AN: Hope you enjoy this one! Let me know what you thought x

The air in the animal clinic felt heavy, the weight of their mission pressing down on all of them. The plan was in place to catch Jackson before he could kill again, as well as catch whoever was controlling him. Scott had decided to join Derek's pack, and they would work together to trap them both.

The theory was that Jackson was going to attack at the rave tonight, so the teens had all procured tickets for what seemed like a final stand against the Kanima and its master.

Ever since detention in the library, Jamie had noticed that Scott and Stiles had been keeping her close, as if to keep an eye on her. Their methods weren't subtle, but Jamie was happy to be included in the plan.

Deaton stood calmly by the counter, as though preparing for a routine day of surgeries instead of arming a group of teenagers to take on a supernatural assassin.

Jamie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between Deaton and Scott. "So, let me get this straight," she said, her voice tinged with scepticism. "Your boss—who you conveniently just happen to work for—also happens to be a werewolf expert? That's not suspicious at all."

Deaton smiled faintly, his composure unshaken. "I assure you, Jamie, I was as surprised as you."

Scott cleared his throat, eager to press on with the plan. "Okay, so... ketamine?" he asked, his tone dubious.

Deaton nodded, reaching for a small vial on the counter. "It's the same stuff we use on the dogs, just a higher dosage. If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down enough to buy you some time."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "If?"

"Big if," Stiles muttered from the corner, earning a glance from Scott.

Deaton continued unfazed, moving to a second, larger vial filled with a fine powder. "This is some of what you'll use to create the barrier," he said, holding it up. "This part is for you, Stiles—only you."

Stiles blinked, pointing at himself. "Uh, that sounds like a lot of pressure... Can we maybe find a slightly less pressure-filled task for me?"

Deaton's gaze was steady as he placed the vial into Stiles's hands. "It's from the Mountain Ash tree, which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. This office is lined with ashwood, making it difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble..." He gave Scott a knowing look, though his tone remained neutral.

Jamie stepped closer, watching Deaton carefully. "So, what exactly is Stiles supposed to do with this?"

Stiles perked up. "Yeah, good question. What exactly am I supposed to do with this?"

Deaton inclined his head slightly. "You'll spread it around the whole building. Once it's in place, neither Jackson nor whoever's controlling him will be able to cross it. They'll be trapped."

Scott nodded, looking slightly relieved. "Doesn't sound too hard."

Deaton raised a hand to stop him. "It's not all there is."

Jamie frowned. "Of course not."

Deaton set the vial back down. "Think of it like gunpowder—it's just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles."

Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded. "If you mean light myself on fire, I don't think I'm up for that."

Deaton chuckled softly. "Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind, and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish."

Stiles blinked. "Force of will..."

"If this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it," Deaton said firmly.

Stiles nodded slowly, though he still looked unsure. "Mmhmm..."

Jamie watched the exchange with a mix of curiosity and doubt. "So, what happens if he doesn't believe it?" she asked.

Deaton's expression didn't change. "Then it won't work."

"Great," Jamie muttered under her breath. She glanced at Scott, her voice softening just slightly. "You sure we don't need more help? Like... I don't know, someone who actually has experience with this kind of thing?"

Scott's jaw tightened, and he gave her a wary glance. It was subtle, but he could feel the edge to her question. Someone with more experience. Someone like Derek.

He didn't say it out loud—there wasn't time to confront it now—but he couldn't ignore the shift in her tone, the way her words felt almost rehearsed.

Deaton cut through the silence. "You'll need to be careful tonight," he said, addressing the group. "If you hesitate, you could lose your window. Stay focused, stay together, and remember what you've been told."

Jamie exchanged a glance with Stiles, who looked like he was seconds away from a nervous breakdown. Scott stayed quiet, his mind racing with doubts—not just about the mission, but about Jamie and whatever influence Derek might already have over her. He may have joined Derek's pack for now, but he was still unsure what his real intensions were.

"Let's go," Scott said finally, his voice sharp. He turned and headed for the door, leaving no room for argument.

