A/N This story contains scenes of a sexual nature … purely for science. Nothing terribly graphic but be warned.

How many chemical refineries do we have in Los Angeles? I think angrily as I lay in bed at Rampart watching a stupid soap opera with one eye. My left eye is covered with a patch, thanks to chemical burns from the last run we had. I've been here a month. A month! One week on a ventilator, two more without a voice and I'm only now able to keep down solid food. If I had to eat one more bowl of Jell-o … and why is it always green!

Roy went home a week ago. We were room mates for three weeks, the first one in one- sided conversation with me only able to mime. We argued about who saved whom but in the end we knew we saved each other. I tried to talk him into giving me one of his burgers Joanne smuggled him in but he would just check my chart and nod his head and go ahead and eat while I slurped green slime. I hope my stomach rumbling kept him up!

The truth is I miss him. He kept me grounded. See, we got some bad news … beyond the norm. There was something bad in the building we were in. It stopped our hearts, took our breath away quite literally and left us clinically dead. If not for Chet, Marco, Cap and Mike we would have stayed that way. Roy and I don't remember anything from the explosion and I'm kind of glad about that but sometimes I dream about it … if that makes sense … oh hell I know it doesn't but I can't help it. I keep trying to piece it together and when I go to sleep I guess I just can't stop. I can't make sense of all this. Roy and I have been told we may never be able to father children … No! Not together, I already mentioned he's married to Joanne and I don't swing that way, not that there's anything wrong with that; plus there's the whole science thing. Oh never mind, you got the idea, I'm screwed up.

I'm not the jealous type. Okay I am, but in this case, please believe me, I try not to be. The first night Roy went home Chet came in to see me, even smuggled me in a milkshake. I hated Roy that night. So much. He told the guys about what Dr. Early told us about our situation. Sympathy from Chet is not something I could handle that night. God knows he meant well but a serious phantom is scary when I'm scared to death. And how stupid is that? I don't even know if I wanted kids in the first place! But that was before, you know, when that choice belonged to me. I just laid there and laughed and joked about how now I won't have to wrap up Little John when I'm with a woman. I'll never tell Chet that I can count on one-half a hand how many women I've been with. Oh, and that half … never mind; I was only sixteen and well…

I joke all the time to Roy and anyone who'll listen that I can handle two women at once, I'm young and all. I feel really young now, only cut off from the natural progression of things. Only last month I had the choice to go on dating all sorts of women or try to find the one. I'm the stupidest man alive. Why all of a sudden do I see my future through a narrow timeline and why does the prospect of never finding someone and settling down bother me. I wish I could believe what I told Chet. That it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I never have to worry. I don't think Chet believed me. His hand on my shoulder before I had to turn away from him as he left my room the other day was more than I could bear. I spent the night with my face pressed into my pillow so hard I could barely breathe and I know Chet ratted me out because Cap stopped by the next day.

I had a headache as Cap sat down on the side of my bed. He wet a cloth and put it behind my neck. I thought only women have biological clocks, we guys don't have to think of those sorts of things. But mine is ticking. I can literally hear it, the mixture of Big Ben and the clock the croc swallowed in Peter Pan. Well, I won't have to grow up now. I won't have kids to be responsible for.

Cap doesn't ask how I am and I'm grateful for that. He visits often and seems to know when I just need quiet support.

"How's Roy?" I whisper between the tick-tock of the clock in my head. I tried so hard to keep the contempt from my voice. Cap heard it. Cap sees all things, knows all things, you get the idea.

"I stopped by to see him on the way over here," Cap says kindly and quietly. "He seems a bit stronger. I think getting outside in the yard has done him a world of good. He says Joanne's gonna drive he and the kids over tomorrow to see you."

My eyes open in sheer panic. "No! No, um I – I - I mean … he doesn't have to do that. He should rest. I get out in four days. I'll swing by, promise Cap, just tell 'im-he-can't-bring-the-kids!"

My hand slaps over my mouth and I close my eye. I try to breathe evenly like my respiratory therapist taught me. I can taste the tears that have betrayed me. I'm a jerk. Roy is my brother but I hate him.

"I'm sorry, Cap!" I sob.

There's no judgment though I beg for it. Cap should have punched me but instead I'm sobbing into his shoulder like a girl. When I'm done I try to pull out of his arms but he just holds me and I'm so tired I end up laying there like a ragdoll. I can't live in my own skin right now. There's a faint smell of smoke and Old Spice on Cap's collar. He must have come straight from work. I can't keep the schedule straight in my mind anymore. One day blurs into the next here.

