Amarillo By Morning

by Fasnacht

The life Sam loved stole everything that mattered to her in one fateful second. Now, it's giving her the only chance she'll ever have to get it all back. Amarillo deals with the reality of long term recovery, relationships, and being both independent and interdependent all along the broken road to self-actualization. Part 2 of the Run Trilogy.

1. Amarillo By Morning

This a bridge between Run and the second portion of the story, which is as yet untitled, though it is mostly written. As the summary notes, you won't enjoy this AU if you haven't at least skimmed Run. Excuse the badly translated Bollywood song, and I relied on subtitles.

I'm never coming back here again

My memory has died on me again

How dare you put that shit in my head?

And I don't see how that's at all fair

Look at me, It's not at all fair

Are you watching me? I'm getting out of here

Never Coming Back Here Again, Lisa Maxwell

The white light exploded in her mind. Sam jolted, sweat slicking over every pore in her body. She tried to push up with her left hand, and found that she could not do it. Her hand wouldn't bend. Something hard and plastic and sharp and painful held it in place. Something was very, very, very wrong. The beeping resounding in her ears grew louder, and louder. Faster. Sam reached out blindly, felt a hand on her arm. The grip was powdery, and somehow slick. "You're okay, Samantha."

It was a glove. Sam sucked in a breath as she figured out where she was. She did not want to be here. She had left a long time ago. She struggled softly, looking around blindly. She never, ever, slept on her back. Her throat was raw. That same voice broke into her rapid thinking, her desperate attempt to figure this all out. "It's a nightmare from the meds. You're okay, Sam..." It hadn't been a nightmare. Sam could barely move, but she tried to sit up, all the same.

The buzzing in her ears grew louder as she flopped back on her pillows. She swallowed, "No, no, no..." Her head felt heavy like she was being pulled under by a riptide, "Don't want to be here. Never again. I said. I swore...No..." She was reaching out for something, for someone. There were voices swirling around her. Her father was there. So was Gram. She couldn't find Gram. She really, really, wanted Gram. She could hear her, even smell her, but she couldn't see anything but the ceiling beyond her closed eyelids. It was both dark and bright somehow and she refused to open her eyes and listen to the words.

There was something wrong, something with her lungs. "Hurts." She pushed at the covers that felt like lead weights over her body.

The pressure was overwhelming, and the pain was consuming her. Sam sucked in another breath. It wasn't enough. She couldn't breathe. She was dying, and it was so hot. She didn't want to go where it was hot.

"For God's sake, sit her up." The bed was moving, then, and Sam felt the movement before she opened her eyes. Her stomach rolled, but she breathed. She could breathe. She was safer. Her sweaty palm found purchase on the hand that was covering the buttons to move the bed, and the beeping slowed.

It was only then that Sam realized that she'd been crying. Her mind cleared, slowly, and after a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes. The sterile smell of medical tape and cotton and ugly hospital sheets filled her senses. There was blood on her chapped lips. She could taste it. Sam looked as a drop fell on the blankets.

She raised her eyes, then, and saw her family there, or some of it. This had never happened in San Francisco. She had only ever woken up to well meaning nurses. Jake was standing next to her, and even with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart, Sam smiled. It faded quickly when she saw the nurses. "I'm not...dreaming, am I?"

Jake swallowed. The nurse closest to her simply said, "No, honey." Sam realized that the white glow was from the light above her bed. Sam gripped the side-railing, unwilling to touch the blood on her lip. The nurse was pressing cotton to it, examining her stitches. "You didn't pull any." She informed Sam, as the slow drips of blood stopped with a bit of pressure. Her lips felt as swollen as the rest of her tearstained face.

Sam coughed, and the injury pulled. Sam's hand wrapped around Jake's, and he pulled slightly, helping her to lean forward. There was a tired, tired, tired, look in his eyes. She breathed in as her spine rolled forward. The cough racked her body, though nothing came up this time. "What..." She breathed, and sat back, against the raised back of the bed. "Did I say this time?"

Sam prayed weakly that it hadn't been anything too damming. She did not want him to know a few things about her time in the hospital. Jake brushed her hair back and passed her some ice.

The pain in her chest grew, somehow, with the coldness in her mouth. "Just that you swore you'd never be here again." Sam could not bring herself to smile. She had been proven wrong. She was here again. It was much the same, this time. The nurses still fussed and gossiped like she didn't have ears. The food still sucked, and the pain still hurt.

It was different, too. Here in Darton County, she didn't have a roommate. Well, not officially. This time, she knew that she had a life to get back to, and the certainty filled her with a different kind of worry, one that was more real, more pressing, and less mournful but just as worrisome. This time, it hadn't been her fault. This time, when she came back from the bathroom, there was somebody there to fluff her blankets, hold her hand, and whisper back in the darkness, that somehow, tomorrow would be better. Her fever would be down, they would take off the meds that made her mind foggy, tomorrow. Yesterday had been tomorrow, too.

The nurse turned down the overhead, and said, "Good night." It was a joke. She'd be back in two hours. She was very pointedly ignoring the fact that Jake was breaking visitor's hours. It was two in the morning, Sam saw. He stayed when Gram didn't, because she insisted that everyone needed sleep. So sometimes, Gram went home, and Dad went home, and Jake stayed. Dad didn't much stay overnight, not that she blamed him. He thought Gram was coddling her by staying, she guessed. Sam would never admit that she wanted it. It was different, now.

Gram thought that Jake was being kind to her when he insisted she go home and sleep in her own bed for the night, but no, Jake was including the two of them in that statement. Not that he could sleep much when she was only out with the help of medication and exhaustion in this bed. No wonder Jake was so tired. He wasn't sleeping. She only knew that he wasn't sleeping because the extra bed in the room that he was unofficially occupying had to be more uncomfortable that hers. She had eggshell padding. He did not, and he slept in his clothes, shucking his boots and tucking them out of the way.

The door shut part way, blocking out the light in the hall. Sam watched her oxygenation for a few long seconds and listened to her IV pump sing its clicking little song. Sam heard Jake push his pillow around. She blinked away tears. Everything hurt, and he could not even hold her, not with the leads and wires and tubes. She had never before felt so very desperate for his embrace. She didn't want the passion she knew they were capable of. She just wanted his drool on her shirt, his arms around her waist. Sam ached for it. "What day is it?"

Jake answered after a second. He was figuring it out in his head. Time was so distorted. It had nearly driven her around the bend, but it spoke volumes about their life right now. "It's Thursday, Brat."

Sam squeezed her tear filled eyes shut. One endless day had become another. It was different, now. But right now, it was too much of the same.

Let me think, let me think, what can I do?

(Remember) Walking in the sand, (Remember) Walking hand in hand

(Remember) The night was so exciting, (Remember) Smile was so inviting

(Remember) Then he touched my cheek (Remember) With his finger tips

(Remember) Softly, softly we'd meet with our lips

Remember (Walkin' in the Sand), The Shangri-Las

It was too cold for words. It was February, so Sam guessed that she shouldn't be surprised. "Sorry Ace." Sam shivered as she quickly curried him, her gloved fingers cold even in the warmth of the barn. The chill was deep in her bones. Sam stepped easily around Ace and quickly finished. "It's a lick and a promise, baby, but if I don't warm up soon, I think you're liable to end up with a popsicle in your stall."

Ace nibbled at her, silly thing that he was. Sam's laugh turned into a cough. It stole her breath. She could not hide the cough this time. Not again, she prayed, please not again. She knew better than to think God would halt biology, but she had hope.

She smiled. "I wouldn't taste good! You're not a carnivore." Sam kissed his velvety nose, and relished the warmth of the air that puffed from his nostrils. "Love you." She picked up the brushes she set aside, and left the stall that had been modified just for her over the last few months.

Sam pulled her beanie down tighter over her head, the red knit fabric pushing out curls that were finally becoming waves. She was going to look like a puffball, but she didn't care. It was so very cold. "Sam!" Dad called.

Things were tense yet, between them, but they seemed to have found some footing in just not talking about the things that they knew would set each other off. It was working for now. The ranch was running well, and Dad seemed happy enough. Sam wasn't going to question it. "Coming." She said. Her voice sounded rough, and she resolved not to call attention to her cold. She stuffed her left hand in her pocket as she pushed herself halfheartedly with her right hand.

Of course, the unequal propulsion threw her off, but she got to where he and Jake and Pepper and Ross were blathering on about something to do with something or other. She slowed to a stop without much control. She was annoyed with the fact that her mind could not keep up with her life. There was so much to do in the office, so much to do with school, so much to do with Jen. Their words rolled around in her head until the cacophony of sound made her eyes want to close. Sam tilted her head into Jake's side. Nobody could blame her for it, the man was a furnace.

As words swirled around her, Jake's hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was reflexive, unconscious. His touch was light, but it filled an empty space that he left behind when he wasn't around. He had been all morning at the lab, working on his stuff for school. Sam did not really understand much about his experiments, or whatever the heck he was doing there, but she did like it when he came back. Within seconds, his hand was cupping the back of her neck gently. His pronouncement roused her, "You have a fever."

His hand fell away from her body, and she missed it. "Do not." She sat up, yanking on the arm of her chair to shift her weight. Sam ignored the thought that she was weaker than she wanted to be. So what? She was tired. She'd been out with the horses a lot this week. She'd gone out with Jen, played in the snow with Quinn. She had really lived, and it had felt like freedom. Sam put her hands down on her armrests and pushed up, lifting her bottom from the seat just enough to move her spine and shift her weight again. It felt great. "It's just cold."

Jake looked at her steadily. Dad was looking at her, too. They spoke to each other about light things, the ranches, the weather. They were busy men, but they no longer had as much to say to each other anymore. The silence sometimes hurt more than the anger, but they somehow always found the time to hassle her about her health. Usually, Jake's methods were entirely different, and she found that she did not like it when they converged. "You do look a bit peaky, Sammy." Dallas said, "We can talk about things later. It's nothing that can't hold."

Sam wanted to disagree, but Jake's expression said it all. It burned into her. She was not going to contradict him in front of her father. A shiver started within her as Dallas and Pepper and Ross all lit out for parts unknown, leaving her to make her case to Jake, who was filling the space around her with his worry and his care. He saw the flush she could not exactly hide, because he saw everything. "You weren't this sick this morning."

She had felt crappy for the last while, but she hadn't said so. She had been working hard at school, and it was no surprise she didn't feel well. Who didn't feel a bit off in the winter? Only sick freaks like Jake liked the winter. Winter was only acceptable as viewed from the back of a horse.

"I'm not sick now." Sam returned, trying to use humor to her advantage. She didn't feel well, but Mr. I-Know-All could shove it. "We have this conversation overtime I sneeze." She knew, because she had once taken to fake sneezing one Saturday, just to tick him off. It had been great fun. "Go find a patient or something." He was more at ease in his chosen profession, but he was still so excited about it that he was annoying. He saw sniffles and the chicken pox everywhere now that he knew what to look for. Sam couldn't wait until he was 55, and burnt-out.

Jake took in her sweater. Sam had picked it because it was comfortable, cozy, and it didn't make her bones ache and her skin crawl like everything else she'd tried on this morning. "Maybe if you wore a coat more often..." Jake suggested, not taking his hands off of her as she gave in and stood. He pulled gently, and Sam shifted to her feet with the extra support. If he wanted to act a fool, the least he could do was hold her while he did it. It was freezing in here.

