As always, a round of thanks for the reads and reviews on the last one.

Another new perspective, very much related to the last chapter...Declan! Shadpup...this one is for you, my friend.

This one was written entirely to a live version of Ken Yates' "New York City" tune.

Happy reading =)

"Parents aren't the people you come from. They're the people you want to be, when you grow up." – Jodi Picoult, Handle With Care

My eyes open slowly and I'm confused by the sight before me. Where a field, nets, and players had been, there is now clear blue sky. I blink a few times before my coach's face comes into view.

"Matthew? Can you hear me?" That name still sounds strange when directed at me, even after all these years.

"Yeah," I croak as give a quick nod, immediately regretting it. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I had the ball and was heading for the net," I say slowly as I try to remember exactly what happened. "Then nothing."

"You got taken out with a check straight to your ribs, and then took a nasty tumble."

"I did?"

Coach nods. "Yeah. You wanna give sitting up a try?"

I move to sit up and immediately regret it, my face splitting into a wince as pain erupts around my ribs. It's that moment that I realize the ache that had settled there, and just how much breathing is hurting.

"Okay, okay. Take it easy, bud. No rush."

I give it another go, this time moving more slowly. I wince as the action still causes pain, but I manage to get myself upright.

"Try to take deeper breaths, bud. Those shallow ones aren't doing you any favours."

I follow his instruction but find the pain is worse when I try to take a deep breath, so I revert back to my more shallow ones.

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" I hear the assistant coach ask.

"No, I think his mom's here." I don't bother correcting him, knowing my relationship with Emily is difficult to explain at the best of times. "Can you get her? She can take him – I don't think he needs an ambulance."

"Yeah, no problem."

"How you doing, Matt?" Coach asks, refocusing on me.

"As long as I don't breathe or move, I'm good," I quip.

"All right, bud," Coach says with a chuckle. "I see you didn't hit your head too hard."

"Nah, still got a few brain cells kicking around," I reply with a grin.

"Dec- Uh- Matthew?" I hear Emily call out, tripping over my name. If it sounds weird coming from my coach, it sounds even weirder coming from Emily. I guess I'll always be Declan in her eyes.

"I'm okay, Emily," I say quickly.

"I saw that hit, it looked nasty," she says with a grimace, her eyes frantically scanning me, no doubt looking for any other injuries. "Bruised ribs?" she guesses, looking to my coach for confirmation.

"That's my best guess. We figured you'd want to take him to the hospital – no sense getting charged through the nose for an ambulance ride that wasn't really necessary."

"I appreciate that," she says before turning her attention back to me. "How you doing?"

"Fi-"

"Don't you dare say fine," she warns.

"I'm okay."

She shoots me an unimpressed look. "Do you think you can stand up?"

I shrug. "I can't stay here forever."

"You and Tom are way too alike," Emily says as she rolls her eyes. "Come on, Matt. Nice and slow."

Slowly she and Coach get me onto my feet, and then Emily and I start walking slowly toward the parking lot.

"How's it feeling?"

"Hurts like a bitch," I grouse.

"Language!" she scolds.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly.

"Just don't let Tom hear you saying it. And I better not hear that you're using it in school."

"You won't," I say sincerely. "I promise."

"Good. 'Cause Tom would somehow make it my fault," she says with a wink. "And he's already going to be pissed at me for letting you get injured on my watch."

I laugh and wince when the movement jars my likely bruised ribs.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I should know better. I've bruised my ribs more times than I can count. Laughing is a definite no-no."

For some reason this tidbit of information sticks with me, and I find myself wondering if any of those times was during her time as Lauren. I don't remember a lot about that time, but I do remember my father having an explosive temper, so it wasn't entirely impossible that she'd been a victim of his rage.

"You okay to get in? Or you need some help?" she asks, lingering somewhat awkwardly by the passenger door.

"I think I'm okay."