XXXX

I'm allowed to get up and walk around. I still have a stupid oxymeter monitoring my blood oxygen levels and I have to buzz the nurse's station when I'm going to get up and take it off my finger. I've discovered I can make that one old bleach blonde of a witch of a nurse who comes in to bathe me get a good cardiovascular workout when I take off the oxymeter and go for a stroll and the alarm goes off. I only do that to her. My arms are black and blue from where she sucks my blood every day. And know what? I never learned to love her like she promised I would; not this time, not the last time. All the other nurses are prone to giving me sympathetic looks and I can't take it.

My slippers slap against the linoleum in time to the still ticking clock that seems to have moved from my head to my chest. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! And pretty soon my nose is pressed against the glass of the nursery. Six little pink bundles and four little blue ones. Little pink noses and crinkly foreheads peak out from under tiny little beanies and I can't take it. I slide down the wall to rest for a minute.

Well I thought it was a minute.

"Gage? Hey, Johnny, wake up."

I squint up with my one good eye into Mike Stoker's face and something flashes into my memory. Johnny, breathe damn it!

Mike helps me up from the floor and I quickly tuck my hospital issue robe around me tighter. So it was Stoker who nearly broke my ribs with CPR.

"Thanks, Mike," I say, rubbing my ribs.

He gets a pained expression. "Ribs still sore, huh?"

"Oh, um, no."

"You're a good liar. I'm sorry I bruised your ribs, man," Stoker says quietly.

"You saved my life, Mike," I say with assertiveness. He looks only slightly less pale when I punch him on the arm and offer to buy him a cup of the finest cafeteria coffee money can buy, but it'll have to be his money because these gowns don't have pockets, or bum coverage for that matter and the robes are so thin no wonder that little old lady in ward forty nine smiles at me each time I pass.

Silence is comfortable with Mike. With Chet I feel like I always have to joke and laugh. It's not his fault but we have too much history. We've double dated and joked about women for as long as I've been part of fifty-one. But when he looks at me now, I know things will never be the same. See, I know that Chet wants to eventually get married and settle down and have … and I think he knows that about me too. Only now things have changed.

The coffee's disgusting and it burns my throat but I drink it for something to do.

"So, Cap tells me you're outta here in three days," Mike says, grimacing and putting sugar and cream in his coffee which he never does when I make it back at the station … back at home.

What else did he tell you? I scream inside my head only now remembering waking up, Cap gone but still smelling smoke and Old Spice and a cold cloth on my forehead. He must be so disappointed in me. I'm supposed to be a fireman for Pete's sake, tough and strong, not some whimpering kid.

"Yeah," I croak. "Three days. Patch comes off tomorrow." I tap the eye patch. How shallow am I that I'm more worried about my little swimmers than I am about the possibility that I've lost some eyesight in my left eye?

Mike's gaze is gentle while I squirm with conflict.

"I had to wear one of those things when a nozzle flew up and hit me in the eye when I was training to be an engineer," Mike smiled. "That's when I met Beth. I had taken my little cousin to Disney since I was on injured leave and Beth worked there as a Princess. She took one look at the patch and thought I worked there and danced me around in the parade for a full minute before she realized she'd grabbed the wrong pirate."

"Well, you've been married for four years so I guess she grabbed the right pirate after all," I said, glad to be changing the subject. I didn't hate Mike yet. He and Beth didn't have kids.

But I still hated Roy and I hated me for hating Roy. Whenever Mike talked about Roy I changed the subject until I got too tired to sit up straight in the cafeteria. Mike walked me to my room and I was almost done for by the time I got in bed. For the second time in two days I felt like a kid. Mike covered me up and the last thing I remember is him slipping the oxymeter back onto my index finger and buzzing the nurse's station. I think I heard him tell the mistress of the dark off but I'm not sure if I dreamed that or not. If I did it was the best dream I had since all this happened. To me. Because did it really happen to Roy? He already has two kids. I hate him. I hate me.

XXXX

Did I mention how awesome Marco is? His refried beans are incredible. And he's not afraid of Drusilla (now that he's not her patient) so he snuck me some. As soon as she left the room after stabbing me in the arm for the umpteenth time and staring at Marco's moustache like she'd like nothing better than to shave it off along with his lips he handed me the steaming container.

