"Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" Brooke shook the sleeping girl as best she could with one arm. Sam started to blink.

"Brooke?"

"How many times are we going to do this?" She put her arm around Sam, pulling her close, and hesitated for a moment, before kissing her cheek, the uninjured side. "It's me. I don't think I have a concussion. Because that sound, it's not my headache."

Sam sat up, cringed, and looked around. The building was shaking slightly and she could hear scraping of metal against concrete. "Is it coming down?"

"I hope not." Brooke glanced up, worried. "It would suck to get killed just as we were being rescued."

Then the huge slab of concrete rolled away with a crash.

"Hey!" Brooke shouted, "Can we get some help in here!"

A fireman peeked through the door. "Get the EMTs," he shouted, and suddenly all was business.

***

Once her shoulder was jerked back into place, Brooke had yelled until a plastic surgeon was called to stitch up Sam's face. She had waved away the proffered scrubs, but taken the sling until her shoulder got its strength back, and then waited for them to finish operating on Sam's knee.

The police came to talk to her. The lead cop, an arrogant dark haired woman with dramatic cheekbones was pissing her off so Brooke thrust the camera at her.

"I have close ups of all their faces, but I want copies. I'm the photographer for the Star Daily."

The woman cringed. "Not more reporters," she grumbled.

"And I'd like it if you tell me what's going on. My friend in there," she gestured toward the operating room, "is planning an article on it."

A small redhead peeked in. "I can fill you in if you let me use one of your photos."

Brooke shrugged, and winced. "Sure."

Brooke spent the rest of the wait for Sam to wake up from the anesthetic chatting with investigative reporter Cindy Thomas. Apparently the group had been Christian White Supremacists. They couldn't decide whether to bomb a Latino neighborhood or the Castro, so they picked somewhere in the middle. Luckily the splash zone hadn't affected the crafts fair and there were only a few injuries. The men had melted into the streets and there were no leads until they got her camera.

Cindy followed her into the room when Sam woke up. A look of delighted relief crossed her face when she saw Brooke, but Brooke was flinching at the sight of the gauze covering up the cut on her face. The EMT had said that it was possible for it to work its way through her face and she had done the right thing, although she was lucky it hadn't severed anything major.

She touched Sam's forehead. "Hey."

"Hey, you." Sam smiled even though it looked like it hurt. She glanced over the Cindy, questioningly.

Brooke grinned. "This is Cindy Thomas, investigative reporter for-"

"The Register, I know." Sam scowled. "Did we get scooped?"

Cindy waved her hands in defense. "You're the eyewitness. I'd love an interview."

Sam groaned. Brooke squeezed her hand. "I think we should put that off. Sam needs to sleep."

Cindy slipped out. "I'll give you some privacy."

"I can't believe you were talking to a reporter from a rival paper. Seriously, Brooke."

Brooke chuckled. "I wanted to find out what had happened, and she was more forthcoming than the cop who took my camera."

"She took your camera!" Sam yelped, tried to sit up, but overbalanced because of the cast, then collapsed in pain.

"She said she'd give me copies. And I promised one to Cindy. I think she'll make sure I get them."

"Oh great. Not only were we scooped, you're already freelancing?"

"Sam," Brooke gave her a strict look. "Go to sleep. Or I'll call mom to come up and fuss over you."

"Fine."

"I called our boss. We've got a week off."

"I'm fine! I'll be up tomorrow!"

Brooke just shook her head, smiling as she left the room. "Sleep!"

Cindy was leaning against the wall, waiting for her. "Your girlfriend?"

Brooke blinked at her. Somehow she thought she ought to be shocked or offended, but she wasn't. "No," she said, and bit her lip. "Not yet."

A grin spread across Cindy's face, and one on Brooke's face answered it. "Good luck, then."

***

"You know, I don't have a place yet," Brooke said, sitting on the windowsill in Sam's hospital room. "I've been living at a motel, although they've probably dumped my suitcase since I haven't been back."

Sam looked at her, her brow furrowed. "You're suggesting something. Just be straight about it."

"With that leg you'll probably need someone to look after you…"

"You want to move in." Sam rolled her eyes. "Just invite yourself, princess."

"Or I could tell mom you need care?"

"Fine! Please. Move into my tiny two-room apartment. I can sleep on the floor."

Brooke just shook her head.

***

"Hey, mom."

