Caught in the Undertow

by devra

Sandwiched between missions and Judgment Day are slices of life. Caught in the Undertow is one such slice of life. A little voyeuristic peek into their lives.

2. Chapter 2

Caught in the Undertow By devra and JoaG

They walked in silence for the next hour. Derek moved them out of the shelter of the trees and into the valley, the meadow spread out before them making walking a whole lot easier. The downfall was that the sun became more oppressive and both of them were soaked with sweat.

"Okay, let's take a break." Derek pointed to a fallen log right at the edge of the woods. John eased himself down, using a tree for leverage, then leaned his head against the tree. He looked exhausted. Sitting down next to him, Derek took out another bottle of water and handed it to John.

"Not thirsty." John closed his eyes.

"You need to drink."

"I'll throw up if I drink."

Derek reached out and cupped John's nape, feeling sweat-damp hair beneath his fingers. Hazel eyes opened, looking at him in surprise. "You need to drink. I know you're feeling dizzy and sick to your stomach but the heat's going to make it worse."

"I don't... I..."

"Try. Just a swallow."

He took his hand away, and John reached for the water. He took a sip, grimaced, waited a moment, and took another. To Derek's relief, he managed a good third of the bottle before stating he couldn't stomach any more.

"We could stay here, wait until it gets cooler. Might be easier on you."

"How far are we?"

"At least another hour."

John closed his eyes. "I want to keep going."

"It's hot≈"

"Hot walking, hot sitting." John started to stand, ended up on his knees, and it was only with Derek's help that he got to his feet.

"Look, it's probably smarter to stay here."

"Heat too much for you?" John asked sarcastically. He turned, stepped into the meadow, and started walking the way they'd come.

"John, this way." Derek didn't say anything when John stopped, turned around and continued walking past him.

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Forty minutes later Derek was sorry he hadn't heeded his instincts and kept John in the shade. After collapsing to his knees and spewing everything he'd eaten, John had only been able to get up with Derek's help. He stopped trying to convince him to come and rest; their goal was now their car. The Jeep, with a first aid kit containing Tylenol, a half case of water bottles but more importantly, blessed air conditioning.

John was walking blindly, tripping over everything that could possibly trip, face smacking more than once into low lying branches. Derek had reached out twice to help him dodge trees that wouldn't move out of John's nearly-staggering stride.

The third time John landed on his knees, he stayed there, head down, braced on his arms √ an utter representation of defeat. Derek lost no time in crouching next to him and putting a hand under his arms, raising him up so that he was kneeling. "I know I said earlier we were almost there, but we are. Look, you can see where we parked."

Not waiting to see if John would raise his head, Derek pointed to the raised area they would need to climb to. "I know you're tired. We can stop and rest for a while."

"How long?" John didn't raise his head to look. Derek had a good view of the bruised lump on John's forehead. His face was pale, his hair damp and stringy, his neck and cheeks beaded with sweat.

"Twenty minutes. It's uphill, but the climb's not as rough as what we ran."

"Let's go."

"We can rest a while." In answer, John caught Derek's arm for support and got to his feet unsteadily. Derek rose and with his arm around John's waist, they began trudging uphill.

00000

"Wait here." He left John underneath the meagre shade of the one lone, nearby tree and hurried to the Jeep. "It's too damned hot in the Jeep to even think of getting inside."

A blast of overheated air hit him in the face, several degrees hotter than the outside. Reaching into the automotive oven, Derek started the motor, turned the air conditioning to high, and shut the door. As hot as it was outside, it was paradise compared to the interior of the Jeep.

He went to the back, retrieved the first aid kit and a bottle of water that felt nearly hot enough to boil an egg, and put both on the car's hood. He found the Tylenol, pushed three out of the blister pack, and hurried back to John.

"Here, take these."

John, who was leaning half his body against the tree's trunk, opened one eye to stare at the pills.

"Tylenol. They'll help with the headache."

John's fingers groped at the pills. When he put them in his mouth, Derek offered him the water. "Water's warm," he warned. "Just take enough to swallow the pills for now."

He watched John's throat work as he sipped and swallowed, capped the bottle and returned to the first aid kit. He grabbed two sterile wipes and went back to John, tearing one protective envelope as he walked.

"This might sting a little." He began cleaning the cuts and scrapes on John's face and arms, keeping clear of his forehead. John hissed at the first touch, then turned his head to the side, allowing Derek to do what he wanted, moving only when Derek needed access to his wounds.

"Okay, Jeep should be comfy by now." He waited until John moved away from the tree, then hurried to open the Jeep's door. The cold air wafted out, promising relief. John caught the top of the Jeep's hood, slid inside, and carefully laid his head back on the headrest. Without a word, Derek reached for the seatbelt, buckled him in, and shut the car door as softly as he could.

He returned the first aid kit into the back, hurried around and got in. He put the Jeep in gear, turned it around, and headed for home. He ignored the single lone tear sliding down John's cheek.