Jamie lingered for a moment, watching him. She felt his suspicion like a weight on her chest, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she followed, her expression unreadable as the group filed out of the clinic and into the night.

The pounding bass of the rave echoed through the air as Jamie, Scott, and Stiles pulled up to the warehouse. The parking lot was packed with cars, and clusters of people dressed in neon and glitter funnelled through the entrance, their excited chatter blending with the muffled music.

Scott glanced at them both, his expression determined. "I'll head inside and keep an eye out for Jackson. Stay in touch."

"Be careful," Jamie said, though her voice was almost drowned out by the music.

Scott nodded and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Jamie and Stiles standing awkwardly with a bag of Mountain Ash between them.

"Well," Stiles muttered, hefting the bag. "Guess it's just us."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Remind me again why you have to do this alone?"

Stiles didn't miss the edge in her tone. He threw her a glare as he crouched down and began spreading a thin, careful line of ash along the ground. "Maybe because I'm more trustworthy than your double-crossing ass," he shot back without looking up.

Jamie rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall of the warehouse and crossing her arms. "Double-crossing? Really? That's your angle now?"

"Yeah, well, if the shoe fits..." Stiles grumbled, dragging the ash in a clean line.

Jamie sighed, glancing toward the glow of the rave through the windows. "You know, I'd much rather be in there than out here with you."

Stiles paused, his hand twitching slightly with irritation. With an exasperated sigh, he stood up and shoved the bag toward her. "Fine. You want in? Go for it. Just don't mess it up."

Jamie blinked, momentarily surprised, before taking the bag with a smirk. "Wow. You trust me with the magic dust. I'm honoured."

"Yeah, yeah, don't push it," Stiles muttered, watching her as she crouched down and began spreading the ash.

For a few minutes, they worked in tense silence, the faint music and muffled cheers from the rave filling the gaps. Eventually, Stiles took the bag back, muttering something about her technique being "slightly better than expected."

But as they neared the final stretch, Stiles froze, peering into the bag. "Uh, Jamie?"

She looked up. "What?"

Stiles shook the bag, tipping it slightly to show how little was left. "We're almost out. Like... 50 feet out."

Jamie frowned, glancing at the thin line of ash trailing behind them. "What the hell do we do now?" Stiles said, panic creeping into his voice.

Jamie stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Hey. Calm down."

"Calm down? We're about to screw this whole thing up, Jamie!" Stiles exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the unfinished line.

"Stiles," Jamie said firmly, her voice cutting through his frantic rambling. "Think. What did Deaton say? You just need to believe you can do it."

Stiles stared at her, still flustered. "Believe? What does that even mean? This isn't a Disney movie!"

Jamie gave him a pointed look. "He said it's about focus. Picture it in your mind. Imagine the line connecting, and just... do it."

Stiles stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Picture it," he muttered to himself. "Okay. Picture it."

Jamie stepped back, watching as he crouched down again, the bag of ash trembling slightly in his hands.

"Deep breaths," she encouraged softly.

Stiles nodded, his jaw tightening as he slowly poured out the ash, stretching it as thin as he could manage. With every inch, he muttered under his breath, "You've got this. Come on, Stiles. Just a few more feet..."

Finally, the line reached the edge of the warehouse, connecting with the starting point. A faint shimmer of energy rippled along the barrier, sealing it in place.

Stiles sat back on his heels, staring at the finished line in disbelief. "We did it," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Then, louder, "We actually did it!"

Jamie grinned, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "See? Told you."

Stiles got to his feet, brushing off his hands and grinning back at her. "Okay, I'll admit it. That was... kind of awesome."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?"

"Fine. Totally awesome," Stiles said, holding up a hand for a high-five.

Jamie hesitated for a moment before slapping her palm against his. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Stiles said with a dramatic flourish. He glanced toward the warehouse door. "Now, let's go inside and see what fresh hell awaits us."

"Can't wait," Jamie said dryly, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone as they headed toward the entrance together.

