A/N: Oh. My. GOD. I didn't think people would like this story that much...And because I freaking love all of you, I decided to upload another chapter of this. :3 For everyone waiting for an update on A Girl Alone and House, I am working on more chapters for those, I swear on Gobstoppers! (I FUCKING LOVE THOSE) Anyway, I hope you love this chapter I uploaded especially for all of you! I won't EVER desert my stories, I pomise. (But sometimes I won't upload for awhile...) Read, review, and enjoy!

When I started work yesterday, I didn't expect much...and recieved it. But today, well, that is a different story.

"Hey doc, we need you to take a look at someone." Geary explained, and I turned away from my current patient.

"Let me finish up here, and I'll be right with you." I turned back and handed the previous man, James, a few aspirin for the joint trouble he was having, then stood and followed Geary out of the infirmary, but not before I put on a fresh pair of gloves. Can't be too careful in a prison, right? I matched the C.O.'s fast pace, wondering where the hell we were going as he kept running his mouth incessantly.

"Found the guy like this, and he won't say who did it. Guess being alive is better than getting revenge, huh?" He ushered me through a doorway and into a little room, and I felt my heat stop as I saw the man. My brother was lying on his side, blood all over his face and white shirt, making him look like he had been through a massacre. His eyes were closed, and he was holding his sides and his abdominals. I crouched by him and opened his eyelids one at a time, shining my penlight into each one.

"Theodore? Come on, talk to me." I said loudly. He opened one bloodshot eye and stared at me as if I was an alien.

"Came to my rescue, huh?" he muttered, trying to laugh but instead it turned into a gasp of pain he that gritted his teeth against. I stood and motioned briskly to the C.O.'s

"You need to move him to the infirmary if I'm to treat him," I stated, somehow managing to keep a cold, professional tone. "And don't just yank and toss him around, be careful, he might have some broken ribs." I supervised the lifting and once we got back to the infirmary, the guards left to do something else, thankfully, and I began my examination with a new pair of gloves.

"You should tell them who did it." I murmured as I ran my fingers across his ribs, searching his face for any signs of pain. He winced and I backed off, moving onto his arms and legs.

"That's not the way it works in here."

"Well then how does it work, huh?" I stood, angry, and grabbed my clipboard to make a few notes. "Do you know how terrified I was? Do you?" I tossed the clipboard down, instead picking up a roll of paper towels. I dampened a few of them and gave them to Theodore so he could wipe off the blood, then sat back down, arms and legs crossed. He was silent as he mopped his face. I softened a little and rolled my chair nearer.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you another shirt." I murmured and he laced his fingers through mine.

"Just like old times." He chuckled, eliciting a smile from me.

"Except this time, it's you instead of the both of us."

"It's better that way. Don't have to see you get hurt." He shifted positions with a grimace. I sighed in defeat and ran my free hand through my hair to get it out of my face.

"Yeah, but I have to see it happen to you. Your little fight caused you to have some bruised ribs and a hairline fracture in your left cheekbone. Both will hurt, but you'll live. You will be black and blue for a while as well, and you'll look like hell, but I'm guessing you don't really care, do you?" He smiled sweetly.

"You know me better than anyone else, Theresa."

"That's because I'm your sister, and I've lived with you." I smiled back, and started my report. Warden Pope wasn't going to be happy with this.

X X X X

Even at night, it was too hot in Alabama. It was about 11 p.m. or so, and I was already working on my second Mike's Harder Punch drink, the one that comes in the giant can, and it would probably take another two before I felt even a little bit buzzed. I took a pull from the can, and then rolled the cold beverage across my flushed face. I was wearing a pair of green shorts and a black tank top, and I was still dying. A loud banging on my front door pulled me out of my misery, and I quickly padded over to the door and opened it. A familiar figure stumbled through the opening and into my living room, and when the light hit him, I knew I should assume the worst.

"Oh Jesus, Teddy." I whispered, and helped him to the couch. His clothes were splattered with blood, and a long section of his jeans had been torn. His face was white and scratched, and he looked like he had been to hell and back. I ran to my bathroom and grabbed my massive "hospital-in-a-bag" kit along with some black towels, and came back into the living room. I kneeled before him, and got to work.

