The Twelve Step Program to Recovery as Outlined by Alcoholics Anonymous:

Step 1 - We admitted we were powerless over our addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable

Step 2 - Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity

Step 3 - Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God

Step 4 - Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves

Step 5 - Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs

Step 6 - We are entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character

Step 7 - Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings

Step 8 - Make a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all

Step 9 - Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others

Step 10 - Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it

Step 11 - Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for us, and the power to carry that out

Step 12 - Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs

I will not be using these steps so religiously in this story.

X X X

Sam woke up in a strange canary-yellow cheery little room with a big bouquet of white daisies at her bedside. She needed a hit. She was shaking something awful and she was cold. She tried to sit up, but something was holding her down. Desperately, she realized that she was restrained, tied to her bed with heavy Velcro straps. She opened her mouth and let out a scream, lashing and struggling against the restraints.

Then, there was movement beside her.

There was a young man, her own age she supposed, sitting at her bedside. He had been slumped over, maybe asleep. She stared at him, mouth open and no sound coming out for almost a full minute. She was unsure of exactly what she was seeing. He was handsome with dark tousled hair and radioactive ice-blue eyes and a sweet pink mouth with lush lips. She thought about fucking him for a moment and getting all the money he had in his pockets. She figured she would enjoy him—he was handsome and slender, beautiful—then she could throw him out and have a good hit.

"Hey Sam," he murmured and that mouth curved into a small strained smile.

Her voice constricted in her throat. "How… do you know my name?"

That small smile shattered like a porcelain plate knocked off the counter at breakfast time, going into a million pieces that skipped away never to be put back together into anything resembling a plate or a smile. "You… you don't remember me?"

She shook her head and the world spun dizzily around her. "Where am I?"

"I'm Danny Fenton. I'm your friend."

"I have no friends. Where am I?"

"Some place safe," he murmured. "I found you on the street. This is rehab."

"I don't want to be in rehab!" She struggled against her bonds. "I want a hit! I want out!"

Those blue eyes of his were so sad, heartbreaking, if she had a heart to break. "I'm sorry, Sam, but this is for your own good." Then, he stood up and left the room. His shoulders were hunched in, making him look small and broken. Then, he closed the door and her screams chased him down the hall.

Danny didn't run out, but he wanted to.

…

For a week, Danny came back every day and sat at Sam's beside, listening to her screaming and watching her struggle. Her parents couldn't come in. Mrs. Manson broke down before they even reached the parking lot, sobbing and howling like her heart was broken. Mr. Manson couldn't get out of the car if he made it that far, he just sat in the driver's seat staring straight forward, catatonic. Tucker had to stay away from the thought of Meth.

Only Danny could come.

Finally, after the hardest week of his life, her body had made it over the hump of withdrawal, but… Her body had stopped craving at hit, but that said nothing for her mind. Danny was afraid of the day they would untie her and let her out of bed. He was afraid she would run right for the door, for the street, cutting through him to get to her drugs again. But today, when he came in, she wasn't convulsing on the mattress like someone dying.

Today, she only looked dead.

Sam was laying on the bed, blankets snarled and twisted around her body. Her thin white coughing chest was heaving and she looked ghost-pale. Her dark hair was plastered against her broken skin. When he entered and went to his usual seat at her side, cradling a bouquet of dyed black carnations against his chest, she turned to look at him for the first time since he had brought her here. Her sad violet eyes were far-seeing and he wasn't exactly sure she was seeing him, but either way she opened her cracked mouth and spoke in a small ragged little voice.

"Hi Danny," she croaked.

His heart swelled in his chest to the point of breaking open, bursting. "Sam, you remember me?"

"Yeah. I remember I hurt you."

His hand strayed to his shoulder where there was a deep zipper-like scar. She had stabbed him with her knife when she had been digging for money beneath the bleachers at school. She had also stolen all the money from his wallet, but that didn't matter to him. He didn't even care about the aching scar in his shoulder. "It doesn't matter," he whispered.