"That'll put hair on your chest," he says proudly. "And probably places you don't want any but it's good, like eggs and chilli, eggs and chilli are good, I'll bring you that next."

Out of all the guys, it's Marco I can really talk to this time. He doesn't have kids so I don't hate him like I do Roy. He doesn't tease me so much about my dates like Chet. He hasn't already met the one like Stoker and Cap, no one can hate Cap. Not even me.

My mouth is burning but in a good way. This beats green Jell-o any day and my raw nasal passages and throat haven't felt this clear since before the fire.

"They should market this stuff as medicine," I breathe.

"Great for circulation," Marco agrees happily. And then I can see it. The concern. I've lost a fair bit of weight. They can't blame me, Jell-o is fat free. Flavor free too. And then I can't help but think about what Marco said. Great for circulation huh? Circulation? All circulation? As in, you know … Well, when you think about it, Marco's family is huge. I couldn't count his cousins at their last party. Good for circulation…

I'm supposed to go for tests before I leave Rampart in two days. You know, the turn your head and cough and choke your … Urgh! I can't do that! But then I'd know one way or the other. I could stop worrying, 'cause I'd know … for sure. Right now it's a 'probably'. Can I live with the certainty? Roy doesn't even know if he's going to get tested. He's going to talk it over with Joanne. They have two kids so does it really matter? And the hate wells up in me and with it the hate I have for myself.

My stomach is full and I'm so warm and sleepy. Marco pries the container out of my hand, takes the remote control and turns on the T.V. because he knows I'll sleep better with some background noise. It's noisy at the station. The hospital's noise is noisy too … or whatever, but not a good noisy, know what I mean?

XXXX

I toss and turn.

I'm picked up by many hands and jostled painfully as heavy footfalls carry me to a bright light. Someone's yelling at me but I just want to sleep. "Breathe Gage, damn it breathe! Come on!" I sit up but my body doesn't come with me. I look over to my right because I can't see anything to my left. Black tears stream down Chet's face as he blows breath after breath into Roy, screaming in between each one for him to wake up while Cap's hands clasped into sooty skin as he does chest compressions. Roy's dead…

"ROY! NO!"

I wake up screaming. I hear soft soled shoes scuffing on the floor or it could be the whoosh of a broomstick as the nurse flies into the room on a double shift screaming at me like a house just landed on her sister again.

"Mr. Gage, stop yelling. You're waking the other patients," she hisses taking a syringe from her pocket. I look around, it's light. How many people could I have possibly woken that she hasn't bathed or fed or shaved effectively stomping out their will to live?

Before I can even protest I feel the sting and burn as the needle finds its mark in my hip. I grab the blankets roughly from her grip and turn over, not wondering about the wisdom of turning the other cheek.

Hot tears fall on the mattress because I pulled the pillow over my head. The light is too much. And Roy's dead face staring up at me is more than I can take. Why did Brackett give that witch permission to … dope me up … just because I was … screaming my head off … again.

My hand snakes out from under the blanket and my shaking fingers can barely dial the number.

"Roy!" I sob. "I … don't hate you. I could never … You're my brother. I'm sorry…"

I can actually hear Roy gulp. "Junior? What's going on?" He sounds panicked. I didn't mean to make him panic. I try to make sense but the drugs are faster than me.

"You were dead!" I gasp as if that explains everything.

The phone slips from my hand as I contemplate my fingers, all twenty of them. And somewhere in the distance … John! Answer me!

XXXX

When I wake next I'm flat on my back and that damned oxygen mask is back. I thought I got rid of that two weeks ago … Roy sits in the plastic chair next to me and it all comes back.

"Hey, Junior," Roy says softly and it almost kills me that there's affection behind his words. I didn't hate him. I reach out. I touch his hand that's draped over the side rail that's caging me in for the first time in over a week. He's real. He's not dead.

Before I can explain, Dr. Early comes in with someone from the Ophthalmology Department. Oh yeah, it's that day. You know, the one where I find out if I'm still going have my job or not. I've been dreading this. Roy stands with considerable effort and I'd almost forgotten I have very little to be jealous of. He's still recuperating too. Roy puts his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. Dr. Early gently takes the eye patch off and the gauze below it.

