Author's Note:

This is it, the end has come. When I started getting into this fic, I thought that it wouldn't get past 12 chapters... umm, yeah, that didn't happen! To everyone that ever read, and to anyone that ever read and reviewed, I send the sincerest of thanks - you all know who you are.

And Sarah, my favorite critic, thanks so much for all your time and effort. I know that I take up a good portion of a lot of your days, and I want you to know that I appreciate every second you spent on me and my work.

Now, I'm sure this final chapter will draw a lot of mixed feedback. I'm ready for it... SHOOT! LOL. This is where my heart told me to take this, and I'm sorry if it's not the fairy tale ending that some people were expecting, but I felt this was just 'right'.

Thanks guys, I love you all :)

~Joey~

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-The Hours After-

Chapter 20

I can't say that I have ever enjoyed drugs as much in my whole life, as I have in the last 24 hours. I never even used to bother with them, assuming that there was really no amount of pain that could render me dependent on the synthesized liquids, but now I find myself anxiously willing forth the next dosage. I yearn for them simply because they take away 'everything'. I know it sounds cowardly, but not feeling at all right now sounds a lot more appealing than the contrary.

I've been in and out of full consciousness throughout the early morning, but I have yet to encounter a familiar face besides little Doogie. He must hover around, just waiting for me to come to, so he can razz me a little more. I guess it's well deserved. He obviously has nothing better to do.

I can sense my body waking again, but this time it feels different. I can't explain why, but I can 'feel' a lot more now than I could earlier. Maybe I'm actually feeling better - or maybe the drugs are wearing off. Either way, I can tell that I'm actually 'with it' now, as opposed to merely being conscious.

"How ya doin', Officer?"

It takes me a second to determine from where, exactly, the voice originates. My vision isn't quite clear enough yet and I feel like I have wads of cotton stuffed in my ears. I try moving my jaw around to stimulate blood flow or something - maybe that'll help. To my surprise, the fog dissipates and my eyes crisply focus on the Doc, who's casually sipping coffee and reading a magazine while lounging in one of the plastic chairs adjacent to my bed.

What? Has he set up camp in my room now? He chuckles under his breath at my slack-jaw reaction.

"You REALLY with me this time? You're eyes don't look quite as crossed, as they did earlier. I'm going to assume that's a good thing," he says while pushing his body off of the rigid, plastic chair.

His expression changes as he approaches my bedside, his smirk being replaced by an empathetic softness, "How are you feeling really?"

I clear my throat and attempt to find my voice, "Not too bad." It comes out hoarse and uneven, but sufficiently loud enough to get my point across.

He begins what I now -not so affectionately- refer to as 'the process'. He systematically checks me over, slowly and deliberately. He leaves my shoulder to last, and before he undoes my sling, he stops, dipping his head slightly. Either he's having stomach cramps, or he has something really important to say.

"Your fellow Officers were here earlier," he pauses and swallows. "At the time, you looked awake, but you weren't 'here'. It really scared them, which could be expected, I mean, you looked like death."

Thanks, Doc. I can always count on ya.

"However, your partner, the one that I treated a couple weeks ago for the collapsed lung," he moves his eyes up to meet mine. I wish I knew where he's going with this he's starting to scare me, "she stayed behind when all the others had left." he fiddles with his stethoscope, and for the first time since I met him, he looks unsure of himself.

He swallows and nervous shifts his gaze around the room before settling back on me.

"She wasn't saying much, but I could see that no matter what I said or did, she wasn't about to leave. So, I said she could stay. "

I know Faith was here. I guess he doesn't know that I was awake for a brief stint during the night.

"She" he pauses for a couple of seconds, almost as if he's trying to keep his emotions in tact. What's wrong with this guy? "She cried for what seemed like hours... kept saying something about how you piss her off beyond words, but at the same time, she can't handle losing you. It was the most confusing emotional exhibit I have ever witnessed."

His seriousness is replaced by a small smile, "She said that if I let you leave this hospital again, against medical advice, she'd kill me herself. I gotta tell ya, Officer, I kind of believe her. She's a little scary."

It takes all my willpower to stifle the laugh that's threatening to spill out of my chest. I know I'll be coughing into tomorrow if I succumb to the urge.

The Doc notices my expression, and shakes his head a little while chuckling, "She's quite the character. But for some reason, she said she didn't want to be here when you woke up She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry" He lowers his voice and shakes her head while regaining his composure, "She wouldn't tell me why, but she was sobbing, and I couldn't quite understand her. She said that she just couldn't be around you anymore, but not to bother looking for her. She wanted you to know that it's not your fault - that she doesn't blame you for anything," he looks up at me again, but I turn away.