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The moment the car started moving, John felt like throwing up. He closed his eyes, the blur of trees and sky so nauseating to him that he felt like he would slide right off his seat. The cold air helped, though, and he concentrated as much as he could on simply breathing while his stomach cramped and his head pounded.

"You got your phone with you?"

It took John a moment to think where his phone might be. He moved his arm to his pocket, moving slowly due to the stiffness in his elbow. He pulled his phone out and held it mutely to Derek.

"Call your mom."

Derek had a phone, John knew his mom had bought him one the moment his uncle had shown proof that he had some sort of ID. But as John squinted at the blurry screen, he realized he'd never seen Derek use it. He found his mom's number on speed dial and made the call.

A moment later he got the telltale sound one always dreaded to hear. "There's no signal."

"Okay. Try again in ten minutes."

John let the phone fall between his legs and swallowed bile.

"You're going to be okay."

He didn't bother answering; from the way he felt, he was pretty sure he was dying.

"You've obviously got a concussion; but a few days' rest and you'll be good as new."

Derek patted his leg awkwardly. John turned his head slightly and opened his eyes to look at his uncle. His face wavered in and out of focus. What John could see was a grim expression, until Derek turned and met his eyes. Then his expression changed, and he smiled. For a moment, his smile reached his eyes, and then the Jeep hit a rut and bounced.

Pain exploded in John's head and ribs and he cried out despite himself. He felt the Jeep slow as Derek apologized. "Sorry. We've got a bit of rough road for a couple of miles. I'll take it slow."

Even with the Jeep moving at a pace that would make a tortoise proud, the going was tortuous. Between his vertigo and excruciating headache, John lost track of time. It was only when Derek shook his leg again did he focus on his surroundings again.

"Wanna try your mom again?"

John didn't want to open his eyes, and he fiddled with the phone by rote, waiting until the last moment until he had to actually look. As he sat there, phone held to his ear, he realized that the road had evened out at some point and that they were now on asphalt.

John? How'd the training go?"

The moment he heard her voice, he wanted to cry. "Mom?" His voice sounded odd, strangled, almost. He wanted to be there with her. To have her arms around him, tell him he'd be all right, that everything would be okay.

"John? John, what's wrong?"

"Mom, I..." He fought so hard not to cry that he couldn't speak. Derek plucked the phone from his fingers and John turned away, embarrassed.

"Sarah? It's me. We had a bit of an accident."

John heard his mother's exclamation through the earpiece.

"No, he's not. He hit his head. Got himself a bit of a concussion."

He strained his ears, trying to hear what his mother's words were to that, but she was speaking too low.

"We're on our way home now. Should be there in about two hours. I just wanted to give you a head's up..."

John startled when Derek nudged his arm. He felt like he'd been woken up from a light doze. Derek had the phone in his hand, holding it in front of him. "Your mom wants to talk to you."

He took the phone and brought it back up to his ear. "Mom?" The word came easier this time.

"Hey, sweetie. Derek says you hit your head?"

"I don't remember falling."

"That's okay. That happens often when you get a concussion. How are you feeling/i?"

"My head hurts," he grumbled.

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Sick to your stomach?"

"Yeah."

"Double vision?"

"Sometimes. Mom, do I need to go to the hospital?" Hospitals were a no-go; he knew, even now, that while their IDs were secure, for one thing they had no insurance and for another, the more places they were listed under, the greater the chance for the FBI or Cromartie to find them.

"No, no hospital," Derek blurted while his mom said, "We'll worry about that if the time comes, okay?"

"I'll be okay. Derek said I'll be fine."

"You will. You just rest until he gets you home."

"Okay."

"I'll see you soon."

"Yeah." He couldn't remember how long it had taken them to get here or how far away they were from the house, or how long they'd been travelling. He turned the phone off when he heard the dial tone and held it loosely in his hand.

When he tried to relax, he realized his headache had eased a little, probably due to the Tylenol, although the vertigo and nausea were just as bad.

Derek's grip on his knee tore him from the edge of sleep. He woke up with a startled gasp, and for a second his headache was concentrated in a small section of his forehead before it spread out and tortured the rest of his brain. His nausea grew, threatening to make him sick again.

"How're you doing?"

"How much further?" John wanted to rub the spot Derek had just squeezed. From the residual ache, he was pretty sure it was bruised from the fall.

"Another hour. How's the head?"

"Still pounding."

He turned his face so the vents blew cold air directly onto his face and breathed until the urge to throw up passed.

"≈So I couldn't go home, because I knew my mom was going to kill me."

John turned his head to look at Derek, wondering when he'd started talking.

"So I walked around the mall, over and over again, looking for Kyle, each time getting more and more desperate. I must have been at it a good two hours, until I ran into my father. He didn't say a word, just motioned for me to follow him. I had no idea how he'd found me, had no idea how to tell him I'd lost Kyle. Every time I tried to say something, my dad would tell me to wait. The two blocks to our house felt like a death march. And when we got home, the little shit was sitting on the porch steps, playing with his Legos. He had the nerve to yell at me for getting lost and forcing him to go home and find our dad."

