Jack helps me gently into the cab. I pull the seatbelt around me and click it into place, and it wraps awkwardly over my sling. Yeah, I'm in a sling. I guess I should've seen it coming – any movement of my arm causes my shoulder nice stabbing pains – but I still feel annoyed by it. A sling. Slings are things you use to keep the neighborhood stray dogs from ganging up on the neighborhood stray cat you claimed to be "yours," even if your mom wouldn't let you keep it.

I look out the left-hand car window quietly, trying to banish my memories.

"Are you okay?"

I look back over at Jack momentarily. He's got that neutral look on, but I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing "Are you okay" a lot for…a while. "I'm fine," I say. I'm not sure if I mean it or not. I don't tell the truth as often as Jack does.

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then, he says, "The furniture I had shipped should be here in a week or so. Kim has a guest room – she's lent us the spare bed until it arrives."

Kim's thoughtfulness touches me. I mean, I saved Teri, but I didn't want to be rewarded for it. And the loan of a bed was so much nicer than being invited to stay. I like to lick my wounds in private…and I wonder if she sensed that?

"It's a twin, though, so you should have it."

I wait for a moment, and when he doesn't explain where he intends to sleep, I say, "What about you?"

"I'll figure something out," he says.

"Why don't we just share it?" He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. It was rude, I guess, but I had to say, "Jack, I…I don't want you to pull away and I don't want you to walk on eggshells around me."

"There are practical reasons for not sharing the bed," he says gently. "Your wound, for one. We're grown adults, which would already make it cramped. It would be painful for you to be squished in with me, with that shoulder."

Damn him, he's right. "Okay," I say.

"Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

Jack smiles wryly. "I meant 'thank you' for agreeing with me, but you can pretty much take your pick."

I'm not too modest to privately admit that I know exactly that he means. I saved his granddaughter when I could have just walked away. I let him back in when I could have thrown him out of the hospital room on his sorry ass. But the thing is, there was no way I was going to let Teri McAllen suffer. Saving her was as much for me as it was for her. And as for Jack, it's unfortunate for me that I'm still rather attached to his sorry ass.

"Before I forget…" Jack clears his throat. I smile to myself, a little sourly. Jack can forget? "Kim said she found a book that wasn't theirs. I said I'd pick it up, but she said she'd drop it off at our apartment later today on her way home from work."

Our apartment is twenty minutes off the route from Kim's office to her house, and that book was on the counter by the phone; there's no way it could have gone unnoticed for a week. It sounds like an excuse to come over and visit, but why? Kim McAllen, formerly Bauer, is starting to become a thing of a mystery for me. The woman saves my life, unknowingly putting her daughter at risk, and she suddenly wants to come over…

I shake my head. I'm reading too much into this. Kim's a good woman, and she probably noticed the book early on but was too busy to drop it off or mention it. She probably doesn't have any kind of ulterior motive for coming over, except maybe to thank me in person once more, as if the dozens of times over the phone and through Jack weren't enough.

I'm really tired of being thanked.

He hands me the second key to the apartment. "I think we should make a spare for Kim, for emergency purposes," he says as he opens the door with his own key.

I nod. It's practical.

The apartment has boxes scattered around – things that arrived before Jack's furniture, I suppose. Plastic and paper shopping bags line the counter between the kitchen and the living room. "I went out earlier this week and got some of the basics we'd need. Silverware, napkins, towels, things like that."

"You've been busy," I comment.

"I tried not to get anything more than that. I wanted to save the important things like furniture until you got out of the hospital."

"Thank you."

Jack rubs his nose and clears his throat, crossing his arms. "What would you like to do now?"

I'm starting to get that achy feeling. "I think I'll take some painkillers and get some sleep," I say.

"I'll get them for you," Jack says. "The spare bed's in the master bedroom. Why don't you go lie down and I'll be there in a minute?"

"Okay."

Jack nods and rummages through the paper bag in his hands. He heads for the kitchen, and I head down the hallway. In the middle of a very bare bedroom stands a lonely twin, with navy blue sheets. I sit down and think about how thoughtful Jack's being, and realize that it's the same way he's been these past weeks. He hasn't changed at all. I'm just…getting to know it all over again.

But…does that mean I can trust him? I mean, things are great when there isn't a crisis, obviously, but what about when the next crisis comes up? Will Jack fall back into denial?

He never did any of that denial crap the day we met, and that was the biggest crisis I've ever faced, in terms of damage control. I have to think that the denial was a one-time only thing, but…I can't trust him again until I'm sure. So…how will I know when I can trust him with my heart again, completely?

"Here you go," Jack says, walking in with a glass of water. He hands over the pills and the water. I pop the pills in my mouth and wash them down.

"Do you want to get changed into something more comfortable?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine like this." Day clothes don't bother me at all to sleep in. I can sleep fully clothed, jeans, bra and all, or bud naked.

"Okay." He helps me get comfortable on the middle of the bed, wrapping one arm behind my neck and the other under my legs as he gently lays me back.

The painkillers start to make me feel fuzzy. They cloud my mind, and finally my body as I fall asleep. The last thing I'm aware of is Jack pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Get up," Vladimir says.

I see the knife on the ground, among the fallen bits of cutlery and food. My mind flashes to all his goddamn slaps and pinches and insults and threats, and I know I can't stand another minute. I grab that knife and shriek as I swing around and thrust it into his eye.

That evil smirk vanishes instantly as he yowls in pain. He falls and I'm on him in seconds, continuing to stab him.

