Chapter Ten

A/N: My thanks to the brilliant BetsyBlue for a certain disturbing fact about banana slugs!

Michael looked to be fresh from the forest, still wearing his slouch hat, the knees and cuffs of his jeans stained with dried smears of mud. At least, Tony really hoped it was mud. Michael was likely going to be crashing with them for a while, while his son was recovering, and that meant Tony himself was likely going to be the one laundering his filthy duds. "All right, I'm here," said Michael, removing his hat and scowling aimlessly around the room, the furrows in his brow deepening as his eyes flicked from Tony, to Angela, to Mona. "You mind telling me what's so important it couldn't wait three days?" He zeroed in on Tony, pointing an accusing finger. "That made it necessary for you to send federal agents to harass me at my place of business?"

Geez, you're welcome! Tony thought. "Didn't the guy tell you?"

"He said that Jonathan had some accident on his bike."

"Well, it was a bit more than—" Angela began,

Michael cut her off. "Look, I know our son's never been the best patient, but isn't this something you could have handled yourself? Since you're the one who wanted sole custody in the first place."

Angela flinched as if he'd slapped her. Under the circumstances, and given how guilty and powerless she had been feeling since her son's accident, it was the worst thing anyone could have possibly said to her. Tony glanced at Mona, and they shared a quick series of meaningful looks. Can I hurt him? Tony pleaded with his eyes.

No, I want to hurt him! Mona's steely gaze held firm.

Tony flexed a muscle. Yeah, but I'm bigger and can inflict greater damage.

While they were silently duking it out, Samantha beat them both to the punch, running to Angela's side and brandishing a fist at the interloper. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for good, you testa di cazzo!"

Michael seemed more baffled than intimidated. "Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf and ugly?" Sam sneered. Perhaps Tony was imagining it, but he could have sworn a trace of her old Brooklyn accent had crept back into her voice. "You talk to Angela with a little respect while you're under her roof, or else! And while you're at it, maybe consider asking about your kid, instead of whining about how inconvenient it is for you that he's hurt!"

Michael looked expectantly at Tony. "Are you going to let your child speak to me like that?"

"Normally, no, but she saved us the trouble of doing it ourselves," Mona answered for him, her voice as cold as ice. Tony ran to place a protective arm around his daughter, and another around Angela. He wouldn't have put it quite so strongly, but he couldn't quite bring himself to object, either.

Michael's lips thinned. "You're a delight, as always, Mona." He glanced around the room. "Where's Jonathan? Did you send him to bed early?" His face softened. "Was he hurt that badly? Did he break a bone or something?"

At that, Tony relaxed his own stance a bit, and he noticed Angela doing so as well. It was clear he had no idea what the extent of his son's injuries was. "Agent Holmes didn't tell you much, did he?"

"Agent Holmes? I don't know who that is. It was a Ranger Flores who tracked me down." Michael sighed wearily. "And then a Ranger Johansen, and then a Ranger Thomas."

Tony was becoming slightly less enraged. From the sound of things, Michael had gotten the news thirdhand, and then fourthhand and fifthhand. It was no wonder some of the urgency had been lost in translation. On the other hand, that meant they were going to have to give Michael the full extent of the bad news themselves.

"Why didn't you call us?" Angela wondered.

Michael's eyes bugged out and a vein in his forehead began to throb visibly. He looked like he might literally, physically explode at any second. Tony instinctively took a step back, pulling Angela and Sam along with him. "I did! Forty-two times! Don't you people ever check your answering machine?!" Michael all but screamed at her.

Tony looked at Angela. Angela looked at Tony. They both looked at Mona. Mona looked at Samantha. Samantha looked annoyed. "Hey, I know I'm usually the one who has custody of the phone in this house, but it's not like I've had much time to chat with my friends lately!"

"It's true," said Tony. "We've all been at the hospital for the past four days, only coming home to sleep for short stretches." They had worked out a schedule, Angela driving home with Sam around eleven at night, sleeping for three or four hours, and then heading back to her son's bedside. At which time, Tony would head home for three or four hours and then drive back over with Samantha around seven in the morning. They occasionally took a few minutes out to shower or grab food for the road, but trivial tasks like checking the answering machine weren't really on their radar.