"Where are you injured at?" He gestured to his leg and left shoulder, and I removed his jacket. Using a pair of scissors from my bag, I carefully cut his shirt off, and peeled it gingerly away from his shoulder. It looked like a small caliber wound, possibly a .22, but even the small ones can be bad. "Who the hell shot you?"

"Cops." He ground out, his face covered in sweat even though he was freezing cold, and his eyes were tightly closed. He hissed air out through his teeth when I touched his injury lightly, so I knew something had to be done. I grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

"I need to clean it, or else it's going to be even worse. I'll give you some meds, but it's not going to be pleasant." He nodded, and I crossed to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water to down a few Vicodin with, and pulled on a pair of gloves. "I'm sorry." I murmured, placing a black towel around the entry wound. I gave him one last glance, and then poured rubbing alcohol on his shoulder. He groaned and dug his fingers into the couch, making deep impressions into the fabric.

Blood started to flow from the hole, and I used the towel to apply pressure, grateful that blood didn't show up on black fabric. His face turned ashy and his breathing grew labored.

"You need to breathe. Focus on breathing slowly in and out." I advised, and pulled the towel away. I inspected the hole, and to my relief, there was no bullet. I pressed a hand to his face and smiled. "No bullet and no fragments. It went straight through." He nodded briskly, and his breathing, while still heavy, grew steadier. "All I need to do now is sew it up, and then I can take a look at your leg, alright?" No answer, as I expected, and I quickly and neatly sewed his shoulder up, front and back, then moved down to check his leg.

It was a whole lot better than his gunshot wound, I can tell you that. It was a long gouge wound, probably from a fence or barbed wire, and it wasn't all that deep, but it wound need to be glued instead of stitched. I went through the ordeal of cleaning and fixing that, complete with medical grade glue to hold it together. By the time I was finished, my brother was white again, and after I took my bloody gloves off, I held his hand once more.

"You'll stay here tonight, and tomorrow, you can tell me the story, okay?" His eyes opened, and, for a brief second, I saw something like remorse, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Whatever you say, sis."

X X X X

I shook the memory off, and tore my eyes away from my sleeping brother's form; the scars were now faint, and difficult to see unless you were looking for them, I but I knew I would never be able to forget their places on him. I was relieved to see he was still asleep, and that the sedatives were still doing their thing. Whoever it was that had fought him had really gotten him bad, and by fought, I mean beat the shit out of him. It had only happened yesterday, even though it seemed like an eternity had passed. I hadn't left the infirmary; I had instead opted to sleep in my office, and only after Teddy had fallen asleep. It may seem creepy, me doing that, but it is only out of fear for his well-being (not that I think he can't protect himself) and out of love.

"You alive over there?" Sara questioned, and I turned around to see my friend smiling at me, clipboard in hand.

"Y-yeah." I stammered, and returned her smile, although mine was a bit more strained. "Just tired." Sara and I had met a few years back, when I first moved to Chicago, in fact, and we met at the hospital I had just quit, and we had since become almost inseparable.

Sara's smile faded a little. "Did you get your refill yet?" I nodded.

"Yeah, it's just they're not working yet. Takes a few minutes." I left the office and made my way over to Michael, who was here for the regular insulin shot.

"How are you, Theresa?" He asked his eyes intense and pretty as they searched my face.

"Fine, yourself?" I grabbed all the necessary paraphernalia for Michel's shot, but the look on his face stopped me. He looked guilty as hell and a little sad too, but he smiled anyway.

"Could be better."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" He shook his head.

"Nothing that you need to worry about." I glanced upward, and saw his eyes, and for a second I caught the stress and worry that were there before they disappeared. And, for some weird reason, that bothered me a little.

"You alright, Michael?"

"Yeah, just never really got used to needles." He smiled, and I returned it.

"I find that hard to believe with all those tattoos. How long did all those take?"

"Not as long as you might think." He stood, and started to leave, so I turned away and started looking for my pen so I could start Michael's paperwork.

"Theresa…" I turned around, finding Michael standing next to my desk. "I'm sorry about your brother." He murmured, and left before I could get in another word. What the hell did he mean by that? I went over to the desk and set about looking for my pen again, and I found it…with a white origami rose tied around it.