Oscar tried to follow Rudy's advice and stayed home for a couple of days. Everything was difficult. He couldn't really drive. He could barely hold a fork, and doing up buttons was a major task. At the end of two days he called his cleaning lady in to deal with the mess he had made, and his driver took him to work. At least there were distractions there.

Now he was sitting at his desk, seemingly incapable of getting down to the big pile of papers in front of him. On top of the pile was Russ's preliminary report on the crash, but Oscar couldn't bring himself to look at it. Just sitting there it was causing him to experience a sickening array of flashbacks, so he pushed it to the floor.

For the last hour (though he didn't realize it was an hour – he thought it was fifteen minutes) he had been practicing his signature, trying to make his stupid hand work for him. Looking at the page, he thought how apt it all was. Where there used to be a recognizable inscription, in its place was a mess of unraveled lines – which echoed exactly how he felt.

He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it – and what a cold, lumpy, lousy bed it was too. He had known it would hurt to let her go, but he hadn't known how bad it would be. He had no appetite, sleep eluded him, and he had great difficulty concentrating on anything – anything except the absence of Jaime in his life. And the cherry on top was that any day now, Steve would come strolling in, asking Oscar to be his best man, (as long as Jaime didn't get too confessional, that is) and then the matching bionic sweethearts would get on with their pre-destined perfect marriage, and they would have several beautiful and intelligent blonde children, and maybe one of boys would be given 'Oscar' as his middle name, and the kid would hate it and complain and leave it off his driver's license two decades from now. That would be Oscar's place in Jaime's life.

As if he wasn't unhappy enough, he was also experiencing a terrible, aching regret. If he had known it was to be their last time together, he would have stayed with her – he would have blown off the second meeting with Prochazka – he would have blown off everything - just to spend another hour in her arms.

When the door burst open he was so startled he practically launched out of his chair - and had it been anyone but her he would have been furious.

In this rattled state, he somehow felt as though he had left evidence strewn all over his desk – that instead of a few scrawls - all his thoughts, and even his broken heart itself were out there in the open, sitting in a sad tangle on his desk. He couldn't help but blush.

"Jaime! What are you doing here?!" he said, working hard toward a jocular tone.

"I'm here to see you." she said. Her eyes were shining and wide, and there was a serious and determined air about her that made him nervous.

"You look great! Amazingly good – and you're on your feet!" he added enthusiastically, as he attempted to hide the pile of scrawls. He sorted them quickly into a rough stack – but alas, he was not able to cover it up with an official government document by the time she had reached his desk.

"You look tired. What are you doing?" she said, frowning curiously at the papers.

"Oh…" he said, suddenly realizing there was really nothing to hide, "I was just seeing if I could sign my name – or whether I'd have to get a stamp made."

"May I see?"

"Well," he said ruefully, handing her the papers, "there's not much to look at."

"Oh dear." she murmured, shuffling through the papers. "You really expect to be able to write with those big polar bear paws?"

"I have to do something." he replied piteously. Even though she was the source of his misery, her presence instantly made him feel better. She too looked more at ease than she had a second earlier. Her shoulders had dropped, and she was regarding him with a quizzical smile.

"Let me see if I can help you with that." She stood beside him, taking the pen in her hand.

"You hold my hand in yours…as well as you can, anyway." she instructed. Three fingers were splinted and therefore completely useless, but he was able to bend his pinky around hers, and his thumb gripped her hand to his. "Now just guide the pen."

He gave her a look expressing questionable confidence, and leaned forward. She stepped behind him and leaned against his back, so she could look over his left shoulder. He stiffened slightly, her closeness so welcome - and so very destabilizing.

"Go on." she said softly.

Very slowly, he attempted to make Jaime's hand his own. The 'O' was recognizable as a loop, though about three times its normal size - and it was downhill from there.

"Hmm. One more time." she giggled, snuggling closer, pressing her cheek to his. This caused him to gasp, which he covered by clearing his throat. He had sometimes wished he were a more poetic man, so that he could put words to his feelings for her. When she was near, every particle of him scattered into a beautiful confusion, like stars in the sky. But then again, he wouldn't allow himself to tell her these notions even if he could articulate them properly.