"I made Tucker smoke it with me."

Danny's heart lurched. He could speak for himself, tell Sam that it didn't matter that she had hurt him, but he couldn't speak for Tucker. He didn't know if Tucker had forgiven Sam. "He's okay. He made it through rehab," Danny murmured.

She closed her eyes and seemed as if she had stopped breathing.

"Sam?"

She turned her face away from him.

"You can get through, too. I'll stay with you."

"I don't want to… I like Meth…"

"It doesn't like you. Have you even seen your face, Sam?" His voice cracked as he reached for a mirror and shoved it in her face.

She stared into the silver glass as if uncomprehending. Her skin was white-pale, completely colorless, as if she was already dead. Her mouth was chapped bloody, flesh peeling off her lips. Her teeth were yellow and looked like they hadn't been brushed in a long time. She had picked all the flesh off her cheek almost down to the bone and there was a big black bruise across the side of her face where someone had punched her. Her dark hair which had always been glossy and beautiful was stringy and greasy and snarled into knots. "Is that me?" she whispered.

Danny watched her fingers curl and uncurl. "Yes," he whispered. Then he took out an old picture of them and put it beside the mirror so she could see the difference in herself. "Do you see what has happened to you? Meth did this to you…"

"You're lying," she choked out.

Danny shook his head. "Sam, you need help. Please…" He pressed the mirror and the picture into her hands, allowing her to touch them and see her own tormented face. "I can help you. I'll stay with you until you're better. I swear it."

"I won't get better… I'm not sick."

"You're addicted."

"I am not…" She turned her face away again. "There's nothing wrong with me. It's all wrong with you." She dropped the mirror and it shattered on the floor.

A nurse materialized at the doorway, took in Sam and then Danny's stricken face. She recognized Danny Fenton. He was here every day, watching and waiting and hoping. She had heard about him from Tucker, too. Gently, she put her hand on Danny's back and guided him from the room. She took him to the break room and put a cup of hot coffee in his hands. Then, she went back to Sam Manson's room to sweep up the mess of the broken mirror.

…

The next day, Danny returned again to sit beside Sam. Today, he had worn a tank top beneath his jacket. He wanted her to see his scar, the scar she had given him, but he didn't want to shove it in her face. He shrugged from his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. The carnations he had brought were already beginning to wilt.

"Hey Sam," he murmured and sat down. He rolled his shoulders, knowing she could see the pearl-white scar the followed the curve of his shoulder.

"What is that?"

"What's what?"

She narrowed her eyes. "That scar."

"You gave it to me. Don't you remember?"

"I needed the money." Her voice was cold and flat.

"So you stabbed me, your best friend?"

"I needed the money."

"I know you did, but isn't that a little strange?"

"I needed the money. I needed a hit."

"Bad enough to hurt me, your best friend?"

Her violet eyes welled with small tears and he watched her throat working furiously.

"Is it normal to do that? To hurt your friends?"

She moaned like an animal. "I needed the money. I needed it!"

Danny sat forward, searing her with his eyes. "Sam, you stabbed me!" He lowered his shoulder and pressed it into her bound hand, forcing her fingers to feel the deep crag of the scar. "I'm your best friend and you stabbed me! You stabbed me!"

She dug her nails into his flesh and he winced, but did not pull away. "Stop it! Stop it! I know it was wrong, but I needed it! I needed it!"

"But it was wrong?"

She started crying. "Yes, I know it was! I didn't care!"

Danny gently hugged her. "You have a problem, Sam. Do you realize that?"

She sobbed, but nodded slowly into his shoulder. Her tears were cold on his skin.

Danny smiled to himself and pulled back to show her the smile on his face. "That's the first step, Sam. You're going to get better."

…

Today was the day she got out of bed.