"We assumed you'd be calling us at the hospital," Angela explained. "Tony said he left you the number."

"Yeah. I left the main number for the hospital with your neighbor, Mrs. Kitzler, and the direct numbers for the unit and for Jonathan's room with Agent Holmes, but I guess they forgot to pass them along."

Michael took in this information, and as he relaxed his stance another notch, so did the rest of the room. "I never made it home, so I never had a chance to talk with Mrs. Kitzler. Ranger Flores, the first of the park staff to track me down, didn't say anything about Jonathan being in the hospital. He just said my son had been hurt in a bike accident and his stepfather was trying to get ahold of me." He eyed his ex-wife's naked ring finger, then quirked an eyebrow dubiously at Tony. He didn't say anything, but he was clearly wondering whether Tony had been lying about being her husband, or was simply too cheap to buy her a ring.

Angela self-consciously stuffed her left hand behind her back. "We haven't been telling people we're married. Everyone's just been assuming."

"None of my business," said Michael, a knowing look in his eye. "We all know you will be, eventually. So even if you had, it wouldn't have been that big of a lie." Tony's ears began to burn. Angela was looking everywhere in the room but at him. Mona and Sam just nodded in silent agreement. "Anyway, he stuck around my crew's camp for about an hour, and I tried you guys seven or eight times, with no luck. I figured you were probably too busy taking care of the kid to come to the phone, and the rest of the team was waiting on me, so I told Ranger Flores he could leave and I got back to work.

Angela finally dared to meet Tony's eyes again, and they nodded in silent agreement. That was understandable enough.

"But then, later that evening, Ranger Johansen found me, and said it was all over the park that my son was hurt in a bike accident. He offered to give me a ride back to the rangers' station so that I could call and check on Jonathan. We'd just wrapped for the day, so I took him up on it. I hung out there for four hours, and called like twenty times in a row, but still no answer. By then, it was midnight, and I figured there was probably something wrong with your phone line, since you hadn't called back to cuss me out for waking the kids on a school night. Besides, I had the film crew counting on me for a paycheck, not to mention the sponsors and producers counting on me to finish the job, and the banana slugs of the Redwood Forest counting on me to prevent their potential extirpation."

Sam cocked her head curiously. "What's extirpation?"

"Sort of like being endangered, but rather than the whole species being threatened, it's a specific population being threatened." Michael's weary, careworn face came alive as he explained, his passion for the subject matter evident. "You see, banana slugs aren't in any trouble, as a species, but the giant sequoia forests they inhabit in California are. As more and more redwood trees are getting cut down, there's less shade, less fog, and less moisture, and the slugs need those things to maintain their thick coat of slime." He chattered on happily, oblivious to the unnatural green Samantha's face was turning. "The slime's not just for looks, you see. Though it does help them attract their mates. It's also a defensive mechanism, numbing the tongues and throats of predators and making it physically impossible for them to swallow-"

"Me too!" Samantha groaned, putting a hand over her mouth and fleeing to the upstairs bathroom.

Michael cast a brief glance at her retreating back. "What, too much?"

"Yes," said Angela, looking a little queasy herself. Tony shook his head fondly, the display making him think of Jonathan. The kid took after his father in a lot of ways. It truly was a shame they weren't able to spend more time together.

Mona was still glaring daggers at her former son-in-law. "Since you seem more interested in discussing banana slugs than your injured child, I'll play along. Here's another fact about them that you may not be aware of. Their penises grow out of their heads, making them literal dickheads. No wonder you feel such an affinity toward them."

Tony laughed. He knew it was childish and lowbrow, but he couldn't help himself. It was funny, and lack of sleep had weakened his inhibitions. Angela elbowed him, then shot her mother a warning look. "Mother, please. There's a child in this house and I won't have her exposed to that kind of language. And besides, this isn't the time for petty name calling!"

"I'd say it's the perfect time. My grandson's hurt, my blood volume is low, and my filter is gone." Mona turned back to Michael. "You may also be interested to know that some banana slugs have a rather kinky fetish. They like to bite their mates' penises off during sex." She bared her teeth at him dangerously.

