A/N: This week the update goes up a little early because I'm going to my parents' for the Christmas break. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Also, there is an Easter Egg for the fans of The West Wing in the text today - can you tell what is it? :)

Chapter 26, part 2.

I'll take care of you.

The words rose from her subconscious and bubbled under the surface for a while, like little sparks of fire, bright and warm. They made her feel safe and comfortable and she didn't want to relinquish them. But, gradually, the brightness became unbearable and warmth turned into heat and, with a sigh, she finally opened her eyes.

The light was coming from her window, and that meant it must have been really late, since her bedroom was on the western side of the house. She was lying on her bed, under her comforter and what seemed like two additional blankets, still in the Gatsby dress. And her head—her head was pounding like it was going to explode.

She moaned quietly and threw the layers of blankets and comforter off. Immediately, her skin crawled with a chill, but it was better than sweltering. She sat up and suddenly felt nauseous. With a hand to her mouth, she skidded to the bathroom and just managed to get to the toilet.

It took a while until her stomach emptied completely and the dry heaves stopped. She then washed her face and brushed her teeth, trying to get rid of the awful sour taste, and staggered back to her room. She noticed a glass of water and two pills on her night table and she had a strong sense of déjà vu. She sat down heavily and obediently swallowed the Tylenol and chased it down with the water. Then she plopped back onto the bed, already exhausted.

Why did she do all that to herself again? She had sworn she wouldn't get drunk like that again… and yet—it felt so good to let go, to forget for a while. To drink and laugh and dance and talk and… had she actually cuddled with Aaron on the couch?

The memory gave her a jolt and she sat back up. How did she even get here if she had fallen asleep by his side? Good Lord, what if he thought I was coming onto him or something? She could barely remember what they were talking about—something about perfume and… kickboxing? That didn't sound too bad. You stupid little fucker, she cursed at herself. It could've been worse, but the fact that she stayed with him like that—let him embrace her like that… it was bad. She didn't want to lead him on or anything. He was just a friend, and she hoped he thought of her the same way.

It's just your scent and it's lovely.

The memory came unbidden and she groaned and fell back on the bed. That didn't sound all too innocent. She thought back to Zach's wedding—the way Aaron looked when she came out of the pool, how his eyes searched hers as he sang Elvis Presley. Fuck. No, it couldn't be true. Aaron had been her friend for twenty-seven years. If he had had any feelings for her, he would've told her long ago. He was safe, she had to believe that. She had to—because thinking of the alternative hurt too much. She couldn't lose his friendship. Aside from family, he was the only constant in her life, the only safe haven. No, he was family. He wouldn't do that to her… would he?

She sighed. Wallowing in her misery wasn't going to solve the problem. She had to face it, head-on. And so she staggered from the bed again, pulled off the fancy dress and underwear and walked into the shower. Feeling refreshed—though with her head still aching—she put on some sweats and finally made it down the stairs.

The living room looked like there had never been a party there: not a bottle, a cup, a plate left out. A little puzzled, Alice walked into the kitchen and found Dalia there, sitting at the island and scrolling on her phone.

"Oh, hello, good morning," she said brightly, noticing Alice. "You've slept a long time!"

Alice grimaced. "Can you please keep your voice down?" She asked plaintively.

"Oh, sorry!" Dalia grinned and slid off her seat. "Would you like something to eat? It's past lunchtime but I can fix something up easily."

"Past lunchtime?" Alice sat down, a little shocked, and looked at the kitchen clock. "Quarter to three?!"

"I told you, you slept a long time," Dalia repeated, a little puzzled. "So what would you like to eat?"

Alice shook her head. She was still feeling a little queasy. "I'll hold off on food for now. Do we have orange juice?"

"Let me check." The girl opened the fridge—which looked full to the brim with leftovers—and rummaged in it for a moment. "Ha! Found it." She poured a glass and put it in front of Alice. "You must not be feeling very well right now. I've seen many people in that state over the years." She nodded her head condescendingly.

