7:05AM (EST), Saturday, May 9, 1981

Unable to focus on the television, Steve pressed the "off" button on the remote control and placed it on the nightstand next to his hospital bed. He had been conscious for a little more than 48 hours and had spent most of that time wondering how he could have done something so reckless and stupid. He had always prided himself on being responsible and disciplined. In high school, he'd been an honors student and a first-rate football player. The same had been true in college. He had joined the Air Force three weeks after his college graduation and rose to the rank of colonel within three years. He'd been equally successful at NASA. Following his accident, he'd adjusted to his bionics and become a top-notch OSI operative. All of these accomplishments had been achieved through determination, hard work, and discipline.

Steve knew that his choice of dangerous occupations had, over the years, given his parents reason to worry about him. However, he had always prided himself on the fact that his personal behavior had not. From the time he was a young boy, he had wanted to make his parents proud, so he had always played by the rules, done the right thing, and made responsible choices. But his parents' haggard appearances over the past two days made their anguish obvious, and Steve hated knowing he was the cause of such worry. He wished that Oscar hadn't called them.

And then there was Jaime. Though she hid her concern better than Jim and Helen hid theirs, Steve could tell she was worried about him, too. He wasn't surprised as they'd been good friends for more than 25 years. However, he was surprised that Jaime had apparently dropped everything and rushed to D.C. to be by his side when Oscar called her. Had he asked her to come? Jaime had been furious with him last year upon learning that he had turned down the rescue mission in Budapest. When he tried to visit her in the hospital, she had ordered him out of her room, screaming that she never wanted to see him again. Stoic as always on the outside, Steve had been devastated on the inside. During the two years she'd been with Williams, he had tried to get over Jaime, but the candle that burned in his heart for her simply wouldn't go out. A couple of weeks after the scene in the hospital, when Jaime had returned to Ojai, he'd received a note of apology from her, explaining that she had just learned of Chris' death when he stopped by and that she'd been so emotionally distraught that she hadn't known what she was saying. She assured him that she valued their friendship and simply needed time to herself to heal emotionally as well as physically. Steve didn't doubt the sincerity of her note and gave her the space she needed. Other than a couple of cute get well cards he had sent her, their only communication had occurred indirectly through Helen.

Though he knew it seemed coldhearted on his part, Steve had hoped that once Jaime had come to terms with Chris' death the two of them might grow closer. But those hopes were violently ripped to shreds when he learned that Jaime remembered their past and hadn't told him. The Jaime who loved him would never have kept that secret for an entire year. Clearly, as far as Jaime was concerned, her romantic feelings for Steve were in the past and she had no desire to try to rekindle them. Steve had already lost Jaime twice: once to death and once to amnesia. Now, he felt as if he'd lost her a third time. He knew he had to find a way to extinguish that candle once and for all, but he had no idea how to do it. Jaime was, and always would be, the love of his life.

"How are you doing, Pal?" asked Oscar, walking into the room and interrupting Steve's thoughts.

"I keep telling everyone that I'm fine, but no one seems to believe me," Steve replied a bit impatiently.

"Well, you can't really blame us, can you? You gave us quite a scare," Oscar said.

"I'm sorry about that," Steve said. "As I've explained more that once, I'd had a stressful day and decided to have a couple of drinks before going to bed to help me relax. I lost track. End of story. Was it really necessary to call my parents and Jaime?" Steve asked.

"Steve, I called your parents because we weren't sure if you were going to pull through and I knew they'd want to be here with you. However, I did not call Jaime. She called me when she found out Helen and Jim were here. When I told her you were in the hospital, she insisted on coming."

"She did?" Steve asked, obviously surprised. He had assumed that Oscar contacted her.

"Yes, she did," Oscar said, with the same slight smirk on his face as the one he'd worn when Jaime asked him if Steve had recently broken up with a serious girlfriend.

"Interesting," Steve said after a moment in an attempt to fill the silence in the room.

Oscar hoped he wouldn't regret what he was about to tell his friend. He had blabbed once too much this week. "What's more interesting is what she said when I asked her if she was sure she wanted to come."

"Oh?" Steve said, waiting for Oscar to continue.

"Yes. I believe her exact words were, 'I love Steve. I've always loved Steve. Of course, I'm sure.'"

Steve couldn't have been more stunned if Oscar had said that Jaime told him she was in love with Sasquatch. "She said that? Why would she tell you and not me?"

"I'm not sure she's aware she said it. She stated it very matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge, something that I already knew."

"She meant she loves me as a friend then," Steve said, feeling a bit like a gossiping seventh grader who was getting ready to ask his friend to pass a girl a note in study hall.

"I don't think so," Oscar said, giving Steve a pointed look. Oscar was not usually one to play matchmaker, but he instincts told him that Steve needed this information. Jaime and Steve had been dancing around their unresolved feeling for each other for years.

"Well, I'll check in with you later, Pal," Oscar said as he headed for the door leaving Steve alone and more confused than ever about Jaime.

Once Oscar was gone, Steve realized two things. One, he would never understand women. Two, the candle he had been trying to extinguish was burning as brightly as it ever had.