A/N Merry Christmas, everyone! I couldn't wait to share this chapter once I finally got done typing it tonight:)

Also, I do not own the book "Karlson on the Roof." Astrid Lindgren wrote it in 1955.

Christopher held his copy of "Karlson on the Roof" on his lap, reading the imaginary adventures. He pulled the book closer, picturing the characters' antics, when his bedroom door opened.

Nathan looked in to see his son, a cartoon decorated blanket tucked around his middle, the book he was reading open close to his chest, the boy's eyes so focused on the page, he seemed lost in the story. "Good book?"

Christopher nodded, his eyes not leaving the words that painted a fantasy.

Nathan closed the door and sat down beside Christopher, noticing when the boy wrapped the blanket tighter around his waist, a measure of protection. "I want you to know you're safe, okay? I promise."

Christopher put the book face down on his lap, turning to look at Nathan. "Dad, is it okay if I miss Mom? Or even if I don't? I'm not sure."

Nathan put his hand on Christopher's head, smoothing his hair. "It's okay if you miss her, Son. It's also okay if you don't."

"Oh. That's good then. But if she loves me, why would she-" Christopher looked down at the cover of his book, wanting to go back to the pretend world. "I know she shouldn't have. I don't really know why. I just do. I'm right, aren't I?"

"You're absolutely right, Christopher. What she did is wrong. It's not okay for her to touch you in that way."

"So why did she? Doesn't she know it's wrong?"

Steve started to lift his hand to knock, but hesitated. "Man, what am I thinking?" But he did say I could talk to him, and I have more than once before, he thought. He told me it's about being there to listen and help.

Steve was just about to rap on the door when it opened, Vivian appearing in front of him, making him stutter out an explanation. "Oh, hi. Sorry. I'm not sure what I'm doing. I just-" He covered his face with one hand. "I don't know."

Vivian gestured for Steve to step inside. "Hi. Come on in. Please don't be sorry. I was just on my way out, but I imagine you're here to see my husband."

Steve nodded, going inside the house. "Um, yeah, thanks. But if he's busy or something, that's okay. It's not a big deal."

Samuel came from down the hall, still clad in the shirt and pants he'd worn to work at the restaurant. "Oh. I thought I heard you, Steve."

Vivian pulled the front door open, then turned to Steve. ""It was nice seeing you." She waved to Samuel. "I'll be back later tonight, honey. I'll probably visit for a while after the meeting."

Samuel nodded, giving Vivian a smile, as he switched on the floor lamp in the living room. "Okay. I love you. Be careful."

Steve watched Vivian go, before he looked at Samuel. "I hope I'm not bothering you or anything. You probably just got home from work. But I want to tell you something, and I can't tell anybody else this right now."

"So I'm your last choice, huh?"

"What? No. I didn't- I didn't mean it like that."

Samuel grinned at Steve, touching his shoulder. "I'm kidding." He sat down on the sofa, motioning for Steve to join him. "Sit. Relax. Tell me what's going on."

Steve lowered himself down on the edge of the sofa, his gaze falling to his shoes. "I'm not sure where to start."

"Just say whatever is on your mind. You've talked to me before."

"I know I, um, asked you a lot of questions before about things. And it's not like anybody else can answer this. But have you ever been afraid you would hurt yourself again somehow? I know you didn't exactly mean to when you did, but..."

"Sure. I have been afraid of that, maybe especially because that's not what I set out to do." When Steve didn't speak again, the silence growing, Samuel scooted closer to him, leaning forward to see his face. "Are you feeling like you want to hurt yourself?"

"No. It's not like I don't ever think about it still but no. I'm not like that right now. I just get scared I could be sometimes, you know? I've actually talked about that a lot, so it's not even what I'm wanting to tell you."

"Okay."

"Both Sodapop and my dad have cried lately, telling me, uh, how much I mean to them, I guess. I promised them I'm not going to hurt myself again."

"All right. Are you afraid you could break that promise?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. But I meant what I said. I think I'm more determined that ever, but I'm kind of having a hard time with the memories of my overdose."

"A hard time how?"