Annoying little prick, Alice thought irritably, but she accepted the juice and drank greedily. It was wonderfully cold and soothing. She put down the empty glass and refilled it from the carton Dalia left out. This time, though, she sipped slowly, reveling in the feeling. She counted the hours: last time she remembered looking at the clock it had been four in the morning, and that meant she must have been asleep for at least ten hours. She shook her head disbelievingly. When was the last time she had slept that long? And she wasn't even woken up by any nightmares… It must have been all the alcohol she'd consumed. Doctor Green didn't want her to drink as much—but it was just this one time… a New Year's Party was an exceptional occasion, wasn't it?

"Well, I've been up since nine and I cleaned up the apartment!" Dalia said proudly, ignoring Alice's pensiveness. "Deanna got up a few hours ago and looked pretty much like you do now. Seriously, people, why do you do this if you know this is how it always ends?"

Alice smiled crookedly. A rare pertinent question. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Just for a momentary relief from the black cloud over her head? Was she really that desperate? She looked away, distressed with the thought. I guess I really am that desperate…

"Adults can sometimes be very stupid," she agreed aloud and sighed, putting the glass down, empty again. She looked around. "Have you seen my phone?" She didn't remember seeing it anywhere in her bedroom.

"Oh, yes, I put it on the TV stand," Dalia replied, picking up her own and resuming her scrolling.

How did she become a typical modern American teenager so fast? Alice thought, annoyed, and walked to the living room. Having retrieved her phone, she plopped down onto the couch and dialed a contact.

"Hey, Allie! You're finally up!" Aaron greeted her cheerily. He didn't sound awkward or odd and she let out a breath of relief.

"Yeah, I am. How did you know I was still asleep?"

"I texted you and when you didn't reply, I texted Deanna. She told me you were sleeping. I'm glad you could get some rest."

She sighed. "Yeah, ten hours of it. I don't know if I've ever slept that long." She shook her head, still a little shocked. "I was really drunk. I don't even remember going up to my room."

"Well…" He hesitated and then cleared his throat. "You didn't. You fell asleep on me so I carried you to your bed. It seemed like it would be more comfortable there than on my shoulder."

Was that a little wistful tone she was hearing in his voice? "Um… thank you. It's embarrassing. I barely remember anything from, like, the last hour before I drifted off."

"Oh, well, that's understandable. And how are you feeling now?"

"Hungover, but the Tylenol and some water and orange juice helped." And throwing up, but she didn't think that needed mentioning.

"Good, I'm glad." He hesitated again. "But… Allie, maybe don't drink as much when you're with other people, okay?"

"Other people?" She repeated, suddenly annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just mean—strangers. Or people you don't know well. I'm just worried, you know, with your history…"

She let out a long breath, telling herself to be calm. "Don't you think I know this?"

He didn't reply right away. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just… I just don't want you to get hurt again, that's all."

"I'll be alright." Her voice was unnecessarily cold, so she worked on getting it to sound more normal. "And how about you? You feeling okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I wasn't really that drunk. Didn't even get a headache. I slept in until ten-ish, got brunch in town and then went for a stroll, but the cold got me hurrying back to the hotel pretty quick!"

"It's not exactly L.A.," she agreed, mollified. "When is your flight back?"

"Tomorrow at seven-thirty am. Maybe you would like to come by, we could get some virgin drinks at the hotel bar and then grab dinner together?"

The alarm bell that sounded so subdued the night before was clear and loud this time. "Uh, I don't think my stomach is ready for that just yet," she said. It wasn't even a lie. She looked up to the ceiling and then she felt a stroke of inspiration. "Why don't you come by our house again tonight? We could all watch a movie together."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds great. I'll come by around five-ish, then?"

Was she detecting just a tiny bit of disappointment in his voice? Or was she imagining it because of what had happened the night before on this very couch she was now sitting on?

"Sure. I'll ask Dalia to select a movie, so it might be quite cringy," she warned him, putting an effort to make her voice sound chipper. I must be imagining it. It can't be real.

He chuckled quite naturally and she breathed a little sigh of relief. "Bring on the cringe."

"Alright, good. See you then."

"See you then."

