Eric groaned softly and shifted in the bed. He had just survived the longest, most miserable night of his life. Every few minutes, someone came in to check something, his IV, chest tubes, vitals or Foley catheter. The last item was especially bothersome and Eric was glad when the nurse told him that he would probably lose that today.

The short periods of time he had been left alone, he couldn't get comfortable. Sleeping on his back put pressure on his wound and lying on his right side was unbearable due to the tugging of the chest tubes. Attempting to lie on his left side was unthinkable.

Gail had put a pillow under his left side and that had helped a little. It raised his back off the mattress enough to relieve some pressure, but didn't turn him so much that his hoses pulled. Eric thought he had received enough medication to put down a bull, but instead, the meds only seemed to warp time and make everything dreamlike. He would sleep, and it would feel like hours had passed, but when he looked at the clock, it would show only minutes had gone by. It was an eerie and disorienting feeling.

Eric raised the head of the bed, only then noticing his breakfast sitting on the table. For lack of anything better to do rather than any desire to eat, he inspected the tray's contents. Apple juice, chicken broth, green Jell-o and tea. He sipped the juice then tried some of the soup. His face scrunched up as he swallowed the liquid. It tasted like the key ingredient of the foul-tasting broth was tennis shoes. Old, stinky tennis shoes. The gelatin was rubbery, and he almost gagged. He washed it down with another sip of apple juice and ignored the tea.

Finished, he pushed the tray away and rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead in a grinding motion. A fierce headache had started around his eyes, and his attempt to ease the pain failed. He dropped his hand listlessly. After a moment, he fumbled for the remote control and switched on the television.

The morning newscast was in the midst of rehashing yesterday's incident. Eric was about to change the channel when Foster's picture flashed onto the screen. His hand stilled on the remote, his breathing quickened.

In the picture, Foster smiled, his face rounder and fuller, the photo obviously taken at some earlier date. It looked to be a school photograph, not a mug shot, but that made it even scarier. Alan Foster looked like your average kid, the proverbial boy next door. There was no hint of the anger and desperation that had driven him to plan and execute the crime he had committed yesterday. Eric could stand in the halls of Dillon High School and spot dozens of boys who looked as innocent as Foster.

"Hey, babe." Tami entered the room; her sunglasses perched on top of her head. In one hand, she held some magazines.

"Hey." Eric tore his gaze from the screen and tried to smile but the effort was beyond him. "Where's Julie?"

"She went to school. They brought in a team of counselors so I thought it was best for her to go. I told her she could call me if she wants to come home." Tami leaned over and kissed him on the brow. Her lips felt cool and soft, and Eric closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Her palm replaced her lips and that felt wonderful too.

"Sugar? You feel warm."

Eric opened his eyes, somewhat surprised. He didn't feel warm. In fact, he thought the room was positively frigid. As if on cue, a violent shiver shook his body.

Tami looked at him with concern. "I'm going to go get your nurse." She set the magazines down on a shelf near the head of the bed, but before she could leave, Eric gripped her hand.

"C'mere" With his left hand, he slowly reached up and pulled his oxygen mask down.

Puzzled, Tami looked at him and he tugged her hand, urging her down towards him. Understanding dawned and she bent for a kiss.

"I love you," Eric whispered. She smelled so good. Clean and fresh. He remembered the day before and how all he had wanted was more time with his family. His wish had been granted and he began pull her down for another kiss. He wanted to make the most of his good fortune.

The nurse chose that moment to enter the room. "I see you're feeling a little better, Eric." The nurse stood beside the bed, a grin on her face and her hands on her hips.

Tami straightened so quickly, Eric worried she'd suffer whiplash. He cursed the nurse and her poor timing. A blush stained Tami's cheeks and Eric would have laughed if he hadn't felt so bad. He smiled instead, but then grimaced when another chill swept over him.

Tami and the nurse exchanged a glance and Tami said, "I was just going to call you. He feels warm." She placed a palm on Eric's forehead again. Pure bliss. He sighed and closed his eyes.

The nurse pursed her lips and nodded. "Let me get his temp."

Eric squinted up at the women in annoyance and wished they would quit talking about him as if he wasn't there. However, it was the least of his complaints. His head was killing him and his pain meds must have worn off because every breath hurt. He opened his mouth for the temperature probe and closed his eyes.