"Concentrate." she said sternly.

He tried again. The results were again laughable.

"It was a nice idea." he said. He had become so good at concealing his feelings for her that his own voice sounded like it came from another person, someone much more cold blooded than he was.

Jaime didn't move, and the silence between them lasted a beat too long to be normal.

"I need your advice." she said suddenly.

"Oh?" He attempted to turn to look at her – in fact he thought she would release him so they could face one another, but she pressed more firmly into his back, and reinforced her position by placing her left arm under his and pressing her hand to the center of his chest.

Held there with absolutely no desire to free himself, he stared at his four telephones, which he earnestly hoped would not ring.

"Yeah. I have this…friend." she began. "She's about my age, and she's just getting her life sorted out. Putting the puzzle of life together, you know?"

"Uh huh." It was difficult to concentrate on what she was saying, the words crowded out of his head by all the questions jostling around in there, not to mention the added distraction of the scent of her hair and the weight of her beloved body against his. That anxious quaver was present in her voice – a sound that always made him want to rise up and defend her from all perils, whether it be a speeding ticket or a vicious enemy agent. Without yet knowing what she was talking about, he felt she needed reassurance. He placed his bandaged hand over hers and held it there against his chest, steadying her against him.

"Well, things are different than she thought they would be, and something has happened that she didn't quite plan for – well, nobody planned for it actually. Life is what happens when you're making other plans. Isn't that what they say?"

"That is what they say." Oscar replied, focusing his mind to her words.

"She's been …seeing…this man… casually. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, because they both have other stuff going on…but she's realized it is a big deal. They're really different people - but they understand each other… and they trust each other … doesn't that sound like a good basis for a relationship to you?"

"It does." he agreed, letting go of the breath he realized he had held through her entire speech.

"And there's something else … really deep … I – she can't describe it… their souls fit together… something like that."

"Really."

"Yeah, they've never talked about it, but she thinks he might feel the same way. She's not sure. He's very good at keeping secrets, this guy."

"Is that right?" Oscar asked slowly, his heart racing, though he wished it wouldn't. He could see the contour of her face from the corner of his eye. She was blinking a lot.

"Anyway," Jaime continued unsteadily, "she's not sure if she should bring it up with him, because she's worried maybe he doesn't really want any more from her – that he likes to keep her sort of ... compartmentalized, so she doesn't complicate his life. What do you think she should do?"

Oscar gulped, and pulled her right hand close to him, effectively wrapping her around him. "Well…if this friend of yours is anything like you…" he said slowly, "the guy have to be made of lead not to have some very strong feelings about her - feelings he might keep hidden." The words came out of his mouth before they formed in his brain, and as he heard them he wished he could pull them back in again – what if she really was talking about a friend?

"You think?" she said, her voice faltering. She cleared her throat. "And, well, you might be able to relate to this…but he's a terrible workaholic. Works all the time - day and night. And she's wondering – even if he does want her, does he have time for her?"

"Oh, he has time for her." Oscar answered quickly. He took a breath in an attempt to regain his rapidly disintegrating composure. "You have to remember he might…work all the time because it keeps him from…being lonely. That's possible, you know."

"You think he might be lonely?"

"I have my suspicions."

"It's a really important job. Really important."

"An important job can't keep him from loneliness. Sometimes a person might need the right…motivation…to change their priorities."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do."

She was quiet for a moment. He thought he felt her quiver. "She can be a real thorn in his side."

"Well, he's probably got it coming… I don't think he's good enough for her."

"Oh, that's not true at all." she said, with a wistful sigh. "He's very, very good - the best. But would they even be allowed? I mean…say she kind of works for him…"

"Allowed?" Oscar said incredulously, turning firmly enough in his chair to cause her to release him, "If he can't face that down, he's definitely not good enough. Come here." he added, gesturing to his lap.

"I don't want to hurt you…" Jaime protested.

