December 25, 2018

The Efteling Hotel, Tamsin's room

Bo's POV

Confused and numb I stare down at the piece of apple pie I still have in my hand. I have no right to feel gutted, saddened, heartbroken.

Do I?

Yet, that is how I feel. I can't explain why. I also can't explain why Lauren felt familiar to me.

Didn't she?

Like crazy familiar, like an instant connection, like I'd known her for years.

The more steps I take closer to Tamsin's room, the more unsure I become, the more I think I just got swept up by my imagination, the more I think I acted like an idiot, the more ridiculous I feel because of what I said and felt. Lauren has a girlfriend and I flung myself at her like a cat in heat. What is the matter with me? I'm not drunk, not high, I think all in all I pretty much had my wits about me?

I never act like this. I mean sure, I'm impulsive, but not like this. I wasn't like a bull stampeding its way through town, yet that's how I had acted.

Damnit.

I knock on Tamsin's door.

"Tams, you in there?" It takes about a minute before the door opens and my best friend's face emerges from behind it.

"Yikes, you look like death warmed over." I scrunch my brow.

"I feel like it too."

"You're not gonna hurl when I hug ya, right?" I ask with a raised brow.

Tamsin chuckles. "Asshole," she mumbles.

"Well, it's just that Kenz told me there was serious projectile vomiting going on here." I grin wide.

"Let me rephrase that," Tamsin grouses. "AssholeS"

I laugh out loud and pull Tamsin into me for a hug. She resists at first muttering something about not wanting a hug from an ass, but when I squeeze tight, I feel her smile in the embrace. .

"Merry Christmas, Grouchy." I grin happy to see my friend again after weeks away. We all thought that when I quit the Air Force I'd be home more often, but that fine thought never quite panned out. Instead, I am away from home for weeks on end staying at the flat that Rand Tech has for me in the city. When I get back I always have a few weeks off though, like I do now, so I suppose it evens out.

"What's that you got there?" Tamsin says as she pulls back and eyes the bag I'm carrying. She already knows what it is, but yet she insists on asking. As if I'd skip a year.

"Mostly sugar and fat, a little fruit. If you feel up for it." I wiggle my brows.

"Well, I can always peel off the fruit."

Tamsin's POV

I smile lightly looking up at my bestie. That bag she's carrying is probably a piece of pie, or a piece of cake, or candy and twinkies. Growing up together, Bo and me made up traditions as we went along. Theme parks for Christmas, Mountain Dew and some sort of dessert to make your teeth rot combined with twinkies.

She'd never confess it outright, but the girl is the sentimental type.

"Pie?" I ask plopping back onto the bed.

"Apple pie," Bo specifies. "And twinkies, it's tradition."

"That it is. The Mountain Dew is in my bag." Bo brings dessert, I bring Mountain Dew. It's tradition.

"Do you want a piece of pie?" Bo asks eying my reaction.

"Sure, if you want me to get a head start on that projectile vomiting," I reply already feeling my stomach starting to churn.

"Uh...that's a no then," Bo chuckles. "I'll get the Mountain Dew," she says and moves to get the bottle from my bag, then gets two glasses out of the cupboard per my glasses are quickly filled and a couple of minutes later we're sitting on the bed, and it's almost like I'm my awesomely cool 14-year-old self, and Bobo is her geeky 14-year-old self again and we're sitting cross-legged on the bed drinking lemonade only zits, braces and raging teenage hormones on our mind.

But, of course, we're not.

I've known something was up with Bo for a while now. Even before I found that rancid gym bag, cause my observing skills are off the chart awesome. My first thought was to storm into her room and ask her what the fuck was going on, but I channelled the lama, wanted to get my facts straight. So I called up the Airforce brass, threatened to sue the shit out of them if they didn't hand over Bo's file.

Shitheads hung up on me.

Eventually got her file through an Airforce Colonel that still owed me a favor. By that time, fly girl was gone again, and yeah that pretty much gets us to where we are now: as in an intervention staged calling in Ev and the doc for back-up, and me sitting here with a hangover from hell.

Okay, so the hangover part wasn't planned. We were supposed to talk to Bo last night before we got to drinking. It's that asshole George Rand who f-ed that up. I wasn't kidding when I said I was going to sue the asswipe. He's on my shitlist for that and for making Bo work 10 hour days 7 days a week, running her ragged.

"So, I met your old girlfriend today," Bo says cutting off my thoughts. I smile despite the shit-uation; despite the fact that my friend has wrongly assumed Lauren is my ex, and that I'm a hair away from launching into a conversation I've been avoiding for months. A convo that could bring down a sixteen-year-old friendship, and scares the shit out of me. Yeah, despite all of that I smile. There's jealousy in Bo's voice and that makes me hope, like maybe there's a chance I could right some of my wrongs.

"Lauren's not my ex." Bo's head shoots up at me in surprise.

"Oh, I thought..." Bo blinks deciding not to finish her thought. Her memory can still play tricks on her; she'll make false assumptions about something in the past. Usually nothing big, but it unsettles her when it happens.

"She's just a friend."

"When did you meet her?" Bo asks scrunching her brows like she does when she's trying to piece things together.

"About four years ago," I say vaguely knowing I'm not exactly scoring best friend points. Bo nods. Four years ago for her is a big ass blur; a mystery wrapped in an enigma, sucked into a confused black hole, basically. I'm sure in a way it's a comfort to her that Lauren dates from "then", an assurance that her memory isn't failing her even more than it already is.

"She has a girlfriend, doesn't she?" Bo asks, shoulders slightly slumping.

"Emily," I nod relieved Bo has already moved onto the girlfriend question and isn't asking me how I know Lauren exactly.

"She doesn't spend Christmas with the girlfriend?"

"I dunno, I ain't Miss Cleo," I shrug. "Maybe the girlfriend had other plans?"

Bo nods. "Well, apologize to her for me, will ya? I think I came on a little too strongly, and I kinda feel like a jackass for it now."

"How the tables have turned, " I say referring to my less than stellar love life and Bo chuckles. "Here's to you being the jackass for a change," I add and raise my glass of Mountain Dew.

"Here's to me being the jackass," Bo smiles lightly, and we both knock our Mountain Dew glasses back like they're shots.

"I know we've been drinking this for 16 years," Bo winces. "But holy shit, has it always been this nasty?"

I chuckle with wide grin. "Pretty much. 80% sugar, 5% water, 15% unmentioned. What did you expect?"

"The use of my tastebuds and tongue? It just coats everything, makes my tongue stick to my palate. Did they change the recipe or something? Holy fuck, how come we ever notice that before?"

"Uh,..we were always too plastered by the time we got round to drinking Mountain Dew?"

"Good point."

"Top off?"

"Sure."

"Sixteen years is a long time," I say filling our glasses, a stupid nostalgic feeling creeping up on me. Lately, when I look at Bo, I think about how things used to be, ya know? When Bo and I would play hookie, we'd sneak out to amusement parks, arcades, go to a frat party, we had each other's backs.

I mean, not like we don't have each other's backs now. We do. We always will.

Bo is the type of friend who is loyal to a fault. She's there for you when you need her. It's just different now, ya know?

It used to be like teenager crisis mode, snot dripping bawling my eyes out, drama need. Like when you're in detention for 3 months cause you'd given some asshole a wedgie and a royal head flush. The school counsellor used to say I had anger management issues. I personally thought I managed my anger quite well: the noobs whose heads I flushed through a toilet deserved it, and in turn my anger was managed.

Or, like over Christmas break one year when some girl called Stephanie broke my hormone raging teenage heart. I had had a crush on her for the longest time when she suddenly stopped talking to me. Come to find, she was dating some guy on the football team,-Can we say asssshole?- He didn't like her hanging with me. I was some big dyke, and she shouldn't be my friend cause people would talk.

