Author's Notes: Hey guys... I'm soo sorry about not updating... I've just been in so much of a rut with school starting, and this trail in court thing... And Seth... So yeah... I mean I have like up to chapter eighteen written... I just don't have the time or the energy to post, but everything's sorta fitting into place now and settling down, so I think we should be okay... Anyways I'm so sorry once again!!! And off to the next chapter.... Please review? Although you probably shouldn't since I've done nothing for ya.... :-( I'll post more often, I promise....

His brown hair fumbles in front of his eyes as he stares down at the table. I'm sitting across from him in complete silence. It's not an awkward silence. It's more of a comfortable silence. The sounds from a normal diner are miles away, and we are the only ones in the world. We couldn't do it; we couldn't pull it through. It's only two hours into my shift, and it seems to be the longest day of my life. He takes my mug of coffee from my grasp, and brings it up to his lips to take a sip. He's in another world, and so am I. We couldn't pull them through, it was our fault a family was dead. Of course it wasn't directly our fault. I mean we weren't behind the wheel when a drunk driver rammed into them, but we were the ones working on them. What if we had done something sooner, if we had worked on the heart instead of the lungs. If we had pushed the epi quicker, too many ifs and not enough explanations. A mother and father, two boys in the back seat. None of them pulled through. The boys were brought to us, only five and seven years old. The mother was sent to Mercy, the father to Rush. We had to call around and find out what happened. Luka has the older boy, Brian. I had the younger, Kevin. They both had major internal damage. Their heads were split open, blood oozing everywhere. The crash was horrible. I take Luka's hand and give it a tight squeeze. We've never gotten over deaths, especially when we could have stopped them. The boys were too young. I leave my hand on his, and he tries a smile, but it only half comes out. I look up, starring out the window, when I realize Amy's walking toward me. I was in a completely different world. I see her glare at me, some anger still in her eyes. She shoots a look at my hand, which is clasped over Luka's. I give him a squeeze and I pull my hand in my lap. Amy greets Luka, and he replies in a hushed voice. I then stand up, leading her toward an empty booth a few seats away. I don't want her getting the wrong impression, although the wrong impression would probably be the right impression. Whatever, my sex life is none of my daughter's business, not that she would want to know how great Luka is in bed anyway. I sit down, and she follows my lead, sliding into the seat across from me.

"What's wrong?"

I can tell right off that something is bothering my daughter. I've got this built in emotion detector, I think it comes with being a mother. I've managed to tell when she's truly happy or unbelievably sad. I can tell if she's worried or frustrated. I know her too well. And I also know she's still bitter about what I said a few days ago. It was the truth. He means nothing to me anymore, I haven't been there to see him in the four days that he's been awake. Apparently his memory isn't getting any better. It's not getting worse, but it's doubtful that he'll regain anything. I don't know what to tell my kids, your father's alive but he has no clue who you are. That's going to go well.

"Daddy's being discharged today, so I just wanted to tell you that I'm moving out of your place."

She better not be planning to stay with him. She's given up her life for her father so far. I had to physically drag her onto a plane for her to get back to Boston to finish her exams. She didn't want to leave. She's doing the same exact thing I did with my life. She's putting it on hold for a hopeless case. I've done it. I don't want my daughter doing it. I spent most of my childhood and youth taking care of my crazy mother. I spent my teen years caring for her episodes. I spent my first marriage worried about when she would show up and ruin everything for me. I spent my life caring for my mother and brother. I should have ignored them, given up. No one can help them but themselves. I wish someone would have told me that.

"Amy, go back to Boston. Your father is going to be taken care of. Rob's still here, so are Ethan and Millie. Start putting your life together. He's your father. You love him. I understand that. But you can't put your life on hold waiting for him to get better. He may never recover."

I try to keep my voice to a steady rhythm, so she actually understands what I'm trying to say. I don't want to her to misunderstand my intentions. I keep my voice gentle, but authoritive. I don't' want to force her into a corner, because she'll go defensive. She looks out at the hospital through the window, and then back at me. She's angry. Extremely angry. I don't need anything else to tell me that but the look in her eyes. Well you know what, it's the truth. I've dealt with it personally. If she wants to be stubborn and regret it later on in life, fine. But she shouldn't blame me in the end, because I tried to tell her.