Steve let himself sit back against the sofa cushion, looking at Samuel, then down at his hands that refused to be still. "I feel like I'm there again. Like the flashbacks I have. You know about those, right? You've seen it a couple times."

"Yes. I know what you're talking about, and your dad explained it to me once. So they make you feel like you're reliving what happened?"

"Yeah. It can seem so real. I guess I'm better at knowing how to cope with them than I used to be. I know what to do to get through them anyway. But it can still be real bad sometimes."

"I haven't experienced what you're talking about, Steve, but even so, I know how powerful memories can be. Especially painful ones."

"These memories are different though. Cause I'm the one who made them. I did it to myself this time."

"That doesn't mean it can't be hard for you though." Samuel rested a hand on Steve's arm, his voice both firm and compassionate. "Or that you deserve it, if that's what you're thinking."

"I know I need to talk about what I'm remembering. That's what I had to do with the memories of the abuse to be able to handle them better and, you know, understand them." Steve glanced at Samuel once more, meeting his gaze, before giving in to the urge to look away, imagining that his own eyes betrayed the need he felt to be transparent. "But I haven't told anybody all of it."

"I would imagine that's very hard. So I understand."

"It is. But that's not even the only reason. My dad wouldn't be able to handle it. Sodapop couldn't either. I can talk to both of them about anything, but they don't need this."

"Of course it's up to you who you talk to about things, but from what I've seen, both of them would want to listen to you, even if it's tough to hear. Anything to help you."

"You're right. They would. But I don't want to hurt either of them anymore. I could tell my counselor. That's what she's there for. Obviously. She knows the memories of my overdose are bothering me like this, but I didn't tell her much more than that."

"Why not?"

Steve closed his eyes, thought he didn't feel even a sign of a tear, certain Samuel would be able to see the chance he was taking, the fragile place he was putting himself in by being sincere. "Because it's not the same. She helps a lot. Sometimes, I tell her things I think or feel I wouldn't say anywhere else. But it's... It's her job."

"It's not the same as having a friend listen to you."

"Yeah. I mean, I guess she cares. But it's different. Don't get me wrong. I don't want to think about where I'd be without her. She's there for me. It's just not in the same way, and it's not like she can tell me about herself. That'd be really weird."

"So you need some empathy too." Samuel waited for Steve's next reply, though the picture was becoming clear to him. When it didn't come, he noticed the boy had turned his head, a framed photo of Matthew and himself directly in his line of vision. "My wife took that one of us. It was a fun day."

"He looks like you."

Samuel put a hand on Steve's back, as he also looked at the photo, the eternal image of Matthew making him smile, even while it also created the desire to weep. "You can talk to me about what you remember, Steve. I'll listen to everything. And we can share the memories."

Nora watched Christopher pump his legs, making the swing in the backyard take him higher into the air. She heard the doorbell ring, the sound drawing her away from the view at the window. "Coming!"

The bell rang again, just as Nora turned the knob and opened the door, the face before her one she hadn't seen for some time. "Clara, what are you doing here?"

Clara didn't make a move to come inside, remaining in the doorway, a slight grin on her face. "Is that the way you greet your only daughter?"

Thinking of Christopher in the backyard, Nora's voice took on a tone that didn't fit the person she'd become, channeling the sense of protection she wished she'd had for her own daughter decades ago. "You don't need to be here."

Clara laughed. "And why not? I'm just walking away from my father. In the way that you never could."

"There are a lot of things you never did understand. About both me and your father. I'm sorry for how your childhood was. You'll never accept any apology I give you, but that's been over."

Clara scoffed. "What didn't I understand?" She didn't wait for a reply, the memories of the violence something she'd chosen to overcome with her own control. "Where's Christopher? I know you talked to Nathan."

"You don't know anything."

"I want to see my son."

"You don't have that right anymore, Clara."

The derision was apparent in Clara's laughter. "You sound like my father."

"It's the truth. I should have protected you. Maybe if I had, you wouldn't have turned out this way. But there's nothing I can do about that now. However, I can make sure you don't harm my grandson."

"Your grandson? He's my son!"

"You're an even worse mother than I was. But at least I can admit that. I don't see any hope for you, Clara. Don't come back here again, or I'll call the police."