"It'll be worth it." he replied, pulling her to him. She sat carefully, as though he were breakable. She herself looked so fragile and so uncertain it caused him a sharp pain in the centre of his chest.

He found himself unable to speak for a moment, looking into the eyes he thought he knew so well. There were depths in them he had yet to explore. He couldn't wait.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

The corner of her mouth twitched to the side, and she frowned. Leaning back, she nestled herself into him and rested her forehead against his cheek. "Once," she said thoughtfully, "when I was about six, Mom and Dad and I went on a road trip up the coast to Washington. In Oregon we stopped at this roadside attraction called Johannsens' Miniature Fantasy Land. I just loved it – they had these dioramas set up with miniature everything - people and houses and fences trees and horses – everything. There were piglets – I loved the piglets."

Oscar closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. Though he wanted to know what had happened with Steve, this was a moment to be cherished.

"Then when I was fourteen we did the same trip, and I begged them to stop again, for old time's sake. They told me not to be silly and that I was too old. Daddy said, "You can't go back, honey." He was always saying stuff like that, and I was really mad, because I took him literally. Well, I just wouldn't let it go, so they relented and of course Daddy was right. It wasn't magic anymore. I've been thinking about him a lot in the last few days. I'm not saying my love for Steve was anything like Johannsen's Miniature Fantasy Land, " she said with a rueful laugh, "but you can't go back. It's in the past now. It's a wonderful memory and I'm much richer for it, but I'm not the same person anymore. I love someone else."

Oscar's elation collided head on with his sympathy for his friend. "Poor Steve." he said.

"Steve is … resilient. I never did tell him I got my memory back. I will someday … so I can apologize."

"Apologize?"

"For what I put him through."

"Well you didn't do it on purpose." Oscar replied, instantly defensive on her behalf.

"Still." Jaime said. "I want him to know it's not water off a duck's back. He's seeing an astronaut right now…someone named Kelly?"

"Right. Kelly. Nice girl." He had very little interest in Kelly Woods at this moment. What he really wanted was to run his hand up Jaime's arm, to touch the soft skin at the back of her neck, but his hands were useless. Instead he hugged her a little tighter.

"Does this mean…" he asked tentatively, "that I don't have to… share you… anymore?"

"Share me?"

"With a cop or a ranger or a bull rider or…"

She smiled gently. "Oh…do I hear jealousy?"

"Well, hell yes!"

"I'm sorry." she said with a heartbreaking sincerity, running her fingers down his face, "I didn't think you cared that much. They all paled next to you anyway, if you want to know the truth." Looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, "I don't want anyone but you, Oscar." Her breath was warm on his skin as she gently kissed his cheek. "I hope you're okay with that."

"I'm definitely okay with that." A delicious lightheadedness was enveloping him. He moved his lips closer to hers.

"Now there's something I need to know." she said, sitting up suddenly, with an indignant frown.

"What?"

"Are you capable of relaxing? Do you always jump out of bed so you can get back to work? Could we spend the night together? Is it possible that we could just…hang around… for hours on end, with no plans, just you and me?"

"Oh…" Oscar said with a sheepish grin, "that was my little strategy…so I could pretend you hadn't wormed your way into my heart. I'm sorry. I…wasn't very nice. You can't imagine how hard it was for me to do that. Physically painful."

"Glad to hear it." she replied, maintaining a slightly indignant air.

"Jaime…you…I'm…I…" Where was that inner poet? He was lost for words, transfixed by those green eyes. She looked at him so lovingly – trustingly. It was more than he had ever hoped for.

"What?" she asked gently.

He was sure he would never be able to tell her the depths of his love for her – but he would have to try. "Every minute I'm with you is the best minute of my life – this is the best minute of my life – and every minute without you is miserable – a purgatory. I mean it. I am desperately in love with you."

"Then we see things just the same way." she whispered, tears shining in her eyes. She took his battered face between her hands, and kissed him with all the tenderness she had suppressed for far too long. He felt as solid and as real under her fingertips as he ever had, but still, somehow, she could have sworn that he melted.