"Don't open your eye yet," Dr. Early says gently. Everyone talks to me like that since last night. I force my head back into the pillow as an eyedropper looms over my face and Dr. Early cleans the eye grunge away. The bed is cranked up slowly, the tendons in my back snap crackling and popping in appreciation. A fresh four by four is taped over my good eye and for some reason it panics me but I force it back down.

"Okay, slowly open your eye for me," the Ophthalmologist tells me.

So I do. The light burns even though I heard Early closing the curtain and shutting off the light. My hand flies up and is caught by Roy. My heart races as I wait breathlessly for the blur of color like a bad abstract painting to form into something coherent. A stethoscope finds its mark on my chest.

"Easy, Johnny," Roy coaxes. "Give it some time." I feel him lower the bedrail and his weight tilts the mattress on the right slightly. Both his hands are on my shoulders and Early and the other guy have moved slightly back.

"I see you," I gasp and for the moment Roy's face is the only one I want to see. He's clear except for a small bit of blurriness that seems to surround him and I shiver slightly. It's what I've always figured a ghost would look like. But the hand on my shoulder is solid and doesn't let go until Dr. Early clears his throat gently. Roy stays in my line of vision as the ophthalmologist examines my eye.

I hate that sudden burst of forced air in the eye that you should expect but are always surprised at when the eye doctor flicks it at you. I do my best to hold my eye open while my brain screams at me to close it and shut out the stabbing light. Sweat rolls down my forehead.

"Looks good, Mr. Gage," the ophthalmologist tells me. He uncovers my good eye. "We're going to alternate patches to strengthen the damaged eye over the next few days. I think you've been lucky, you should recover near twenty-twenty vision."

"Well awright!" I exclaim and the way my lips curl upwards feels so foreign. I shake hands with Early and the ophthalmologist whom I really should learn his name but the relief makes me suddenly sleepy and some of the earlier happiness turns to misery as my good eye is patched up leaving me the blur that makes everyone look like someone tried to erase them like a pencil sketch.

One down, one to go. Brackett wants me to go for testing to see if my little swimmers … well, still swim. Urgh! Maybe after a nap…

XXXX

When I wake it's early afternoon. I've slept the morning away not that that's a bad thing around here, there's nothing to do much other than watch 'As The World Burns'. There's a note from Roy on my bed stand. He was tired. He'll stop by with some supper from me. I'll phone him and tell him doesn't have to do that. He'll do it anyway. Then one of the guys will stop by if they're not on shift or Mama Lopez with some contraband I'm probably not allowed. I hope it's hot and spicy, I think defiantly, you know, if that could really help with … my little problem. Stomach lining be damned, I want to be a father someday!

I look at the clock for a second, realizing that someone's changed my eye patch back over to my bad eye so the clock is clear. Staring right at me. The lab is open. Apparently I don't need an appointment … I buzz the nurse's station and let them know I'm going for a 'walk'. Yeah, more like dead man walking.

I almost turn around three times before I reach the lab.

I about die as I lean in to whisper a private request of the young, male nurse behind the counter of the outpatient lab. He blinks, tries not to look at me strangely and calls someone to lead me to another wing of the hospital on floor three, a men's section. I look toward the women's and obstetrical wing as we pass it wondering if I'll stand there with my own wife and child someday. I almost bump into the back of the orderly who stops in front of a bank of elevators I've never been on before. He yelps like I've bulldozed him and scoots away from me and that's when I remember the slightly disconcerted face he wore when the nurse at the other lab told him where I was going. Hey it's not like I asked him to come with me.

XXXX

Other guys sit and stand around me, nervously reading magazines and I feel self conscious like I've never felt before in my life. No one makes eye contact as one by one guys are called in and guys leave, being told that their counts will be in by this afternoon, whatever that means. It's like being in an elevator waiting to get off at your floor. Great, why did I have to use the term, 'get off'?

I swallow nervously as a nurse calls my name loudly and I want to yell at her. Not so loud, bloody hell, can't a guy have some dignity here? Merlin's Grandfather, why are there women working here ... in this section?

What's worse is that this nurse is about my age. I don't know why that matters. I doubt this would be any easier if she were Drusilla, queen of the night shift's age. Great, now I've done it, thought about Drusilla, it's never going to happen now.

