A/N: Okay, first off- I HAVE AN EXCUSE! Ish! My mom's in Vegas and she kinda locked the computer. So, no access. At all. Be happy I can use my school's. But HEY, I'm here, aren't I? With a new chapter! And that nice surprise I was telling you about! Most of you have guessed it, but I won't say anything if you haven't. ^_^

Also, I'm extending my poll to THIS FRIDAY. Then it closes! By the by, it's still tied between The Revenge of Atticus Moon and Good People! Which one do you want to see next? Don't worry- I will write all of them. And I do write two fics at a time. So if your favorite isn't picked first, just keep a lookout! It'll be up soon! Ish!

Lastly, I didn't mean for this chapter to come out all angsty, but it's, like, one in the morning and I'm tired. Which may also explain any typos you may see (who am I kidding? I'm the typo MASTER. *really needs a beta*).

Enjoy!

...

James stared at the ceiling. "I'm going to go crazy."

"Get in line." Camille crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to look at him. "Hey—what say we sneak out of here and go see Logan?"

"As much as I am all for that idea," James sighed, "we can't, remember? IV's? Loud coughing that'll draw every doctor on the floor straight to us?"

Camille scowled. "We can be stealthy." She started to say something else, but then erupted into a coughing fit that took her breath away. Slamming further into her pillow, she growled, "I hate this! Isn't the medicine supposed to help us stop coughing?"

"You've never had pneumonia before, have you?"

"What, and you have?"

James nodded as much as he could. "All of us but Carlos. We spent two nights out in the snow after we got stranded the day before a hockey competition. It sucked, big time. Carlos just got lucky because he has this wicked immune system. But anyways, this isn't as bad—we just were stuck in a pool for three or four hours."

"Oh, is that all?" Camille said sarcastically.

James coughed a couple of times, feeling his lungs rattle. "Anyways, we should be better in a couple of weeks."

"I can't wait a couple of weeks," Camille groaned.

"Me either."

They fell silent. James tried not to think about how much he wanted to cough. But, of course, as soon as he had the thought the urge became too much and he started up on his fit again. As it subsided he leaned back against the pillows, exhausted.

The humidifier by his bed hummed peacefully in his ear. James wanted to tear it out and throw it across the room, but he barely had the energy to sit up and eat his pudding. Not to mention, the doctors said it was helping him. He couldn't tell. He just wanted to get up and out of here so he could see his friends and make sure they were still ali—okay.

Knock, knock.

James looked over at Nurse Debbie, who poked her head through the door. "Do you need anything?" she asked kindly.

James started to shake his head, but Camille said, "Is there any way we can go see other patients? Maybe take a walk around?"

Debbie paused thoughtfully. "Well, it's against regulations to allow patients to walk around," she mused. "And we don't usually let sick patients interact with others, anyways."

Camille looked so down, Debbie sighed and said, "But I suppose if I get you two wheelchairs and facemasks, I'll see what I can do."

"Really?"

Debbie just gave Camille and James a smile and closed the door behind her. James looked at Camille and shook his head. "You and your doe eyes."

…

Carlos stood outside the door, staring in at Kendall. He was still unconscious. A nurse—this one a heavier, brunette woman by the name of Helen—bustled around his bed, getting him ready for his second round of surgery as Ms. Knight and Katie looked on.

"Don't you worry, now," Helen was saying, her voice cheerful and bright even as she worked. "We have the best surgeons in the county, you know. Probably in the whole state. Kendall is in good hands. Great hands, in fact."

She noticed Carlos standing behind the door and motioned for him to come inside. Carlos wanted to shake his head—or maybe run in the other direction—but instead he just stood there, staring at Kendall's slack face. It had been cleaned up, which Carlos thought ironic, especially since it wasn't his face that needed patching. A maze of wires and tubes surrounded him on the tiny bed, and the heart monitor beeped quietly by his head.

Looking at him, Carlos just couldn't see how he could survive. He looked so frail, so freaking breakable. How he was still alive now was a wonder to him. He should've died when Carlos and Logan found him in the apartment. He should've died the moment they released him from the ceiling. Or the instant he pushed Katie out of the way.

The whole thing seemed so surreal, Carlos couldn't process it. He heard the stories, connected the dots, but every bone in his body was screaming how Kendall shouldn't be alive.

He felt horrible for feeling that way.

That was why he couldn't go in there.

Carlos didn't realize that Katie and Ms. Knight were walking towards him until they opened the door. Katie had tear tracks on her cheeks, but her face was stoic and a little angry as she averted her gaze from Carlos'.

Ms. Knight looked at him. "They're about to bring him into surgery," she said.

Carlos cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the tiled floor.

Ms. Knight sighed. "You should see him. You never know what might happen." She looked at her watch. "You still have two minutes."

"Yeah," Carlos muttered. "Two minutes."

A lot could happen in two minutes.

"Go," Ms. Knight said, putting her hand on his shoulder as she walked past him, Katie tucked into her side.