"Please call the doctor, Sam." Dad decreed. She knew that there was no please about it, and Sam saw He pushed the chair back, out of the way, and glanced at Jake. Dad walked away, then, towards Dallas' voice. Sam still didn't know what they wanted, and darn it, she wanted to know.

And anyway, Jake knew very well that the seams on her jackets bothered her, not to mention the sensation she got when she moved her arms around in one were annoying and frustrating. The sleeves of her shirt always stuck to the coat and bunched. The bunches and the pulling sensation and the shifting of the fabric got in the way of functioning. "Aren't you sick of checking for runny noses and fevers?"

It was a valid question that Jake did not answer. There was a slow smile on his face, one that was tempered by the musing tone of his voice."You know, I can't decide if I like you when you're sick or not."

"Why?" Sam asked carefully, as Jake tramped over the carefully maintained path from the barn to the door. She had learned quickly that salt and moving carefully were the only thing standing between her and a faceplant in the snow. She'd done it a few times, until she'd given up and gotten a handful of zip ties and made her own snow ties with the wheels, the zip ties, and her knife. Jake liked to spend money on equipment, but not her. The bruise on her shin and fixing the slight dent in the wheelchair had cost plenty, because King of the Idiots insisted on a doctor to look at a bruise he didn't think was healing fast enough, and Dad had insisted on getting the wheelchair guy to come fix the dented footplate.

"Because you're cuddly, but you're snippy." He looked down at her, "It's a bit like being in a relationship with a hedgehog."

Sam spluttered. She couldn't think of a comeback. Jake grinned triumphantly. Jake wasn't distracted, though, and she soon found herself sitting on her couch, with Jake trying to stick a thermometer in her mouth. She knew that she wasn't feeling well, but it was winter. Everyone was a little run down in winter.

Sam began when the thing started beeping and Jake pulled it away before she could grab it and blow cold air on it. He knew her too well. "It's nearly March! Everyone's got..." she grabbed the thermometer out of his hand, "a fever of 101.7..." Sam trailed off.

Jake looked concerned. Sam redoubled her efforts as he reached into their bag of tricks, which, sadly, were not fun things, but were rather a collection of medications stored in a hatbox with horses on it that Sam had bought years ago and never used. Everything in it was cared for and organized to a fault. She had outgrown the cosmetics bag some time ago, not because she was sicker, but because she was healing. Who knew that would ever be the case? Sam moved two bottles over to the left and tilted her spacer over for the inhaler that her own personal set of polytraumas required. Jake fixed them with a soft glare, and put them back next to the inhaler box. She liked messing with his systems.

Jake found what he was looking for, prescription straight something or other. Sam moved to swipe the bottle, but Jake held it out of reach. "Headache?" Jake asked, placing his fingers along her neck. Sam shivered at the warmth of his hands on her again.

"Aren't you going to assess for my comfort?" Sam teased, avoiding the question. If he was going to play at doctor, at least he should do it correctly. "And wash your hands before you touch me?"

He had already done it, she knew, while she was sitting here, miserable, with the thermometer in her mouth. "Put your chin on your chest." Jake instructed, and Sam complied. She figured it was easier to do as he asked rather than quibble about it, when there was that note in his voice. She was tired.

"Are you at all confused?" Jake asked very seriously. Sam blinked at him. He was sitting there, so comfortable, and cozy, and warm. Before she could get lost in her thoughts, he prompted her again, "Sam?"

Sam recalled the question and frowned, "Don't you think if I were, then I wouldn't be able to answer that? Ask a concrete, specific question next time." Jake seemed to file that lesson away for future reference. Like he was the only one who knew how to read those books he left lying around, and the things he told her about Dr. Haskins did stay in her mind.

Sam blinked owlishly when Jake stared at her. He was looking at her like she was a bug with its wings pulled clean off. "I'm fine. My throat hurts a bit, my body hurts, and I'm freezing. All I need is a popsicle, and some sleep." She also wanted him in her bed, but that went without saying.

"You're sure there's nothing else?" Jake pulled her closer, and put his head on her chest, pressing his ear directly over her heart. After a time, he lifted his eyes and looked at her carefully, "Any rashes or anything?"

"Jake! You can't just ask me if I have rashes!" Sam was not really outraged. She was glad to avoid telling him that she felt something more coming on. "It's not an infection, it's not anything but a cold, which you're going to get if you don't back up."

He wouldn't be able to work on his labs, do his schoolwork, or follow Haskins around if he were sick. He would sit here and whine at her about the awfulness of his headache by not speaking, and refusing to be reasonable about treating it. She could not handle a sick Jake. He'd had a head cold a few months back, and it had been hell. She didn't like to see him in pain and she did not deal with his silence, or the worry, well. What would they do if something happened to him? She sometimes wondered how she would take care of them both like he had taken care of her.

"I think it's too late to worry about exposure." Jake was satisfied with his diagnosis. Sam did not see his point. She arched a brow as she leaned back against the sofa. He leaned into her and whispered, "I didn't ask you if you had rashes because I thought you did. I wanted to gauge how crappy you're feeling."

"And?" Sam was interested in his assumptions. She felt pretty crappy, and wasn't sure what a question about rashes would tell him.

Jake smirked, and passed her the medication. "Well, if you were healthy or anything less than outright sick, you would have offered to prove that you don't have any rashes." Sam stuck out her tongue at him. Sam reached for the water, popped the pills, and swigged the water back quickly.

"Everything hurts." Sam decided, looking at Jake through half-closed eyes. She reached over the back of the couch and found the blanket she kept there. Jake tucked it, but not too much. It wasn't heavy enough. Her joints felt all rubbery and floaty, like her body needed to be pressed back into its mold. He needed to provide pressure. Her eyes shut. She could not get warm.

Sam's eyes popped open when she realized that Jake wasn't right there. "Jake?" There was no reply. Sam tried again, "Jake?" Annoyed, Sam swung her feet off of the couch and pushed herself up to sitting. The dog hopped along with her she walked to the kitchen. No Jake. "Where is he, Bee?"

The dog took no offense to the nickname, but Sam wasn't sure if he was only hiding annoyance behind a placid expression because he did not lead her to Jake. She was running out of places to check. A light sheen of sweat had popped up on her skin, leaving a cold, clammy feeling in its wake. "You should be sleeping." Sam turned slowly around. Jake had showered, and changed. She had not thought to look upstairs. She would have sat in the bathroom. The steam would have been warm, and she was terribly cold.

"You left." Sam said simply as she traipsed toward the stairs.

Jake looped an arm around her as they slowly made their way up the steps. She felt so sluggish. "A contagious kid came in today." Jake said, as they walked down the hall. "Unless you feel like a stomach bug on top of your flu..."

"I'm considering it." Sam's stomach was tight with fatigue as she flopped onto the bed. "Wake me up in time for dinner. I won't eat, but I refuse to watch late night TV." And with that, Sam was out. She slept for the better part of three days.

Oh, Sally Jane Ann, oh, Sally Jane
Though I'd love to stay forever, this is why I can't remain

I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle

As I go ridin' merrily along
And they sing, 'Oh ain't you glad you're single'
And that song ain't so very far from wrong

(I Got Spurs) Jingle Jangle Jingle, The Merry Macs

Jake was worried, terrified. She had been so healthy for months, and now this bout with the flu was pulling her down. He tried to think about how so many wonderful days could lead up to this moment. Sam shivered, and Grace had fear in her eyes. The doctors said to ride it out. Jake thought that this was getting worse, but Sam refused to see reason. He often found himself praying she would sleep deeply enough that it legally could be conflated with a blackout, so he could easily say she wasn't with it, and do what he needed to do to get her better.

He hadn't seen this coming. Winter had come upon them slowly, fall giving one last fight before the first snow fell. It was a slow autumn, perfect for riding. Sam made the most of it, spending every second she could in the saddle. The day she sat alone in the saddle, and kept her seat was another breakthrough. They just kept coming after that, faster and faster and faster still. Jake liked to think that no one would know how far she had come if they looked at her now. She was careening towards an independence that was hard won, and Jake was glad to be along with her, every step of the way.

Sam grew in confidence, and her body slowly remembered the things her soul would never forget. Penny helped with that. Kitty's expertise slowly allowed Sam to add in rides with Ace. It made Jake more nervous than her cared to admit. They'd trained Ace together, but he knew that a horse's training could fail. Kitty, in some ways, was a mythical mother horse to them both, who knew more than they ever would, and there was some kind of intrinsic trust there that calmed him at times. Ace, though, was Sam's baby, and every time he gave her lip, something in Jake froze until he saw Sam handle it with grace and intuition.

In fact, he thought she was a stronger rider now. Rather than going solely on instinct and a general bone deep knowing, Sam backed up and relearned everything, made modifications that made sense to her. She now understood riding in new ways, ways that were as physical and mental even as they played upon the instinctual knowing she had developed over the years. Jake smiled, and tried to think about the fall, without this moment tinting what he knew.

"I hate this helmet." Sam snapped over at him, reaching under it carefully to pull at her hair. It was slowly growing upwards even as it grew longer. She said she looked like a brown haired Annie, but Jake did not have the heart to tell her that her hair was growing back in with more of a red tint.

Jake did not reply. He thought it was a perfectly nice gift. She liked brown, and it was brown. It had a removable visor, and it was a darn nice helmet. And anyway, he wasn't having this stupid discussion again. She was not getting into the saddle alone without a helmet. It was not happening and she could whine and wheedle until she was 85, but she was going to wear a helmet. They'd been too blasé, before, too trusting, too at ease. "Sam."

"I'm just saying, okay?" Sam returned, as Kitty moved through a ditch. Sam's balance had improved and she kept her seat more firmly. Jake noticed that fear did not come into her eyes the sort of fear that came from her body and not her mind or her heart.

"Say something else." She had a million things to say to Kitty, she could figure out something to say to him. Jake looked around, at the slowly muting browns of the desert as fall took hold on the land. It was really beautiful out here. It would be even nicer if he didn't have to rehash a conversation for the 67th time this month alone.

"Your birthday present is going to stink. It's going to be awful." Sam reminded him as she had for weeks, since he'd presented her with the box and a hopeful expression, checking the fit like a mother hen.

It wasn't going to suck. Jake knew better. Gift giving, for Sam, allowed her to express things she rarely said, and she put a lot of thought into buying and making presents for people. It wouldn't sit well with her heart if she gave him a present she didn't think was ideal, because it was a point of pride and it said things her words never could. "Uh-huh."

Kitty was not amused by their bickering. She picked up her hooves with a gentle disapproval, and let out a puff of air that said it all. It was all her nevermind, though, as long as Santa pulled through for the old gal on Christmas Day. Sam took Kitty's advice, when she touched the helmet, and admitted, "At least it's not pink."

And her bed is under her window, and her fingers brush over your chest.

With your heart beating fast you go real slow, and you match the rhythm of her breath.

And if all your dreams come true, do your memories still end up haunting you?

Is there such a thing as really breaking through, to another day and a brighter shade of blue?

She Don't Like Roses, Christine Kane

Grace pulled the blinds when Sam hissed at the light, for the fifth time today. It wasn't even noon. "You need to go to the doctor, Sam. You no longer have a choice." Sam pulled the blanket up higher, and drew her feet up to her body, curling around Cougar to ground herself. Blaise hopped up on the couch, cuddling around her feet, looking at Jake like he was evil incarnate for getting in the way between Blaise and his mistress.