The nurse hands me a little plastic cup. It seems a bit small. How am I supposed to ... Why did I have to think of Drusilla! In my mind I see a broom cupboard door fly open at my old high school and a stifled gasp erupts from an aged throat. 'Stop that at once Mr. Gage, you'll shoot your eye out! I can't do this. And if memory serves correctly, there was always a girl with me in the broom closets.

"Would you like a magazine?" the nurse asks me from behind the obviously too thin door, bemusement clearly evident in her voice. She opens the door!

Yeah, laugh it up, Leslie, I think, squinting to read her name tag as the irony hits me full on. I'm wearing an eye patch...I haven't even done it yet and I've gotten my eye shot out and gone half blind like those visiting nuns warned us boys about! And how am I supposed to do this when that nurse won't stop talking! She closes the door again and this time, I lock it. Maybe I should pile the desk and a few chairs against it. Why is there more than one chair in here? Why is there even one chair in here? Why is there a desk in here!

I have no idea why I'm putting myself through this. Brackett told me that the odds were that I'd never be able to father a child.

Yeah, I'm sure most males would prove that they are sterile by giving it the old college try for like seven or fifteen years or so of constant sex and I admit the thought had occurred to me, but I owe it to the one to find out for sure and tell her the truth. She has the right to know. I can't damn her to my future without the truth. Whoever she is. You know, if I even find her…

"No, no magazines," I tell the nurse. I can still see her shadow in the frosted glass. Yep, they have thinkers here in Rampart but the architects have a real sense of humour. Yeah, that'll help...NOT! I just stand there. Five minutes goes by and still I stand there.

"Is everything alright in there?" the nurse calls in. I jump out of my skin. Well, that's not exactly true as I'm still fully clothed, the belt of my robes still snug against my waist.

"Leave me alone, I'm having a hard time," I snap back, groaning as I hear her snicker at my unintended pun. This situation reads like a trashy novel.

Chapter one. I unfasten my robes, dropping my belt to the floor revealing my... pajamas. Curse these layers. I can't do it!

I feel stupid. I have no idea what is going to make this happen. And the novel continues.

Paragraph two. My pajama bottoms fall to the floor and I bend to step out of them, getting my foot tangled in my discarded belt and falling butt-side up to the floor... I then end up trying to regain my footing, landing on my arse on the floor causing me to yelp loudly from the bruises littering my body which is still tender. I can hear cheering from the waiting room ... they think I've just ... Noooooo!

Paragraph three. Standing once again, realizing that I have no coordination or strength in my right hand, which is still healing. Hahahaha, wonder if I'm fooling around on myself if I use my left? Okay, not funny. I can't do this...I so can't do this!

But this is for science. It's not as if I'd be doing this for fun ... anymore ... Dont' go there; we're all young and curious at one time!

And then semantics come into play. How do you hold the er ... receptacle and ... you know ... at the same time when you have one bad hand?

That's it. I can do this. I reach down, look away, because I can't watch, and yelp from my cold hands. I stop. I spy a magazine lying on the desk and as a last resort, I pick it up. It's a hunters and anglers volume. 'Field And Stream'. What the hell else is this room used for? I think frantically, looking around for any signs of taxidermy victims. The front cover has a picture of Salmon swimming upstream. How pathetically ironic...

"Are you sure you don't want another magazine in there?" the nurse calls in; at least I thought it was the nurse. The voice is different. No! It's Susan ... here! I'd been dating her for a month and a half before this all happened. I kind of told her that I couldn't see her right now. I liked her … I mean really liked her. I mean the kind of like that stays around when a girl says no to advances. She might have been the one, but what the hell do I know; Roy's right, I think lately I've wanted to meet the one so badly I've seen them all over the place.

I drop the bottle, scramble for my robes, forgetting my pajamas and trying to think desperately of an excuse for being here, other than the obvious. To make matters worse, a mermaid in a painting in the sea near a Greek Village seems to have a look of amusement and disappointment on her face as she stares haughtily from her canvas as I drape my pajama shirt over her face.

"John, can I come in?"

"Uh, y-yes?" I yelp as I pull my robe around me and drop Anglers and Hunters onto the floor. Wasn't doing anything for me anyway.

"Susan-how-are-you-nice-to-see-you-I'm-a-little-busy-I'll-call-you." I ramble, my tongue tied as tightly as my robe. I won't call you. You don't deserve … this mess.

