Jonathan sat, mouth agape, at Amanda's revelation. The shock drained all the moisture from his mouth. His tongue stuck to his soft palate as he tried to swallow, eliciting a small clicking sound from his throat with the effort. Amanda's lips were moving, but her voice was replaced by the deafening silence roaring in his ears. "What," he managed to eke out.

"I'm pregnant," Amanda repeated, trying to gauge his reaction.

Jonathan nodded, indicating he had heard her. More precisely, he had seen her mouth form the words, her voice stretched out and warped like a record being played in slow motion. The gravity of her words still had yet to completely sink in. Speaking was out of the question as he struggled with comprehension. A thousand thoughts were running through his head, none of them able to take root and form coherently. He knew she would be expecting some kind of response, an action that seemed nearly impossible at the moment. He put on a tight-lipped smile, grasping for the right thing to say.

"Jonathan? Are you okay?" Amanda watched him curiously. He made several false attempts at speaking, his mouth opening and closing giving him a befuddled, fish-like appearance. It would have been sort of cute if not for the fact that she had just dropped a bombshell on him.

The questions finally broke him out of his mental paralysis. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Are you okay?"

"Now that I'm used to the idea, I am. Something clearly you are not yet," she tried to laugh it off. It came out stunted and forced.

Jonathan let out his own uncomfortable laugh. "Guilty."

"Well, at least you're honest." Her statement was laced with a bitterness she couldn't keep reigned in.

"Hey, give me a break. I've had all of thirty seconds to get used to the idea. You've had...How long have you known?"

"A couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks," he echoed.

"More or less."

Jonathan persisted in hiding the hurt he felt at being kept in the dark. "How come you didn't tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to be absolutely sure. I took like three tests before I even believed it. And I didn't know how I felt about it. I couldn't expect to dump it on you without having worked it out for myself first."

"And how do you feel about it?"

"A little weird, but okay I guess. I was freaked at first, though," she confessed.

"Amanda, you should have told me as soon as you found out," he gently admonished. "You shouldn't have had to go it alone. I've told you before, you need to let me be there for you." Jonathan was an expert at commanding eye contact with only one look.

"And is that what you want to do, Jonathan? Be there?" It took all her strength to meet his gaze. She was afraid of what his true feelings really were.

Instead of answering, he pushed himself off the couch and slowly knelt down in front of her. He slid his hand into hers and began balancing on one knee.

Amanda's heart fluttered as she realized what was about to happen. "Jonathan! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"The right thing." He stared up at her earnestly, innocently unaware of the foolishness of his hasty gesture.

Before he could finish, she abruptly cut him off. "But is it for the right reasons?"

"What do you mean?" He was clearly baffled.

"A baby is not enough of a reason to get married. I'm in love with you. Are you in love with me?" Her directness surprised even herself. They had danced around the issue many times, but the circumstances had forced her hand.

"Of course I love you." The conversation was taking a surreal and destructive turn. Jonathan was desperately trying to steer it back into neutral territory, but Amanda was unrelenting.

"That's not what I asked you," she exclaimed. "I asked if you were in love with me." His brief hesitation told her all she needed to know. She sighed sadly. "You are an amazing guy, Jonathan. When you give your heart away, you give it completely and forever. The problem is, the person who has it has no use for it anymore."

The realization dawned on him, slamming into him like a brick wall. "No, dammit, this has nothing to do with Lily!"

"I'm competing with memories. I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"This has nothing to do with Lily - or Ava, for that matter." He was on the verge of pleading. "It has everything to do with me."

Her sadness was quickly being replaced by anger and frustration. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jonathan sagged down to the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. He began a lazy rocking motion that he was unaware of. "I'm not even sure I'm capable of feeling the love you're describing." He tilted his head up towards the ceiling, exhaling slowly with his admission. Revealing insights into his true self always seemed to cause him to avert his eyes. Whether it was in shame or embarrassment, or something else entirely, Amanda wasn't sure.

Her anger had not diminished, but her curiosity won out. "What do you mean?"

"Up until a couple of years ago, the only love, the only kindness I ever got was from Ryan and Erin. Other than that, there was only anger and bruises and yelling and criticism and..." he trailed off, not needing to fill in the blanks. " How can you get love out of that?" The eyes dropped to meet hers and then stared back up at the ceiling once again.

