ricky's foster dad—she was fairly sure his name was Eli—sitting right beside his wife until she almost tripped over his foot.

"Is John okay?" she asked again, beginning to panic when she couldn't find her shoes.

She took John into her arms, paying him against her chest as she bounced her feet. He calmed against her, sobs quiet as his fingers hooked around her windswept hair.

"He's fine," Margret said.

John wasn't dressed in the little khakis and black t-shirt she'd dressed him in. Those clothes were gone, replaced by blue hospital pajamas that looked a bit like scrubs. There wasn't a mark on him aside from a florescent blue Band-Aid on his arm that she could faintly hear Margret telling her that it was just a scratch, nothing serious.

"Ricky isn't."

"What happened?" she asked as her family caught up to her. Her father looked winded. "He was only taking him to the park."

Margret nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek as her husband laid a hand on her back. "He was driving home. Pick-up truck ran a red light and ran right into them."

She sunk into a chair, shifting John in her arms as he drifted off to sleep. "Where…"

"Driver's side." Margret sniffed, touching John's head softly. "He slept right through it somehow."

"He's a heavy sleeper," she said, smiling at her son with a mixture of sadness and love. She kissed his forehead.

"Just like his father," Margret said, looking at the doors labeled 'Restricted Access'.

She let out a quiet sob, clutching John a bit closer. "Is he going to be okay?"

"It's touch and go," Eli said softly, tugging at the sleeves of his white coat. She'd forgotten he was a doctor here; a cardiothoracic surgeon, she was fairly sure. "They had to rush him straight into surgery."

"But it can't be that bad, right?" Ashley asked, a hand on Amy's arm, "If they thought something would go wrong with his heart, you'd be in there."

"Objectivity," he replied, wrinkling his nose at the word, "They wouldn't let me in."

Ashley bit her lip, looking to her parents, but they looked just as lost as her.

"Where are John's clothes?" Anne asked, fingers playing with the hem of the two-sizes-too-big pajamas.

"They washed him down," Eli said, "Wanted to make sure none of the powder from the airbags got back onto him."

George took a breath, asking the question none of his family could speak. "How bad was it?"

Eli closed his eyes. "Unconscious at the scene. Obvious head wound, broken arm, and probably broke some ribs. Cuts from the broken glass. Burns and scrapes from the airbag. His pressure was low when they got him here." He swallowed thickly. "It could have been a lot worse if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt."

Amy let out another sob, causing John to stir for a moment before settling back down.

No one spoke again and they sat in silence for four hours, waiting for news. John had woken twice, once for a feeding and once for a diaper change. Eli left once when his pager began beeping and he had to run off to check on a patient and came back with a tiny smile as he settled back beside Margret.

"Eli," a voice said, breaking the silence and making Eli, Margret, and Amy jump from their chairs. Ashley, Anne, and George stayed seated, hands interlocked.

As the blonde doctor began to explain Ricky's condition, she was sure she'd drop John she was shaking so badly. She didn't understand half the terms he used, but knew enough that she let out a choked gasp when he said they'd lost him once in surgery and said they'd had to remove his spleen. She heard severe concussion, rocking John as he began to wail, and tried to listen as the doctor said that there was no way to be certain when Ricky would wake up, that it was up to him. She sighed, relived; when, not if.

"Can we see him?" she asked and she could tell the doctor wanted to say no but relented when Eli cut in with a firm yes.

She didn't even remember the walk to his room, which she was fairly certain wasn't good for when she came back. John's wails just got louder the closer they got and he began wriggling in her arms when they were finally standing in front of the half-closed door. Margret and Eli nodded to her, Margret leaning down and kissing John's wrinkled forehead.

"I think he wants to see his daddy," she said, stepping to the side with her husband and clearing the entrance.

She inhaled slowly, toeing the door open the rest of the way.

And gasped.

He looked so small in that bed, paler than he should be with his left arm encased in plaster. There was a gash on the right side of his face, stitched up and she cringed, wondering faintly if it would scar. His other arm was scratched and burned from what had to be the airbags and she blinked back tears as her tiny footsteps finally ended at his bedside. She glanced at the heart monitor, beeping steadily, and at the IV bag leading to his good arm.

"Hey," she whispered, "You wanna see your daddy, John?"

John sniffled, reaching out as his wails tapered off and Amy laid him between Ricky's good arm and the bedrail. He cooed softly, his tiny fingers reaching out to touch his father's face.

