Silence. Darkness. I'm unaware of where I am, who I am, what I am doing. Being unconscious, though, doesn't let you think about these things. The brain protects itself when it's gone through a massive trauma. It goes inert, allowing healing to take place without interference from consciousness. Time stands still, time speeds by. It's dark and light at the same time. It's hard to describe.

It felt like I'd been out forever, yet no time at all. Sounds chirped from around me. My mind felt scattered- where am I? What the hell is happening? I tried to open my eyes, but harsh light burned my retinas. I closed them again... -etal heartb-...-ree units of steroi-...-age Dr. Hartm-...-o sign of li-...-emove th-... Only snippets of what I realized were voices was what I heard.

Where's Don? Is he okay? I tried to voice my concerns, but only succeeding in a few mumbles. "She's coming to!"

"Push more anesthesia, we need her out."

I tried again, "Don," I said, sounding dry. Why do I feel so heavy?

"Don't worry, honey, you're going to be oka-" Why can't I open my eyes? I was unconscious before she finished her sentence.

I'm not sure how long I was out. The next thing that I became aware of was staring up at the ceiling, I noticed the beep of a heart monitor nearby, slow and consistent. It seemed I was visiting the hospital more than your average person lately. I swallowed heavily, painfully aware of how dry my mouth and throat were. I let out a quiet, dry moan.

"Jessie? Are you awake?" I turned my head to see my father sitting by my bed. My brothers, still wearing their suits, were asleep in chairs a few feet away. I would've laughed at the sight under normal circumstances. Now I just stared hollowly.

"What's... what's going on?" My voice was still dry. I glanced around to see if there was any water in the immediate area. Nope. Damn.

"You're in the hospital," he explained gently.

My eyes felt heavy. Why am I so tired? "No shit, Sherlock," I said as my thoughts became less and less jumbled.

I felt like he was about to make a comment about my language, but he decided not to. Before he got a chance to explain, however, my eyes widened with a mixture of shock and realization of what had happened, all flooding my mind at once as my brain began to reawaken itself.

Obviously, the brain chose to block out the most painful of images until consciousness drove away the barriers separating them from me. The onslaught was almost frightening. Images flickered through my mind faster than I could catalog each one, trying to process what had happened.

"Oh my god, where's Don?" I kept seeing him fall, blood staining his shirt, falling to the ground, my panic when the bleeding would not stop. That panic surged through me now, fresh and with renewed vigor.

His expression was neutral. "Baby girl, he didn't make it."

I couldn't register his words. "What?" My voice wobbled traitorously.

"He was declared dead on arrival." Still maddeningly blank, as though he didn't care.

"No," I said quietly. I repeated the word over and over again until I was screaming. "NO! NO! NO!" Tears streamed down my cheeks like an angry waterfall, and painful sobs wracked my body. My world, my existence, suddenly seemed pointless. My existence seemed like a hellish punishment. I had to let the pain out. I screamed. I screamed until my throat was raw and painful.

My brothers had awoken at this point were trying to hold me down, and doctors were streaming in, telling me it was going to be okay. How could they say that? How could they be so calm? Don is dead. The realization made fresh pain sear through me. I felt as if I'd been gutted. My heart ripped apart. My body submerged in acid. I'd take any of that over this. Anything but this.

Don Flack is dead.

Suddenly my world dissolved. Instead of sweet unconsciousness dragging me under, I was in the same room. Except I was alone.

A dream, I realized. It had all been a dream. I began to recognize the signs of a PTSD nightmare. I sighed in relief. Don was not dead. It had been a cruel trick by nature. And nature was a nastiest bitch you can imagine.

I glanced around my room, trying to glean what I could about where I was.

The room was well-lit, the white walls reflecting the fluorescence. I realized, however, that the floor was a rather uncheerful dark teal color carpeting. So I was not in the ICU. That's a plus. No life-threatening injuries, at least. I found a window, but it was nearly pitch black outside. So, nighttime. How many days after... that was up for grabs.

I assessed my condition. All my limbs were moving and functional. Both ears and eyes worked. I didn't appear to have any external injuries to worry about. So why was I here? That's when the ultimate bomb went off in my mind. The baby. There's something wrong with the baby. I feebly touched the skin of my stomach, upon realizing that I felt empty. Like I was missing a piece of myself. Or someone else. That's when I knew that I'd lost the baby. No one had to tell me. Call it reasoning or a mother's intuition, but I just knew it.

After that, I cried. Because I lost the baby. Our baby. I lost the baby. That was the only thing I could process, until my mind dropped another bomb on me. Don.

Where was he? How was he doing? Was he even still alive? I couldn't bear the thought of having to endure the news of hearing he'd died. I couldn't live through that again. I wasn't sure what I would do, without our child, without Don. That world seemed too impossibly bleak to even exist.

Jess, don't freak yourself out. Be an optimist. I theorized that he could still be in surgery. Or recovering.

I was on the brink of being overwhelmed. Just breathe. In. Out.