Amanda shook her head sadly. "I don't know. But you have you figure it out. Not for me, but for yourself - and for this baby."

"I've been trying. I just don't know how." His pained expression threatened to break her heart. As much as she loved him, she could not get married to him if the feeling wasn't reciprocated. And if they both weren't in it for the long haul, then what were they doing? She didn't know how much longer she could be in relationship-limbo with him.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Like I told you in the beginning there is no pressure. When you decide what you really want, what you really want to do, I'll still be here." Amanda kissed him lightly on the cheek and slowly walked out, the door clicking shut softly behind her.

Jonathan stayed crouched on the floor, the waning light cutting patterns on the hard wood floor. The time that passed was irrelevant. He hadn't even noticed that his brother had yet to return with dinner. He sat watching the dust particles dance in the last of the sunlight, needing to think things through, but not really able to think of anything at all. The numbness had set in. He wrapped himself in it like a security blanket.

That was how Ryan found him when he finally arrived home with an armload of food. "Well, I hope you're hungry because they screwed up the order so many times I think they gave me everything on the menu but 'thank you' and 'please come again.' Ryan finished unloading the bags into the kitchen and slipped out of his coat. "You okay, Hockett?"

Jonathan had managed to hoist himself back up on the couch before Ryan fully saw him on the floor. He wanted to avoid any questions he could right now. There were things he had to sort through in his own head before he could subject himself to the inevitable third degree. He put on what he hoped was a convincing poker facer. "Yeah, sure."

"Are you ready to eat? I for one am starving."

Jonathan accepted his plate without commenting. He watched as Ryan half devoured and half inhaled his food. He had always marveled at how much Ryan could eat. A few morsels found their way to his mouth, but most of the food got picked over and pushed around on the plate.

Ryan looked up from his dinner long enough to realize that his brother had hardly touched his. "Are you feeling okay? You really haven't eaten that much."

"No, I'm fine." Jonathan plastered on a small smile to put his brother at ease, a ruse he had perfected over a lifetime. "I'm just a little tired is all. In fact, I think I'm going to turn in early." Jonathan leaned forward and placed his plate on the coffee table and started to rise.

"Aw, man. I rented a movie and everything. But if you're that tired, I guess it can wait."

Jonathan hesitated on the arm of the couch, debating. He could continue on upstairs and be alone to untangle the confused mess in his head, or he could stay and watch the movie and make Ryan happy. He laid back down on the couch, figuring that if they were watching a movie at least Ryan's attention would be focused elsewhere and he wouldn't be the object of any brotherly scrutiny. "No, it's okay. I'll stay."

"Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to..."

"I wouldn't want to see you disappointed. I hate it when you sulk," he said flatly.

"Yeaaaah, it's not pretty," Ryan agreed as he fired up the DVD player and inserted the disc.

Jonathan made an effort to follow the plot, but it was futile. His thoughts circled furiously, wrapping around themselves until they were indistinguishable from one another. His mind eventually surrendered and drifted off, his body soon following.

The darkness enveloped him, swallowing him into its oblivion. He floated on a sea of nothingness, blissfully. But then the dreams invaded - they always did. There was no escaping their wrath.

Jonathan heard the loud crack, but there was no pain. He brought his hand up to his cheek tentatively, the fingers lightly touching the emerging mark. The tingling was beginning to subside giving way to a raw stinging sensation.

"Close that pathetic trap of yours before I shut it for you," Patrick warned, stepping forward with his hand raised menacingly once again.

He hadn't even realized that his mouth was hanging open from the shock of the assault. He had been playing quietly in his room, trying desperately to stay out of his father's line of sight, knowing that when he came home from a night out it could only end badly if he didn't hide himself away. So he stayed locked away in the bedroom - his safe haven. But it had ceased to be so tonight.

His mother, was as usual, by dinnertime, passed out on the couch leaving himself and Erin to fend for themselves. Jonathan had picked up the empty bottles and stashed them in the trash before his father could see them. On these nights when Patrick came home in a drunken haze, without Gail to knock around, he usually sought out Jonathan to "have some fun", as he put it.

