As the soft morning light brushed over Lucas' face, he squinted and lifted a hand weakly to his eyes, as though to swat something away. When that didn't work, he turned his head away from the light. But the bright assault had done its damage, and just a few minutes later Lucas blinked fully awake.

It was quiet in Lucas' room, and he guessed it must be very early. Bridger was sprawled in a chair beside the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the feet, his arms folded over his chest. Flowers, a bouquet of yellow daisies, already were sprouting from a table at the end of the bed, next to a water pitcher and several other objects that Lucas couldn't quite make out.

His vision was blurry, his head throbbed and his thoughts were still fuzzy, but for the first time in many hours Lucas felt truly aware of his surroundings. He could vaguely remember being rudely awoken throughout the night, poked by strange people who shined brilliant lights in his eyes and asked him inane questions that rarely even made any sense. He thought the captain had been there when he'd awoken in the night, and, seeing the man in the chair at his bedside, he now realized he hadn't been mistaken about that. Lucas smiled softly.

With this new awareness came memories, of course. Memories of how he'd come to be laid up in the hospital. Lucas pushed those thoughts aside and focused instead on the present. He took inventory of his various hurts and discomforts. Lucas took a deep breath and felt the slight pull of stitches at his side. His left arm was wrapped tightly against his chest, completely immobilized, the hand nearly reaching his right shoulder. Lucas lifted his right arm and found an IV line taped to the back of his hand. His entire torso pulsed with a dull ache, and he wondered what kind of pain medication they were giving him. Not enough, he decided. His head was pounding against his skull as though his brain intended to fight its way out.

As he shifted to test his legs and make sure there were no injuries he wasn't aware of, Lucas saw Bridger stir in the chair. The captain yawned widely and unfolded his arms, stretching them high over his head. He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise to find Lucas staring at him.

"Morning," Lucas whispered, his mouth dry.

"Good morning," Bridger answered. He glanced at his watch. "You beat the clock. The nurse isn't due to wake you up for another five minutes."

"You know me, always ahead of schedule," Lucas joked weakly.

Bridger smiled fondly at him and leaned forward in his chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Lucas said honestly.

"Want me to call someone?"

"No, it can wait," Lucas said. "Can I have some water?"

Bridger glanced uncertainly at the pitcher. "I'm not sure if it's allowed," he admitted.

"Just a sip?"

"Well, I guess they wouldn't have put it there if you weren't supposed to have it," Bridger said and stood up, yawning again as he approached the table. He poured an inch of water into a cup and walked back to the bedside. Tucking a hand under Lucas' head, Bridger helped him take one sip before pulling the water away.

"Thanks," Lucas said, shutting his eyes and wincing as Bridger let his head drop back to the pillow.

"Well, looks like someone's been eagerly anticipating my arrival," announced a voice that was far too cheery, considering the early hour and the drumming in Lucas' head. He opened his eyes and gave a scowl to the nurse entering his room.

"You're early," Lucas said by way of greeting. The nurse checked her watch.

"You're right," she agreed. "Three minutes early. I can come back…"

"No, no, as long as you're here," Lucas placated.

"You're too kind," the nurse said, checking the IV bag next to Lucas' bed.

"I gave him some water. Just a little bit," Bridger said, sitting back in his chair. "I hope that's okay."

"Tattle tale," Lucas muttered.

"A little bit is fine," the nurse said, ignoring Lucas. "In fact, we might just let him eat breakfast this morning."

"Lucky me," Lucas groaned. The nausea that had mostly disappeared during the long night made a sudden reappearance at the thought of food.

"So how are you feeling this morning?" the nurse asked.

Lucas decided to go with the standard answer. "Terrible."

"Could you be more specific?" the nurse asked, shining a pen light in his eyes.

"I hurt everywhere."

"Thanks. That's helpful," the nurse said sarcastically. She turned his head to one side to check the bandage over the cut on his forehead.

"Nausea? Headache? Dizziness?" He nodded at all three. "Well, that's to be expected, unfortunately. You hit your head pretty hard. The symptoms will probably linger for a few days."

