Sorry it took so long. I promised myself to never upload a story without finishing it so I'm not sure what happened. Anyways, this is horribly sappy, but that's how it happened. Tell me if you like it.

Oh, almost forgot. Never wrote a disclaimer before but most people seem to have them so I'll add one here. Not mine. Some day I might actually become egocentric enough to post the ones I claim are mine but that hasn't happened yet so don't get angry. Disclaimers are a lot like e-mail titles, they're a lot of work to think up and if I have to do them so often they'll probably get sulky soon. You don't have to read them so you'll survive. So there.

Part 4

My mother is having another fight. I don't see the point. Surely she understands the concept of smile-and-nod. Mr. Drake might be a jerk but you don't REWARD him for it! I've never seen her like this – angry, not in perfect control.

She's good. Mr. Drake is almost slinking. I wish I could do that. Now, if she just stops, while she's ahead… No. Now she's trading insults with Betsy. Why?

Oh no, Mr. Summer's is coming to her RESCUE! How could she get herself in this situation? I don't understand, why does she care about these people? Why does she let them get under her skin? Why…

I twist as my foot catches on something. I have just enough time to make sure my plate connects squarely with the face of the slime ball that tripped me before I fall. There's the sound of cracking but no pain. There's never any pain, just horror. And fear.

I'm there almost before she hits the ground. She almost kept her balance, twisting in the air for what seemed like eternity. There's glass on the ground and I wonder what was dropped absentmindedly. I'm asking if she's okay, expecting the usual polite response, but her face is covered in tears and I'm dumbfounded. I look down to the arm she's cradling and bite my lip to keep from crying out. That's where the glass came from. I'm calm in the midst of crisis, have been for most of my life, so I get one of the students to sweep up the shards and everyone else to step back. I describe how we put Emma back together while I guide Nicole to the infirmary. Emma's in her room – she really isn't getting along with the others – and I don't call her yet. Nicole needs something else right now. I'm just not sure what.

I try to stop crying but I don't want to go through it again. The finger was enough, that sense of emptiness. Not my arm! Fear brakes down the shields and I'm actually holding onto Mr. Summers, sobbing as he talks, calm and gentle, leading me down hallways and into an elevator. I wonder why he's taking me to Dr. McCoy. It's not like there's any blood. No blood. I start crying harder.

I'm carrying her by the time the elevator opens. She collapsed, perhaps from pain. Does it hurt when you shatter? I shiver as I remember Emma but not enough that this little girl in my arms will notice. For her I keep murmuring positive remarks, trying to hold her close enough to draw the fear from her.

Hank's ready. He takes her from me and launches into one of his famous monologues, grinning a mile a minute. I sit by her bedside while he natters, holding her whole hand in my own. Her grip is tight and the tears have stopped. Her eyes never leave my own. I'm not sure what the emotions I see swirling there are. I want to say something more but Hank hasn't stopped talking so I just hold on and hope that it's enough.

I'm not sure why I'm running but I can't stop. Something is wrong. My feet are racing down the stairs at the same time as my mind is racing the hallways of Scott's. He is trying to misdirect me which would make me laugh it this wasn't so important. I think it might be about Nicole.

I find the memory and the room at the same time. I have trouble seeing my daughter though a haze that covers my eyes, blurring everything. Scott's there, though, and she's holding his hand. I stand in the doorway and rub my eyes. My hands come away wet. I should be horrified but all that matters is the link between the only two people I've cared about in a long time. They're holding hands and, as my vision clears, I can see the Nicole's eyes are soft and unguarded as she draws support from Scott.

Dr. McCoy trails off into stunned silence and I turn away from Mr. Summers. I'm afraid again. He's staring at my arm and I'm worried it's fallen apart but it hasn't. It's whole. Only the jagged remains of my finger mar its perfection. How? I just remember Mr. Summers and not being afraid when he told me not to, that he was going to be here and it was going to be okay. I look around to see if anyone else did this and see my mother. She's crying. I'm too stunned by my arm to descend into shock now. Did she do this? Mr. Summers starts as he follows my eyes. He leaps to his feet and stumbles over apologies. I expect her to brush him off, to inquire coolly about my health, but she doesn't.

"Is she all right?"

There's pain in her voice! Then, Mr. Summers is giving the same assurances he gave me and I'm distracted by Dr. McCoy's hands on my arm but I keep watching them, as they embrace, as the talk quietly in each other's arms. I remember holding his hand, how it felt. I remember my mother's tears. I watch them and wonder why she trusts him. And I wonder if I could, too, someday. Maybe one day Mr. Summers will hold me like he's holding her now. Maybe one day my mother's tears will be for me. I remember her tears and wipe away my own and wonder why she DID cry while she watched us. I wipe away my tears, and try to calm down so she won't see me crying when she lets go of Mr. Summers. I don't know why I feel so good after losing control so badly.