Michael actually looked a bit scared, for a moment. "How the hell did you know that?"

"My grandson told me all about those slimy things. Even though I was begging him to stop."

"Mona, could you run up and check on Sam for me?" Tony requested, not entirely as an excuse to get rid of her, though that was a nice bonus. Angela took his hand and squeezed it gratefully.

Mona's smile faded, but she reluctantly nodded in agreement. "I guess someone should. If you two lose your cool and clobber him, be sure to take lots of pictures for me." She made a rude gesture at her former son-in-law and headed upstairs.

Michael ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. "By the time Ranger Thomas came and found me, I was getting worried, but by then, we were on our last day of filming, so I decided to stick it out."

"You decided to stick it out," Angela repeated, her voice hollow.

"Well, yeah. I figured the kid would keep for one more day, and there was a big storm system on its way, so filming conditions wouldn't.

"He didn't know. He still doesn't," Tony whispered into her ear. For Jonathan's sake, it was best that they keep things civil. The kid needed all hands on deck at a time like this.

"Once we'd wrapped, I started home, hitting payphones in Redding, Sacramento, and Stockton on the way to try and call you guys again." Michael was tapping his foot as he spoke. Was it anxiety, or impatience? "Then three more in San Francisco. Then I finally gave up on calling and boarded a plane to New York." He shot his ex-wife a disgruntled frown. "By that time, I was having visions of Jonathan lying in a morgue or under a truck."

"Well, you're wrong on the first count, at least for now, but your second guess was right on the money," Angela spat at him bitterly. "I hope you're not expecting me to congratulate you."

Michael blinked uncomprehendingly. "Huh?"

"Sit down, Michael," Tony recommended, pointing Jonathan's father to one of the overstuffed chairs by the coffee table and then leading Angela to the couch to join him. "Brace yourself. You ain't gonna like this."

"Let me tell him!" Mona yelled down the stairs.

"Mona, enough already!"

Michael was starting to look appropriately worried, which was a relief. "Guys, what's going on?"

Angela took a deep breath, her lower jaw trembling a bit when she opened her mouth. As if it were loath to speak the horrible words out loud. "Jonathan was hit by a pickup truck while riding his new bike, early Monday evening."

"So…it's bad, then?" Michael extrapolated nervously. "Broken bones? A concussion? Did he need stitches?"

"He's in intensive care, where he's spent the last three days in a coma." The words were spewing out of her mouth like pus from a festering wound, fast and out-of-control, now that they'd been cut loose. "His spine is broken, he has a hole in his head and another in his lung. His aorta was ruptured and he had fourteen units of blood, ninety-two stitches, and the doctors counted nineteen broken bones. Eleven ribs, one clavicle, one pelvic bone and six vertebrae." She fought the urge to grab the front of his shirt and shake him. "He died, Michael."

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin. "But you said he was-!"

Angela took a moment to be relieved. He was scared. Good. He still had the capacity to give a damn about his son. "Not permanently."

"Your boy's a fighter, Michael," Tony informed him, trying to put a positive spin on things, as always. "He came out of it after a few minutes."

Michael clutched his chest and sucked in an awkward, ragged breath. "Don't scare me like that, Angela!" Then he rounded on Tony. "And where the hell were you when this happened? Weren't you supposed to be watching him? Isn't that what she pays you for?" His eyes fell on their joined hands, his lip curling in disgust. "Or is she keeping you on her payroll for other reasons, these days?"

There was a loud cracking noise, and Michael suddenly reeled backward. However, it wasn't until her palm started to sting that Angela realized she'd slapped him. "How dare you?!"

"Angela, take it easy!" Tony grabbed her wrist and held it in place. "I appreciate the sentiment, though."

Michael was holding his cheek, staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief. "You hit me." It seemed to be more of a question than a complaint.

"And if you keep talking that way about the man I love, a man who's spent more time raising your son than you ever have or will, I'll do it again," she seethed, not feeling particularly apologetic. "Where the hell do you get off judging us, buster? You weren't with him when it happened, either!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You're right. We're divorced. You've never hassled me about my love life and I've got no right to make smart remarks about yours." Michael sagged against the back of his chair like the loser of a boxing match. "I'm not sure how this conversation got off the rails. Can we start over?"

