Sammy's POV:

Beep... Beep... Beep...

The constant beeping of the heart rate monitor was on the verge of putting me to sleep, despite the fact that I had nothing more comfortable than a hard, plastic hospital chair, and my Timmy's hand in mine. Sighing with resolve, I straightened up, and leaned forward to kiss his brow, as I had done hundreds of times more earlier that day, and the day before that, and the day before that. I didn't know whether it had only been days that had passed, or weeks. However, I knew that when I got around to checking it, my phone would be exploding with hundreds of texts, calls, emails from coaches and friends, teachers with whom I'd missed appointments. But what could I say? My boyfriend was in a coma, there was no way I was leaving him until absolutely neccessary.

The door began to creak open, and I turned, waiting for the next nurse come to check on his tubes, bustling in and out quickly. To my surprise, it was a smaller man, casually dressed, who I instantly recognized as Tim Lincecum's father, Chris. Looking between the two of them, I could easily see the family resemblance - both had small, lithe builds, and it was clear where Tim had gotten his green eyes from.

I leapt to my feet, dropping my dear boyfriend's hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lincecum. If you want private time... " I trailed off as he shook his head, putting his hand out instead.

"Call me Chris. I'm pleased to meet you. You must be Sammy...?" I nodded confirmation as I reached out to shake his hand. He took it for a second, somber eyes looking down at me, and laughed to himself.

"This is too formal," he declared, and pulled me into a hug instead.

"Tim's told me about you," he said as he pulled back. "You seem like a wonderful woman, and already I can tell why you were so special to him. He's never raved about a girl like that before," he smiled ruefully. His eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled, giving a clear image of his what his attractiveness must have been as a younger man. Then he sighed as he looked past me, to his son lying on the bed. He took three quick steps to the bedside, and sat down in the chair I had previously occupied, taking the hand I had previously held, stroking Timmy's forehead, just as I had previously done. I gulped, feeling the private moment, and tried to inconspicuously edge towards the door. Chris noticed, and shook his head, yanking another cheap chair towards him with his free hand. He pointed at it, and as I saw no escape, I walked back over to it and sat down.

"I doubt that you leaving right now would do him any good," he said in a low voice. "From the first time he talked about you, I knew there was something special."

"He talked about me?" I asked, surprised. Despite the sorrowful situation, with Tim ashen-faced in his coma on the bed, my heart lifted slightly, remembering his love and charm.

"Yeah. First time he called me after a game to talk about something other than his mechanics." He gazed at his youngest son's face lovingly, and it was obvious that there was a connection between Tim and Chris, a connection that went beyond simply a coach-athlete relationship, or a parent-child relationship, or any combination of the two. It was as though they were close friends, as though Chris was Tim's confidant in addition to coach, parent, and fan.

There was a moment of wistful silence between us, both of us remembering the man we knew. No, I thought to myself, not remembering, but reminiscing. He wasn't dead. He couldn't die. One day he would wake up, and we would pick up from exactly where we left off, like nothing had ever happened.

"He was willing to die to save your life." I turned to look at the face beside me, but Chris's face was focused on his son on the bed. "He could've died. He still might. He knew that, but he still did all he could in that car crash to make sure you were okay."

I chewed my lip nervously at his words. Was he mad that his son was willing to give his own life for a girl? No, not just a girl, a girl who had no money to speak of, no high connections, no fame?

Chris looked sideways at me. "You know, I trust that, Sammy. I trust my son's good judgement. If he thought there was something worth saving in you, I trust that. Obviously you didn't get out unscated yourself," he added, gesturing to my broken left arm, set in a cast and sling, "but it was a lot better than it could've been. I hope -" His voice broke. "I hope he lives through it to show me, and give me a daughter."

Close to tears, he rose suddenly and strode from the room, his face stony. I stared after him as the door swung back into place with a click. Had I heard him properly? He was hoping to get a daughter, thanks to Tim... and the only way that could be would be if Tim married -

I cut the train of thought off instantly. No point in getting my hopes up over something that was likely not to happen. I moved closer to his bed again, and picked up the hand resting on the mattress. I pulled it gently to my lips, and kissed the back, lightly.

"I love you, Tim," I whispered to him, resting my head on the side of the bed, next to his. Scarcely after my head hit the mattress, I was asleep.