Jake did the smart thing and gave the dog some room. He sighed, and Sam patted his furry head, with shaking fingers. "Francis and his minion said that a cold is a cold is a cold." Sam couldn't take cold medications because of the fact that they might increase the symptoms of her TBI. "The pediatrician agreed, said to push fluids and rest. I'm resting."

Grace got another blanket, and put it over the back of the couch. Jake felt a wave of helplessness. Sam was wearing her cat lady nightgown, and looked awful, much like she had when he had gone to San Francisco. She wasn't eating much, she couldn't, and she slept all of the time. She was sicker than she was letting on. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in his soul. She was trying to take care of them in the only way she could.

"Jake..." Sam didn't bother moving from her position, not that he wanted her to do it. "I'm going to throw up." There was a desperation in her voice that compelled him to help her sit up, displacing the dog and the cat and the blankets, and keep her steady as she threw up everything she'd worked so hard to get into her system today.

Grace grimaced, and Jake heard her opening some soda, that Sam, of course, would either refuse, or drink and throw up again. It was the headache making her so sick to her stomach. The TBI and whatever else was going on were fast friends, playing off each other, making the symptoms of both somehow worse. Jake knew he was adding to it, when he spoke, "That's third time..." He tried to be gentle. How could he not be gentle, when she was so sick? She was so sick.

He wanted to put his foot down, wanted to push his will upon this whole thing. He wanted to take care of her, wanted her stubborn desire to help others to stop getting in the way of what she needed. Jake's jaw tightened, and he blew out a breath to calm the tensity of his body.

Jake knew she was dehydrated, and that her output was getting too low. Sam pushed the basin away, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, "I know." Thankfully, her gums didn't start to bleed this time.

Grace said something Jake didn't hear as she helped Sam to rinse her mouth. "Look, I know it looks bad, but it's a cold." Her breathing was slightly labored.

Jake disagreed as Grace passed him room temperature soda. It wasn't going to hurt her to try and drink some. "I think you've got pneumonia."

"You don't have your medical degree, and you're not allowed to diagnose family. It's not ethical." Sam tried to sip at the soda, and somehow frowned at the same time. She barely got two sips down before she was pushing it away. This was not good, and it was getting worse. Jake debated doing what needed to be done, and going to Wyatt and telling him that Sam couldn't be listened to right now. It made his stomach tighten, but he was getting desperate. She teased him about diagnosing her, but damn it, he knew what he was seeing. He knew. Jake decided that he was going to do what he had to do, today, now.

"You need to go to the hospital." Grace said what Jake was thinking, pushing her granddaughter's bangs back after Sam pulled back down into her pile of blankets. The dog returned to his roost, curling into Sam again. Even the dog knew she was sick. "It's no longer up for discussion." Jake heard Grace's tone, and knew that no matter what Sam said, her grandmother would be getting her way.

Sam looked at Grace, her eyes like flint. "I am not going. You can call, and tell them to talk to whoever they needs to talk to, and then tell Luke to run a line." It was the most coherent sentence she'd spoken in some time, and Jake was on the phone before the dog hopped back up on the couch. She had admitted she needed help. That was the first step.

Layla, you've got me on my knees.

Layla, I'm begging, darling please.

Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind?

Let's make the best of the situation before I finally go insane.

Layla, Eric Clapton

Luke showed up, and Sam figured that he had been planning on coming anyway. She hated when her family conspired against her. The stethoscope was cold against her back. "Breathe, Sam." Luke instructed, listening carefully to her lungs.

She did not say that she was trying. They all knew it, and saying so was pointless. He listened to various spots, then looped the stethoscope over his neck like she had seen him do a hundred times before. "You should have gone to the doctor yesterday."

What sort of alternate universe had she woken up in? Was this his new and improved patient skill-set? What on God's green earth was this? Sam was just so confused. "I don't get it." She coughed into her sleeve.

"Right." Luke said, and then, once again, he was his serious self. It was then Sam realized that there was blood on her sleeve. What that meant she could not fathom.

See I've been looking up, looking down, looking side to side

Wondering why this world is the way that it is and why my momma cries

every night when I'm trying to rest my head on the floor,

Half-stoned thinking, "Damn, this shit gets old."

This Shit Getz Old, NeverShoutNever

Sam was not happy. Her plan to make everyone happy so she could sleep had blown up in her face. She was back at the hospital. At least she had her own wheelchair, and not some creepy one that a million people had sat in. She hated this place, hated all hospitals really. They had too much noise, from the clicking of the PA system to the buzzing of the lights. The blankets were a funny texture, and the blue gloves were often too big for the nurses. They made her skin hurt. The details rankled.

She flopped back against the bed of the torture chamber, and scowled. Jake didn't deserve this. He looked as miserable as she felt, and it couldn't be a picnic, having to sit in the room with her father, and to know that they were here because of her. She did not say she was in pain. It would only add to his own pain. She did not cry and say she was miserable. She just sat there, fighting sleep until a nurse came in, and smiled.

Sam knew it was a bad kind of smile. Sam's labored breathing grew tight as she saw the bundle of dotted fabric in the woman's arms. The greenish color of the dots was an affront to humanity in general. "I told you I wasn't staying." She had to pick up the oxygen mask in order to say that, but she said it. Why couldn't she have a nose cannula like a normal person?

"You need an x-ray." The nurse replied, "Let's just get you changed." Sam capitulated, wishing that she had brought along her own. The ones she'd been giving at the rehab were more like clothing, and weren't awful and oversized and designed to make her freeze.

Sam knew that this was the part of being admitted that she hated. She knew that she was being given the once over for bruises and needle mark scars as she was helped to change. The woman looked at the marks and scars on her body, and Sam felt the professional gaze heavily. Without background information, Sam found herself reexplaining things that Dad had already said once before.

She was asked questions that they already knew the answer to, questions they asked everyone. It wasn't like they had any reason to doubt her word about drugs, alcohol, STDs, or pregnancy, but they ran the tests anyway. Sam wanted to ask the woman what her drug test results had been, and what her Beta hCg levels were, but it was too much work to be impertinent. She was too tired to confirm the obvious just to be cheeky.

Sam knew the drill, and she played along. The IV in her hand was limiting, but she was able to mostly dress herself. She got settled back into the bed, and the nurse pulled the curtain around the narrow bed open. Sam's planned argument ran out of steam when they came back in. They looked like they were about to come to blows. Jake was tense, and her father looked angry. Gram looked uneasy, and had placed herself between Jake and Dad. Gram glanced at Sam. Sadness lanced through her. She didn't think this was the best time to push her agenda. They had been doing so well for the last few months.

She was just so tired, and everything hurt so much. Jake sat down on the edge of the bed, near her side. He knew something. The attending came in, a nanosecond later. She had been here for ages, and only now was the man returning to her cubby. "We'd like to admit you for testing. We need to get you some x-rays, check for DVT, test for meningitis, among other things." The doctor was clearly a busy person, used to speaking quickly and acting without delay.

Sam had things to do, too. She had to sleep, first, obviously, but then she had stuff to do. What stuff she couldn't quite think of, but stuff just the same. "What am I, a wall?" She pulled up the oxygen mask, and watched her numbers drop. The colors shifting made her dizzy. "Throw enough tests at me and hope something sticks?" Sam dragged in a painful breath, "It's not meningitis, none of my limbs are warm or swollen, so it can't be DVT or a PE." The doctor tried to cut her off, to tell her what they were all thinking about keeping the oxygen on, but she kept on going, "Did you know it's freezing in here? I've already had surgery, so there's..." she broke off from telling the doctor about her medical treatments, grabbed the mask and sucked in another breath of air, "You can have your x-ray, but...I'm going home."

The doctor was clearly used to dealing with patients like her. Jake fixed the tubing as Sam pulled the mask back on, having said what she wanted to say. She felt like a wrung out washcloth, and he saw her eyes slide close as the mask fogged up. She just wanted to sleep. "You're not consenting to these tests?"

Sam picked up the mask, again. Jake wanted to stop her, she knew. He didn't. Why did they keep talking to her if they wanted her to be able to breathe? "Do them. I question why." She sucked in another lungful of oxygen, as she grew increasingly woozy. Jake steadied her body as she leaned towards him, "Little more thinking and little less covering your behind would be nice."

"Sam!" Dad exclaimed. Sam didn't hear it, though, because she had fallen asleep, the light that was no doubt blinding her, quickly going black all around her.

You can't hide your lyin eyes and your smile is a thin disguise

I thought by now you'd realize

There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes

There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes

Lyin' Eyes, The Eagles

The doctor moved towards the IV pole and the monitors. Jake fixed the mask on the oxygen, and the doctor spoke, "Don't worry too much about the delirium. We'll run what tests we can and go from there." The doctor flipped open the chart at the foot of the bed, and peered through it. "Hopefully, we can get you out of the ER quickly."

Jake knew what was going on because this game was old hat. It still sucked, and were some of the worst moments of their life, but it was manageable because he knew the drill well enough. Jake wanted to punch Wyatt for what he had said in the hall, in earshot of the doctor, no less. Wyatt was happy about Sam having to stay here, even knowing that it was the last thing she wanted. Sam's hand was in a funny position, so he reached over and fixed it so that the needle in her hand wouldn't pull. Jake knew she had to stay, but knowing and understanding was different than wanting her to stay. It was a totally different thing. Wyatt still understood nothing.

Grace sat down in the chair by the bed. Her worry was palpable. Jake wished he was cruel enough to tell her that Sam had been far sicker in San Francisco. This time she was fighting back. She wasn't passively waiting, and she wasn't giving in to the pain and shutting out her support system. She wasn't pushing them all away. That was huge, and Jake wanted to do the same. He wanted to meet her half-way. He was proud of their progress, but was sad that they had to come back to this place to see it clearly. "She's okay, Grace."

Grace picked up her knitting from the bag at her side, and did not reply. Wyatt did, though. "You have a funny definition of okay."

Jake's teeth came together with such force that they nearly clacked as they met. Jake took in Wyatt's bearing, and tried to haul up sympathy for the man. He was clearly ill at ease. How lucky he was to have that option of being uncomfortable in a room like this. He wouldn't be if he had been there when she needed him all the times before. "Read her chart if you don't believe me." Jake took some sick pride in the fact that Wyatt could not read charts. He had known how to do it since he was 11. Looking back, it was clear that medical work had always fascinated him, even as a child pestering his father.

Wyatt was clearly frustrated. He was letting his frustration get in the way of Sam's needs, and it ticked Jake off. Grace waited in her room. Jake knew that it hurt her to see Sam like this, and he guessed that Wyatt felt the same way. That shouldn't matter though, and every single time Wyatt hesitated, acted like he had any right to be annoyed or frustrated, it made Jake want to punch him.

Jake sat for what felt like ages, until they woke up Sam, and took her down for an x-ray. She slipped when she got up to get in the chair, and she dry heaved in the elevator, the slight bit of movement jarring her. The nurse upped her dosage of nausea medications, and dimmed the lights when she could. The x-rays were quickly done, but by then the conclusion was forgone in Jake's mind.

It was a simple case of double pneumonia, but it was bad enough to have caused dehydration among other things that were more or less related to, and because of, the TBI. The polytraumas struck again. Sam was transferred upstairs, barely awake as she moved around. They decided to run blood and sputum cultures. Jake knew then that Sam wasn't coming home for at least a few days. Grace had already informed Mrs. Church and everyone at home. No one had told her. He knew it was cowardly.