John mumbled something about being glad he didn't have a younger brother, and closed his eyes.

Derek grasped his knee again, painfully shocking him out of a doze.

"How are you doing?" He shook John's leg and John instinctively grabbed Derek's hands and brushed them away.

"Tylenol's helping a little." He rubbed gently at the throbbing muscles around his knee.

"Good. We'll be home in a half hour."

John started to give Derek a smile but stopped the gesture when it hurt his face.

"You holding up okay? Are you cold? Want some water?"

"I'm fine." He settled back into his seat, this time leaving his left hand curled protectively just above his knee.

He came back to awareness at the insistent and tinny sound of Queen's We are the Champions filling the Jeep.

"Wha...?"

"I think that's your phone." Derek brought his arm over John's chest and pointed downwards. John followed his finger, and saw his cell phone sitting by his feet.

"That's Mom." Moving slowly, he leaned forward. The struggle to reach the phone without actually bending his head was impossible until he nudged the phone closer to his questing fingers with his foot. He caught his prize and connected the call as he brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello?" He leaned back slowly as spots floated before his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, he could see them behind his eyelids.

"Hey. Just wondering how you were doing." His mom's voice was loud in his ear and he adjusted the receiver.

"About the same."

There was an awkward pause and he heard his mom sigh. "Where are you? I was starting to get a little worried ."

"Um..." Reluctantly he opened his eyes a little and peeked out into the sun-shine bright exterior. They were in the city; exactly where, he had no idea. "Mom's wondering where we are."

"Tell her five minutes. We hit some construction on the I20, slowed us down a little."

John swallowed, his mouth pasty with thick saliva. "Derek says... Five minutes."

"I heard. Five minutes. Okay. We'll see you sooni."

"Soon..." The Jeep turned suddenly, and the motion caused a sudden surge of vertigo. With a hand braced on the dashboard and side window, John swallowed a mouthful of saliva. The Jeep turned again then slowed, and sped up again. The movements, with his eyes closed, were disorienting.

"Hey, you okay?"

"How far?" John ground out between clenched teeth.

"We're almost there. You gonna hurl?"

The panting started up, and John couldn't answer. The Jeep stopped and that was the final clincher. He lost the battle with his stomach and brought up a mouthful of hot, burning bile. The invisible spike poking into his head was hammered a quarter inch deeper when he coughed and spat, making those spots he'd been seeing turn into supernovae. Warm fingers touched his cheek a moment before something damp pressed against his lips and chin.

"You done?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Good." Something crinkled loudly and through a crack of his eyelids, he saw Derek folding the ends of a plastic bag together. He opened the car door, dropped the bag to the ground and shut the door. "We're two blocks away from the house." He put his hand on the gear shift and John shut his eyes.

He felt the Jeep begin to move. Two blocks. He could do this. Two blocks. He started counting each breath, trying to distract himself.

By the time Derek pulled into the driveway, he'd counted up to sixty.

The door jerked open even before Derek turned the motor off. Immediately the heat jammed that spike even further into his head.

"Hey, Johnnie."

"Charley? You home early?" John turned his head sideways and forced a smile as he tried to unbuckle his seat belt and sit up.

"You could say that." Charley laid his hands over John's, pushed them aside, and unclipped the seatbelt. "How about you stay put for a minute so I can get a look at that bump on your head?"

"Okay." He sat still, letting Charley's finger play around on his forehead, trusting that they'd never actually go and touch the area that hurt so much.

"You got yourself whacked pretty good there."

"Tree. Derek says it's dented."

"Yeah, I'm sure that poor tree's aching just as much as you are right now." Charley's hand moved down to his cheek, warm against his chilled skin. "I need you to open your eyes for a minute. This might be a little uncomfortable.

"Ow!" The light that flashed into his left eye just about hammered the spike all the way to the back of his skull.

"I know. I know. Come on, I gotta do the same on your other eye." He tapped the area just below, near his cheekbone.

John opened his eyes again, not realizing he'd shut them. "Argh!" He grabbed at Charley blindly, trying to pull his hand, and the penlight, away.

"Okay. It's okay. I'm finished. See? I'm putting it away now."

"Mom? Where's Mom?"

"I'm right here, John." Her voice came from where Charley was and he chanced the sunlight again. She was leaning over Charley and she gave him what looked like a very worried smile.

"John. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

Concentrating on Charley's three slightly out of focus fingers held before him, John stuttered out the answer.

"Good." The three digits became one. "Keep your eyes on my finger." John trailed it from left to right, back to left, up, down.

"You're doing great. I guess you're head's killing you and you're feeling kind of dizzy?"

"Yeah. Dizzy. Sick."

"Did he throw up?"

"A couple of times," Derek confirmed.

