(This next part has been divided into two chapters because of length)

"…but I made them give me one with pickles, just for you Come on, Jimmy, going hungry isn't helping her."

"And she wouldn't even need help if I hadn't screwed up," Jimmy mumbled softly.

Chloe glanced at Linda as she rested under Jimmy's blanket. The young girl's breathing was slow and steady, her cheeks pale; if Chloe didn't know the circumstances she would have figured Linda was simply recovering from the flu. The reporter sighed softly and gingerly sat on the other side of the bed; she stared across at Jimmy, who hadn't left the young girl's side since Chloe's arrival. The photographer appeared lost, eyes swimming with a tempered fear, his face a sickly grayish-green as he kept his focus on the young girl.

"This wasn't your fault," Chloe replied. "Everyone knows you didn't mean for any of this to happen, and that you wouldn't want her hurt for the world; beating yourself up is just wasting energy."

"Well, I got nothing else to do," Jimmy replied bitterly. The two heard a small moan, and looked to see Linda stirring.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me," Chloe said softly as she got to her feet and left.

"Linda?" Jimmy said softly, cautiously edging closer to the young girl. Linda slowly opened her eyes, and Jimmy was a little startled to see how pale they were. The young girl looked dazed as she slowly scanned the room, confused. Her gaze fell on Jimmy, and she stared at him for a few seconds; her eyes widened as she quickly sat up and all but threw herself at her friend. She wrapped her arms around him tightly as she cried into his shoulder.

"It's okay," Jimmy said reassuringly, holding her close.

"I was so scared," Linda sobbed.

"I know," Jimmy replied somberly. "It's all my fault, and I'm so sorry."

Linda pulled back—her eyes puffy and cheeks streaked with tears—and looked confused. "You didn't shoot me, Jimmy."

"No, it was just my idea to look for Schott," Jimmy replied bitterly. "I might as well have pulled the trigger." He glanced down and noticed his blanket had slipped around Linda's waist, exposing her top half; she was still wearing her bralet, but Jimmy still averted his gaze as he discreetly grabbed the blanket and carefully wrapped it around her. "There."

"Thanks," Linda said softly as she glanced around, finally noticing her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"My apartment," Jimmy replied slowly, self-conscious, "and this is my room."

"It's nice," Linda said as she looked around. The place was a lot more cluttered than her room: a pile of clothes—with the tattered and blood-stained remains of her shirt and a blood-stained towel on top—shoved in one corner near the dresser (which was cluttered with various things, including a small T.A.R.D.I.S. replica), and photos and photography equipment on the desk next to a pile of schoolbooks and a laptop. Covering his walls were a couple of posters of last year's lineups for the Metropolis Sharks and Metropolis Monarchs and three framed black and white abstract photos of various places in the city; the young girl just stared on the three photos, impressed, before something out of the corner of her eyes glistened; Linda looked over and saw something with a gold dragon head leaning against the back wall of the closet.

"What's that?" she asked softly.

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder and snorted a little. "Just something I got a long time ago," he replied softly before turning back to Linda. "How are you feeling—really?"

"My shoulder's a little sore," Linda admitted, "and I don't feel too hot," she shrugged slightly, "but I'll be okay." She tried smiling, but it came out as a grimace; when she noticed Jimmy's sour expression, she sighed. "Jimmy, it's not your fault; you didn't know Schott would have kryptonite."

"Doesn't change the fact that you nearly died," Jimmy replied, "or that Schott now knows about you—and I doubt he's going to keep quiet." He shook his head, looking angry and sick to his stomach at the same time. "Every person who has a grudge against Superman—Lex included—is going to try and find out who that girl is...and it's all my fault."

"No, it isn't," Linda said. "Schott can talk all he wants, but it won't matter."

"How can you say that?" Jimmy asked in disbelief. "You honestly don't think—" He suddenly stopped as the realization hit him. "You messed with his memories, didn't you?"

Linda nodded. "Used the last of my strength before I passed out; made him think he'd fought Clark." She tried to smile, even as her chin quivered a bit. "Clark's going to be furious when he finds out what happened."