Sam protested spitting like they needed her to do. She was fussy and fastidious in the oddest ways at the oddest of times. She did it because she had no other choice, but the efforts caused her get dizzy and cough. Her body was sticky with fever and illness, and it was clear that her mind was rebelling. She could barely stand to move, barely stand to be touched. Her senses were screaming at her, her body protesting this illness in the only way it knew would make her sit up and pay attention. Grace slipped out of the room, to get juice, and Wyatt spoke to Sam. He didn't know what was said, and he didn't care so long as Sam was okay, because he went to the car with Grace to get Sam's sweater that she'd asked Grace to bring.

It was 5:07 when his mom came in from school. Sam wasn't very heavily asleep, and Mom had just missed Grace and Wyatt. They had gone to get some food. Jake didn't feel like eating. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, Jake." Mom stood in the doorway. She looked tired and worn, and Jake knew that these last few months had been harder on her than they'd had any right to be. "You got your shot, right?" Sam was no longer contagious, but the question was automatic. This was his mother, after all.

"I work in a fishbowl of germs, Jake, and I live with your father." Mom replied, setting her purse on the small counter. "How's she?"

Jake tone was bald, "Sick." Sam's tiny body was tucked under mauve blankets. Her sats were decent, and the cough that had racked her for the last few days had softened. She was still coughing up green and rust colored mucous, and sometimes a few tablespoons of blood along with it. The blood was new, today.

"I'm not..." Sam pushed up the bed quickly. He hadn't realized she was awake. The cough rattled around as she picked up her blanket and coughed into it. It was a a lucky grab because whatever she coughed up ended up on the blanket. Jake saw her tuck the soiled spot under, using the sheet to fold it like a tissue, not wanting to draw attention to the action in front of Mom. "...sick."

Nobody corrected her. Sam fumbled around for her cup of ice. Her throat was probably killing her from coughing. Mom shifted, and passed Sam the ice. Sam fished out a small piece of it, and put in her mouth. She had previously said swallowing hurt, but nobody disobeyed Mom. Jake watched as Mom tucked the tubing back behind Sam's ear. She had gotten the nose cannula she'd advocated for, mostly with her mulish glare and her iron demands. Somehow, having Mom here fixed things he did not even know were wrong.

Jake relaxed a little bit in the wide chair. Mom would get Sam to eat something, maybe, and she would make her smile. Mom always knew how to fix things that couldn't be fixed. Jake let their conversation float by. Sam spoke, grabbing his attention with his name. "Jake, Max is going to give you a ride home."

Her tired eyes were filled with conviction, cutting Jake off before he could even disagree. She and Mom had planned this, hashed this out between them. "You need food." She inhaled, the violet under her eyes growing more purple. "The cat told me he's hungry." The drugs were kicking in, then. He knew that she was meaning to ask him to feed that cat of hers. He was boxed in when Sam added rationally, "You can bring the truck back."

They had not planned this trip well. He had the emergency bag and his wallet, but that was it. Jake cursed himself for not bringing some stuff. He had hoped they would send her home, even when he knew better. Her bag held copies of medical records Sam had recently gotten, her list of meds, and some other paperwork in a folder she carried around since San Francisco, phone numbers, insurance cards, things like that. There was a cosmetic bag in the bottom of the front pocket of the old Jansport. It held a few doses of medications she literally could not live without, and an extra inhaler. She packed it, so he was going off of his memory. Also in the backpack was a book for him, some granola that wouldn't spoil for two years, some warm socks and hair ties, some IcyHot and aloe, some girly stuff, and an extra phone charger. The extra $50 in the back was tucked away, hidden, beneath a huge roll of tape. It was the strangest bug out bag, he knew, but Sam rarely left the house without it.

Whatever words he was trying to force out were cut off by the arrival of the nurse. Instead of disagreeing, Jake stood up, put his lips in her hair to breathe her scent. Sam's taped hand came up to rest on his arm, and her head pressed into his side. His eyes closed, and Jake prayed. When his eyes opened, he looked over and saw Mom standing by the door. He realized slowly, painfully, that there were some things even his mother could not fix. And what was worse was the fact that she knew it herself.

My first love was a castle in the sky

I never thought I'd make it 'till I had the guts to try

And I sat up in my tower while the whole world passed me by

My first love was an angry painful song

I wanted one so bad I went and did everything wrong

A lesson in reality would come before too long

My first love was a wicked twisted road

I hit the million mile mark at seventeen years old

I never saw the rainbow much less a pot of gold

Wicked Twisted Road, Reckless Kelly

"Thanks." Sam whispered. Her voice was still hoarse. She was no better, and she felt worse because she was so tired and so worn out. The nurse left the dark room. Sam was so tired. Dad had gone home, and Gram had gone with him. She had forced herself not to cry and beg Gram to stay with her. It was different this time, but it was still the same. She still had to do this part alone.

She had a life to get back to, and she was awash in anger because it seemed that everything had been going her way these last few months, and here she was, knocked over and back in a bed, trapped in this room. There was no world outside its walls that mattered. Her head pounded, and she tried to shift. "Do you want an extra pillow?" The nurse asked.

Sam nodded. The hospital was so different here. She felt like she was on a ward in that zombie TV show. This was not San Francisco, and the view was not of city streets. She didn't even know what the view was, parking lots, probably. "My IV hurts." Sam admitted, when the woman returned with the pillow. Sam pushed it down, next to her. It was a poor substitute for Jake, but it took up the space in the bed that should have been his. Her head was pounding.

Sam didn't know why, but the line really hurt, felt like it was leaking and burning. The nurse turned up the overhead light with apologies, and took a look at the site. She turned to her cart, and got another drip kit. Sam figured that they just needed to move the drip. It had been inserted in a hurry. "You can put it in my left arm, if you don't mind?"

Sam missed her port. It had been hell to keep clean and bathe with when there was a needle in it, but it had avoided this cycle of being stuck with needles because the scar tissue had eventually numbed the pain of being stuck over and over. Sam frowned, and let the woman do her job. It was nearly time for the night shift to begin, almost seven, and the nurse looked tired. The needle hurt going in, but they almost always did. Sam saw the flash of blood in the hub, and felt an instinctual wave of something fearful. It passed quickly.

Sam watched the nurse do what she needed to do, watched her check and recheck everything. Sam knew the saying. The right drug, the right patient, at the right dose, every time. She finished up, and fixed Sam's blankets. Sam knew right away, on some level, that this woman was a good practitioner. Her professionalism was tempered by someone who saw her as a person, no matter how tired or annoyed she was. "Can I get you anything else? You're sure you don't want pain meds?"

Sam shook her head. The point of all of this was clear. She had been knocked down again, and she had to get up all the faster. She knew her way around this block, and had no intention of staying on it, but she had to come back to know that. There was no question of where she belonged. Not this time."Try and drink your water, at least." The nurse pushed the bedside table closer, and left the room.

Sam stared at the wall, avoiding the water because she ddi not want to have to get up and go to the bathroom. The last time she had been actually admitted to the hospital, outside of that time with fluid in her lungs, she had been a totally different person. Then, she had been so angry that her angry had caused to shut down. She wasn't willing to go there again, and at least she knew it. Her context was different now, and she had to make the most of those differences somehow, because they meant something.

They had to mean something. This winter had to mean something. If it didn't, then her very life was meaningless, and as upset as she was, Sam wasn't willing to buy into that idea. The things she had learned about herself had to mean something. And yet, she was back where she started, sitting in a hospital room, alone, with another mountain to climb.

Sam fumbled in her blankets for the cell phone she'd stuck under her pillow. She pulled out the phone, glad that Jake had turned the brightness almost off, and tapped out, "I don't have a roommate this time."

Her phone buzzed a minute later, "Sucks to be you, then." Matrona knew, at least. Sam smiled, and put her phone on the bedside table. It did suck to be her, but at least she knew now what kind of life she had to return to, soon. For now, though, all she wanted to do was sleep.

Surprise, surprise

Couldn't find it in your eyes but I'm sure it's written all over my face

Surprise, surprise

Never something I could hide when I see we made it through another day

And now the night will throw its cover down on me again

Oh, and if I'm right

It's the only way to bring me back

Sunrise, Norah Jones

Jake watched the sun come up through the window in the hospital room for the third time. It had been almost four days, four days that went on like decades. The weak rays were somehow brilliant and beautiful. "The sun's pretty." Sam rasped from the bed. Jake rubbed his eyes and looked at her.

It was pretty, but not as welcome a sight as she was right now. She wasn't responding to antibiotics as she should be responding to them. She was drifting farther and farther away, sleeping more, growing more and more drawn out. She was in pain and flat out refused the pain medication. It was her right. He kept telling himself that, but he hated that she was suffering. He fantasized about dosing her, just so the pain in her eyes would fade. He hated himself for his desire.

He also hated that she cared so much about him. "You're okay?" He wasn't, but he understood her question. Who would be okay in this situation? His use of the word earlier in the week annoyed him. The doctors were worried about secondary blood infections, and she was worried about him.

"We're both okay." Jake lied to her face. She knew it for the lie that it was. "They're going to come and do the echo soon." He kept a running list in his head, and he couldn't shut it off. The blood cultures had been getting worse, and they couldn't test again for some time. The waiting was endless. Sam pushed the bed up, and fumbled for the papers on her bedside table.

Jake sat behind her, between the head of the bed and her back. She leaned back against him and read the menu of the day. She wasn't likely to eat any of it, but something to do was hard to come by in the few hours a day she wasn't actually sleeping. "Do you think I could go to the cafeteria after the echo?"

Jake knew the answer was a big fat no. She wasn't going to infect other people, but she was lucky that they hadn't quarantined her because of how ill she actually was. Jake didn't think she actually had internalized what was going on, but he guessed that kept her going. She was sick and tired, and he knew that stepping into that crowd of people would be too much for her on a myriad of levels. He understood the restlessness, though. "Maybe."

He couldn't tell the truth. She was exhausted when Jen shown up for ten minutes. Quinn had practically pulled Jen from the room when the time had come to say goodbye. She'd gone so very pale, and had nearly broken down. He had never, ever, wanted to see Jen Kenworthy with tears in her eyes. He didn't think that she was the crying sort. That simple, run of mill, surface visit had exhausted Sam. Still, she wanted out of this room, and that was something.

Sam rotated, and blinked up at him. "Liar." She sighed, and held up the paper. "My head is killing me." Jake took the paper and read the menu out loud. There wasn't much to speak of, not that there ever was. Jake rubbed her back. He wanted very badly to hold her, but he knew better. Sam leaned back against his side, and he felt the air she drew in rattle around inside of her.

Sam reached over for the juice. Jake wrapped his hand around it, holding the cup steady for her as she sipped it and grimaced. Not only did it hurt, but it was sour. Jake knew that people who had used pills for medical reasons often developed a bigger sweet tooth. He wasn't sure if it was about pain management or brain chemistry or what, but it was true. Sam spat out the straw, and coughed into the crook of her elbow. Her body shook, and Jake felt powerless. Sam closed her eyes, and rested against him. Jake was glad that they didn't need words between them.

