Author's Note: Okay, longest chapter of my life. I hadn't meant for it to be quite this long, but here it is. As always reviews would be appreciated.

Marissa Cooper was sitting on the side of the road just outside of Chino when her phone rang. She sighed and rolled her eyes. There was only one person it could be and Marissa wasn't in the mood to talk to her. She was furious with her mother and if Julie couldn't give her space then Marissa would just have to take it. Thanksgiving was a time for family and at the moment Marissa's had never felt farther from her.

If Ryan Atwood hadn't come into her life she doubted she would have managed the past few months alone. The fact that he had saved her from an overdose was not lost on her but it was more than that. Ryan had been her anchor; somebody she knew would be there no matter what she did because Kid Chino had seen it all before. There was no judgment in his eyes, no awkward glances, or pointed whispers and sniggers in the hallway. And she offered him the same. Who he was or what he did before he came to Newport didn't matter to her. He liked to act invincible, but Marissa saw through that the first time she'd met him. His eyes, such expressive pools of blue, gave everything away.

Which was why she was sitting by the side of the road. Something was wrong. She knew it, but for the life of her couldn't figure out what it was. Ryan had never been much of a talker and in their car ride to the gas station he'd been more tight lipped than ever. Not alarming by itself, she knew. Especially considering the day he'd had. Walking down memory lane was never easy, but for Ryan it had to be down right agonizing. She hadn't really understood how much he'd been through until today, how much he had been forced to deal with on his own. It made her own life seem easy and breezy in comparison.

Still, there had been something more to his silence today. She hadn't missed the way he'd winced whenever she hit a pothole or a speed bump. And she certainly hadn't missed the fine sheen of sweat that had broken out across his skin nor the way his hand kept straying to his left side. But, she hadn't seen anything wrong with him. There hadn't been any blood as far as she could see and he'd obviously managed to get out of the car all right. Maybe he'd cracked a rib or something. Marissa imagined a cracked rib would be painful, but surely it wasn't serious. Surely it would be an easy fix.

Suddenly, Marissa wasn't so sure and had to fight the urge to turn the car around and find Ryan. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't do that. He'd asked her to let him do this on his own and she had to respect his wishes, even if she hated it. Ryan was a smart kid. Smart enough to seek out help if he needed it, especially for something as explainable as a cracked rib. There was nothing suspicious in an injury like that. It could have happened anywhere; no reason for a doctor to think he'd been injured in a fight. He'd wrap his ribs for a few weeks and that would be that.

Except the nagging wouldn't go away. She tried to run through the sequence of events in her mind to see if she could remember where Ryan might have sustained such an injury. She had pulled up right as the greasy mechanic had swung Ryan around and slammed him into the chain link fence. It could have happened there, she supposed, but it didn't fit. Ryan hadn't cried out, hadn't even grimaced at the mistreatment. Surely cracking a rib would elicit some kind of response from her boyfriend. He wasn't Superman and, as much as Seth would argue with her, he wasn't made of steel either. The only other blow the thugs had gotten in was the punch to Ryan's face and that certainly wouldn't have caused damage to his ribs. So, unless he'd been hit before she'd pulled up, she had to rule out her cracked rib theory.

Her cellphone rang again and Marissa grit her teeth. She didn't want to have to deal with this at the moment, but Julie Cooper was not a woman who took rejection well. It would be easier facing her over the phone anyways instead of facing her in person. If she looked at her mother she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep from slapping her across the face. She had never been a violent woman before, but things changed. Maybe Ryan was rubbing off on her.

She rummaged through her purse and pulled the phone from the front pocket. Looking down at the number caused her to pause. That wasn't Julie Cooper's number. That was Kirsten's. Why was Kirsten Cohen calling her? The little flame of worry in her belly kindled into a full fire, but she ignored it. Just because Kirsten was calling her didn't mean that anything was wrong. Maybe Ryan had dropped his phone and she wanted to know where they were but couldn't reach him. Or maybe he just didn't feel like answering. Both were feasible. Still, her hand shook as she flipped the phone open and put the speaker to her ear.

"Hello?" she said quietly. "Kirsten?"

"Marissa," Kirsten whispered. "Thank God. Where are you?"

"I'm right outside of Chino. Why?"

"The gas station where you dropped Ryan off. I need you to tell me where it is."

"Did you talk to Ryan?" Marissa asked. "I didn't think he would call you guys, but—"

"Marissa," Kirsten interrupted. "Please. Where is the gas station?"

"It was off Riverside," Marissa stammered. "I think. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Its Ryan," Kirsten said, close to tears. "He's hurt. Bad, I think. Sandy is on the phone with him now. I need to call an ambulance. Give me a second, Marissa. I'll call you back when I can."

