A/N: For disclaimers please see chapter 1. Also, the country of 'Ephar' is mine and purely fictional, and not based on any real country at all.

A/N 2: Thanks go to my beta, Dee8 for this chapter, she helped me so much in getting it right. Thank you Dee, you're a legend.

Chapter XV – Sour Grapes

Simon opened his eyes. The taste of the grape lingered in his mouth. He smiled. CJ felt a warmth in her she hadn't for a long time. She still wouldn't mind seeing that smile more.

The flirtatious atmosphere was soon burnt away by the intensity of their gaze. The moments before that had been harmless fun, broke the ice, but now they found themselves out of their depths again in a sea where even the horizon was nowhere to be seen.

Smiles faded. A serious conversation they both were dreading hung in the air between them. There were so many questions, and answers that neither one was sure they wanted to hear. Suddenly, Simon found himself very aware of her hand in his, and how he never wanted to let go. At the same time, he felt like he didn't deserve it, like he had overstepped a line somewhere. His feelings began to heighten his discomfort, he had been ignoring the slight pain in his chest, bone-headedly refusing to be denied the exhilaration of watching his first football match in far too long. It was his first step into something resembling normal. Normal. His mind scoffed at the word, it wasn't something he had even had in his vocabulary since, well since a night in New York two May's ago; now was no exception. Then she had arrived. She had arrived with grapes. How something as simple as that could take your mind from your body completely, he found utterly remarkable. As these thoughts ran wild in his mind, the fact that neither one of them were speaking didn't even occur to him. However, in the same silence, CJ felt her stomach migrate to her shoes, and her bravery fade into something more fragile than mere nervousness.

Awkwardness struck again. They remained there together in silence, neither willing to let go. Simon let the grip between their fingers loosen, but CJ did nothing to bring the intensity of their touch back. Suddenly, there was a rush of noise from the TV as the Bears scored, levelling the points. Simon's eyes snapped away to the screen, welcoming the point of distraction. A smile of relief washed over is features. He took an elated breath, realising as he exhaled that it used to be easier.

"Was that your team?" CJ enquired, turning to the TV; the grasp between their hands loosened further, to the point where her fingertips were just softly resting just above his knuckles, his hand flat on the bed. Her eyes fell down to his bruised skin; her fingers followed her eyes gently over the old grazes, this delicacy caused Simon's breath to catch as he was about to speak.

"Yeah... uh... the Chicago Bears – from when Miles and I were living there, we used to do security, watch the game for free." As if startled by her own caress on his hand, CJ's eyes jerked up to meet his, drawing her hand slowly back to the edge of the cot. It wasn't just his hand that felt instantly cold without her touch.

"That job sure had some perks." She commented, Simon nodded slowly.

"Yeah..." He found himself catching a shallow breath, "I've been lucky with job perks."

"Yeah?"

"Sure – I got to see the world with the Rangers..." his speech was interrupted to gather this breath; "I got to go to an NFL match every week, and... protecting people, well you get to meet... good people." His eyes sparkled with a deep rooted pain. It wasn't something she expected to accompany that comment. It stunted her ability to think or speak, instead, she did all she knew to do: nod and smile while your stomach flips. A whole separate conversation ran its way through Simon's head in that instant. He told her how being assigned to head her detail had been better than the most majestic desert sunset, or indeed, twelve seasons of Bears games. A fire burned up inside him; oh how he wanted to tell her everything, every last dream and mirage – his last thoughts at death's door. He desperately wanted to give her reason to touch him again.

"So when are you getting out of here?" CJ blurted, trying to change the subject and escape the silence that had descended once again. As soon as she had spoken the words, her mind checked in and she felt ambushed by her own voice. It shook Simon from his burning desire to spell his feelings out, bringing his crashing back to the reality of a hospital bed. His face grew darker.

"Professor Kahn says a week tomorrow."

"That's great!"

"Yeah."

"You... you don't sound convinced." Concern took over her tone.

"No. Yeah... I'm fine." He smiled weakly; he was far from fine. Leaving hospital would be OK, being home would be hard. Facing up to his future would be down right impossible. The truth, he knew would be betrayed in his eyes: he kept them hidden from her, bowing his head. Something welled up inside CJ as he dealt her those words, her hand snaked back over his. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, building a barricade against the tears he felt stinging his eyes. Her touch bothered him, he took a sharp breath against his will, and it hurt.

