


Broken Man

by Seshat0120



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-12
Updated: 2008-01-11
Packaged: 2013-11-04 03:36:52
Rating: K+
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,344
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3390066/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/159290/Seshat0120
Summary: Al gets a call in the early hours of the morning to pick Sam up at the hospital after he falls asleep at the wheel. It's up to Al to find out what would push Sam to drive around aimlessly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Broken Man**

_by Seshat0120_

_Disclaimer: Quantum Leap and all related characters are owned by Belisarius Productions and Universal. No profit has been made off of the writing or distribution of this piece of fiction._

About the only place I hated to be more than a courtroom with one of my ex-wives suing for more alimony was a hospital emergency room but I found myself walking through the doors of one tonight. I'd been enjoying quite a nice evening with one of the new lab techs, Cindy. Just as we were about to engage in some…extracurricular activities, the phone rang. The statie on the other end informed me, as businesslike as he possibly could, that "Dr. Beckett has been involved in a motor vehicle accident and that he was taken to Sierra Vista Hospital in Truth or Consequences." So I bid the fair Cindy an early goodnight, got in my car and drove for over an hour to Truth or Consequences

What Sam possibly could have been doing down that way I had no idea. The last he'd told me before he left the project grounds on Friday was that he was going to spend the weekend at his house in Socorro. Driving down, I really didn't care what he was up to. The statie who'd called hadn't been able to tell me how bad of an accident Sam had been in and I could only think the worst.

When I arrived at the hospital, I marched up to the admittance desk and asked for Sam. The nurse who was on duty there was, shall we say, less than accommodating. Barely looking up from paperwork she was filling out she informed me in a very bored voice, "no Sam Beckett's been admitted tonight."

"You sure," I asked her. "I got a call from the state police earlier that he was in a car accident and he'd been brought here. Can you check again?" I was doing my best to contain my worry and fear but it wasn't easy.

Nurse Kincaid, as I saw on her nametag, sighed and consulted a list of recently admitted patients again. "Sorry, there's no Sam Beckett. Maybe you got the wrong hospital."

"How many hospitals are there in this town?" I irritably asked. I knew the answer to the question but couldn't refrain from asking. As small as Truth or Consequences was, it was a wonder they had a hospital at all. "How about a Samuel Beckett? Is there a Samuel Beckett on your list?"

Nurse Kincaid let out an aggravated sigh. "I told you, there's no Sam Beckett and there's no Samuel Beckett. You got the wrong hospital. Maybe you should try the morgue."

That did it. Her callous statement that I try the morgue was the straw that broke the camel's back. Since I received the call I'd been imagining just that and this woman's bored and irritated suggestion was like lighting a match to dry tinder.

"Maybe you need to check your list a little better. The state police told me Sierra Vista Hospital and that's where I am. Now I want to know where Sam is and I want to know now." I knew the volume of my voice was rising and frankly, I just didn't care. I wanted to know where Sam was and what condition he was in and I wanted to know it now. If they heard me in the waiting room across the hall, I didn't care.

"And I told you," Nurse Kincaid began but she was cut off by another voice behind me.

"He's right here," the voice said. It was weary and pain-filled but I'd know it anywhere. I whirled around to face Sam.

"What the hell happened," I asked him loudly grabbing him by the shoulders and looking closely at him. There was a bandage above his left eye and he seemed to be holding himself stiffly. Aside from that, he looked like he hadn't slept in about a week. His face was snow-white and that only accented the shadows under his eyes giving him the appearance of a raccoon. He was slumped against the wall behind him and I honestly thought it was the only thing holding him up. Without meaning to, I gave his shoulders a shake as I asked again, "what the hell happened."

Sam put a hand up against my chest to push me back but the push was weak. None-the-less, I stepped back and let him go. "I fell asleep driving and went off the road," he explained. He wasn't looking me in the face but was studying the toes of his shoes. "I'm ok but my jeep's totaled."

"You fell asleep driving?" I asked astounded. I couldn't understand how he could do such a damned fool thing. First, though, I had to make sure he truly was all right. After all, the statie had told me he'd been admitted here. "Has a doctor seen you? Should you be up walking around?"

He nodded wearily and finally looked up at me. "They just let me go a couple of minutes before you barged in and started screaming. I'm fine. It's just a bump on the head and some bruised ribs. Nothing I won't survive."

"A bump?" I asked not completely believing him. What I could see peeking out around the bandage looked like more than a bump.

He sighed but he answered me. "There's three stitches but that's it. There's no concussion and I'm free to go." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded in fourths. Unfolding it, he waved it under my nose while telling me that he was free to go. I could only imagine it was discharge papers and snatched it from his hand wanting to see for myself that he really was ok enough to be leaving the hospital.

He was taken aback when I snatched the paper so quickly from his hand but said nothing. Neither did I as I scanned the sheet of paper. As he'd told me, it indicated that he had three stitches in a head laceration but that there was no indication of neurological trauma. There was also a mention of the bruised ribs he'd told me about.

"If you're satisfied that I'm not lying to you and I really am ok to leave here can we just get going? I'm tired." He leaned even more heavily against the wall and scrubbed at his face with his hands. Tired didn't even begin to describe his state which seemed to come closer to exhaustion. I hazarded a guess that even without a concussion he probably had a headache too.

"Sure, we can go. Just as soon as you tell me what the hell happened?" I realized I was still talking loudly and barking at him more than anything else but I'd spent the last hour and a half worried sick that he'd been killed in some car crash and I figured I had a right to know what had happened.

He winced and let out another sigh then returned to the study of his shoes. "Do you mind not yelling? My head's pounding," he softly confessed confirming my guess of a headache. "Look, can we please just go and I'll tell you everything."

I took pity on him then. Something was wrong beyond just the exhaustion I could see and the injuries from the car accident. I nodded my head and grabbed him by the elbow to lead him out of the emergency room to my car.

"I appreciate you coming down here," he said softly. "I know it was a long drive and you probably had better things to do."

Boy, he didn't know the half of it. With any luck, I'd be able to convince Cindy to try again on another night. Right now, though, my friendship with Sam came first. He didn't look like he was in any condition to take care of himself so that left it to me to make sure he was taken care of. The first thing he needed was to get home and go to bed. The rest would come along after that.


	2. Chapter 2

Bright sunlight pouring through the windows behind my bed woke me up. As I rolled over to get up, I couldn't hold back the groan that came out of my mouth as all the bumps and bruises from the accident made themselves known. I spared a glance at the clock and tried to hold back another groan when I saw the time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd stayed in bed past 9:00. Then again, it was already almost 3:00 am when Al and I got in last night and I hadn't had very much sleep in the last couple of days. I guess it was surprising that I wasn't still asleep.

Standing very still by the side of the bed, I strained my hearing trying to detect any other movement in the house. I honestly couldn't remember if Al had stayed here after dropping me off or if he'd gone back to his own apartment. I'd been more asleep than awake then, and not very coherent.