"Not as much as you'd think," Jimmy replied. Linda's eyes slowly widened in terror, realizing what he meant; as she shook her head, but the photographer put his hands on her upper arms, carefully avoiding her injured shoulder. "Linda, I tried to get you here myself, but you were dying…and I didn't know what else to do."

"Where is he now?" Linda asked, trying not to panic as she pictured her cousin's angry face.

"He said he was going to tell your parents what happened," Jimmy answered, "and then check out the warehouse." Linda's eyes grew as big as dinner plates as she started hyperventilating, her eyes darting from side to side; Jimmy quickly moved his hands to cup her face before she went into full-blown panic mode. "Linda, calm down."

"I can't," Linda said, her breathing shallow and rapid, her heart pounding. "They're gonna be angry, really angry."

Jimmy was a little confused, then it clicked; he took a deep breath and leaned forward, only an inch between their faces. "Linda, look at me." Linda slowly met his gaze. "They're not your father."

Tears welled up in Linda's eyes as she stared into Jimmy's eyes; she knew he was right, but it was hard not to feel terrified after years of living in fear and abuse. "They're still going to be mad," she said softly.

"Probably," Jimmy replied, "but they're also not the type to go kamikaze on their daughter after she was shot." He shrugged, sighing. "Maybe next time I'll take the bullet."

"How about next time no one takes a bullet," Linda replied, slightly annoyed. She knew Jimmy was just joking, but she wasn't in the mood for it. "So, how did Clark get it out?" Jimmy suddenly dropped his hands and got to his feet; he walked over to his window and stared out, keeping his back to her. "Jimmy?" Getting no response, Linda held the blanket in place around her shoulders as she took a deep breath and slowly stood up, wincing through the pain and stiffness; she approached him. "Jimmy, what happened?"

"Clark didn't get the bullet out," the photographer said softly, "I had to." Linda furrowed her eyebrows, confused, but she stayed quiet. "When Clark showed up at the warehouse, I saw the kryptonite affecting him as soon when he came within two feet of you, but he pushed through the pain so he could help you. He picked you up, and I held onto his neck before he took off; he barely made it here and put you on my bed—and told me I was gonna have to take the bullet out myself." He turned around, and Linda saw his eyes bright, his chin quivering ever so slightly. "I had to use a knife to cut open your shoulder because your skin was already healing around the bullet, and then use a pair of pliers to dig it out." He shook his head, lowering his gaze. "Your family has every right to go kamikaze on me for doing that to you."

"You saved my life," Linda said, edging closer to Jimmy until they were inches apart. Jimmy wouldn't look her at her, so Linda used her free hand and touched his cheek; Jimmy slowly met her gaze. "I don't think they're going to go kamikaze on you, either." She saw the relief wash over Jimmy's face as he closed his eyes and put his hand over hers, his fingers intertwining with hers like a child clinging to a treasured item for security.

When Jimmy opened his eyes, he saw Linda staring at him with concern and tenderness, still holding her hand against his cheek. Jimmy mirrored Linda's action and cupped her cheek with his free hand and gently leaned toward her; they closed their eyes as their lips brushed ever so slightly. A muffled sound outside the bedroom startled the teenagers, and they quickly pulled away, dropping their hands; a moment later, Clark rushed in, looking concerned.

The reporter stopped short, seeing his cousin awake and alert instead of laying in bed, unconscious; he furrowed his eyebrows when he saw Linda and Jimmy standing close together, looking slightly embarrassed, but Clark quickly pushed that aside and hurried over. "Are you okay?" he asked as he hugged Linda tightly.

"I'm fine, Clark," Linda replied, her voice wavering as she leaned against her cousin, hugging him with her free arm, trying not to cry as she squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Clark said softly as he pulled back and looked down at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Linda would have normally been annoyed by his persistent questioning, but at the moment she couldn't imagine her life without it."My shoulder hurts," she admitted.

Clark gently pulled back the blanket and carefully examined her shoulder. Aside from the blood on her clothing, there was no outward sign she'd even been shot; a quick use of his x-ray vision showed her muscle and tissue had completely healed. "Well," he said, relieved, as he switched back to normal vision, "there's no permanent damage."

"That'll change with Mom and Dad," Linda mumbled.

(End of Chapter 16)