"101.4" The nurse shook her head. "I'll be back with some Tylenol and your next dose of pain meds, Eric."

Matt doodled in his notebook. The assembly had occupied the whole sixth period. So-called experts re-hashed what had happened and the school's response to it, and from the way they heartily congratulated themselves on the outcome, it appeared they thought they were personally responsible for how everything turned out.

Matt glanced at the current speaker and shook his head. The only ones responsible for it were Smash, Riggins and Coach. If it hadn't been for Coach grabbing the gun and then, later, Smash knocking the kid out, who knows what might have happened? The doodle took on the outlines of Foster's face, the eyes cold and hard. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the intense look of anger and hatred that had radiated from Foster. It didn't help that Matt had been forced to repeat his role in the incident several dozen times already to teachers, students and even the press.

He kept waiting for someone to rib him about how he had puked at the sight of Coach with the knife in him, but nobody had even mentioned it. Matt bit his lip and added a deep shadow across Foster's face. He almost dared to hope that those that knew about it were keeping it quiet.

The bell rang, and looking around at the other students leaving, Matt guessed that the assembly had been dismissed. He closed the notebook, stuffed it in his book bag, and joined the line of kids exiting. All around him, he heard snatches of conversation. Kids spoke about where they had been and what they had done when the lockdown had begun.

"Hey, Matt."

Matt turned around and smiled when he saw Julie. "Hi." He hadn't seen her all day, but he'd heard from others that she was at school. He slung his book bag around to his left side so he could move closer to her. "How's your dad?"

She bit her lip. "He's okay, I guess. At least, he was last night when I saw him after surgery. He was awake and talking a little bit."

"Hey, that's great!" Matt grinned. They cleared the auditorium and made their way outside. He needed to go to practice but the locker-room was still off limits so they were just to meet at the field and walk through some plays. Secretly, he was glad. He wasn't sure he was ready to enter the locker room just yet.

Julie nodded, then frowned. "Yeah, but my mom hasn't called me with an update today. I kinda thought she would during lunch period."

"Are you going up to see him tonight?"

Julie stopped and looked around. "I'm supposed to meet Lois here for a ride home today. Do you see her?"

Matt gave the area a quick visual sweep. "Naw, but it's crazy out here."

"Yeah." Julie tucked strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going up later tonight. My mom said she'd be home for dinner, then we'd go up together."

"Okay. So…uh, tell Coach I, uh, hope he gets better soon." Matt shoved a hand in his pocket and clutched the strap of his book bag with the other.

Julie smiled. "I will. But why don't you go up there yourself and tell him?"

"See him at the hospital?" Matt shook his head and shuffled his feet. "I don't want to bother him."

"You won't be bothering him. You're his quarterback. He probably wants to see you more than he wants to see me."

Matt's eyes flew to Julie's, but she was looking over his shoulder.

"There's Lois, I have to go. Talk to you later."

"Uh, yeah. Bye, Julie."

"Who are you here to see?"

"Co…uh, Eric Taylor." Matt glanced around. The information desk sat in the middle of the hospital lobby. Fake plants stood lush and full on either side of the desk, and a little gift shop branched off the lobby to his left. Brightly colored stuffed animals decorated the window display and a cooler of fresh flowers beckoned visitors with beautiful bouquets. Matt looked down at the cheap vase clutched in his hand. A bunch of flowers from Grandma's garden spilled out haphazardly from the vase. He felt stupid bringing them, but Grandma had insisted.

"He's in ICU. Are you a family member?"

Matt swallowed. "Uh, no. I'm just on the football team. I'm his quarterback." The fact that he was still wearing his practice jersey must have escaped the woman's notice. Practice had been so light, he hadn't bothered to change, he had just gone home to drop off his book bag and tell his grandma where he was going. Luckily, Landry hadn't minded picking him up and driving him and said he'd be back in about an hour to pick Matt up.

"You're Matt Saracen?" The receptionist looked at him with surprise. "I thought you'd be taller."

"No, ma'am."

"Well, you just go right on in. The door to ICU is on your right. Coach Taylor's in room 118."