I was hoping he had gone back home. I hadn't been very forthcoming with him last night regarding the events that led up to my accident and I sure wasn't in the mood to shed any more light on it this morning.

I didn't hear any other movement in the house but I know that didn't mean anything. I made my way into the bathroom and snapped on the light. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and grimaced at what I saw. Where my head had hit the steering wheel there was a lovely purple goose egg with three stitches in the middle of it. From my left shoulder in a diagonal line to my right hip there was a series of bruises. A gift from the seatbelt holding me in place. I prodded the bruise over my collarbone and let out a hiss of pain. I tried to rationalize that the consequences would have been much worse had I not been wearing the seatbelt. Funny thing, a part of me whispered back that it wouldn't hurt as much if it hadn't been on – and I wasn't thinking about physical pain.

Turning from the mirror I started the shower so the water would warm up and pulled the curtain closed. I managed to find one last towel on the shelf of linens and deposited it on the counter near the sink then shucked off my boxers and climbed into the shower under the streaming water. I just stood there for a long moment hoping that the cascading hot water would just wash everything away but that was as likely to happen as snow falling in hell. I knew that if Al were still here he'd be in my room demanding answers to his questions as soon he heard the water turn off. I wouldn't be able to put him off as I had last night.

As I soaped up I tried to formulate answers to his questions in my mind but nothing I thought of seemed at all plausible. Hell, the truth didn't even seem plausible when I thought about it. Rinsing the soap from my body, I turned off the shower and stepped out onto the towel I'd thrown down on the floor. I grabbed the clean towel off the counter and started to dry myself with it before wrapping it around my hips and leaving the sanctuary of the bathroom.

I'll admit, I was surprised when I stepped into my bedroom and didn't see Al standing there waiting for me. Maybe he really had gone home and I'd be able to put off his questions for a little while longer.

My curiosity got the best of me and I went out into the living room without bothering to get dressed. There was Al sitting on one of the couches drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. I froze as soon as I saw him tempted to back up quickly into my bedroom, slam the door, and lock it. Before I could move, he folded down one corner of the paper and pinned me in place with his gaze.

"I've been wondering when you were going to roll out of bed," he said conversationally. "You might want to get dressed instead of running around in a towel. And try drying your hair so it's not dripping all over the place."

I didn't know what to say to him. I'd expected him to launch into whatever questions he had about last night…about the whole weekend but that was it. He just told me to get dressed and dry my hair and then he went back to his paper. "I…uh…I didn't know you were here…" I stammered out hoping it would be a good cover for my state of undress. "I thought…I thought you went home last night."

"Sure you didn't." Al didn't bother to look up from his paper. "Go get dressed and we'll talk afterwards." He put the corner of the paper down again and pinned me with a look that told me there'd be no escape this time.

"I'll be right back," I mumbled and disappeared back into my bedroom. I gave the doors leading out to the patio a quick look thinking I could escape through them before realizing how insane the thought was. Why did I need to escape from Al? I quickly drew on clothes and found a small hand towel in the bathroom to get most of the wetness from my hair. I took a deep breath and readied myself to go back out and face Al but I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. I still didn't know what to say to him.

Instead I found the jeans I'd had on last night and pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket. Sinking down on the edge of my bed, I unfolded the paper and read its contents again. I'd lost track of how many times I'd read it since finding it in my mail when I got home Friday. It could have been a dozen time or it could have been a hundred.

As I read, the small news clipping that had been inside the letter fluttered to the ground. I picked it up and looked at it again too. I sat their staring blankly down at the two pieces of paper in my hands before I finally folded them back up and slipped them into my back pocket. Again, I made my way to the door. I was no closer to now to telling Al what had happened than I had been before but maybe if I just handed him the folded papers he could figure it out for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

I'll admit it; the Kid did a pretty good job of trying to hide his shock at seeing me sitting on his couch. He even did a pretty good job of hiding his desire to run. He wasn't that good at dissembling, though, and I was able to see right through him. God help him if he ever goes into a profession that doesn't require the absolute truth.

Now I could have jumped right on him and started quizzing him. Believe me, deep down I wanted to do nothing more. I knew if I did, he'd just retreat and try to bluster his way out of my questions. Eventually he would have broken down and answered them anyway. He was no better at blustering than he was dissembling. Sometimes the Kid was just too honest for his own good.

Instead, I decided to play it cool. Where he expected me to come on strong I remained calm, not even bring up the previous night. I made it perfectly clear, though, that once he got back in the room we would talk and if he tried to avoid it, it would just get nasty.

So there I sat waiting for him to come back out. For a little while, I thought he might have taken advantage of the French doors leading out to the patio to escape me. The small noises I could hear coming from his room quickly dispelled that notion.

Eventually I heard the doorknob turning very slowly and his hesitant step from his bedroom to the living room. I snapped my eyes down to the newspaper again giving him the opportunity to come fully into the room before I started my planned interrogation.

Half dozen footsteps later, I heard him pause. I knew, without looking, that he was leaning on the back of the armchair.

"I guess you want to know what happened last night," he said tentatively. I looked up at him and sure enough, he was gripping the back of the armchair. He was gripping it so hard his knuckles were white with the strain. Whatever had happened, I got the distinct impression it was far from over.

I deliberately folded the newspaper and set it down beside me. I knew there was more going on than just what led to his accident. If I were going to find out about it, I'd have to dance to whatever music Sam decided to play. "Let's just say I'm curious. It's not everyday I get a call to pick you up at the hospital because you ran your car off the road. You wanna tell me what you were doing driving down that way so tired you fell asleep."

He brought his hands up to rub his face. He dropped his right hand back to the chair but his left found it's way to the back of neck before it too dropped down to the chair. His mouth opened and closed a few times and nothing came out. I watched as he rubbed the left side of his face under his eye with his right hand. I'd watched Sam Beckett enough to know that that was one of his "tells" when he was nervous.

Sam came around to sit on the armchair. Actually, it was more like he perched on the very edge of it ready to jump up from it with the least provocation. "I uh…I actually didn't know where I even was until I got to the hospital. I'd been driving around since Friday night and I'd lost track of where I was."

Ok, that was a little surprising. Why the hell had he been driving around for 48 hours and how did he lose track of where he was. Simple, straightforward questions but I doubted the answers would that simple.

"I thought you came here after you left the project on Friday." I stated instead of asking any questions. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Sam to leave the project Friday but I'd finally convinced him that he owed it to himself to take some time off over Labor Day just like everyone else.

"I did. Then I left. I went for a drive to clear my head."

"Some drive," I answered dryly. "Most people don't drive for 48 hours until they go off the road when they want to clear their head."