"Oh yeah, because their really going to take care of him. Just because you hate him, doesn't mean the rest of us do."

She slides out and storms off. I would follow her, but I know that will do no good. She inherited my stubbornness. I give up for the moment. I have to approach this differently. I go back toward Luka, and drop off a dollar on the table for the coffee. I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek, telling him to take his time. I'll cover for him. I walk out of the diner, my mission playing in the back of my mind. It's a long shot, but I think it will work. Who knows, but I need to get everything under my control once again. I don't give a damn what happens to Carter, but my children are my children, I'm not letting this destroy their lives.

I walk into his room, and he's up and about. He's starring out at the city, something that he had seen so many times before, now it's a whole new world. He turns around and looks at me. He doesn't try for a smile, a grin, or a frown. He's just emotionless. Yes. This is good. I can deal with emotionless. I can't deal with him trying to be fake with me any longer. He keeps starring at me, god that's getting annoying.

"Carter, we need to talk."

He shrugs his shoulders and sits down in the chair by his bed. I grab the stool by the counter, and roll over to him. He gives me a suspicious look, but I shake it off. I'm the one that should be looking at him suspiciously. He probably had a few affairs while we were together. I just never really thought about it. Who cares anymore, anyway. I sure don't. I haven't really thought about what I've wanted to say to him, I guess I'll just have to improvise. Not that I'm bad at it. I've had to improvise answer to why mommy and daddy weren't sleeping in the same bed anymore, and where babies come from, and why our children couldn't' go out on a school night. I did perfectly fine. Why should this be any different?

"Amy wants to stay with you. You have to tell her she can't. She's starting medical school soon, she has summer courses she needs to finish. She has a life set up in Boston, a boyfriend, friends, everything. You can't let her drop everything and take care of you. If there's anything good you've ever done for me, this would be it."

I finish my sentence and look up at him, but I can't read his expression. I used to be able to. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. Not anymore, of course. He's spent twenty years hiding and lying. Why do I think that it would change now? He looks a little hurt, and a bit confused, but I think he gets it. I move away from him and he looks up at me. He's asking something, I can see it in his eyes, but he doesn't open his mouth to say a word. I don't care. It's his loss. I'm not suddenly going to become his wife because he doesn't know who I am. We fell apart for many reasons, too many to count, and nothing will change the fact that I don't love him anymore.

Amy walks into the room, ignoring me completely. Okay, I get it. She hates me. I understand completely. I spent nine months carrying her inside of me, four months not sleeping because she was crying, five years worrying if she was okay, and the remaining seventeen forming her into beautiful, talented, smart, successful woman. No, that means nothing at all. I'm her mother, which means absolutely nothing.

"Daddy, just a few more minutes and we can get going home."

I walk out of the room. The tension was palpable. I don't feel like adding to the stress and unhappiness already between everyone in the family right now. I lean against the wall, but I'm able to hear the conversation inside the room. I say a silent prayer that he doesn't make it too obvious that I've spoken to him, because then my daughter would be more resentful.

"Amy, I really don't think you staying with me is such a good idea. I know you're my daughter, but you're still a stranger to me. Please don't get upset. I'm just not comfortable around you yet. I don't want you hanging around. I'll slowly fit the pieces of my life together by myself. I appreciate it. I really do, but it's not what I want. If I need anything, I'll find someone to ask."

That was perfect. She will never know I talked to him, and I honestly believe that's how he feels. Although I don't think he's uncomfortable around her. She's daddy's little girl, she always will be. He probably feels the connection to her, but he can't remember anything about her past, her childhood. He can't remember the memories they shared. Well that's not my problem anymore. My problem is shipping my daughter back to Boston.

"Daddy . . . "

I hear the pleading tone of her voice, but he won't give in. In any other situation, he would have. That voice got her anywhere with him, but now it does little to change his mind. I want to back in there and push her out before he rethinks anything, but I can't. I'll just stand out here and look completely calm, leaning against the wall. I should really get downstairs, but they haven't paged me, and I pray they don't.

"At least let me take you home?"

I break into the room, and she diverts her gaze from me. What am I doing, I know I shouldn't be doing this, I'm creating another connection with him that will inevitably break and leave me searching for answers and a bottle of alcohol in a few days, but I don't care. Sacrifices are always made for children.

"No, I will."