Aaron seemed completely normal that night, though just to be sure there was no chance for any misunderstanding, Alice had sat him on an armchair and wedged herself between Deanna and Dalia for the movie. Just as Alice had predicted, it was some cringy romantic comedy and they spent more time talking over it than watching, but they had fun anyway. Dalia in particular seemed interested in the actual contents of the film, kept shushing them, and, after the movie night was over, she threw about a hundred questions at Alice, centering around the ideas of romance, relationships and sex. Alice had to explain that movies—especially of this type—bore little resemblance to real life and that few people actually behaved the way the characters did on the screen. Dalia had a bit of a kick from the fact that the movie was directed by a man named Donovan Cole—since her new last name, selected at random by the NID, was also Donovan—and Alice was reminded of the disastrous birthday party months before where she had met that same director, part of Sarah's movie crowd, as Aaron had called them, which had also included Marc Tolliver, a film producer who showed way too much interest in Alice's status as a former fighter pilot.

The law of series states that seemingly random but connected or even identical occurrences tend to happen more often in a series than they should by pure chance. As a scientist, Alice didn't believe that there really was some kind of force or statistical rule that governed how rare events might follow in quick succession, but she was reminded of the popular theory a few days later. She had just come back from a planet that served as a big smuggling hub where she had met with Carlo to exchange the fixed Tollan device for Naquadah and, more importantly, information; she had barely time to change after the debriefing when she was summoned into General Carter's office.

"I just got off the phone with the President," she announced after Alice took a seat. "He's just got back from a trip to California where he had attended a Democratic fundraiser at Ted Marcus's house. He said he had been waylaid by one of Hollywood's big fish who asked him to let an Air Force officer be a consultant on his new movie. Apparently, he had a specific name in mind—yours." She raised her eyebrows significantly at Alice.

The younger officer sighed heavily. "I can guess who it was. Marc Tolliver?"

"The very same. You know him?"

"Not really. I met him once, at a birthday party a few months ago. My best friend's ex is an actress and she'd invited a few of her Hollywood friends to their son's party. Tolliver was really interested in the fact that I used to fly fighters, and he'd asked me then to come consult on his upcoming movie. I declined, of course. I didn't think he'd go all the way to the Commander-In-Chief…" She sighed again.

"Well, apparently this Tolliver is a wealthy and influential man who used to lean towards Republicans. The President would like to keep his favor with the Democrats—as you know, the Republicans still hold a majority in the House and Senate, and every wealthy donor the Democrats can secure is important, even this early in the game."

Alice knew Carter was referring to the midterm election next year. "So I'm guessing that the President agreed to Tolliver's request?"

"Of course he did." The general shrugged. "It costs him nothing. They start shooting next week so Tolliver would really like to have you as soon as possible. I don't really know much about making movies," she added with a twinkle in her eye. "But I understand it can be pretty glamorous. You might find enjoying yourself."

"I doubt that very much, ma'am." Alice restrained an urge to roll her eyes.

"Well, either way, it's a direct order from our Commander-in-Chief, so there's not much we can do. All I could negotiate is that you'll only be available for them for a total of five days, over a period of two weeks."

"Thank you, ma'am," Alice replied with genuine gratitude. She could do five days, right? It wasn't going to be that bad, right?

It turned out to be pretty bad. The studio lot was large and confusing, the set itself loud and crowded, and people were either rude or overly solicitous, depending on whether they thought she was an extra or the real deal—her Service Dress Uniform didn't really stand out in the sea of actors wearing similar outfits. Similar, but not identical—one of the first things she had to point out to the overjoyed Tolliver were all the ways the uniforms were assembled wrong.

"We have to have something wrong on them, we're not allowed to use an exact replica," he said defensively.

"Something, sure, but not everything, right?" She shrugged. "I mean, you've got people walking around in BDUs, but you've told me this is supposed to be contemporary, so they should be wearing ABUs if they're Air Force. It's a completely different camouflage pattern," she explained, seeing his uncomprehending look. "And why are the flight suits so shiny? They look like goddamn latex. Real flight duty uniforms are made of nomex, it's a special flame retardant material. Trust me, when you're going down, you don't want to have anything on you that could catch fire."

Tolliver was making notes, his pen racing across the page.