He tried to shrug it off. "Yeah, well, you know me. I've always been an over achiever." The smile he tried out for my benefit never reached his eyes and he couldn't sustain it. He resumed his study of the colorful area rug.

I decided it was time to be more direct. I leaned forward, braced my elbows on my knees, and let my loosely clasped hands dangle between my knees hoping my physical posture would convey to him just how serious I was. "You wanna tell me what made you drive around for that long trying to clear your head."

Again, he reached across to rub at his face as he fought with himself for the words that he needed. It seemed as if he were waging some kind of inner battle with himself over what to tell me and what not to tell me. I'm not sure whether he won the battle or not but he seemed to deflate and slouched back in the chair. When he spoke, his voice was a carefully controlled monotone but I could hear the emotion he was trying to lock down.

"When I got back Friday there was a stack of mail and I started to go through it. The handwriting on one of the envelopes looked familiar, really familiar so I tore it open. It was a letter from…it was from….."

He couldn't seem to force himself to tell me who'd sent the letter. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that he handed over to me. I unfolded it and scanned the contents of the letter and the small news clipping that accompanied it then looked over to him. He was still struggling not to show any emotion. I looked down to the letter again. Although it cleared things up, it put a whole new perspective on things.


	4. Chapter 4

There wasn't much I could do but sit there and watch while Al unfolded the piece of paper and read what was written on it and the small news clipping. Mentally I was reciting the words found on both pieces of paper as he read them. Sometimes I find my photographic memory can be a curse. The first time I'd read both of them I'd committed their contents to memory. I could picture all of the loops and swirls of the handwriting and where each line break was on the news clipping. My memory didn't really matter all that much, though. As often as I read the two, I would have had them memorized anyway.

The first time he finished reading them, Al looked over to me. I couldn't quite make out what the look on his face was. He was doing a good job of keeping neutral. As long as it wasn't pity. I don't think I could take his pity. He looked back down to the letter again and re-read it. I don't know how many times I'd done that and no matter how many times I did, the contents stayed the same.

I thought when he was done reading them Al would hand them back to me. He didn't. Instead, he folded them up just as carefully as he'd unfolded them and tossed them on the coffee table. They unfolded partially when they hit the table and I could make out the first line of writing – "Dear Sam" in flowing script. A handwriting I think I'd always recognize. It was her handwriting – Donna's handwriting.

"I guess she mailed it here since she didn't know the address of the project," I said quietly just to be saying something. Since the note of apology, if you can call it that, she'd sent me after our failed wedding I hadn't heard from Donna. I thought I'd gotten over her.

"She should have never sent this to you at all." The harshness in Al's voice wasn't what I expected. At least it wasn't pity. He abruptly got up from the couch and headed over to the doors heading out to the patio. "It's just typical of her. She always did think of herself before you. She's happy so that's all that matters. Who cares how you feel."

I don't know why but I felt a need to defend her. "I'm sure she only did it so I didn't find out some other way." I also got up from the couch but I didn't join Al where he stood looking out over the patio. Instead, I went to the opposite end of the room and sat down at the piano that was there. "She probably felt something like that was better coming from her than from a stranger."

"So was she right?" he asked me. It was a fair question. I just didn't know the answer to it. Instead, I started to arbitrarily pick out notes on the piano. "Well?" he prompted me.

I slammed the cover down on the keyboard and got up from the bench quickly. "No. I wish I never knew. I was doing just fine without knowing anything about her." I started to pace the distance between the armchair and the piano. Al watched me from his place by the patio doors. "Why'd she even bother sending it?"

I dodged around the armchair and snatched the papers up off the coffee table and violently unfolded them. As careful as I'd been with them since I'd opened the envelope on Friday, now I didn't care if they ripped or not. I let my eyes fall on the words she'd written again:

_Dear Sam,_

_I hope you're doing well and life has been treating you kindly. I've thought of you often since…well…you know. It was the right thing to do, Sam. I know you probably didn't think so, but it was. I'm so sorry but I didn't love you – at least not enough to marry you. It never would have worked, Sam, and we both would have been miserable._

_They say there's a reason for everything, Sam, and I know the reason why it wouldn't have worked. You weren't the man I was meant to be with. I've found him and we were married last month. We're making a home for ourselves in Michigan._

_Sam, I wasn't the right woman for you but you've probably figured that out already. Maybe you've already found the woman you're meant to be with._

_I never meant to hurt you, Sam. I only want you to be happy._

_Fondest regards,_

_Donna Elesee-Richards._


	5. Chapter 5

I watched him as he read the letter again and then threw is violently across the room. I've got a feeling that had it been winter with a fire in the fireplace, that's where he would have thrown it. I don't think I would have stopped him either.

"Why'd she send it?" he asked again softly as he sank down to sit on the floor, his back against the armchair.

I walked back over and sat on the edge of couch near him. I don't know why but I picked up the papers on the way refolding them along their creases and put them down on the table. I just watched him sitting there staring off into nothing. There was a world of pain in his eyes and a good dose of confusion to go along with it. To tell the truth, I didn't know how to answer his question. Hell, I was wondering the same thing myself. Why would she send the letter to him? How could she not know it would hurt him? Did she really know Sam so little that she never knew how much he took things to heart? Hell, the Kid practically wears his heart on his sleeve 27/7. She'd have had to have been blind to have missed it. Ah, but that was the answer right there. Donna was blind. She was blind to anyone's pain beyond her own.

When I didn't answer him right away he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held the breath for a moment before letting it out and opening his eyes. When he did, the pain that I'd seen in them was gone, shuttered behind denial. Smoothly he pushed himself up to his feet heading for the garage and I dutifully followed him.

"Doesn't matter," he said when he reached the door. "It's all over now. I've got work to do."

He pulled open the door leading out to the garage and it seemed like only then he remembered he didn't have a car to get into. I grabbed him by the arm and tugged him into the kitchen forcing him to sit down on one of the stools around the island. "You're not going anywhere," I told him in the sternest voice I could.

"Don't start, Al" he said getting back up. "I've got too much work to do at the project. It's done and over with so just let it go."

Oh no. I wasn't just going to let this one go and play like nothing had ever happened. I forced him to sit back down on the stool and leaned over him so that I was in his personal space. "Once you finish telling me exactly what happened this weekend you can do whatever you want."

He planted his hand in the middle of my chest and shoved me back out of his personal space. "What do you care?" he asked sharply. "Don't worry. I don't have a car so I won't be bothering you when I drive off the road."

"Ain't gonna work, Sam" I said. I kept my voice calm and level in complete contrast to him. "I know exactly what you're doing and it's not going to work."

His brow knit together as he puzzled out the meaning to my words. I'd done the same thing he was doing now when I found out about Beth. I tried to play the tough guy and not let the world know how much it was tearing me up inside. But it was. Under the surface of the "who cares" attitude I'd felt like someone had thrown acid on me. Every morning when I woke up it would hit me all over again that she was gone – that I'd lost her. I didn't spend a whole lotta time sleeping those first couple of weeks. The way I figured it, if I didn't go to sleep I didn't have to hurt all over again every day.