And with that she was gone leaving only a disconnected tone in her wake. Marissa's heart had stopped. Ryan was hurt and she'd left him. Like an idiot she had trusted him instead of trusting her instincts. She could hear her breathing pick up, short panicked breaths that left her head swimming. She needed to calm down. She looked over at the half-eaten blueberry muffin she'd picked up from the gas station, but quickly dismissed it. It wouldn't do jack shit for her now. No, she needed something stronger. She had no alcohol and even if she had she wouldn't have allowed herself a sip because she knew that a sip would turn into two or three giant gulps. What would Ryan say if he ever found out she'd gotten wasted in his hour of need? The only other thing she had was the pack of cigarettes she knew Ryan hid in the little compartment on the passenger side door. A little nicotine would have to do the trick until Kirsten called back and told her what the hell was going on.

She opened the car door and put her feet on the asphalt. She didn't like the way her knees shook, but she took a deep breath and managed to walk around the car without falling over. Life was all about baby steps and Marissa had taken more of them today than she had her whole life. She almost cried in relief when she made it to the passenger side door throwing it open with the desperation of the dying.

Marissa never got her cigarette. She didn't even try as the scene before her scratched itself into her memory forever. Blood. Lots of blood. It had dried on the leather seat in little speed drips and if the smears around the curve of the seat were any indication Ryan had tried to wipe it off. It caked the carpet, the fibers turned brittle and crusty, and Marissa barely had time to turn to the side before the blueberry muffin and her lunch splattered all over the blacktop.

How could he have hid this from her? How could she have missed this? She had been so frightened and shell-shocked after their escape from the alley that she hadn't even thought about the way he'd entered the car. Now that she did, however, the pieces began to fit. Ryan had been halfway into the vehicle when he'd suddenly jerked forward, letting out an explosive breath, and sprawling into the front seat. She remembered the look on his face in that moment. The horrified recognition that had swept across it for the briefest moment before being replaced with his customary lack of expression.

"Oh God," she groaned. "Ryan, what the hell were you thinking?"

Surely he had realized the trouble he was in from the beginning. He had proved time and time again that he wasn't stupid and even the dumbest of men would know that a gunshot wound was bad. Marissa couldn't understand why he would lie to her, why he would try and hide something so serious from the girl that was supposed to be her girlfriend.

She shook her head. There wasn't time for thoughts. Ryan was in trouble and Marissa had to help him. She knew the last place he'd been and come hell or high water she was going to find him. And, if the bullet hadn't already done the job for her, she was going to kill him for lying to her. For putting her through this.

Marissa didn't even realize she was driving until somebody honked at her for swerving in front of them. She couldn't remember putting the keys in the ignition or pressing the gas pedal to the floor until the speedometer read eighty and counting. She must have blown through three or four stoplights and the fact that she wasn't pulled over or killed was a miracle in and of itself. She just wished that God, or whoever was pulling the strings up above, would stop favoring her and start favoring Ryan. The kid needed a little luck more than anyone she knew.

Marissa's phone rang and she almost crashed into a red Mustang in her haste to answer.

"Kirsten?" Marissa cried. "What is going on? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Kirsten said. Her voice was thick, like she was crying. "He was talking to me and then…he wouldn't answer me, Marissa. I couldn't hear him breathing."

"I am on my way there," Marissa heard herself saying as if through a tunnel. "Where was he?"

"In the bathroom," Kirsten answered tiredly. "We called an ambulance. They are on their way, but the closest hospital is thirty minutes away."

Marissa had never heard Kirsten's voice so hopeless and void of life. The woman had always been a statue of strength in Marissa's eyes and for that to be crumbling before her was more than she could bear. She hadn't known that Ryan meant so much to her. She didn't think Ryan knew either.

"I'll be there in five," Marissa said. "I'll find him, Kirsten. I'll—I'll—I don't know what I am going to do, but I am not going to let him die. I promise, Kirsten."

She shouldn't have promised something like that. She knew the second the words left her lips that she had made a mistake. If Ryan was as far gone as Kirsten said he was how could she possibly hope to do anything but comfort him while they waited for the paramedics to arrive? And if he died? God, Marissa wouldn't be able to handle that. She wouldn't be able to sit there and watch him leave her forever, but what other choice did she have? She couldn't leave him to face his fate alone. Not when he'd faced everything else with nobody to hold his hand or comfort him in his times of weakness.

Marissa could see the giant Phillips 66 sign up ahead. Her heart threatened to climb up her throat, but she swallowed hard and set her fear aside for another time. Ryan needed her and she wasn't going to fail him.

"I'm here," she told Kirsten. "I am going to find him and I'll call you as soon as I can."

"I can't lose him," she heard Kirsten whisper. "Not now. Not after he has brought my family back to life. He means too much."

"I know," Marissa said. "I know, Kirsten. He's brought me back to life to."

"Tell him I love him," Kirsten choked out. "Tell him I said Sandy was right about him. He'll know what it means."