"That's to be expected with a blow to the head. Did he lose consciousness?"

"Yeah." Derek hadn't yet left the Jeep. "He was out for a couple of minutes. Woke up pretty disoriented."

"John, do you know where you are now?"

"Home. In L.A.," John added.

"Okay. Good. We can go inside now. Do you think you can walk?"

"I can carry you, if you can't walk." Cameron stuck her head into the Jeep, peering over Derek's shoulder.

"I can walk."

"You heard the man. He can walk. Now, get out of my way, little girl." Cameron gave Charley a blank stare, hesitating just long enough to show him that the decision to retreat was hers, and not his.

John's legs, though, had a different opinion. Embarrassed by Charley's quick save when his knees buckled, he realized, as he went past the metal gate and up the three steps leading to the porch, that Charley had anticipated this very thing.

Stepping into the dark interior, John sighed in relief. With Charley holding on to one arm, he held his other arm out, using the wall both for guidance and support.

"This way." His mom brushed past them, rounded the corner, and hurried into his bedroom. By the time he and Charley got there, his mom had half-straightened his sheet and was waiting for them.

"Do you have any ice?" Charley asked as he helped lower John to the edge of the bed. His mom nodded. "Crush it and put it in a towel."

"You. Scary robot. Get me John's pajamas." Charley grabbed John's shoulder before he could lie down. "Just another minute, okay? Let's get your clothes off."

"I can do it≈" Again Charley was there to catch him when John bent over to untie his sneakers. With the room spinning, it was all he could do to not topple off the bed while Charley and Derek took his clothes off.

"Wow, you're going to have some interesting shades for a few days." John managed a quick peek at his torso; his ribs were already a nice shade of bruising, as were a few spots on his legs and arms. "Does this hurt?"

John jumped when Charley pressed lightly against his ribs.

"I don't think he's got anything broken."

"No, you're right. Just bruised." Charley crouched, slipped his pajama pants up past his feet and his hips as John leaned forward off the bed. "Your friend did a pretty good job at cleaning out your scrapes; I don't think we need to put any bandages on them." A clean tee shirt replaced the dirt-stained one he'd been wearing. "Okay. Let's get you horizontal."

John wanted to moan in relief as he stretched out in his bed. Derek pulled the sheet up, patting it gently against his chest.

"Did you give him any medication?"

"Three Tylenol."

"Okay. Good. How long ago?"

"Couple of hours, just before we left."

"Get me some water?" Charley asked softly as he sat down next to John on the bed. "Get my bag. It's in the living room," he ordered Cameron.

"I know." Cameron left the room, passing his mom in the doorway. Charley took the towel she handed to him. "John, I'm going to put this against your forehead. The pressure may hurt a little so..."

John jumped at the combination of cold against his forehead and the pain it caused him. But after a moment the pain eased and the chill actually felt good.

"How is he?"

"Well, he's got bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes. He's also got a Grade Two concussion and while I'd normally insist he be brought to Emergency for observation≈"

"No hospitals. We already discussed this."

"I know, Sarah." He took the bag from Cameron and rifled through it. John watched, feeling like he was viewing a movie playing, and that he wasn't really in the room. "He's photosensitive; dizzy and nauseated as well as a killer headache.

"John, I'm going to give you some Compazine for the nausea. It may make you a little sleepy, and that's all right. You won't be hurting so much if you're sleeping." Charley took the ice-filled towel and put it to one side and motioned for John to raise his head. "Here, swallow these." He held out two pills and John took them blindly, and put them in his mouth. Charley took the water from Derek and held the glass up to his lips. "Just a sip, to get the pills down. When your stomach's a little more settled, we'll see about getting water and maybe some broth into you."

"Should we wake him up every couple of hours?" Derek asked as Charley helped John back down onto the pillow.

"You've seen head injuries before?" Charley resettled the ice pack once more on John's forehead and John reached up to hold it in place.

"Yeah. Make sure his condition hasn't deteriorated?"

"If it has..." He turned to his mom. "Then you're to take him straight to the hospital. No argument."

"No argument," his mom whispered.

"For the headache, the Tylenol will do. Let him sleep for an hour or two, then get some water and broth into him with more Tylenol." He put a hand on John's leg. "How about it? Think you can sleep?"

It took a lot of concentration for him to follow the conversation and it was a relief to be able to say yes. He closed his eyes, only to open them again when Charley patted his shoulder, and again when his mom kissed his cheek.

"Leave the ice for another ten minutes, then reapply in a couple more hours," was the last thing he heard Charley say as he drifted off.

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"What the hell happened?" Sarah hissed the moment they stepped out of John's room and she was sure that the closed bedroom door would separate her anger from her sleeping son. "You were taking him out for training, not put him through a war!"

"I know. I'm sorry. We were running near the edge of a cliff and he lost his footing≈"

"Running near the edge of a cliff? Now what reason would you have for running near a dangerous area to begin with?"