The heavy bass of the rave music pulsed through the warehouse walls, the crowd a sea of bodies moving in chaotic synchronization. Stiles gripped Jamie's hand tightly as they navigated through the throng, his head whipping around to check their surroundings every few seconds.

"Stick with me, okay?" Stiles shouted over the music.

Jamie nodded, letting Stiles pull her through the crowd.

Finally, they reached a door toward the back of the warehouse, the noise muffled slightly as Stiles pushed it open. Inside, the small room was dimly lit by a single, flickering fluorescent light. Erica leaned casually against a table, her arms crossed, while Isaac stood nearby, tense and watchful. Jamie shuddered at the sight of him, and she avoided his gaze as her mind flickered back to the other night where he'd held her by the neck, claws digging into her skin.

Jackson was slumped against the far wall, his body twitching slightly despite the obvious effort to keep him subdued.

Isaac glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "He okay?" Stiles asked, nodding toward Jackson.

"Well, let's find out..." Isaac crouched beside Jackson, cautiously prodding his shoulder. Jackson groaned, his head jerking slightly, causing Isaac to jump back and groan himself. "God!"

"Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay?" Stiles snapped, his voice high-pitched with stress.

Jamie stared at Jackson with concern. "I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out?"

"Yeah, well, apparently, this is all we're going to get," Stiles replied, throwing his hands up. "So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him decided to show up tonight."

At that moment, Jackson's head lolled forward, his eyes opening, but they weren't his usual piercing blue—they glowed a sickly yellowish green. His voice, distorted and inhuman, filled the room. "I'm here. I'm right here with you."

The air seemed to freeze. Jamie instinctively took a step back, her hand brushing against the doorframe.

"Jackson, is that you?" Stiles asked cautiously.

"Us. We're all here," the voice replied, layers of malice woven into every word.

Stiles swallowed hard. "Are you the one killing people?"

"We are the ones killing murderers," Jackson hissed, his head jerking unnaturally as he spoke.

"So, all the people you've killed so far—" Stiles began, his voice trembling slightly.

"Deserved it," Jackson interrupted, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

Jamie exchanged a glance with Stiles, her expression unreadable. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. "This is seriously messed up," she muttered under her breath.

Stiles continued, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to keep the conversation steady. "See, we've got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers…"

"Anything can break if enough pressure's applied," Jackson intoned, the words slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Stiles.

"All right," Stiles said, swallowing again. "So, the people you're killing are all murderers, then?"

"All. Each. Every one."

"Well, who did they murder?"

Jackson's head tilted sharply to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Me."

The single word hung in the air like a thunderclap.

"Wait, what? What do you mean?" Stiles stammered, his usual quick wit faltering.

"They murdered me. They murdered me," Jackson repeated, his voice escalating, his body convulsing as the distortion grew louder and more guttural.

Jamie instinctively backed further away. "Stiles, this is bad. This is really, really bad."

"Okay! All right!" Stiles clapped his hands together, his voice frantic. "More ketamine. The man needs ketamine. Come on!"

Isaac grimaced. "Uh… we don't have any more."

Stiles turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. "You used the whole bottle?!"

"It's not like I gave him an IV drip, okay?" Isaac shot back defensively.

Stiles threw his hands in the air. "Okay, um, out! Everybody out!"

Isaac and Erica didn't need to be told twice. "Go, go, go, go!" Stiles shouted, herding them toward the door. Jamie hesitated, glancing between Stiles and Jackson.

"Jamie, move!" Stiles barked, snapping her out of it. She bolted for the door.

As the group spilled into the hallway, they pressed their back against the door, trying to keep Jackson in. "Find something to block the door. Now!" Stiles ordered, but as the words left his mouth, Jackson, now fully turned into the Kanima, burst through the wall and crawled off into the rave.

The cool night air hit Stiles and Jamie as they stepped out of the warehouse, the distant thrum of music muffled behind them. Stiles paced in circles, trying to calm his racing heart, while Jamie stood still, glaring at him.