"Wonderful," Lucas said none-too-enthusiastically.

"Follow my finger," the nurse ordered, watching his eyes as he tried to keep up with the index finger panning across his vision. She wrote something on the clipboard she held. "All right, let's see how awake you really are this morning. Can you tell me your astrological sign?"

Lucas frowned in confusion. "Whatever happened to asking for my mother's maiden name or where I was born?"

"We've been through most of those. And anyway, this is more interesting," the nurse said. "So, what's your sign?"

"You know, that stuff's a load of crap," Lucas said in lieu of providing an answer.

"Hey," the nurse said, playing indignant, "I happen to take astrology very seriously. I bet you're a Pisces. They're known for they're skepticism."

"That's cheating. You've got my birthday right in front of you in that file."

"Oh, I don't need to see your file to know you're a Pisces," the nurse teased. "It's written all over you."

"Whatever," Lucas grumbled, but he smiled in spite of himself.

"You're awfully sassy for someone who couldn't even spell his name a few hours ago," the nurse said.

"It's a difficult name," Lucas offered. The nurse sighed.

"Fine, you won't give me your sign, just tell me your phone number," she said.

"Are you checking for brain damage or picking me up?"

"You wish," the nurse said. Lucas blushed, and gave his phone number. "Much better," she said, scratching something in his file. "Well, it looks like we can stop with the wake-up calls now and give you some uninterrupted sleep."

"Really? So he's okay?" Bridger asked.

"Looks that way. He's certainly perked up a bit since the last time I was in here, although I'm not sure that's a good thing," the nurse answered with a smile. "I'll have Dr. Rajim check on him in a few minutes. He can see about getting him something for the pain. But Lucas has been doing better with each check-up, so I imagine the doctor will let him get some rest. Looks like you could use some sleep too, Captain."

With that she gave them a curt goodbye and left. Lucas relaxed further into his pillow, and Bridger let loose with a wide yawn.

"You don't have to stay," Lucas said, noting for the first time how tired the captain looked. "Thanks for staying all night, but I'm feeling better now."

"Oh, I'll stick around a little longer," Bridger said.

"Really, it's okay."

"I know," Bridger said, gazing seriously at Lucas. "I'll stay awhile."

Lucas nodded and closed his eyes, but despite the fatigue and drugs that made his limbs feel heavy and his mind hazy, he knew sleep wouldn't come immediately. The pounding in his head had increased and was now making him mildly nauseous, and his chest and side ached with every breath.

Physical discomfort aside, Lucas had discovered upon waking something that was far more disconcerting: he felt vulnerable and emotionally unstable. He felt fragile. It was fine when the nurse was around and he could joke or scowl and pretend everything was normal. Now, though, he couldn't hide from his own thoughts.

His grip on the truth that he had uncovered the day before was tenuous, frayed by both physical injury and emotional shock. For now he was holding that truth at bay, locked in the back of his mind, but he feared he wouldn't be able to ignore it much longer. The truth was lurking, waiting for the first opportunity to burst to the front of his conscious. Lucas didn't know what would happen when it surfaced. But he certainly wanted to be alone when it happened.

"That was pretty ingenious, the way you rigged your PAL to send those messages yesterday," Bridger said, interrupting Lucas' thoughts. Lucas wondered how the captain knew he wasn't asleep. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow, looking carefully at Bridger before shrugging.

"It wasn't a big deal," he said.

"Sure it was," Bridger beamed. "It was a pretty brave thing to do too."

"And stupid," Lucas added. "It nearly got me killed."

"I don't know about that. I doubt Brian Sullivan was going to let you go anyway."

"Brian Sullivan? Dr. Sullivan?"

"Yeah, do you know him?" Bridger asked.

"Not really. I mean, not before yesterday. I've heard of him," Lucas said. He swallowed hard. They were skirting topics he wasn't sure he wanted to touch. "So, he's really dead?"

"Sullivan?" Lucas nodded. "Yes, he's dead."

"I can't believe she killed him," Lucas said absently.

"She?"

