A/N: Hey, everyone! Here (finally) is my update! Thanks SO MUCH for all the reviews! I can't believe the response this story is getting . . . you people are officially amazing :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters from National Treasure. Or the plotline. Or anything, really. So it's pretty obvious that I make no money from this.

CHAPTER SIX

Riley

Ben sat me down in a waiting room chair while he filled out some papers. I hated waiting rooms. People on the covers of week-old magazines smiled too happily at me, and I closed my eyes. My hands were grabbing the arms of the green vinyl chair so tightly that my knuckles were white, but I couldn't feel anything at all. Everything was a little out of focus, a little unreal. I guess I had the headache to blame for that. Or the pain in my chest. Or the panic attack I felt coming on. Whatever.

The nurse behind the desk, a woman who looked like someone's kindly old grandmother, kept glancing at me with this sympathetic expression. I half-expected her to come over with a plate of cookies and offer me one. Not that I would have been able to eat it. My stomach was considering revolting, and I hadn't eaten anything since noon. Yesterday.

To say I was nervous would be the understatement of all time. I was teetering on the edge of total panic, and I really didn't know how long I could maintain what was left of my self-control. I was trying really hard not to think about it: about where I was, about nightmares or memories or anything at all. I stared at my thumbnail, trying to remember the exact wording of the fifth chapter of my book, but I'd get halfway through the second sentence and forget how it went. I wondered if I was slowly losing it.

Ben came back to sit beside me. "You okay?" he asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

I coughed, and the pain ripped through my chest again. I would have given him a sarcastic reply, but my brain was so focused on trying to hold back the fear that I couldn't think of anything that complicated. "No," I croaked.

"You will be," Ben told me firmly. "This is going to be fine."

"Sure, Ben," I said, staring down at my fingers. Ben put his hand on my shoulder, and I looked back up at him. I felt more in control with him there. He just gave off this sense of calm, even in the worst situations.

"We won't have to wait long," Ben said.

I really didn't know if that added to or detracted from my panic. On one hand, there wasn't much time left before I ended up in front of a probing, poking, too-sterile doctor. On the other, the waiting was probably making things worse than they had to be. Much worse. Still, I couldn't help hoping someone would come in who was higher up on the priority list. Someone who actually needed to be here.

But when the doors opened again, it was just Abby. She sat down on the other side of me. "You okay?" she asked, sounding almost exactly like Ben.

This time, the sarcasm came without any thought at all. "Did you two decide on that phrase before bringing me here? I swear that's the only thing I've heard all night . . ." I laughed a little, but it sounded off. I really was losing it.

Ben and Abby glanced at each other, and I could tell they were thinking the same thing. I wished Abby would tell me to get a grip or something. At least that would make everything seem a little more normal. Anything was better than the worried expression she was wearing now.

The door down the hall opened, and a pretty nurse in pink scrubs came out with a clipboard. "Riley Poole?" she asked, in a voice that sounded like it belonged in a horror movie. You know, the slithery tone of something in the shadows just before a character disappears and is never seen again—unless it's in pieces or as something just as awful . . .

"Riley?" Ben asked. I realized this wasn't the first time he'd said my name. I tried to push away the thoughts.

"Riley Poole?" the nurse repeated. Her voice sounded normal now, and I took a deep breath. What was wrong with me?

Oh, right.

"Sorry," I told Ben, by way of explanation.

"It's okay. Don't think about it too much. You're just getting a check-up for now." Ben helped me get up, because I probably couldn't have made myself move otherwise. It was like all my joints had locked.

The nurse glanced between Ben and me. I could almost hear what she was thinking: Aren't you old enough to come in by yourself?

I was even thinking that. And I knew the answer, too. Nope. You should be, but . . . nope.

Ben dragged me with him, and we followed the nurse down a long, white hallway. That was definitely near the top of my "why-I-hate-hospitals" list, how everything was blindingly white. White walls. White floors. White sheets.

It was too bright. Too clean. Like that was fooling anyone.

I stopped the thought before it could really settle in my mind. That was so not where I wanted to go right now.

"Here we are," the nurse said. "Have a seat. The doctor will be in in a minute."

"Thanks," Ben told her, steering me to sit on the paper-covered bench. My head was throbbing, and I could hear myself breathing. It sounded bad. And too fast. Ben noticed. "Hey, calm down," he said.

"Can't," I gasped. "Ben . . .!"

It was like the first time. All of a sudden, it was like the air wasn't getting to me. I was gasping, trying to breathe, but it wasn't working. I felt lightheaded, and the fear was making it worse. Suffocating . . . no air . . .

"Cough!" Ben's voice was there, and his hand was slapping my back. I tried, and something came loose. I spat out a mouthful of crud, not even caring how disgusting that was. Gulping air, I started coughing again. Cough, breathe. Cough, breathe. For a second, that was all there was.

Then everything slowly came back into focus. Ben was practically holding me up, and his worried face was the first thing I saw. The second thing was the other person who had come into the room. The doctor.

I decided I had no more energy for the right amount of fear. That was good, at least. I guess I didn't really care what happened to me at that point. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.

Ben and the doctor talked for a second. Since I was practically asleep—again—I only caught bits of what they were saying. Something about symptoms and stuff.

"Riley, open your eyes," Ben said softly.

I did, and the doctor's face came into focus. He was smiling in a friendly way. "I'm Doctor Steele," he said. "I'm guessing you didn't hear me say that earlier."

"Good guess," I replied. I decided pretty quickly that Dr. Steele looked more like a pro football player than a doctor. His forearms were bigger around than my biceps, and his dark brown skin was pulled tightly over the muscles. I wondered how he found shirts that fit.

"I'm just going to run a few tests," he said, like it was no big deal. I got the feeling Ben had warned him about how little I liked doctors or hospitals. He checked my temperature, blood pressure, heartbeat, and listened to my lungs.

"Pneumonia," he finally announced. "Bacterial, most likely. I'll have to run chest x-rays, and take a blood sample." He turned to Ben. "We're probably going to have to keep him here for a few days. This is pretty serious. Oxygen's not getting to his body the way it should. See his fingers . . ."

I felt the numb calm that had come over me drain away. Stay? Here? Days?

". . . skin is too white, almost blue . . ."

I looked at Ben. He must have seen the panic in my eyes. "It's okay, Ri," he said quietly.

Dr. Steele glanced between us. "I'll give you a second. Have to go set up anyway . . ." He slipped out of the room in a surprisingly inconspicuous way, considering how huge he was.

"Ben, I can't," I said, louder than I intended. "They can just get me the meds, and we can leave. We can. I'll take them. You won't even have to force me. I'll even let Abigail mother me. I'll do everything you say. Lie on the couch and eat chicken soup and organize your library for you when I'm better." The words poured out of me. Please, please, please, Ben. Don't leave me here.

Ben sat beside me, his serious eyes locking with mine. "Listen to me, Riley," he said. His voice made it impossible to do anything else. "You can do this. I know it won't be easy. But please, Ri, I can't let you leave. You're sicker than I've ever seen anyone. I can't let this get any worse. I won't. You're too important."

I felt tears sting my eyelids. It was pathetic. Stupid. But I couldn't control it. Why did Ben have to go sentimental on me now?

"I don't know exactly what's going on with you, but I'm here, okay? And I won't leave."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," Ben repeated. "You'll be fine."

I wished that was true.

A/N: Another chapter I wasn't too pleased with sigh. But the next one is better; it's the one where you guys will finally get your answers. So . . . if you're ready to find out the story behind Riley's phobias . . . REVIEW! ;)