"I was really disappointed when you didn't call but then I heard about what happened and knew why. Roy called me this morning and told me about your eye…"

What else did Roy tell her? He told everyone else…

"I didn't … I mean … shoot it out …" Oh Gawd! "That is I'm not here for … Um …"

I sit down in one of the chairs, robe firmly under my bare butt, god knows what's been done in these chairs! Susan locks the door. But…

"Did I tell you I was a Science major at Cal tech?" she purrs.

She did, and I listened and remembered so that must mean I really like her.

"M'hm!" I yelp as she leans down and bites my ear lobe.

"Well, I said I wanted to take things slow, and I still do, but purely for science…"

I need this. I need to know. Susan can run away if the news is bad. She slips her hand under my robe. I'm going to kill Roy! No, don't think about Roy! Or Drusilla! Or going blind! Or nuns!

I force myself to lean back and close my eye. Not gonna shoot it out, no sir! I grip the arms of the chair so hard my hand hurts. This is embarrassing. I mean, I look like a pirate! Tick tock! Tick tock!

"John, you need to relax or…"

"Wha - ? Oh!" And Susan's face is before me. She's fully dressed but believe me I've undressed her with my eyes a thousand times and we've only been out on seven dates so I know she's incredible. I am a pig! Huh…

And then the words pity date come to me. Not that this is a date … Gawd, what is this!

"Uh, we should stop, not that I don't appreciate this and all it's just that ohhhh!" One hand shoves me firmly back against the chair while the other … travels and … she trails kisses along my neck. I can't see what she's doing but it's … The lid of the container hits the floor and my whole body jumps. I try not to moan. I fail as my body shudders. I keep my eye closed, squinted shut actually. There's rustling, my robe falls back into place, my pajamas are tucked under my arm, there's a snap of a lid and the door opens and closes. She's gone. Was she here?

I'm so tired I can barely stand and the frosted glass hides the identity of anyone outside. I get dressed and walk with determination, eye on the floor past the waiting room. I keep my head down until I find myself on the elevator. I swear if the doors somehow opened and no car was there, I wanted out of there so badly, I'd have stepped into the abyss to get away. The rule about not staring at someone on the elevator is fully enforced today and when I step off, bam, right into … "Roy!" I howl.

"You look a little winded there, Junior, here let me help you."

"No! No, I-I'm fine." Yeesh, I have no idea what just happened back there and I'm not even sure I'm not dreaming. The chemicals from the fire and the drugs in my system have me in such a state. The last thing I need is Roy um … Don't think about Roy!

So Roy patiently walks a pace behind me which is in itself disconcerting since I'm not at all sure I've done up the stupid robe properly. That's it; I'm demanding my own pajamas. Solid flannel butt, no openings, like Fort Knox, hell I might even get a chastity belt at this point. I'm never letting Roy talk me into doing that again. And come to think of it…

"So, uh, have you um, er, you know … yet?"

"No, not yet … wait a minute … you … Oh!"

"What? No I didn't …" I deny for reasons I'm not even sure of. But when I steer my sorry arse into my room wanting nothing but to crawl under the blanket and die, Susan is there. She's reading Field and Stream!

"It's so good to see you, it's been ages," she says innocently.

"What? Oh, yeah, hi," I say lamely. "Uh, Roy, this is um, Susan."

"Oh, yeah, we've met. Cap said she'd called the station every day after the accident and when I went to pick up my paycheck I answered the phone to her. She was really broken up about it, really worried about you. Well, Jo had driven me in so she invited her to dinner with us after she spoke on the phone to her. She and Jo have been keeping in touch and it was Jo who told her you'd probably be up for visitors now.

Did he have to say UP! I mean really. I pull the blankets up to my chin and I know Roy has just been way too open about our predicament. Well that's a married guy for ya.

"Anyway, Junior, Jo made cabbage rolls and I know you love them so, enjoy. There's enough for you and Susan," Roy smiles like a Cheshire cat and takes his leave.

Susan un-wraps the meal. There's two of everything. Jo's playing matchmaker. This time I don't mind so much. But I just can't eat. I feel stupid about what happened just now.

Susan knows me better than I thought. "What? Quit looking like that. Nothing happened. I told you I wanted to take things nice and slow and as far as I'm concerned, we will. Now listen, you need to eat, Roy says you've lost ten pounds."

When that fails to take the look out of my eye, she changes tactics.

"Read any good magazines lately?" she giggles.

She knows what the results of that test might be and she's still here. I tried to shut her out and she's still here. She just may be the one.