"The police? This is a family matter! Christopher must be here then." Clara attempted to move past Nora, craning her neck to see inside. "Where is he? Where's Nathan?"

Nora turned her head to see through the window where she'd been watching Christopher. He was no longer on the swing, but walking toward the back door, about to come in the house. She looked at Clara again, regret for the past washing over her, along with resolve for the present. "Like I said, don't come back." She closed the door and locked the deadbolt, tuning out any protest Clara may have had, as she went to meet Christopher, his voice calling out to her.

Steve could feel his body shake, as he put the memories of the moments he'd tried to end his own life into words. "So after I took all of them, I stayed in the car. I thought I'd just go to sleep right there. But I didn't feel anything at first."

Samuel tried to keep himself from shivering at the image Steve was describing. He stayed close to him, remembering how much the presence of others had appeared to help when the memories became too real.

"It felt really strange to take that many pills. I still remember how they felt in my mouth, then I don't know how I didn't choke when I swallowed them. They were kind of big. Coke doesn't taste right anymore. It probably never will."

Samuel saw the way Steve was shaking, noticing it was getting worse, as he talked through the desperate moments. He touched his shoulder, his hand gripping it tightly. "Only keep going if you want to."

Steve nodded, the trembling sensation slightly calmed. "I know. But I have to. I need to do this."

"Okay."

"I remember kind of looking around and wondering if I was really still here. Like maybe I'd died and was just dreaming. I decided to get out of the car and go in the house, and I kept thinking about what I'd just done. It didn't really hurt yet though cause I still felt okay. I was awake. I could walk. I could still feel all the pain. Then, I wondered if taking the pills was a dream."

Samuel waited for Steve to continue, keeping the hand on his shoulder, imagining the contact was both a physical connection to the present and comfort he needed.

"I actually went back to my car and picked up the medicine bottle to check if I'd really done it. When I saw it was empty, I told myself I had, still trying to think I'd fall asleep and not feel anything soon. I thought I'd be dying any second, and the memories of the abuse hurt as much as they ever had."

Samuel reminded himself to breathe, as he remembered his own encounter with unconsciousness, able to predict that was the same journey into oblivion Steve had been seeking.

"I went in the house and laid down on the couch for a long time. I told myself if I just waited, maybe I would finally go to sleep. But I never did. I remember when my stomach first started to hurt, and I got nauseous. I still kept laying there. I guess maybe I thought it was happening then. I even held my breath as long as I could, like I thought I would die faster if I didn't breathe."

Samuel held back the tears in his eyes, a pain that went beyond empathy flowing through him, as he listened to this young boy talking about the desire for death, for relief, that had fueled the urge to act on the suicidal impulse. Thank God you kept breathing, he thought. Thank God I know how this ends.

"My stomach kept hurting more and more. Then, I thought of my dad finding me dead. I asked God to help me that time. I didn't want him to take me anymore, like I'd prayed before I took the pills. I told him I was sorry."

Samuel felt a tear fall down his cheek, immeasurably grateful for the unanswered prayer, at the same time his heart ached for the pain Steve had endured.

"I wasn't sure what to do at first, and it kind of hit me what I'd done, what could be happening. I could be dying. I didn't ask for help, like I'd told my dad and Sodapop I would. I didn't listen to my counselor. I felt like I was going to throw up, and the pain was getting worse. I had no idea it would be like that."

Samuel saw the tears on Steve's face, though his voice didn't tremble in response to the emotion. He could still see his hands shaking, as he put his arm around him, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I'm so glad you called for help. I don't even have the words for it."

"I was so scared. I remember dialing the phone, still thinking I might die. Part of me was afraid no one would answer the call. I was even afraid that God didn't hear me anymore. Like he couldn't because of what I'd done to myself"

"He never left you. Not even for a second."

"I know that now. I really do. I mean, I couldn't feel him or anything. But I know I wasn't alone. After I talked to my dad, I started throwing up. I was afraid of what might be happening in my body because I couldn't stop." Steve turned to look at Samuel, the tears on the preacher's face mirroring his own. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you cry."

"No. Don't be. It's okay. I want to help, and it's worth more than a few tears."