I wasn't going to let Sam do the same things I'd done. I hadn't been fortunate enough to have anyone around who was able to see through my defenses – who cared enough to see through them. Instead I continued down a path of destruction of my own making. I married 4 more times but that wasn't the solution. None of them were Beth. In between it all I turned to alcohol to hide the pain and it wasn't until Sam came along that I was able to see how I was destroying my own life. Well, he was lucky. He had someone who cared. Someone who wasn't going to let him take a walk down that same path.

I stood in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest waiting. I could see the pain he was trying to hide behind the defiance in his eyes. Sam never was all that good about hiding his emotions.

"How about if you start with what you did after you got that letter," I finally prompted him. He seemed to deflate a little at that and shrugged.

"I just got in my car and started to drive. I thought…I thought…"

I sat down on the stool next to him. He'd started to open up so there was no need to stand over him intimidating him. "You thought what?" I asked hoping if I prompted him he'd be able to vocalize whatever it was.

He shrugged helplessly. "I thought if I just kept driving it would go away. I didn't even pay attention to where I was driving. I just drove."

"This was Friday night when you got back here?" I really didn't have to ask the question. From what he'd told me already I knew. I just wanted him to hear it out loud.

"Yeah. Next thing I knew the sun was coming up and I was almost out of gas…again. I'd driven the whole night." He was doing a damned good job of keeping his tone of voice as neutral as possible, I'll give him that. "I filled up at the first gas station I saw and just started driving again. I kept doing that until Sunday night. I guess I was so tired I just couldn't stay awake anymore. Next thing I knew I was waking up and there were police cars coming up the road. You know everything after that."

"So you were just driving around for 2 days?"

Silently he nodded his agreement with me.

"No food, no sleep?"

Again that silent nod was his only answer. The façade of not caring that he'd tried to put on was cracking again. I could see that.

"Why didn't you call me? Come talk to me instead of driving around until you almost kill yourself?"

My questions had an affect on him – not the affect that I'd though they would. He got up abruptly from the stool and started to pace agitatedly in front of me. He dragged his left hand through is hair several times – careful to keep from hitting the bump on his head.

"Because," he finally spit out. "I'm a big boy and I don't need you to come to my rescue every time something goes wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

Didn't he get it? This was my problem and I had to find the way out of it myself. I couldn't always go running to Al every time something went wrong, although he seemed to think I should. What? Was I supposed to show up at his door Friday night crying and blubbering 'cause the woman who'd left me at the altar decided to marry someone else?

"I know you're a big boy," he said interrupting my train of thought. "I never said you weren't. I just thought maybe it would have made more sense for you to tell someone what was going on instead of driving all over the whole State of New Mexico." He got up and poured a cup of coffee from the pot. He held the pot in my direction, his eyebrows raised in question. I answered with a short nod and he poured another cup and set it down in front of me. "Weren't you the one who told me that sometimes you've got to talk out your problems before you can figure out how to solve them?"

Great, there was nothing like having my own words thrown back in my face. I'd said much the same to Al several years ago shortly after I'd met him. I'd been bound and determined to do what I could to save him and his career. He'd been intent on holding everything in at the time and drinking his problems away.

"You love doing that, don't you," I couldn't help but grumble. "This is different."

"How's it different?" he asked taking a seat across from me at the island. He raised his eyebrows and prompted me again when all I could do was stare down into the depths of my cup of coffee. "C'mon, Sam, enlighten me. How's this different."

"It's different because…because…" I really hated it when he bested me with my own words – especially if I didn't expect it. I rubbed under my left eye with my right hand and hated myself for doing it. I knew I only did it when I was nervous and if Al didn't know that by now, well he really didn't know me. I was also trying to stall for time until I thought of something intelligent – or at least something that would get him off the subject. "It just is different, all right," I finally blurted out impatiently knowing it was neither intelligent nor would it get Al to drop the subject. I got up from the stool I was sitting on and took my cup of coffee over to the sink and poured it down the drain. "I'd rather tea," I mumbled half incoherently to explain why, after telling him I wanted the coffee, I was now throwing it away. Truthfully, I just didn't want to try to explain.

"C'mon, Sam, stop stalling." His voice was mild and inwardly I cursed that he knew me so well that he could tell when I was stalling.

"I'm not stalling," I argued.

"Sure you are," Al argued right back. When I glanced in his direction there was just a hint of a smile on his face. A smug, "I know I'm right smile". The only problem was, he was right. I was stalling.

I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of just spilling my guts because he wanted me to. Well, at least I wasn't going to do it right away. Instead I finished filling the tea kettle and put it on the stove to heat before resuming my seat on the stool opposite him. "I wasn't stalling," I repeated just to make it clear and then I wanted to tie my rebellious right hand down when I felt myself again reaching over to rub the side of my face.

Al didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows in a silent invitation for me to continue.

"Ok, it's different because there's nothing here to solve so talking about it's not going to help. No matter how much we beat the dead horse, Donna still left me at the altar and she still married this other guy." I'd said it all so quickly it's a wonder anything I said was understandable. "I just don't want to talk about it, ok?"

"I think you do want to talk about it." It was as if he wasn't listening to a single thing I was saying. I could feel my anger rising yet again. Who was he to sit there sipping at his coffee and looking all smug telling me what I did or didn't want to do. I should think I know the answer to that myself and talking about Donna was the last thing I wanted to do.

"No, I don't so just butt out of it," I told him firmly. At least, I thought it was firm but even to my own ears it didn't sound as firm as I wanted it to. I had to reiterate so that he'd get the message loud and clear. "I don't want to talk about it because there's nothing you can do about it. This isn't something that Papa Bear Calavicci can go off half-cocked and fix. Like I said, it's my problem and I have to deal with it, not you."

I couldn't help but miss the flinch when I made the Papa Bear remark. Did he really think I'd managed to go through all this time without knowing everyone called him that?

A part of me felt guilty, though. Over the years since StarBright, Al had come to mean more to me than anyone other than my family. He'd filled those places in my life that had been left empty when first Tom and then my father had died. When the chips were down, he'd been right there helping get through the hard times. I know damned well if it hadn't been for him, I probably wouldn't have survived the plane crash in the mountains and maybe I wouldn't have survived the car accident in DC – among other things. No matter what, I owed this man my life.

"Look Al," I sighed, "I don't mean that the way it sounds. God knows how much I owe you for everything you've done for me through the years. It's just that this is something that you can't fix for me. I can't even fix it for myself. It is what it is and I have no choice but to just get through it and accept it."