"I will," Marissa promised. "I'll tell him, Mrs. Cohen. Ryan is strong. He can make it through this. And now he has a reason to. A family to come home to."

She heard Kirsten break down on the other end of the line and she knew their conversation was over. There was nothing Kirsten could do for Ryan at the moment and talking about it was only making an unexpected situation more of a reality. She understood that. Hell, she wished she could do the same thing, but she couldn't. This was her moment. This was the moment she had to grow up, not because she wanted to, but because someone depended on her to do so. Maybe that was what being an adult was all about; giving up an easier, more gratuitous life for something harsh and real because the ones you love need you. Which made her wonder if her mother had grown up at all and if Ryan had ever been anything other than an adult trapped in a kid's body.

She remembered the day on the pier they had spent together when Ryan had first arrived in Newport. She remembered the way his smile had been so timid in the beginning, like he was scared he was lost in a dream and would be forced to wake at his most vulnerable moment. The day went on and his smile grew until, finally, Marissa caught a glimpse of the young man he could have been had life been kinder. She watched him take pleasure in things Marissa took for granted everyday of her life and how something as simple as riding his bike up and down the pier with her and Seth lifted a burden from his shoulders she doubted he even knew he was carrying.

Seth, the unnervingly sweet but self-absorbed boy she hadn't given a second thought until Ryan arrived, talked about him as if he were a modern day Hercules. It was clear that Seth worshipped the very ground Ryan walked upon and would do anything short of murder if Ryan asked it of him. Marissa and Cohen had very few conversations that had involved anything other than his infatuation with Summer, but the ones that managed to escape his puppy love had been about Ryan. Seth had warned her more times than she could count that if she were to ever hurt him he would…well, he never actually got to the threat. It usually ended with him mumbling something Marissa couldn't understand and vacating the premises as fast as his legs could carry him, but the thought was there. The fact that Cohen had tried more than once to let her know of his loyalty to the bad boy from Chino made her realize just how serious Seth was. He may not be able to say the words to her, but she knew that if she were to mess things up with Ryan he would find a way to make her life miserable. She never bothered to tell him that if Ryan disappeared from her life she would be an empty shell anyways.

She wondered if Ryan knew the effect he had on people. She highly doubted it. Ryan never seemed to think much of himself and she wondered why. It was a question she would never ask him because she feared what his answer would be. Seeing Ryan on somebody's fridge dressed as Snoopy was one thing because it allowed her the illusion that maybe some small part of Ryan's life wasn't all bad, but the answer to that question could derail that small glimmer of hope she had. Seth had told her a few of the things Ryan had told him when he thought his adoptive brother wasn't listening and all of them had brought a bitter taste to her mouth.

She wanted to hold him close to her and tell him she was there, but she knew this would push him away. Ryan didn't like to be touched almost as much as he didn't like to talk. Intimacy was difficult for him and she thought it always would be. Lustful make-out sessions on the pool house bed were easy. Lust required nothing of him and he could make it feel like heaven, but Marissa knew, even as her hands twined in his hair and her lips moved against his, that he was putting nothing of himself into the kiss. There was heat and passion, but no Ryan. Sometimes he kissed her with the desperation of a man dying of thirst and she was the water and Marissa wondered what was going through his head in those moments. It was another question she would never ask, another part of the Atwood puzzle she would have to wait to piece together.

She had no doubt that he wanted to be with her. Those eyes told her everything she needed to know, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Marissa wanted Ryan to trust her like she trusted him, wanted him to confide in her the way she confided in him. She wanted it, but knew it would never happen. Not yet, anyways. He'd been burned one too many times for that. Even Seth had mentioned his general reluctance to tell the youngest Cohen anything too personal. The fact that Ryan had even mentioned Trey to her had been surprising, but she could see how much it cost for him to do so, how much it hurt to share his pain with her.

Now, however, his pain was real, was tangible. She might not be able to help bear the weight of Ryan's past, but she could help bear the pain of his present. She could comfort him like she'd always wanted to comfort him and hold him like she'd wanted to since they first met. It was all Marissa had to offer him, all Ryan would let her offer him, but she would offer it willingly and with all the love she possessed. If she could give her life for his she would and if she could take his pain away, even for a moment, she would not hesitate. She just hoped he was alive when she found him.

The gas station was suddenly looming in front of her and Marissa didn't even bother to the check if the lanes were clear before swerving into the parking lot. She was met with a chorus of angry horns and furious middle fingers, but she didn't care. Ryan needed her and Ryan was all she cared about. She cut off a black Pinto as she screeched into a parking space and as she got out of the SUV a guy with tattoos and piercings was there to meet her.

"What the hell are you doing," he screamed at her. "God damn bitch. That was my fucking spot."

Marissa spared him a glance, but she had no time to deal with him. She turned her back on him and stepped towards the bathroom stalls, but felt the guy's clammy hand grip her shoulder. She tried to yank away but his grip was like steel and she could feel his fingers digging cruelly into her skin.