Nathan sat down beside Christopher, watching him hunt among the puzzle pieces that were spread out on the dining room table.

Christopher picked up some pieces of similar color, attempting to fit them together. "When it's finished, it'll be a picture of a horse."

Nathan smiled at his son, remembering the tears he'd shed earlier that day and hoping they weren't at all visible on his face. He picked up one of the puzzle pieces, able to see it was part of the horse's mane.

Christopher tried to add another piece to the section of the puzzle he'd started, finding out it didn't quite fit. He resumed his search for a matching piece, studying the shape and the color. "Dad, do you think Mom misses me?"

Nathan saw a possible match to the piece of the puzzle he still held in his hand. He picked it up, the shapes a perfect fit. He stared at the beginning of the horse's mane, uncertain of the right answer to Christopher's question. "I'm sure she does, Son."

Christopher put together two pieces that he could see were forming part of the horse's tail. "Do you miss her?"

Nathan felt the tears return to his eyes, not even sure about his own emotions. He put the matching pair of puzzle pieces down on the table, leaving them to lie beside the beginning of the horse's face, realizing he did know one thing, as he kissed Christopher's head. "I love you, Son, and you're safe. That's all I care about."

Steve continued to put his memories into words, moving on to the sequence of events after Nicholas had come to help him. "I hardly even remember the drive to the hospital. I felt really funny. But after my dad got to me, I knew he'd do anything he had to. I totally trusted him to take care of me."

Samuel imagined Nicholas' urgency, knowing it matched the man he'd gotten to know. "Your dad would move mountains for you. It didn't take me any time at all to see that in him."

"He stayed right with me in the hospital too. I was crying, while everything was happening, but I remember thinking I was so calm. I answered every question the doctor asked me. Maybe I was kind of numb and just doing what I had to do. I didn't care about anything, except knowing I'd live. I thought they'd ask me why I did it, but no one did."

"They were just focused on saving your life. I was unconscious when I got to the hospital. I don't remember anything until I woke up, and even that is kind of blurry."

"They had to pump my stomach, and I remember it, but it's kind of a weird memory. My dad had to leave the room, and that probably bothered me the most. They put this tube down my throat, but it didn't really hurt. It was just uncomfortable, but it helped when one of the nurses explained what was happening. I knew it was helping me, so that made it not seem as bad."

"They didn't have to do that with me. Mostly just had to make sure I was hydrated and keep an eye on me. I know I never stopped breathing, but my heartbeat was pretty off when Vivian found me, and my blood sugar was dropping. It actually could've been a whole lot worse."

"I know I could've been a lot worse too. They let my dad back in with me after they gave me the charcoal stuff. It tasted terrible, and it made me feel sicker. Sometime after that, I fell asleep and didn't wake up for a while."

"I'm sure you needed the rest. You went through an awful lot in a short amount of time."

Steve's mind shifted, making him focus on the time after he'd been treated for the overdose, his tone one of reflection. "I remember waking up and seeing my dad there beside me. The first thing I said to him was please don't leave. I guess part of me was afraid because of what I'd put him through."

"I know he wasn't even thinking about leaving your side."

"I was so tired, we only talked for a minute, but I made sure I told him I love him and to please forgive me. By the next time I woke up, I couldn't even imagine wanting to die."

"When I woke up and Vivian was there holding my hand, I felt so guilty. The first thing I did was apologize to her. She told me to rest, which was exactly what I still wanted to do. I didn't want to be awake yet. Much like your dad is with you, she didn't leave my side. She just loved me, and that was something I know I needed more than anything else at that time."

Nathan closed the door to the bedroom he was sharing with Christopher, planning to join his sleeping son later on in the evening. He went down the hallway, finding Nora at the front of the house. "Christopher's asleep. What did you want to talk about?"

Nora held a steady gaze on the window in front of her, not sure what she should expect. "Clara came by today."

Nathan settled himself into the nearer of the two armchairs in the room. "Okay. So what happened? Christopher didn't see her, did he? He would've told me."

Nora pulled her eyes away from the view of the empty front yard. "No. He didn't. He was outside playing. I sent her away."

"What did she say?"

"Just a lot of things about her father. Then, she asked where Christopher was and where you were. I told her to leave, or I'd call the police."