The kettle picked that moment to start whistling and I rose from the island to turn it off and pour the water in the mug. Al didn't say anything through the whole process; he just sat there watching my every move in silence. That meant I had to move all the more carefully to try to cover up how sore I was from my meeting with the guard rail yesterday. Like the doctor had said, there was no permanent damage but I was damned sore today. I understand the concept that seatbelts save lives but, let me tell you, when they clamp down and pull back on your shoulder and chest they can hurt like a sunofabitch. Al didn't need to know that though.

Finally, when I sat down with my mug of tea he said something. His voice was very soft, very steady, and very deadly. "I don't have kids. I didn't think I ever wanted to have kids. I didn't think I'd ever know or want to know what it felt like to have kids or to be a father. In some respects I was wrong because I know what it feels like to watch someone I care very much for get hurt and to have to stand there helplessly because there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'll tell you this, if that bitch was in front of me right now I wouldn't hesitate to wrap my hands around her scrawny neck and make her pay for what she's done to you. So if that makes me 'Papa Bear', then so be it."

I was taken aback by both his words and the intensity. "I…I don't know what to say, Al." And I didn't. I didn't have a single clue what to say to that. So I fell back on what had always served me so well in the past when I didn't know what to say. I sprang up from the stool and started to pace back and forth. That turned out to be a mistake because my body decided at just that instant to remind me of all that I'd put it through the past few days without offering it such niceties as food and sleep.

I managed to get about two steps before a cold sweat broke out over my body and the world started to go in circles. I knew I was in trouble but couldn't find the coordination to make my mouth work. The next thing I knew, everything had turned to shades of gray and I could feel my body slipping to the floor. The last sensation I was aware of before the gray turned to black was the side of my head bouncing off the edge of the counter. My last thought was that the way my luck was going, I'd probably just broken the stitches there. Then the blackness came and took me away.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time I made it around to where he'd fallen, Sam's eyes were already starting to flutter open. I made sure to put a restraining hand on him to keep him in place until I was sure he hadn't done any injury on the way down. The entire time I was silently berating myself.

I should have known something like this was going to happen. By his own admission Sam had had precious little food or sleep for the last several days. Added to that, there were the injuries from the car accident. The doctor may have termed them "minor" but they were there none-the-less. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, I'd seen how stiffly Sam was moving to compensate. All that was to say nothing of the stress he'd been under for the past couple of days and here I'd been creating more. With all that, it's little wonder he passed out. Hell, Las Vegas odds-makers would have been giving it really high odds.

"Easy. Stay still," I advised him when he started to stir more. "Let's just make sure you didn't do any damage."

"'M ok," he mumbled though he did still his movements. Carefully supporting his neck with one hand, I rolled him over onto his back. Amazingly, despite his head hitting the edge of the counter the stitches were still intact. Whether or not there was anymore bruising would be hard to tell considering how bruised the area already was.

"I'm ok," Sam again reassured. This time his voice was somewhat stronger and he pushed against the restraining hand I had on his chest. I had no choice but to help him up to a seated position on the floor.

"Did you hurt yourself with that swan dive?" I asked him brusquely.

Quietly he shook his head but immediately grimaced and reached up a hand to rub his temple. He may have claimed he hadn't hurt himself but it was an easy bet he had a headache at the very least.

"I just got a little dizzy is all. I got up too fast." His voice was low and he made no move to get up from where he sat on the floor. I kept one hand on his back in support. I honestly don't think he could have stayed sitting up without it.

"Maybe we should take a run by the hospital and get you checked out," I offered. Ok, so I knew as soon as I made the offer he'd turn it down – cold. It was standard operating procedure with him. He could have an arm hanging off and he'd still claim he was fine.

Much to my surprise, he didn't answer right away with his usual denial. Instead, he thought about it for a few seconds before very slightly shaking his head. "No, I don't think I need to. I just haven't had much to eat the last couple of days. My blood sugar's probably off, that's all."

I had a feeling if I'd really pressed the issue, he might have let me drive him to the hospital this time and that I found worrisome. "You sure? I mean, you don't sound very sure."

There was just the slightest of nods. "I'm sure." He looked around the kitchen and if I didn't know better I'd have thought it was the first time he'd seen it. "Just…uh…can you help me up?" His voice remained soft and I didn't at all care for the note of confusion in it.

I helped him up off the floor but as soon as he regained his feet, he started to sway again. "Let's sit you down," I advised and led him over the table and chairs by the window and pushed him down to one of the chairs. As soon as I was sure he wasn't going to take a tumble out of the chair, I went back over the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice for him. "Here, drink this," I ordered him as I slapped the glass down in front of him. "I'm gonna rustle you up some breakfast."

"You don't have to," he protested before picking up the glass to take a sip. I could see his hand shaking as he brought the glass to his mouth. "I'm not really very hungry," he continued when he put the glass down. He folded both of hands in his lap under the table.

He knew I'd seen his hand shaking and he was going to do whatever he had to hide it from me. I chose not to comment on the shaking. "You just said you passed out because you haven't eaten. Don't you think it's a good idea to eat before you do it again – and don't tell me you're not hungry." I wasn't going to let him weasel out of it no matter how much he tried. He may have had the MD after his name, not me, but I knew a little bit about low blood sugar. If he didn't start eating, it would only get worse, not better. The glass of OJ might provide an immediate counteraction to it but it wasn't going to work in the long run.

He blew out an irritated breath. "If I don't say yes you're just going to keep badgering me, aren't you?" I nodded in agreement. "Whatever, then. Knock yourself out."

I moved over to the central island in the kitchen and started rifling through his cupboards looking for a frying pan. "I'll just whip you up a Calavicci Omlet Special. You'll love it."

He looked over to me with a slightly horrified expression. "Do I even want to know what that is?"

I started to list off the ingredients as I pulled them from the refrigerator. It wasn't until I got to the salsa that I glanced over and saw that he'd gone green around the gills and I quickly changed tracks. "Ok, maybe that's not such a good idea." I quickly started returning food items to the refrigerator. Instead, I searched the cupboard near the fridge for some cereal, preferably hot cereal and finally found what I wanted. "How 'bout some Cream of Wheat instead. That should be easier for you to take."

"Yeah, I guess so," he agreed taking another gulp from the glass of juice. "Just not all the other stuff."

I started the preparations to make the Cream of Wheat and looked over to where Sam was sitting. I saw that he'd finished drinking the juice and was now leaned over the table cradling his head in his arms. His position reminded me of the same one the nuns used to make us get into during "quiet time" when I was in school. I always hated "quiet time" when I was a kid and I hated it when Sam went quiet.

I let him be while I finished making the cereal for him. I couldn't help but think about what he said earlier, that he was a big boy and didn't need me to always come to his rescue. It wasn't that I doubted Sam's ability to be self-reliant. Hell, he was the most self-reliant person that I'd met. From what I could tell, he'd had no choice but to learn that self-reliance when he started college at 16. That's a pretty young age for a kid to be on his own but he'd done it and done it well.