"This is insane," Jamie hissed. "We can't just stand out here while Scott's in there with god knows what happening!"

"Jamie," Stiles said, spinning around to face her. "Going back in there right now is suicide! Do you even understand what we're dealing with?"

"I understand that our friends are in danger!" she shot back, her voice sharp with frustration. "And I'm not about to just stand out here and do nothing!"

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but before he could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows. Derek stepped into the dim light, his expression grim and his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. He walked purposefully toward them but suddenly stopped short, unable to cross the Mountain Ash barrier surrounding the warehouse.

"It's working!" Stiles said, half-surprised, half-triumphant. "The ash—it's actually working!"

Derek didn't seem to care. His gaze snapped upward, his head tilting slightly as he listened to something only he could hear. His expression darkened, and he took a step closer to the barrier, frustration etched on his face.

"Scott?" Derek muttered, his voice tight with concern.

"What?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowing.

Derek's eyes darted to Stiles. "Break it."

Stiles blinked. "What? No way!" he said, scoffing. "Do you have any idea how long it took to do this? Not to mention, I don't know, keep everyone safe?"

Derek growled, his patience fraying. "Scott's dying!"

Stiles froze, his mouth slightly open as he processed Derek's words. "Okay, what? How do you even know that?"

Derek's glowing eyes locked onto Stiles, his frustration boiling over. "Stiles, I just know! Break it!"

Stiles hesitated, torn between his plan and Derek's urgency. Jamie let out a frustrated sigh as she stepped forward. Without hesitation, she crouched down and swept her hands through the line of Mountain Ash, breaking the barrier. The fine powder scattered in the air, the faint glow around the warehouse vanishing instantly.

Derek didn't waste a second. He surged forward, brushing past Jamie as he ran toward the warehouse entrance. Jamie turned to follow him, but Stiles grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Jamie, stop!" Stiles said, his grip firm. "You can't go in there."

Jamie shook him off, her determination unyielding as she yanked her arm away from his grip and followed Derek inside.

Derek and Jamie rushed through the dark, crowded warehouse. The strobe lights flickered, casting shadows that made it hard to see clearly, but Derek's enhanced senses guided him to the back room where Scott lay unconscious on the floor.

As they entered, Jamie dropped to her knees beside Scott, her hands shaking as she gently tapped his face. "Scott? Scott, wake up! Come on, Scott," she pleaded, her voice trembling with urgency.

Derek took a step forward, but suddenly he faltered, swaying slightly. The scent of wolfsbane in the air hit him like a brick wall, making his vision blur and his head swim. He leaned against the wall, growling softly in frustration as he tried to stay upright.

"Jamie..." he gritted out. "Wolfsbane... it's in the air..."

Jamie glanced up at him, panic flashing in her eyes. "What do we do? Derek, what do we—"

She didn't finish her sentence. Neither of them noticed the shadow moving behind Derek until it was too late.

Victoria Argent struck fast and silent, her knife plunging into Derek's side. He let out a guttural roar of pain, twisting to face his attacker. The two grappled, Victoria's face set in a determined snarl as she aimed to stab him again. Derek caught her wrist, knocking the blade out of her hand, but the struggle only intensified.

"Jamie, get Scott out of here!" Derek barked through gritted teeth, trying to overpower Victoria despite the wolfsbane clouding his senses.

She tried to pull him out, but she wasn't strong enough. The fight took a sudden, brutal turn. In one swift, desperate move, Derek sank his teeth into Victoria's shoulder. She let out a strangled cry and shoved him away with surprising strength, sending him crashing into the wall near Scott.

Jamie gasped, her eyes darting to Victoria, but the older woman was already retreating. By the time Derek shook off the disorientation and looked up, she was gone.

"Damn it!" Derek hissed, clutching his side as he stumbled to Scott's side. He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he checked Scott's pulse and breathing.

"Is he... is he okay?" Jamie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Derek didn't answer immediately. His focus was entirely on Scott. "He's alive," he said finally, relief mixing with urgency. "But we need to get him out of here. Now."