Her worried gaze stays firmly fixed on me as I slide into the seat and reach over to buckle my seat belt, trying desperately to ignore the fresh waves of pain. I look over when I finish to find her staring at me, chewing her bottom lip as the worried expression stays firmly planted on her face.

"Emily," I say, her name still feeling strange to me even after all this time. I reach an arm out to break her from her quasi-trance. "I'm okay. Let's go."

"Right," she says with a shake of her head, moving quickly around the car and into the driver's seat.

I watch the scenery passing by, hoping to distract myself from the pain around my ribs. My thoughts wander to the woman beside me, and I realize it's been nearly 8 months since I watched my biological father get shot in front of me, and was threatened by my biological mother. Dad and Emily had sat me down not long after all of that happened, and explained everything they could about it. I'd been able to piece together a lot of what Emily had done for me all those years ago, but it wasn't until I got the chance to ask some questions that I realized what she'd risked for me.

I glance over at her and find myself once again wondering why she chose to risk her life for me, a boy with two murderers and terrorists for parents. I turn my gaze back out the window as my mind continues to ponder why she risked everything to save me.

"Seriously?!" Emily exclaims, unable to believe the wait time figure the nurse had quoted. "My…uh…" she trails off, apparently stumped with what to call me. Seems I'm not the only one with difficulties explaining our relationship.

"Ma'am?"

"You can't see him any sooner?"

"Sorry, ma'am. We're backed up, as you can tell," the nurse says, gesturing to the full room.

"I'm a federal agent," she says.

"Emily," I say quietly with a shake of my head. "It's not that long a wait, don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

"Be that as it may, there are still more critical patients to be seen before him. Sit tight and I promise we'll get to him as soon as we can," the nurse explains in a firm tone, leaving no room for further discussion. "It shouldn't be too long," she adds after a moment.

Emily lets out a huff of frustration but nods. "Okay." She pauses for a moment. "And I'm sorry…I'm just a little on edge, I suppose."

"It's quite all right, ma'am," the nurse says with a sympathetic smile.

We head over to the chairs and are surprisingly able to find seats, despite the number of people waiting to be seen. She pulls out her phone and begins to tap out a message to someone.

"Texting my dad?" I ask.

She looks up and nods. "Yeah."

I feel my own phone buzz and I pull it out of my bag to check the message. I smile when I read that my team had managed a win after all.

"What's got you grinning like an idiot?"

"The team won."

"Yeah? That's good."

"Yeah," I agree. My face falls when a thought occurs to me. "I won't get to play in the championship game though, will I?"

"When is it?"

"Next week."

Her expression is apologetic. "Probably not. I'm sorry, I know you were looking forward to it."

I sigh. "Oh well. There's always next year, I guess."

"Yeah."

After a brief wait at the hospital, a quick discussion with a doctor, a few x-rays, a diagnosis, a whole lot of paperwork, and a quick stop to grab some takeout later, we're back at home and settled in to watch some TV.

"How are the ribs feeling?" Emily asks after finishing her mouthful of pizza.

"Cold," I say with a cheeky grin, motioning to the bag of frozen peas over top of my bruised ribs. I blink when I realize what I'd said. It was the kind of comment I'd make to Dad, not Emily. Emily and I shared a strange relationship that was confusing at the best of times. Admittedly, that might be because we haven't spent a ton of time together. Sure, we had the occasional dinner together, but Dad was always there to facilitate things. This was the first significant amount of time that we'd spent together without anyone else around.

"Smartass," she says with a roll of her eyes, but I sense a touch of tentativeness in her tone. It's almost as if she's testing the waters a little. "You really are just like Tom."

I smile at her words. Dad's a pretty great guy, so being compared to him is pretty awesome, even if it's just for having a similar sense of humour.

"But actually, how are they feeling?"

"Sore," I admit. "But definitely better than before."

"Good," she says with a nod. "Give that ice a few more minutes and then take it off, okay?"

"Okay."

We lapse into silence, preferring to let the TV's sounds fill the room. A few minutes pass before I break our silence during one of the commercial breaks.