It was just that there were times when, as self-reliant as Sam was, he did need someone to lean on and help him out. He was just too damned stubborn to see that unless a car was running him over sometimes.

I'd never pinpointed at just what exact point in time Sam had crossed the line from being a friend to being my family but it had happened, none-the-less. Some days he was like the brother I never had but more often than not I found myself thinking of him as the son I never had – the son I wished I had. Whenever it had happened, I knew that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do if it somehow ensured his safety and his happiness. Sometimes that meant I went overboard and was a little too protective of him. Damn it all, though, if I wasn't who would be?

I finished preparing the bowl of Cream of Wheat almost on autopilot. I'd seen Sam make it enough times that I automatically grabbed the carton of milk pouring some in followed by a generous spoonful of sugar just like he usually did. Spying a bunch of bananas on the counter, Sam must have done some grocery shopping before going off on his drive to nowhere; I grabbed one and peeled it before cutting slices of it into the bowl. Finished with that, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard above the sink and half-filled it with milk.

Sam didn't move at all during my breakfast preparations. Even when I brought the bowl of cereal and glass of milk over to the table and put them down he still didn't move. I started to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. Knowing that he needed to get some solid food into him and that he'd only suffer with a stiff neck and sore back if he stayed in the position much longer, I ran my hand up and down his back and softly called him name. He came awake immediately lifting his head from the table and blinking his eyes rapidly. "Eat up," I told him. "You'll probably feel a lot better once you get that into you."

With a barely perceptible nod, and no words spoken, he pulled the bowl closer to him and started to spoon the hot cereal into his mouth. Satisfied that he was eating, I poured myself another cup of coffee from the pot and sat opposite him. I didn't say anything, I just watched him eat. He kept his head down, avoiding looking at me.

When he finally did speak, his voice was soft. "You don't have to stay here. You can go back home or to the Project or wherever. I'm not going to go anywhere." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "It's not like I can get anywhere unless I walk. He rubbed a hand over his face and his voice dropped to the barest of whispers. "Damn it I put my foot into it but good this time."

I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from me. There were times Sam did have a real knack for understatement. His head snapped up as soon as he heard the sound pinning me with a gaze. One look at his eyes and I knew I walking on the edge of his temper. Funny thing I'd learned is that you could sometimes gauge Sam's mood by the color his eyes. When he was angry or upset they seemed to appear more green than the hazel they were "I'm not laughing at you, Kid, so why don't you keep the laser beams at stun instead of kill."

"So what's so funny, then? Would it be my jeep's a twisted mess, that swan dive I took on the floor or maybe how I went off in a snit driving around for 2 whole days just because the woman who left me at the altar decided to marry someone else. I'm sure really glad I can amuse you."

He got up abruptly from the table grabbing the now empty bowl and glass and took them over to the sink. As hard as he slammed them down, I would've bet they were in pieces. It was a bet I should have taken.

"Damnit all," Sam cried out. "I can't even put a glass in the sink without shattering it."

I took that as my cue to get up and join him at the sink. I pushed him away and started picking out the slivers of glass, dropping them into the bucket. The way his luck seemed to be holding, he'd probably just slit his wrist if I let him do it himself.

He watched me for a few seconds before turning and rushing out of the room. "I gotta be by myself for a while," he muttered. I finished fishing out the pieces of broken glass and followed him out of the room. I arrived in the living room just in time to see and hear his bedroom door slam shut.

Now common sense probably would have dictated that I just leave him alone right now but when did I ever listen to common sense? Instead, I knocked on the door calling out to him. "Sam, c'mon. It was just a glass." I didn't get any response so I tried again. "C'mon, Kid. We can talk about this or something. You'll see, nothing's really as bad as it may seem."

When he finally answered, the closed door muffled his voice. There wasn't any anger in it, just resignation. "Go away, Al, there's nothing to talk about and I just need to be by myself right now."

I tried the doorknob and found that he hadn't locked the door. He may have wanted to be by himself but he also didn't want to lock himself away. I took that as a good sign. "Ok, Kid. I'll leave you alone right now but I'm not going anywhere. If you need anything, I'll be right out here."

He didn't answer me and I didn't expect him to. I settled on the couch and grabbed the newspaper to finish reading it. I knew Sam would be out sooner or later and then he'd want to talk or, rather, he'd want to bounce every idea that was going through his head right now off of me. It was typical Sam Beckett behavior when confronted with a problem that didn't seem to have an answer. He'd retreat by himself for a while to try to puzzle it out by himself before seeking the advice of others. I just wasn't sure what solutions or ideas he could come up with for this problem.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

I stood near the door and watched and heard the doorknob jiggle and the catch snick open and, just as quietly, shut again and let out a sigh of relief. For just a moment, I thought that Al wasn't going to leave me to the peace I needed. Apparently, the fact that I hadn't locked the door seemed to mollify him.

For just a minute I thought about the irony of that. If I had locked the door, I had no doubt in my mind that Al would be out there right now pounding on it and demanding I let him in. Because I left it unlocked, left it so that he could walk in whenever he wanted to, that gave him some sense of security that I wasn't going to do anything crazy.

Crazy. That's about how I was feeling. I waited until the door was soundly closed once more before walking away from it and over to my bed. I sank down on the edge and tried to gather my thoughts. That was easier said than done as they kept flitting away from me in all different directions.

At least the pounding in my head was starting to die down. When Al had wanted to take me to the hospital, I'd almost been tempted to let him. The way my head was hurting, I was sure that there must have been something the doctor had missed at the hospital last night. It was the purely clinical part of my brain that doesn't listen to my emotions that reasoned that it was because I hadn't been eating. Since the pain had started to die down since the bowl of Cream of Wheat, I figured at least one thing was going right.

I was only able to sit still for a couple of minutes before I jumped up and started pacing the length of the room. It was completely and utterly nuts that I was this upset about a woman who'd walked out on me four years ago. Four years – I should have been over her by now, shouldn't I? If that were the case, why did I feel like someone had just ripped my heart out from my chest again?

Abruptly, I sat down on the side of the bed again and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. She said she was living in Michigan and the letter had been postmarked Dearborn. The news clipping had said the happy couple would be settling down in Dearborn and it had listed HIS name – Bruce Richards. So, all I had to do was dial information and get the number for Bruce Richards and Donna Richards in Dearborn, MI. Then I could talk to her again and find out why she'd done it. Why she'd left me standing in that church waiting, just waiting for her to come so we could begin our life.

Steeling myself with a deep breath, I started to dial information. I only dialed two numbers before slamming the receiver down in frustration. What the hell could Donna tell me on the phone that she didn't already tell me in her letter? This was my problem to deal with, not hers and it wouldn't be fair to her to burden her with my problems. Not when she was starting a new life with someone she obviously loved.