Danny was standing in the doorway, looking nervous and terrified, but she didn't run towards the door or try to throw herself out the window to get back to the street. She trembled and shook, but did not search for her drugs. Sam staggered over to Danny and he gently gripped her outstretched hands. She was weak and light and chilly to the touch. Goose bumps prickled across his flesh, but he smiled at her anyway. She didn't smile back, but that didn't matter.

Sam had gotten cleaned up—a hot shower, clean clothes, some good food in her belly. Her face was still picked apart at the seams and there were deep bruise-like circles beneath her violet eyes. She looked older and thinner, but she was still Sam. Danny would always be there for her.

Today was the day she started treatment.

There was a circle of plastic orange chairs set up and a long table of cookies and drinks pushed up against one wall. The group leader, Desiree Adams, was a recovered Meth-user herself with the age in her eyes. She had been clean for almost twenty years now. She knew what these people were going through. She knew how hard it was to quit, to get clean. She looked out over the assembly of twenty-six faces—pocked with sores, picked apart, bruised, beaten, sleepless, and far-seeing. She knew some of them wouldn't make it. Some didn't even have a fighting chance. Then, she saw a face that wasn't scarred by Meth, a face with hope and also fear in it.

"Hello," Desiree said with a small smile in the young man's direction.

He smiled back, detangled himself from the grip of a skinny downhill young woman with the brutal signs of addiction in her face, and walked right up to Desiree. "Hi, I'm Danny Fenton. I'm… not a user, but I'm supporting my friend, Sam. I hope it's alright that I sit in."

Desiree smiled at him. "Of course, Danny. They could use all the support they can get."

He smiled at her and returned to his friend's side, gently taking her white thin hand in his own. Sam had the darting eyes of someone who wanted to run, but was forced to stay by something they were unsure of.

"Alright everyone, come around," Desiree said. Once everyone was seated, Danny and Sam directly across from her, she offered them small reassuring smiles. "Now, we all know why you are here, but would someone care to tell me?"

No one spoke up. The entire group was silent.

Desiree sighed and said, "You are here because you have a problem. You are here to get help. Since you are all here, that means you have already made it through Step One. Step Two is about faith, hope, and realization. Any idea what that might mean?"

Again, silence.

Danny leaned over and whispered to his friend, Sam, but she turned her face away from him as if ashamed.

Desiree sighed again. This was the hardest part—getting them started. "We have to have faith in our Lord, hope we'll get better, and realize that we can," she said. "Well, that's what we're here to talk about today and when this meeting is over, I will assign you all sponsors to help you get through this very hard time. As a former user, I know how hard it can be to get clean, but I am also living proof that it can be done." She paused as if to let that sink in for a moment, then she smiled and said the legendary line. "Now, I'd like everyone to introduce themselves and tell us how long you have been addicted to Meth."

It felt strange for Danny to be sitting here in this Meth Support Group. Sam was holding his hand so tightly that he couldn't feel his fingers and everyone was staring at him. He felt out of place, like a black sheep in a flock of white. Finally, it came to be Sam's turn and then his. He stood up, which seemed to surprise Desiree, and introduced himself anyway.

"My name is Danny Fenton. I am not a Meth Addict, but I have watched my friends become addicted. One made it through and is clean now, but Sam—" he smiled at her softly "—she's going through now."

"Hello Danny."

Desiree smiled at him. The kid had spunk. Then, the smiled faded from her face and she cut her eyes to his friend, Sam. The girl's violet eyes were still darting wildly. She hoped, for Danny's sake, that Sam had enough of his spunk to survive.

…

Step Three was all about getting help from outside sources. Since Sam wasn't religious and never would be, her sponsor would be the main part of her Step Three. Danny had wanted to be Sam's sponsor, but Desiree insisted her sponsor be a fellow addict. So instead of Danny, Clyde was Sam's sponsor. Clyde was big and muscular and butch with blonde hair cropped short and a square face in dire need of a good shave. Danny was sitting on Sam's bed when Clyde came in and tossed his bag on the empty bed and flopped down on it.

"Man, I hate this place," Clyde muttered. "I can't smoke in here."

