-1Sorry for the long delays between chapters, the inspiration comes and goes. Hope everyone's enjoying and I appreciate the reviews!

Bracelets

I don't think I can talk, I'm not very stable right now.

That night, Tim throws pebbles at her window until she rouses herself from an unusually deep sleep and stumbles over to shush him. "A drunken midnight visit?" she whispers, shoving the glass upwards. "Could you be more cliché?"

"Could you be more of a bitch?" Tim retorts, stepping forward to lift himself in.

"Nice." She plants both hands firmly on the ledge, blocking his entrance. "Is that how all the boys are apologizing these days?"

He shakes his hair out of her eyes so he can meet her gaze defiantly as he bites out, "Who even said I was sorry?"

Tyra sighs. "You're the sorriest person I know, Tim."

"You know what -" he begins, too sharply, then stops. "Look, I didn't come here to fight with you, T."

"Then why did you come?" She folds her arms across her chest, wishing she had more of a shield. It's not that she's weak or anything, but Tim's always had a way of getting past her defenses. "It's not like we're together or anything."

At that, he looks almost ... hurt. "Come on. Don't be like this. Can't we just go for a ride or something?" He pauses, shuffles his feet. "Please, Tyra."

Tim doesn't play nice very often, but when he does, he does it well. There's a tiny little hesitation right before he begs; he kind of ... melts. It's like watching a statue crack open and suddenly all she wants to do is glue the pieces back together again.

"Okay," she relents, motioning for him to back up so she can slide out. "But a short drive. And just to talk."

"Just to talk," he promises, and brings his hands to her waist, guiding her safely to the ground.

XXX

They drive for a little while with nothing but silence and radio static between them and Tyra starts to wonder why she's not at home sleeping soundly.

"So, how's Jason doing?" she ventures when they've traveled a good ten miles and Tim still hasn't said a word. "You visit him lately?"

"He's fine," is his brief response.

Tyra nods. "Okay. Tim, can I ask you a question?"

He keeps his eyes on the road. "Shoot."

"Why did you come get me tonight?" She knows there's already an edge to her tone, but who can blame her for being on the defensive? "I mean, did you have something to say?"

"Are you still fishing for that apology?" A sardonic smile twists his lips as he shoots a glance her way. "You're not letting anything go these days, huh?"

And that does it. "You know what," she snaps, "You can just take me home."

"What?" He sounds genuinely confused, which just serves to piss her off more. "What's your problem, T? We haven't talked in weeks."

"And whose fault is that?" she shoots back crossly. "I've been around. But, no, you have to wait until it's one in the morning and you've knocked back a few. Well, guess what, Tim? I'm sick of being your go-to girl whenever you get drunk and lonely. I deserve better."

His laugh is a slap in the face. "So that's what you're pissed about? You haven't been my number one priority lately? Well, excuse me for being distracted, Tyra, but my best friend is paralyzed."

"You think I don't understand that?" She's yelling now; her anger feels too big for her body; too big for the confines of his truck. "You think I don't know how it feels to have someone important to you hurting and you can't do anything about it? God, Tim, get a fucking clue."

She doesn't get to hear how he might have responded to that. There is suddenly a loud horn beeping; headlights in their line of vision. Tim curses and jerks the wheel; Tyra screams and the tires screech. They are spinning out of control and there's never been a better metaphor for their entire relationship than this very moment. Somewhere in the haze of her panicked brain, Tyra knows how this is going to end, so she shuts her eyes tight as his truck smashes into a tree and rolls over twice.

She wakes up once in the ambulance; eyes fluttering open to have Tim's dirt-streaked, tear-soaked face staring down at her, wildly muttering, "I'm sorry, Tyra, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

His timing's bad and the delivery's worse, but as sleep overtakes her once more, she thinks that at least she finally got what she wanted.

XXX

The hospital staff says a lot of things Tyra doesn't really believe. "It's a miracle you survived." "You can't even see those little scars." "In a few weeks, it'll be like none of this ever happened."

But the thing she never expected them to say isn't a lie at all. "Tyra, hon," the day nurse - who is so chipper it actually, physically hurts sometimes - trills, "A handsome boy by the name of Matt is here to see you. Says you two know each other."

She blinks tiredly. It's only her second day here, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since she kissed Matt Saracen so boldly in a parking lot. "He's ... here?" she croaks out, her throat still sore from the tube they'd snaked down it during her surgery. "For me?"

The nurse takes that as an affirmation of sorts. "I'll send him right in."

"Tyra." He comes immediately to her side, hovers over her with a face full of concern. "How're you doing?"

She lifts one arm, still attached to an I.V., and gestures to encompass her bruised, broken body. "Great."

He doesn't laugh - in fact, he looks pained, as if her injuries hurt him somehow. "I've been waiting outside forever," he tells her, shaking his head. "They wouldn't let anyone but family visit for twenty four hours after the operation."

At that, she manages to raise an eyebrow. He's been waiting to see her? The thought makes her feel - something, but she's not going to acknowledge that just yet. "How bad is it?" she asks instead and, before he can lie, adds, "The truth, Matt. Please."

The truth is, she looks like she's been through hell. There are cuts scattered across her face, bruises along the skin exposed by her paper-thin hospital gown. Her right arm is in a sling and he knows that she suffered several broken ribs. "You look ... like a tough girl," he says finally. "You look like you're gonna be okay."

She blinks rapidly, like some kind of Morse code, and takes a deep breath. "You're too good to me, Matt Saracen."

He doesn't know quite how to respond to that. He wants to hold her hand, but there are tubes in the way - and something else that he can't quite name. She's strapped down to a hospital bed and he's standing inches away and yet he still feels like there's a world between them.

After a minute of silence, she clears her scratchy throat and asks another question she's not sure she wants the answer to. "What happened to Tim?"

"He's ..." Matt hesitates. He's not sure exactly where she's hurting, but he doesn't want to make anything feel worse. "They put him in jail. For a couple nights, at least. Maybe his brother's got him out by now. I don't really know ... how these things work."

He's too good for her. It hits her as suddenly as she'd hit the windshield of Tim's pickup a mere two days ago. He's kind and sweet and of course he doesn't know how these things work. He doesn't know anything about being drunk and driving nowhere; about county jail or car crashes that didn't wreck anything that wasn't wrecked to begin with.

"Thank you for coming, Matt," she says. "But I'm feeling kind of tired."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Immediately, he is backing up, trying to give her what she needs. "I'm sorry, I should've - of course you're tired. I just ... I just wanted to see you. To make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay." She nods, trying to convince herself just as much as him. Tim is in handcuffs somewhere and she has a hospital tag around her wrist and Matt is the only on of them whose hands are not tied. She has to let him go before he can't go anywhere at all. "I'm going to be fine."

It sounded a lot better when he said it, but the door shuts quietly behind him and Tyra's left with just her own lie and the steady beeping of machines that have no idea what condition her heart is really in.