Lately things haven't been goin' our way and this road seems to get steeper every day

You crawl inside yourself; when I pull you out we fight

Seems like you've forgotten I'm on your side

I'm On Your Side, Patty Loveless

Jake hated the next part of the day. It made him feel jittery, full of expectation. He was not good at waiting, and waiting for Sam to get better was hell. He kept going over the last few weeks. Had he brought something home? Had it been something at that new flip that had seemed like such a good idea? What had done this to her? Jake moved around the small room, cleaned up a bit, moved around just to move around.

He went into the small attached bathroom and filled a small cup with some water. He got a basin and Sam's toothbrush. Jake set it on the small bed table, and Sam pulled it closer, and brushed her teeth. It was amazing, the things she could figure out how to do so neatly, without access to a sink. Sam smiled her thanks, and let her head fall back against the pillows, "Let Shelly take care of that."

Jake rolled his eyes, but complied with her wishes. She was so odd about the silliest things. Like her spit hadn't been everywhere. He put the basin on the small counter near the door. "How are you, really?" He hadn't meant to ask her that, but now that the words were out, he couldn't take them back.

"I'm fine." Sam lied, "I think you should go to school, work, whatever, today." Sam shifted on the bed, pushed the button to sit back from where she'd pushed herself up more fully to lean over and brush her teeth.

"I have work." Jake gestured to the book on the nightstand. He got what he could done on the laptop in here. He went home when he had to, for more clothes, for a shower, to check on the horses, to humor Sam's whims, to placate their family.

"Jake." Sam shook her head. "You can't sit here all day." Her tired eyes were hard, and he saw the emotion that she could not physically put into her words. Sam reached out for her phone, and let it fall into her lap.

Said who, exactly? The nurses gave him a wide berth. He knew why. Sam didn't wake up as much when she knew he was here, and they didn't have to worry about Sam being alone, or worry about waking up Grace at night. It was win/win for everyone. "You can't tell me what to do."

Okay. So maybe she could. And maybe he was acting like he was five. It wasn't like he had to listen. But she didn't get it. She sounded out of it. What was out there that needed to be dealt with? Nothing that couldn't wait, and he didn't think...He knew that he could not walk away from her. Where was her head, really?

Sam pressed, "I don't want to fight with you."

"Then don't." Jake shut the whole thing down, and picked up his book. He didn't want to talk to her if she was going to act a fool. They passed the next while in silence. Sam called Pepper and checked on the horses, and then called Quinn and checked on Witch. She called as much as was possible, and it seemed to Jake that she was trying not to let go this time. She was holding onto her life with both hands this time. It was just as much Jake hoped holding on helped her get through the next few days.

The day nurse, Shelly, came and made her first set of rounds. Jake watched her like a hawk. He liked the nurses well enough. He just learned a lot from watching them. They often explained things as they worked, and Shelly was generally open to questions even if they did not come from Sam. "Oh." Shelly said, "I forgot to tell you. The echo tech'll be up soon."

Yeah, Jake thought. She thought that more was going on outside these walls. She thought that nothing was happening here, and that realization broke his heart. How had this become normal for them?

It would help me to know:

Do I stand in your way or am I the best thing you've had?

When I'm losing control will you turn me away or touch me deep inside?

And when all this gets old, will it still feel the same?

There's no way this will die, but if we get much closer, I could lose control.

Love is a Battlefield, Pat Benatar

Sam leaned on Jake, and slid down from her bed, carefully. She wanted to take the time to hug him, but she couldn't even so much as lean in too much, because of the spectators. She spent all of her time sitting her, sleeping, and then when they said move, she had to hop to it, and she didn't like it one IV bag was already on the pole, and the back of the chair. "Why can't you unhook me?" Sam looked at the tech, and at Shelly, as Jake helped her to shift into the chair. She was tired of this nightgown routine. She was tired of the tubes and the wires.

"Because." Shelly replied, handing her a blanket. "You need the fluids and the meds, and breathing is good, even if it doesn't much feel that way to you." Sam got the idea that she had too many children. She had that whole Max vibe going.

Sam reached down with her right hand and pulled the brake on the hospital chair. Her chair did not have space for the IV or the oxygen. Sam felt like crap, and she knew she looked like hell. She wanted to go back to sleep. Shelly had woken her up, and she hated that, because being woken up always raised her heart rate, and then everyone got all watchful. If they would just let Jake or Gram wake her up, things would not be so bad.

She did not want to cross the threshold. She was so very tired. Going to the bathroom 25 minutes ago had been enough of a workout. Jake moved aside to grab her phone, because he had let his die. She had promised Gram not to leave either him or the room without the phone. Becky moved to take the handlebars, and Sam snapped, "Don't touch the chair." It might not be her chair technically, but it was hers because she was sitting in it, even though it made her skin crawl and her head pound, "You didn't ask."

Becky was not offended, "May I?" Shelly was stripping the bed, and her tags hit the plastic covering on the mattress. The sound made Sam flinch, and reflexively each up to cover her ears quickly. This was too much. Becky looked confused. Had she not just told Shelly that touching her hurt? Had she not stepped aside so Jake could help her? With purpose, Sam dropped her arms down. She hated when she just automatically reacted like that. It was embarrassing. Becky stepped away, slightly. She got the picture.

Sam withdrew into her head, trying to find a space that was not so stressed. "No." Sam replied, gently. She did not like other people pushing her chair. She did not know them, and she did not trust them, and she did not care if that was their jobs, because they didn't do it right, ever. She looked over tiredly at Jake, "Why are we doing this again?"

He took the handlebars of the chair, and crossed the threshold. Becky directed him down the hall a bit. They weren't even allowed to leave the block of rooms, much less the ward or the wing. In San Francisco, they had done all of this in her room, but here, they couldn't get the room dark enough, so they needed a windowless exam room. "Because some studies connect pneumonia with an increased presentation of heart problems, statistically."

Sam swallowed. She had heard the doctor say much the same thing after her last set of labs. No doubt Jake had done a little Google Scholar and Lexus Nexus research on his own after the doctor had left the room. By the time the words left his mouth, she no longer felt so spun about. She felt heavy, and dreaded getting up on the table before her.

She did it, though. Well. Jake did most of the work. She had to blink back tired tears when the thought came to her. None of this was fair to him, but he just wouldn't listen to a word she said on the topic. She didn't want to say much. It wasn't like she wanted him to leave her. She needed him with a desperation that bordered on pathological.

She hated wondering if, somehow, she was abusing him with her need, hurting him so badly with her want of him. She could take this on her own if she had to, but she could not bear this hurting him anymore than it already had, from the stress on their barely repaired relationships to his own sense of balance. He had been doing so well coping with his PTSD, and this had to be triggering.

Jake saw her face as she slid up on the wide metal table. "Sam?"

Her equilibrium was off. Sam reached out quickly, and fisted her right hand into his sweatshirt. Air left her in a ragged, painful, whoosh. She was one second away from becoming a sobbing, hyperventilating mess. "I'm going to fall off this thing." She knew she was. She could feel herself falling, falling, falling, into nothingness. Her body was already anticipating the pain, for whatever reason her brain had cooked up. The table felt very narrow and unsafe. She hated, hated, hated, being on her back in situations like this.

Her pajama pants were no help, even though the cotton should have grounded her. She knew better than to think she could live in a gown. She had added the pants as soon as the nurses let her. It was funny the lessons from the accident that had stuck with her. Wear normal clothes when you can. Never order the fish. Run hospital water for two seconds before you put it in your mouth. Try to feel like a human when you can. Sam's eyes glued to Jake as he stepped closer, using his body to provide a sense of place that she could feel. Sam tried to relax, as his fingers brushed over the bear on her wrist.

Becky finished setting up her machine when she was sure that Sam was on the table properly. "Can you sit up for me?"

Sam found her way to sitting, her legs out in front of her. Jake pressed a palm gently into her back. She felt so weak that she was sure she would flop over backwards if he hadn't anticipated her needs. She shifted to pull the gown down, so the neckline cover the negligible swell of her chest. Sam let Jake help her lay back down as her head spun, and Becky dimmed the lights. Sam coughed, and tried not to breathe on Jake. She wasn't contagious anymore, but she wasn't taking that risk. What would happen to them all, if something happened to him?

Becky paused as she reached for a towel, her wand, and the jelly. "It's alright with you if he stays?"

Sam tilted her head to see the tech more clearly. "Obviously." Really, and honestly, there was nothing at all even a little bit sexual about getting naked like this. There was not one thing that made this at all enjoyable. And anyway, even if there had been, it wasn't like he hadn't seen her naked. It was different now. She didn't have to fill the silence with only the stranger tech for company.

Becky took her word, and continued on. "We're just taking a quick look at your heart, Sam." She gestured to the monitor, "We'll do the doppler too."

Sam pushed the side of the gown down, and let Becky do her thing. The gel was cold. It was always cold. That hadn't changed. The electrodes still felt gummy. First, Becky put her wand a few inches to the left off center, somewhere around her 5th rib. "This is called the parasternal long axis." Becky said.

She seemed to note that Sam needed somebody to talk. It would be so easy to let her eyes fall shut in this dark room, with Jake's touch comforting her, even despite the pain and her fear. Sam blinked heavily. Becky zoomed in and out, and Sam shut her eyes at the sound of it all. This position was so odd.

Her arm was up, underneath her head, and she felt exposed to this woman, exposed to this process. There was nothing to it, but lying like this made it harder to breathe. Sam felt Jake there, and knew it was selfish to be so glad that he was here this time. She made some sound out of pure reaction at how hard Becky pressed. She lessened up, and Jake's gaze was there to cling to, this time. Sam wondered if Becky was going to break her chest with how hard she seemed to have to press down sometimes, moving and working around the sticky electrodes pressed into her flesh.

Finally, Becky required her to participate. "Can you bend your knees up and take a deep breath?" Sam needed help to plant her feet, and she had to tilt her spine a little, but she did as Becky asked. She didn't mind this as much as she had minded having to tilt her head back to expose her neck fully. It hurt so badly to breathe.

She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Maybe I have been here before

I know this room, I've walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew you

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Rufus Wainwright

As Becky worked, Sam peeked over at Jake from time to time. He focused mainly on the monitor, like he was memorizing the sounds, the pictures. Sam saw him think, as he looked at the blues and reds and yellows that popped up on the screen. "Can you roll over to your left side?" Becky had been sitting on her right side. The set up was a little untraditional, but it worked. Jake never let go as he stepped around to the other side of the table.

Sam planted her needle infested hand out of the way, above her head, and bent her knee enough to turn onto her side. Jake's touch on her back gave her momentum, even as his soft grip on her cotton clad hip helped her to feel safer in what her body told her was a dangerous position, though logically she knew better. This time, there were no yucky bolsters to hold her in place, given by a CNA with a sympathetic smile. The nurses assumed then that she didn't have anyone. Sam had wanted it that way.

Becky was soon done with her work. Sam sat up, facing Jake, and began to peel the electrodes off of her body as Becky got her a damp towel to clean off the gel from her chest, neck, and stomach. Sam knew she looked like a melted candle anymore, bones and wax and wire. Her skin felt overstimulated. Jake's warm brown eyes understood her tiredness in the poorly lit room. The lack of light lessened the pounding in her head as she tried to wipe away the gel. She felt like, in the darkness, that she could see him for the first time in forever.

"Here." Jake took the towel from her, and got the last bits of the substance off of her body. He was gentle, and took more time than was strictly needed. Sam wanted to cry, wanted to let her head fall forward and rest on his chest, wanted to feel his heart beat much like they had just heard the air on the echo. She missed him, and he was right there.

