3/6 Notes: I have been reading up on the history of these two characters on the show, most of which I never knew. My little mindis now stuffed with new pictures and quotes and video clips…almost scared me away from finishing this. I'm plunging ahead anyway. Back to the story now, we have a lot of ground to cover.

"A matter of days" became ten, then twelve. It frightened her how quickly they passed by, with never so much as a breath of change in his condition. Kim visited every day, in spite of the fact that she felt like screaming every time she saw him lying there, helpless. Her world at home remained almost the same, except for the addition of Tommy's dog, a fluffy white Samoyed named Shasta. Even Flame was back, having been found grazing with perfect nonchalance right outside the barn door when she returned. Then, however, there was the gray tin sitting on the mantle - unremarkable save for the fact that it contained Rebelage's ashes. Kim still couldn't believe the beautiful horse could be reduced to a handful of gray flakes. There had been no hope of recovery, with the bone all but shattered and much of the surrounding tissue succumbing to infection, but she still had trouble remembering that the brilliant young animal was really gone. She did not relish having to tell Tommy, if he ever woke up. When he woke up, she corrected herself.

On the other hand, the universe had a way of evening itself out at the strangest times, and it cheered her to no end when she excused herself from work in the middle of the day to visit one Tommy Oliver, recently conscious after two weeks of drifting in and out.

His eyes lit up as she perched on the edge of his bed, where he was ever so slightly propped up against a pillow. "Hi, Beautiful. There's the sight I've been waiting all morning to see," he said, tone light but with a serious undercurrent. "Although I haven't exactly been able to do much else."

"I am just happy you are awake and talking to me," Kim answered firmly, letting her palm fondly graze his cheek, only to withdraw it at his involuntary wince.

"They told me what happened...not much more than I already knew; the horse fell and I got an up-close-and-personal tour of the hillside I'd rather not repeat. But I know you stayed with me. Thank you," he said after a moment.

She shook her head and looked away. "I couldn't even find my phone until morning, and I blacked out before I could call for help. Alabaster made it back to the stable. Empty saddles usually arouse suspicion; thank him." He didn't let her get away with refusing credit, but neither had he forgotten the final member of their party.

"And Reb?"

Why, why couldn't that have been among the things they told him? To be fair, she supposed that wasn't something anyone at the hospital would have bothered to think about. Kim bit her lip, swallowing before she managed to force out the most wrenching part of the story, made worse by his crestfallen look.

"Well, I can just add that to today's pile of bad news," he growled rather bitterly, something he regretted when he saw her look of confusion, wondering what else had happened. Tommy amended, "They've just been, uh...a little vague on when I will even get out of this bed, much less the hospital entirely."

He'd had a few hours to dwell on this news, but she looked completely overwhelmed, and who could blame her? He was the strong one. He'd always been there to rescue her. It was almost more painful to be left watching. She looked down at the floor again.

"Hey…it's not all bad," he said gently, ducking his head to catch her eye. "I get to sleep in and skip work for days on end. I might even start to take a vested interest in the outcome of Rosalie's unborn baby, fathered by either Dan or Michael, one of whom might be her half-brother, while Mary battles with her stepmother for her share of inheritance money…"

Kim couldn't help herself; the giggle flew out. "Ew! Please tell that's not something you've actually been watching."

"Ah-hah! No, but at least now I know that even if I wind up in a wheelchair, I can always fall back on a career as a soap opera writer." He said it without thinking, but the mention of a wheelchair sobered her instantly.

"Is that what they said?"

"No…hey, it was just a joke. Don't worry about it. I'm sure it won't be that much longer," he said quickly, but she didn't look convinced. For as much as he wanted to enfold her in his arms, the current situation didn't really allow for that; the best he could do was reach for her hand as a worried silence fell over them. Trying to take both their minds off this heavy uncertainty, he changed the subject."How's Shasta adjusting to country life? She's okay, right?"

Kim looked grateful to move into less heavy territory. "She is okay, although I feel sorry for her with all that thick fur. No, scratch that…I feel sorry for myself having to untangle it. You know I never fully appreciated how short my dogs' hair is?" she asked. "At least she has fun running around with them all day. But she does miss you. At night she lies there by the door with her head on her paws, waiting for you to pick her up and take her home."

He smiled sadly at this picture, and seemed lost in thought for a moment. As if on cue, the nurse came in to finish her rounds, shooing Kim out in the process.

A few days later, feeling ecstatic, Kimberly ran barefoot down the center trail, forking right at the split. Bandit raced after her, little feet pounding the dirt as he pushed himself to keep pace. Wiley started to follow, but got distracted by all the interesting scents along the way and lagged behind. Tommy's out next week! He's going to be OK! The memory of the doctor's words, so much better today than those of the week before, sang through her mind as she kept running, pounding the dirt, in search of her favorite place on the property. It was a very old, wooden swing seat, just big enough for two children to play on – or one petite adult yet unwilling to relinquish her juvenile side. It was nestled among the trees, looking out over the shimmering, storybook lake.

Jumping onto the swing, she pulled her journal from where she had tucked it under her arm as she ran, retrieved a pen from the clip on the side, and opened the soft deerskin cover to the first empty page just past the middle of the book. Kim was normally too busy to write anything at all, and even so, several of the pages only contained scribbled ideas for song lyrics. Still, some occasions just called for it. Sitting cross-legged now, she began to write.

So much has happened since I last wrote, I won't try to catch up on it all, but Tommy is awake and –

Just then, Bandit leapt into her lap, savagely shaking something green between his teeth.