The headboard now dug uncomfortably into his back. He had pressed himself up against it as far as he could in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and his father. There was nowhere left to run.

The edges of his vision blurred suddenly as he took a blow to the head. It sent him sprawling off the bed. He got to his knees and scrambled backwards until he hit the wall with a muted thump. He was trapped, cowering in the corner. Patrick advanced on him threateningly, but backed off at the last second. "Aw, you're not worth it."

He tried to keep still and hold his breath, but he could not stop the huge sigh of relief that escaped. The noise caused Patrick to turn back around, and Jonathan winced at his mistake. This time there was no reprieve. The smacks rained down over and over, increasing in their force. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blows, praying for it to come to an end, never knowing when it would finally stop.

Eventually he was able to withdraw into himself. Detachment was the only way to make it through the increasing episodes. He no longer felt the fist on his face. He only felt the rage building in him until he thought it would erupt out of him like molten lava. It was only then that he realized that he was longer on the receiving end. When he opened his eyes he saw a little boy crouched in a corner, the spitting image of him at that age. Jonathan looked up at his hand and stared in horror as he saw it was raised, poised to strike. He gagged on his revulsion, stifling a scream.

Ryan looked over halfway through the movie and was surprised to see Jonathan's eyes closed. The even rise and fall of his brother's chest indicated he was in a deep sleep. "I guess you were really tired, Hockett," Ryan muttered to himself.

The movie briefly captured his attention again. He figured it would disturb Jonathan if he tried to coax him upstairs to his old room so he let him sleep. Ryan was content to recline in the chair, keeping one eye on the end of the movie and one eye on his brother.

As the closing credits were rolling, Jonathan's breathing took on a more urgent pace and a small moan escaped his lips. Ryan turned off the movie and studied his brother in the blue glow of the television screen. His brow was furrowed. He twitched once, and then fell still. Backlit by the blue light, it gave him the illusion of an otherworldly appearance.

Ryan took a step forward, mired in indecision by Jonathan's unrest. He watched as his brother tossed his head from side to side as if an invisible hand were pushing him. He had no idea how accurate that thought really was. Jonathan thrashed, throwing the covers off as he cried out suddenly, breaking Ryan's indecisiveness. He rushed over to the couch, kneeling beside his brother. "Jon. Jonathan, wake up!" He shook his shoulder, being rougher than he intended to.

Jonathan awoke with a start, scrambling backwards as he had in the dream until the couch cushions groaned in protest at the pressure he exerted on them. He took in his surroundings, unsure of where he was at first. For a moment the only noise that punctuated the silence was Jonathan's heavy breathing. He made a sound low in his throat as he struggled to gain control. Ryan stepped into his view and his body relaxed, realizing where he was. He was in the Penthouse. It all came rushing back, the images of the dream still lingering just beneath the surface of his consciousness.

Ryan felt the unmistakable trembling beneath his fingertips. "Jon, you're shaking."

Instead of denying it, Jonathan said simply, "It'll pass."

"This has happened before." It was a statement, not a question.

Jonathan sighed and nodded reluctantly.

"That must have been some dream." When Jonathan did not respond, Ryan pressed him. "What was it that's got you so spooked?"

"Just a bad dream." Jonathan did not elaborate, looking at everything in the Penthouse except Ryan.

"Yeah, I can see that. Want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied tersely

"Okay." Ryan rubbed his hand across the top of his head, at a loss of how to proceed. If he grilled him too hard, Jonathan would dig in his heels and shut down completely. But given the last few months, he couldn't ignore it, either. "Let me rephrase that - maybe you should talk about it. Has it been - has it been happening a lot?"

"It's nothing new." Jonathan didn't directly answer his question, but his reply was telling nonetheless.

"So, you obviously don't want to talk to me. Maybe...maybe talking to someone else would help?" Ryan knew he was treading on dangerous ground with his suggestion, but there seemed no way around it.

"Like a shrink," Jonathan spat out. His eyes narrowed and bore into Ryan accusingly.

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to say, Hockett. But you won't talk to me..."

"It's not like it helped the last few times," Jonathan challenged, crossing his arms against his chest in a defensive pose.