She couldn't say so, of course, because Becky was watching them. The tech turned to a cupboard to get a clean gown for Sam. Sam hated the fresh, clean, rough, fabric on her skin. She hated the rolled seams, the piping on the arm bands, the heavy thickness of the ties. Sam's hand went to the flatness of Jake's waist, just for a reason to hold him a second longer. It was a wordless plea she knew he understood. She read it in his eyes, in the way he shifted. She missed his warmth. She missed him. Jake stepped back, and Sam forced herself to swallow.

He pulled the zipper of his hoodie down, and shucked it off to gently wrap it around her. Sam slid her right arm into easily, and then hit a wall. Sam wondered how they were going to make this work. She missed her port, and hated that she had thrown a fit and insisted that they remove it before she went to Sue's. She had made a mistake in her foolishness. She wished that she could make it right. There was so much she could not fix, could not make right.

Jake spoke into her ear, "They can thread it, if you ask." Sam wanted to lean forward, wrap herself about him. She just wanted to relax.

Sam heard a soft knock at the door, and saw Shelly slip into the room as Becky left to do whatever she needed to do with the footage of her heart. Jake's hoodie easily covered her body, leaving her more dressed than she had felt in days. "Would you help us to thread the bag?"

Jake's hoodie was warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him, and felt like him, and it was like a giant cotton hug. She wanted to get lost in it.

Shelly looked at the almost empty bag on her IV pole, and nodded. "Here's how we do this." She quickly helped Sam to carefully thread the bag through the large sleeve, and Sam soon found herself with an actual article of clothing on her body, and a functional IV. Jake seemed to be focusing on the process. Sam just wanted to sleep.

She yawned as Jake pulled the zipper of the hoodie up. The metallic pull on the end was heavy as it rested above her chest, below her collarbone. She smiled at Jake. He was still standing in front of her. "I miss you." She whispered, her voice rough with pain, sickness, and emotion.

"I'm right here, Brat." He was as serious as she had ever known him to be. She knew he was right there. And yet, she missed him still. She was selfish, and it wasn't fair to him.

Still, Sam couldn't help but be more selfish. "You know I love you, right?" It wasn't what she had tried to say. She had wanted to apologize. She couldn't say sorry, because sorry changed things, and she could not change this illness, or her need of him. She could not even bring herself to let go. It was selfish.

She ain't shy, she's outspoken boy

She always speaks her mind except those quiet little moments

When I am all she needs and I hold her tenderly

She don't cry

Somehow she seems to keep it all inside until those magic little moments

When I am all she needs

And she gets sad sometimes

She'll never show it

And she ain't weak

My baby's just as strong as she can be

She Only Gets That Way With Me, Toby Keith

Jake's throat was clogged . He cleared his throat, and hoped that Shelly hadn't heard Sam's words. He had barely heard them. She was so sick, and she was worried about him. Jake nodded, and pressed his lips gently to the spot between her eyes. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, and Jake hated the lone tear that slipped from the duct. He wiped it away with his thumb.

Jake completely ignored Shelly's admonition to let Sam stand and put her back in the chair. She was clearly half-asleep. Her hand fisted into his shirt as he set her down in the chair. He wanted to hold her, too. He planned to make that happen. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gently held her, hoping he wouldn't fall off the edge of a hospital bed. Shelly never popped up much, beyond vital rounds, and anyway, Sam would be out in five minutes. If he had to move for her sake, he would.

Shelly got a blanket, and pressed it over Sam's lap. Sam mumbled something Jake didn't catch. He heard it when she tilted her head backwards to look up at him, "I hurt." It was a simple, toneless, statement of fact that broke his heart.

"I know, Brat. We'll fix it." He shared a look with Shelly. The nurse could run some pain meds. Sam had let the pain get ahead of her, and being up on that table hadn't helped to mitigate it. She had accepted pain meds over the course of her stay sporadically, but not enough of them, not regularly enough, and the pain had to be overwhelming.

"We'll get you back to your room, Sam, and get you your meds, okay?" Jake was walking down the short hallway, moving to get her out of the lights.

When they crossed into the room again, he shoved the light dimmer down. Sam did not even react. Jake saw that Wyatt and Grace were there, as they had been everyday. Grace was here more than Wyatt, and she rarely left. She had only stayed home this morning because Sam had insisted she go to her women's group. Whatever they wanted to say in greeting died, as they watched Shelly.

She lowered the bed to its lowest setting. Jake knew the sound bothered Sam, but clearly, the CNAs hadn't put it back after they'd cleaned up the bed. Jake parked the chair, simply because he didn't want to rouse Sam more than was needed. He gently slid his palms down her calves, telling her what they were doing without the words.

Shelly moved the oxygen and the bags from the IV, and Jake moved around the tubes. It was a well practiced move by now. This next step was something they'd done together a thousand times. "Sam?"

She looped a hand around him as his left hand went gently around her upper back, careful to support her head. His right hand slid around the back of her knees. "One." He picked her up. "Two." The slight pivot had to be jarring, because she tensed against him, weakly pulling herself closer to his body. Jake wanted this to be over quickly for her sake. Instead of counting, he said, "You're okay."

Sam's breathing hitched as Jake lowered her back to the bed, into the center of the clean sheets and the layers that would help her to shift. The hand that was under her knees slid up, to the middle of her back, keeping her steady, as her head met the pillows. Shelly pulled up her blankets, and Sam grabbed at them with her left hand. Jake's realized with sudden clarity that she couldn't use her right hand because it was fisted in his T-shirt tightly. Sam's eyes shut, and her heart rate and other numbers were elevated from pain. Sam flinched when Shelly raised the side rail on the left side.

Moving quickly, she exited the room and came back with a syringe. Looking at Jake, she said, "It's 11:42. 2mg of hydromorphone." She cleaned the line, and hooked up the bag. Jake's eyes flitted quickly to her respiration numbers. It would need to be monitored. Finishing the process, Shelly pulled the wheelchair along with her after she put the disposables in the red waste bin. "Hello." She greeted Grace and Wyatt. "I've just given her some pain meds that doctor ordered. She should sleep."

Jake turned his head quickly, having forgotten they were there. Grace stood, having taken the chair, and looked overwhelmed at the visage before her. "How much pain do you think she's in?"

Jake did the kind thing. He could not tell Grace that the dose they had given her was a fairly high amount of a Class II drug. He could not tell Grace that the pain was bad enough that her hospitalist felt it was worth it to risk her head injury and side effects. He could not tell Grace that Sam's grip, even in sleep, had not lessened and that her brow was only now starting to smooth out. "She hasn't said. She's managing her pain."

Grace accepted the words for what they were, and swallowed. "I brought you lunch." Jake saw the insulated lunch box on the counter, and knew that Grace was doing everything she possibly could to help Sam.

Jake felt Sam's grip on his shirt go slack. He smoothed out her fingers, and tucked it under the blankets. Stepping back was hard, but he did it, and slid the side rail into place, popping it upward. "Thanks, Grace."

ishq bina kya marna yaaro ishq bina kya jina

(What is dying, without love? What is living, without love?)

niche ishq hai uupar rab hai in donon ke bich mein sab hai...

(Above is God; below is love; and between these two exists everything...)

ek nahin sab baatein kar lo sau baaton ka ek matlab hai

(Discuss not one thing, but everything; in the end, all discussions have but one meaning.)

Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face

And I...

Ishq Bina/Fix You, Penn Masala

The hospitalist was back. This time, Jake hoped he had something worthwhile to say after giving all of this information. His manner was careful as he shuffled an iPad, and some papers. Something bloomed on Wyatt's face as the man continued. Jake knew the older man was in way over his head. He hadn't even been keeping up with the conversation thus far, and Jake hated him for it. He slowed them all down. Jake might actually have details he could work with if Wyatt wasn't slowing down the conversation and dumbing it down with ignorant, uninformed questions. "Alright, folks." The doctor seemed to be amused by the crowd of people had around her. "We got back your echo results, Sam."

Sam clearly wasn't wasting words. The doctor knew that well enough. "The results weren't what I'd hoped. We need to treat this more aggressively."

Jake's heart froze in his chest, from where he was perched on the edge of Sam's bed. Grace asked, "What do you mean? You said two days ago that the antibiotics were already aggressive enough."

Sam looked at him, and he knew. She wasn't any better. The game was changing now. The meds she was on was holding her steady, but by a thread. "Mrs. Forster, what we need to do is be more specific. We've been treating this with the best we've got for what the cultures told us, but we need more information."

Sam spoke, then, slicing through the silence. She was awake, but barely. "A bronchoscopy?" She pushed the bed up more, a clear signal that she was having trouble breathing as it was.

The pulmonologist answered her affirmatively, "I'm confident that a Bronchoscopy, and likely a biopsy will help us to help you get better. With this information, we can find the correct antibiotics and get you home."

"A biopsy?" Wyatt asked, "With a needle, you mean?" It was a common question, but it set Jake's teeth on edge. He would know the answer to these questions if he asked his daughter something once and a while. Sam expected this to happen. And yet, Wyatt sat here with her, treated her like she was stupid, and bolted the second he could.

"Yes, a fluorescent bronchoscopy often includes a biopsy. In Sam's case, the tissue samples will hopefully give us some definitive answers about how to treat her pneumonia." The doctor explained the process. The flexible tube would be threaded down into her lungs, and with the help of a small camera, the doctor would see the condition of her lungs and bring back samples to test, and treat her more correctly.

Wyatt looked uncertain. "Isn't there some other way that you could..." Jake knew that they had about exhausted their options, now that her heart was being stressed because of the infection. Jake wanted the details, but he wanted this settled more than he wanted to be informed about the results of the echo.

Sam cut him off, "I don't have a choice, Dad." She was also clearly annoyed. She wasn't getting better, and she was sick, and angry, and tired. Her body was being ravaged by disease, and he wanted to take the long way around.

"We're discussing it." Wyatt said, trying his darnedest to make Sam feel as though he had the final say over her body. If he denied her this biopsy, Jake knew that no court in the state would let it stand. Jake knew that the doctor would go to his administrators with the situation. Jake missed Sue, because she never butted in with Sam's medical treatments, not once.

The doctor spoke, "What can I do to help you make an informed choice with your child?" The question was one he often spouted, most likely. Jake heard the careful phrasing, the open invitation to make him be useful to Wyatt. He also heard the doctor implore Wyatt to consider Sam's wishes.

Grace answered for her son, "I think my son would like to understand the risks involved, Doctor."

"What risks, Dad?" Sam asked. She began to rattle off a common list. Obviously, the education at the rehab had done much to prepare her for the effects that the accident could have. She remembered well the things Kyla's colleagues had taught her, taught them both, to look out for. "Pain and coughing? Or do you mean hypoxia?" Sam defined the term, "Reduced oxygen." She flicked a glance at the tubing, "Or do you mean bleeding or a lung leak? Because, you know, I've already hit five of the six." Sam spoke her piece, and Jake watched the blood drain from her father and grandmother's faces.

"Is she right?" Wyatt looked at the doctor, who was clearly hiding approval for Sam in his gaze.

"Spot on." The doctor agreed reluctantly, "There are risks for this process, but we will do all we can to monitor her condition, and to keep you informed."

Wyatt nodded slowly, "Where are the forms?" He took the clipboard from the doctor, and began to mark them with his initials. Grace looked relieved.