Jamie nodded, swallowing hard. Together, they each took one of Scott's arms and hoisted him up.

The journey through the warehouse felt endless, every step heavy with tension. The music and the crowd blurred around them, but neither Jamie nor Derek paid it any attention. Their sole focus was getting Scott to safety.

When they finally reached Derek's car, they eased Scott into the back seat as gently as they could. Derek leaned against the car for a moment, catching his breath, while Jamie climbed in next to Scott to check on him again.

Derek looked back toward the warehouse, his jaw tight. He slid into the driver's seat. As he started the car and pulled away from the warehouse, he couldn't help but glance in the rear-view mirror at Scott's pale, unconscious face. The weight of what had just happened—and what was still to come—settled heavily on his shoulders.

The soft hum of the animal clinic's fluorescent lights buzzed faintly in the background, but the room was otherwise silent. Scott lay still on the table, his breathing shallow but steady. Jamie sat beside him, gripping his hand tightly, her knuckles white. Her eyes never left his face, but the worry etched into her expression spoke volumes.

Derek sat in the corner of the room, his head tilted back against the wall, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to recover from the lingering effects of the wolfsbane. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, but he remained stoic, his eyes half-lidded as he kept an ear on Scott's breathing and Jamie's quiet fidgeting.

Deaton stood nearby, checking Scott's pulse one more time before stepping back. He glanced between Jamie and Derek, his calm demeanour unshaken. "You two should get some rest," he said gently, breaking the silence. "Scott will be fine until the morning. His vitals are stable, and the worst is over."

"I'm not leaving him," Jamie replied immediately, her voice firm but tinged with exhaustion. She barely looked up, her thumb brushing over the back of Scott's hand.

Deaton sighed, his gaze softening. He glanced over at Derek, who met his eyes with a tired nod. Slowly, Derek pushed himself to his feet, his movements deliberate as he tried not to stagger. "Come on, Jamie," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "I'll take you home."

Jamie shook her head, her grip on Scott's hand tightening. "I'm not leaving him," she murmured, her voice breaking slightly.

Derek stepped closer, his tone patient but insistent. "He's safe here. Come on."

Jamie hesitated, her jaw clenching as she looked from Derek to Scott's face. After a long moment, she exhaled shakily and stood up, reluctantly letting go of Scott's hand. She brushed a loose strand of hair out of his face before turning away.

Derek held the door open for her, and she walked out of the clinic without another word, her shoulders slumped. He followed her out, and they both climbed into his car. The silence between them was heavy as Derek started the engine and pulled out onto the quiet road.

The drive back to Jamie's house was a silent one. Derek's hands gripped the steering wheel as his mind replayed the events of the night—the chaos, the blood, Scott barely clinging to life before Derek had intervened. His pulse was still racing from the tension, but the adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving him with an unsettling calm.

Jamie, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, hadn't said a word. She was staring out the window, her eyes distant, lost in thought. Her shoulders were hunched, as though the weight of the night had settled on them, and Derek couldn't help but glance at her every now and then, trying to read her, trying to figure out what she was feeling.

When they pulled up outside her house, the car came to a stop. But Jamie didn't move. She just sat there, her eyes still fixed on the view outside, not even glancing toward him. The silence between them was thick, heavy, and it gnawed at Derek's chest, making him ache with the need to know what was going on in her mind.

He let the engine idly hum for a moment, the only sound in the car as he tried to find the right words. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the stillness. His voice came out quieter than usual, the concern in it more obvious than he intended.

Jamie didn't respond at first. She simply stared out the window, her lips pressed together tightly. Derek's gaze lingered on her, feeling the knot of tension in his chest grow tighter.

"I'm fine," she said after a moment, but her voice didn't carry the usual strength. It was hollow, like she was convincing herself more than him.

Derek exhaled slowly, his breath coming out in a soft, frustrated sound. He could feel it, that ache deep inside of her. It was like a presence that he couldn't ignore, even though she was trying so hard to hide it. "Scott will be okay," he said, his voice careful, almost too gentle. "He'll heal." She didn't respond.