"Look, I get it, Michael. You're worried about Jonathan and you needed someone to be mad at," Tony replied knowingly. "I feel you, pal. I went through it, too. The good news is, there's a much better candidate than Angela and me. The cops arrested the junkie who hit him, he confessed to everything, and he's looking at two to twenty in the pen."

Michael's mouth twisted into a thin, sardonic half-smile. "I'd prefer it if the bastard were looking up at six feet of dirt, but I guess it's a start."

A fog of guilt was rolling into Angela's head as her id went back into hiding and her superego reasserted its dominance. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to hit you. Truly, I'm happy and relieved that you're here. You arrived just in time. The doctors want to try waking Jonathan up tomorrow." She had wondered what she was going to do if her son asked for his father when he woke up. She couldn't bear the thought of giving him any more bad news. He would already be waking up to a horror show in progress.

"He's going to be so glad to see you," Tony predicted. "The doctors don't agree on much at this point, but the one thing they do agree on is that the kid's going to be sick in bed for a while yet. Having you at his side to share all your crazy jungle stories and talk about slugs with him will help him stay sane."

Michael nodded slowly, uncertainly. "I'll do my best, though I don't know how long I can stay. I have another expedition coming up next week. My producer's expecting me in Vladivostok a few days before filming starts to meet with the sponsors, and then I'm looking at six weeks in Kamchatka."

"Where's Kamchatka?" Tony and Angela asked in unison.

"It's a big, mountainous peninsula dangling off the far southeastern end of Siberia, and it's home to the largest and most diverse population of salmonid fish in the world." Michael was growing animated again. "It's arguably the biggest natural fish hatchery there is, with spawning grounds for literally every species of Pacific salmonid, along with a wealth of other anadromous fish."

Tony's forehead furrowed in confusion. "How the hell do you spend six weeks talking about salmon?"

"Oh, don't undersell them, Tony!" said Michael earnestly. "They're amazing creatures with natural intuition we can't even understand, let alone match. And they need all the good publicity they can get. The Kamchatka populations have lost nearly two thirds of their biomass in the last decade, with so many idiots butchering the spawning females for caviar." He wrinkled his nose. "It's not even good caviar, it's that salty red knockoff crap that always tastes like the tin can it came from."

"Yeah, I'm not a fan, either," Tony agreed. "If I'm too broke or too cheap to pop for the real thing, I actually prefer the vegan version."

"Wait, back up!" Michael leaned forward in his chair, eyes alight with interest. "Are you telling me someone invented vegan caviar? For real?"

"For real. I got the recipe from a chef whose restaurant I used to deliver fish to. It was the most popular hors d'oeuvre on his menu, and it also had the highest profit margin. Seventeen cents a serving to make, and every bit as good as beluga."

"Can you write it down for me when you have a minute? I could actually use that in the show." The wheels were turning in Michael's head, and it was written all over his face. "Intersperse the wildlife footage and all the depressing facts about poaching with lighthearted cooking segments, on sustainable alternatives to illegally-harvested fish products—"

"Enough about the eggplant!" Angela exploded, staring at her ex in disbelief. "You're going to leave your critically ill child to be with fish?" The slugs were one thing. He'd had no way of knowing Jonathan was going to need him when he'd set out on that stupid venture. But now he was making a conscious decision to leave, before he'd even set eyes on his battered son. "You haven't even seen him yet, and you're already planning to leave again!"

Michael rubbed his forehead as if it were starting to ache. "Angela, not everyone is lucky enough to be their own boss. I have to go where my producer sends me, or he'll send someone else. In case you've forgotten, I have child support to pay."

Was he seriously trying to pretend that going three years without seeing his son was supposed to have been some kind of favor to her? "I never asked for, needed, or wanted child support, if you'll recall. Our son doesn't need a paycheck, he needs a father."

Tony stood up and took both her hands in his. Was he comforting her, or afraid she'd slap her ex again? "Angela, try to calm down. Yelling ain't gonna solve nothing. Can I have a word with you in the kitchen?"

"Not now," she grated. How dare he side against her in this?