In swoops Bo McCorrigan who verbally castrates the guy, and then socks him in the face right in the middle of the cafeteria. His face lands in chocolate pudding, and it's this awesome whole slip and timing thing. Sure, there was a shit storm to deal with afterwards: few weeks suspension, Aoife who grounded her like forever. But Bo, she couldn't be bothered ya know? Cause she'd done the right thing. Stuck up for me.

Anyhooooo, come Christmas night, who's there with peanutbutter icecream, Mountain Dew and twinkies to stifle my teenage tears?

Bo.

And twinkies and Mountain Dew became our thing.

Bo has saved me from more drunken stupors than I can count. She's been my drinking buddy, my wingman and Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman to my hangovers and she's seen me through all of my shitty break-ups. She knows that I don't date, can't commit, don't believe in a happily ever after because of the fucked up relationships the parental figures in my life have had. Still, she believes in it hard enough for the both of us, and she'll set me up with what she thinks is a 'good woman' every once in a while.

Not that I need help with dating, cause I get plenty of action, but she does it anyway cause the girl just wants me to be happy, and she has this vision of us finally growing up someday, settled with a family of our own and like living next to one another and raising each other's kids?

I mean shit, it all sounds a little too hippy commune for me, and she's crazy if she thinks I'm ever popping a kid out of my vajayjay, but see when she says that shit it makes me happy ya know?

If it wasn't for her and my mom I probably woulda ended up in jail. With bitches doing my bidding, don't get me wrong, but I still would have ended up there. In short, Bo is my bestie, my sister, my family, one of the big reasons I'm here.

And yeah, I'm hella protective over her. I love her. She's my sister, the only family I have left and yeah, I know I freak out a little when something is up with her. But can you blame me?

"Sixteen good years."

"Not all of them good," I mumble cause hell I still don't know how to start this conversation. The Lama says to breathe and be patient. Meditate if needed. My own philosophy has always been a little more direct, bulldozer mode. I'm tapping my foot nervously like I used to do when I was mini me and hadn't yet reached the supreme level of cool I have now. "Shit," I mumble seeing Bo looking at me like I just grew a second head.

"I'd like to smack you over the head right now,"

Sorry Lama. Bulldozer it is!

December 28, 2018

Whashington DC, Lauren's loft

Lauren's POV

I drum my pen against my desk as I wait to be connected through. In the background the national anthem begins to play and I sigh softly. Overall, I am a pretty patient person, but being put on hold. Irksome. And the national anthem? Really? It takes another good five minutes before I'm connected through to the person I've been trying to call.

"Lt. Colonel Monica Capriati, how can I help you?"

"Dr. Capriati?" I pipe up glad to finally get a real voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes,"

"Yes, Dr. Capriati. I am calling in reference to a former patient of yours: Isa-."

"Ma'am, can I ask who's calling?" Lt. Colonel Capriati cuts me off.

"Of course, my apologies," I say for jumping the gun and skipping introductions. "My name is Dr. Lauren Lewis. I am a neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins. I am calling in reference to a former patient of yours and mine, Isabeau McCorrigan."

There's a slight pause at the other end of the line before the woman replies. "And how can I assist you with Major McCorrigan, Dr. Lewis?"

"The patient's medical records have recently been transferred to us," I say using a white lie. Isabeau McCorrigan isn't my patient yet. In fact she's not even a patient of either of the hospitals I am associated with, but then again Dr. Capriati doesn't need to know that. "...and I was wondering if the entire file was sent to me, or if perhaps part of the dossier might not have been transferred over." I say making sure to thread lightly, to leave room for an oversight on their end to be caught.

"Isabeau McCorrigan. Major McCorrigan," Monica Capriati mumbles to herself, and I can hear her fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Yes, Colonel."

"Dr. Lewis, can I ask you how you obtained her file? I don't see a request from a civilian hospital submitted here." Lt. Colonel Capriati's voice is sceptical.

"That is right, Colonel. The request was put in via military channels, Admiral Nathan Jamison of the Navy. The Admiral is a close personal friend of mine. This case does have some degree of urgency to it, and we all know how long it can take for a military file to be transferred to a civilian hospital."

"Tell me about it, it's an absolute nightmare," Dr. Capriati agrees, and I smile lightly at her words. This Air Force doctor I believe has a similar sense of urgency when it comes to her job. I can work with that. It takes a pause or two before her voice picks in again. "Well, Dr. Lewis. It seems like the entire dossier was transferred. Nothing is missing."

"And you are sure about that?"

"I have been an Air Force doctor for some fifteen years, Dr. Lewis. I know my way around these systems."

"Of course, Dr. Capriati," I concede. "I am just sort of stumped with my patient. As you no doubt know four years ago, Major McCorrigan suffered from severe trauma to the head."

"Yes, I am aware of the Major's medical history."

"As the Major has now been transferred into our care, I was familiarizing myself with her dossier and found that she received no follow-up care or checks after she was discharged from the Mayo Clinic. As her rehab was transferred to the Air Force hospital in Bethesda, I assumed the follow-up was done there. It wasn't, I checked. Then I assumed that perhaps I hadn't gotten her full file transferred,.." I let my sentence hang unsure of how Dr. Capriati is going to react. I don't want her to think that I am accusing her of not doing her job. Although, if she knew about Major McCorrigan's medical past and just sort of conveniently' forgot to do her job, then that's exactly what I'm calling her out on. Not all of my colleagues are incompetent or just not thorough enough, but I seem to be in a particular point in my life where I am meeting quite a lot of them.

"Uhm..I. Are you sure about that?" Dr. Capriati asks in an almost comical reversal of phrases. I'm tempted to say something about my years of experience, but I refrain.

"Quite sure."

"Dr. Lewis, we were assured that Bo was being followed-up on a six monthly basis."

"By whom?"

"By Dr. Brand of the Mayo Clinic."

December 25, 2018

The Efteling Hotel, Tamsin's room

Tamsin's POV

"Wow, that's uhh...not the reply I was expecting.." Bo says frowning lightly, the last of her words tapering off in a small chuckle I plow through already talking.

"I love you, Bo. Goddamnit, you know I do, but after sixteen years why are you still lying to me? Hiding shit from me?" I finally ask the question that's been weighing on me for months.

Bo stares at me blankly. It's a typical Bo thing, and really you know what? She doesn't need to tell me what she's thinking, she doesn't even need to explain why she didn't tell me. I know. I know she didn't want to worry me, I know the fucker thought she could handle it, I know all of it she did because Bo is stupid like that. Bo is the person to pretend like her shit doesn't matter.

"I know about the Air Force, Bo. About NASA."

"Ah."

"Yeah, 'Ah" I grumble, and then inhale. "You lied, Bo."

"Look, Tams. It's nothing to worry about, okay? I'll admit, I haven't been-"

"No you look fly girl, I want you to understand one thing. Or maybe two. Look, three at most, okay?" I say interrupting her. "One, I love you. Two, I'm your friend, I won't judge you. I only want what's best for you-"

"I know that, Tams. I-"

"And three, the lying stops right now," I interrupt again. This time in a tone that shuts her the hell up. "It stops right the hell here and now. Why? Because I know things, because I have your Air Force file, "I say and pull out Bo's file from my duffel bag and throw it onto the bed in front of her with a flourish. "And it says scary shit like PTSD!" I denounce now pulling out my court room voice and dramatics. "I'm a motherfucking badass prosecutor, I'm like the olympic gold medallist of digging!" I steamroll. "I know about the blackouts you had. I know you were put on medical leave because of them, and I know that's why you quit. I also know about those damn headaches you get, and the nightmares you have, even when you've tried to hide them from me!"

"You got my file?" Bo asks her eyes a glare, her tone clipped as mine, her body language rigid. She's pissed, but I don't care, she can be pissed at me. Fuck, I'm pissed at her!