"Emily?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"No problem, Dec. I promised your dad I'd keep an eye on you, and I've been wanting to come to one of your games for a long time."

"Sorry you didn't get to see me play much."

She waves off my apology. "Don't worry about it. Besides, this way I get to spend a little more time with you than I would have since you'd be back at your dorm by now."

"That's true. I guess me getting injured was a good thing then."

"What? No, it wasn't!" she says quickly. "That's not what I meant at all. I'd much rather you were safe and sound in your dorm room right now, with decidedly unbruised ribs."

"Well, obviously," I say. "But I mean, considering everything – it's kinda nice to spend some time with you again," I finish shyly, memories of our time together years ago flooding my mind. It's been some time since I thought about that part of my life. And while my memory of that time is admittedly fuzzy, it's not hard to remember the only person who took the time to play with me.

"Yeah," she says softly, shifting her gaze away from me and onto the pizza on her plate.

"I remember you, you know. From back then I mean."

She looks up and I see her expression is a cross between regret and happiness. "I honestly hoped you didn't remember anything of that time."

"It's not a lot," I admit. "But there is some that I remember." She stays quiet, her gaze dropping to her plate once more. "I remember when you took me to that market, and you bought me that wooden toy airplane."

She smiles warmly at the memory. "You played with that thing for hours when we got back."

I nod. "And the two of you even played with me after dinner that night."

"What else do you remember?"

"You used to play hide and seek with me."

She smiles again. "You were never very good at hiding."

"I never wanted you to not be able to find me," I admit with a sheepish grin.

"You were worried about that?" she asks, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

I shrug. "You were so pretty, and so nice, and you paid attention to me," I explain. "And you loved me," I add quietly.

"I still do," she says. "Very much."

I turn my attention to my pizza as I contemplate her words. In the days following my father's death, I'd clung to her as my only source of familiarity. I hadn't seen her in years, but she was, at least for that short time, still the woman who had loved me, and cared for me. But when Dad had gotten back, I'd turned to him for comfort, electing to try and forget anything and everything related to Ian Doyle. And she was unfortunately tangled up in my memories of him, so I'd pushed her away.

"Do you ever miss him?" I ask tentatively, genuinely curious. I know he was a horrible man who'd tortured people, including Emily herself, and had killed dozens, but I also remember small moments where he was just a father to me. I look up at her and find that my question seems to have startled her a bit, and I regret asking it. "I'm sorry. Nevermind."

"No, it's okay. I told you that if you ever had any questions about him you could ask me, and I meant it." She pauses and bites her lower lip in thought. "I think…" she begins slowly, "that part of me does miss some parts of him."

"Parts of him?"

"Do you remember how I told you that despite who he was, he loved you?" I nod. "It's kind of similar to that. Despite who he was, he genuinely loved Lauren, and could be sweet, romantic, and gentle."

"So you miss that side of him?"

"A part of me does sometimes, yeah. The part that remembers what it felt like to be Lauren."

"Oh," I say, trying to wrap my head around it.

"Do you miss him?" she asks softly.

"Yeah," I admit. Dad and I had talked about everything that had happened with Louise, and what I remember about Ian and Emily, but I'd avoided telling him that sometimes I still missed my father. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. He's my Dad, and I love him as much as if he were my biological father, but sometimes I miss those days with Lauren and him.

"It's okay to miss him," she reassures. "He was a part of your life."

I take a deep breath to steady my thoughts and emotions, but feel the now familiar pain erupt in my side and chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and cringe as I try to get a handle on the throbbing and aching.

"You okay, Dec?"

I open my eyes slowly and find her looking at me again with a pained expression. "Yeah. Just breathed in a little too deeply."

"I know it hurts, but it's good to inflate your lungs fully, apparently."

"Yeah, just doesn't seem like it's worth the pain."

"Should only be a couple of weeks, a month tops, and you'll heal up. If you do what the doctor told you."