"Are you sure?" Her words are so soft he barely hears them; his senses are screaming at the feeling of her hand in his, her thumb rests softly on his first knuckle. CJ's heart begins to break as his head slowly shakes first to the left, and then to the right. "Simon?" Her grip intensifies, as does the nod of his head.

Suddenly, he pulls his hand from hers, running his fingers roughly through his hair and down his face, before looking up at her. What she sees isn't the anguish she was prepared for. His eyes burn cold with anger. "Don't!" he growls. Bewilderment becomes her. "Why are you here!" His voice holds all the fear, all the despair he held in when the Professor had good as laid down his sentence: significant nerve damage – no guarantee of recovery. The mandatory three years 'rehabilitation' would take him closer to Law Enforcement retirement age. Even if he could work again... Kahn's kindly voiced words hung heavy over his heart: "...there is a chance you won't regain full use..." The talk of a new nerve repair treatment and extensive physiotherapy had faded in the ex-Ranger's ears, his thoughts choked up with the realisation his life was being taken from him; he felt worse in that moment than he did as he had laid dying in a pool of blood and Ephari dust.

"I... Simon, I came to see you!" Her voice is barely a whisper, but it snaps his attention back to her, back to reality. His chest hurts, stabbing pains cross his back. She practically squeaks as their eyes meet, terrified by the look in his eyes. He continues to shake his head, pointing his finger at her, and raising his voice to shout:

"Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?" Still thick with fear and confusion, CJ's voice wavers.

"With that pity! That tone! Holding my God-damned hand won't fix this!" Suddenly she understands as his hand gestures to his shoulder with all the fury he has in him. Rage engulfs her heart as he collapses back onto the pillows, breathing angrily hard, clutching his hand to his chest as if it might ease his pain.

"My pity! Is that what you think this is!" She takes a breath, he looks hatefully at her, his face growing pale, his eyes red. "Is that all you think this is!" She reiterates.

"Well..." He starts finding it hard to breathe it takes all of his rage to keep shouting at her, "what the hell else would it be!" The volume and spite of his voice are like a sucker punch to the face. Simon long since lost his sense of judgement, rationality – he was hurting in so many different ways, he caved in. CJ stood, aghast. She began backing away. "I don't..." He catches his breath, closing his eyes as he's hit by an intense pain engulfing the left side of his chest, "...need your pity," he adds, squeezing the words out against his better judgement, urging her away. Tears over hers block the anger from his eyes.

"You never had it." Looking back at him with sorrowful eyes, CJ managed crystal clear clarity in her voice before she turned and fled the burning wreckage.

The tears careen down her face as she stabs at the elevator call button, missing twice before it illuminated. "Damn you Simon Donovan... damn you... Simon!" She feels imprisoned in her own personal hell. In her head, she is screaming and it feels like her world might explode. Thunder crashes as the lift doors open, she doesn't hesitate for a second before entering and willing the doors shut behind her.

In his swelling rage of emotion, Simon thought for a second that the physical pain wasn't real. Subconsciously, his good hand began towards the call button lying at his side. If not sympathy, then what else? Why else? His eyes darted wildly around the room as the realisation came to him that maybe she wanted to. The button was now in his hand. Shaking, he pressed it twice. He had seen the softness in her eyes before. CJ Cregg had looked at him like that in New York. She had looked at him like that in her hotel room: as she placed her hands on his holster, seeking permission to break that last barrier between them. That night, the woman had been asking him plain and easy to let her in. His eyes closed over the pain in his chest and back as he attempted shortened breaths, his pulse was thumping quickly in his ears. Oh, God what had he done?

The flashing red light on the room panel followed by the bleep that denoted an emergency call started Debbie running towards Eric Orson's room. Her heart skipped a few beats faster. His visitor was gone and he was breathing in shallow, fast breaths. Hitting the crash button on the wall above his head, a doctor was paged and on his way. The colour was draining slowly from her patient's face, his chest seemed not to rise on the left.

Rationality began to resurface. He knew this feeling, this suffocation. Simon's eyes were wide open and fixed in panic. He'd pushed her away. Pain. How could he be so selfish? So stupid? His chest. She was all he had wanted. That crushing feeling, he can't breathe. Oh God, CJ I'm sorry.

