Amy ran through the automatic sliding doors of the emergency room and into painfully bright sunlight. Once outside, she stopped to catch her breath, which was coming in sharp, shallow hitches that didn't even seem to be reaching her lungs. She leaned against the wall and felt the warmth of the sun-soaked bricks on her back. Closing her eyes against the sun's glare, she began to feel dizzy, as if she might faint. She heard the automatic doors slide open again, and someone softly spoke her name. When she looked up, Joey was there, her kind brown eyes filled with concern and sadness and sympathy.

"Honey, please come back inside. I know this is hard, believe me. I know this hurts. But your dads need you right now. Both of them need you."

"He can't die, Joey," Amy said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

"I know, sweetie, I -- "

"No!" she interrupted hotly, shaking her head for emphasis. "No, you don't." She couldn't voice what was really weighing on her now, though, couldn't bring herself to admit aloud that the last thing she had said to Dougie was that she hated him. Guilt mixed with a sort of near-panic swept over her in a wave of vertigo, and she leaned over and braced herself with her hands on her knees.

"Amy, sit down," Joey ordered, reaching for her niece's elbow and pulling her gently down toward the concrete walkway. "You look so pale."

"I can't. I need to see Andrew. I need him, Jo!"

Joey managed a tender half-smile. "We're on it, kiddo. Pacey gave him a call earlier when we were trying to track you down. He should be on his way over."

This news served to calm her a little, but still she didn't move for a while, just sat on the warm cement with her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on them. Joey stood over her, chewing nervously on her bottom lip and waiting for Amy to recover.

The doors opened a second time, and Jack came out. He nodded to Joey, and she took the hint. She gave his arm a comforting squeeze and stepped back into the cool, antiseptic-scented hospital to return to her husband and her oldest friend. Jack looked after her for a moment, then he composed himself and squatted down next to Amy.

"Hi there," he said, brushing a hand lightly over her bright blonde hair. She raised her head up from her arms to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he was struck, as he so often had been in the last fifteen-plus years of her life, by how much she looked like Jen. It often shocked him, that resemblance, and sometimes it stirred up some memory, sad or funny or just plain stupid, that he'd thought long buried. But mostly it was just comforting and wonderful, a peaceful reminder that his best friend really did live on in her -- their -- daughter.

"Is he okay?" Amy asked in a tight little voice, struck by a terrible fear at the sight of her dad.

"He's the same, babe," Jack assured her. It was the best he could do.

"I'm sorry I ran out like that," she said. "It's just . . ."

"I know. I know exactly what you mean. But, Amy, you're wrong about us giving up on him. No one is going to do that. Do you hear me? No one. Not as long as there's a breath left in his body will I or Pacey or Joey or Dawson or anyone else let that man in there go without a fight. And I know you won't, either. Not our tough girl."

"Of course not." Amy felt a wave of relief at his words. It wasn't a promise, it wasn't an assurance that Doug would walk out of the hospital and be as good as new, but it was better than the despair she had felt back in the waiting room, when it seemed as though they were telling her it was a lost cause.

Jack continued. "And you know Dougie, don't you? Have you ever, in your entire life, known him to give up on anything? Huh?" Jack wiped a stray tear off Amy's face with his thumb, searching her face with probing eyes.

She shook her head. "Not Dougie."

"Damn straight, not Dougie." Jack managed a smile that didn't look as forced as it felt. "It's going to take more than a bullet to stop Capeside's own Sheriff Witter."

Amy nodded slowly, then raised her eyes to meet her dad's. "How did it happen?" she asked.

"Just a regular traffic violation," Jack said. "Some guy who was just passing through town. Doug ran the plates and found that the car had been reported stolen. The guy wouldn't pull over, so Doug had to chase him down. At one point the guy got out of the car and tried to make a run for it. Doug went after him on foot. The guy opened fire."

Amy winced. "I hate his job," she said.

"That makes two of us, baby. But he loves it. And, as he's so fond of telling me, Capeside is not exactly New York City. Most days are safe and boring and uneventful. This happened to be not one of those."

There was a long silence as Amy mulled something over. "Did he tell you about last night?" she asked tentatively.

Jack looked at her softly, raising an eyebrow. "About your fight?"

She nodded. "I was so awful to him. I said some things I didn't mean."

Jack's mouth fell open in mock surprise. "You've GOT to be kidding. Not the calm, cool, even-tempered Amy Lindley I know!"

"Stop it, Dad. I'm serious."

Jack was pleased to see a small smile touch the corner of her lips. He took her hand, knowing exactly what was troubling her. "I know you are. And yes, Doug told me about it. In fact, we were going to have a talk about that when I saw you later today. But the important thing is that he knows you love him. Don't ever think that either of us don't know that. We do. You're a tough nut to crack sometimes, Aim, but no one knows you like we do. Except maybe that boyfriend of yours."

"But I told him I hate him." Amy's voice caught slightly, and tears filled her eyes again. "What if he dies thinking I hate him?"

"What did I just tell you? That's not going to happen, sweetheart. You've told me you hate me before, too, and I didn't believe it for a second. You're one of those people whose mouth works quicker than her head, and Dougie and I both know that about you. He knows you love him. And hey, he doesn't tell you he loves you very often, does he? Do you think that means he doesn't?"

"No. I know he does."

"Exactly. It's not always what we say to people that shows how we feel about them."

Amy nodded, wiping the leftover tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Should we go back inside and wait?"

Jack stood up and held out a hand to help her off the pavement. "Yeah, let's go wait for our favorite cop to wake up."

As they walked back inside, Jack brushed aside an uneasy feeling. He felt like he was lying to Amy. There was a good chance Doug was going to die. He knew that, and it was killing him. He refused to be the cause of his little girl feeling what he was feeling right now, though. He couldn't do that to her. If the unthinkable happened . . . well, they could deal with that then. Now he was just happy that he had taken away some of the pain she was in, and convinced her (and maybe himself, as well) that there was a little more hope than there might realistically be. What harm could come of that?