"Didn't you get any military consultation before you brought me here?" She asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Oh, we've had someone at the very beginning, but I told you the Air Force Hollywood liaisons are not worth a shit. Plus, it was before we bought the uniforms. Changing them now is gonna hit our budget, but it's better than be wrong! This movie has an Academy Award potential."

"So you've said." Alice's voice was doubtful. She had read the script—there were things to point out there too—and while she was first to admit she knew nothing of filmmaking, it didn't seem to be that high quality. "Anyway, the Class As and Class Bs I've seen around here are pretty okay, except you wear your wings above your ribbons, not below, that's one; second, the nametag only includes the last name, not first name and certainly not a nickname." She rolled her eyes. "And third, enlisted personnel doesn't wear their insignia on the lapels, they don't wear lapels with Class As at all; they wear their chevrons on their arms, halfway between the shoulder and elbow."

Tolliver seemed happy enough to hear all her criticisms, and she didn't hold back. After uniforms, they moved on to the sets themselves—a lot of it was just green screens, she noted—fighters they had built for the purpose of filming (mostly steel shells painted to look like the real thing—at least there they did quite a good job), props ("Fighter pilots usually carry 9mm Berettas, not this .45 caliber monster"), and then eventually the script. It took them a whole day to go through every single page; Tolliver had asked the screenwriter to attend and the man was making changes as they talked. Another time they spent six hours in conversation with the main actors, after which the female lead started shadowing Alice like a ghost, explaining at some point that she wanted to observe her demeanor and learn from that.

"I'm not sure what that's supposed to even mean," Alice replied, dumbfounded. "Or how much my, uhm, demeanor will tell you now. I'm sure I don't act the way I do here when I'm at work. Especially since I haven't flow an F-16 in a while." Actually, she got to fly one pretty recently—going from Peterson to the IOA Headquarters to use the Chair—but that was not something anyone out here needed to know.

"Oh, that's okay, I'm sure I can learn something from you anyway!" The actress insisted and continued to follow Alice like a faithful dog.

At least, Alice got to see how a movie actually got made. She stood at the side as they shot and reshot a single scene six to ten times, on average, shaking her head at the waste of time—she usually thought the first run was fine, unless of course someone forgot their lines or stumbled or a stunt didn't go as planned, which happened surprisingly often.

"You need to shoot a scene from many angles," one of the cameramen told her condescendingly when she asked. "And actors and directors like to try different emotional takes. It's all edited together at the end to make the best movie possible."

She didn't like his attitude so she refrained from asking any more questions and instead wandered towards the table where food was laid out for the cast and crew. She was just putting a bit of a salad onto a plate when a woman with a headset approached her.

"Um, excuse me? The extras eat over there," she scolded Alice, waving her hand.

Alice raised her eyebrows. "Do I look like an extra?" She asked, annoyed.

"Uh, um…" The woman seemed flabbergasted, but under Alice's irritated look, she relented and scurried away.

"Oh, wow, that was impressive!" A familiar voice commented, amusement clearly audible.

Alice blinked quickly, put the plate down and turned around. "Aaron? What on Earth are you doing here?"

He laughed, approached and hugged her closely. "I was in the area."

She hugged him back shortly and stepped away quickly, feeling a blush stealing onto her cheeks. "In the area?"

"At the studio main office." He pointed with his hand, though since they were inside, it told her nothing. "We're in talks to produce our first video from the new album here."

"Oh, you're already shooting videos?" She was surprised. "You told me you still have, what, three songs to do?"

"Yeah, but we've got the single all finished. We have to record the video now if we want to release it at the same time."

"Right." She shook her head and picked her plate back up. She was hungry.

"And how it's going here? Still not happy about all this?" He waved around, clearly amused.

She rolled her eyes. "I'd rather be shot at than spend another hour here, but what can you do?"

He smirked. "Well, when the President himself asks you to do this, you can't do anything, really." He had been very impressed—and somewhat surprised—to hear who had issued the order for her to come consult on this movie; though her explanation of the President's political motives for doing so seemed to have clarified it for him sufficiently well that she didn't need to delve into how the Commander-in-Chief was a fan of hers for some reason.