"It's not like you left me much of a choice, Bo!"

"You had no right, Tamsin!" Bo says raising her voice.

"I have every right, you idiot! Every right! I have best friend rights! Or did you forget about the pact we made?" I blurt reminding her of the pact we made one evening to be each other's family, to share our shit good and bad. A pact we made swearing after Aoife's death, on my mom's life, on our favorite roller coasters, on Gillian Anderson's kick-ass and smoking hot portrayal of Dr. Dana Scully, basically on our teenage years, the one pact we never broke.

Bo slides off the bed. Her back is turned towards me, but I know she's clenching her jaw, I can almost hear her teeth grind. She's got a wicked temper on her, so I buckle down for the shit to hit the fan. She's pissed with me for bringing up the pact, for reminding her. Well, fucker can be pissed at me, I don't give a fucking flying hootenanny at this point, I think and cross my arms and tap my foot annoyingly to remind her I'm waiting.

Any time now I expect her to turn around and lay in on me. I'm tapping my foot more loudly now, putting in a timed huff or two, a proven recipe to piss people off, but she doesn't react to it. Instead she pulls open my mini fridge and takes out a couple of bottles of the strong liquor there. She quickly fills the glass, but she doesn't take a drink yet, rather watches the alcohol swirl. She's still looking at the liquid when she speaks.

"So, no more lies..." she says calm as a fish making me blink.

"No more lies," I echo eventually. Bo nods, but she doesn't say anything. She knocks the glass back swallows without flinching, and then says nothing. She just stares ahead, and then I understand what's going on. There's no fight in her, and I swallow hard.

I've never seen her like this.

"What's going on with you, Bo?"

She shrugs when she speaks her hand lowers to put the glass down. "I don't know," she says her voice broken.

I see my bestie's eyes fill up with tears, and my stomach churns. Fuck! I feel like my heart is breaking at the look in her eyes. She looks away, pulls away, moves to the corner of the room and plops down on the seat there. She takes in a deep breath, a shaky one, and folds her hands over her lap.

What you've gotta understand is that Bo doesn't cry, she doesn't break down. Sure, she cries when she sees injustice, especially against the weaker of society; an animal, a child or an elderly person. She can bawl over injustice, like I can bawl over a perfectly executed Modern Dance on 'So You Think You Can Dance', but she's not the type to feel sorry for herself.

Ever.

But, my best friend looks lost, defeated, on the brink of...

"Something is wrong with me. Fucked up, screwed up, and I can't fix it," Bo shakes her head, and takes a deep breath, her voice is lower than I'm used to of her. What she says rushes out as if she's been fighting these words, and now all of a sudden she just can't keep them in any more.

"I try every day, and I try to feel better every day, I try to be 'me' again but I'm running on empty, Tams. I don't know how to be 'me' anymore. I don't sleep, and I don't see 'me', and I don't feel 'me', and I try to hang on..." Bo says as one tear falls down her cheek."I haven't slept properly in weeks. Every time I close my eyes I see, I see..." Bo swallows, she's struggling to get the words out.

"Yo-you're remembering?"

"No," Bo shakes her head, I can see her body tense even more. "Yes? I see images, flashes," Bo's voice quivers, and her eyes go wide.

"Blood. I see blood," she manages to breathe out, her tears are flowing freely. "I smell blood, I can.." Bo swallows, her words coming in bursts.

"I can feel it...taste it. And I hea.." Bo stops talking abruptly, her breathing starts to speed up, her eyes grow wide and I think she's about to launch herself into some sort of a panic attack or a blackout? Fuck, I dunno, but I'm up on my feet, grab her hands.

"Bo," I say trying to get her attention. "Stay with me Bo," I say seeking out her eyes. "You're okay, you're okay!" I keep on saying like a dumb schmuck; All the while I'm fucking panicking. I just want her to snap out of this shit, fix this, get her to look at me, act like Bo again. I pull her into my arms, and pray to the Dalai Lama and all of the goddamn dieties I can think of. Finally, I get her to look at me again, I get her to refocus. I pull her into my arms and I feel her breathing starting to slowly relax.

"It's okay, honey. We're going to fix this," I say rubbing her back, and I can feel my own damn tears roll over my cheek. "You're gonna go back to hospital for tests and psych eval," I prattle out.

Before Bo says anything, I can feel her shake her head against my shoulder. "I'm not..I'm not going back there," she mumbles as she pulls back slightly.

"Bo, it's for your own good. Lauren and Evony ca.."

I'M NOT GOING BACK THERE!" Bo shouts and wrestles herself free from me. Standing in the middle of the room her entire body trembles, her eyes are filled with anger and horror.

"I'M NOT GOING TAMSIN! I'M NOT GOING! She yells repeating. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

"Bo, please calm down," I plead trying to get in between her shouting at me that she's not going back, but she's not listening to me and then all of a sudden she's quiet. Her eyes go wide and she stares out in the distance. "Bo?" I ask, and take a step towards her gingerly. Suddenly her eyes roll backwards, and her body sags. "Shit!" I yell, and leap forward to catch Bo before she hits the floor.

December 29, 1pm

Washington General Hospital, Washington DC

Lauren's POV

"Hey Lewis, meet you in fifteen for a fancy vending machine snack?" Valerie Delgado, one of the nurses asks as we make our way to our next patient.

"Yes, that's the best offer I've had in days."

Valerie chuckles. "You bringing the sludge?"

"Didn't you hear? I sprung for a coffee machine in my office."

"Woot! Real coffee? You sure you want the entire staff to know about that?"

"It makes up to three cups of coffee at a time."

"I'd be in heaven with three mugs of coffee perched at my lips right about now," Valerie breathes out wistfully, and I just chuckle again.

"Just a couple of more hours, and then we're off," I sigh out longingly. I love my job, but I haven't seen my bed in 48hours, not counting that 40 minute nap I took in one of the on call rooms, and I can feel that tiredness right into my bones. If I could just skip New Year and sleep through it, I would. "What are you and Manny doing for New Year's?" I ask.

"After fifteen years of marriage?" Val asks with a mischievous grin, but then her grin soon changes to a wide happy smile. "Actually, he's gotten us reservations at that classy new joint Adagio? Val says and I nod. Emily took me there two months ago, she knows the owner and we were there for the opening.

"Manny is a classy bloke,"

"Sure," Valerie snorts. "After that he's taking me to some pub with live music, and beer, so I can dance the night away and he can drink!" Valerie laughs out loud and I join in with the infectious sound.

"Which you love," I comment with a knowing grin.

"I love that man. Every inch of unsophisticated wide protruding, hairy belly of him!" Valerie laughs again. "He hates going to fancy places, but he does it for me. He'll doll up and actually look half presentable, and he'll pretend to have a good time. Just for me. Then he'll sit there on that same barstool for hours on end, just drinking his beer and watching me dancing. In that same ridiculous outfit,..." Valerie says and smiles wide, and as she does I smile wide with her. Manny and Valerie are a very good fit: he calms her passionate nature when needed, and she makes him laugh. I don't think I'd know that about them as a couple if I hadn't talked to Manny a number of times. Valerie and I are colleagues, we get along well, but our relationship is more based on shoptalk, work ethic and 'hospital' humor, we don't really talk the larger themes of life. Me and Manny on the other hand, do. Valerie doesn't drive a car, she was in a pretty bad wreck a few years back and never got the nerve to get behind the steering wheel again, so Manny picks her up and drops her off for every shift. Often times Manny'll come in my office just to chat waiting for Val's shift to finish up.

"What about you, Lauren? You taking Emily somewhere? Somewhere swanky?"

"Same as last year. Emily's Annual New Year's Eve Office party."