"She won't come back here."

"You think she'll give up so easily?"

"Yes. Because she doesn't want anyone else to know what really happened. As much as she likes to pretend she doesn't understand, she knows she's wrong and how bad this is. She wouldn't have hidden it if she didn't, and she wouldn't deny it or blame Jesse or anyone else. Even if she actually sees what she did to Christopher as okay, she knows no one else ever will."

"When I said I'd call the police, she said this was a family matter. Do you think she believes that?"

"Maybe. But she knows they wouldn't see it like that. She won't involve anyone else, and she doesn't want you to either."

Nora sat down in the remaining armchair, facing Nathan. "You're not worried she'll get a lawyer or something and try to take Christopher?"

"No. Like I said, she doesn't want anyone else to know. She's only concerned about herself. He's her son, but she'll let him go if that means she can stop the truth from getting out. He's staying with me, and he never has to see her again."

Steve turned his next thoughts over in his mind, searching for the words that would express them, steering the conversation away from the layers of common ground he shared with Samuel. Yet, the words to delve into the territory that was his alone eluded him, as his eyes filled with fresh tears that didn't wait to fall.

Samuel kept a grip on Steve's shoulder, just as he had earlier. "Hey. It's okay. Did I say something I shouldn't have? I'm sorry if I did."

"No. You didn't. It's not that."

"What is it then? I know we've been talking about some very difficult things."

"I don't know if this is ever going to stop."

"What do you mean?"

Steve struggled to speak over the weight on his chest. "The flashbacks. Any of them. I don't know if they'll ever stop."

"You told me it helps to talk about what you remember."

"It does. But that doesn't make them stop." Steve lifted his arm to wipe his face, tears wetting his shirt sleeve. "They didn't happen much for a little bit, but they came back. That's one reason I overdosed. I wanted to stop remembering. But now-"

Samuel could hear the catch in Steve's voice, as he was unable to finish his thought, recognizing all too well the sound that told of a strengthening need to just let go and weep. "It's okay if you cry all over me, you know."

Steve didn't attempt to speak anymore, only hugging Samuel back when he felt his arms wrap around him.

As Samuel held Steve, audible sobs coming from him, the moment nudged his memory, bringing to mind his time with Nicholas in the hospital chapel. He closed his eyes, a prayer coming from his lips. "Father, in the name of Jesus, I know you see the tears. Even more than that, you can feel the pain too. Help Steve keeping holding onto you and know that you're here to carry him through, even when it hurts. God, I've watched him seeking you, looking to you for strength, trusting you, even though he's suffering with these feelings and memories. He believes in you. Surround him with your presence and power, as he lays his struggles before you, and bring him peace."

Samuel opened his eyes, his memory nudging him once more. He looked at Steve, the tears that remained not stopping recognition from dawning on him and making him able to see the path being created. "Please, God, help him keep healing."

Clara sat in the wooden rocking chair, the motion of it moving her back and forth, the partially unpacked suitcase next to her feet. "I can start all over."

She looked around the small bedroom that was where she'd lay her head down to sleep tonight, the glare of her ego unscathed by recent events. "I already have."

Nicholas, his hair still damp from a recent shower, pulled open his dresser drawer, hearing the clanging sound of the metal handle at the same time he saw Steve in the hallway. "Hey. You just get home, Son?"

Steve unzipped his jacket, as he stood in Nicholas' bedroom doorway. "Uh, yeah. I was just talking to Samuel, Dad. That's all."

Nicholas picked out a blue t-shirt, then gripped the top edge of the drawer, before he looked up to see the redness around Steve's eyes and the flush of his cheeks. "That's fine. I was just asking, Son. I worked a little later myself. Are you okay?"

"I think so. I know I don't really look like it, do I?"

Nicholas closed the drawer, making the metal handle clang once more. "I can tell you've been crying a lot."

Steve moved the zipper up and down along its teeth. "Yeah. I guess I have."

Nicholas pulled the t-shirt over his head, sliding it on, as he sat down on the bed. "Did talking help?"

"Yeah. It did." Steve looked down at the zipper, his hands grasping the hem of the jacket.

"Steve?"