"Those were different circumstances. You were misdiagnosed. You needed a medical doctor, not a therapist, but -"

"But now you're not so sure," he finished. "Great, my brother thinks I'm going off the deep end - again."

"No. No I don't, but at this point I'd say worried is an understatement."

"Stop worrying about me. I'm fine," Jonathan deadpanned. Those two words were so ingrained in his vernacular it was an automatic response. Ryan had lost count at how many times those words had passed his brother's lips.

"Jesus, Jon! No you're not! Are you even listening to yourself? You wake up terrified, in a cold sweat - not the first time apparently. You barely eat." Jonathan hung his head and hugged himself, as if making himself smaller and less visible could keep him out from under Ryan's microscopic view. "Yeah, I noticed. You nearly took a dive off the Fusion rooftop yesterday. Hell, a couple months ago you stopped taking your medication and landed yourself in the hospital. You have got to stop punishing yourself."

"I am not punishing myself." His words were clipped and angry, but they lacked any real conviction.

Jonathan started to rise, but Ryan prevented him from doing so by placing his hands on his shoulders. "Yes, you are, Hockett. Yes, you are. Erin's dead and there is nothing, NOTHING you could have done to save her. I wish like hell either one of us could have, but we couldn't. Nothing we did or didn't do could have changed it."

"Stop. Stop it, Ryan!" He tried to turn his head away, twisting away from Ryan's grasp, but his brother held firm.

"You beat yourself up all the time for things you have no control over. It has to stop. It has to stop now. The past is over. It's done. You have to stop reliving it."

"You think it's that easy," Jonathan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave with each syllable.

"No, I know it's not, but Dad's dead, Hockett. Dad's dead. Dad's been dead for years and you're still taking the beatings." Jonathan jerked and whipped his head around, and it clicked into place for Ryan what his brother had been dreaming about. He sucked in air sharply as a new light was shed on the situation. "That's what it was, wasn't it?"

"Don't," Jonathan protested, but the fight had gone out of him.

"I have to, Hockett. I have to." Ryan cupped the back of Jonathan's neck with his hand, a loving gesture he had used many times over the years. "Those aren't just dreams, are they? They're nightmares - nightmares you lived once. Nightmares you're still living."

Jonathan's face contorted in pain. His lower lip quivered slightly. Ryan pulled him closer and wrapped his arms protectively around his little brother. "It's over, Hockett. It's over," he whispered.

Ryan felt his shirt dampening as the tears were absorbed. The movement was barely perceptible as Jonathan shook his head against Ryan's chest."For you, maybe." Jonathan pulled away, but kept his head down, unable to look Ryan in the eye. "Not for me. It's never over for me. I still see it in my dreams... when I'm awake. It doesn't - it never ends."

"How," Ryan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, "can I help you make it end?"

Jonathan swung his head slowly from side to side and then tipped his chin towards the ceiling, his eyes brimming. "You can't," his voice was thick. "This is something I have to figure out for myself. I've practically spent my whole life trying to figure out how. And I'm not sure I ever will."

"You will, Hockett. You will." Ryan reached out and drew his brother back into a hug. He kissed him on the top of the head, something that he hadn't done since his brother was little, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. He felt a familiar tightening in his chest. When he brushed his hand against his cheek, he was surprised when it came back moist with his own tears.

They stayed in that position for so long that Ryan thought Jonathan had fallen back to sleep until his muffled voice reached Ryan's ears. "You're such a good father. How - how did you manage that? You know, given the way we grew up?"

Ryan was so taken aback by the random question that he didn't know how to answer him at first. So he countered with his own question. "What made you think of that?"

Jonathan leaned back against the arm of the couch and tried to appear nonchalant. "No reason. Just wondering."

"Uh-huh." Ryan was suspicious, but he couldn't put his finger on why exactly. "I didn't think I would be at first. You know the whole story with the vasectomy and all, and what I did to Greenlee. In fact, I was downright petrified. I spent so much of my energy trying not to become a father, and putting an end to the Lavery line that if I would have put that energy into being a better person..."

"So what made you change your mind?"

"Well, when Spike came along - and then Emma - that made it easy. You can't believe how much you can just fall in love with your kids."

"But before Spike was born," Jonathan prompted.