"Isn't that at The Palagio, that is swanky. Hottest ticket in town next to the White House,"

"I don't know about that. That pub with live music sounds pretty good," I chuckle ruefully thinking about how uncomfortable I'll be feeling in just a few hours time. I'm used to socializing with Emily's office friends. I know most of them, am good friends with Mabel, of course, and it's always nice to see her, but I'm not too fond of posh social events. Especially not those events where bragging seems to be a prerequisite and I have a good chance at being mauled by a tipsy lawyer who's caught onto my name and thinks he'll make a buck by making me switch lawyers. Not to mention, I'm just not comfortable in large crowds, and how unpredictable they are. But, I'll be there. I'll go with Emily, because at the end of the day, I am a creature much like Manny, who likes to see others happy.

"Well, you're welcome to join us later in the bar," Val says with a wink taking out a pen from her pocket and a small piece of paper, and scribbles something. "That's the address, feel free to join us."

"Thanks," I say and put the piece of paper in my labcoat pocket without looking at it. "I just might. Now," I say switching topics. "Who's on the charts for us?"

"Ah, that would be Mister Pedro Delgado, no relation to yours truly,..."

Austin's house, Hawaii

Ben's POV

I press the 'End call' button and lower my arm. Standing out on the deck, I stare out in front of the ocean, the smell of salt, the sound of sea and sun washing over me. In the distance I see Austin waving at me joyous, boisterous as always: a big smile, surf board tucked under his arm his half long thick brown hair bouncing up in the wind as he jogs towards me. I love seeing him like this, in his element running like he's still an five-year-old boy going out on the waves for the first time.

Austin will be inside in just a few minutes so I walk back into his beach house, and close the sliding door. It's not cold, but here it can get chilly quickly when the sun has set. My brain is still mulling over my phone conversation when Austin's arms wrap around me from behind. I feel the wetness from the ocean, the salt and the sand. As usual my love and arousal for him stirs inside of me. I wrap my hand around his wrist, his hold tightens on me as his head settles in my neck.

"What's wrong, love?" he asks when I stay silent instead of asking him all about the water, his hours with the kids, or react to his soft kisses.

"Tamsin called," I say absent-mindedly still processing the phone call from minutes ago.

Austin chuckles in my neck, his soft beard scratching me mildly, his kisses still persistant. "How is that land rat doing? Has she finally decided she'll let me teach her how to surf?"

I chuckle. "I doubt that, you know she called your surfboard a floating sarcophagus?" I ask remembering Tamsin's freaked reaction when she first saw Austin ride a particularly high and spectacular wave.

Austin laughs. "Ahuh," he hums. "And I seem to recall you agreed. I'll get that girl to love the water, like I did you baby. Promise."

"Mmmm," I say humming softly my body finally starting to relax somewhat in his embrace as I'm reminded of how patient my love was teaching me how to surf, how much fun we had, how sexy he looked, and how he let me distract him. I turn around in his arms, my lips find his and our tongues find one another quickly after that. I swear this man can make me feel like I've been transported to a different universe.

"Mmm, I love your kisses, but you taste like an oyster, hotness" I say resting my left hand on his tanned and sculpted pectorial muscles.

Austin chuckles and pulls back a little in our embrace. "Guilty, the kids dunked me again, it's their new favorite passtime," he says with a big smile about the group of 7 to 13 year old underprivileged kids he teaches how to surf.

"Mauro?" I ask thinking of the eleven-year-old kid with big dark eyes who has profiled himself as the ring leader of the group.

"Who else?" Austin asks with a smile on his face. Mauro lost his mom some two years ago. When Austin first started teaching him he was shy to the point where he didn't talk to anyone. But slowly, as he gained confidence in surfing, his social skills improved too. Now, Mauro is the chief prankster of the group, and Austin wouldn't want it any other way. He loves that kid.

"Well, you're dripping all over the carpet, Mister Walker. We should get you out of these pants," I say, the pads of my fingers moving to the elastic band of his swimming trunks, just grazing the skin there.

"I'd love that, but tell me what Tamsin called about first? You looked worried."

I sigh softly, my moment of arousal quickly downed again as my hands fall from his hips. "Lauren saw Bo."

I see Austin stiffen momentarily. "What? The Bo, her Bo?"

I nod and I tell what Tamsin told me that Lauren traveled to Europe to help with Bo.

"Wow," Austin shakes his head. "I thought she was spending Christmas with Emily?"

"So did I," I mumble out quickly not wanting to focus on the fact that Laur lied to me. "Tamsin said Lauren felt 'off' to her," I say letting my conversation with Tamsin wash over me again. I pull myself out of Austin's embrace suddenly not wanting to indulge in his warmth and comfort anymore.

"Well, of course Lauren feels 'off', I say using air quotes. "I can't believe Tamsin asked Lauren for this. What the hell was she thinking?"

"She was thinking she wanted to help her friend?" Austin looks at me raising a brow asking in that soft, kind, peace loving tone and way he has about him. That tone and way about him I love, but that just rubs me the wrong way right now.

"Sure, and Lauren is the only neurosurgeon in the country, the only doctor that could possibly help Bo?" I snap irritated.

"Hey now," Austin steps back frowning. "Babe, I'm trying to see your point, and trying not to take that snappy tone of yours personally, but I'm sure Lauren could have said no."I sigh and move towards Austin again. I pull him to me and kiss him softly on the lips.

"I'm sorry love."

I love how he always remains cool and collected when I'm heated and argumentative. I don't know how the world saw fit to put us together, but I'm grateful for it, and I'm even more grateful and flabbergasted that this kind, handsome, soft and strong man has asked me to marry him, and that I had the good sense to say yes. Still, it doesn't change how I feel about what Tamsin did. With a sigh I say.

"That's just it, babe, Lauren doesn't know how to say no to Bo," I say a worried feeling hurrying through me at my words. "You didn't know Lauren when everything with Bo went down," I shake my head pulling away from his eyes, my mind made up. "Bo isn't healthy for her, that whole gang isn't, especially Dyson. I need to find a flight," I tell Austin and move towards the desk and my laptop there.

December 31, 5pm

Washington General Hospital, Washington DC

Lauren's POV

I push open the door of one of the on call rooms in a haze. I've been on my feet for 38 hours straight now, and I'm starting to feel it everywhere. The Holidays are always a busy period for ERs. Suicide attempts are up, as are drunken stupors and just plain stupidity and 'mishaps' around the house, and so I'm not completely surprised we've been swamped -I've been doing this job for a couple of years now-, but it's safe to say that this year takes the cake. I've had one after the other drunken brawl, I've had severe head trauma, stomach pumps, too many burns to count -Be careful with fireworks, kids!- I've had a man who somehow glued his hand to a crowbar and then couldn't get it off anymore, and a man who'd nearly broken every bone in his body after a hit and run. Busy, but no casualties so far, something to be grateful for I think when I find the bed in the on call room and sneak underneath the sheets. I just need like an hour nap or something, and then I'm good to go again. My colleagues Dr. Vilnic and Ferris are here as well, and as long as nothing too severe comes in, they'll be able to handle things without me. I'm not a good sleeper, I never have been. It's something about my waking thought being too clear, and my conscious mind telling me sleep is wasting time that has always made me a bad sleeper, but in moments like these, I have no trouble sleeping. When you've been pushed past simple fatigue, past simple sleep, you just pass out.

My head barely hits the pillow when a nurse barges in.

"Dr. Lewis, emergency coming in, ETA five minutes," is all nurse Granger says as I bolt upright, and swing my legs out of the bed my adrenaline instantly rushing. You have to learn to sleep light when working the ER.

I tie my hair back in a pony tail, nurse Grosvenor walking down the corridors of the Emergency Unit rattling off the information from the ambulance coming in.

"Multiple gunshot wound, young female early thirties,..."

Before I know it my hands are arm deep in a chest that's spread open, bleeders asking for multiple clamps sticking out to all sides.