Matt thanked her and hesitantly made his way to Coach's room. He knew his way around the hospital pretty well since his grandma usually had her tests done as an outpatient, but he had never been in the ICU before. When Jason Street had been injured, Matt didn't feel he knew him well enough to visit except for that time the whole team had visited him. By then, Street had moved to the rehab facility.

He kept waiting for someone to question his presence, but nobody did. The nurses looked too busy to pay any attention to him as they rushed around or wrote in charts. Matt found Coach's room but stopped outside. The doors were glass, but a curtain blocked his vision of the bed. Tentatively, he knocked on the glass. "Hello?"

Footsteps tapped across the tile and Mrs. Taylor peeked around the curtain. "Matt. Come on in." She smiled and held hand out, beckoning him to enter.

Matt stepped around the curtain and paused, his eyes widening. A monitor hung in the far corner. A series of colored lines raced across the screen with corresponding numbers flashing in red and blue. A trio of IV poles flanked the bed. Coach lay still; his eyes closed. Matt's mental image of Coach was of a man who was perpetually in motion and always full of energy. Coach would yell or pace or even just glowering at some poor player who had the misfortune to incur his wrath. It took a moment for Matt to reconcile the man on the bed with the Coach that he knew. In Matt's opinion, Coach didn't look a whole lot better than he had yesterday…except, of course, for the absence of the knife. Matt turned to Mrs. Taylor. "Maybe I should come back another day."

Mrs. Taylor rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Matt. Come on and have a seat. Eric will probably wake up pretty soon here."

Matt allowed her to guide him towards a chair in the corner. Before he sat, he thrust the vase at the guidance counselor. "Here. These are from my grandma."

Mrs. Taylor smiled. "Thank you! How thoughtful! I'm sure these will help cheer up Coach and brighten the room." She bustled to the windowsill, and that was when Matt noticed a half dozen other vases full of beautiful bouquets. She scooted a couple over and put the shabby little bunch front and center. "There!" Mrs. Taylor beamed and turned to Matt. "Please tell your grandmother thank-you."

"Yes ma'am." Matt felt a blush heat his face as he sat a little straighter. Mrs. Taylor had a knack for making people feel at ease and good about themselves.

She stepped beside the bed, placed a hand on Coach's forehead and frowned. "He's been running a fever all day. He's still hot." A washcloth hung on the bedrail and she wet it in the sink beside the bed before placing it on Coach's head.

Matt began to stand. "I should go."

Mrs. Taylor waved him back. "Not yet. I want to talk to you." She stood with her hands on her hips, gazing at Coach for few seconds before sighing and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with the same motion Julie used. Matt scooted his chair over a few inches as she pulled one closer to his. "I just want to thank you for everything you did yesterday, Matt."

"I didn't do much of anything, Mrs. Taylor." Matt shrugged and ducked his head.

"That's not what Julie told me. She said you called for help and tried to keep her calm. She said she was scared and frantic and, at one point, tried to rush out of the closet to see what was happening. If it weren't for you, she probably would have."

Matt scratched his cheek. "I don't know that I did anything, ma'am. I mean, she…she did run out into the locker room later and I couldn't stop her."

Mrs. Taylor nodded. "Yes, I know. But, by then, nobody could have stopped her." She chuckled. "If there is one thing I know, it's that once Julie puts her mind to something, nothing or nobody can stop her. And then you followed her. You were still trying to keep her safe, weren't you?"

Matt looked at Mrs. Taylor, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away. "I tried but I don't know what good I would have done if Foster had tried to hurt her."

"But you kept your head. I'm thankful for that. Tim Riggins and Smash said that you were the first to help Coach."

Matt shrugged. "It wasn't much and I'm not even sure it was the right thing to do." He hung his head in embarrassment. "I puked when I saw Coach." The last came out in a near whisper.

Mrs. Taylor reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll tell you a secret, I almost did too. And I had been warned about the knife. I can imagine how awful that must have been for all of you."

Biting his lip, Matt nodded. "Yeah."

Coach coughed followed by a soft groan. His eyes opened and searched the room, landing on Matt. "Matt Saracen?" His voice was low and tinged with surprise.

"Yeah, Coach." Matt stood and wiped his hands on his thighs before approaching the bed. "I just came up to see how you're doing."

"Good. I'm doing okay." Coach fumbled for the bed controls. "How do I get this damn thing higher?"

