When I woke I was sitting up in bed, once again too close to the face of Detective Vecchio, who had vacated his pallet on the floor (he had refused the bed, submitting both my gender and recent injuries as evidence that I should have it). His face looked horrified, and I could only wonder at what I'd done to elicit such a response. I heard Diefenbaker mewling from his spot on the floor.

"It's just a dream," he said, in a voice that called to mind my mother.

He moved to sit on the bed, his hands still to my shoulders where they had been shaking me awake.

"Maggie, it's a dream. Can you hear me?"

"What happened?" I asked, imagining that at worst it would involve impromptu drink orders.

"You were yelling for someone."

"Who?"

"Karen. You were yelling Karen."

In my surprise, one of my hands came up to my forehead, forgetting the bandage there, the other went to his wrist. "Kara," I corrected him, saying her name and wanting to cough.

"Okay," he agreed, still quietly, "you were yelling for Kara."

His hand followed the path that mine had taken to my forehead, lightly touching the gauze patch it still wore. "You okay?" He didn't ask who this person I was calling for in my sleep was.

I was trying to get control of myself. Not trusting my voice, I didn't answer, just clenched my jaw and breathed out hard.

"I'm sorry about all this," he apologized, as he already had several times before. "Sorry that you were involved, sorry I made such a bad call and brought you along. I'm just really sorry."

And he looked at me, in the way someone does when they need to be forgiven for something. At that moment, though, sitting up in Ben's bed, so far away from home, but so close to so many things I didn't want to think about, I didn't care if he needed something I could give him or not. Without even thinking, I looked back at him and told the whole truth out loud for the first time in days. "I want Kara, dammit. Not your apologies."

And I pushed him away, probably more confused than before, rolled over onto my side, and cried.

I hate crying in front of people, I can't imagine anyone who doesn't, and if there had been anywhere else in the apartment--besides the hall--to go, I would have.

I cried--quietly, I hope--until I couldn't any more. Then I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't seem to do that any more either. I stood and walked over to his pallet, not supposing him asleep either after my unpleasant behavior and crying jag.

"I'm sorry, Detective Vecchio," I said, sitting beside him cross-legged on the floor. "It's not you." I held back a sniffle.

Rolling on his back to look up at me, he spoke. "After all we've been through don't you think it would be all right if you called me Ray?" And he gave me a lopsided half-smile.

"Well, Ray," I said, letting the sniffle happen. "I can't seem to sleep right now. So why don't you take the bed. I'm going to go sit in the kitchen for a little while."

"You promise to get me up when you're ready to sleep?"

"Word of honor."

"Fair enough, then." And he took my place.