"Let me go," she hissed. "Get off of me."

"Give me my fucking spot and I will," the guy spat, his breath reeking of what smelled like sewage.

Marissa frantically looked around her for support, for someone to help her, but nobody was even looking at her. The two or three people filling up their cars kept their eyes to the ground and she realized she was on her own. If Ryan were here the asshole bruising her arm would be laid flat already, but Ryan wasn't here to rescue her this time. He was dying in the bathroom fifteen feet away from her. She would have to rescue herself.

"What do you say, bitch?" the guy growled, pulling her close. "Move the car and I'll let you go. Or…"He moved close to her and she felt his other hand wandering up her thigh. "We could come up with some other form of payment if you're game."

Marissa felt like retching. How could people sit by and do nothing? Had they done this to Ryan? Seen him pale and bleeding and done nothing? She struggled in the tattoo guy's arms, but his grip only tightened.

"Please," she begged. "My friend is hurt. I have to help him, just let me go."

"All the more reason for you to just do what I say," the guy purred in her ear.

"Fine," she spat. "I'll move the damn car. Just get off of me."

"I think we're beyond that now," the guy murmured. "I think we'll have to settle on some other means of payment. You smell pretty."

"That's sweet," Marissa hissed, pulling out the can of pepper spray she kept in her purse with her free hand. "But you smell like ass."

She pulled the trigger and was shocked by the copious amount of spray that the little can released. The second it reached the guy's eyes and nose he reared back and screamed, his screech so high that it threatened to shatter the gas station windows. He fell to his knees as he frantically tried to scrub the stinging, burning spray from his eyes, but only made it that much worse. Marissa would have liked to watch the asshole writhe a little longer, but she had to get to Ryan.

Leaving the peppered dickweed rolling around the asphalt, she bolted towards the bathrooms. She ripped the door open, but nobody was there. She could smell the festering shit and an underlying breeze of bleach that somebody had attempted to clean the bathroom with, but there was no blood, no sign that anyone had even been in there recently. Marissa yelled out in frustration before she realized that the bathroom she was in had no urinals. She was in the wrong fucking bathroom.

She backtracked and went around the side of the building, pausing only when she found Ryan's bloody handprint on the white plaster wall. Her stomach lurched and threatened to revolt inside her, but she swallowed a couple of times and the feeling subsided. The handprint smeared all the way down the wall until it reached the door and she could imagine Ryan supporting himself against the plaster, one bloodied hand on the wall and one wrapped protectively around his middle. And still nobody had thought to help him.

Rage filled her and gave her the armor she needed for what she was going to do. She could not be weak in his moment of need, could not cry when he needed a hand to hold. She made her way to the bathroom door and tried not to cringe as she wrapped her fingers around the bloodied handle. She could feel it, sticky and warm, as it coated the underside of her fingers. The feeling brought her fear bubbling back up, but she put it aside. There would be more blood, she knew. More than she would ever care to see.

Marissa yanked hard on the handle, expecting it to fly open, but it remained closed. She stared at it, dumbfounded for a moment, before she realized what Ryan had done. He'd locked the damn door. She couldn't understand it. Why was he going to such great lengths to make sure that nobody could help him? Why would he run knowing that he needed help? Why would—

Then it hit her. He was scared. That was what this was all about. It had to be. He was scared that he would ruin what he'd created with the Cohen's. He was scared that he would never be able to escape the future that had awaited him if he had remained in Chino. Ryan, with all of his distrust and his heartache, could not see the love the Cohen's felt for him. He could not understand his worth or see how he could ever become a valued member of a family. He had finally found something worth living for, worth bettering himself for, and he was terrified he was going to lose it.

She had to get the bathroom door open or at least find a way to get inside. She looked around her but there were no windows. She realized she would have to go back to the gas station and get the clerk to open the door for her. She would have to face tattoo guy again, but with any luck he was still trying to rip his eyes out in the hopes of relieving the burning sinking its way into his skull.

Whirling around she bolted back to the gas station and was relieved to find the tattoo guy nowhere to be found. She had no idea how he had managed to get off the concrete, but at the moment she didn't care. All she cared about was getting that damn door open. The gas station doors opened with a whoosh of cold air, manufactured by the AC rumbling somewhere behind the station itself. The clerk, a young man in his early twenties, didn't even look at her but remained focused on counting out a burly gentleman's change with the concentration of one who was not entirely comfortable with his math skills. To his credit, the burly man waited patiently and he glanced at Marissa. She saw kindness in his eyes and for the first time since her nightmare had started she felt relief sweep through her.

"Please," she said, going up to the counter. "Please, I need your help. My boyfriend...he was…he's hurt. He went into your bathroom but the door is locked. I need the key."

"Sorry," the clerk said slowly, looking up at her. "Boss says I can't give the key out for any reason."