The young doctor arrived promptly, breezing past into the room where the nurse had begun the treatment. He appeared in a flash of white coat, a stethoscope running wild around his neck. O'Riley acted swiftly; listening to the patient's chest for only a second, he heard all he needed to realise his lung was partially collapsed. The ensuing conversation was short and to the point. It had been in the patient's notes that this was a likely complication. Debbie had already prepared the necessary trolley; Eric was gasping, groaning slightly: half-sitting against the incline of the cot. The young doctor spoke quickly and fearlessly:

"Mr Orson, you are experiencing a pneumothorax, your lung's collapsed and there's air in your chest cavity. I'm going to insert a tube into your chest, I'll apply some local anaesthesia, but you'll feel some pressure and discomfort." Simon heard the words through his guilt-driven, oxygen starved panic. Just. "Here we go," the anaesthetic was efficiently injected into the area. "I need you to raise your arms, just while I insert the tube. Debbie's going to move your left arm for you, on three: one... two... three!" The nurse gently moved Simon's injured arm upwards. Pain from his shoulder caused Simon to squeeze his eyes shut. O'Riley took up a fresh scalpel. "I'm going in... on the left... 3rd intercostal space..." The patient makes some kind of groan in pain, but the tube is in place; there is a brief hiss of air before spatters of a deep crimson liquid follow. Debbie returns his arm gently back into the sling.

CJ rides the elevator down only three floors before cage stops and the doors open to admit another passenger. The man looks like he might have just died. His face is ashen, and his eyes are hidden under hooded lids. CJ looks down, feeling awkward. The fluorescent light catches on something shiny in the man's hands. His fingers play over a gold ring: she quickly realises it is a wedding band, thinner than the one he himself wears. As his hand closes around the small token of precious metal, her eyes wander up to his. He smiles weakly, his bottom lip quivering as he resists breaking down; the elevator comes to a stop. The doors open to reveal a very quiet, empty and sorrowful canteen. CJ suddenly feels compelled to walk out after him. One step out, and he turns to her.

"You OK?" He asks. There is a genuine tone of concern in his voice. "I mean do you want a coffee or something?" CJ nods her head, the kindness from this obviously bereaved stranger is too precious to refuse. She wants to help him, at first she supposes that she feels pity, but realises that in fact it isn't that at all. She feels empathy. The two sit down, but neither of them touch their drinks. Neither one of them speaks. Just sitting there seems to be enough. CJ wrings her hands together.

"We were only just married." his words hang in the air between them. "Life is so short." His splintered monologue is too sad, too sad for a man who must have been ten years younger than her. His eyes flick up to her and he doesn't need to tell her that his wife is dead upstairs. He doesn't need to ask why she's been crying, his eyes say it all, and she wants to tell him, but at the same time feels a tremendous guilt; Simon wasn't dead like his wife was. She and Simon weren't married like they were: they hadn't ever told one another 'I love you'. She felt like a fraud.

"He's... he's not dead." She sniffed, unable to look the stranger in his eyes. "He's... he's just..." She couldn't finish. What was he? Hurt? Crippled? Or was the pain about her, Simon Donovan had just broken her heart. Again. The man opposite her smiled. CJ wiped away a loose tear, trying not to cry.

"It's OK," somehow the man's words were comforting, perhaps he knew too that someone didn't have to be dead for you to lose them. "It's OK."

Sealing the tube against the patient's skin, the young doctor sighs. "That should do for now, but we'll need a scan." He silently observes his work, watching Eric's chest move almost equally. "The nurse says you were agitated some?" Simon made no response, he was cold and shaken. "We'll have you booked in."

Simon had defied his body once again, yet he didn't feel victorious, he felt like dirt, awful and empty inside. It had been a long time since he'd been like this: alone and hurting, cold and shivering, and this time there was no option of hard liquor to ease the pain. "See you upstairs, Mr Orson." The kid doctor left, explaining he had to go and attend another, leaving the patient alone with the nurse, Debbie.

Carefully, she helped him get a little more comfortable, ensuring the fit of the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. As Simon's head rested back on the pillows, he felt exhausted, but his eyes remained on hers.

