Author's Note: In answer to a couple of questions brought up in reviews: Ian can't heal himself, just others. Also, this story really isn't intended to have much of a plot. I just let the people in the forum vote on what they wanted me to write, and this was what overwhelmingly won, so I'm writing it. (I don't even know if that many people are reading it). And I am going to try and keep this from going a hundred chapters, but you never know!

OOOOOOOOOOO

"Ian…?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't really feel like going back down to the water just now."

Ian looked down at Sammy, who was sitting on his bunk. The boy was a little redder than he'd been that morning – but since Ian was a lot redder, he could relate to that. He looked a little ill, again, but really it was more fear than anything in his expression, and Ian frowned. When he'd been six he hadn't been afraid of anything. It made him wonder what had happened to Sammy to make him so afraid of the water.

"You don't have to get into the water."

"What if they make me?"

"They can't. I've already said you don't have to, and I won't let them make you."

"But-"

"Who's your counselor?"

"You guys."

"That's right. You're supposed to listen to us, right? That's what your mom told you when she left you here."

"Yeah."

"Then get your towel and trust me."

Still rather reluctant, the little boy nonetheless reached out and grabbed one of his many towels, and then stood up and headed over to where the other boys were gathered.

Shawn, who had been listening in on the conversation – even though he hadn't actually intended to – walked over.

"What if they make him swim?"

Ian shook his head.

"They don't have any say in the matter. I'm his counselor, not them." He scowled at the grin on Shawn's face, then. "Don't make anything more out of this than there is, Adams. I'm just not going to make him swim, that's all."

"I think you're beginning to like him…"

"Do you want me to suggest to the cook that you do the dishes the rest of the week?"

"No."

"Then shut up."

Ian walked away grumbling to himself, and Shawn followed, still grinning.

OOOOOOOOO

As it turned out, there was no need for a battle of wills between Ian and the camp staff. The games that they played that afternoon involved a lot of water, but no swimming at all. Divided into cabin teams, the kids – and their counselors – started off with relay races. The first relay race was simple – which was a necessity when dealing with large numbers of small children – and all each team had to do was fill a bucket of water. The catch was that all they were given was a small cup. The first person in the line for each team would rush down to the water's edge – but was absolutely forbidden to actually get into the water – and fill their cup. Then, moving as quickly – but as carefully – as they could, they'd run back to their team's bucket, where they'd dump their cup of water into the bucket and hand the cup off to the next person in line before going to the back of the line. It was simple and pointless, but the kids loved it – and raced as hard as they could.

Proving that it didn't take age to win a relay such as that, Australia actually came in first in that relay. If Ian was a little withdrawn – because now he was sweating and his sunburn was killing him – it wasn't even noticed, because River's enthusiasm more than made up for it. The Californian was high-fiving everyone (not just those on his team) and rooting his boys on like some kind of caffeine-crazed soccer mom. The boys, of course, loved it – and responded to his eagerness with a doubling of their own.

"Are you okay?"

Ian looked over and saw the nurse standing beside him. She'd been down at the waterfront watching the activities – and watching her injured counselors to make sure they weren't having any complications from their earlier injuries. River obviously wasn't, but Ian had an intense look in his expression. One that she associated with someone who was hurting, but trying to hide or ignore it.

"Yeah. Fine."

He wondered what it was about doctors that made them so good at knowing when someone was hurting – because he was, although he'd never admit it.

"Ian has a sunburn," Sammy said, helpfully, from right beside his counselor.

"Ah."

And that probably explained it, she decided.

"It's not that bad," Ian said. "Just a little red."

"Can I see it?"

She didn't really even wait for an answer; she just lifted up the back of his shirt. Ian scowled, but short of ripping himself out of her grasp – and looking like an idiot trying to do it – there wasn't much he could do about it. Instead he was forced to stand still while she lifted his shirt higher, apparently trying to see his shoulders.

"Ouch. That's a doozy."

Well, duh. He didn't need a nurse to tell him that.

"Its okay."

"Did you put anything on it?"

"I tried to."

"But you couldn't reach?"

"Yeah."

"Come on. We'll go get something on it before it starts to blister."

"I need to stick around here," Ian told her, pulling his shirt back down.

"It'll only take a minute," she told him, deciding that he was loath to leave his campers. What a good counselor! "River and Shawn can take care of the kids for a while without you."

River, on the other hand, knew exactly why Ian was hesitating, and he gestured for the New Yorker to go.

"Go on, Ian. I'll keep an eye on things." Which in this case meant Sammy.

With so many people urging him to leave – not to mention that he really wanted to leave – Ian shrugged.

"Fine."

If he got lucky, he might even miss a couple of games, eh?