Like any decent medial professional, the doctor looked again at Sam. "This is something you're also consenting to undergoing? We'll give you a sedative, and you may experience a stronger sore throat and numbness."

Sam and Jake shared a glance. It was the best shot they had, and he promised internally not to photograph her as a drooling mess like Quinn had when she got dental work done. "Yes. You can do this, but if you do me a favor." Sam reached for her water, and Jake passed it to her.

She sipped it carefully. The doctor replied, "Yes?"

Sam's eyes dimmed for a second, and Jake wondered what she was going to say. It was obviously a choice that she felt was best, even if it didn't make her happy. "I'd like somebody to put my central line back in." Her eyes drifted shut for a long second, and her heart rate went up slightly, "I should have never had it taken out."

The doctor made some notes on his iPad, after replying, "We'll see what we can do." He crossed the room, and asked Sam to push aside the top of her hoodie. He saw something in the marks on her body that Jake never had, "Port-a-Cath, then?"

Sam replied, "Yes." Jake hadn't known that, and he found himself looking at the smallish scars on her chest. His lips had brushed over that scar a thousand times, and he had never stopped to ask her what it meant to her.

Formerly underneath that scar, there had been a small titanium backed port that had lessened the stress on her veins. Her hand was messed up from the last few days, and he saw the sense in what she was saying. "You could put me under, stick the port in, do the biopsy, and be done with it all."

The doctor looked at Sam's face, and considered his words, "A PICC might also be an option."

Sam shook her head, "I like to shower." She coughed, into the sleeve of the hoodie. Jake shifted closer to her, from where he was sitting on the side of the bed. "What about an arm port?"

The doctor tilted his head, his dark brown glasses becoming angled. "Hm. Less chance of infection, but more tunneling and less punctures are available to you before it'd need replacing."

Sam leaned against the bed, in its sitting position. Jake pressed a cup of water into her hands. He was less worried about dehydration but her throat was no doubt killing her. Her voice was thready and almost gone. Sam patted the hand that Jake hadn't even realized was on her leg. She wanted his attention more fully, "Matrona has one. I was always jealous." Sam shut her eyes, then, and Jake understood that she was done for now.

The doctor turned back to Wyatt. As Sam's breathing evened out, he made his excuses and left the room. Jake followed Grace and Wyatt out to the empty family area for a moment. Sam needed her sleep and Jake wanted coffee.

As Jake made his coffee in the small pot, the others sat down. Wyatt stood, and sat back down again. He finally spoke, "What do you think?"

"It's Sam's choice." Jake pointed out, measuring the grounds and putting them in the machine. He put the water in the pot from the nearby cooler. He wanted Wyatt to know that this was Sam's body, and her body was governed by her choices, and her choices alone. Jake heard the jibe in Wyatt's tone, saw it in the set of his angular face.

"I've never known you to keep your mouth closed about what you think is best for her." Wyatt allowed, as Jake sat down to watch the coffee boil.

"We don't have a choice about the biopsy, Wyatt. She wants to come home." Coming home wasn't the point here. Getting better was. They needed to treat this quickly, if her heart was becoming involved and the infections she already had were getting worse. She had bitten clean through her lip screaming one night from the nightmares the high powered medications gave her. However, if she got a better course of treatment, and a port, there was no reason that Dad couldn't oversee her treatment. She wanted to come home, and they needed to make that happen for her sake, because she herself was working towards that goal. He would not let people stand against her.

"And because she wants it, she's going to get it, no matter if it would be better, safer, for her to be here until she's better?" Wyatt said, harshly. He looked scared and angry.

That wasn't how it worked. Hospitals did not want to keep people. They wanted people out of their doors the second it was medically sound to ship them off. Jake knew that doing these things now would give her the best shot of actually staying out of a hospital.

Grace sighed, "Wyatt. You're going to disturb the nurses." Of course Grace would never publicly contradict Wyatt, no matter how much she wanted to do it. Her gaze was full of sympathy and Jake knew that she wasn't on her son's side in this little temper tantrum.

"You mean it would be better for you." Jake replied, unable to hold back despite his better judgement. Wyatt, again, had no right. He did not sit here day after night after day watching her suffer and work so hard to take care of the people she loved. Wyatt, if Sam were here longer, would not have to worry so much. Why did he completely ignore how hard this whole stay was on his own mother?

"You give her her way against good sense." Wyatt's whole bearing was tightly wound and threadbare. "Stop filling both your heads with empty promises and..."

It was Grace who spoke, then. "We're going home now, Wyatt. We're going home, before you both say something more you will regret twenty minutes from now. You both have done so much to learn from..." She clutched her bag, and looked at her son. "We'll talk in the car."

Jake stood as they did, finding it odd that she thought of home as any other place but here, for now. Grace shifted. She was so sad, so tired. "Wyatt." Jake spoke, carefully considering his words. He did not want to ruin the growth between Sam and Wyatt, nor the efforts between him and Wyatt, but he could not let this slide, no matter how Grace seemed to want him to do it. "I don't make empty promises. Neither does Sam. When she says she'll do this, you need to trust that she will." It was important to him that Wyatt knew this. Wyatt understood what he did not say. So did Grace. He made a declaration in the middle of an empty hospital waiting room, with a man he'd idolized melting before him. Sam might be his daughter, he might have the final say now, but he wouldn't always have that say, and Wyatt needed to protect the work that Sam and he had done.

Grace smiled good night, and offered once again to stay. There was no need. Sam was out for the night. Today had been a trying day. "But maybe that's what scares you." Jake said, softly, as he watched them walk away, and he waited for the cheap, acidic coffee to heat.

This room could not hold me for one short minute;

If you weren't here with me, I'd soon be gone.

That chair is just a chair when you're not in it.

It takes more than rooms and chairs to make a home.

Home is Where You're Happy, Willie Nelson

Sam looked squarely at the doctor, answering the questions he sent to her and Dad as he examined her. "You find the drugs...and Luke can take care of the details. I can go home." Sam was satisfied with the plan. Dad had agreed to it. He was a rational human being, after all.

The doctor continued his examination, and prompted her. "Typically, we only let people go home with visiting nurse care to teach people how to run and care for their ports and their pumps." Sam breathed when he instructed her to do so.

"I've told you I don't need them." Sam insisted. She did not want those people in her house. She had not signed up for another roll of the nursing dice. Some would be great, like Regina, but another Claw, sucking up all of the energy at the ranch, would be unbearable. She didn't have to take that, and even the risk was not something she was willing to attempt. Sam coughed, and shot a look at her father when she stopped. "Tell him!"

Dad did as she bid, and unfolded his fingers from where he had steepled them. "Luke Ely agreed to see to them." He probably figured he had said enough. Why did they have to make things so challenging?

"He didn't mention how you were related." How did this man know him? Sam did not know, but they had chatted, well, as much as Luke did such things, when he'd visited. Sam knew that it was a reasonable question that she detected in the question in the doctor's voice, but she didn't have a reasonable answer. He had helped to raise her, but she had her very own father, as troubled as their relationship had been. Her father had a special place in her heart that no one would ever touch. No one would ever be her Dad, but her Dad.

Still, Luke had been a parent to her. He had taught her to fish one summer, how to see the beauty in a sunrise, enough about Jesus with Grandpa to make her way. He had treated her like one of his own. He had wiped tears, and runny noses, and tied shoelaces. He had made the boys be nice, and always let her have her say when countless other voices might have silenced her.

He was her neighbor, and he taught her about hay and alfalfa, and how to fix a tractor. He did the neighborly things, and asked after the horses and the cattle, often trying to teach her something along the way. He was a paramedic, and he had long looked over bumps and bruises that didn't require a doctor.

He was also Jake's father. And Jake was, for lack of a better term, her life partner. But she could not say any of those things to this doctor. She could not explain how mixed up they could be, really. It wouldn't make sense to anyone, even if it make perfect sense to her. Her family was a crazy mixed up bunch, but they were bound by their history, and by the love that sustained them through the times that they did not much like each other. "He's family."

The doctor stepped back. "But do you live with him?" Again with the hard questions. Yes, but no, but yes. What was she to say? She spent a lot of time at Three Ponies. It was normal for her, but she couldn't say that to this doctor. He wouldn't get it. Well, she would tell him if it weren't for Dad, sitting right there. Anything she said would bind her. If she said no, the doctor might not let her go home, and if she said, yes, that would be kind of a lie, and Dad would not be pleased. He had been fine with San Francisco, but he wasn't quite so happy anymore with her being at Three Ponies overnight. Sam did not know what to say.

Dad spoke up, explaining that Luke was, in fact, qualified, though the doctor knew this. He added, "Whatever she needs can be arranged." He stressed the 'needs' and Sam got the idea that she wasn't to push her luck. Sam bit back a grin. He was coming through on this, and Sam wondered what had been done to change his tune. Gram probably. Gram did things like that.

The doctor considered his words. "I'll need to speak to him, and you'll have to talk to a nurse educator, but we can see what can be done." Sam breathed out, as he finished up the check, the door clicking behind him. For the first time in a few days, Sam felt a bloom of hope in her heart. This time, as she looked at her father, it wasn't all about going home. Well, it was, but not in a literal sense.

If I was the woman and you were the man,

Would I laugh if you came to me with your heart in your hand

And said, "I offer you this freely, and will give you all that I can

Because you are the woman, and I am the man?"

If You Were The Woman And I Was The Man, Cowboy Junkies ft. John Prine

Jake's hands wound his coffee cup, and he walked through the more public parts of the regional hospital. These halls were relatively slow for a Tuesday morning. Jake felt a little grungy, but he did not care. He watched a couple drift past, watched the man lug a bag after his heavily pregnant wife. It blew his mind that there could be such joy in the same spaces that there was such suffering.

His conversation with Wyatt rang in his head. "She needs us both." Jake had said, "We're good." The question had come out as a statement as they stood again in the waiting room. They all needed each other. Jake shook his head, and sipped his coffee, trying to forget the humbled look that had crossed Wyatt's face.

Jake let the hallways soak into his blood, forced himself to walk. He had to keep moving or he was going to scream. Good or not, he could not sit there with Wyatt, could not sit there with the family, and let his vulnerability show. He could not get information any faster by sitting there. The damn doctor wouldn't talk to him anyway. Jake walked past the same painting five times. He walked. Finally, there was nowhere left to go, so he sat, let his legs splay outward, watched as some old people were wheeled by him, and he pulled his feet back towards his body.

Jake felt a heavy weight in his shoulders. They were putting in the port in, now. Somehow, Sam had gotten her way. It had just worked out that way. Jake wondered if she was giving in to this or admitting that they did not know what the future held in getting the port back in. There was a difference, he knew.

He held fast to that difference. The port was a backup. She would be better soon, and the port would languish under her skin, useless, for a few years, until today was a mere blip on their radar. Dad came around the corner, and came to a stop before Jake, "Come on, and let's find me some coffee."

Jake pushed heavily to his feet, and fell into step beside his father. He knew that his father had come to find him. Dad often worked here. He knew his way around the place better than Jake did. They walked in silence until started to get that look on his face. Jake knew he wanted to talk.

When they had finally passed a few people in the hall, Dad filled the silence that had been rolling around in Jake's ears forever, "I don't want to add fuel to a fire, but what did you say to Wyatt the other night?"