"She's got another bleeder!" Blood is poring from under the liver. I push the stomach aside and see the blood pool there. This woman's insides are a scattered mess from two gunshot wounds that tore through flesh and bone. One bullet to the shoulder that fractured her shoulder blade, one bullet punctured the sternum, and then traveled down and through the body in an awkward angle to leave it via the back. It's that strangely traveling bullet that is making her bleed out faster than my hands can follow to stop the bleeds. "Clamp," I urge pushing the liver aside and clamping the large intestine down. "Damnit," I mutter as the clamp sets and another bleed starts in her intestine.

"She's coding!" Dr. Vilnic shouts as the machine starts to blare.

"Fuck!" I curse out. "Paddles!" I call out to the nurse, my fingers trying to keep up with the bleeders that seem to be popping up all over the large intestine now. I'm in a catch 22. This woman is coding under my fingers, but if I don't find a way to stop all of this bleeding, she'll bleed out at around the same time it'll be too late to start her heart back up. The clamp finds its place, the intestine holds in the background the flatline of the machine still buzzes in my ear.

"Clear!" I yell my hands coming up out of the chest that seems to have stopped hemorrhaging.

"Charged, clear!" nurse Granger shouts and all of us back off as the padded paddles latch around the heart of my patient that refuses to beat on its own.

Flatline.

"Again,"

"Clear"

Flatline.

"Again!"

"Clear!"

Flatline.

"Again!"

"Clear"

Flatline.

"Again!"

I keep calling 'again' until I feel Dr. Vilnic' hand on my shoulder.

"She's gone, Lauren" Andrei says and I nod with a sigh knowing he's right. The nurses switch off the blare of the machines around us. This woman was a set of symptoms to me, bleeders I needed to stop. Now, I see the person; dark hair matted in blood, delicate jaw, a young, beautiful woman in her prime. Her eyes must have fallen open when we were working on her: dark brown and powerful. I can't help the thought that this woman must have been a force of nature.

So many resemblances.

"Call it," I say, and then close my eyes zoning out as Andrei reads out the time of death. In a haze I file out of ER2 straight to the Emergency waiting room where my patient's family is waiting. When I step inside the waiting room I see a blonde woman somewhere in her mid-thirties hunched over, another woman older, shorter hair seated next to her rubbing the younger woman's back.

"Ms Henderson?" I speak up, and the younger woman's head shoots up. Her eyes are red from crying, her hair is a mess, she grabs the woman's hand sitting next to her. Light eyes, blonde hair.

They must have made a beautiful couple.

Four years ago

I can't stop shaking as I sit in this TL lit waiting room. Doctors are being called, nurses are passing, going, but I don't hear it, instead I hear the sound of my own heart beating erratically. The cheap plastic seat under me cracks as I shift and bring my hands up to my hair. I stop inches from my hair, the smell of blood wafting up my nostrils last minute.

My hands are covered in the sticky substance, and I hadn't noticed. Now it seems it's all I can see or smell. The blood has largely dried, caked, stretching out my fingers makes pieces and chunks of it fly off.

Why can I still smell it?

Lieutenant Davies' blood, Bo's blood. Bo's blood mostly, because there had been no saving the lieutenant. Blood is on my hands on my navy colored suit, the white blouse I'm wearing. Blood was everywhere: on the walls, the bed, the floor, the chairs, the bathroom. Blood is everywhere, under my hands, under my nails, under my skin, when I was pressing my hands against Bo's side and her head; when it overflowed from her hair, when it colored it red instead of brown, when life was seeping out of her, and I needed ten hands to stop the bleeding. In the ambulance her body was on the brink of giving way, of losing the fight. I screamed at her to not give up, to stay and fight and now all I can think of is that if Bo dies, the last thing I did was yell at her.

I didn't want a rookie, I didn't want a doctor who'd been on call for more than eight hours, I was going to do the surgery myself, yet here I sit the scent of all this blood making me gag. I've been dumped here, dropped here after I jumped from the ambulance that had carried Bo in, after I'd been forced off of her gurney for the doctors and surgeons of this hospital to take over. Now I stare at my hands and shiver at the knowledge that it's up to other hands. Up to those potential rookies or old-timers, up to that surgeon that's been on shift for days.

"Please dad," I say. I don't believe in God or the hereafter, not perse that is. But, my dad did, and I'm shamelessly bartering for her life with him now. "Please take care of her, please don't let her die, please just..not now...Not now. I need her, dad. I can't loose her," I mutter. I swallow, I swallow again, and again. I'm helpless, useless.

I shake my head. "I can't do this," I mutter harder. Right now I can't afford to lose it, right now I need my professional detachment to kick in. I need to stop seeing Bo under my hands, I need to stop thinking about how close I am to losing her or I'll lose myself. One hands reaches into my pants pocket and I pull out my phone. The phone rings once, twice, three times before a voice on the other end picks up.

"Tamsin, it's Lauren. Bo is in hospital." I say my voice sounding otherworldly, far more composed than I feel.

Present

My hands clasp around my head as I push back my surgical cap. Grace was just another girlfriend, another daughter, another law abiding citizen about to be married to her high school sweetheart. She was gunned down on the street, broad daylight while out shopping with friends in a decent part of town. Gunned down for the fifty dollars she had in her purse. One day Maisy Henderson had a fiancee and a future, a reason to wake up with a smile. Now that life has been taken away from her because I wasn't good enough to save it.

"Goddamnit!" I yell and kick the locker, then kick it again for good measure, and how goddamn unfair the world is. My legs give way, I slump down against the locker.

I can't get the sight of Grace Ramirez' dead eyes looking at me, and the shrill sobs of Maisy Henderson falling apart out of my mind. She knew as soon as she made eye contact with me. Her world shattered and I had nothing to offer

"Lauren?"

I look up and see Andrei Vilnic look at me questioningly. "You okay?" he asks with that heavy Russian accent of his he can't seem to shake.

I take a deep breath, and pull my face out of my hands, my body out of this uncomfortable crouching position I'm in. "Just a tough one," I manage to say, and out of the corner of my eyes I see Andrei agreeing with a nod.

"In Russia we say 'На миру и смерть красна', it means as much as 'Death is beautiful when you are around people'," It makes it easier to bear. Go home, Lauren. Be with family, those you love and who love you."

I nod towards Andrei not knowing how to take his advice, but he is right in one regard. I need to go home.

I want to sleep, sleep through New Year, sleep for a week, sleep through whatever life is demanding of me so I shuffle out of the hospital locker room and head homewards.

December 31, 6pm

Senator Jack Dennis' mansion

Bo's POV

I lean my head to the side, and put in the last of the pearl earrings into my ear before I look back up at my reflection. Dark eyeliner, dark gold touches above my eyes, and long eye lashes stare back at me. With a modest gold necklace around my neck, and a formfitting, but rather conservative black dress I look a little more subdued compared to my regular outfits, but I suppose a little more class and little less cleavage can go a long way for the White House. At least, that's what my father's stylist said when she handpicked this dress. I was supposed to have my hair and make-up done by her assistants, but wearing a dress and jewelry that's been picked out for me is where I draw the line.

I don't feel much for fancy dinners, don't feel much for dressing up, don't feel much for meeting the President if truth be told, but then I did vote for her. I'd rather be at the Dal hanging out with Tam and the gang. By now, they should already have gotten round to the first round of drinks and the first appetizer, that being Buffalo Chicken Wings. They'll keep eating and drinking until they've basically gone through every single available snack on the Dal Menu -which is quite a lot cause the Dal does everything fried under the sun really well-, and they've drunk pretty much every single beer on tap as well. At midnight, those that are still left standing will do shots, and throughout all of this they'll dance, ride the mechanical bull, sing karaoke and try their best at playing pool and or darts. Or, at least, that's what Kenzi, Tam, Dyson, and Vex will do. Evony will occasionally as she puts it 'grace us with her elegance and beauty' on the dance floor, and will otherwise comment on people's dancing, outfits, make-up, hair, shoes,..etc. the entire night.

