The Professor watched anxiously as the doctor checked Lizzie's temperature. "So she just showed up on your doorstep?" the doctor conversed the way doctors do- as if having simply been met at the grocery store.

"Well, not exactly," the Professor tried to indicate that he didn't want to continue on the subject; he was still uneasy about not looking further into the incident that led his goddaughter to his home the night before. It seemed to work, because the doctor didn't ask for details.

"Well, she certainly has a bit of a fever," the doctor decided as he took the thermometer out of Lizzie's mouth, "101.3 degrees. Poor thing." Lizzie looked extremely uneasy at the doctor's concern and looked up at the Professor for reassurance. "It's not dangerously high," the doctor added, sensing the young girl's apprehensiveness. He placed his stethoscope on her back and listened to her breathing. "Doesn't sound like pneumonia," he said more to himself than anyone else. Continuing his examination, he took a tongue depresser out of a jar by the sink. "Let's have a look at your throat, shall we? Say 'ah'."

The small girl tried to comply, "Ah... Ah-choo!"

The doctor couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, well, just 'ah' will be fine."

After having checking Lizzie's throat, the doctor straightened up to face the Professor. "Nothing serious, I'd say. She's got a bad cold, or maybe the flu. It will run it's course in a few days. Until then, you should have her take it easy."

The Professor nodded. "Thank you, Doctor," he said as he helped Lizzie off the examining table. He was surprised to see her walk ahead of him out of the office as if determined to leave as soon as possible, she paused only when she go to the front door. Puzzled, the Professor watched her from behind as she seemed to thinking very hard about something. Whatever it was, she looked frustrated, almost as if she wanted to go through the door, but couldn't figure out how.

The Professor, deciding that she must be exhausted, picked Lizzie up and carried her to the car. Opening the door, he placed her in the back seat, then he got behind the wheel. "Don't forget to buckle up," he reminded her and turned around when he got no answer to see why she didn't comply.

She sat, already buckled, with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed. "Is something wrong, sweetheart?" the Professor asked nervously. Lizzie just shook her head and didn't make eye contact. Unsure of what to do, the Professor started the car and drove them home.

"Girls, we're back!" the Professor called as he and Lizzie entered through the front door. No answer.

Wandering to the kitchen, the Professor found a note that had been hastily scribbled on a post-it square:

Professor,
The Mayor called; we went to stop a bank-robbery.

Love,

Blossom, Bubbles, Buttercup

"It's all right, they just went to save the day," the Professor stated, more for his own benefit than Lizzie's.

Lizzie.

They were alone; what better time to ask her about the accident?

He looked at her. Would talking about it upset her? He hadn't really payed attention to how all of this had to be affecting the poor girl; after all, her parents were in the hospital. Upsetting or not, she needed to talk about it, he decided.

"Lizzie?" The child looked up, sensing the apprehension in her caretaker's voice. "I think we need to talk."

Once he got her seated on the couch in the living room, the Professor felt it was best to be straight-forward with her. "Honey," he began, not quite sure how to ask, "can you tell me anything about the accident?"

He held his breath as he waited for her to respond.

Obviously shaken, Lizzie swallowed hard, but began to tell the story:

"I... Well, that is... I don't remember much about the crash..." she started slowly. "I do remember that morning; Dad said we were going somewhere... I was in my room after I had just gotten dressed. Then... I think I fell asleep. I don't even remember getting in the car..." She looked spooked, as if she only suddenly realized her own lack of knowledge.

"Do you remember anything else before you got here?" the Professor suggested.

"I woke up," Lizzie looked as if she was having a hard time remembering. "There was a man there- a lot of people, actually. All of them were in white coats."

"Doctors?" the Professor guessed.

"I think so. The one man, he had yellow hair, he told me that the car crashed and my Mom and Dad were in the hospital, but he wouldn't let the other people talk to me. Then..." she paused, the next part was obviously upsetting, "he had to give me a shot."

"A shot? Perhaps a tranquilizer, to put you to sleep?"

"Well, I don't remember anything else," she looked bothered somehow.

"There's something else, isn't there?" the Professor sensed her unrest.

Lizzie looked ashamed, "It's just... I know that the man saved me, but..."

"Go on."

"There was just something about him... I didn't like him," Lizzie finished. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at the Professor. "He didn't do anything bad to me, but I felt like he was... bad somehow... Like, he did bad things." She sniffled, "But I didn't know him. I didn't have any reason to think that. I think... I think that makes me a bad person," she confessed.

"Oh, honey!" The Professor pulled her into a hug. "You are not a bad person. You were just confused when you woke up in a strange place. The things you felt and thought were just your brain responding to stress; none of it was your fault at all!" He took tissue from a box an the coffee table and dried her eyes.

"Do you really think so?" Lizzie sniffled again.

"Absolutely," the Professor assured her.

They were quite for a few minutes. He held her in his lap, and she fidgeted with her hands.

"I'm scared," she broke the silence, suddenly, "What if my parents never wake up?"

"I don't think you should worry about that now; the doctors know what they're doing."

This didn't seem to ease her thoughts any.

"Tell you what," he smoothed her hair gently, "If we don't hear anything from them in two weeks," he held up two fingers for emphasis, "I'll find out exactly where they are and we'll talk to the doctors, okay?"

"Okay," Lizzie whispered.

"Please don't worry," the Professor found himself pleading, "They wouldn't want that." To change the subject, he looked up at the clock. "Is it that time already? I ought to be making dinner; the Girls will be hungry when they get home."