"Sorry, but I'm gonna have to insist." And without further ado, he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Ordinarily, she would have kicked, screamed, and fired him repeatedly the whole way. But she didn't want to fight with Tony in front of Michael. She wouldn't give her ex the petty satisfaction of knowing he'd driven a wedge between them. The moment her boyfriend sat her on her feet, though, she let him have it. As quietly as possible, of course. "I can't believe you're defending that deadbeat!" she hissed.

"He's not a deadbeat, Angela," Tony replied, sotto voice. "Not exactly. A deadbeat wouldn't have hopped on a plane and come all this way." Tony cast a mildly disapproving glance at the door Michael was waiting behind. "Granted, a good dad probably would have hopped on a plane a little sooner, but I think Michael's somewhere in between."

Though she really didn't want to, she could see what he meant. "I guess I can't say he doesn't care. But he's not nearly as panicked as we were."

"Yeah, Mona told me how you nearly strangled that cop," Tony chuckled.

"And Samantha told me how you nearly killed the paramedics when they put Jonathan's restraints on," she retorted.

"Yeah. Michael didn't attack us, but he did manage some nasty insults," said Tony.

It was an interesting line of defense, but he'd made his point. "I suppose it's something. Maybe I should give him some time to let the news sink in. Perhaps it simply doesn't seem real to him, yet," she conceded. "Sometimes it still doesn't seem real to me."

"You're probably right. Once he sees how bad off Jonathan is, I'm guessing he'll be less eager to leave the kid's side," Tony predicted.

She leaned in to rest her forehead against his cheek. "And the last thing we need right now is another family feud."

"I know ain't got the strength for one," said Tony, putting his arms around her.
"Me neither." She breathed in the clean scent of Pine-Sol and lemon Pledge that clung to Tony's skin. It soothed her frazzled nerves like high-end aromatherapy. "Okay. Let's get back in there and dredge up some phony goodwill." It was the only kind she could muster for that man right now. She hoped it would do in a pinch.

"That's my girl," said Tony affectionately.

Arm in arm, they returned to the living room. With his tangent about salmonids over, Michael looked as exhausted as Angela felt. And he had a big red handprint on his face, which she noticed with no small amount of guilt. "Michael, I'm truly sorry I keep lashing out at you. My nerves are shot, I'm low on sleep, and I imagine you're in similar shape, between all the hiking and the jet lag. Fo now, why don't we all get some sleep? Tomorrow, we'll go to the hospital and see what Jonathan's condition is after the doctor gets all the drugs out of him. We'll be in a better place to start making plans once that happens."

Michael seemed relieved, a rush of air that didn't quite have enough energy behind it to be a sigh escaping through his nostrils. "A good night's rest sounds like just what the doctor ordered." He nodded at the couch. "Next to the cold mud of the slug runs, your couch is going to feel like paradise."

"Aw, you ain't gotta sleep on the couch. You can have my bed. I'll bunk with Angela." The smirk on Tony's face was irritatingly smug. She half-expected him to start thumbing his nose at her ex-husband and chanting nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah!

As annoying as it was, though, she was glad to hear he planned on sleeping beside her. She'd been having all sorts of nightmares, the past couple of nights, and had found herself wishing for his comforting presence after waking up. "Yes, take Tony's bed. We'll leave around seven, so be ready. Tony's clock radio should already be set for six-thirty." She had only one concern with the arrangement. "Have you put fresh sheets on that bed since we made love in it?" she whispered in Tony's ear.

"No," he admitted. "I'll do it as soon as I check on Samantha and tidy up the bathroom a little. The guy's gonna need to get in there and shower. I don't think they'll even let him into the PICU with all that mud on him."

Her ex-husband was something of a biohazard, in his current condition. "I'll make sure Sam and the bathroom are cleaned up, and put out fresh towels. You tackle the bed, and gather up your pajamas and whatever else you need for the night."

"Aw, I wanted to sleep in the buff. Just so Michael will know exactly whose girl you are, if he chances to walk in on us." Tony snickered softly.

His possessiveness was simultaneously reassuring and obnoxious. "Do I need to sleep with a pillow over my face in order to make sure you don't tattoo your name on my forehead?"