But, with how much effort my father has put into fixing our relationship these last couple years, accompanying him to the White House is the least I can do. I reach out my hand and take the perfume bottle that's been sitting onto the marble counter top next to my toilet bag. A dab to both wrists and my neck completes what I'm doing for tonight. I lean in with one last glance, hands leaning on the counter top, and suddenly without provocation, I feel lightheaded, I feel like the walls are closing in on me. What's the damn trigger now? I ask myself for a flash of a second before I'm lost in this feeling and all I can do is hang on.

"Damnit," I grunt out, and will away what I push back so often these days telling myself I'm okay, that I'm safe. The technique of telling myself I'm okay, breathing deeply, is something I was taught to do a long time ago. With Evony's advice, I've learned to count the seconds in between, the simple structure of numbers giving my brain something else to focus on. Clutching and fumbling, I pull out the bottle of mild sedatives from my purse; another extra from Evony. The lid on these things are a pain in the ass, but I manage to get one of the pills out and gobble it down with some water from the tap.

I don't know if it's the pills kicking in fast, or if it's the placebo effect, but a few minutes later, I've stopped panting, the world has stopped spinning, and everything has calmed down. I look at myself in the mirror and see a touched up version of myself. One that hides behind layers of make-up where there are so many signs of fatigue and stress.

I think back to only a few days ago, when I blacked out in Tamsin's hotel room. Truth be told, I don't remember all of it, but I remember enough of it for it to scare me. Apparently, I wasn't out of it for long, but the terrified look on everyone's face when I came to, and the stern talking to I got from Kenz, Tams and Evony isn't something I want a repeat of. I look at myself, scrutinize myself.

"You've never been given anything for free, Isabeau, and you've always pulled through. No more hiding." I tell my reflection in a New Year's resolution. "It's time you pull yourself together."

I take one last glance in the mirror and decide I'm done for tonight. I head out of the giant bathroom. Outside, there's another aide of my father's typing away on his iPad. Blue eyes, short blonde hair, looks like he visits the beauty parlor every other day: clean-cut, clean-shaven, and are those manicured hands? I bet he has hands soft as a baby's bottom, I grin. What's his name again? Heinz, Gregor,..Gunther I think. Something German. As soon as he sees me, he bounds over, and starts talking. I walked out of a debrief on White House protocol earlier in the evening, he must have gotten the memo, and picks off where it had left off before. I only half listen as I make it past the long corridor with wood panelling up to the landing the carpet crunching under my heels, and then down the majestically ornate stairs that date back to the colonial period as does the rest of the house. I pick up the pace as the centuries' old wood of the railing glides under my hand. The sooner I get to my father's study, the sooner this debrief for toddlers will end.

I suddenly feel sorry for people in politics who have to put up with aides like this all the time, not having a single moment to themselves.

"My darling," my father says as soon as I walk into the library where he is talking to one of his other aides. "Don't you look the picture," he smiles.

"Thank you," I say to the well-groomed, handsome man wearing an impeccable black and grey Armani tux. "You look quite dashing yourself," I smile.

Half an hour later
On route to the White House

I stare quietly out of the window of the Bentley limousine as it makes its way through downtown Washington towards the White House, the lights of a late night city flashing by as my father talks quietly with his aides in the background. I watch him again as I have caught myself doing every once in a while when I've been campaining with him. His timeless features: chiseled jaw, thick raven black hair scattered with grey, and equally dark eyes make him equal parts handsome and enigmatic. The tailored black Armani suit fits his muscular frame to perfection, the dark red bowtie a nice and subtle 'patriotic' touch that has made me roll my eyes on several occasions.

Then there's that boyishness to Jack Dennis: a certain aura about him that makes him come across as if carefree, as if he's still part high school jock: popular with the girls, easy on the eyes, someone everyone likes, like he's always had it easy and I suppose that's why journalists keep comparing him to Jack Kennedy.

True, Jack Dennis has an easy going smile, he is a people's person in the way that he can talk to anyone. Put him in a room with a banker or a car mechanic, and he'll be able to relate and talk to both. I suppose that is because he didn't come from money; he had to work his way to the top, and knows what it's like to both have nothing and have everything, but I wouldn't call his demeanor casual. I'd rather say my father is ambitious, and he possesses the charm and the smoothness to all make it look easy.

I find it fascinating to watch him sometimes like I am now so in his element chatting to his aide, tracking his campaign as he always does, adjusting his strategy with the new numbers coming in, and planning which bill to back, which one to oppose, who to talk to tonight. I suppose my curiosity is that of a daughter for a parent she hardly knows. I can't deny he is my father; the physical resemblances; the shape and color of our eyes, the dimpled smile, even the shape of my nose, are striking and the resemblance doesn't end there. There are looks I catch, like the one he has now when he's concentrating, the drive he has, the hankering for adrenaline, his work ethic are all very familiar. Jack Dennis is the man who introduced me to planes, the man who fanned the flame. I have clear and fond memories of sitting in his lap inside a fighter jet cockpit. Getting access to said cockpit with a six-year old I know now is a red tape nightmare, but I remember quite a few times of him explaining the gears and the buttons to me. He even took me up at least once. I remember thinking my father was a superhero, I remember adoring my father then.

The one thing I never figured out and haven't yet is whether Jack Dennis is a good man or not.

I want to believe he is, but somewhere deep inside of me there is a reluctance there. I don't know if it is gut instinct or it is just my inability to fully forgive Jack for leaving me and my mother. We've talked about it. Not at length, but some. He was there for me in a big way four years ago. Ever since, I've given us a second chance. I take father-daughter time as it comes. We see one another when I am in town, and when we do, he dotes on me. He's told me, and everyone around him, how proud he is of me, and when he says that and then looks at me with his eyes shining brightly, I believe him.

Lauren's apartment

Lauren's POV

I wake up to a dark apartment, curtains drawn, but I forgot to close the blinds. For a moment I panic that I forgot to set the alarm, but I settle quickly. I'm on my coach, under a fleece blanket. Ambulance blaring, cars honking, stopping, starting, downtown Washington asserts itself into my living room making me rub my eyes, settling me, making me wonder what time it is. Artie stirs next to me as I pull my iPhone from the lab coat I fell asleep in.

Fudge!

It's almost 8pm, and I have four missed calls. All Emily. I type a quick message out to her that I'm up and I'm getting ready. The party starts at 9pm, and as one of the hosts Emily needs to be there as soon as the doors open, so I add that she doesn't need to pick me up, that I'll grab a cab and I'll join her as soon as I can. In under two minutes I get a thumbs up and kiss emoticon back.

I rub my eyes again and prop myself up on the couch. My sleeping buddy stretches next to me and gets up, jumps off the couch going for his food and water in the kitchen.

"Show off", I mutter. My cat is better at getting out of bed than I am. I reach for the remote on the coffee table to switch the TV on, for a little background noise and then swing my legs out of the couch. In the kitchen I can hear Artie meow for a top-off on his food.

"I'm coming," I reply and get up to go to the kitchen. I quickly refill Artie's food and his water, and head for the shower. I don't rush, but rather take my time to make sure I cover up the traces of my tiredness. In the end, I'm pretty happy with the result. The make-up is a little thicker under the eyes, but masked by a few subtle strokes of golden eyeshade, it doesn't really show. There's just the clutch on the bed, and then my outfit is complete. I take one last look at myself in my bedroom mirror and smile softly. I look the part in my soft green silk gown that hugs my curves, yet flows about my legs elegantly, and gold jewelry round my neck, wrists and fingers that compliments my make-up and my clutch.

Walking back to the living room, I check the time, I've got about ten minutes left before the cab I called should be downstairs. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice the flickering light of my answering machine, and press the 'play' button.