Hands wrap around me, pull me off him. I twist and thrust the knife, again, into my victim's side. Jack grunts, his eyes going wide beneath those ridiculous glasses. All of a sudden, we're in the hotel room, and Jack's shocked expression turns into a glower.

"I can't believe I ever loved you," he growls, before drawing out his own knife and stabbing me in the heart.

I wake up with a gasp. Oh, that's just not fair. Usually, the painkillers knock me out so badly that I don't dream at all. What the hell?

The dream shook me, but I look down at my hands, and I realize that I'm shaking because I really, really want a cigarette.

All throughout my hospital stay, whenever I had nothing to do, I'd find myself in silence and my mind would inevitably wander back to the events of that day. That Day. Of all the things I did That Day, the only thing I regret was taking that fucking cigarette Anita offered. Because I want cigarettes again, and it's so hard to "just say no" now that I've had the taste of one.

Six years. Six fucking years, and I have to pick up the habit again because of a guy. Aren't I just miraculous?

A miraculous failure. I sit up. My wound's still a bit numb, at least. I get off the bed and notice my duffle on the floor. I kneel by it, and open it awkwardly with one hand. I fish through it and find a twenty dollar bill, which I pocket. Then I go outside the bedroom.

Jack's on the carpeted floor in the living room, near the fireplace. His head rests on a pillow and he looks like he's out. I wonder if he's been having trouble sleeping at night…I never asked.

I go into the kitchen and rummage through the drawers. There's a permanent marker to the side of a plastic cutlery organizer. I take it and write a message on the first, most noticeable paper bag on the counter: "Went out for a walk. Be back soon. Renee."

I take the key he gave me out of my pocket and go outside, locking the door behind me.

There's a 7-Eleven a few blocks over. I go inside it and my eyes lock on the cigarette case behind the cash register. The wrinkled, sour-expression'd cashier gives me a dull look. I slide the money out of my pocket and onto the counter. "A pack of Marlboros." There's a display of little plastic lighters in front of the register. I grab a black one, figuring I can shove it in my duffle and it'd be hard to see if for any reason Jack looked in there.

The cashier turns and slides open the glass casing, takes out a pack and puts it on the counter. He takes the bill and presses numbers into the register. "$6.73's your change," he says.

I shove the remaining money in my pocket and snatch the cigarettes from the counter, and ditch the 7-Eleven like it's on fire. I pause on the street, tearing into the box of death sticks. I look around as I put one in my mouth and light it, as though Jack or Kim or hell, even Janice were around the corner, ready to jump out and yell at me for my stupidity.

The tobacco relaxes my body. I slump against the side of a building, puffing on the cig. A part of me hates myself right now. A part of me sympathizes with myself.

And a part of me just wants to ditch my miserable self before I make that jump off a proverbial cliff.

I've never had to hide cigarette breath before. I go back into the 7-Eleven to buy mints, and chew them all the way back to the apartment. My pack is snug and lumpy in my back pocket. I tug my shirt down further over my butt consciously, hoping it's baggy enough to hide the outline of the pack. I wonder if Jack will notice. What will I say it is? A wallet? Jack's never seen me with a wallet. Maybe he'll just think it was at the bottom of my duffle bag and I just never dug it out 'til now.

I walk up the stairs to the apartment. Down in the quad, a little girl bounces a green ball on the ground with a little boy. I wonder if they're brother or sister or friends. I wonder if they live on the other side of the complex or in the apartment next door.

I don't wonder for long, though. I unlock the door to apartment 21C and step in.

Jack is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, one hand massaging his temples. When I walk in, his head shoots up and he looks at me. "Renee!"

"Hey," I say.

He rushes over but stops short of grabbing me. He looks like he wants to, though – but I'm not sure if he wants to grab me and strangle me or grab me and hug me like he nearly lost me. "Where did you go?" he asks.

"Just for a walk." Zadan was an excellent liar. Pre-Zadan Walker was not. I'm somewhere in the middle.

But Jack's not suspicious of anything. He bites his lip. "Renee, are you sure that was wise? You don't know the neighborhood."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I can take care of myself, Jack." I sidestep him and walk further into the apartment. Now that I've had my fix, I just want to hide the evidence until I feel the pressing need for it again.

Jack follows me. "I know you could. Can. I mean 'can,'" he says when I turn and glare at him.

"I'm injured, Jack, not an invalid."

"I know you're not," he says. "And I do know you can take care of yourself, under normal circumstances. But your dominant arm is in a sling. That makes you look vulnerable, and it actually does make you more vulnerable, too."

"Great," I mutter.

"Renee." He catches up to me in the hallway, putting a hand on my left shoulder. I stop just short of the bedroom. "You're a gorgeous woman," he says softly. "That makes you a target for every creep, asshole and rapist in L.A. I just don't want you to get hurt."

He drops his hand as I turn to face him. "I'm glad you care," I say. "As you can see, I'm fine. I'm just going to get out of these clothes. It's hot out and I'm starting to feel a little grimy."

"Do you want some help?"

I give him a smile. "I want to try to do it on my own, first. But I promise I'll call for you if I can't."

"Okay," he says reluctantly.

I back into the bedroom and close the door, knowing he's watching me the whole time. I couldn't meet his eyes in those last moments, though, knowing I was about to shove a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in my duffle bag before he could notice them.

Writer's Note: The reviews are very encouraging. I appreciate them. :) Thank you.