Tony was suitably chastised. "No. I'll be good."

The upstairs bathroom was a mess, but Mother had taken good care of Samantha herself. A cold, wet towel was draped around the girl's neck, a damp cloth was folded on her forehead, and Mother's arms were wrapped around her shoulders, stroking her hair. "I'm okay, Mona," Sam said hoarsely.

"You don't look okay." Mother made a face. "You look like an extra from that 'Thriller' video."

"You are a comfort as always, Mother," said Angela ruefully, sitting beside them on the bathroom floor and joining the embrace. The poor child looked and felt as if she was made of quivering gelatin. "She has a point, though, Samantha. If you're sick, you should have said something." A horrible theory struck her out of left field. "Oh, I hope you didn't pick something up at the hospital." Namely, the life-threatening penicillin-resistant meningitis that the little boy in room H8 was fighting. Angela hugged the girl more tightly, as if to somehow shield her.

"I'm not sick, Angela," Sam insisted. "I've just had a nervous stomach since the accident happened. It'll pass once all this does."

Angela tipped the girl's face up for inspection. She looked about a hundred years old, her face pale and drawn, her eyes ringed with dark smudges. "Sweetheart, have you been sleeping okay?"

"No." Sam shrugged dismissively. "But neither has anyone else in this house."

A reasonable argument, but it wasn't quite the same thing. She and Tony had been going out of their way to give Sam the opportunity for a full night's sleep. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, she hadn't been taking advantage of it. "Let's get you a Dramamine. It'll help with the nausea, with the added benefit of knocking you out at the same time."

"No!" Sam yelped, her eyes wide with what appeared to be terror. "Please, I don't want it."

Mother's eyes met Angela's over the top of Sam's head, and they shared a worried look. "Sam, we know you're tough, but our ability to take pills when we feel lousy is what separates us from the animals," Mother pointed out gently. "Well, that and deodorant."

Sam smiled wanly at the joke. "Thanks for the thought, guys. But I really, really don't want to be knocked out. Whe-if I have a nightmare, I want to be able to wake up when it gets bad."

Angela's heart sank. "Have you been having a lot of nightmares?"

Sam hesitated to answer, which was a bad sign. "Well…"

"How many?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno."

Angela was well aware that those words were was teen for I don't want to tell you. "Three? Five? Seven?"

Samantha finally realized Angela wasn't going to let it go and opened her mouth. "Maybe five…"

"Five?" About the same number Angela herself had had, then. She temporarily relaxed.

"A night," Sam added, so quietly her voice was barely audible.

Well, there went that scrap of comfort.

"It's mostly just the same dream over and over, though," Sam went on. "I keep seeing Jonathan lying dead on the pavement, not breathing. Or sometimes it's Dad, or Mom, or Grandpa, or one of you guys in his place."

"Sweetie, that sounds awful," said Angela. "Why didn't you say something?" She suspected she knew the answer, but had to ask, just the same.

"You guys have enough to worry about with Jonathan."

Yes, that was the answer she had been expecting, though she'd hoped that she was wrong. Angela looked at her mother, whose face was uncharacteristically grave. "And you've been having stomachaches? Anything else?" Mother gently inquired.

"I've been having some headaches. Not bad ones, though. And I don't have a fever," Sam was quick to reassure them. "I'm not sick, I promise. Just a little jittery from everything that's been going on."

Angela pulled back to look the girl she'd come to love like her own in the eye. "Samantha, the fact that Jonathan's hurt doesn't mean you're not allowed to be hurt. Help and love aren't dispensed on a first come, first served basis in this family. And keeping problems bottled up will probably cause more stress in the long run, not less."

"Yeah, we all know how crazy your dad gets when he thinks people are keeping secrets from him. Remember how psycho he went when he found out your mom was taking art lessons? Or how he barreled into the library a few weeks ago and tried to kill that geeky little boy you were sneaking around with?"

"I remember. Poor Mason." Samantha managed a real smile at the memory.

Speaking of the devil, Tony tentatively knocked on the door. "Are you three ladies all decent in there?"

"Decency is relative, but we've all got clothes on, if that's what you mean," Mother informed him blithely.