It occurred to me that Donna was the instigator of the whole mess. If she hadn't sent the letter I wouldn't be feeling the way I was and I picked up the phone again. Just as quickly I hung it back up. How was she to know I'd take the news like I was still a love-struck teenager instead of a 38-year-old man?

Sighing, I returned the phone to its place. I was getting no where fast. I still felt like I'd been sucker-punched but now, on top of that, I was realizing just how irrationally I'd been acting – and how I'd dragged Al into it once again.

With another sigh, I lay back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling looking for answers there. "Where's the reset button when you need it?" I asked softly of nobody.

Unfortunately, there was no reset button. Life had to go on from this point no matter how hard that might be.

I couldn't get my mind to stop coming around to the question of why Donna sent the letter. What did she think she was accomplishing with it? Sure, I'd defended her action to Al by saying she'd probably done it so that I wouldn't hear some other way. Honestly, though, if she hadn't sent me the letter the chances of me ever finding out were pretty much nil. So why did she send it?

Could it be like Al had said – that she just didn't care about anyone but herself? Did she honestly think I'd greet the news with joy?

As I thought about these questions I felt a change in myself. The grief, and there really was no other word, that I'd been feeling since I read the letter on Friday was giving over the anger. With that realization, I quickly got out of bed and began to once more pace the length of my bedroom. With each turn I felt my anger grow hotter as it found its focus on the woman that I loved…or thought I loved and I began to wonder how it was I could have ever thought she loved me.

As I neared the small seating area in front of the doors leading to the patio, I spied the book I'd been reading earlier on one of the chairs there. In a fit of anger, I picked up the book and threw it as hard as I could. I found some satisfaction when it crashed against the closed bedroom door. The moment of satisfaction was short lived when a minute later I heard Al knocking on the door asking if I was ok. "Go away, Al" I yelled out. "Just go away and leave me alone." My voice dropped down to a near whisper as I sank down to the floor, my back braced against the dresser behind me. "Just please, go away."

Even as I said the words, I knew I didn't really mean them. When I read that letter on Friday there had been a part of me that wanted nothing more than to go to Al with the letter and share my pain with him but I hadn't gone to him. I couldn't go to him with that hurt just like I found it impossible to share how much Tom's death had hurt me with my father. In both cases I knew that neither of them could do anything to change what had happened, what had hurt me and I didn't want to see that look of failure in either's eyes.

Instead of sharing with my father how much I hurt, I'd gone to Tom's grave and sat there for hours on end. Instead of going to Al with this hurt, I'd chosen, instead, to try to run from it. Neither of my choices had been the best I could make.

Dad had hurt just as much if not more than I had when Tom was killed. If I'd gone to him he would have understood how I felt and we could have helped each other through it.

If I'd gone to Al on Friday he would have understood pain I was feeling. He'd experienced something almost the same with Beth. I could have shared the pain with him instead of driving all over hell and back and ultimately totaling the car.

"Some genius you are," I whispered to myself.

I pushed up from the floor and slowly walked over to my bed stretching out on it again. The pounding that had faded away shortly after I'd come in here had started up again with the realization that I'd made a bigger mess of things now and in the past by not sharing what I was feeling with someone else. I hoped that if I lay down for a while sleep might come and eradicate both the pounding in my skull and the pain that ripped through my heart. I was hopeful for the former but not the latter.

I lay there for over an hour before I felt sleep finally start to claim me. In that time I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door a few times but Al never came in the room.

Just as I started to drift off to sleep, I not only heard the footsteps but the doorknob gently turned and door pushed inward. I listened as Al quietly walked across the room. Just as I completely gave myself over to sleep, I felt a blanket draped over me and heard Al's soft voice. "We're gonna figure this out, Kiddo, and it's gonna get better. I promise you."

The pain was still there but Al's softly spoken promise was a balm to my soul and I slipped off to sleep certain that my friend would keep his promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

I sat and tried to read the paper but I realized I was reading the same paragraph over and over but I didn't understand a word I'd read. It was only by force of will that I remained where I was. About 15 minutes after Sam had disappeared in his room, I heard a crash against the closed door. Unsure what it was, I quickly got up and went to the door.

I wanted to just open the door and check on him but that wouldn't be fair to Sam. He wasn't a child and if he wanted to tear apart his bedroom in an effort to quell his anger and hurt then that was his choice to do so. Regardless of that, I wanted to be sure he was ok and it was just a destructive moment that caused the sound and not because Sam had collapsed against the door. I still wasn't completely sure that physically he was in as good shape as he wanted me to think.

"Sam? You ok in there?" I asked in concern as I knocked on the door. I'd give him a minute to answer me and if he didn't I was going in there whether he wanted me to or not.

"Go away, Al" he yelled out. "Just go away and leave me alone." There was a world of pain in his voice but I could hear the anger as well.

Even though I still wanted to go into the room and see for myself that he was really ok, I accepted his answer and held back. I stood outside his door for another few minutes and when I didn't hear anything else, I went back over to the couch. Despite his words, I wasn't going to leave him alone to retreat into himself and I had a feeling he didn't want me to.

This time I didn't even bother to pretend to be reading. There was no one to see the show and it wasn't as if a single thing I did read penetrated me in any way.

Over the next hour or so I didn't hear anything from Sam's room. Occasionally I'd get up and walk over to stand just outside his door listening but even then I didn't hear any noises coming from the other side. After several such trips I finally couldn't stand it any longer and I quietly pushed the door open.

I saw that he'd lain down on the bed and I quietly crept over to him. If he were sleeping, I didn't want to wake him and if he wasn't, I didn't want him to think I was charging in. When I reached the side of the bed I saw that although he wasn't yet asleep, he was very close to the edge. I grabbed the blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over him.

"We're gonna figure this out, Kiddo, and it's gonna get better. I promise you," I softly told him and I meant the promise.

I stood by the bed for another minute or two before I slipped quietly from the room. I pulled the door closed behind me but made sure the catch didn't pull tight. I wanted to keep the door ajar to make it easier to keep an ear out for Sam.

I spied the letter and news clipping still on the coffee table and plucked them up from there. For just a second I considered taking them into Sam's office and putting them through the paper shredder he had. They were a reminder that he didn't need to see over and over. I didn't get more than a step away from the coffee table before I stopped in my tracks. It wouldn't be fair for me to make that decision for Sam. Yes, I wanted to take this hurt from him but destroying these pieces of paper wouldn't do anything to erase the reality of the situation. It also wouldn't leave me in good stead with Sam.

I remembered back to the days in the hospital after he'd been hit by the car in DC. Sam had been very vocal then about resenting being treated like a child and having his decisions made for him. I didn't doubt at all that he'd have the same reaction if I destroyed the letter without his knowledge or consent.

Unfolding the sheet of paper I read through the short missive again before folding it back up. Tapping the fold gently on my hand I felt a seed of an idea take hold.