"What?" Marissa gasped, disbelief threatening to overwhelm. "He's dying! Please, I need to get in there and help him. The ambulance is on its way, but it might be too late."

"I understand," the clerk began. "But I can't—"

"I don't think you do understand," the burly man rumbled. "The lady says her friend is hurt. So you are going to give her the keys."

"She could be lying," the clerk said stubbornly. "She could be an addict looking for a place to shoot up or something. I don't know, but I have to follow policy. I can't get fired."

"I'm not lying," Marissa said, holding up her blood stained hand. "Please, I swear I'm not lying."

"Shit," the clerk breathed, paling as he looked at her palm. "Shit, I—I don't—"

"Give her the keys," the burly man said gently. "Come on, kid. This ain't any time to be panicking."

Marissa almost melted with relief when she saw the clerk turn and grab a single key from a peg on the back wall. Its yellowing key tag read RESTROOM in giant black letters and it swayed on its key ring as he handed it to her.

She was out the door before he could say anything to her and was fitting the key into the lock when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to find the burly man standing a few feet away from her, his bulging arms full of what looked like clean dishtowels and a large red box that had The Ultimate Medi-Kit scrawled across the top.

"What are you doing?" Marissa asked him warily, her experience with tattoo guy fresh on her mind.

"I'm helping," burly man replied calmly. "This isn't my first rodeo kid. I was a combat medic for the marines. Trust me, I've seen some shit. I may not be able to do much for your friend but I have steady hands and enough know-how to keep him breathing."

Marissa didn't bother telling him that Ryan could already be dead, but she wasn't going to turn down the help. She looked back at the gas station once and saw the clerk standing out in front watching her. It was clear he wouldn't be coming over to help, but that didn't matter now. Turning back to burly man, she nodded once and turned the key in the lock, pulling the door open with more force than she realized. She stumbled back slightly, but the burly man put his large hand on her back to steady her. She didn't stop to thank him all but running into the bathroom.

The first thing she noticed was the blood. It was everywhere. She didn't think there could be so much blood in a single human body. Red smeared the wall, the doors, the sink, the mirror. Everywhere. She choked back a cry and looked frantically for Ryan.

At first, she didn't see him slumped behind the sink, but the moment her eyes found his limp hand she rushed forward and fell to her knees beside him. She felt something sinking into her pant leg and she realized that she'd fallen in a puddle of blood the circumference of a soccer ball. Jesus, there was so much. How could he lose this much and still be—

She shook that thought away before it took root in her mind. She wouldn't give up on him yet. He wouldn't give up on her.

Suddenly the burly man was beside her and before she had a chance to protest he was gently picking Ryan up and turning him over. She wanted to scream at him and push his hands away, but she maintained control. He was trying to help and if it gave Ryan a chance than she needed to let him do what he had to. Ryan's shirt was almost completely red and she searched the slick fabric for the tiny hole she knew she would find there. Sure enough, smaller than she had thought it would be, was a hole where the bullet had entered him.

Burly man was speaking to her, but she couldn't hear him. All she could do was stare at the hole that seemed so inadequate to the damage that was caused. Suddenly, his hands were on her shoulders and he shook her gently. She looked to her left and found Ryan propped against the wall, his head dropped forwards on his chest.

"Kid," burly man said to her. "Your friend is alive, but he ain't gonna be for long if I don't try and stop this bleeding. I can't do this alone, you understand? I need you to hold it together for a little longer. You think you can do that for me?"

"Yes," Marissa whispered, closing her eyes and opening them again with new resolve. "Just tell me what to do."

"Good," the burly man grunted. "I need to sit him up while I try and get a handle on the bleeding. Sit against the wall there and let him rest against you. Make sure you keep his head up. I don't like the sound of his breathing and I don't want him to choke. Can you do that?"

Marissa nodded, watching as burly man gripped Ryan under his arms and dragged him around so that he could lie between her legs, head resting against her chest. She put a hand around his chest, partly to keep him from slipping but partly because she drew comfort from the rise and fall of his chest, labored as it was. The burly man sat on his knees and lifted Ryan's legs over his so that they angled downwards. She'd read about this once and remembered that it helped increase blood flow to the heart. Then she thought about what the burly man said and furrowed her brows in confusion.

"You said choke," she mumbled. "What could he choke on? He's not—" The burly man glanced up at her, eyes unreadable and Marissa gulped when the answer hit her. "Oh."

Blood. He was talking about Ryan choking on his own blood. She didn't think things like that actually happened. She'd seen stuff like that in movies, but it had always been make believe, always something that had made her roll her eyes at the cheesiness of it all. And now it was all too real. She doubted she would ever watch another movie again.

Burly man seemed to sense her rising panic because he looked up at her while he unfolded one of the dishtowels.

"Don't worry, kid," he told her. "He's going to be just fine. We've just got to keep him breathing until the paramedics get here. You do your job and we'll make it through."