"It was you." Ryan did not miss the doubt that flashed through his brother's eyes. He looked at him long and hard, willing Jonathan to believe him. " I told you the truth about that. Everything we went through in Nova Scotia, it made me see that just because we came from evil doesn't mean we're destined to repeat that evil. Our problems don't have to be genetic or handed down. We have a choice."

"No. No, it wasn't me," Jonathan argued. Each of his words were punctuated by a shake of his head. "It was all you. You saved my life - not the other way around."

"What you saved was much more important. You saved my soul - my future, Hockett. You gave me back my life."

"And you gave me back mine."

"So I guess we're even." Ryan's newly lightened tone was contradictory to Jonathan's somber mood. "Hey, what else is on your mind?"

"I just hope I make the right choices - like you."

"I didn't always make the right choices." Ryan admitted, but he couldn't keep the puzzlement out of his voice. "Hockett, what are you talking about? Forgive me, but I'm a little lost here."

"Me too, Ryan. Me too" Jonathan opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of how to go on. "I'm just trying to figure some things out is all."

"I guess it wouldn't do any good to ask you what, would it?"

"No." Jonathan's voice was so soft that he all but mouthed the words.

He rose from his position on the couch, and this time Ryan did not try to stop him. When he reached the staircase he turned and addressed his brother. "Thanks, Ryan. Don't worry, okay? Really. I'll be fine"

Ryan watched his brother ascend the steps until he disappeared around the corner. He reached back and grabbed a bottle of water off the table. Instead of opening it, he twisted the cap around and around, trying to work out in his mind what Jonathan could have meant.

He was troubled at how easily Jonathan transitioned from virtually one emotional extreme to the next in such a short period of time. Ryan saw through his thin reassurances. The newfound knowledge of the nightmares was worrisome enough, but the emotional lability that followed compounded his concern. As bad as the anguish was to witness, the eery calm that followed was somehow worse.

He was terrified that it would all come to a disastrous climax in the very near future. And if that happened he knew he couldn't live with himself, but at the same time he felt powerless against the invisible enemy that was plaguing his brother.

The demons within himself had been wrestled with and conquered. And Jonathan was right - no one could do it for him. It was a road he had to go alone. Ryan had come out the other side, scarred and drained, but whole. Jonathan, on the other hand, seemed to break through to the light only to be yanked back again and again, beaten down by some unseen force. Each time he got sucked back into the darkness, the Jonathan that reemerged was a shadow of what was, his spirit more worn and eroded by the neverending struggle. Soon there would be nothing left to save. It was this slow death that Ryan could not bear to witness.

Jonathan had unknowingly been the key to Ryan's redemption - a miracle that he had been shown when on the brink of self-destruction. He had no delusions that he could reciprocate the favor to his brother. Jonathan had to find his own talisman that would be his salvation. Ryan prayed he would find it before it was too late.

All Ryan could do was stand by and watch. A man of action, the forced inertia was barely tolerable. He picked at the label on the water bottle, listening to Jonathan's rhythmic footsteps above lulling him into a restless sleep.

Jonathan's agitation swelled until he thought it would burst out of him. He paused listlessly at the window, searching the night sky. Pale streaks of grey were beginning to paint the horizon, signaling the daybreak.

He had stayed up the rest of the night, not daring to lay his head down for fear of falling back asleep and being revisited by the bad dreams. There was hardly a night that went by without succumbing to one, a result of him stuffing the past down, trying to compact it into his subconscious. But now they were spilling out, invading his waking mind, disturbing everyone he came into contact with.

So he walked the floors of his old room hour after hour. Over to the window, back past the bed and on to closet, and then the pattern started again. It didn't take him long to remember which floorboards gave under his weight. He sidestepped them expertly to avoid waking Ryan.

Ryan. The guilt threatened to overwhelm him as he closed his eyes against the memory of his brother's frightened expression. He had hoped and prayed that the dreams would leave him temporarily while staying with Ryan. He shouldn't have been so naive - there was never a reprieve. The dreams had only increased in frequency and intensity. And because of that his brother had unwittingly discovered the secret he had been painstakingly trying to hide.