"You shouldn't smoke anyway," Danny said to him softly.

Clyde sat up, glared at Danny, opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it. "I'm only here cause I have to be," Clyde said sourly. "My brother's going to shoot me if I come to his house high one more time. He said he was going to throw me out unless I got clean."

"That's a good reason."

"No it's not! I'm a recreational drug user. It's just for fun. I'm not fucking addicted!" Clyde scratched his face. "Something's fucking crawling on me, man."

Danny shivered and clutched at the old scar on his shoulder where Sam had stabbed him.

…

Sam was lying on the floor of the tub, sobbing as quietly into her hands as she possibly could. She wanted a hit so bad she could taste the smoke of Meth in her mouth. The hot water cascaded down on her, pouring over her burning shoulders and making her self-inflicted wounds ache and sting. She started sobbing and scratching at her arms, tearing away the flesh. She was so desperate for a hit. She wanted it so badly. She just wanted to tear through the walls to get out, to get back to that seedy little motel room where she sold herself for money and drugs.

There was a small knock at the door and Danny's voice, "Sam? Are you alright?" What felt like an eternity went by as she sobbed and whimpered, muffling the sounds with her hands. Sam wondered if Danny was still there, standing on the other side of the door, waiting for her response.

She hoped he wasn't.

Sam let out a sob that she couldn't contain, so loud that it bounced off the bathroom walls. Immediately, the door opened. There was no lock on it—just a sign on the outside that you could flip between "Occupied" and "Open." Danny were standing there. He stood there for a moment, completely horrified. Then, he ripped the clear curtain back and dove in at her, trapping her scratching hands with his own. The burning water cascaded down over his back and shoulders.

"Sam! Sam, stop it!" Danny shouted at her. "Stop it! Stop it!"

She started screaming.

All the commotion attracted the nurses. They helped Danny wrestle Sam from the tub and tie her to the bed. It killed Danny to see those bonds on her wrists and ankles. His eyes were so sad and hurt, like baby blue pieces of shattered sky. Sam felt those eyes cutting into her, but she didn't have to feel them for long.

The nurses took Danny away.

Sam didn't watch his shadow as it vanished down the hall.

…

For Steps Four through Seven, Desiree asked Danny to sit out. She explain to him that they were all about looking inward and making a list of your own shortcomings. She suspected that if Danny was with Sam, she wouldn't tell the truth for fear of what he would think of her. Though he wanted to support her to the fullest, Danny listened to Desiree and did not sit in on the meetings. After the meeting, Clyde and Sam returned to their shared room. There was a note from Danny taped to the door. Apparently Tucker had come, picked him up, and brought him home for dinner with their families.

Wordlessly, Sam lay down on her bed and didn't say anything. With her eyes closed, she thought of Danny, picturing the way he slunk out of the room like a dog with a vicious master and a rolled-up newspaper chasing behind it. He was like a shattered little piece of the old him, of the bright-eyed laughing boy she vaguely remembered.

Clyde was on the phone, cursing and swearing at his brother. "Shut up, you dickhead. I'm in this place for you, now all I'm asking you to do is show the decency to come by with my woman and fucking visit me! Can you do that for me, brother?"

This didn't matter to him.

He didn't care about getting clean.

Sam closed her eyes, pulled the covers over her head like she used to do when she was a child, and tried to ignore Clyde as he cursed and shouted at his brother. She could hear someone crying somewhere in the clinic. She had no idea how she managed to sleep that night, but it wasn't for very long.

She had nightmares.

…

"Today will be a short meeting," Desiree said in her sweet soft voice. "Step Eight: make a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends with them. Those of you wishing to proceed to Step Nine: making direct amends to such people—" Here, she looked right at Sam since Danny was once again sitting beside her in the circle "—should proceed at your own pace. So, I would like all of you to turn to your sponsors and speak aloud the name of the person you hurt most with your addiction."

Sam put her back to Danny and turned to face Clyde.