Cautiously, Tony opened the door and crouched in front of his daughter. "How're you feeling, sweetie?"

"I'm f—" Sam started to lie. Angela and her mother both nudged the girl insistently. "I've been better," she admitted. "Mona helped me wash my face and brush my teeth, but my knees feel like jelly and I'm still a little dizzy."

Tony's face fell. "Oh no, I hope it's not—"

"It's not meningitis," Angela immediately reassured him. "She doesn't have a fever, or the rash the little boy at the hospital has."

Tony relaxed, just a bit. "Maybe a good night's sleep will sort you out." He took his daughter by the arm and helped her to her feet. He didn't seem to like the way she was wobbling on her feet, though, and swept her into his arms like a baby.

"Dad, I can walk," Sam whined.

"Better safe than sorry," Tony insisted. "Come on, let's get you tucked in. Then I'll bring you some Sprite and soda crackers, and maybe a Dramamine—"

"We're out of Dramamine," Angela lied, retrieving a bottle of Pepto-Bismol from the medicine cabinet and tucking it into his hip pocket. "Give her this."

"Thanks, honey," said Tony.

Sam peered over her father's shoulder. "Yeah, thanks Angela," she echoed with no small amount of relief.

Angela gave the toilet and the floor around it a perfunctory scrubbing, turned on the exhaust fan, put some clean towels on the side of the sink, and headed to Tony's room. "Michael, the hall bathroom's vacant and clean if you'd like to take a shower."

Michael was idly examining the family photos on Tony's dresser. His eyes had landed on a snapshot of the whole family raising their glasses in celebration at the Fergusons' wedding last year. He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "This looks like a wedding, Angela."

"It was a wedding."

"Angela, if you and Tony are married, you don't have to hide it from me," he informed her bemusedly. "We've been divorced for a while now, and I think I can handle the truth."

Angela rolled her eyes. "It wasn't our wedding. It was for some friends of ours."

"Oh. I just thought, with him in a tux and you in that fancy dress, and Mona and the kids looking so happy…" He sat the photo back where he'd found it.

"I was the matron of honor and he was the best man. Mother's happy because she'd been having a tryst with one of the catering crew in the cloakroom, Samantha looks happy because she'd just snuck her first glass of champagne, and Jonathan's happy because he caught the garter. You know how competitive our son is. Winning a game always puts a smile on his face." She chuckled at the happy memory. "Once he found out what catching the garter meant, though, he was desperate to unload the thing, and he all but threw it into Tony's lap."

Michael grinned. "At least the little guy didn't throw up on anybody at this one, right?"

Ah yes. Another happy memory. "Speaking of which, how is Heather?"

Michael's smile immediately vanished. "Living happily in San Bernardino with my former pool boy, the last I heard."

"Oh dear." Angela laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Michael, I'm so sorry. You and I both know I never cared much for Heather, but I wouldn't wish a broken marriage on anyone."

Her ex-husband nodded. "I know. Apparently, she'd been carrying on with this guy behind my back for a while, then fell pregnant and decided to come clean. At least she thought enough of me, and him, and the baby, not to try to pass it off as mine."

"Yeah, secrets like that have a way of coming out, in the end." And you need another child like you need a hard kick in the groin, she left unsaid.

"It's been a lonely few months." Michael unzipped his suitcase, fishing out some soap and a toothbrush. "I'm looking forward to seeing my little tiger tomorrow. Oh, sorry, I know he doesn't like to be called that anymore." Michael smiled affectionately. "I'd better kick the habit before morning."

Michael still didn't seem to grasp the gravity of their child's injuries. "If he's mentally coherent enough to be upset, and physically able to open his mouth and object, we can count ourselves lucky."

Her ex-husband sobered a bit. "Right."

"Go take a hot shower and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

After carefully dosing her with Pepto, Tony placed a small tray with crackers, Sprite, and a hot mug of bone broth in his daughter's lap. "Be sure to finish this off before you close your eyes, sweetheart," he instructed. "And next time, please tell me if you're not feeling well. I know Angela and I have been a little preoccupied with Jonathan, but just because he's hurt—

"Doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be," Sam finished between sips of broth, affection and exasperation mingling in her voice. "That's exactly what Angela said. You two really are made for each other," the girl snorted.