Tamsin's voice sounds out for the second time in a short time. As Tamsin speaks, the TV draws my attention: a black Mercedes arrives in front of the White House. A familiar form steps out of a black Bentley:impeccably dressed in a black evening dress, dark hair, dark eyes, round curves, swagger and grace. Cameras flash, go off left, right and center all vying for a picture. As Tamsin tells me how Bo had a panic attack at the hotel, how she blacked out, I see Bo walk with grace and confidence, shaking hands, smiling brightly, flashing her dimples, a line of text underneath reads 'LIVE FROM THE WHITE HOUSE NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY'. The line is deceptive because it's not 'LIVE', it's footage taken before, a compilation of guests arriving.

The long lost daughter of the Senator-want-to-be-President is a well-known face. So well-known that she can no longer take a vacation in the US without being stalked by photographers and journalists. With her beauty, her natural charm, and her 'hero' status, I'm sure she's won quite a few votes for the Senator. She looks elegant, refined in the black gown she's wearing; she looks perfect; she doesn't look like anything is wrong. I catch the end of Tamsin's call, she's recapping, reassuring me that Bo is okay, thanking me again for my help and wishing me a Happy New Year.

I walk over to my phone just to check the time stamp there. The call dates from two days ago, no word since.

My attention is drawn to the TV again. It's not the first time I see Bo on television, her father has been campaigning pretty hard. Next year, almost this year, it'll be an election year, like it was four years ago. She'll have to do it even more frequently.

I look down at my open clutch. It takes me a second or two before I grab my cell phone from the kitchen counter top and slide it in. There's a ring at my door bell. A glance from my window to the sidewalk downstairs and I know it's my cab. I glance over my living room, my OCD getting me to quickly fold the blanket I was sleeping under as it was folded over the back-end of my couch as is my lab coat. I grab the lab coat and move to throw it in the hamper, I check the pockets to make sure they're empty my fingers wrapping around the note Valerie gave me earlier on.

I unfurl the paper and my breath hitches momentarily as I read the address. I shake my head at the ridiculousness that is my life, and throw the paper in the paper basket at my desk, the lab coat in the hamper.

A few minutes later and I, my clutch and the almost ridiculously fluffy and expensive dress I'm wearing, are seated inside the cab. I look outside the window as the city passes me by in a blur of green, red and white lights. The cabby has already given up trying to talk to me, though we did get as far as exchanging New Year wishes. A little ahead of schedule, but it's the thought that counts.

I look down at my gloved hands that are folded across my lap. I look outside the window, seeing nothing in particular, more lost in thought than anything else. A million thoughts vying for my attention, a few tracking.

Minutes pass as do street lights, and buildings that run into blocks that run into a blur. I look up and call out to the taxi driver. "Pull over here, please." I say and grab my money, pay the man and get out.

I'm by the side of the road, standing in front of a pub nowhere near where I need to be, but I know the place well.

The Dal Riata

Bo's POV

I laugh with a beer poised to my lips as I see Kenz mount the mechanical bull and slap the backside yelling "YEEHAW!" as Tamsin stands behind the mechanical contraption looking positively mortified, but ready to catch Kenz if needed as the mechanical beast starts moving. Behind me and to the left, Dyson, Ciara, Vex and Evony are all looking at Kenzi's legendary run, and are rooting for her with hoots and hollers. " Kenz is a total city girl with the street smarts and the fashion sense to match, but until she was fifteen she grew up on a farm in Russia, and every once in a while, like today, she'll surprise all of us. 'Hey ya' by Outkast plays in the background and I laugh even harder as Kenz starts to sing, and move along as if she rode a bull every day. "Shake it, shake it, uh huh, shake it like a polaroid picture!"

Kenz makes it past the first stage of the bull ride and shouts out: "Eight seconds all the way, baby!" as the bull slows down. Then the bull starts up again for the second round, the moves of the creature a lot rougher, but still Kenz makes it look easy with one hand now in the air finding her natural balance. Round three comes along and Kenz' upper body seemingly flops along like a rag doll, but she stays seated none the less. It's only in the fifth round that she loses her balance and lands on the air cushions around her. My best friend rushes to her side, but there's a handsome broad shouldered black man who beats her to the punch.

"You got some skills there, Little Mama," I hear the handsome black guy say as he helps Kenzi up in an act of chivalry. Kenzi looks dazed as her hands lock around the tall man's upper arms and the musculature there, she squeezes lightly. "Holy Willy Wonka', did I hit my head too hard, and go to muscle heaven?"

The black man laughs wholeheartedly, with a quip and introduces himself as Gale or Hale, Dale? I don't catch the rest of the convo, but Kenzi throws me a look wiggling her brows signaling she's very happy with the attention the 'man candy' is bestowing on her. With a big smile on my face I pull away from the scene and let Kenz get to know her Prince Charming.

Lauren's POV

Two minutes later

Dal Riata, I read looking up at the sign above the door. The pub is named after the Gaelic Kingdom that encompassed the western seaboard of Scotland and the north-east corner of Ireland in the sixth and seventh century. It's also the pub where Bo spends New Year, every year. I've been here one time before when Bo had just been transferred to the hospital in Washington and Tamsin asked me here for drinks with the rest of the gang to get our minds off of Bo. The attempt failed miserably, but it was misery shared and maybe that was the point?

On autopilot I push inside.

It's almost 10pm and the place is bustling already. Young waiters in green and white uniform carry trays stacked with beer high above their heads trying to push through the crowds, a LIVE band is playing in the back, and there's even a mechanical bull. It's a large pub, it just doesn't show at first glance. It has rooms beyond rooms tucked away behind corners and stairs, doors and crannies. It's like a labyrinth and the sudden thought befalls me that pushing through and just chancing upon Bo is a ridiculous expectation.

I shouldn't even be here, let alone dressed to the nines.

I'm already late, Emily is waiting, but for some reason I keep pushing through. I change my mind again thinking why I'm here is ridiculous, that I'm here is ridiculous, but then I catch a glimpse of her waiting by the main bar to get a round of drinks. She's swapped the White House dress for a leather outfit: tight fitted leather pants that cling to her and a black leather jacket to match. Her hair is down and styled falling down to her shoulders, a completely different look from the loose curls from before. Only the make-up remains, a shade lighter and more delicate than what I've seen on her before. It makes her eyes softer, makes her look more innocent, more vulnerable. She's chatting to one of the bartenders behind the bar; a young blonde with short cropped hair, tattoed arms, strong jaw, a nose ring and obvious interest in Bo. It's easy to spot in the way she is smiling at Bo, winking at her and doing her best to make Bo smile while ignoring the other patrons. The blonde is attractive, her flirting might pay of, Bo might ring in the New Year with her later, she might be Bo's type. What do I know about Bo's type anymore? Or about Bo anymore?

I wanted to see if Bo was okay, and she obviousl-...My thoughts are cut off at the stem as the flirting bartender moves away to make drinks. I suddenly notice the slump in Bo's shoulders now that she doesn't have to put up a façade and she just stands there alone at the bar, a beer poised to her lips. She hesitates too long, contemplates too long before she takes a swig. Although I can't see her eyes, I know they are lost.

She glances my way. Quickly I turn before she sees me, and almost bump straight into my coincidence: Manny and Valerie look surprised before both of them smile wide.

"Lauren, you came!"

Bo's POV

I let my eyes scan the crowd around me as I wait for Angie to make my drinks. I smile ruefully seeing people smiling, holding hands. I'm slightly jealous of them... of those couples that stand next to one another, just touching, the ones that smile to one another knowing who they'll go home with, spend their lives with. Maybe, I'm just envious of their happiness in a way, because they seem like they've figured out the secret of life when all I do right now, it feels, is fail at life.