"Jordan," Lucas said, looking at the captain. "Jordan Mathers. My father's assistant."

"So she really was there," Bridger mused. "We weren't sure if she'd been part of it all. Skipper was able to describe a woman, and we knew Mathers was missing, but we hadn't been able to confirm the connection."

"Yeah, she was there."

"And she was the one who killed Sullivan?"

Lucas nodded slowly. "She saved my life. He was going to stab me again, and she hit him with the sculpture."

Bridger appeared to consider this new information, nodding his head thoughtfully.

"How did they manage to get you in the first place?" he asked.

"It's a long story," Lucas muttered and turned his head away. This territory was definitely off limits.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but eventually we're going to need to know," Bridger said quietly. Lucas nodded, refusing to look at the captain. "Lucas, we know about the messages from your father."

"They weren't from my father," Lucas said sharply.

"I know."

"And anyway, I don't want to talk about it," Lucas continued.

"I won't make you talk about it, not now," Bridger said. "But it might make you feel better."

"I feel fine," Lucas insisted, but he knew the captain could see the flush rising in his cheeks. "It's stupid anyway."

"How is it stupid?"

"It just is," Lucas stormed. "I don't know why I ever believed the messages were from my father. They weren't anything like him. He would never have said any of that. I was stupid to ever believe them. I was stupid to ever think he was still alive."

He shut his eyes at that, furious to feel tears welling. He was not going to cry over this. Not now. Not in front of Bridger.

"You weren't stupid," Bridger said, his voice firm but patient.

"Wasn't I?" Lucas demanded. He could feel the anger rising in him, making his head throb and his pulse race. But even directed at himself, he liked this anger, preferred it over the terrible grief that was still lurking in the back of his mind. So he poked at it, stoking his anger with vicious thoughts and words.

"I was so gullible," he said, nearly yelling. "I knew my father, Captain. I knew how he felt about me, how little he cared about me. And I let myself believe he had changed, that he was even capable of changing. I was like some little kid, getting my hopes up just so I can get kicked back down. I was an idiot. A moron. Stupid!"

He stopped there, breathing heavily. He felt sweat beading on his forehead and his body shaking. He felt himself losing control.

"You weren't stupid," Bridger repeated softly.

"I was," Lucas insisted, his voice breaking. "I wanted so much to believe it. I did believe it. I really believed he loved me." He was crying now, the tears spilling hotly as he stared unseeing out the window.

"He did love you," Bridger said. "He wasn't good at showing it, and he probably didn't tell you as often as he should have, but he loved you."

"You don't know that," Lucas said brokenly. "You never knew my father."

"No, I didn't," Bridger agreed. "But I know you. And I know you're a smart kid, and you wouldn't have believed those messages if there wasn't some semblance of truth in them. You, Lucas, knew deep down that your father loved you."

Lucas shook his head, but he considered what the captain said. And he remembered. In flashes of memory, he saw his father reading to him, and taking him out for a milkshake, and calling him just before he died, to tell him he loved him.

"He's dead," Lucas said, barely a whisper. "I miss him, Captain."

Bridger sat on the bed as Lucas began to sob, gripping his hand and brushing fingers over his dirty blond hair over and over again.

"I know you do," Bridger whispered.

xxxXXXxxx

Lucas wasn't sure how long he lay crying in his hospital bed, but after awhile his sobs faded to stilted sniffles, and he became aware once again of the ache in his shoulder. His head still turned away from the captain, he asked for some water.

"Sure," Bridger said, squeezing Lucas' hand before letting go. Lucas felt the bed shift slightly as Bridger stood up to pour some water. He rubbed his right hand under his runny nose. "Here you go."

Lucas pushed himself up a bit higher in the bed and took the glass from Bridger, mumbling his thanks. The water felt cool and clean and he nearly drained the glass before handing it back. The captain exchanged it for a handful of tissues, and Lucas thanked him again. As he wiped the tears off his face, still refusing to look at the captain, Lucas examined his feelings. He was surprised to find very little to examine. His head felt empty and unfocused. His misery seemed dulled, and the fragility that had haunted him since waking up that morning had disappeared entirely.