"It wasn't dangerous. There was plenty of space≈"

"My son's lying in that room with a concussion. Don't tell me it wasn't dangerous."

"Sarah." She shrugged off Charley's arm as she continued glaring at Derek.

"Look. It was a bad judgment call on my part, but at least he wasn't seriously hurt."

"Seriously hurt? We don't know that."

"Sarah." This time Charley shoved his way between her and Derek. "John's sleeping. I think you both can take this somewhere else, right?"

She ran her fingers through her hair and nodded. "You're right. I'm going to go sit with him≈"

"He's going to be fine. Probably have a headache for a few days. Oh, and it looks like he may have some bruising." Charley pointed to his eyes. "It probably looks worse than it is. If you want, I'll come back and check on him when I finish my shift tomorrow."

She stared into Charley's eyes, ignoring Derek as he walked towards the kitchen. Everything she'd given up eight years ago, it was all reflected in Charley's eyes. "I... I'd like." For John, she told herself. He's only coming back for John's welfare.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Charley gave her a sad smile and left her. She stood there, a hand on John's doorknob, waiting until she heard the front door close before going back to sit with her son.

00000

"John? Wake up, John."

Bruised and puffy eyelids blinked slowly as John's eyes trailed across the room, searching for Sarah.

"Hey," she said when his sleepy gaze found hers.

"Mom?"

"Yeah. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." He rolled onto his back, his hand coming up towards his face.

"Don't touch." She caught his hand before he could finger the lump on his forehead. "Do you know what day this is?"

John made a half-hearted attempt to roll his eyes at her. "Yeah. The beginning of summer vacation. I'm off to a great start, huh?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Well, you do have the rest of the summer to enjoy." She pushed back his bangs from his face, being careful to steer clear of his injury. "Wanna tell me what happened out there?"

"Derek said I fell."

"Yeah, I know that. Do you/i remember how it happened?"

He shifted slightly, eyes closed. "Running. And it was hot. So hot. Derek was right behind me. He said I wasn't fast enough..." His voice drifted.

"John."

His eyelids flickered open.

"What happened? You were running?" she prodded.

"Derek said I wasn't fast enough," John repeated, closing his eyes again.

Sarah stiffened, a horrible thought coming to mind. "Did Derek push you?"

"What?" John seemed to wake up; his eyes popped open as he stared at her in horror. "No. He didn't touch me. Not while running. Told me I wasn't fast enough."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." John sat up, struggling to untangle himself from the sheet. "Mom, Derek didn't touch me. He helped me. It was so hot. Derek helped. I swear. Gave me water. Drove us home. I puked."

She gave him a relieved smile and picked up the glass of water she'd brought with her. "Charley said you should drink something. I've got Tylenol."

John took the pills from her. As he drank, Sarah looked at him carefully. Despite the black eyes and the bruise on his forehead, he looked a little less dazed. "Derek made some soup."

A small quirk raised the corner of his lips. "Derek? I guess you figure I'm sick enough and won't survive your cooking?"

"Oh, look at the funny man." She grinned, took the empty glass and traded it with a cup of lukewarm soup. John sniffed at it, gave the broth a tentative taste, and began drinking. She had to admit it did smell good. Derek surprised her at times.

"You want more?" she asked when John tipped the cup, trying to get every drop out of it.

"There's more?" He handed the mug back enthusiastically.

"I'll be right back." She stood and went to leave, but stopped when John pushed back the sheet.

"I gotta go pee."

She was ready to help him but he got to his feet without wavering. He was still walking with his head held stiffly, his arm wrapped around his ribcage, but didn't look like he was going to fall flat on his face at any moment. She followed him until he turned towards the bathroom, then headed for the kitchen. She barely had time to ladle out another cupful of soup when John yelled.

"Mom!"

Ten seconds later, Sarah, Derek and Cameron barged into the bathroom. John was standing in front of the mirror, leaning against the sink, staring at himself. He caught her gaze through the mirror.

"What happened to me?" He touched the bruising around his eyes.

"Just a little souvenir from the bump on your head." Derek brushed past Sarah to get a closer look as he peered over John's shoulder. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really, but it's hard to tell."

"Get some more ice," Sarah ordered Cameron. "Charley said the bruising was normal."

John's eyes met hers again. "Okay." He turned around and leaned against the sink. "Um, if you guys don't mind."

"Oh. Right." Derek clapped John on the shoulder and left the bathroom on Cameron's heels.

"I'll get your soup."

Sarah was waiting for John in his bedroom when he came back. She sat down next to him, handed him the soup and watched him drink it. Cameron showed up a moment later, ice-filled towel in hand. Her hands were covered with icy particles. That, combined with the lack of hammering sounds, indicated she'd crushed the ice cubes with her fists.

She took the ice from Cameron and exchanged it with John's empty cup when he finished. John lay down slowly, eyes closed, with the towel pressed against his forehead.

"Headache any better?"

"Not really. But I'm not as dizzy and sick as before." He opened his eyes to look at her.