Marissa nodded, overcome with emotion, and put her lips against Ryan's hair, clutching him tighter against her. The burly man turned back to his patient, pulling a pair of scissors from the medi-pack. She watched as he took Ryan's beloved wifebeater between his fingers and slipped the fabric into the blades. He calmly shredded the shirt and pulled it to the side, grimacing as he pulled something sticky with blood away from the wound.

"What is it?" Marissa asked.

"He tried to stop the bleeding," burly man said quietly.

"That's a good thing though," Marissa said. "Right?"

"It would be if he hadn't used a cloth bathroom towel," the burly man replied.

"I don't understand," Marissa stammered. "A cloth is a cloth. What does it matter where it came from?"

"These things are covered in bacteria," burly man grunted, glancing over at the broken towel dispenser laying discarded in the far corner. "Blood loss and liver damage is bad enough, but you add an infection and it becomes—" He must have seen the horror on her face because he stopped and tried to smile encouragingly at her. "Well, lets just deal with one problem at a time, ok?"

Liver damage. Burly man had said liver damage. Shit, why hadn't she put her foot down on letting him go? Why hadn't she checked on him when she'd gotten his text about using the bathroom? She should have waited on him, should have insisted he see a doctor. Marissa frowned. She should have done a lot of things, but it was too late for that now. All she could was hold him tight and pray to a God she wasn't sure she believed in anymore.

Burly man unfolded a clean towel and pressed it firmly against Ryan's side. It was almost instantly covered in red, but instead of releasing his grip the burly man pressed harder. To Marissa's surprise Ryan shifted in her arms as if trying to escape the pressure burly man's hands were exerting. She looked down at his face and nearly cried out in relief as she watched his eyes flicker open. They were glazed from pain and slightly unfocused, but they were open and Marissa didn't think she'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

But, Ryan didn't seem to recognize her. He tried to pull away from her and when he couldn't he reached his hands up to the arm draped around his chest and tried to pull her off of him. His breathing quickened and she could hear him whimper beneath his breath.

"You've got to keep him still," burly man barked. "Talk to him. Calm him down. I can't hold this towel down if he's fighting me."

"Ryan," Marissa breathed in his ear. "Ryan, its okay. It's me. It's Marissa. Can you hear me, Ryan?"

Ryan's body went limp in her arms and for a moment Marissa thought he'd passed out again. Then his hand reached up and wrapped around her arm, but he was no longer trying to pull it off of him. Instead he seemed to be anchoring himself to it and she could feel him relax against her, allowing her to pull his head back until it rested against her cheek.

"Marissa," he rasped. "What are you doing here?"

She was shocked at how weak his voice was and tried to ignore that he sounded like he was trying to speak to her with water in his mouth, tried to ignore how wet his words sounded when they fell from his lips. She didn't want to think about blood running down his chin and lips or how horrible the salty taste of iron in his mouth must be.

"I came back for you," Marissa whispered. "I came back to get you."

Burly man took the blood-drenched towel away from Ryan's side, unfolded another, and pressed it back again. This time Ryan jerked against her, teeth biting down on an agonized scream, and his grip on her arm tightened until it was almost painful. He sucked in a wheezing breath, but it sounded wet even to Marissa's ears, and she braced herself for what she knew was coming. His breath caught in his throat and he coughed trying to clear his airway. She felt hot blood pepper her arm and Marissa winced. She tried to keep him still as he choked and spluttered and she rubbed his chest in gentle circles. She knew Ryan choking on his own blood would be a nightmare that would plague her for years and she was thankful she couldn't see him very well.

"It hurts," he coughed after he'd managed to catch his breath. "I can't do this, Marissa. It hurts too much."

"Don't you give up on me," she ordered him. "Not after you've bled all over my last clean shirt."

This drew an exhausted laugh from him and she smiled slightly. His hand slid across her arm until it reached hers and she entwined her fingers in his. She felt his head move as he looked over at burly man who was still pressing the towel firmly into his side.

"Who?" he asked, too exhausted to say anything more.

"I-I don't know," Marissa whispered, realizing she didn't know burly man's name.

"John," the man grunted. "I'm a friend."

"You sure about that?" Ryan whispered, closing his eyes. "Feels more like a butcher to me."

"A butcher handles dead things," John said with a small smile. "And I have news for you, kid. You ain't dead yet."

Ryan didn't say anything and his grip on Marissa's hand slackened until she was holding limp fingers. She watched as John frowned and lifted a blood slick hand and snapped his fingers in Ryan's face.

"Hey," he shouted. "Kid, look at me. Wake up." Ryan must have opened his eyes because John smiled. "That's it, Ryan. Keep your eyes open."

"I'm tired," Ryan mumbled. "I just want to sleep."

"I know," John said gently. "I know, kid, but you can't. Not yet. It's a miracle we got you conscious again. Miracles don't happen twice."