With a long suffering sigh, he took her hands and muttered, "My brother."

Sam whispered, "Danny."

Danny touched her, curling his fingers over her shoulder. She leaned back into his touch.

Desiree smiled at the pair and then cut her eyes around the circle. A few chairs were empty by now. Some people hadn't made it this far. She wondered if Sam would be one of the lucky few who made it and hoped for Danny's sake that she would.

…

"Um, could I talk to you for a moment, Danny?" Sam asked as he walked her back to her room.

"Of course," he said with a winning yet desperate smile.

Sam realized she'd barely said two words to him in the past three days. As an inpatient, she couldn't go outside, could leave the clinic. Since she seemed a little nervous, Danny led her to an open window and took her hands in his own. While she was gathering her thoughts, he took a moment to look at her. Her chalk-pale face had some color to it and the place where she had torn the skin from her face was beginning to heal, now flesh creeping in at the edges. Her greasy stringy hair had been trimmed neatly, but still looked like it needed a few more bottle of shampoo to get all the filth out. Her violet eyes were still far-seeing, but that may have just been because she was thinking. She didn't look like the girl her remembered, like his best friend, but she didn't look dead anymore.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

Sam jolted, seeming to have forgotten that she was standing there with him. "Um, Danny, I know I hurt you and I just wanted to apologize," she forced out.

He smiled at her softly. "I know, Sam, I forgive you." He tried to draw her into his arms, but she pulled away.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I… I don't deserve it… I don't deserve you."

"Sam, if anything, I don't deserve you."

"What?" Her question as more like a breath of shock, of air whooshing from her lungs.

"Yeah, you're so strong and beautiful and brave. If I fell into drugs, I don't know if I'd be strong enough to climb out."

I don't want out, Sam thought, I want a hit, but her mouth was silent while her brain spiraled out of control.

"Please, Sam," he whispered and then gently drew her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She lay her head against him and listened to the beating of his heart and felt was warm softness of his skin beneath his shirt. Like she thought when she first saw him in the hospital, she thought of taking all the money from his pockets and buying drugs, but she didn't dig her claws into him and tear him apart. She couldn't.

Danny was her best friend another lifetime ago.

He hugged her closer and whispered, "I know you'll make it. You'll get clean. You'll pull through. I know you will…"

She pushed him back and looked up into his pale face. His breath was minty and moist on her face. He looked handsome, beautiful, alabaster-white and icy-blue and night-black. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes long and full and thick and hiding the expression in his face.

Danny wanted to kiss her, to tell her how much she meant to him but… he couldn't. He drew her into a hug again, tucking her head neatly beneath his chin to banish the temptation to kiss her wounded-looking mouth. Sam let out a sigh and held on to him tightly, pressing her cheek to his chest again and listening to his heartbeat. Her eyes filled with tears as she came to the realization that Danny was the only one who had always been there for her, been looking for her for so long, and he was the one she had hurt the most with her addiction.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"I know you'll get better, Sam," Danny whispered into her dark hair.

She didn't say anything, but Danny continued to hold her.

…

"You like him? Don't you?" Clyde asked Sam after Danny left in a brutal and sour voice.

Sam was lying on her side on her bed, staring at the space where Danny used to be, thinking of the scar he hid beneath his clothes. "What's it to you?" she snapped.

"Hey, we're sponsors," he said and sat down on the bed against her back. "We're supposed to share."

"I'm not sharing Danny."

"I don't want your boy-candy. I just want you to know that a guy like him with never stick with a girl like you. I figure that as your trusted sponsor, I should just warn you."

Sam sat up, shivering and glaring at him. "You don't know him."

"I know of him. He expects you to be whatever you used to be. He wants your past," he said nonchalantly. Clyde put his big hands on her shoulders and squeezed as if he was giving her a massage. "Do you think he'll stick with you once he figures out what you are?"

Sam jerked away, eyes flinty and narrowed into slits. "And you know what I am?"

