When Michael checked on his patient later that morning, it was obvious that her spirit and morale were even weaker than her body. Her breakfast remained untouched and he could see that she'd been crying. When he'd finished assessing her physical condition, he turned his attention to improving her emotional well-being.

"I'll bet some fresh air might make you feel better," he suggested. "You'd have to ride in your buddy, the chair, but it'd be a change of scenery, and I'd be happy to take you."

For the first time since she's had the nightmare, Jaime allowed a slight smile to play on her lips. "I think I'd like that," she said. A few minutes later, as Michael pushed her wheelchair through the garden, her smile grew wider and more genuine. The warm July breeze felt so good on her skin, and for a little while the fear that had been her constant companion for the last few days was temporarily forgotten.

Michael stopped beside a stream that ran in back of the hospital. "You want to sit in the grass?" he offered. Jaime nodded, and Michael put an arm arounbd her waist and eased her out of the chair and onto the soft, green grass next to the water. He watched as the sunlight reflected off the stream and danced across her face. Two distinct emotions fought each other in his mind: relief that his patient's spirits had finally taken an upturn, and an intense love for the woman he was watching happily commune with nature. He knew it was wrong, knew Rudy would want his head on a platter, but he couldn't change how he felt.

"I love you, Jaime," he said quietly, moving closer to draw her into a long, very non-platonic kiss.

That afternoon, Michael sat in Rudy's office with his head in his hands. Wells had radar; of that he was certain. How else could he have been on the third floor sunporch, looking out at the weather, at exactly the wrong time?

"I'm sorry, Rudy," he pleaded, meaning it. "it won't happen again." Of that, Michael was not as sure.

"Damned right it won't!" Rudy stormed, pacing the floor. "You need to make a choice, Michael, and you're going to make it now. Do I need to pull you off of her case? Report you to the ethics board myself?"

"No," Michael answered, unable to say more without choking on his emotions. He knew he had to give Jaime up if he wanted to give her back her life.

"Where's Jaime now?" Rudy asked.

"In bed. The fresh air really wore her out."

"The fresh air, or you?"

"That's unfair, Rudy! I -"

They were interrupted by an urgent knock on the office door. Jaime's nurse burst in, out of breath from her run down the hall. "Something's wrong!" she gasped. Both doctors were halfway to Jaime's room before she could say anything more.

They found their patient out of bed, huddled in a corner, her face ghostlike: pale white and haunted. "They won't stop," she said as Michael picked her up and put her back in her bed. They just keep coming, and I can't see any of them because they're going too fast and they just don't stop, and - OW!" She stopped rambling with a jolt as Rudy withdrew the needle from her arm.

"What won't stop, Honey?" the older doctor asked gently. "Dreams?"

"No! I'm awake and they still keep coming. I see my parents...and Steve...and his parents...and...the...accident..." Her voice tapered off as the sedative took effect. Both doctors knew they no longer had the luxury of waiting until she was stronger. jaime would need to be tested with pentothal as soon as possible.

The next morning, Michael was back in Jaime's room, checking on her physical progress before taking her emotional temperature. "Have you had that dream anymore?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Once was enough."

"Then you do remember it?" Jaime nodded, terror filling her face and tears forming in her eyes.

"Talk to me about it? Might help." Jaime didn't answer. "I know it's scary, Sweetheart, and painful, and probably the worst thing that ever happened to you. But it's also a memory, and it's leading to other memories. That's what you wanted, the whole reason you're here."

She began haltingly. "Steve kissed me, and he -he let go of my hands. He pulled his rip cord and started floating. Then I...I pulled my cord..." Jaime stopped, too shaky to continue.

"Ok; that was a really good start." he pulled a needle from his pocket. "I know you told the nurse you feel like a human pincushion, but too much stress right now is just too taxing on your body, and you really do need to rest." Without waiting for her response, he gave her the shot. Almost immediately her eyelids began to flutter and she leaned back onto the pillow. Michael brushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her softly on the forehead as she sank into a restless, uneasy sleep.

Guilt tore through Michael like wildfire. The surgery had been his creation, and his suggestion. Now she had to be sedated just to get through the day emotionally intact. What had he done?

Later that day, Michael began to find out exactly what he had done; testing had begun. "How do you feel, Honey?" Rudy asked as the pentothal began dripping into her vein.

Jaime grinned at him. "You're not Peter Cottontail yet, but you're getting there."

Michael couldn't resist a chuckle. "You're definitely in better spirits after that last nap," he said, pulling a chair up to her bedside. "That's good." His face turned serious. "Jaime, tell us about your accident. What happened after you pulled the cord?"

"Right to it, huh?" Her eyes grew distant as she began to remember. Both doctors watched her closely. "The sky was so pretty, so blue. I pulled my cord and my chute opened, but then I heard this weird sound and I looked up..." Jaime took a deep breath to choke back a sob. She was determined to finish this time.

Michael took her hand in both of his. "What did you see when you looked up, Sweetheart?"

"My chute...was gone...little pieces...wanted to pull the reserve but no time...ground was coming too fast. I was falling so fast. And I was gonna die. Then - I hit."

"You did a beautiful job, Honey," Rudy told her. He removed the pentothal bottle from her IV and picked up the oxygen mask. "I'm going to put this over your face, and -"

"He took me to my prom, and to his Senior class New Years Eve party - such a good kisser! - and to Guido's, and we rode horses and -"

Michael and Rudy exchanged worried looks. Was she reacting to the pentothal, or was this something else entirely? Jaime continued to chatter like a wind-up doll whose key had been turned too far. "Once he came to my tennis match in his uniform. He cheered louder than anybody. and -"

"Jaime, I need to put this over your face now." Rudy fastened the oxygen mask in place before she could say more. "I need you to take some nice deep breaths for me, please."

Jaime complied. The pentothal's effects began to diminish and, out of sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep.

The two doctors retreated to Rudy's office to talk. Rudy poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Michael: a peace offering after yesterday's explosion. Michael nodded his thanks.

"Well, we know now that she does remember - even more than we thought she did," Rudy noted.

"Trouble is, it's hitting her all at once," Michael added. "Too fast to focus on anything. She's too overwhelmed to process or absorb any of it. And we can't keep sedating her forever."

"No, we can't. But there does seem to be a common thread to all these memories; the ones she lost and the ones that have come back."

"I know," Michael said, unable to hide his sadness. "Steve."

"Maybe he's the key to bringing it all into focus," Rudy suggested.

"Or maybe he'd only make it that much worse."

"We have to find out, Michael. He's too big a piece of the puzzle to simply ignore. Just remember the motto: Tread very lightly."

"Right."

An hour later, Michael sat alone at his desk and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He knew what he had to do next, but at what cost? He had perfected his new surgical technique primarily to help the woman he had grown to love so deeply. Now, in doing what was best for her - for his patient - he stood to lose her forever. Michael sighed, picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello - Steve?"

THE END