"Not unless your Jesus," Ryan slurred.

"True," John conceded as he pressed another clean towel to Ryan's side. "You may not believe it, kid, but somebody up there is on your side."

"No," Ryan murmured weakly. "I don't think so."

"What are you talking about, kid? Have you seen the girl sitting behind you? If she isn't a gift from God I don't know what is."

"She's taken," Ryan said. "Eyes off."

"You have nothing to worry about from me, kiddo. I've got one of my own waiting for me at home."

"Is she pretty?" Ryan asked.

"Beautiful," John said. "And so are the kids she blessed me with."

"You must be a good dad," Ryan murmured. "I think I have one to."

"You think?"

"He isn't really my dad," Ryan explained, his voice sleepy and weak. "But I want him to be. Maybe he'll see me as a son one day."

"He already does," Marissa whispered in his ear. "Kirsten wanted me to tell you she loved you." She felt him shudder in her arms. "She said to tell you that Sandy was right about you. She said you would know what that meant."

"She said that?" Ryan rasped.

"She did," Marissa told him. "She's worried sick about you, Ryan. They both are."

Marissa wasn't sure how she'd been expecting Ryan to react at her words, but her heart squeezed painfully when she felt his shoulders hitch and heard him stifle a sob. John looked up at him in alarm, but calmed when he realized that he was fine.

"Ryan," Marissa whispered. "Don't cry. Everything is going to be fine."

"I'm sorry," Ryan groaned. "Tell them I'm sorry. I should have told Trey no, but I didn't and now I've ruined everything."

"No," Marissa told him firmly. "You haven't ruined anything, Ryan. You are going to get through this and you are going to explain what happened to the Cohen's. They'll understand."

"Why would they?" Ryan said weakly. "Why do they put so much faith in me, Marissa? What do they see that I don't?"

"They see you," Marissa whispered to him. "That is all they need to see. That is all anyone needs to see, Ryan. Your kindness, your willingness to help in whatever they need, your devotion to Seth and to them. They look at you and see someone who is good and honest despite the million and one reasons life has given you not to be."

"And when they realize that I'm not what they thought I was?" Ryan asked stonily. "When they find out that I went back and did something bad for Trey, what then?"

"They'll love you anyways," Marissa told him instantly.

He didn't say anything else to her but she felt his chest rise and fall rapidly and she thought he was crying. She was about to comfort him when she saw John's face. His expression was worried and he reached a hand up to Ryan's forehead. Marissa heard sirens in the distance and she wished they would go faster.

"Ryan," he said loudly. "You've got to stay with me, kid. Fight it just a little longer."

"What's happening?" Marissa breathed, almost letting Ryan slip from her grasp when he went rigid against her. She felt his heart beat and counted the beats in her head. Too slow. They were coming too slowly. He was slipping from her and there was nothing she could do.

"Shock," John said. "I'm amazed he lasted this long. Help me lay him flat."

"But I thought you said his breathing was—"

"There are more important things to worry about now," John interrupted. "Do what I say, Marissa."

Marissa supported Ryan with her hands and slipped out from beneath him, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders as she did so. She laid him straight and was almost immediately pushed out of the way with a gentle shove from John. She caught a glimpse of Ryan's face and she barely managed to choke down a sob. His eyes were closed and lips a light shade of blue stood out profoundly against his white skin. She had never seen anyone so pale except for when she'd seen her grandmother in her casket. She'd been dead and now Ryan looked like her.

John pressed his ear against Ryan's chest and swore. The big man looked up at her and for the first time she saw his calm slip. She glanced away from him when she heard the sirens stop and heard the unmistakable sound of tires screeching and doors opening.

"Marissa," John yelled at her. "I know the paramedics are here, but they will need a minute to get set up. Ryan needs help NOW. Tilt his head back, hold his nose and when I tell you to blow air into his mouth you do it."

She watched, dazed as John put his hands over Ryan's heart, and pressed down hard. She wanted to scream at him to stop, that he was going to break something, but she couldn't find her voice. She could only feel Ryan's body jerk beneath her hands with every forceful pump of John's hands and she waited to hear a cry of protest or a grunt of discomfort, but nothing came. She put her hand over his mouth, but there was no gush of warm air being expelled from his lungs. There was nothing at all.

"No," she groaned. "Ryan, don't. Please."

"Breathe," John ordered her. "Now, Marissa."

She looked up at John with tears in her eyes. She wanted to do what he said, but she couldn't seem to catch her breath. John cursed once and pushed her gently to the side. She watched in a daze as he pumped his hands over Ryan's heart again then blew into Ryan's open mouth. Ryan's chest rose and fell as his lungs expanded with air, but once John pulled away it did not rise again. She could hear voices talking to the clerk and she wanted to scream. 'Here,' she wanted to cry. 'We're in here!' But nothing came.