I had been focusing so hard on breathing that I didn't notice when a doctor came in. He was tall and muscular. He had a California air about him, with tanned skin (about three dozen shades darker than I could ever, ever achieve) and short, blond hair. I was nearly blinded when he smiled at me, the white teeth glittering so much, I bet Tom Cruise would've been green with envy. His deep blue eyes, which I assume some women found attractive, I found creepy and almost sinister-looking. He held in his hands

"Hello, Ms. Angell. How are you feeling?" He reached down for my wrist, supposedly to feel for my pulse.

"It's Mrs. Flack," I corrected, my voice unintentionally cold.

He was confused by my tone couples with my words. After feeling my pulse, and recording something on my chart. "There's nothing on your file about a spouse."

I was about to explain my predicament, but didn't really know where to start. My memories were a little foggy anyway. So, ignoring his inquiry of my history, I asked, "Don Flack came in the same time as me with a GSW to the chest. Where is he? How is he doing?" I said the fact so evenly, but inside, I was screaming. The terror bubbled through me like acid.

I noted how his face fell imperceptibly. Someone who wasn't as good as I was at reading people wouldn't have noticed it. The son of a bitch was hoping to get lucky. Let's hope he doesn't lose his license to malpractice when someone finds out about him sleeping with his patients.

"I'll go check on that for you," he said.

You mean check on him. You'll check on him.

"But first, I have to tell you about what happened to you. You were aware you were pregnant, correct?"

I felt like scoffing. But I didn't. "Yes."

"You underwent extreme stress very early on in your pregnancy. Your child was slightly stunted in it's growth, most likely from antibiotics that were still in your system when the baby was conceived. These combined factors caused your body to reject the fetus. We were going to try a C-section, but the fetus couldn't be considered viable at only 3 months."

Silence met his statement. Of course, I'd already reached this conclusion, but to hear it voiced was an entirely different matter. I felt knocked backwards, a gaping hole in my stomach. The fact that I had no idea where Don was or how he was doing rubbed salt into the wounds. I closed my eyes for a half a second, reopening them with a breath. I hadn't grown numb to pain. To the contrary, I probably felt it more severely now. It seemed, through my intense emotional roller coaster I'd been through, my ability to compartmentalize grew exponentially stronger.

He looked expectant. I answered him in an emotionally-devoid manner, "If you're expecting me to cry or hyperventilate or something, don't hold your breath." His expression faltered, turning into something that looked like poorly masked confusion. "That GSW, please?"

He left after that. I was glad. I wished for the release of sleep, but my eyes weren't tired. Luckily, I didn't have to focus my thoughts inwards for very long. My father and my brothers came in through the door, a bit more gingerly than I would've thought.

They said they thought I was still sleeping, according to my brother. "Jesus, Jessica, you've got a curse following you around," said Shawn.

"Fuck off."

"Jessica! Mouth!" Dad exclaimed.

I more or less ignored him. "Just chill out. I'm okay. Where's Don? I sent to doctor to go find out, but I'm not sure when he'll be back." Somehow, even though I didn't know for sure where he was, or how he was doing, I wasn't afraid that he was dead. I'd gone through that news already, and I was fairly positive that nothing could ever be worse than that. The myriad of pain that had coursed through my body was unlike any I'd ever felt, or want to feel ever again.

Pain from injuries fades. Emotional pain remains with you for years, always nagging, always waiting for you to be vulnerable and weak to spring into action and wreak havoc on your psychē.

"Last time we checked, he was still in surgery, but they're optimistic," Ryan said.

I appealed to Shawn, wanting an honest answer from the cardiac surgeon of the family. "It was a blessing he jumped in front of you, because the bullet-"

"What?" Don jumped in front of me? My memories betrayed me, clearing seeing Hallie Lutterman, clad in her orange jumpsuit, aim the gun straight at Don. And suddenly, this new information pissed me off. Anger shot through me like lava in my veins. "What the hell was he thinking?" I exclaimed, suddenly, voice outraged. Why would he put himself in danger for me?

My family looked a tad confused. It was Jake who supplied the answer. "Oh, I don't know, Jessie, maybe because you're his wife?"

I was about to call him on his sassy comment, but in the ruckus, I'd nearly forgotten this happened at our wedding. As we were walking out of the church, wedding bands on our left ring fingers. I wanted to smile at that thought, but my anger still persevered. I understood his logic, but that still didn't make me any happier that he was in surgery and I was laying here, just peachy.

"Just forget about it," I said dismissively. I'd have that discussion with Don later on. I looked back at Shawn. "Speak, nerd." He childishly stuck his tongue out at me at my calling him 'nerd'. "You, my good sir, have a terrible bedside manner."

He rolled his eyes, and ignored me. "As I was saying, it's lucky he jumped in front of you, because the bullet hit him at an odd angle, and instead of getting lodged in his left ventricle, it just skimmed it, ricocheted off his scapula and lodged in the trapezius muscle. It's next to miraculous it didn't sever his spinal cord, or shred his heart."