He had simply pulled Wyatt aside and made sure that they were good before they were both in Sam's room. They had been avoiding each other, but they needed to come together for Sam's sake. The older man had nodded carefully. They were making progress, because four months ago, that conversation wouldn't have been possible. Sam didn't need the tension, or the stress, not that she would have noticed it, once they dosed her with the Versed. She had giggled and blushed beet red, finding humor in the most mundane things.

The weave on her blanket made her chortle, and anything anyone said was funny. Jake was glad that she was too sick to be too chatty, because occasionally, her chatty moods were Punctuated by a frank discussion of sex, at least when they were alone, and Jake held his breath a few times because she was so chatty and giggly. Jake figured that, no matter how hard Wyatt tried, he could not easily handle seeing that side of Sam without any filter when she was drugged off her ass. The things she sometimes frankly admitted, without one ounce of pretension, would likely make anyone uneasy. It made him uneasy, sometimes. She liked the truth. Frankly, he knew that she wouldn't want to say anything like that to anyone. For as much as she liked the truth, there were some times that she kept it solely to herself.

He hoped that Wyatt had been completely out of the room when Sam blurted that she had fantasies about his college sweatshirt, and that she liked the way it felt against her skin. He'd known, of course, but it had been somewhat odd to hear her say it like it was some great secret, complete with the shushing, the hoarse whispering, and the giggles. It was also rather odd to be told he was very pretty. He liked hearing her intone very seriously, her eyes wide and guileless, that she loved him. He liked that a lot, even though a chatty Sam freaked him out.

Jake shrugged, his sweater shifting over his skin as he did so. His footfalls were heavy, as heavy as his heart. "Nothing." He hadn't really said anything, not really.

"Jake." Dad said, correcting him. Jake stepped ahead of his father to pull open a wide door. He stepped through and held it enough for his father to grab the door behind him.

"This has nothing to do with him, or with me." Jake didn't get Wyatt was still so uneasy with Sam, with him. "He needs to focus on Sam."

"You don't think he's trying." Dad summarized, as he walked down a hallway. They were heading towards the main artery of the hospital. The noises of life were getting louder.

"She's so sick but she's worried about us." Jake's heart raced. The nurse today had been working on sedating her for the surgery, and her last coherent statement had been something about everybody getting lunch while she was out. "He needs to be just as focused on her."

They were in the cafeteria when Dad finally spoke. They were two people not given to many words. A real conversation sometimes took days. "He's scared." Dad carried his own coffee to the table, and Jake found it odd to follow him to a table in the back of the room. Normally, he could not choose a table so boxed in by other tables, not that he wanted to do so.

"Yes." Jake agreed. Who wasn't? His coffee shook in his hands. They could lose her. Jake blew out another breath, "He doesn't need to treat her like she's stupid."

"The hardest part of being a parent is letting go." Dad looked at him intently, his eyes peering into his bones for a fleeting second. His father said little for a man who saw so much. "If he calls the shots, Buddy, then he can blame himself for the outcome. But if he lets go, and trusts her without question, he admits to himself that he's powerless and that he can't protect her anymore."

Jake thought over his father's words. "She doesn't need him to protect her." She needed her father to support her choices, to love her for the person she was, and would become. She needed to know her father was in her corner, and not devoted some other woman.

Dad popped the top on his steaming black coffee, and took a sip. Blandly, Dad put down the coffee cup. "When I said that to PopPop, he came after me with a Smith and Wesson he kept in that big cookie jar on the hutch." Jake's eyes went wide, not expecting this story. Dad continued, "I wish your mom had kept that when he died."

Jake did not know what to say. Dad continued, "PopPop didn't like the idea of me much." He picked up his cup again.

"That has nothing to do with anything." Jake replied. What did Dad's drama with PopPop 40 years ago have to do with this, with anything. "I..." Jake did not even know what his father's point was, at the end of this. He had a headache. This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. They needed to get upstairs. "What?"

Dad stood, and they headed towards the trashcans, "It's hard to let go, is all."

Jake pitched his cup, and walked towards the door, following his father, feeling like he was tripping on acid. "What did you say to PopPop?"

"I reminded him that your mother didn't really need him to make her choices for her because she wasn't a little girl." Dad pushed the elevator button, and they stepped inside a car that had been sitting there. Jake punched the correct floor.

When the door slid shut, Dad added, "He told me later that he already knew. He just couldn't take hearing it from me."

It hit me just like a ton of bricks, yes my heart burst

Now I know what life's about

One little touch and love's knocked me out

I can hear the bells, my head is spinning

I can hear the bells, something's beginning

I Can Hear the Bells, Nikki Blonksy

Sam's eyes fluttered over her face. Her head hurt like hell, and she felt like crying. Sleep pulled her under, and she floated in and out of some level of fuzzy awareness. She felt people moving, but did not want to wake up. She heard voices buzzing above her. She slept, feeling heavy, weighted, and exhausted, as though she could sleep for days and days and days.

Sam slept. She woke slowly, feeling very aching and cold to her bones. The room was dry and freezing. She had one hell of a hangover, or what she thought a hangover would feel like. She was so cold, and so thirsty. She made some kind of strangled sound. She felt so alone. What was going on? Sam tried to force her eyes open, and did, feeling crusty and awful.

Sam's head spun. The nurse that had put her to sleep was leaning over her. "Sam?"

Sam blinked. Even blinking hurt. She was groggy, and the room was spinning, and her mouth felt like the desert. "Wa.." she tried again, "Water." She meant to keep her eyes open, but they were so heavy. They were so heavy. Her throat hurt. Her lungs hurt. "Cold."

"No, Sam." The woman insisted, too loudly, "I can get you another blanket, but not water."

Sam didn't want to stay. It was so warm, so warm, and this room was so cold. The cold was seeping into her bones, and she just wanted to sleep. Her eyes shut. Pain rushed through her like a knife, pain, pain, pain, and she wanted to throw up. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't. Sam reached blindly for the buttons, and tried to make the bed go up. She hit the feet button instead, and felt her stomach roll. "Sam!"

The nurse helped her to put the head of the bed up a small amount, and asked her for her name. Sam coughed, and muttered, "You..." Her throat hurt so very badly. Sam remembered that she'd just had a biopsy, very slowly. "...keep saying it." She looked around. The room was empty save her and the nurse. She was back in her room. She didn't remember any of the OR because of the silly juice. She didn't even remember the recovery room. "Where's my fam-ily?"

"You family is on its way, Sam." The nurse replied. "Marla went to get them." Sam smiled, and floated back to sleep. She had a crazy family, but in the end, they cared about each other, and that's what made them a family.

Sam took stock her physical sensation. She was sick, and groggy, and there was a white bandage on the fleshy part of her arm, on the inside. It was taped down, and the bandage was starkly white. Sam felt floaty. She opened her eyes, and watched as the door opened. The movement hurt her ears, and her eyes. Her father was there, and Gram. It sunk into her awareness like a warm blanket. She didn't like waking up alone.

Dad's hand was warm on her forehead, "Hey, Tumbleweed." Gram was there, too. Sam tried to look at her, but couldn't see all that much beyond her father. She felt so warm. It wasn't a painful warmth this time.

Sam breathed, and it hurt. She lifted her tired arm, a little. The incision didn't hurt all that much. Her lungs hurt worse than her arm. "They could clone me." She licked her chapped lips, glad that the stitches in her lip had healed. She had been crazy worried about her face, no matter what Gram had promised. The bumps were almost gone.

"One Sam in the world is plenty." Dad said. Sam smiled. She knew what that meant, at least. She loved him, too.

"Yeah..." She mumbled, tiredly, "But I'm bionic, now." Sam smiled, again, thinking that the idea of her being bionic rather than broken was funny. The chair could be her go-go-Gadget car thing. Or maybe like that coffee and cocoa sleigh in that one Christmas movie. She was so thirsty. Or like that spy girl who had that best friend with that strange pet. The ceiling had grey dots in it. Sam saw one that was shaped like a figure eight diagram.

Sam tilted her head to her left, expecting to see Jake sitting there. He was always quiet, and she felt him there. They had knocked her out during the procedure, and gotten both things done. She was glad, otherwise she would have been awake during the biopsy. She hated needles. She couldn't not cough, she couldn't not breathe. Sam reached her hand out, palm up. Her hand didn't brush against a warm, solid, Jake. There was nothing but empty air. It felt thick. "I'm trippin'" Sam slurred.

Gram chuckled. Sam pushed the bed up more, hating the roll of her stomach, and the scowl of the nurse. Sam closed her eyes, and opened them quickly. No Jake. Again. Jake. Nope. That was her brain. Had he left? Where was he? Had something happened to him? Again. The nurse was looking at her carefully. Gram asked, "Sammy?"

"I keep thinking that..." She coughed, and her lungs burned. It knocked whatever air she could get out of her. She had breathed too deeply, and it hurt. "If I just open my eyes that..." Sam didn't need to finish her sentence, because the next time she blinked, it was a moot point. Jake was there. Who knew? A family was people, and a family was love, and that's all that mattered. That strange purple dude had been right. If only she could remember his name.

Gettin' me back together, didn't know it could be so hard,

But if I'm ever gonna mend this broken heart...

You look like a real good place to start

I need a new beginning, and you fit right in

Sometimes a new beginning is found in an old friend

If I'm ever gonna mend this broken heart...

You look like a real good place to start

A Real Good Place to Start, George Strait

The air was warmer. The sunlight had shifted. Sam tilted her head up to the sky. She felt paler than usual, felt the warming sun upon her skin and in her hair. She drank it up like a sun-starved flower. Her eyes slammed shut under the weak brightness, but she enjoyed it all the same.

Dad brought the truck to a stop, and Sam tugged on the hemline that was laying flat over her knees, ignoring the backpack she saw sitting next to her wheel. The bug out bag had served them well. The sweater that covered her t-shirt met the skirt in her middle as she fumbled with the wheelchair. Sam looked up at Jake, and whispered, "Home?"

Jake grinned. It was different this time. The last time she'd left the hospital, she'd come out into a world she didn't understand, a broken, lonely world, with no one beside her but an uncomfortable, not very familiar aunt. Sam had come to see, in the day and a half since the biopsy came back and they found the right medication, that the very thing that had cut her off from the things that mattered had brought them back a second time.

She hugged the pillow that had been sitting on the seat, in anticipation, tired though she was. She and Gram had really had a lot of time to talk, a lot of time to just sit together, in the never ending moments of the hospital stay. She had lost so much, but in the loss, there were things to be found, things that had been refashioned, reborn, in new ways. It didn't negate her loss or their sadness, but the world took on meanings she still struggled to understand.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow, this time at the hospital had brought her family back together in a new way. She felt it. She didn't understand why the accident would rip them apart, and a simple case of pneumonia would force them to work together and find a way to live and see the better in each other, but they had. Dad and Luke were talking freely again. Jake and Dad...well, they would never be what they were, but...it was better. Somehow. Sam knew that she would do this all over again, a thousand times, just to feel as she did in this moment.

They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe

I lost my wife and a girlfriend, somewhere along the way

But I'll be lookin' for 8 when they pull that gate and I hope that judge ain't blind

Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone

Everything that I got is just what I've got on

I ain't got a dime but what I got is mine

I ain't rich, but Lord, I'm free

Amarillo by Morning, George Strait

So. No, this isn't going to be a sick!Sam fic, like Run was, in a way. She's actually perfectly fine in the next chapter. However, it's important to express the fact that TBIs can be part of a polytrauma that requires ongoing care. Now that that's established, onward and upward we go. Expect another chapter soon.