Clyde nodded, mouth curved into a malicious grin. "Yeah," he said slowly, baiting her.

She was like a fish—hook, line, and sinker. "What is that?"

He cupped her shoulders again and turned her to face her reflection in the big mirror on the wall. "You're a junkie whore, Sam."

She tried to jerk away from him, but he held her firmly. He dug his fingers into her face, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. He pressed his finger into the scar on her face where she had dug all the bugs out, put his fingers against her damaged mouth, and then ran his hands down her sides to rest on her hips.

She stopped fighting him, just stared at them together in the mirror. A finger of fear ran down her spine. She watched her throat working furiously.

"Danny ain't going to stay with you," Clyde said against the shell of her ear, into her hair. "Once he sees the you he knew was gone, he'll run away screaming. You're just a junkie whore now. When we get out of here, when he dumps you, come to me, Sam." Clyde's eyes were crazy in the mirror, flashing in the fading light streaming in through the open window. "I'll take good fucking care of you."

Sam yanked away from him and lay back down on her bed, putting her back to him like a fortress of bone. She tried to sleep, but his words kept coming back to her. What if Danny didn't stay with her like he had promised? What if he did run screaming? What if she was alone?

"Danny's not like that," she whispered to herself.

Clyde chuckled in the other bed.

Sam ignored him, squeezing her eyes shut. "He's not… He'll stay… He won't run…"

…

The next day, they could leave. Some would be going to a halfway house, others would be going home, and some would go out into the big wide world on their own. Some would slip right back. Maybe a few would come back, most wouldn't, and some would die.

Sam was afraid to leave.

Danny had come to collect Sam and they were standing together in front of the clinic, waiting for Tucker to come pick them up. Danny adjusted her bag on his shoulder and gripped her hand a little tighter. She was looking around as if she wanted to bolt.

"Sam, it'll be okay," he said to her.

Sam stared at Clyde, feeling a cold sweat building up on the back of her neck. He gave her a gruesome smile and a little finger-wave and climbed into a big ugly red pick-up truck completely spattered in mud with naked lady black-and-chrome mud flaps. "How do you know that?" she whispered.

He squeezed her hand gently. "Because I'm going to be with you."

"What if you're not?" she asked, thinking of Clyde.

Danny actually looked surprised. His baby blue eyes widened. "Why do you think I wouldn't be with you?"

She stared at him hopelessly. "Never mind…"

"Sam—" Danny was cut off by Tucker pulling up and honking.

Tucker had a neat little station wagon in blood-red with soft leather seats. It wasn't his dream car, but he had learned to settle his dreams. Since his addiction, he had a different perspective on the world. It was a bleaker, but also somehow more hopeful. He stopped dreaming of dating a cheerleader. He started thinking about how he could save them from the in crowd, from the consuming popularity that would eventually destroy them if they weren't strong enough. He saw the world that way now—threatening but also full of wonder.

"Hey Tuck, thanks for picking us up," Danny said as he opened the passenger door for Sam and then hopped into the backseat with her bag.

Sam nervously slipped into the passenger seat beside Tucker. "Um, hi Tucker," she said softly.

Tucker gave her a small smile, put the car in gear, and pulled out of the lot.

Clyde made a 'Call me' motion as they passed him. Sam quickly slammed her gaze to the floor, curling her white hands into fists in her lap. Danny looked out the window, but Clyde only waved at him. Tucker didn't say anything, but he smelled a rat.

"Tucker, do you hate me?" Sam said flatly and suddenly.

"What?"

"Do you hate me for what I did to you?"

Tucker was quiet for a moment and Danny was holding his breath. Then, he put on his blinker, pulled over into the shoulder of the road, and turned to face Sam while keeping his fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel. "No," he said finally. "I don't."

"Why not?"

"I should have been stronger. I should have told you no, but I didn't. It was my own fault." He reached out to her, but she denied him a touch. "I don't blame you, Sam. I can't. You're my friend… still…"

God, she hated the way he said that. "You're my friend… still…" as if his friendship was a gift to her that he could chose to rip away at any time. She felt her mouth curl, her teeth snap down.