She ignored the jibe and put a forkful of salad into her mouth.

"Anyway, since you're here, I was thinking we could get together tonight?" His smile seemed hopeful now. "We could grab dinner and drinks, I know a great restaurant not far from here."

The alarm bells sounded off in her head again. Thankfully, she had the perfect excuse. "Well, actually I'm going back to Colorado today. I'll be back for two more days next week, but that's all, thank god."

He looked disappointed. "Oh." Then he perked up. "Then maybe we can already set a date for the next week? When are you back?"

She didn't like the way he said set a date. Am I becoming paranoid? She thought to herself, trying to come up with another excuse. Not so long ago any time we got to spend together was precious. Now I'm too scared to be alone with him… "Well, I'm sure we can figure something out," she managed lamely. She couldn't even suggest hanging out together with Jake since they weren't currently on speaking terms—a fact that highly distressed their mother. "I just don't know right now."

"Okay, no worries," he agreed, looking again slightly crestfallen. It made Alice feel bad. Apparently, she couldn't stop hurting the people she loved. Deanna, Jake, now Aaron… not to mention Karim.

Alice put down her plate—still half-full, but she no longer felt hungry—and looked around.

"It seems like they're about to finish the scene," she said. "The female lead keeps following me around. I think I'm gonna take some air, maybe I can avoid her for a little while longer…"

Aaron chuckled, though his eyes were still a little sad—or was she imagining it? "Let me escort you out, then."

They didn't talk for a moment, strolling across the lot in the bright California sun. It was warm—high sixties and Alice soon felt hot in her Class As. She was starting to think of going back to at least remove her jacket when they came upon another shoot—camera crews, PAs, and more crowded around what looked like a single country house surrounded by some greenery. It was quite hard to believe that this place was here, in the middle of Los Angeles—but of course, it was there to serve as scenery for movies and television like any other building on the lot.

"What in the everlasting hell is that?" Alice asked, both bewildered and amused. It appeared that the main actors were four people wearing camo uniforms—but of a pattern Alice had never seen before—and carrying around prop guns. There was one woman and three guys—one of them a black man whose skin seemed to be painted silver—and he had a rhombus-shaped tattoo on his forehead.

"Oh, I think this is where they shoot that ridiculous campy show, what's its name?" Aaron replied as they stopped at the edge of the crowd. "Wormhole X-treme, I think."

A switch flicked in her brain as she realized why it was all so familiar and so ridiculous at the same time. "Oh, yes, of course." She couldn't restrain a grin. She'd read the reports from SG-1 on Martin Lloyd, the alien who went on to become a producer of a TV show that was clearly inspired by the Stargate Program. There was even a photo on the file—which was how she knew it was him presently approaching them with an irritated expression on his face.

"Excuse me! Who are you? You can't be here! This is a privileged shoot! I don't want to have any leaks again!" He started shouting before he even got close.

"Hey, man, relax, we're just passing by," Aaron said calmingly, looking down at him from the level of his six feet of height.

"I don't care, you can't be here. Where'd you come from anyway? Where are you shooting at?" He pointed aggressively to Alice's uniform.

"I'm not shooting anything, Mr. Lloyd, I'm a consultant for The Queen of Aces down the block there," she answered calmly, waving her hand in that direction.

He blinked quickly. "You know my name?"

"I've read a lot about you," she told him with a smirk. "I work with General Carter."

He blinked again. "You do? But, then… that means…"

"A lot of people I work with are big fans of your show," she told him, her smirk growing more sardonic. That was, of course, a lie. Most people thought it was ridiculous and a waste of time; but it gave them some press cover in case of leaks, so they had to accept it.

Aaron was looking at her with his eyebrows raised high, an incredulous look on his face, so she decided it wasn't the best idea to let Martin speak too much. He might blabber out something he shouldn't if he assumed Aaron was in the know, too.

"Anyway, as my friend has said, we were just passing by. We'll head back now. Have a good day, Mr. Lloyd."

She turned around, grabbing Aaron and dragging him along with her.