The way Ryan looked at him with a mixture of love and sorrow and concern twisted his insides until they physically hurt. Ryan should not be condemned to be his brother's keeper for the rest of his life, but that was the role he had assumed. And in his vulnerability he had accepted his role of the helpless little brother. But it was time for him to be responsible for himself. He had a child on the way. And Amanda...

Wincing, he called up the expression on Amanda's face after one of his episodes. He knew he had scared her badly. Her light touch was infused with tremors of fear, matching the rhythm of his own trembling. No matter what he said to her, he could not convince her of his well-being.

Her once smooth features were now deepened with worry lines - worry lines he knew he was to blame for. Amanda deserved better than that. She deserved a man that was not weighed down by the baggage of his past, a man yet unmarred by the tragedies that life had brought him. And his child deserved better than that.

He had waited his whole life for a happy family filled with love and not disdain, laughter and not curses. It's what he yearned for and strived for, what he had been searching for his entire life. He had had it for the briefest of moments only to have the rug cruelly ripped out from under him, and now it was within his reach once again. And he was determined to do whatever it took to not let it slip through his fingers. He had almost lost Amanda once. Never again could he let that go without fighting for it. The only question was how.

Ryan was right about one thing. They both had a choice, and he was choosing to fight. He wouldn't succumb to ghosts of the past. He wouldn't give in this time. He would find a way - or die trying.

The week had passed slowly for both of them. Neither brother was avoiding the other, but since that night they merely co-existed. Conversation stayed superficial, neither one willing to directly address what was hanging over their heads. Jonathan could see the worry in Ryan's stolen glances despite his efforts to put on a cheery facade, and it made him uncomfortable.

Jonathan had kept up his end of the bargain, staying with Ryan the entire week. But the restlessness he exhibited was almost palpable. His bags were already packed and in the closet by the front door. He hadn't specifically told Ryan he was leaving when Annie and Emma returned, but it was understood.

The only sound this morning was the scraping of fork tines against the ceramic plates. Neither brother spoke, keeping the events of last week locked away. To Ryan's credit, he hadn't asked if Jonathan was okay, knowing what the answer would invariably be.

There was nothing left to say. Small talk was pointless and would be forced. Jonathan didn't quite understand why he hadn't told Ryan about the pregnancy, but for the moment he knew it was something he needed to keep private. It was something he had to work out for himself.

The entrance of Emma and Annie provided a welcome distraction. Ryan rose to greet his wife and help her with the bags as Emma ran over and jumped on Jonathan's lap. "Uncle Jon," she exclaimed. Her smile lit up the room as she tightly clasped her hands behind his neck.

"Hi, Emmabear!" Jonathan wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. He closed his eyes and felt his heart lift a little holding her. Ryan had turned in time to see the reflection of Jon's face in the glass door. Lost in the moment, it was the most peaceful he had seen him in quite some time. The picture was bittersweet.

Emma pulled back from the hug and looked him over curiously. It took her a minute to see what was different. She put a finger on the freshly applied steri-strips, put there in lieu of the stitches only yesterday. "You've got a boo-boo."

"Yeah, I do."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not anymore."

She knelt on his lap and kissed his forehead. "There. All better," she giggled.

"Aw, thank you. It's so much better now!" He gave her a tight squeeze before she hopped down.

Annie took her hand. "C'mon, Princess Emma. Let's get this stuff upstairs and get you washed up."

Ryan stepped forward. "No, it's alright. I got her. Why don't you relax?"

Annie watched Ryan and Emma until they were out of sight. "It's hard to argue with that." She plopped down on the couch. "So what happened? Are you really okay?"

Jonathan let out a nervous laugh. "I fell. Other than feeling stupid, I'm fine. Really."

"Uh-huh." She looked at him warily, but decided to let the matter drop. "Emma really wore me out. I think I'm going to go take a long, hot bath and take a nap."

"That sounds like a great idea." Ryan had startled them both having slipped down the steps noiselessly.

Annie jumped up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed by. Ryan grinned at her like a lovesick school boy, watching her as she climbed the stairs. Ryan shifted his attention to Jonathan who had a strange look on his face - one of almost longing. "You know, you can have that too, Hockett."

Jonathan's eyes widened and he looked like the kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Wh -? I have to go," he said abruptly.

"Is it something I said?"