"Huh?"

"You're doing the same thing I did the other day."

"I am?"

"Yeah. You're standing there like you need to say something else. Do you?"

Steve looked up then, his fingers releasing the jacket, as a thought came to him. "Dad, can we do what we did last night again? You know, just watch TV and play a game or something too? I think I need it."

Clara's feet moved along the parking lot's pavement, carrying her toward the grocery store down the street from where she now lived. She passed through the automatic doors, before pulling a shopping cart from the neat rows beside the entrance. She rolled the cart along, the wheels gliding over the floor, the basket quiet.

Clara was about to turn a corner, heading down the aisle that held shelves of baking necessities, when another cart met hers, the sound of metal crashing making her jump.

Clara stepped back, pulling her cart with her, as she heard a man's voice, followed by that of a little boy.

"You have to watch where you're going, Son."

"Sorry, Dad."

Clara remained in her spot, as she heard the man's voice once more, his eyes meeting hers, though his attention was still on the boy. "Sorry. Please excuse us."

Clara nodded, giving him a smile. She saw he wore a shirt that identified him as a store employee, the name tag on the front reading "Nicholas."

As they continued on, Clara heard the boy's voice again, followed by Nicholas' reply.

"What else do we need for Mom's cake, Dad?"

"I think we've got everything, but let's go find her some candles, Stevie. Then, I'll let you pick her out a card."

Clara watched this father and son, a fascination beginning to form. As they got farther away, she turned back to the aisle she'd been about to go down, realizing the mental shopping list was now completely forgotten.

Steve swung a pillow at Nicholas, laughter bubbling out of him, as it connected with his head. "Dad! I can't believe you just said that!"

Nicholas also laughed, as he grabbed the pillow that had just hit him. "Hey! You're not supposed to hit me. I'm out of order, remember?"

"You forgot old. You're old too." Steve ducked, the pillow missing his head. He stuck his tongue out at Nicholas, before beginning to laugh so hard, his eyes watered. "Aw, man, didn't I cry enough earlier?"

Nicholas smiled, his own eyes watering from a mixture of relief and joy, as he looked at Steve, then at the images playing across the television screen and the Scrabble tiles spelling out words on the game board. "Hey. So are we going to finish this or what?"

Clara scanned the back and white print of the newspaper, the names in the obituaries none she recognized. She was about to turn to the next page when a photo caught her eye, the woman in it much younger than the others.

Clara read the death announcement, only finding names she recognized when it listed a husband and son as surviving family members. She stared at the letters before her, marveling at the improbable likelihood of the sign she believed she'd found.

Steve lifted the game board, making the Scrabble tiles slide off, the wooden pieces clicking together, as they landed in the box. "Damn, Dad. What are you anyway? A human dictionary?"

Nicholas looked at the mixed up tiles that had spelled out the words on the game he'd won, as he picked up the sheet of paper they'd used to keep track of points "Something like that, Son."

Steve folded the game board and put it in the box, setting the lid on top. "Hey, I'm not trying to kill the mood or anything, but I'm kind of wondering something."

"Wondering what?"

"Does it bother you when I talk to Samuel?"

Nicholas put the score sheet down on top of the Scrabble box, his eyes studying the rows of words and numbers. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I just mean that both times I've told you I talked to him, I got this funny feeling, and you had a look on your face kind of like you wanted to say something."

"It's fine for you to talk to him, Son. It's a good thing. Samuel's an incredible friend."

"I know it's fine. But that doesn't mean it can't still bother you. You can tell me if it does, Dad. I know you better than you think."

"It doesn't bother me that you talk to Samuel. I'm glad you can." Nicholas' eyes lifted to meet Steve's, able to see the concern on his son's face, his expression holding no hint of resentment. "It just bothers me to think there are times you won't talk to me. Or even things you can't talk to me about."

Steve touched Nicholas' hand, a reassurance of secure connection. "Dad, I know I can come to you with anything. Please don't worry. I haven't stopped talking to you. And I never will."

Clara pushed her shopping cart, moving it along next to the shelves of lunch meat and dairy. She turned her head slightly when she heard a voice speaking from behind her.

"We're sure going to miss you around here, Nicholas."