"No, wait! But I have questions! O'Neill never answers my calls anymore! Come on!" Martin called after her, sounding a bit desperate, but she just waved at him and walked away, Aaron in tow.

"What was that about?" He asked, amused, when they were out of Martin's earshot.

"Oh, just an inside joke," she told him lightly.

"How did he know Carter? And this O'Neill, isn't he, like, your boss's boss?"

Alice sighed. "O'Neill used to head a team that included Carter. They served as military consultants for Martin Lloyd's show when it was just starting out. It's just a funny story."

"That you can't tell me," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry." She shrugged and then suddenly realized she was still holding onto his hand. She released it quickly; she had just meant to grab him to get away from Martin faster—she hoped he wouldn't read into it.

"I have half a mind to go back to him and ask about it, maybe he'd be more willing to tell me," Aaron said musingly, giving her a side-eye.

"I doubt it, he's under an NDA." She shrugged, turning her face away. The look seemed more about the fact that she let him go than his disapproval of her keeping secrets. I must be going crazy, she decided. Maybe she was reading into things too much.

"Mhm." Aaron didn't seem convinced and they remained quiet the rest of the way to the stage where the movie was being filmed. Once there, they said goodbye and Aaron walked away while Alice took a deep breath and returned to the set.

"What happened?" Marc Tolliver's eyes were large as he surveyed Alice's black eye.

She shrugged. "Just an occupational hazard," she replied dismissively. The truth was that one of Nova Ray's main competitors and his three friends had ambushed Alice and Rodriguez to try and 'teach them a lesson in how real trade was carried out'. The Earthlings managed to prevail, but not before they both got a few cuts and bruises as souvenirs.

"Please, please tell me what happened!" Tolliver pleaded, enthusiastically backed by the female lead who had appeared by her side as soon as Alice had stepped onto the set.

"Sorry, classified," Alice replied coolly. "I'm only here to consult on the subject matter of your movie. Can we move on with that, please?" She didn't really try to be nice to them, but they seemed to ignore her attitude—actually, the actress seemed to revel in it. Alice wondered what that would mean for the character she was playing, but couldn't care enough to even ask.

They all had come back with lists of detailed questions for her: Tolliver, the director, the actors, even the costume designer, the prop master and the set decorator. She spent the better part of the day answering them—they had halted shooting for that day to go over it with her, which she found both annoying and remarkable—and by early afternoon she was more exhausted than she had been after coming back from the offworld scuffle with bad guys.

They were just coming back to it after a break when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She picked it up and frowned. The caller ID said Jake—but he still wasn't talking to her, so it was a worrisome sign.

"Excuse me for a second," she told the group and went to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Allie," Jake breathed into the receiver. "Aaron's been in a car accident. He's in the hospital now."

She froze. Oh god. No, no, no, no… please, not him. He was alright in the future timeline—she knew he was because she saw a photo of him—it was Karim's retirement party, Ike was sixteen, and that meant Aaron would be fine for at least another fourteen years, it must have meant that, right? But she had messed with the timeline… was she going to be responsible for her best friend's death, too?

"How is he?" She choked out, too terrified to notice the stares around her.

"They didn't know yet—his parents called me. The doctors are doing some tests, X-ray and all that…"

She breathed more freely. If they were doing tests, it couldn't have been too bad. "Which hospital?"

"Ronald Reagan," he replied. "I'm on my way there. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'm coming," she answered. "See you there." She ended the conversation and looked at the group assembled around her. "I'm sorry. My friend's been in a car accident. I'm going to the hospital."

"Oh!" Tolliver looked properly sympathetic, but she thought there was a note of disappointment in his voice. "Of course! Don't worry about a thing here. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'll be fine." She had a rental car, though by the time she got to it she was so worried that she half-regretted not taking him up on the offer. She sat behind the wheel and took a few deep breaths. What's going on with you, Boyd? She scolded herself. You can take on aliens and smugglers and land on a fucking aircraft carrier but you lose it now? But it had always been like this—she could face unimaginable horrors, but the moment one of her loved ones was in danger, she was a trembling mess of fear and anxiety–especially when there was nothing she could do.