"Mr Orson... your left lung collapsed. We've re-inflated it. Dr O'Riley wants you to go for a scan though, we need to check it out." His eyes remained fixed on her face, they were filled with fear and sorrow. "You're OK now... Eric?" Hearing that name, his eyes glazed over with tears. Blinking them out of his crystal blue eyes, he finally looked away from her. He was so ashamed of himself for taking his anger out on the only person in the world he really wanted at his side now, that crying in front of a stranger now seemed no big issue. She needed to calm her patient down, but as soon as she touched his good arm, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched harder.

"You should go back to him." The stranger spoke in a calm, measured tone, even though on his face he still wore his grief like a veil over his features.

"I... can't." CJ admits. "He doesn't... want me there."

"If you didn't love him you'd have never sat down with me." She looked up at him, and through his own painful sadness, he smiled at her. "If you didn't think you should go back up there, you'd have carried on down to your floor." It felt like God had sent her an angel, this man had lost seemingly all there was to lose, yet there he was, encouraging her, telling her through what strength, she didn't know, that everything would be alright.

"I... thank you. Thank you so much." That was all CJ could muster in words, but the stranger knew. He knew something good had come of his sorrow, and that – that made everything alright.

The elevator doors opened, CJ walked out, determined not to let Simon's anger get the better of her. Her steps were halted by the sight she saw. Simon was being wheeled away from her, down the corridor. His face was ashen, he wore an oxygen mask... his chest was bare with a tube... oh God! The nurse recognised her immediately, and left her patient's side, letting the porters keep the cot moving. Raising her hand to calm the Press Secretary:

"Ms Cregg?" Debbie started.

"What... what happened?" CJ held her voice together, gesturing to Simon.

"Mr Orson suffered a pneumothorax,"

"Is that?"

"It's when..."

"I mean, is he OK?"

"Ms Cregg, his left lung collapsed, we have re-inflated it, he's just going for a scan to make sure." The taller woman looked over the nurse's head, her eyes fixed on the shape of the man not so far away.

"He shouldn't see anyone right now, it was his outburst that probably caused a rupture, his lung was originally damaged by his trauma. He is stable now, but he's by no means a well man." CJ nodded. He had been raising his voice at her. Look at him now. Guilt rose inside her. "I'm taking him up now, it should take about a half hour." Swallowing her feeling of guilt sickness, CJ began walking past the nurse.

"Ms Cregg, I can't allow you to..." CJ silenced the nurse with one flash of her eyes. "Ms Cregg, we can't afford for him to be agitated!" CJ strode off after Simon, "Please!" Debbie called, jogging to keep up, on the verge of physically stopping the woman.

The porters had stopped the cot, waiting for the elevator to arrive. CJ stopped as she got within a foot of the cot-side. Simon was pale, his skin was grey, even under the tint of his tan – and especially against the darkness of the bruising that crept out from underneath the splinting.

Keeping that last bit of distance, she stayed out of range, away from any more hurt. It broke his heart to see her stand so weakly, her arms wrapped over her chest, keeping herself from him. She hadn't been keen on his presence when he was protecting her, but she never retreated like this, she had been lively and feisty, in his face. All the fear of being stalked seemed to have been channelled into giving him a hard time, fighting him was her way of defending herself from the threat to her independence. Now, though, there was no fight: all she did was hug her arms over her slight frame. He wanted desperately to utter a word; just one, but found that physically, he couldn't.

For a moment, CJ refused still to look at his eyes, impulse had got her this far, but her bravery wavered. One glance at those eyes of his could break her; one look at them would stop her from ever walking away. Simon's cheek looked rough with grey stubble, the dark beard around his chin seemed out of place, she thought. His hair was still jet black, a flat half an inch in length all round: no grey had appeared yet. His darkened features would have made him look ten years younger, but the pain and anguish he wore aged him. The elevator arrived, the porters didn't wait for her before moving him on into the fluorescence. Debbie gently washed past CJ.

"We'll be back." She comforted, looking at the strong woman, urging her to stay. This wasn't the time for confrontation or talk. Simon had long closed his eyes to the world, and didn't see the nod of acceptance made by the graceful head of the woman he loved.

He could still go home on schedule, five more days of rest. He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. It would be good to be home. Miles and the family would make it easier to call his condo home. He was dreading five o'clock on Sunday when they would leave.