No, she hadn't called animal control after all, but gone to check on the babies herself. A striped body by the side of the road made her think the babies might be orphaned after all, and a camcorder vigil confirmed that no adult raccoon entered the nest for twenty-four hours. The little creatures were in rough shape by then, dehydrated and hungry, and even though she knew she ought to at least call a wildlife rehabilitation center, she found herself collecting work gloves instead of a phone and bringing the kits out of the loft. Checking online and in reference books for what to feed them, after a day in their company she couldn't bear to give them over to anyone else. As it happened, only one of the babies was male, so Ringo had become "Starr," but both females seemed keen on avoiding her touch and only came near her to snatch bits of food off the ground. It was Bandit who had promptly attached himself to her, intent upon sharing her company despite his utter freedom to leave whenever he chose.

"Ugh, what do you have?" she asked, using both hands to hold him still in order to examine the object between his teeth. She sincerely hoped it was not another dead frog. With a final, determined shake, the little raccoon shook his head and dropped it into her lap. It was a book, Kim saw. She picked it up just before the animal could fall asleep on it; with a disgruntled noise, he settled for stretching himself out on her thigh. She smiled and stroked his oddly coarse fur, softer on his head than the rest of his body. He was an illegal pet, of course, and she supposed she should be worried about the possibility of him biting her. Still, he was such a gentle animal, and so imprinted on her that she didn't think she could turn him away if she tried.

Turning her attention back to the book, its covering a dark, textured, forest-green leather, she turned it over to read "Diary" in embossed gold letters on the front. Intrigued, Kim opened the cover carefully. The pages were brittle, one corner water-damaged, but the ink was readable, she noted, upon reading the first entry.

June 1, 1969

Dad gave me this journal for my birthday, but I don't think Mom even remembered. It figures. As far as she's concerned, I exist only to make her life miserable, which is why I'm outside all the time. Easier than listening to her find new faults with me every hour. Right now I'm on the swing Dad built for me, and my dog's on the ground next to me, but even with all that sometimes I just want to sprout wings and fly because...well, never mind why yet. OK back you go. I don't want Mom to find this, so I found a hiding space out here. I even have a little case for it so it won't get wrecked.

Kim paged through the diary, sighing at the penciled entries now almost smeared out of existence. It wasn't very long; perhaps twenty pages out of a hundred had been filled with the juvenile script. The remainder had been turned into a scrapbook, filled with local newspaper stories and magazine clippings of 70's celebrities pasted in, few with dates and none with captions. It made for a fairly interesting collection, but she was disappointed to see that only one other journal entry was still legible.

July 1970

In school last year, we had to pick a song to describe ourselves, and I chose this one about a "daydream believer," because that's all I ever do. If I believe in daydreams long enough, do you think they can come true? Hey, that rhymed. Totally by accident. I always come out here and do my thinking, even if I don't write. Sometimes I talk out loud. Today I saw the prettiest bird. Even though the sun hadn't set, it looked like an owl, but it was all white, and it was looking at me like it understood what I was saying. Maybe I only imagined it…

She closed the book, realizing suddenly that the sun was setting and chilly air was blowing off the lake, raising goosebumps along her arms. Picking up Bandit in one arm and the two journals in the other, she started back home. Wherever the little animal had found the book of the past, and whomever it had once belonged to, she didn't feel right leaving exposed to the elements even one day longer.

Over the next few days, Tommy began to look significantly healthier, and Kim was excitedly anticipating his return home. She recalled with a wry grin his first protests at her suggestion that he stay with her until he was fully recovered.

"You don't have to do that. I can manage," he'd insisted.

"Well, you probably could," she agreed. "But you'd be hard pressed to get Shasta back. I kind of like having her around here. And she's already paid a month's worth of rent."

"So what you're saying is, you'll hold my dog hostage if I don't stay there." His attempt to look annoyed failed miserably.

"Mr. Oliver, if I didn't have such a healthy level of self-esteem, I might be slightly offended by your repeated attempts to avoid my company," she responded haughtily, and it was this statement that made him smile and agree to let her pick him up when he was discharged.

Too bad they never got that far.

The night before, she received a call from the hospital; so late that she was already in her pajamas for the night and ready for sleep. Her bed was as crowded as ever, with Ned and Gibbs wound around each other on top of one pillow and Betsy sacked out across the foot. She collapsed on her back in the bed just as the phone rang. She shut her eyes, letting it ring twice, then let out her breath in a huff and flung her hand over to the bedside table to lift the receiver.

"Hello?" she asked tiredly.

"Hello, may I speak to Kimberly Hart?" a crisp voice on the other end asked.

"Yes," she answered, sincerely hoping she had not discovered a new breed of annoying telemarketer. Still, something about the other woman's manner made her keep listening.

"I'm calling from St. John's Hospital," she replied, and proceeded, in the gentlest manner possible, to break Kim's heart with the news that Tommy had relapsed and fallen into a coma, with no indication of when he would wake up. Once Kim had gotten all the information she could over the phone, she scarcely said goodbye before dropping the phone back into its cradle and sinking into the mattress, too numb to do more than whimper. In the dark, Betsy's ears caught the noise and she woke up, stretched, and walked a few paces to drop down at her mistress's side. Burrowing under the covers, Kim hugged the dog against her chest as a shield against the cruelty of the world.

PS: Don't give me grief on all the disasters that could arise from keeping Bandit. I know it could never work in real life. But I became very fixated on the idea of a tame coon, so he stays.