He was also very sleepy. Lucas felt his eyes drooping shut and he blinked wearily at the ceiling. He found himself rather enjoying this emptiness that had replaced his anger and grief, and he almost smiled.

"So, I hear someone's been giving the nurses a hard time this morning?" Lucas looked up to see Dr. Rajim, a small-boned man with shiny black hair and thin glasses, walking toward the foot of his bed. "How are you feeling?"

Lucas shrugged and winced at the stab of pain in his shoulder.

"I see," the doctor said. "Well, let's check out your head first."

He ran the same tests that the nurse had done awhile ago, and added his own notes to the clipboard. After flipping through a few pages from Lucas' medical file, he tucked the clipboard under an arm and grinned.

"You're looking much better," he said. "I imagine you'll have some residual symptoms from the concussion for a little while. It really was a pretty bad knock to the head. But I think we'll be able to release you tomorrow afternoon, assuming everything still checks out then."

Lucas smiled softly at the news. He still hurt enough that he wasn't particularly eager to leave the hospital, but it was a relief to know he wasn't facing a long stay either.

"Now, as for these other injuries, the nurse said you were having some pain?" Dr. Rajim asked, leaning across Lucas to examine the shoulder wound.

"Yeah, but my head hurts more than anything else."

"Unfortunately, that's to be expected," the doctor said, shifting to look at the stitches in Lucas' side. "I still don't want to give you anything too strong with that concussion. But I'll have a nurse come by with something in a few minutes."

Dr. Rajim took a few minutes to scribble more notes in Lucas' file.

"Okay then, do you have any questions?" he asked.

"What about my arm?" Lucas asked.

"Oh, that'll be fine," the doctor said. "We only had it bandaged up to your chest like that to keep you from moving it around too much when you were unconscious. I'll have someone remove some of the bandages later this morning. We'll still need to immobilize it, but you should feel more comfortable with a sling."

"So my arm will be okay?" Lucas asked, drawing his hand into a fist as though to test his strength. "There wasn't any permanent damage?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," Dr. Rajim said. "Although it was a close call. An inch or two one way or another and it might be a different story. No, in a couple months you should be back to normal."

"A couple months?" Lucas gaped.

The doctor nearly laughed. "You were stabbed, son. You can't recover from that in a few days."

"No, I guess not, but a couple months?"

"What he really wants to know," Bridger interrupted, "is how long before he can type with his left hand."

Lucas scowled at the captain, but admitted to himself it was true. He turned to the doctor for the answer.

"Typing? With most kids it's video games they want to get back to."

"Well, that too," said the captain.

Lucas glared at both of them.

"I'd guess a week or two," Dr. Rajim said. "But you'll probably have to wear a sling for at least four to six weeks."

Lucas groaned.

"Oh, stop your complaining," Bridger teased. "Just think about the great scar you're going to have."

"That's true," Lucas said, brightening a bit. "But four weeks?"

"Four to six weeks," Dr. Rajim corrected. "I'll be back to check on you later this afternoon. Just get some rest, and do what the nurses say."

"No problem," Lucas said.

"Right," Bridger mumbled. The doctor laughed again and waved on his way out.

The room was quiet for a few moments after the doctor's departure. Lucas was again averting his eyes from Bridger, wary of another discussion and slightly ashamed of his earlier breakdown. But Bridger seemed inclined to let matters rest for now, and kept his thoughts to himself. Lucas, his eyes growing heavy again, yawned into his hand.

"Can I get you anything?" Bridger asked.

"No, thanks," Lucas said. He glanced uneasily at the captain.

"How are you feeling?" Bridger asked meaningfully.

He knew the captain wasn't asking about his injuries. Lucas didn't answer right away, thinking over his response carefully. "Okay, I guess," he finally said. "Tired."

"I bet," Bridger said with a small smile. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll be here."

"You don't-"

"I know I don't," he said. "But I will. Close your eyes."

Lucas obeyed. A moment later he opened them again and stared sleepily at the captain.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Bridger whispered back. "Now go to sleep."