"God dammit, kid," she heard John curse. "Breathe for me."

He repeated the process once, twice, three times but no gasp of air greeted them. The next time John hit his chest harder than before and she winced. He breathed into Ryan's mouth and for a moment nothing happened. Then, as if he'd never stopped, he drew in a labored breath.

"Good," John shouted. "Good job, Ryan. Keep breathing."

And then, as if appearing from a dream, the paramedics were in the room, pushing Marissa to the side and falling on their knees beside John. The old marine told them something she could not understand then mentioned her name and gestured towards her.

A young paramedic with bright green eyes and a friendly, calming smile came towards her as Marissa watched the other medics put an oxygen mask over Ryan's face and slip an I.V. into the crook of his elbow. They were talking so fast that Marissa could not follow, but their faces did not bring her the hope she thought they would. They were grim and when one of them took Ryan's blood pressure he shook his head. Marissa finally broke down and slid to the floor, sobs racking her thin shoulders.

The paramedic that had been coming towards her pulled her into a tight hug and told her that everything was going to be fine. She introduced herself as Stacy and told her that she just needed to ask Marissa some questions about what happened and then she would get her some juice and a clean pair of clothes. It wasn't until the medic said this that Marissa realized her shirt and pants were covered in blood. She shivered and closed her eyes, but allowed the medic to ask her questions as they strapped Ryan to a backboard.

"How old is he?" Stacy asked.

"Sixteen," Marissa replied listlessly.

"Any allergies to medication?"

"I—I don't know," Marissa whispered. "He's never mentioned anything to me."

"How long ago did the victim receive the wound?"

"His name is Ryan," Marissa snapped.

"Ryan," Stacy amended apologetically. "How long ago did Ryan receive the wound?"

"An hour," Marissa guessed. "Maybe an hour and a half."

"Was he conscious when you found him?"

"No," Marissa answered. "But he came to not long after we got here."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, that's good. Did you move him?"

"John did. He was a medic in the marines and he said that we needed to keep his airways open. I didn't know what else to do so I let him—"

"It's okay," Stacy soothed. "He was right. Your friend has lost a lot of blood and we won't know how much damage the bullet did until we get him to the hospital, but if we can get him stabilized he'll be fine."

"And if you don't get him stabilized?"

"We are going to do our best to make sure he is," Stacy told her after a moment's pause. "They're loading him into the truck now. We're taking him to the life-flight helipad at a clinic near here and flying him to a hospital near Newport. The trauma surgeons they have there are top notch. He'll be taken care of."

"Will that be fast enough?" Marissa questioned.

"It will be faster than driving him all the way back to the hospital here," Stacy told her.

"Can I go with him?"

"I'm sorry," Stacy said. "There isn't enough room in the truck for anyone other than required staff. Chief police officer Danvers is waiting outside to take you home. He'll need to ask you a few questions but he won't until you're ready. He'll have some apple juice and those clothes I promised you."

Marissa didn't say anything and Stacy pulled her into another hug.

"Everything is going to be okay, kid. You'll see."

Marissa watched her rush out the door, but she didn't follow. She didn't think she could get her feet to move that far. She hadn't seen John since he'd followed the paramedics out the door, but she figured he was talking to the police officer Stacy had mentioned. Chief Danvers. Eventually she would have to talk to him to, but she couldn't manage that yet. She wasn't sure she could manage words at all.

She glanced over at the mirror and studied her face in the dim light of the bathroom. Her face was too pale and her eyes looked sunken beneath her flesh. She looked at the blood on her clothes, on her throat, on her hands and before she knew what happened she'd thrown up all over the bathroom floor, wretched sobs shaking her to the core.

She had to get it off of her. She couldn't stand to see Ryan's blood on her skin, couldn't stand the way it made her fingers stick together. Rushing to the sink she all but tore the knob off in her haste to turn the water on. She waited until it was so hot it burned before she put her hands beneath the spray and furiously scrubbed Ryan's blood from her hands, from anywhere it touched.

When John, done speaking to the officer and worried about the kid's girlfriend, came into find her, his heart broke at what he saw. The girl was a mess, eyes swollen and cheeks streaked with makeup. There was blood in her hair and he watched her scrubbing her skin almost painfully, desperate to remove the kid's blood from her skin, to erase the memory of what had occurred.

He didn't have the heart to tell her that it was a futile effort. She could scrub it for years, until the skin was cracked and blistered, but it would never come off. The blood would disappear from beneath her fingernails, the smell of iron would eventually dissipate from her nose, and she could wash her hair enough times to remove any stains, but it was more than that. Blood had a habit of sinking beneath the skin, to the very heart and soul of person. The girl may not be able to see it or feel it, but it would be there. The scars of a wound no doctor could mend, of a pain no medicine could relieve. She would bear it for the rest of her life and for the first time since his final days in Vietnam John hid his face and cried.