Danny put a hand on her shoulder, soft and warm. "He's right, Sam. We're your friends. We won't leave you."

She turned her face towards him and gazed into those baby blues.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Thanks…"

Danny smiled and then said to Tuck, "Can I drive?"

"No! You're a terrible driver!"

Danny laughed. It was a deep contagious sound that rattled deep into Tucker's core. It felt like forever since he had heard his friend laugh. He felt his own mouth curve into a smile in response. Beside him, Sam let out a small girlish giggle and then pressed her small white hands to her mouth. Danny reached around her and pulled her hands down from her mouth, freeing her laughter and smiles. They were all laughing, sitting in Tucker's blood-colored mom-van.

It wasn't the same as it used to be, but it was getting close.

…

Danny had intended to only walk Sam to the door, say hello to her parents, and make sure they didn't react badly, but once they got to the door, she broke down. She clutched his hand, begged him to come in with her, and he finally agreed. Her face was white with fear, fear of what would happen now.

Tucker didn't come in with them. The Mansons didn't like to look at him, to be reminded that their daughter had turned him into this—into a druggie, even though he was clean now. They still saw him in the hospital, laying there with Danny slumped at his side, exhausted by Sam and half-dead with fear. They remembered that it was Sam who did that to him.

Danny watched Tucker drive away. His chest ached. He had Sam back now, but nothing was right yet.

The Manson house was a beautiful old-fashioned redbrick Colonial with white shutters and trim and a glossy black door with a big brass lion's head doorknocker. The last time Danny was here, it felt as if the lion's head was snarling at him, but today it was simply smiling.

Mrs. Manson opened the door eagerly, as if she had been poised to spring just on the other side of it. She was wearing plain jeans and a pale pink blouse—no pearls, no jewelry, no shoes. Mr. Manson was sitting on the couch, clutching the paper in his hands. It was so wrinkled and smudged that he must have been holding it and sweating for hours.

Danny smiled at them. "Mr. and Mrs. Manson," he said gently, "Sam." He put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her gingerly into the house, closing the door quietly behind them and setting her bag on the foyer table.

"Um, hi," she squeaked. Her voice was small and mousey and cracking.

Danny gave her another small nudge because Mrs. Manson was frozen with her arms partially open as if expecting a hug. When Sam took those few stumbling steps towards her mother, it broke the spell. With a cry, Mrs. Manson enveloped Sam in her arms. They were both sobbing and crying and hugging.

Danny smiled softly.

Mr. Manson got off the couch and came up to him. "Thank you, Daniel," he said.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"For bringing her home. You're the only one who never gave up on her, who always believed in her. Thank you for that."

Danny smiled absently at the mother-daughter moment before him. "I couldn't give up on her. She's my best friend."

Mr. Manson put a hand on Danny's shoulder and then hugged him awkwardly. "Thank you," he murmured.

Danny didn't see any point in continuing this strange waltz of 'Thank you' and 'It was nothing' so he just said, "You're welcome, Mr. Manson." Then, he cast one more look at Sam, decided she didn't need him right now while she was safely wrapped in her mother's arms, and backed out the door. Before the door swung completely shut, he saw Mr. Manson going to embrace the two most important women in his life. Smiling to himself, Danny walked the two blocks back to his house feeling happier than he had in a long time.

He almost whistled.

But, he didn't.

It never occurred to him that she might try to leave home in search of drugs.

But, she didn't.

X X X

Everyone MUST go to this website! www. montana meth. org If anyone is too lazy to remove the spaces, there's a link in my profile. But I have personally SEEN the sick shit Meth does to people. Watch the commercials, read the print ads, and look at the pictures!

And by all means, spread the word!

Questions, comments, concerns? (Oh, reviews telling me I'm fucked up for writing this will be ignored completely, so if that's what you're going to say don't even bother reviewing.)