Don't get me wrong, I like being single. I enjoy flirting,I enjoy managing my own time, I enjoy the freedom being single brings me, and let's face it with everything that's going on, I have no business being someone's partner, but it doesn't mean I don't miss 'it'. 'It' being a relationship, a partner to bring me simple happiness, someone I'd spent my entire life just trying to make smile...

Someone like a certain blonde I can't seem to get out of my mind?

I wrap a stronger hand around my beer, pause before I bring it to my lips, then drink deeply. The liquid tastes bitter on my tongue as my eyes keep scanning the room. My heart suddenly skips a beat; she's 20 feet away, surrounded by a sea of people, but I recognize her immidiately. However strange or cliché, I think I'd recognize her anywhere. She's an image my mind has catalogued somehow.

If I were the thinking instead of the doing kind, then perhaps I would think twice about walking up to Lauren, seeing I am not I leave my drink order behind and move in.

Lauren's POV

"Lauren, you came!" Valerie and Manny chant in unison and already a little buzzed, move in to hug me smiling wildly. Manny invites me to the bull riding competition that's about to start and offers to get me a beer, but I quickly decline saying I'm just passing through, and I really need to get to the Pallagio. The door is only a few feet away when I say goodbye to Manny and Valerie. I don't scamper, but I do walk as briskly as I can through the crowd. There's a tune playing in the background. The notes catch me off guard, momentarily halt me in my stride.

There's a different feel about you tonight
It's got me thinking lots of crazy things
I even think I saw a flash of light
It felt like electricity

I close my eyes against the melody, and suddenly I can just feel her. I know where she is, I know she's right behind me, it's as if I can feel her.

They're all watching us now
They think we're falling in love
They'd never believe we're just friends
When you kiss me like this I think you mean it like that
If you do baby kiss me again

Against my better judgment I turn around. My breath hitches seeing deep brown eyes.

She smiles.

That beautiful smile, the one that could make the gods fall to her feet. We don't say anything, she doesn't say anything, just pulls me to her. A close, but fragile hold both telling me she wants this, but giving me an out.

How does she do that?

Lyrics drift over the stage, and for a few moments there's just us. Just me and her, and it's four years ago, and I am the person I was then. No entanglements, no bitterness, no defenses, no...

My eyes fill with tears. I can't be here. For a million reasons, the selfish ones and the ones that weigh me down. This is unprofessional, Bo doesn't need this, this is the furthest thing she needs, and Emily.

Jeezes God, Emily.

I pull back. Her brows crease in question. I shake my head at her, mumble something like "I can't or I need to go..." I don't wait for the hurt in her eyes to manifest and run outside like Cinderella fleeing the scene.

The door falls behind me with a loud thud. The cold immediately pricks my skin telling me tears stain my cheek. I round the corner. I need to go, I can't be here, I need to get out of here. I need a cab, I need to get to Emily. A figure's shadow looms up in front of me, I don't pay it any mind, instead keep looking at the pavement under my feet. I bump into a hard shoulder and almost knock someone over. I'm apologising before I look up but when I see who I ran into, I instantly stop.

Four years ago

"Where is she?" A blonde man barges into the waiting room obviously in distress. He has his hands in his hair and his eyes are bloodshot as if he's been crying.

Dyson!" Tamsin calls out, and she veers up beside me.

The blonde man hurls himself into Tamsin's arms, breaking the embrace only seconds later. "Where, how,...is she?" his questions are blurred in the distress he feels as tears run over his face.

"I told you not to come, Dys." Tamsin says.

"Not come? How can I not come?" Dyson calls out. "Of course, I came!" I hear Tamsin exhale and she hugs him, I see the relief in her shoulders, that slight bit of burden that falls off because this man is here.

"She's in surgery, Dys, she's..." Tamsin's words falter, but she swallows. "She's fighting for her life."

"Tell me she's going to be okay," the blonde man pleads.

Tamsin shakes her head. "We don't know, we're waiting for the docs."

"We?"

Tamsin turns towards me."Dys, this is Dr. Lauren Lewis, Bo's girlfriend.."

"Girlfriend?" Dyson questions and even for how numb I feel, how detached I feel from the scene, I still hear the disbelief in his question.

"She's the reason Bo is alive, she found her."

Dyson extends a hand to me, the polite smile that goes along with it isn't genuine, but then again I don't care what it is. I'm not even sure why I'm being introduced to this man in the first place. All I care about is Bo so I excuse myself and walk up to the nurse behind the reception. Since I came in with Bo, they've rotated shifts. The first nurse would no doubt remember me for the verbal lashing I gave her, but this one might be more inclined to answer my questions.

Present

My breath catches in my troath as I look up at Dyson. The smug smile is all I see, that one that sees my tears, my vulnerabilities and mocks them. The one I was used to seeing four years ago. That smug smile of a man who knew he had won, knew he had broken my heart, broken me. There are many reasons why my dislike for this man runs as deep as it does. His past actions, which in themselves were vile enough to make any one person dislike another, no matter the motivation, the most prominent in mind, but none of them come close to the one reason that now has me clenching my jaw. I think he's about to say something to me, but I can't listen to it. I can't listen to any of it, not his taunts again, not his pity, not even an apology.

Before I really realize what I'm doing, I hear a hollow sound snap through the air. I've slapped Dyson. He looks at me with wide eyes, too stunned to say anything while he holds his chin, and looks back at me.

"I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF HER, DYSON!" I yell out angrily. "It's the only thing I asked of you, and you couldn't even do that right!"


Replies to reviews

Joan: She was only remembering her, but we'll get to the real stuff. :-)

Arrasto: How you guys doing? Where you from?

Saphire: Me abandon this story? NEVER! ;-) Yeah, I'm just really slow with updates. I find I really need to step away from story writing sometimes to get new ideas, and hey they are long updates!

Susan: hope you liked this chapter. It's a bit wishy washy on Lauren's end, I know, but there are reasons for that. We'll get to those. :-)

Jen: Awesome! :-)

Mulder: It's mostly just living with the virus now, isn't it?

Sweetcandycane: You are very welcome :-)

Frenchi: couldn't have put it better myself! :) As always, love from Belgium!

JCM:

1) Bo has amnesia, Dyson doesn't. Dyson knows Lauren from when Bo was still in a coma.

2) That's a good question, and the answer is coming. But, yeah, can't say too much about that yet. :-)

3) Well, i started writing this story on the premise of Bo losing her memory at one point. How she would and what kind of amnesia she had I hadn't figured out. Yeah, I do kind of line out my stories, but I'm not always big on detail. ;-) Anyway, then I started thinking that if Bo had any change at getting her memory back, the reason would have to be psychological. All this might make you conclude that I just totally made up this type of memory loss, but I actually did find a few scientific articles that deal with psychogenic amnesia, and I've read of cases where people have lost several years worth of memory.

Sophie: On our end, it's now mostly young people that are getting sick. I suppose that's a pretty European trend? Love from Belgium! :-)

J: Haha ;-) Yup, I can definitely tell you've been watching Frozen ;-) And yeah those instincts like yours seem to be spot on, crossing my fingers that Lauren will be following your advice quickly.

Sarah: Thanks! I do map them out, get the big storylines in there. I know about a few authors that just start writing and make stuff up as they go along, but I'm not that talented. ;-) So yeah, for chap 1 I knew that Lauren's heartache would have to be in there, but it would have to be subtle enough to read over if you didn't know what was going on.

Ahsnaps: I finally got round to getting you more. Hope the next chap won't take as much time, but really I'm not making any promises other than that I'll finish these stories. :)

Sylvy: I don't enjoy making you sad, but you're right Emily is a nice woman, and Lauren will have to sort out her feelings quickly enough and then do what it is she needs to do. :-) Hope you're still team Bo on this one ;-)

Guest: wow! I guess you're one of the lucky ones still. How are you feeling these days, cause I keep hearing stories about people having symptoms for like months on end after initially 'recovering'?