A/N: I'm glad you guys are liking this so far! Thanks for the reviews! Oh and forgive me for the lack of accents on Tommy and later Fabrizio. In this fic, they were born and raised in America.

Rose groaned as her alarm clock buzzed. She reached out and smacked the snooze button giving her ten more minutes of peace. When it went off again, she threw her blankets off and forced herself to get up. No more tequila, she thought as the feeling of marbles rolled back and forth in her head. She grabbed her clothes, which she had blessedly left out last night before going out and headed to take a shower.

As the warm water trickled down her, she couldn't help but recall why she got so drunk last night. All she wanted was a girls' night with Brandy. Instead, she got emotionally slapped in the face. Cal had been at the bar, with the same girl she found him in bed with and they had no shame in flaunting their relationship. So Rose hit the Cuervo. Hard. She couldn't recall the last time she had gotten so drunk. Sure she'd gone out before, had a few drinks and come home with a pleasant buzz. But she was always able to get up for work the next day. Even though her marriage was over, it still hurt like hell seeing Cal with that woman. Rose deemed it a miracle that she didn't walk up to her, call her a whore, and slap her.

Turning off the water, Rose stepped out. Her day would be busy, but it was only twelve hours and then she had the next day off. To sit at home and sulk, her brain reminded her. Shaking the thoughts from her head, Rose quickly dried her hair, tossed it up into a clip, and got dressed. All she needed was a stop at Starbucks and she'd manage to survive the day.

...

What the hell happened, Jack thought. His eyes were shut, but all around him he could hear different sounds. There was a faint but steady beeping to his left. It sounded like he was in a room, and outside the doorway different voices drifted through and feet walked back and forth.

He attempted to move but found it to be extremely painful. His muscles in his abdomen were sore, like he had been the loser in a boxing match. He became aware that there was a needle stuck in the back of his hand, taped in place.

"CODE BLUE ICU. CODE BLUE ICU."

The page on the overhead system confirmed Jack's suspicions. He was in a hospital. For a few more moments he contemplated why he was there. The last thing he clearly remembered was driving into an intersection. There seemed to be a flash here and there in the back of his mind of being in an ambulance and then of someone cutting his clothes off. Obviously he had been in a car accident, and a nasty one.

Slowly Jack opened his eyes. To his surprise only the right one opened, as his left eye was swollen shut.

"Hey buddy." The voice startled Jack, but he recognized the voice. It was one of his roommates, Tommy. "You gave me one hell of a scare! How you feeling?"

"Like shit. What happened to me? Does Fabri know?" Jack didn't know where he got the strength to shoot the questions out rapid fire.

"You were in a nasty car accident. Some drunk driver blew a red light and ran your ass down. Yes Fabrizio knows, I told him just a couple hours ago. He's grabbing the red eye flight from Rome later." Jack opened his mouth to speak just as the nurse walked in.

"Good to see you awake. I'm Carla, I'll be your nurse until seven tonight. Can you tell me your name, date of birth, and who the president is?" As she asked the questions she placed a thermometer in Jack's ear.

"Jack Dawson, August ninth, nineteen eighty, Obama," Jack rattled off easily. "How bad off am I?"

"You're doctor will be in here within the next few minutes and explain everything to you," Carla assured Jack with a smile. Her smile was so friendly and sincere, he couldn't help but return it. "If you need anything, just page me," she pointed out the remote next to him on the bed. "And this here is your new best friend." She handed Jack the clicker to the morphine drip. "Don't worry. You can't give yourself too much. It's on a timer and will only dispense every five minutes." Carla grabbed his chart and began to scribble something down as Jack's doctor walked in. "Good morning Dr. Bukater. Here is Mr. Dawson's chart, his vitals are all good and stable and he is awake and responsive."

"Thanks Carla," Rose said as she took the chart from the nurse while sipping at her no fat extra foam latte. She looked over the chart for a moment completely unaware that Jack was staring at her the best he could with his good eye. "Do you prefer me to call you Mr. Dawson or Jack?" Rose asked having yet to look up.

"Jack." How did I remember my own name with her in here?

"Okay then," she said, finally looking up. "Jack, I'm Dr. Bukater. I was the surgeon who operated on you when you were brought in yesterday afternoon. Do you remember what happened to you?" Rose slid out the stool from underneath the counter to sit.

"Not a single thing," Jack said.

Tommy had to place his hand over his face casually to prevent Dr. Bukater from seeing him smile. Liar.

"Well you were hit broadside by a drunk driver and to be perfectly honest, the fact that you survived the ambulance ride is nothing short of a miracle. You had massive internal bleeding, s torn spleen, two cracked ribs and a punctured lung."

"No wonder I feel like shit." He noticed the doctor give a tiny smile at his honesty.

"And you will for quite sometime. You do have a minor concussion. Your cheekbone was also fractured, but that is the least of your worries. It was a very small fracture, and we didn't have to operate on it to stabilize it. Eventually the swelling will go down on your face, usually within seventy two hours patients can open the eye. Your other injuries will take sometime to heal, especially the cracked ribs." Rose's pager went off and she grabbed it. "Damn, I'm being paged into emergency surgery. You get some rest," she told him, standing to leave. "Don't be surprised if you feel more and more worse as the day wears on. You're going to get a whole lot worse before you get better."

"As long as I don't die," Jack quipped. Rose smiled, but Jack noticed it was a professional smile. Still, it was beautiful.

"You better not. I worked long and hard putting you back together. If you up and die on me, I'll be pretty mad." As she spoke, her smile left professional mode and became personal. "I'll check back on you later." Rose turned and walked quickly out the door.

"Well you heard her. Get some rest. We both know you want to be wide awake when she comes back," Tommy joked. Jack would have smiled, but his face was beginning to throb from the small amount of talking he did. "I'm going to go, I have to work. I'll call up here later to see how you are." Jack simply waved to Tommy as he left. He clicked the button, giving himself some morphine before settling into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile as Rose was changing into surgical scrubs, she couldn't shake the butterflies from her stomach. Despite only having vision from one eye at the moment, Jack Dawson had done something to her when he made eye contact.