Carlos really didn't want. But at the same time, he did. This could be the last time he ever saw his best friend, his leader. Taking a shaky breath, Carlos reached for the door handle and shakily opened the door.

Helen looked up and walked up to him. "I'll give you a minute," she said, smiling softly at him as she slipped around him and out the door.

The door closed behind him, feeling awfully final. Carlos took a reluctant step forward. He wanted to stop right where he was, but once he started moving it was like his feet had a mind of its own, propelling him forward until he was right by the bed.

His heard pounded so hard he could feel it without touching his chest, and hear it without needing to. He was scared, for some reason, like breathing on Kendall would make him slip off of whatever thin ledge he was holding onto. Like Logan. Except scarier. Maybe.

Carlos cleared his throat. "Hey." His voice came out scratchy and unused, and it startled Carlos. He hadn't really been talking lately—an odd change, since he was usually the talkative one of the group. Now he had few words to say and no one to say them to.

He coughed again, and this time the sound didn't come out so loud. "It's me, Carlos." Well, duh. He felt kind of stupid, talking to Kendall even though he couldn't talk back.

"The doctors say you might not make it," he continued. As he spoke his confidence grew, until it was like he was back at the apartment with his best friends, not in a hospital being the least injured of all of them. "They said… that your laceration—" He stumbled over the word, "—was infected, and that the infection is growing. They still have two more surgeries to do before they can pay attention to it. You're not expected to make it through the night."

Saying those words out loud made his eyes sting. Carlos ground his teeth together, not sure if he was angry or crushed. "But you can't." It came out harshly, breaking on the last word like a sob. "You can't leave, Kendall. It's not fair.

"You're the strong one, Kendall. You're the one who always gets us out of stuff, and who's never mad at us no matter what we do." Carlos trembled from head to toe as he stood, gripping his fists by Kendall's bed. "And just when we're strong enough to finally do something on our own, you think you can just quit? You can't! We need you!"

The tears spilled over then. Carlos tried to scrub them away, but fresh ones popped up and eventually he just gave up, letting them stream down his cheeks as he bowed his head and thought about what to say next.

"You can't die, Kendall," he said quietly. "I just… Please don't die?"

A knock on the door made him look up and spot Helen's face through the window, looking horribly apologetic. Carlos took a step back from the bed and wiped his face dry, although his face burned and his eyes stung and it felt like the world was just crashing down around him.

"I'm sorry, hon," Helen said as she opened the door. "Don't worry, though. We'll take good care of him."

Carlos didn't think she was lying as she and another nurse wheeled Kendall's bed out of the room. He just didn't think it would be enough.

…

"Oh, Logan," Camille sighed. Her voice came out muffled through the mask. James thought it looked ridiculous on her, but he didn't want to think about how he looked in it. So he didn't comment.

Logan, on the other hand, looked like a corpse about to be buried. Other than the nasty bump on the back of his head and a few scrapes and bruises, he looked remarkable. But his face was pale, his eyes were closed, his body was slack. He was comatose, and there was nothing they could do to bring him out of it.

James knew how comas affected people. Some could be in one for years before their families pulled the plug and let them die. James couldn't imagine how hard that would be. He decided right then and there that no matter how long it took for Logan to wake up, he would never let anyone let him die. Ever.

He gripped the wheels of his wheelchair and pushed himself to Logan's side. "Hey, buddy," he said, swallowing quietly. "Of all the messes, right?"

Camille gave him an encouraging nod as he looked up at her, wondering if he was doing this right. "He can hear you," she said. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

James had to pull away to cough into his mask so he wouldn't infect Logan, but he leaned forward again and said, slightly out of breath, "You're in a coma, Logan," he said firmly. "And you need to wake up. Now would be good."

"James," Camille sighed.

"What?" James took a minute to catch his breath, and then said, "You said he could hear us. And the doctors said he could be in the coma for days."

"Or months," Camille reminded him. "Or years. It just doesn't work that way, James."

"Forgive me for being the only optimist around here," James retorted. "And yes, I do know what that word means!"

Camille shook her head. "You can't get your hopes up."

"Yes, you can!" James stared at her disbelievingly. "I can't believe you're acting like this. You're his girlfriend. You love him, don't you? That's what you said in the pool!"

She frowned. "James."

"No," James said, shaking his head. He was seriously out of breath, but he was so angry now he didn't even notice. "Logan will get better. Kendall will get better. We're all going to get better, because that's what we do, okay? That's how we survive!"

"James."

"Why can't you just listen to me for once?" James said, frustrated. "I know I'm not the smartest guy around, but I do care about my friends. I thought you did too, but I guess you're the biggest pessimist there is around here."

"James!"

"What!"

Camille pointed at the bed, tears glistening in her eyes. James whirled and saw Logan studying him curiously with his eyes. His open, wide awake eyes.

For a second, James didn't even know what to do. But Camille wheeled herself forward and slapped her hand on the call button by Logan's bed, calling for help.

And James couldn't help it. As soon as he saw Logan, awake, conscious, alive, he burst into tears right then and there—which really didn't help with his coughing.