Clara's ears perked up, as she heard his name again. She listened for his reply.

"Yeah, I think it's best for me and Steve if I take the job I was offered at the other store."

Clara backed up a couple of steps, the cart moving with her, as she heard the other voice once more, followed by Nicholas', the conversation continuing.

"You have to do what's best for the two of you. You deserve the promotion anyway. I hope it works out."

"Thanks. Me too. It's been a rough few months without my wife. I can't tell you how much Steve and I miss her. It's hard to believe that can ever get easier when I still can't even believe she's gone."

"How is Steve doing anyway?"

"Well, like I said, he misses his mom. Other than that, he's as okay as can be expected. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him."

Clara absorbed the loneliness in Nicholas' voice and the grief seeping out of his tone. She imagined his little boy without a mother, seeing a twisted and marred reflection of her own experience in that of this father and son who weren't even yet aware she existed.

Steve passed through the doors leading out of the hospital, finding that despite the routine nature of his weekly doctor's appointment, he was being pulled in the opposite direction of where his car was parked. He felt his feet carrying him across the middle lot and toward the one of greatest urgency.

Several weeks had passed, but Steve recognized the painted white lines Nicholas had driven his car between, the space currently unoccupied. He saw the distance as no obstacle as he drew closer to the area around the building with the sign of glowing red letters that spelled out "EMERGENCY."

Steve didn't slow his steps until his feet touched the same white line they had that day, as he got out of the car, Nicholas at his side. He stood in the center of it and looked at the double doors they'd gone through, the glass allowing him to see into the emergency room.

Steve walked along the white line on which he'd been standing, then onto the curb that stretched into a short sidewalk. He followed the concrete that led to the ER entrance, the path much shorter than it had seemed in his moments of desperation.

He stopped in front of a bench that was just feet in front of the doors, its legs anchored in the grass. He sat down on it, his fingers wrapping around the metal slats beneath him, as he gazed through the glass that separated the emergency room from the outside world.

Clara's finger turned the rotary dial, entering the digits of a patient's phone number. She tapped on the desk, as she listened to the line ring. When there was no answer, she placed the phone receiver back in its cradle, then made a note on the contact list beside a stack of file folders.

Clara rolled her chair over in front of the typewriter, eyeing the place she'd last left off, as she put her hands on the keys. She quickly typed one letter after another, the click-clack sound all she could hear.

"Excuse me?"

Clara looked up from the keys, putting a wide smile on her face, as she recognized one of the patients on today's appointment roster. "Good morning, Mr. Walker." She stood to her feet, reaching to hand the man the pen and clipboard to sign himself in. "I've been worried about you."

Mr. Walker kept one hand pressed to his jaw, as he smiled at Clara, taking the pen to jot down his name and arrival time. "No need to worry about me. I'll be fine once I see Dr. Parker. I'm telling you, I should've gotten this one filled last time."

"I'm sure he'll take great care of you today, and that tooth won't give you anymore problems at all." Clara glanced down the hall, where Dr. Parker had taken his last patient minutes before, the smile still bright on her face when she turned back to Mr. Walker. "He should be out very soon. Is there anything you need while you wait? I'm more than happy to help."

The lock slid into place, the metal latch keeping the stall door securely closed, as Steve leaned into it. He felt the chains of nausea twist around in his stomach, the ache reaching a peak that he'd been able to see coming since he had walked the path from the ER doors to his car.

Steve slid down beside the toilet, his knees pressed into the hard tile floor. He fought the physical assault of the memories he was confronting, not finding any relief until the familiar nausea prevailed and won the battle.

Clara handed Mr. Walker a card with the time and date of his next appointment. "Here you go. We'll see you next time."

Mr. Walker took the card, giving Clara a nod and a smile. "Hopefully, this is the next time I have to come. No offense to you or Dr. Parker, but I think I've had enough for the year."

Clara waved him off, as she took her seat in front of the typewriter. "Oh! None taken. You have a great rest of your day, Mr. Walker." She resumed tapping on the keys, as he exited the building, only looking up when Dr. Parker emerged from the back of the office. "Hi. I'll be done with this any minute now. It's been a long morning, hasn't it?"