Tony took his daughter in his arms. "Thank you, I agree. And she's right. Remember back home in Brooklyn, when Old Man Tagliaferro had his knee replacement surgery? Old Lady Tagliaferro got so busy taking care of him—"

"That she completely ignored it when her throat started to hurt, didn't go to the doctor, her strep infection turned into scarlet fever, and she almost died," Sam rattled off with a bored look, having heard the story a million times.

That actually hadn't been Tony's point. A near-death experience meant nothing to a teenager, who always assumed the bullet would hit someone else. "Actually, I was just going to remind you how the fever left her bald as a hen's egg."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that." Her hands flew to the top of her head, as if to make sure her own hair had not yet abandoned ship.

Having made his point, he kissed his daughter on the forehead. "If you need anything in the night, you come and get us, okay? We'll be mad if you don't."

"Okay, okay!" Sam popped another cracker into her mouth. "I promise. Since you won't let me get up, could you hand me that magazine on the dresser?" She pointed. "If I can't watch my favorite fox on Family Ties, at least I can enjoy the five-page photo essay on New Edition."

"I thought you didn't like New Edition," said Tony, doing as she asked.

"Not at first, but they're growing on me." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "That Johnny Gill is hotter than Bobby Brown ever was."

He narrowed his eyes. "Enjoy your magazine, honey. But try not to enjoy it too much. These guys have to be in their twenties."

Sam grinned mischievously. "Ralph and Michael are still nineteen."

"And you're still fourteen," he reminded her. "Whatever happened to that nice Mason boy?"

"Dad, we've been over this. I'm not interested in Mason."

"Are you sure?" Tony all but begged.

Sam nodded apologetically. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, you can't blame a father for trying." He turned off the overhead light, leaving the bedside lamp on for her to read by. As he arrived at Angela's door with a bundle of pajamas under his arm, he fought the urge to knock before entering.

The room itself was empty, the sound of running water in the ensuite bathroom and a hint of steam trickling through the half-open door both indicating she was in the shower. A hot shower and a wet, naked Angela both sounded pretty tempting, so he shucked off his clothes and climbed in with her.

She didn't seem displeased or even surprised to see him, pulling him under the spray with her and greeting him with a kiss. "I was hoping you'd take the hint," she murmured against his lips.

After washing each other, dirtying each other, and then washing each other again, the pair donned unsexy pajamas. "Are you worried about Sam walking in on us, or is that flannel nightgown for Michael's benefit?" he couldn't resist teasing her as they climbed into bed, drowsy and boneless.

"Sam, definitely," Angela replied, seeking his arms as he pulled the comforter over them. "Did she tell you she's been having nightmares?"

"No." He turned off the bedside lamp and stared into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Sam confiding sensitive information to Angela before she broke it to him was not a new phenomenon, and he'd learned not to take offense, for the most part. But he couldn't figure out why she'd chosen to do so in this instance. "I wish she had, though. I could have let her know she's in good company."

"You, too, huh?" In the dark, one of her hands came up to soothingly stroke his cheek. "Me, three. Nightmares seem to be a bit of an epidemic around here, since Jonathan's accident. But Sam says she's been getting them around five times a night."

"That ain't normal. Why didn't she say something sooner?"

"Because she's her father's daughter. Too busy worrying about her loved ones to consider her own needs," Angela replied, with no small amount of affection in her voice. "It's one of the best and worst things about both of you."

He held her tighter, clutching her like a little boy with a security blanket, and was gratified when she squeezed him back just as hard. "Well, we'll all be in a hospital together tomorrow," he sighed. "I'll have to make her an appointment to see…I dunno, someone." To whom did one go about these sorts of things? A doctor? Counselor? Psychiatrist?

"It would probably be best to start with one of the hospital's pediatric social workers," Angela suggested. "They'll be able to refer her to a therapist who specializes in helping children and adolescents. I very much doubt Sam's the first kid who's needed help coping with an illness in the family."

That was true enough. Tony relaxed a bit. "I guess you have a point. Hurting when your loved ones are is a natural part of being a family."

"The absolute worst part," Angela agreed. "But it comes with the territory."