"I know, I know. No sudden movements, no stretching, and try to avoid laughing, coughing, etc.."

"Good. Make sure you adhere to those, or you'll regret it."

I lick my lips as I consider whether or not to ask my next question. I decide to go for broke. "Why did you give up everything to save me?"

She blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. "I…" she trails off, words apparently failing her. "You were this sweet and innocent boy, and all I could see was how different you were from your father. I couldn't let Ian, or anybody else corrupt that innocence for their own gain."

"But why risk your life for me?"

"That's what we do for the people we love," she says simply, holding my gaze.

"How could you love me? I'm the son of two terrorists."

"Is that what you think you are?" she says sadly. "You're not that, not at all, Declan."

"But I am," I protest.

"No," she says with a shake of her head. "You're the son of a wonderful man, who is one of my dearest and oldest friends."

"But-"

"There is no 'but', Declan. Tom is one of the best people I've ever met, and you're his son in every way."

I open my mouth to respond, but find no words come, so instead I just nod.

"You want another slice?" she asks, clearly sensing my desire to drop the subject.

"Yeah," I croak, her words still echoing loudly in my head. She gets up and heads into the kitchen, leaving me alone with just my thoughts. It finally sinks in for me. Emily loved me – no, loves me – that's why she risked everything for me. And if I'm being honest with myself, I think I love her too. I've pushed it down all these months because I was afraid of remembering my father, and having those fears and anxieties resurface, but she means a hell of a lot to me. I mean…after all, I owe my life to her…twice over.

"Okay, Declan. I hate to be that person, but you need to get some rest. And trust me when I say it's not gonna be easy with those ribs. So let's get you situated."

I nod and let her help me up the stairs. She leaves me to get ready for bed, and I find my mind still reeling from our conversation. I desperately want to tell her what she means to me, but I've never been one for declarations of love and affection.

I hear a knock on my door. "Hey, you decent?" she calls out.

"Yeah."

"You're due for your next dose of pain killers so I brought them up for you."

"Oh, thanks," I say before tossing them back with a small sip of water.

"I'll leave you another dose here in case you wake up in the middle of the night. But don't take them before 2:30, okay?"

"Only after 2:30, got it."

"All right, I'll let you sleep. Give me a shout if you need anything," she says as she makes her way out of my room and toward the guest room.

"Emily?" I call out. It was now or never, before my confidence wavers.

She turns around at the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," I say simply.

"You already said that, and I already told you, no need to thank me."

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "I mean for back then."

"Oh," she says softly.

"I just…I know I've been a little…uh…ungrateful these past few months, but I want you to know I appreciate what you did for me. I know it wasn't easy."

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she says with a somewhat sad smile. "Get some sleep, mon nounours," she says fondly, using her old nickname for me.

"Emily, wait," I say quickly, making another split-second decision.

She turns around once more. "What is it?" she asks softly.

"Well, there's this thing next weekend, and I know you're busy, and it's actually pretty dumb, but I was wondering if you'd go with me to my school's Mother's Day dance," I say quickly before I lose my nerve. "I mean, I know you're not like, officially my mom or anything, but you've always taken care of me like I was your kid, so I figure that qualifies you."

Her eyes widen. "Of course I will, Declan."

"Yeah?" Maybe it's because I wanted some way to tell her what she means to me, or maybe it's because I'm tired of being the odd kid out that doesn't go to these kinds of things, but either way, I'm glad she agreed to go with me.

She nods. "I'd be honoured, Declan Kohler. Now get some rest. We can talk in the morning."

"Okay," I say with a small nod. I watch as she turns off the hallway light and disappears into the guest bedroom. It had been a strange day to say the least, but one which would no doubt be remembered for years to come as the day I realized that I'd lucked out big time when it came to parents. I'd gotten the two best parents a kid could ask for, even if I hadn't come to them by any of the 'normal' means.

So...how do we feel about young Declan? Sufficiently adorable? Do let me know.

'til next time.