Amy smiled softly, lowering herself into the hard plastic chair. She placed her hands on the bed, just barely brushing Ricky's. "Ricky…wake up. Come on. Wake up."

He had to be okay. He was a father. He couldn't abandon his son, not like this. John loved him. She…she liked him. And she should feel awful for that, right? She and Ben had only been broken up for just over two weeks and she'd been thinking about Ricky more and more since his father had rolled into town in that disgustingly green car. She'd been worried for him then. He'd looked like he was on the verge of tears for those two weeks Bob Underwood had been in town and a part of her wondered if he'd even been told when his father was put on parole.

Ricky had been there for her since John's birth. He was there so many times when she woke up, rocking their newborn to sleep with a spit-up stained shirt and an empty bottle. He was there when she was home alone and John developed his first fever. He talked to John, talking about anything that came to mind, just to hear that little giggle as big brown eyes—his father's eyes—stared up him.

John adored his father.

They needed him.

Tears slipped past her lashes again as John began to get agitated at his father's lack of a response and she let her fingers hook loosely around Ricky's. "Come on. Wake up, Ricky."

---

She made faithful trips to the hospital daily for the next five days. She brought John, with a full diaper bag and backpack, doing her homework at Ricky's bedside until her mom picked her up to take her to work. She talked to him, told him about school and how much John missed his daddy's voice. She begged him to wake up, but he never did. Ricky stayed as he was, oblivious to the world and to his son's tiny hands on his face as he cried for his father's attention. Grace, Adrian, Jack, they all came by, but none of them stayed long.

"'If x is equal to y and y is equal to the square root of z, what is z?'" She groaned, running a hand through her hair as she poked Ricky's hand. "Didn't you say back at band camp that you were good with math? I distinctly remember you offering to tutor me. You know I-" She stopped, eyes widening as she heard a groan that she knew wasn't hers and was too rough to be John's. "Ricky? Ricky, come on. Wake up. Look at me."

There was another groan and this time Ricky scrunched his eyes. He slowly blinked them open, hazy brown eyes falling on her. "Amy," he croaked, pausing to lick his lips.

"I'm right here," she said, holding his hand tight as tears flooded her vision, "I'm right here."

"What…what happened?"

She sniffed. "There was an accident. You got hurt pretty bad."

His eyes widened and the beeping of his heart monitor went mad. "John. Where's John?" he asked, watching her, panicked.

"He's okay. He's right next to you." She waited a moment, giving Ricky time to see John and let his heart slow back to a reasonable rhythm. "See? He's just fine. Slept right through it." She squeezed his hand, standing. "I'll get your doctor. I'll see if they can page your foster dad. He can call your mom; I don't have her work number. Though…you probably do and-"

"Amy," he cut in, "Just…can you stay?"

She dropped back into the uncomfortable chair. "Yeah. Sure."

Ricky's day nurse, Sophie, poked her head in, smiling widely when she saw that Ricky was awake. "I thought I heard a guy's voice; knew it was too deep to be that little cutie's."

"Gets his looks from me."

Amy rolled her eyes. And so it begins again. Good.

Sophie shook her head, setting down Ricky's chart after checking his monitors. "I'll get Dr. Summers."

Ricky coughed dryly. "Eli…"

Sophie nodded. "I think he just got out of surgery. I'll page him."

"My arm's broken."

Amy giggled. "Yeah. I noticed. I think some of your ribs are too, so don't try to get up."

Ricky nodded, turning his head and stretching his neck so his nose could brush John's head. "Hey, kiddo."

John squealed happily at his father's voice, louder this time as Ricky began to whisper to him. He giggled, head turning and fingers making tiny slaps as they fell on Ricky's face.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as Dr. Summers came in and began to look Ricky over, and glanced at John with a raised eyebrow. She blushed, lifting John from Ricky's hospital bed and sat him in her lap, in full view of his father. She tightened her grip as he reached out, whimpering at the distance.

Dr. Summers was just finishing as Eli ran in, smiling from ear to ear when Ricky's eyes fell on him. "You," he panted, sounding like he'd just run across the hospital, "are a handful." He shook his head at Ricky's smirk as he came in and kissed Ricky's forehead, laughing at Ricky's scrunched up nose. "Trust me. You'll be getting more than that from Margret when she gets here. She's been worried sick."

Ricky groaned as Eli left with Dr. Summers and looked to Amy. "Hide me."

Amy giggled and laid John back beside Ricky. She paused, standing over him before bending down and kissing him softly.

Ricky looked vaguely shocked as she pulled away. "What…"

"I'm glad you're okay."

The End

The End