"That's a good sign." She gave him a smile, and felt a measure of relief when he smiled back.

"Are you still mad at Derek?"

She pursed her lips, contemplating lying to her son. "Yeah. I'm still a little bit angry at him."

"I remember that he was scared. Really scared. In the Jeep, he kept checking on me."

"He'd better be. He brought my son home with a busted head."

John shifted on the bed. "He was scared. Worried. I don't remember the fall. Everything else is blurry... but I remember Derek's voice. He helped me. Made sure... I was okay. Told me to call you. That was his idea."

"Well, for that alone, I won't shoot him."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be?"

"Because I came home with a busted head."

"No. No, I'm not mad." She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. "It was an accident."

"So you're not mad at Derek, either, right? Because it was an accident?"

"I'm not mad at Derek," she answered with a put upon long-suffering manner. "You're right. It was an accident. Now, why don't you close your eyes and see if you can sleep a little more?"

"What time is it?"

"Just after six."

"I should get up..."

"You should stay in bed."

"But it's not even night."

"It will be in a few hours. Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

"I'm not really sleepy. My head's throbbing too much."

Sarah didn't say anything about how John had just had no trouble sleeping with a throbbing head a couple of hours earlier. "Can I get you something? Books? Magazines? Your laptop?"

"I don't think I can concentrate enough to read or work on the computer."

"Of course." She figured he wouldn't be up to either but she'd hoped she was wrong, which was why she'd asked. "Do you want me to read to you?"

"Mo-om." John rolled his eyes at her. "I'm not a kid."

"I know that," she added with a knowing grin, "but you loved it when you were/i a kid and couldn't get me to do it often enough. Anyways, I just thought, if you couldn't read, I could, you know, to help pass the time. If you wanted me to."

"I, Um..."

"So, do you have any books lying around that you'd like to finish?" Sarah stood and started to rummage through the handful of second-hand paperbacks that lined his rickety bookshelf.

"Mom, it's okay, you don't have to≈" John had rolled himself onto his side and had one arm out, almost supplicating her to stop. And stop she did when the second and third books of the little pile had pictures of scantily-clad women in very suggestive poses.

She flipped through the dog-eared novels, noting many of corners of the pages were folded over. She stopped to skim through one or two of these pages, and if she hadn't actually been crouching in front of her son, she might have sat down, made herself more comfortable, and read through some of the smut, just for entertainment purposes. As it was, trying not to laugh at John's mortified expression, she flipped the two books to the bottom of the pile and continued perusing the choice of her son's literature. There was nothing that interested her and nothing that would lull John to sleep.

"I, Uh..." John was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling when Sarah straightened, empty handed.

"I think I have just the thing. I'll be right back." She headed for her own room and the stack of novels she'd purchased shortly after they'd found this house. She told herself it was more for curiosity's sake than sentiment, despite the fact that Charley had owned the first three of these novels that were geared specifically for children. She grabbed the first of the series and hurried back to John's room.

"Mom, Harry Potter? That's for kids," John exclaimed with a groan when he caught sight of the cover.

"Exactly," Sarah replied with a smirk as she settled next to him on the bed.

00000

"He still sleeping?" Derek paused, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, and watched as Sarah walked to the fridge and opened the door.

"He's still sleeping." She looked tired as she poured herself an orange juice and swallowed a handful of the vitamin pills she'd been popping every day. Derek suspected she hadn't gotten much sleep last night.

"How was he? When you woke him up during the night?" he continued when Sarah glanced over at him as she chugged down the last of her juice.

She licked her lips. "He was in pain the two times I woke him, but he was pretty lucid. He had trouble falling asleep each time but once he was out, he was dead to the world until I woke him up again."

"So, bland breakfast sound okay when he wakes up? Oatmeal? Hard boiled egg? Toast?"

"Don't worry about it." Sarah rinsed the glass and placed it in the sink. "I'll take care of breakfast."

"You have to go to work today≈"

"I'm not going."

"Sarah≈"

"I'm not going. I'll call in sick or something."

"You just started the job≈"

"So? I'll call in sick or tell them my son's sick≈"

"You can't afford to lose this job. It's the only lead we've got towards finding the Turk and Sarkissian."

"I don't ca≈"

"Derek's right." The piece of walking and talking tin can didn't even glance at them as she strutted through the kitchen on her way to god knew where. "We can't lose this chance to find out who Sarkissian sold the Turk to."

"I'm just missing one day. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal." Derek raised his voice in anger. How could Sarah even consider sabotaging all the hard work they'd done over the past months? "We can't do anything that could jeopardize you losing your job. You're in the best position to overhear something at the diner≈"

"I'm not leaving John alone."

"He won't be alone."

"I'll be here," the machine said, talking over Derek as she stopped her strut and turned to stare blankly at Sarah. "John's vitals are strong and there's no sign of cerebral edema."

"You're sure?" Sarah's voice sounded almost frantic.

