Author's note - there's no Daley, Nathan or Lex in this. Sorry, but I can only focus on certain people at certain times - and I wanted to address those that were hit the hardest. I promise you'll see Daley, Nathan and Lex's reaction in the next chapter tho. So, enjoy this - not a lot happens but this is the next day.

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Jackson felt the pain before the clearity of consciousness forced the unusually conforting darkness away. The groan rose from somewhere low within his body and forced his lips apart. Melissa waited for jackson's eyes to open and slowly cover the span of the room before settling on Melissa's concerned face, before she moved forward, much closer to the bed.

"Are you okay?" The question, asked far too early, hung heavy in the air between them, like a discarded greeting to the deceased. Jackson let his eyes loll to the side, shifting away from Melissa's face. "Jackson?" Melissa asked uncertainly. "Does something hurt?" Melissa paused, providing the efficient amount of time for Jackson to offer an adequate answer. "Please, Jackson," Melissa pleaded.

Something changed in Jackson's empty gaze. His eyes shifted again, finding Melissa's tearful gaze once more. He opened his mouth to tell her so many things - he was fine and he missed her. He wanted to close the gap between them, once and for all. He wanted to integrate her into himself - into his being. But all that escaped his mouth was a raspy cough.

Melissa waited patiently, relunctantly sitting back in the uncomfortable chair and fixing Jackson with a retired gaze. "My head hurts," he croaked, gazing tiredly at Melissa. "My hand's..."

"Broken," Melissa agreed. "You have a concussion, Jackson," she told him quietly, but he could hear the touches of concern that layered her voice. "You hit your head when you fell."

"I shot him," Jackson groaned, shifting uncomfortably under the excruciatingly tight blanket.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad," Melissa agreed.

"He was your friend," Jackson mumbled, his eyes shifting away from Melissa's once more. "I didn't mean to shoot him, Mel..."

"I know, Jackson," Melissa told him comfortingly. "He wouldn't have been able to live with himself -- after what he'd done. He wouldn't have given himself up to the cops, Jackson."

"I know," Jackson murmured, his voice quiet - resigned. "I knew that then too, Mel. I should've just let him be...he wouldn't have hurt anyone else, Mel. I shouldn't have gone after him."

"You did what you thought was best, Jackson," Melissa told him.

"I know you're upset," he said, his anger absent in his calm voice. "I killed your friend, Mel. I killed him."

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"Why are you here?" Eric croaked as his eyes focused on Beaver's face.

Beaver shrugged, sinking lower in the chair. He kicked his feet up onto Eric's bed and gazed evenly at the injured boy. "Somebody has to be, right? And since nobody likes you..."

"I don't need your criticism," Eric snapped, turning his head away from Beaver.

"You really did a number on that kid, huh," Beaver murmured, ignoring Eric's earlier comment. Eric chose to remain quiet. "What'd you do to him?"

Eric shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Everybody has a reason," Beaver said. "Why did people hate him?"

"Everybody has their own reasons," Eric murmured.

"Why did he hate you?" Beaver pressed.

"Why do you care?" Eric asked.

Beaver was quiet for a moment. "You need to tell somebody, Eric. Don't you think it'd be better to tell somebody that never really liked you in the first place."

"Why would I need to tell somebody?" Eric asked.

"Because if you don't get rid of all that hatred and guilt that's ripping apart your gut right now, you'll go mad," Beaver told him. "People almost died for you Eric -- don't you think you owe somebody the truth?"

"And that somebody's you?" Eric asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Little bitty Beaver that nobody really knows. He's always sticking his nose in things that he shouldn't. I wouldn't tell you anything," Eric told him angrily.

Beaver nodded and straightened up in the chair. "I just thought nobody should be alone, in the place you're in." He solemnly rose to his feet. "Guess some people deserve it." Beaver turned and silently left the room, Eric watching his residing figure.

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Marshal returned to conscious with a loud gasp of pain. Taylor straightened up in the chair she had been curled in for the last three hours. She inched forward until she sat on the edge of the chair, gazing eagerly at Marshal's pale face. The makings of a smile touched his lips slightly when his eyes found hers. "You don't have to be here," he moaned.

"Are you okay?" Taylor asked, leaning forward slightly.

"No," Marshal groaned. "It hurts...everywhere."

Taylor nodded. "Where's you family, your friends? Why isn't anybody here for you?"

Taylor could see something changing in Marshal's eyes, some fleeting emotion that she couldn't quite pin. "My family won't come. And I don't have any friends to speak of, Taylor."

"You have no friends?" Taylor asked, dumbfounded.

Marshal would've shooken his head but it hurt too much to move. "No," he answered softly.

"I'm so sorry," Taylor murmured sadly.

A sadistic smile split Marshal's pasty face, showing white teeth that blended in nicely with his pale face. "It's not your fault Taylor, there's no point in apologizing. I'm just an unpleasant person."

"You're a hero, Marshal," Taylor insisted. "How can people be so stupid? You're a hero."