"Jamie." Derek's voice was low, but with that commanding edge that usually got her to do what he wanted. Jamie's eyes never left the window. There was something about the way she was holding herself, as if she were slowly cracking apart, piece by piece, and Derek couldn't do anything to stop it. It was suffocating.

"Jamie," Derek said again, his voice almost a whisper this time, as if he were afraid of breaking the fragile silence between them. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he touched the side of her face. The skin was warm and soft beneath his fingers, but there was a tension in her jaw, a tightness that he couldn't ignore. He gently turned her face toward him.

For a moment, she didn't move. Her eyes were glassy, staring at hands in her lap, wide and vulnerable. That was when he saw it—the streaks of wetness on her cheeks, the tear tracks that had dried but were still visible, a painful reminder of everything she'd gone through.

Derek felt a tightening in his chest, a fierce wave of protectiveness rushing through him. He hadn't wanted this. He hadn't wanted her to hurt like this.

"Look at me," he said softly, his voice almost a plea. She glanced at him briefly before she closed her eyes, a shudder running through her body as the tears came again, silent and steady.

And then, without warning, Jamie leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

Derek froze for a moment, surprised by her sudden action. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected her to seek comfort in him this way. His first instinct was to pull away, but when her lips moved against his, he couldn't. There was a desperation in her touch, a need to escape whatever it was that had a grip on her heart, and he found himself responding to it, his hand coming up to cradle her face.

Jamie shifted, moving onto his lap, her hands threading through his hair, and the kiss continued, more urgent now, more desperate. Derek's hands tightened around her waist, but his mind was a blur. She deepened the kiss, moving closer to him, and his body tensed. There was too much between them. Too much pain. Too much fear. Derek pulled back slightly, his breath unsteady.

"Jamie," he whispered, his voice strained. "Stop."

But she didn't. She leaned into him again, more forcefully this time, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. Derek's hands instinctively moved to her waist, holding her, but it didn't feel right. He wanted to hold her, but part of him wanted to pull away, to remind her that this wasn't going to make things better.

"Jamie, stop," Derek said again, his voice breaking with the weight of the words. He wanted to pull away—to keep her safe from whatever it was she was trying to escape—but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he wanted her close. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the way she trembled, and it was too much. He couldn't decide what was right.

But then, before he could think any further, he reached down, grabbing her hands and gently pulling them away from him. "Hey," he said, his voice more forceful now, more certain, though it still carried a trace of tenderness. He needed to stop this. For both of them.

Jamie's face crumpled, and her tears came again—fresh, hot, and overwhelming. She was still on top of him, trembling, and Derek could feel the weight of her pain deep in his chest. Derek's hands cradled her face, his forehead leaning against hers. He closed his eyes, a pang of guilt stabbing through him.

"Please," she whispered, her voice so quiet he almost didn't hear it. She wasn't asking for comfort, not really. She was asking for something that Derek couldn't give her—something that was beyond their control.

Because taking away her pain, taking it all on himself, wouldn't fix anything. But if he didn't do it, he feared what might happen to her.

Derek closed his eyes again, and with a resigned sigh, he pulled her close, holding her against him. His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the rising tide of her emotions, on the grief that was overwhelming her.

And then, just as he'd done before, he took it from her.

At first, it felt like a gentle tug, like he was simply drawing her sadness into himself, but the longer he held her, the heavier it became. The weight of her sorrow settled in his chest, pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe. He felt it—the weight of her pain, her fear, her helplessness—and it crushed him. But he didn't pull away. He couldn't.

It felt like drowning, but he held on, keeping her in his arms, feeling every tremor in her body, every ripple of sadness that he absorbed. And though he knew it was a temporary fix, it was the only thing he could do to give her relief.

When it was over, when he could feel her body relaxing against his, he opened his eyes again, his chest tight, his head spinning.

He whispered, his voice hoarse, "It's okay."

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't. Not really. And it wasn't going to be. But for now, this was all he could offer her.