"No. I just have a lot of errands to run"

"Hockett, why don't you stay-"

"No, Ryan. I can't. I have a lot of things that need to be taken care of." It wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't being forthcoming, either. Jonathan took three quick steps to the closet and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'll get the rest later, okay?"

"Jonathan -" Ryan almost pleaded with him to sit down and stay with him, but he knew it would be futile. Instead he offered a concerned warning. "Be careful." Jonathan only looked at him before rushing out the door. It slammed inadvertently.

Annie came back down at the sound and registered Jonathan's absence. "What was that all about?" When Ryan didn't answer, she tried again. "Where did Jonathan run off to so quickly?"

"I don't know."

"What really happened, Ryan? Is he okay?"

Ryan stared long and hard at the door, lost in his own thoughts, reliving the past couple weeks. "I don't know."

Jonathan drove about aimlessly for quite some time. He had tried to fill up his time with mundane errands like he had told Ryan, but his mind wouldn't rest. He'd stopped at the bank, made a few purchases, but nothing could keep his thoughts from going back to where he did not want them.

The accelerator was pressed almost down to the floorboard. The street signs whizzed by, the words almost a blur. He checked the speedometer and eased up, not wanting to risk being pulled over.

He made a sharp right turn and had to reach over to right the container that had fallen over. The car swerved before he brought it back to the center of the lane, causing the liquid to slosh against the sides in large waves.

"What the hell am I doing," he said aloud.

Briefly, he had second thoughts, but it was too late to turn back. He was committed. He had gone over all the options in his head, and there seemed no other alternative. The only course left was drastic. He had to go back to the beginning to see it through to the end. With renewed purpose, he made a u-turn. He had one more stop to make.

Jackson Montgomery shuffled a few files around and leaned back in his chair, it creaking under his lanky frame. He peered over his reading glasses at the woman sitting across from him trying to make sense of her broken account of the latest scrape she had gotten herself into. It was days like these that he was grateful he had been forced out of the DA position.

His patience was wearing thin, and it took all he had to even lend half an ear. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, digging into them painfully to wake himself up. Groaning inwardly, he tried to get a word in edgewise, but there was no break in her stream of endless babble.

His attention was diverted by loud voices coming from the lobby. "He's in a meeting with a client. You can't go in there!"

The rebuttal was muffled, but his secretary stood her ground. "You need an appointment. Mr. Montgomery is not available."

His interest was piqued for the first time in the midst of all the drudgery. The door flew open, and he was mildly surprised to see the figure standing in the doorway. "Jonathan."

Jonathan's wild eyes held his, and then registered the third person in the room. "Jack, I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Can't this wait?" His stern voice was mostly for show.

"No. No, it can't. I'm sorry." He directed the apology to the woman.

"Well, I think we're just about finished here. I'll draw up the documents and let you review them." His client didn't take the hint at first, but he moved over to the door intending to show her the way out. Reluctantly, she rose and exited the office on her own.

Jonathan took a step in, but remained standing. Jack closed the door, taking in his agitated disposition. "Jonathan, do you mind telling me what this is about?"

Jonathan took a second to collect himself. "I'm sorry to bust in on you like this. I should have called first."

"Actually, I think you did me a favor. You rescued me from certain death from boredom," Jack joked.

His smile left his face as he took note of the man standing in front of him. Jonathan's jaw was clenched and his lips were pursed as if he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. His hands opened and closed in a nervous tic, his nostrils flaring with each harsh exhale.

"Why don't you have a seat and tell me what this is all about?"

"No, thanks." Jonathan looked up to the ceiling and dropped his head back down. The new intensity in his eyes chilled Jack. The last time he had seen that look had been after Erin had died, and he had been blinded with rage, slipping back down the slippery slope into that darkness he had fought so hard to crawl out of. It was one of the reasons Jack had been so adamantly against his relationship with his daughter. That Jonathan had scared the hell out of him and everyone else in town, but what he had learned in his misjudgement was that it scared the hell out of Jonathan, as well.

Jack remained silent, allowing Jonathan to formulate his thoughts and explain his reason for being there. He didn't have to wait long. "Whatever I say in this office will be in confidence, right? Like attorney-client privilege?"

"Jonathan, are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Jack, I need your help."