Author's note - My counselor wants me to get counseling...Irony, but in my story I always figured it's what the characters need. You experience traumatic events they talk to you because they think that's what you need - to talk it all out. When you talk to your parents about traumatic shit it's like you're talking to a wall. They just don't want to admit that maybe there's something wrong with their child. It's not healthy. And I have a rather abrupt case of insomnia (and constipation if you guys really need to know that) so I figured I'd work on flight 29 down since nobody reads any of my other stories. And! My last prom is tonight. Yay...I'm so happy. And I've already completed the next chapter, yet ironically it's pretty depressing. I'm sorry if I'm focusing so much on Jackson and Beaver and not the actual cast. I am REALLY trying hard to work toward Jackson and Melissa, I'm just not sure how yet. But keeping reading, keep reviewing. It's kinda my life. Except for tonight, of course. Yay...

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"What happened to you?" Jackson asked. He'd been unusually sleep lately, probably a side affect of the drugs the nurses kept slipping him. He'd complained about pain in his hand once and now they wouldn't let it go. Beaver had slipped back into Jackson's room sometime while he had been asleep, and now Beaver as sunken down in the chair. His face was pale compared to usual and there were deep purple bags under his eyes. "Dude, you didn't look this worried last time I was here," Jackson commented.

"I'm not worried," Beaver murmured nonchalantly.

"Of course not. Who said you were worried?" Jackson was grinning but his friend didn't return the gesture. "What's the matter, Beaver?"

"I don't have a problem," Beaver answered.

"Insomnia," Jackson stated. Beaver had been a very sick child, the sickest Jackson had ever known. Most people have defense mechanisms, it's the only thing that keeps humans alive. It's your brain's response to anxiety and overwhelming pressure. But defense mechanisms are second-hand split decisions and usually dangerous, yet common. Beaver's main mechanism was creating more problems. The problems that clouded his mind usually appeared in a physical form within the week of the stimulation of the problem. Insomnia was his most common, which he was lucky for - because compared to other symptons, insomnia was fairly harmless.

"It's common," Beaver murmured.

"Yeah, whatever," Jackson said. "What's happening to you? Since when do you not talk to me?"

"Don't make this about you, Jackson," Beaver murmured.

Jackson shrugged. "I wasn't gonna. Which you know. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I told you, dude," Beaver snapped. "Nothing."

Jackson stared hard at Beaver's downcast face before looking away. "Whatever." That's when Beaver chose to look up.

"I think I messed up, Jackson," he mumbled. "I think I messed up bad."

"What'd you do?" Jackson asked. It wasn't an accusing question. Jackson found that he rarely accused somebody of something. If you didn't accuse them, they didn't get defensive.

"I made a deal with your brother," he mumbled, barely audible.

Jackson blinked, assuming he'd heard Beaver wrong. "Say that again, Beaver."

"I made a death deal with Rodney," Beaver said, quietly yet louder than before. "I didn't mean to. And I don't want to dump it on you right now - with the condition you're in..."

"You made a deal last time I was in the hospital too, Beeve, and I was worst off," Jackson commented. Beaver and Rodney had established an unusual relationship. Rodney owned a little chunk of his own turf that his own gang scoured like hawks, and everytime Beaver entered that certain turf they went after him like wild animals. His only way out was favors. The favors weren't sickening, nothing sexual, nothing like that. They were just demeaning. That's how Rodney processed - he humiliated people. Right after Jackson had shot his father and his father had damn near beat him to death, Beaver had been jumped because he was out of his territory. Rodney was pissed, and almost let Beaver alone with his gang. That's when Beaver had established a deal. And that deal refused to die.

"I know," Beaver said quietly. "But it's getting worst, Jackson."

"I know it is," Jackson said quietly. "Rodney's worst." The silence overshadowed the room, refusing to go away. "What does he want you to do."

"A fucking robbery," Beaver said. "I mean -- a buglery. He was very specific. The punishment's the same, though. Isn't it? I can't rob somebody, Jackson."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "You were a theif like two years ago, Beaver."

"I'm aware," Beaver said quickly. "It's like this adrenaline rush, Jackson. It feels nice. And I walked away from it again. I don't think I'm gonna be able to tempt it like that, Jackson. I don't want to be who I was. I don't want to rob anybody any more."

Jackson was nodded, stopping slightly to prevent the oncoming dizziness. "I'll talk to Rodney."

Beaver didn't allow himself the relief that was inching around the edges of his conscious state of mind. "It's a dangerous job. He thinks that if he pulls off this job then there'll be no more doubts in his gang. He's not gonna be able to pull it off."

"What job?" Jackson asked.

"Tyron," Beaver mumbled. "He's supposed to be on vacation or something." They both had ran into Tyron often when they were younger. They both lived in Tyron's district of business and everytime they screwed up it came down on Tyron - and he'd straighten them out. But compared to Rodney, Tyron was reasonable but deadly.

"He'll kill him," Jackson said.

"I told Rodney that but he doesn't want to back out now. He's a fucking idiot," Beaver murmured. "I can't rob Tyron, man."

Beaver had looked away from Jackson but Jackson was still staring at him when he looked back up. "You're a good theif, Beeve," he murmured. The truth was, Beaver was exceptional. Despite his asthma, he was unusually quick and nimble. He had master the arts of lock picking and pick pocketing at a young age thanks to older orphans who had to learn how to survive on their own. Beaver was a reasonable person who knew how to think quick on the spot. "I'll talk to Rodney, okay. I'll get you out of this. You know you can trust me, Beeve."

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Daley sat down on her bed, brushing the stray curls away from her face. They had kept video diaries for two whole months and she'd actually began to like it. When you write you don't capture the intense emotions that go into every thought out word. She had decided to capture her own emotions by setting up her own camera. "It's been three days," Daley said into the camera. "I feel bad because I haven't been to the hospital, I haven't talken to any of the others. I just - I feel like I can't deal with it all right now. School has been canceled for the time being, and Lex is having night terrors. I don't know what to do. I mean, for so long all any of us wanted to do was get back here, get back to civilization. We were under the delusion that with all this help in today's society, everything would be okay. Back on the island something like this couldn't ever happen. Back on the island we were safe."

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"I brought food," Taylor chirped cheerfully as she entered Marshal's hospital room, holding a tray specifically for him. She set it down in front of him, after providing time for him to struggle into a sitting position. "How do you feel?"

"I don't feel guilty, unlike someone," Marshal murmured, eyeing Taylor. "Dude, really - I don't have to be a pity case. If you feel guilty, I get it. You used to be a bitch. But people don't change over night."

"Of course they don't," Taylor agreed. "Sometimes they change during the day too."

Marshal cracked a surprised smile. "You don't change in a day, Taylor. It takes time."

"No it doesn't," Taylor said. "Something happened - I am unhappy with the event and I am reacting to it by changing so completely I can never be the cause of something like that ever again."

"But you weren't the cause this time, Taylor," Marshal said.

"This time," Taylor repeated. "And I won't be the cause next time either. Why are you arguing with me? This is a good thing -- I was a bitch before."

"Can't argue there," Marshal agreed.

"You're awfully mean when you're not bleeding," Taylor commented.

Marshal nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry. But you were really mean before. I'm having trouble couping with this sudden...kindness. I appreciate it though. Kindness can never be a mistake, Taylor. Just remember that."