Dr. Parker put the file folder he was holding in the stack on the desk. "Yes. It has. You can go on to lunch, Clara."

"Thank you. I am getting hungry." Clara got to her feet, before leaning to kiss Dr. Parker on the cheek. "You just have no idea."

Soda handed his last customer her change, before looking out the window, where he saw Steve in his car. "What are you doing out there, man?" He glanced at the clock, though the time was of less concern to him than the expression on Steve's face that seemed strangely familiar in a way he couldn't yet fully identify.

After a few more minutes, when his best friend still hadn't made a move to come inside, Soda pushed open the door, stepping out to yell for him. "Hey, Steve! You coming in or what?"

Steve turned his head, meeting Soda's eyes through the partially rolled down window, but giving no other response.

Soda went to the door of the garage. "Hey, Billy! Could you keep an eye out for a second? I need to go check on something."

Billy's voice came from inside the garage. "Sure, Sodapop. Go on ahead."

"Thanks." Soda walked out to the parking lot, quickly getting to Steve's car and opening the passenger side door. "Hey, man, what are you doing out here?"

Steve gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles nearly white, his voice only a mumble. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Soda eased himself down into the passenger seat, recognizing the tone of Steve's voice, the familiarity of his facial expression also clicking into place. "Hey, buddy. Tell me what's going on. Did something happen?"

Steve reached for the key that was still in the ignition and pulled it out, his grip growing so tight around it that the metal became like a blade to his fingers. "I'll never do it again. Please don't stop being my friend."

Soda laid one hand on Steve's back and the other on his arm. "I won't, buddy. Never. I think I know what's happening, but I still need you to tell me you're okay."

Steve's hand that was still on the steering wheel loosened its grip, his senses assured of present safety, despite the threat of the past. "Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive." Soda tightened his hold on Steve's arm. "Come on, buddy. You're just right here in your car. You came to work, remember?"

Steve opened the hand that had gripped his keys, seeing the marks the metal had left on his skin. "I didn't do anything, Soda. I swear. I know I promised. I meant it more than I've ever meant anything else."

"I know. And I believe you." Soda glanced at the DX building, thankful for how slow the station was at the moment. "Are you going to be all right to stay here? I don't even have to go yet either."

"I think so. I need to be. It's better to be here and have something to focus on, you know?"

"Yeah. I know, man. You don't look so good though. So I'll stay here til you're sure."

"Thanks, Soda." Steve looked down at his hand that still held the car keys, noticing that the marks his tight grip had created were nearly gone, the visible traces of the inward struggle already fading.

Clara traced a finger along Dr. Parker's bare chest, as she smiled at him, the silk of her night gown the only cover on her own body that lie tantalizingly close to his. "I want you to make love to me now."

Dr. Parker reached to caress Clara's cheek, before pressing his mouth to hers, moving to push her down onto the bed.

Clara kissed him back, her tongue sliding into his mouth, as she also resisted, instead placing her hands flat on his chest and climbing on top of him. She broke the kiss, as she straddled him. "You know how this works, my sweet doctor. You know I need all the control."

Nicholas moved the broom along the kitchen tile, sweeping the glass into the waiting dust pan. "Don't worry about it, Son. It was just an accident."

Steve sat with his elbows on the table, one hand clutching the other, as he could see himself shaking. "It was. I didn't mean to."

Nicholas swept up the last of the glass, before picking up the dust pan and dumping the broken pieces of the plate into the trash can. He stared at Steve, as he leaned the broom against the counter. "I know. You just dropped it."

Steve held his eyes closed, opening them only when he felt Nicholas' hands wrap around his own. "I'm okay, Dad. I just kind of had a rough day."

"A rough day how, Son?"

"Just memories and stuff. You know what happens sometimes."

"All right. But please let me know if you want to talk." Nicholas met Steve's gaze, squeezing his hands that he'd easily seen were shaking. "Or if you need anything at all."

Clara lie next to Dr. Parker, her fingers stroking through his hair, even as he slept. "You're mine forever, don't you know?"

She wrapped an arm around him and laid her head against his chest. "You're part of me now." She closed her eyes, as she breathed in his scent. "And I'm part of you."