Back in his side room, Simon looked longingly at the black screen of the TV. He wondered how the Bears were doing. Maybe the game had finished already. Maybe it wasn't. He decided he didn't really care. What matter was a football match when the rest of his life was in ruin? He was damaged goods, no use to anyone. CJ had left. Miles was in New York. Ron was working. Ron was working. Ron was doing something he'd never do again. Simon looked at his splinted arm. He was bound up in some system of strapping. The support was like a straitjacket. He was prisoner to his future. The relief he'd felt, waking alive in Ephar had long since faded. The joy he had felt in the ambulance when he saw Miles and Anthony was gone. The memory of the taste of grape on his tongue would come back to him one day. The touch of her skin to his, however, would not. Sleep was the best retreat he had.

How much later, Simon didn't know, but he woke. There was something different about the room. He felt the presence of a nurse or doctor. No, not that. Someone was sitting in the chair next to his bed. He struggled to turn his head, feeling terribly fatigued. He couldn't believe his eyes. CJ smiled nervously. He attempted to do the same. It seemed like suddenly she was at his bedside, looking down into his eyes. She didn't hold back. Catching an eyeful of whatever he wanted to throw at her couldn't have made her leave, not his time.

"Sorry." He tried to gasp, it ended up being nothing more than a movement of his lips under the oxygen mask. "I'm..." He was forcing his voice out, after pushing his mask partially from his face. Could he bring himself to say it? Risk everything that he was, to himself, and to her. She came closer, half trying to hush him, knowing the cause of his prior collapse, yet selfishly trying to catch his words: "scared." As the word managed to slip from his lips, Simon squeezed his eyes shut at the sound. He was afraid that she would see that his vulnerability ran right through every fibre of him. Terrified she would lose any glimmer of faith she still had in him, and not see him for the man he was: the man he had been.

There was only one time in his life he'd had a harder time holding back the tears; he too had been in CJ's position: leaning down over a patient lying in a hospital bed, tenderly wanting to comfort them from something you can't change. As her lips pressed gently against his forehead, he realised that it was just as hard receiving that kind of kiss as it had been giving. Yet CJ's lingered long enough to prepare his for her whispered words:

"I know." She spoke over and above her own fears; after coming to realise that it was her turn to be the strong one. There was nothing to despair about Simon lying there, he was alive. Her fingers traced their way down his cheek, surprised at the relatively soft feel of the hair – her touch soothed him, reassured him, as his eyes opened to reveal the anguish she was now ready to bear. As she replaced the mask, CJ's strong smile of comfort chased his tears away, her hand grasping his, stilled his anxious breaths.

After a minute or so, he decided he wanted to try and talk again. His muffled murmurs made her lift the mask away.

"Simon?"

"Won't... heal."He gasped, his eyes betraying the strain this was putting on him. There were no grounds she could deny him on: she hadn't heard what the doctors had told him, but something in her hoped deeply that he only heard the worst case scenario.

"It'll get better than it is, though Simon... is that what this is about?" He blinked, acknowledging it weakly, ashamedly looking away from her. CJ's soft touch on his jaw brought his face back to hers. Everything in her expression was comfort, support, and unrelenting strength.

"Idiot." He whispered. The soft hand on his face lingered before slipping away:

"Yes."

"Didn't... mean..." seeing it in his face, she knew what he was speaking of. She cut him off:

"No, you did." Simon couldn't believe his ears, until she continued: "But so did I. Simon, I don't pity you." He smiled, conceding that she was right. "Good then." She smiled, placing the mask back, then picking his hand up in both of hers. "Friends?" He didn't need to say anything, the squeeze of his hand and the utter joy on his face did quite enough. There was a vitality back in him. For now, CJ flicked the TV back on. The game was done, but the post-match programme was playing. The Bears had won. Without a word, she pulled up the chair right next to his cot, never relinquishing their contact.

"I didn't imagine you being a fan of this break-neck violence sport." Simon drew his eyes away from the screen, raising his eyebrows in question. CJ continued: "I thought you'd have been a baseball guy, I don't know why..." She pondered it for a second, still watching the little figures on the screen pile senselessly into one another, "Despite appearances, I guess I just didn't see you as a mindless thug." CJ's attention was brought back to the patient as his hand gently squeezed hers. She smiled cheekily at him, and the easygoing atmosphere was where they settled. There were more serious words to be said, but not now. Now was a time for them to be there, together.

TBC-