"Brookie! Are you okay? I heard about the bombing, and I was so worried when you didn't call."

"Well, that's because Sam and I-"

"Wait, Sam? You and Sam?"

"It turns out we work for the same newspaper."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "Is she… okay?"

"She'll be fine. But Sam and I were caught in the bombing."

"Oh my god."

"We're fine now. We were trapped in a building for a night. I dislocated my shoulder and Sam's knee got all wrenched out of shape, but really…"

"Mike! Get the car ready! We're going to San Francisco!"

"Mom! Please! We really are okay."

"Brooke, you don't know what you're asking. Both of my babies were nearly killed. I have to see you're all right."

"Fine, but get a hotel. You can't stay with us."

"Us?"

"They're releasing Sam from the hospital this afternoon. I'm going to look after her until she's better."

"So you've… made up?"

"That's one thing a night trapped in a building is good for."

"I'm so glad." Jane was silent for a moment. "After… after it happened. Both of you seemed… maybe not unhappy, but lonely in a way you never were before."

"I can't speak for Sam, but," Brooke swallowed, trying not to remember that time when she had felt abandoned and lost. "I know I was."

***

"Hi, Mrs. DiAngelo."

"Oh! Samantha! I was so worried when you didn't come home last night."

Brooke looked at the small Italian woman as she leaned on the back of Sam's wheelchair. Luckily Sam's arms were fine, because helping her up hills had been hard enough, and Brooke arm was in a sling to take some pressure off her shoulder.

"I'm okay."

Mrs. DiAngelo frowned at Sam's obviously injured leg. "I can see."

"Oh, this is Brooke. Is it all right if she stays to look after me for a while?"

The small woman gave Brooke an appraising look, noting the sling, and the way her good hand on Sam's shoulder. "Of course! And don't worry about food at all! I will bring it to you."

"Thanks."

The stairs were an adventure, but the rooms above were nice, if very Sammily decorated: books and papers everywhere in the front room and dirty clothes in the back. Brooke took a long shower and borrowed some semi-clean clothes before calling the motel to ask if they could bring her bag over.

Sam hung in the living room, trying to look for something entertaining to read, now that she was on enforced vacation. A knock came on the door and she let in Mrs. DiAngelo with a platter of lasagna.

"You look thin. You must be hungry. I will bring dinner soon, but have this until then."

Sam laughed.

"Your friend is thin too."

Sam nodded, considering it. It would be nice to have Brooke around all the time, so she could watch whether she ate.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Sam dropped the book she had been looking at on her leg and winced. "Ah- no… step-sister."

"I see." Mrs. DiAngelo frowned. "Make sure she eats."

Sam grinned. "I'm on it."

***

Jane and Mike arrived at ten that night. Sam was already asleep, because of the painkillers, but Brooke let them in and offered them their choice of left over lasagna or pasta.

"Oh, Brookie!" Jane embraced her, and Brooke groaned at the pressure on her shoulder. Jane jumped back and apologized. Mike just patted her shoulder.

"Rotten first day, eh?"

Brooke smiled. "It had its moments. And my photos were already dropped off at the office. My boss called and said I'm getting a front page photo credit."

Mike laughed. "Good job."

"Can we see Sam?" Jane asked worriedly.

"She should be sleeping. But you can peek in."

Sam looked angelic, even with the gauze and the lump of pillow under her casted leg.

"Where are you going to sleep?" asked Mike, frowning at the tiny apartment.

"I can crash on the couch. It's more comfortable than my motel bed."

Jane frowned. "Don't you dare, with that shoulder. Sam has a big bed and she knows how to share."

"Um…" Brooke tried not to laugh at that remark.

Jane realized the irony and laughed too. "Well, she should learn. Or you should come with us. You can bunk with Mac."

"I'm fine."

"It's either or."

"I can sleep with Sam. I want to be here if she wakes up and needs something."

"Good."

Jane patted her good shoulder and then led Mike to the door. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Brooke went into Sam's room to grab a pillow.

"Where are you going?" Sam muttered.

"You're awake? I'm going to crash on the couch."

"You promised mom you'd stay here."

"But I don't want to disturb you."

"Please? If I have another nightmare I want you close."

The drugs must have been making her less inhibited. Brooke gave in and slid in next to Sam. This was nice. Sam reached out and caught her hand, tangling their fingers together. That was even nicer. She was asleep in minutes, and didn't have any nightmares.

***