"I'm sure."

"You just said he was doing good last night." Derek knew he sounded sarcastic but the metal bitch always brought out the worst in him. "We'll be fine." He forced himself to smile at the robot. "And if John needs you, we'll call you."

"We'll call you," the robot parroted when Sarah looked like she was starting to relent.

00000

The headache wasn't so bad if he didn't move. Which would be okay, if he didn't have the most god-awful urge to pee. John knew there was no way he could stay in bed any longer so he pushed back the sheet and sat up.

Or rather, he'd planned on sitting up, except his abdomen seemed to have other thoughts.

"Mom?" He glanced around his bedroom, expecting to see her sitting either at the foot of his bed or in the chair next to it, like she'd done during the night. But no, he was alone.

Okay, so sitting up was out of the question. There were other ways of getting out of bed. He moved slowly, partly because of his headache and partly because every inch of his body that he concentrated on was either stiff or aching. Once on his side, he slid his legs out from under the sheet and aimed for the floor. Pushing up in tandem with his arms, he managed to half slide, half roll out of bed.

He padded to the bedroom door and found that prodding the sore spot on his ribs only made it more sore.

"Hey, you okay?" Derek asked from the living room.

"Yeah. Just going to the bathroom." John shut the bathroom door as quickly as possible and hurried to the toilet.

"Are you hungry? I can fry you some eggs," Derek called through the door.

John steadied himself with one hand against the wall and began to pee. "That's okay," he called over his shoulder, shuddering at the thought of eating something fried. "I'm not that hungry."

"Eggos? Cereal? Toast?"

"Toast," John decided, the easiest on his stomach.

"Toast it is." He heard Derek walk away as he finished up. He stared at himself in the mirror; the lump on his head had gotten smaller but the whole area was bruised, as was the area around his eyes. He stared at himself for a long moment, thankful he didn't have to go to school. By the time he'd washed up, brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, Derek was calling him to come and eat.

There was an assortment of peanut butter and jams on the table before his plate containing two small pieces of toast, as well as the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. He sat down slowly, wincing as different body parts woke up as he used each muscle group.

As he reached for the Tylenol, he asked Derek, "Where's Mom?"

"She went to work." Leaning against the counter, Derek watched him.

John glanced at the clock, he hadn't realized it was so late.

"How's the head?"

John shook two pills into his palm, eyed them a moment before adding a third and then tipped them into his mouth and drank half the glass of water before answering. "Hurts."

"And ribs?"

"Sore." He reached for the butter and began to spread it over his toast. "Where's Cameron?"

"I'm not sure. Your mother sent her out to do something or other. It's just you and me."

John grabbed the peanut butter jar and dug out a large dollop on his knife.

"Look." Derek, normally a man of minimal movement, squirmed in place. "About yesterday. How much do you remember?"

"Is there coffee?" John wondered if he ignored Derek, whether he'd change the subject.

Derek got a cup and poured coffee into it. "Do you remember the fall?"

"Would you mind getting me some cream? It's going to take me forever to get up out of this chair and get to the fridge." He finished spreading the peanut butter, licked the knife and set it down next to his plate.

Derek placed the cup next to John's plate and walked over to the fridge. "Do you remember what led to you falling?"

John acknowledged that Derek wasn't going to let this go. "I went over this with Mom earlier."

"But not with me."

He bit into his toast, chewing slowly as Derek brought him the cream. He swallowed, put cream in his coffee, and took a sip. "I don't remember falling, But I remember other things. Kinda. Sorta," he finally said, wishing he didn't. The shame he'd felt at Derek's words as he was catching up to him, that he remembered, and it hurt; he'd been embarrassed and shown up, and the worst thing was, Derek had been right in the first place. It was hard, very hard, but he turned to look at Derek. To his surprise, his uncle appeared uncomfortable.

"I want to apologize. There was no reason for me to be that rough on you. If I hadn't been so bent in trying to make you into someone you're not, then≈"

"There's no need for this. I'm not angry." Now it was John's turn to feel uncomfortable. He bit into his toast for something to do and this time, the cloying feel of the peanut butter made him nauseous. He swallowed as fast as he could and rinsed the taste out of his mouth with the coffee.

"You've every right to be angry."

"And you had every right to do what you did. Look, it's over. Let's move on." He tossed the barely-eaten piece of his toast on top of the untouched one and wiped his fingers on his pajama bottoms. The upset stomach was making him dizzy and his head hurt more.

"John."

"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to bed." As he slowly stood, his headache rose in intensity as well.

"John. I'm sorry."

"So am I." He knew he'd just hurt Derek but at the moment, he didn't want to deal with anything other than getting rid of his headache.

00000

Part of the reason John left the kitchen was so he could be alone with his misery; what he hadn't expected was for Derek to follow him to his bedroom. "I don't need to be tucked in." He sat on the edge of the bed, undecided if he wanted to lie down and sleep or just lie down and rest. Or just sleep sitting up.