Somehow, she managed to drive down to the hospital, find a parking spot and get to the waiting room where Jake and Aaron's parents were already waiting.

"Alice, oh, you're here!" Mrs. Starr hugged her closely, unmindful of Alice's dress uniform. "Jake said you were in town, we appreciate you coming so fast…"

Alice hugged her back and then kissed Mr. Starr's cheek. "How is Aaron?"

"They're saying he's got some broken ribs, concussion, whiplash and some cuts and bruises, but nothing more major, thank God! They're doing a CT scan to confirm no intracranial bleeding or cerebral contusion, but the doctors seem optimistic."

Alice let out a long breath of relief. If it was all then he really should be okay. "What happened?"

"The police said he was driving down Sunset Boulevard, within speed limit, and some drunk jumped on the road right in front of him!" Mr. Starr replied angrily. "Aaron swerved to avoid him and ended up hitting a lamppost. The drunkard fled from the scene but some good Samaritans called the ambulance and got Aaron out of the car…"

"Zach, Jeffrey! Boys, so good of you to come!" Mrs. Starr called when two of Aaron's bandmates appeared behind Alice. She retreated to the back of the room and sat down on the plastic chair next to Jake.

"Hey," she said to him quietly.

"Hey," he replied, looking into the floor.

"Thanks for calling me."

"Yeah, sure."

She sighed. "Jake, I'm sorry."

He gave her a sidelong glance but didn't say anything.

"I shouldn't have gone at you like I did," she admitted, swallowing down her pride. "Whatever you choose, you're still my brother and I love you."

He let out a breath. "Thanks. But you still won't support my decision, will you?"

She bit her lip. "I can't change the way I feel about police in this country. But I know you, and I know you'll do your damndest to be the best cop this city will ever have."

He huffed, rolled his eyes and then smirked. "That's not exactly the same—but I'll take it." He then finally straightened up, reached out and hugged her to his side. "I hate it when we fight," he murmured into her ear.

"Yeah, me too," she agreed, hugging him back, relieved beyond words at the reconciliation. Then she hesitated. "So… have you applied yet?"

"Yeah. Though it may take anywhere from three to nine months to process the application, and there are multiple tests, background checks, and all that." He shrugged.

"Well, I can't imagine this part should be anything but a breeze for you." Jake had never gotten a speeding ticket in his life, graduated high school with a very respectable 3.2 GPA, and had fifteen years of high-performance service in the Marine Corps, so there wasn't really anything they could pin on him.

"Oh, I don't know. Half my service record is classified, remember? They might have a problem with that."

She waved her hand. "I'm sure they won't."

"Anyway, part of the background check is interviews with family, neighbors, coworkers, friends and suchlike. They'll probably want to talk to you, too," he said, sending her a significant look.

"Why, you worry I'll embarrass you because I know all your dirty little secrets from when we were children?" She asked with a smirk.

He shook his head condescendingly. "No, I mean, you're probably the only person they'll be able to get ahold of who knows what I've been doing for the past eight years."

"Oh, that. Well, you know I'll only be able to tell them so much." She paused, shrugged and then added: "But I'll do my best. I won't sabotage you, don't worry."

"I know. You're not that petty."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" She elbowed him gently. "I'm not petty at all!"

"Yeah, right." He grinned at her and then sighed. "I'm glad we're talking again. I missed you."

"Yeah, me too."

A while later a doctor came out to tell Aaron's parents that they found no evidence of brain injury or internal bleeding and that they were allowed to see the patient. The group of friends—which had grown to include Curt and Ian in the meantime—let them visit him alone first, and only went to see him after the parents came out. Alice hung back until they left to go in alone.

Aaron looked pretty miserable in the bland hospital gown, with band aids on his face and arms and a big ugly bruise peeking out from above the neckline of the skimpy outfit, but he smiled when he saw her come in—and then frowned.

"Oi, Allie, what happened to you?" He asked anxiously, straightening up on his bed. He was the only person in the room, even though there were two more beds there, and Alice wondered if it was by design—because he was a wealthy celebrity and the hospital wanted him to be comfortable.