Matt reached over the rail and pushed the correct button to raise the head of the bed. "Is that high enough?"

Coach nodded. "Thanks.

"Matt and his grandma sent some beautiful flowers, sugar."

A small smile crooked coach's mouth and his gaze slowly swung to the windowsill. "Oh yeah? Thanks, and tell your grandma thanks for me too."

Coach's eyes started to close and Matt took that as his cue to leave. "I gotta go. I hope you feel better soon, Coach." He began backing away from the bed. "See y'all."

"Wait, a sec." Coach's voice was quiet and strained as he tried to sit up straighter. His eyes focused on Matt. "I just want to say I owe you one, Saracen."

"I wonder when the doctor is going to be in?" Tami muttered as she removed the washcloth, dismayed to find that it was already warm. Eric appeared to be dozing again. She crossed to the sink, and wet the cloth and wrung it out. Glancing at the clock, she sighed and gently set the cool cloth back on Eric's brow. The doctor was supposed to be making evening rounds soon, according to the nurse. Tami didn't want to leave to get Julie until after he had been through to see Eric, but it was almost five-thirty, already.

Tami pulled the curtain a bit so that she could see the nurse's station. To her relief, she spotted the surgeon at the desk, perusing a chart. She turned back to the bed and gave Eric's right shoulder a small shake. "Hon? The doctor will be here in a minute."

Eric opened his eyes and nodded. With a grunt, he attempted to sit straighter.

"Hello, Eric," Doctor Stone said as he breezed into the room a minute or so later. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay."

The doctor's eyebrows rose as he looked skeptically at Eric. "Really? " He approached the bed, glanced at the boxes connected to the chest tubes, and then lifted the left side of Eric's hospital gown. "Let's just get a look."

Tami moved to the other side of the bed and assisted Eric as he struggled to turn on to his right side to allow the doctor to inspect the wound on his back. The doctor peeled away the tape on the dressing and gently pressed around the wound site.

Tami tried to keep her expression neutral when she saw the angry red scar on Eric's back. She was aware of her husband intently watching her face as he maintained a white knuckled grip on the bedrail. The wound wasn't as big as she expected, but right now, it was inflamed and the area around it appeared swollen and discolored by bruising.

Finished, the doctor taped the dressing back in place. "Okay, Eric, you can turn back now."

With a great sigh, Eric released the bed rail and relaxed. His face was pale and a thin sheen of perspiration bathed his face.

Dr. Stone stepped over to the computer near the bedside and pulled up some numbers on the screen, frowning as he did so.

Turning back to the bed, he said, "Well, Eric, it looks like you have an infection."

Eric nodded. "Yeah." His voice sounded flat, expressionless and he didn't seem to be paying too much attention to the doctor. His eyes blinked slowly, and stayed closed longer with each blink.

Tami wasn't surprised about the infection, but still, she had hoped that the surgeon would have better news. "So, what does that mean, Dr.Stone?" She fished the washcloth out of the sheets where it had fallen and used it to gently wipe Eric's face.

The doctor crossed his arms. "Well, I'm going to switch his antibiotics; give him something stronger and repeat the blood work tomorrow. I'm pretty confident that this will clear up in a few days. I'm not at all surprised about the infection, because, like I told you yesterday, the wound went deep. I don't know if you saw the knife?"

Tami shook her head. "Not really." Then she shuddered. "Well, I did see the handle, but not the whole knife." She glanced at Eric, relieved that he looked to be asleep. He probably didn't need to hear this.

The doctor's mouth set in a grim line as he stepped away from the bed; he nodded with his head towards the hallway. "Why don't we let him sleep and I can discuss it with you out here."

Tami to followed him and they stopped a few steps from the nurse's station.

Dr. Stone leaned against the counter surrounding the station. "The knife is now in the possession of the police as evidence, but it has a nasty looking blade. Six inches long and curved at the end."

Tami blanched and put her hands to the sides of her head. "Oh my God."

"I'm sorry, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. I just wanted you to know so that you understood that even though we removed the knife relatively easily, I expected an infection to follow. I hoped I would be wrong, I still think Eric will pull through this with no lasting damage." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, his blue eyes regarding her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Tami nodded briefly. "Yes. I'm fine." She took a deep breath. At least, she would be fine, eventually.