I don't want -or need- this right now. I would rather not know at all. God, this hurts. This hurts more than anything more than any pain I might as well have died in that shoot-out I might as well have died in that hotel room, because as of right now, I can't think of a reason to live.

My eyes are stinging, but I can't even tell if I'm crying - I'm emotionally and physically numb.

"Officer, I don't know what to" he trails off. I just wish he would leave. There are no words to describe what I am feeling, and I just think it would be best if I were to be left alone.

All I ever wanted was for her to come out of this whole mess okay - and she is. So why do I want to die? Why does every cell in my body feel like it's on fire? I hate myself for being this selfish. I should be happy. She won't ever have to be hurt by my idiocy ever again. She did the right thing she separated herself from the most dangerous threat in her life and now, I want to die

The Doc tends to my shoulder, but I can barely feel his hands. I stare straight ahead, willing my heart to just stop beating. It's really no longer worth it. I've managed to not only ruin my own life, but also the lives of those close to me. I don't even deserve to be here I don't deserve to be alive.

"Do you want me to call anyone? Do you want to talk to someone?"

What? Like a shrink? I know I'm fucked up - I don't need some Ph.D. to tell me that. I just want to be alone.

I subtly shake my head 'no'. The Doc takes the hint and nods sympathetically.

"Okay," he says in a near whisper, "I'll leave you alone now. If and when you need anything, just press the call button. I'm off in a couple of hours, but Dr. White will be able to help you."

I don't bother acknowledging him, but continue to stare blankly ahead - my vision blurred by the hot tears that have swelled from my stinging eyes.

The Doctor slowly leaves the room, turning off the overhead light out of courtesy, so as not to attract any more attention to his emotionally unstable patient. As much as I hate the gesture - I appreciate it. It just makes more sense to be in the dark right now.

I can feel my chest jump slightly as I quietly sob in the privacy of my dark room. I make no move to wipe away the tears that are now streaming down my neck.

I've got to leave. Not just this hospital, but this city, and maybe even this State. I don't want to be around anything that resembles my life as it stands. If I have to live with myself, which I believe I do - killing myself has never really been an option - I don't want to be around anything that is associated with who I am today.

I know I'm sick, and I know that I should stay here, but I would rather take the chance and die, than remain in a place that has constant reminders of what I threw away.

It's time to settle. I have to accept what I am and who I've become. I never thought it was good enough to just be a beat cop, and look where that got me. I've lost the one person that made me who I am. I lie in this hospital bed, a shell of my former self, and it would break my mother's heart to see me like this It would be better if I just disappeared. No one would be the wiser - no one would ever have to deal with the pain that I inflict on those I care about. I can't do it anymore, and I can't watch it happen. I have to leave. It's my only chance to become someone else.

I move slowly, but purposely, knowing this is for the best. I allow myself all the time required to shakily place my clothes on my body.

As I awkwardly tie my last shoelace with one hand, a golden reflection catches my eye. I slowly glance over to the table beside my bed to see my small 55 pin that I always keep in my jacket pocket. I place my hand over it and manipulate it between my fingers. The cold brass contrasts my hot skin. I look at it for a second, knowing that I'll never proudly display the insignia on my collar again. I place the pin in my pocket as I push myself off the bed. I'm unsteady on my feet, but steady in my mind. I know this is my only option - it's the only right thing I could do.

I don't bother signing out. I don't want any records of when I left. I wait for an elevator with my hands in my jacket pockets, supporting the weight of my upper body.

As the doors to the elevator slide open, I hear a low voice emerge directly behind me, "You trying to get me killed?"

I walk into the elevator before turning around to face him, "Just be careful, Doc. She means business."

He doesn't argue with me. He can tell by my face that there's nothing to debate. I know what I have to do, and I don't care enough about myself to do anything other than this.

He sighs and nods before lifting his gaze to look straight into my eyes. "You alright?"

"Things will never be alright," I answer as the elevator doors slide shut.

I shuffle out the automatic doors of the ER, into the cool, afternoon air. I just walk straight. There's no method or plan. I just want to get as far away from everything as possible. A cab stops in front of me and I climb into the back without hesitation.

"Where to?" the cabbie asks.

"Airport," I answer, the firmness in my voice contradicts my physical state in every possible aspect.

I stare at the familiar streets and landmarks as we speed ahead to the airport. I'm doing everyone a favor - and though they might not realize it right away, it will become apparent that this was no accident. I don't think I was meant to make it this far anyway. I knew it that night. I wanted to die after the events in that hotel room. I knew then what I know now.

I stayed alive for her. Now, she's gone from my life forever. As I watch the city I've lived in my whole life, pass before my eyes, I realize she's the only reason I'm here she's the only reason I made it through the hours after.

~THE END~

Thanks for sticking with me! (and Bosco) ;)