"Look who's talking," she answered with a wan smile, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

"Well, I know what happened to me!" He quipped, reaching out to pat her hand. "Are you alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I am. I've had a little run-in with some bad guys, but you can be sure they looked much worse when we finished with them." She grinned at him, remembering the four bastards who had had the nerve to attack them—and tried to do it without weapons! "How about you? How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been in a car accident," he replied lightly, winking at her. "It's not that bad. My head aches a bit, but the worst is my chest. It's kinda hard to breathe, so please don't make me laugh…"

She nodded. "How many broken ribs do you have?"

"They're not broken, just bruised, the doctors said," he corrected, sighing. "A few of them, they said it's difficult to determine exactly. Three or four. I was lucky I was wearing a seatbelt…"

"Your dad said someone jumped in front of your car?" She prompted.

"Yeah, some idiot just wandered into the road like, fifteen yards from me. It was a miracle I managed to swerve in time. He was a drunk dumbass but I'm glad I didn't kill him." His voice was low, subdued.

She squeezed his hand. "You're a good guy, Aaron."

He smiled at her and she responded in kind, ignoring yet another alarm bell going off in her head. For a moment there, earlier that day, she had thought she'd lost him—surely he deserved at least one sweet smile, didn't he?

"Anyway, you'll be good as new in a few weeks," she told him, slipping her hand out of his nonchalantly and pretending she needed to scratch her arm with it. "I was worse and I can barely feel my ribs anymore," she added, unthinkingly.

He frowned. "Wait, what? When were you worse? What are you talking about?"

She sighed, cursing her own runaway tongue. "Sorry. I can't really talk about it, you know it." It didn't seem to placate him, so she half-rolled her eyes—mostly at herself—and continued: "It was end of November. I can't tell you what happened, but I ended up with a couple cracked ribs, concussion, whiplash, some cuts and bruises—essentially almost identical injuries to yours."

His eyes were big. "You never said anything…"

"There's a lot I don't say." She looked away, a little uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze.

"But that sounds like you've been in a car accident, too—how could that be?"

"I can assure you, it was not a car accident," she contradicted with a smirk, glancing at him sidelong.

He sighed deeply and then grimaced—it must have hurt. "I wish you could just tell me."

"Me too. It was pretty spectacular," she added, a little amused. That's one way to put it. "I'm getting an award for it in a few weeks."

"Oh, yeah? That's cool. You seem to be getting a lot of those lately." He paused and added: "Can I come?"

She shook her head. "It's gonna be in Washington. They're giving it to another guy, too, but he's receiving it posthumously, so I'm not gonna make a hay out of it. It would seem tactless, you know?"

He nodded gravely. "I understand. What's the award, though?"

She bit her lip. If she told him, he'd probably guess how she got her injuries… but then again, it wasn't something she could hide from him. It would literally be on her chest anytime she wore a Service Dress uniform, among her other ribbons—and she knew it wasn't above him to google the ribbons to check what was the new one. "Distinguished Flying Cross."

He frowned. "Isn't that one higher even than the Bronze Star in the order of precedence?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Been brushing up on your Air Force medals, have you?"

He grinned. "I may have done some research recently. I mean, when your best friend keeps getting awards, you kinda start being curious."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, the Cross is higher than the Bronze Star, but like I said—I don't want to make a lot of fuss about it."

He didn't respond; instead, he looked at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. Then, his voice quiet, he asked: "This award is for flying. If it's related to your injuries… does that mean you were in a plane crash?" He shook his head and shifted his gaze to her face. "I thought you weren't a pilot anymore."

"It doesn't mean I don't know how to fly," she answered softly. "I do what is needed."

He sighed again. "I really wish you could tell me everything."

"Sorry."

"Yeah."

She smiled and then looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I'll let you rest, now."

"You'll call me tomorrow?" He asked hopefully.

"Sure," she promised, feeling heavy-hearted. All this did not serve to dissuade him at the least, she thought. Am I paranoid? She asked herself again. Or is this really some kind of a foolish infatuation? She didn't know, but the idea distressed her. We're just friends, Aaron. I love you as a friend. Please don't destroy this…

She felt his eyes on her as she left.