"Believe me, that wasn't my intention." Derek glanced around the room, then back at John, as if he were waiting for something.

John stared back.

"Aren't you getting into bed?"

"I thought you weren't tucking me in."

"I'm not. I just want to make sure you're all right."

"Yeah, right," John mumbled, just loud enough that Derek could hear as he slowly shoved his pillows up against the headboard and half-sat, half-lay against them.

"Well, if something happens to you while your mom's out working, we both know she'll skin me alive." Derek seemed to relax now that John was in bed. He picked up the Harry Potter book his mom had been reading and checked out the back cover. "This any good?"

John shrugged. "Mom was reading it last night."

"Really?" He held it out. "You want it?"

"No." Reading was the last thing he wanted. Making conversation was right up there also.

"Can I borrow it?"

John hoped he kept the surprise from his face. "Sure."

"Thanks. Want anything? Magazines? Laptop? Want me to bring the small television into your room?"

John was tempted by the last one, and obviously it showed somewhere on his face because Derek pointed a finger at him and said, "Give me two minutes."

True to his word, two minutes later, the portable television was resting precariously on a table next to his bed, the remote was in his hand, the DVD player was on his nightstand and he had a stack of movies which Derek had magically procured from somewhere. John picked up one movie and the cover gave no information. Confused, he waved it towards Derek.

"Rentals. Figured you might want some entertainment. Wasn't too sure what you liked so I got a bunch of different ones."

"You went to a video rental place and got me movies?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah. Let me know if there are any particular ones you'd like to see and I'll go back and get them."

"Yeah. Thanks." Surprised, John began rifling through the dozen movies. Most of these he'd heard of through the grapevine at school. He picked one at random, stuck it into the player and sat back to watch, and never made it past the credits.

ooOoo

Twenty minutes into the movie, Derek retrieved the remote and turned it off, holding his breath, waiting for John to wake up, but there wasn't even a hitch in his breathing. Derek appraised his nephew as he silently paced from one side of the bed to the other.

Even in sleep, the bruises made John appear older than sixteen. Based on the lines of pain etched in both his forehead and the corners of his mouth, the Tylenol had probably accomplished diddly squat.

John made a futile attempt to turn sideways, and a mewl of pain escaped his lips before his arm cushioned his ribs. Like a drunken man, John sat up, his head bobbing, and with eyes closed, he pushed his bangs off his forehead with one hand and with the other pushed the pile of pillows down.

"Whoa, easy, guy." Derek rushed to his side, adjusted the pillows, fluffed them and guided John back down.

His eyelids fluttered, then opened, his gaze unchecked and unsure. "Where's Mom?"

"Working."

"Oh." John's hand lethargically, and with extremely poor coordination, pulled weakly at the neck of his tee shirt. "Hot."

"I know," Derek agreed sympathetically. "Want something to drink?"

"No." John paused, his eyes slowly closing. "No, thank you," he amended.

00000

Derek moved the fan, balancing the base on the seat of John's computer chair. He plugged it in and moved it as close to the head of the bed as the cord allowed. At the lowest setting, the breeze was gentle, but hopefully just enough to take the edge off.

The fact that John inched forward on the bed, closer to the fan was answer enough to the question Derek didn't have to ask. With deft, light fingers accustomed to wiring bombs and breaking into locked buildings, Derek folded down the sheet John had pulled up to his chin.

Blindly and obviously still fast asleep, John reached out, searching for the sheet. Derek stepped back, watching as his nephew latched onto the corner and pulled it right back where it had been. Derek smiled and shook his head. "Stubborn kid, just like your old man." Derek set the fan on a higher setting. "Let's try it your way."

00000

Derek sat down to watch TV. Got up. Paced. Changed the channel. Checked on John. Adjusted the fan. Watched him breathe for a few minutes. Then went back to watch TV again, cycling through the whole song and dance at least three more times before he gave up and turned off the television. Derek abhorred inactivity. Which must have been the reason he found himself cleaning the kitchen, putting away the remains of John's breakfast, smiling at the memories of being on kitchen duty while he was growing up.

Something rang - an unfamiliar sound. Derek closed the fridge door, cocked his head and listened. A cell phone. Not John's. John's phone had music. Very loud music. This was... His phone. Shit. Wiping his hands on his pants, Derek ran into the living room, threw the cushions off the couch, and opened the phone seconds before the call went to his non-existent voice mail.

"Hello."

"How's John?"

"Sleeping. He ate something. Managed some Tylenol. Managed two minutes worth of movie≈"

Sarah's laughter was soft, barely discernible over the cell. "Busy day."

"He's fine." There was only silence in response to Derek's statement. "John's a pretty damn amazing kid."

"Yeah, he is," she answered sadly. "Too bad I didn't remember that yesterday."

Okay, if Derek didn't feel like a shit before, he certainly felt like one now. "I screwed up."

"We'll discuss how to split the guilt when I get home."