That's what we both were. Survivors. Saved by a few millimeters. We were both lucky, ridiculously so. We were a group of select people who'd been given another chance. By God, by fate, by the universe... who knows? We were given another chance to do what we were put on Earth to accomplish. And I was eternally grateful for that fact.

"I'm going to go see where they're at in the surgery," Shawn said. "They said they didn't have any updates, but I've got connections."

"Of course you do," I said, under my breath and inaudible to my brother, who was walking out the door.

My father chuckled, then stood, saying, "I'm going to check out the cafeteria."

Jake agreed with that, and the two of them left. There was usually a commonality of the men in my family- they all love food. It can pull them away from the most dire of situations. It made me want to chuckle.

The only person left was Ryan, who seemed to have some unspoken business with me. It was silent for a few moments before a threw my hands up, "Okay, Ryan. Out with it."

Ryan was still wearing his suit, albeit without a jacket. Her dark brown hair was slightly tousled, his brown eyes tired. He looked exhausted. I felt bad, knowing I was the most likely cause. "Sharon asked me something yesterday while you were out. I quote, verbatim, 'Why does Aunite Jessie keep dying?' And I had no idea what to tell her. What do you tell an eight year old when she asks that, Jessica?"

His tone made me flinch. It wasn't exactly angry, but it was confusion mixed with disappointment. And he said 'Jessica' instead of 'Jessie' which told me we were treading in dangerous waters. My eight year old niece, Sharon, was one of the smartest, inquisitive young girls I'd ever met. And I loved her dearly. I felt enormous guilt over the fact that I caused her such distress. I didn't even want to consider what was going on inside Jeremy's head, my nephew who was going on three.

"Ry, I can't tell you I'm never going to be in danger. It's part of what I do. This is what I said when I came back from my undercover mission. I choose to put myself in these situations so we can be safer. And yes, sometimes that requires dealing with psychos like the bitch who shot Don. So, tell Sharon the truth, tell her Aunite Jess is doing this to keep New York safe. She's such a smart girl, Ry. She'll understand. If you want me to talk to her, I'm okay with that."

Ryan seemed only halfway pleased with my answer. "It's so easy for you to sit here and just say that! You're not a parent!"

"I could've been!" I yelled.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Come again?"

Shit. I considered defusing the situation with a 'that's what she said' joke, but I wasn't juvenile enough for that. Don and I hadn't really told anyone yet. Of course, Flack's mother had guessed right away. We'd gone over to their home for dinner to announce our engagement, and she'd immediately guessed. Yeah, so, maybe Mr. Flack had jumped to conclusions, assuming we were getting married because I was pregnant. He'd never been fully on-board with our relationship in the first place. Maybe Don's parent's knew, my family hadn't the slightest idea. That was how we wanted it. Admittedly, we weren't planning on telling people until it was absolutely necessary, but things happen. And now, I'd just spilled the beans to my brother. The whole fucking can of beans.

I realized I'd leaned forward in my moment of vehemence, and I slowly leaned back, onto the lumpy mass that was my bed. "Oh, god, Ryan. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Now he was concerned. "No, Jessie. What were you saying?"

"I... I can't... we weren't going to tell anyone," I stammered.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I bit my lip. My lips trembled. "I was, uh... I w-was... four m-months along. The stress of D-Don getting sh-shot m-m-made me m-miscarry." Somehow, talking to my brother, who I was still very close to, made me feel about ten times more vulnerable than discussing the logistics with my doctor. Who must have gotten lost on his way to check on Don for me. I felt one tiny tear slip out of my eye. I tried to hide it, wiping the heel of my palm across my face, erasing the track the traitorous tear had made.

"I'm so sorry, Jessie," he consoled, putting an arm around me, drawing me to his chest. He squeezed me in that brotherly way that made me think that my big brother could right all wrongs in the world. Sadly, it had to end and I felt got myself together. I sniveled loudly, and in an extremely unladylike manner, and dragged my hand across my face one final time. "I'm such a mess."

Ryan laughed quietly. "Jessica Evangeline Angell, I think you have a right to be a mess."

"Jessica Evangeline Flack actually."

"Flack, of course," Ryan corrected with a slight chuckle.

I sighed. "If you don't mind, this whole thing has been fun, but I'm getting tired. There's a thing about hospitals that just makes me really sleepy. I bet they have some sort of aerosol sleep aid wafting around."

"I'm sure that's it," Ryan answered, adjusting my bed so I no longer sat up. I large yawn escaped my mouth as soon as I was reclining. My eyes started to feel heavy. "Thanks for listening, Ry."

He kissed my forehead, brushing my bangs out of my eyes before saying, "Anytime, kiddo."

I'm baaaaaaack! Mostly. I have a few summer classes I'm finishing up, but then I'm home free! As always, softball is keeping me busy. Along with other loveliness. :) So, ONE MORE CHAPTER and I should be DONE. And this chapter of my Flangell saga will be temporarily retired while I work on my Warmness on the Soul series which has been on hiatus for FAR TOO LONG! Thank you for putting up with me and my recent abandonment. I hope I haven't done too much harm! I love you all, and hope you're still with me! -Serena