Tossing the letter back to the coffee table, I went into Sam's office and found a notepad there. Pulling a sheet of paper from it I wrote down the name Bruce Richards and Dearborn, MI before folding it up and sticking it in my pocket. To bring my idea to fruition it would take some time. It could wait for a little while. Right now I wanted to make sure Sam was ok. I also realized that if his car had been totaled, he'd need to look for a new one. If he was up to it, I'd take him out looking after he woke up and then out to dinner…anything to get his mind off Donna and the letter.

Going back out to the living room I walked over to the door leading to Sam's room and stood outside of it listening. I didn't hear anything. I pushed the door open and peeked my head inside. Sam was still sleeping in the same position he'd been in earlier.

Pulling the door closed, I headed into the kitchen to start making something for lunch. Even with plans to go out to dinner later, I was still going to make sure that Sam had something to eat when he woke up. One bowl of Cream of Wheat in who knew how long wasn't going to stave off the effects of not eating for too long.

Opening the cupboards and the refrigerator I discovered that aside from the bananas and some milk, Sam hadn't really done any grocery shopping. If I was going to make anything for lunch, I was going to have to make a run to the grocery store to pick up some food. I detoured back to Sam's office pulling another sheet of paper from the notebook and penned a quick note to Sam so that he'd know where I'd gone before softly creeping once more into his room and leaving the note on top of his alarm clock.

I noticed that the blanket had slid partway off the bed and once again spread it out over Sam. The house may have been comfortable but sleeping he'd be more likely to feel a chill. I also knew from past experience that Sam slept better with the security of a blanket over his body.

I stood for a few minutes looking down at him. The bruise from his unfortunate meeting with the steering wheel was plainly visible even in the dim light leaking around the drawn shades. It stood out as a lurid purple color against the paleness of his face. The only other color there was the dark shadows under his eyes.

As I watched him, he rolled over so that his back was to me and reached for something…or someone across the bed. Not finding whatever it was he was searching for, he moaned softly and pulled himself into as small a ball as he could. It didn't take much to figure out what, or rather who, he was searching for in his dreams.

"Aw, Sam," I whispered. "You gotta forget about her, Kid." I knew I may as well tell him to cut off his arm or forget about his brother. I just wanted too much to make this better for him but I knew there was no way I could.

Backing quietly out of the room, I grabbed the front door key where I'd left it and hurried out to my car. The sooner I got to the grocery store and got what I needed, the sooner I could be back and get lunch started.

It also meant the less time I'd have to leave Sam alone. It's not that I thought anything would happen if he was alone. It's just that I knew he was hurting and the worst thing for Sam Beckett when he's hurting is to be left to his own devices. We'd seen how well that had gone this weekend. It's not that he would intentionally do something to harm himself; it was just that he got so intent on doing something, anything, to run from the hurt he was feeling that he didn't always make the wisest of choices and didn't necessarily stop to think them through. Though most people wouldn't think it on meeting Sam for the first time, he had an impulsive streak in him. Sometimes it was best to quell that impulsive streak or at least get him to think for a moment before he acted. Then again, sometimes it was because he thought so much that he tended to act rashly and impulsively. Whatever the reason, I thought it best to get back before he could wake up and decide that this time instead of just driving around he'd be better off taking a walk in the New Mexico dessert.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

I ended up sleeping for a couple of hours but it was fair to say it was anything but a restful sleep. Strange and odd dreams had haunted me for the time I slept. First it had been a dream of Donna. She'd been just out of my reach in the mist and try as I might, I just couldn't reach her.

The dream of Donna had given way to a dream about my brother, Tom. It wasn't the same dream that had haunted me since his death but I still found it unsettling. Like Donna, he was also shrouded in fog. I had the sense that Tom was trying to tell me something, something important. Try as I might, I just couldn't hear him.

I woke up calling out for him and the sound of my own voice startled me. I sat unmoving for several moments trying to gather my thoughts. Finally, I looked over to the digital alarm clock I kept by the bed and saw the piece of paper that lay on it. It had to be a note from Al.

He'd gotten into the habit of leaving me notes if he was going somewhere after the car accident in DC. I'd needed the comfort then of knowing where he was and that he'd be coming back. It was a habit that Al hadn't broken. Many times I'd find similar notes on my desk at the project if he had to leave for whatever reason. I took it as a sign that Al still hadn't fully relaxed the vigilance he kept over me during my recovery and the time afterwards. We'd butted heads on that account more than a couple of times and I'd finally accepted the fact that, like it or not, Al now saw himself somehow in the role of my protector. As long as he didn't treat me like a child, I could live with it if it set his mind at ease.

Scanning the note I saw that he'd gone out to the grocery store. Judging by the time he jotted down on the note, it was shortly after I'd fallen asleep and I guessed that he'd be back soon if he already wasn't.

I thought about laying back down with the hope that I could fall back to sleep and avoid him but I knew that was pretty much useless. Al could be like a dog with a bone when he got something in his head and right now he'd gotten it into his head that he had to fix the problem with Donna. The only problem with that was, there was nothing he could fix.

I balled up the blanket he'd spread over me and tossed it down to the foot of the bed before swinging my legs over the side and pushing up. When I did, I momentarily felt lightheaded and sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed. I reasoned that I'd simply gotten up too fast and my body was still dealing from all the stressors I'd put it under the last couple of days.

After a few seconds my head cleared and I pushed up from the bed once again – slowly this time. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I felt I was as ready as I was going to be and slowly opened my bedroom door. I guess a part of me was expecting to see Al standing there waiting for me when I did so I was almost surprised to see no one in the living room.

Unconsciously, I breathed a sigh of relief before stepping out of my room and into the living room. I paused for a moment as I decided what to do before continuing on to the kitchen where I suspected I'd find Al. I wasn't disappointed when I reached the doorway and saw him stirring something in a pot on the stove.

"Hey, Sleepyhead," he greeted me. "I was thinking you were going to sleep the day away again."

"I guess I was still tired," I explained as I walked completely into the kitchen. I stopped at the island in the center and leaned against it watching as he dropped a handful of diced onions into the pot and stirred again. "What are you cooking?" I asked him just to say something.

"This," he said with a flourish as he turned to face me, "is my award-winning beef stew."

"Award winning?" I asked skeptically. I was also trying to hide the smile that wanted to break out at the site of Al standing at the stove wearing the flowered apron my mother had forgotten the last time she was here. "Since when have you entered cooking contests?"

"Well, ok, so maybe it hasn't won any awards," he conceded. "It could if I wanted to pursue it."

I held my hands up in mock surrender at his words. "I'm sure it could if you wanted to. Maybe you could bottle it with a picture of you on the jar in that apron." This time I couldn't hide the smile.

"You think it's funny, huh? I bet you wouldn't be laughing if I gave you the dry cleaning bill."

"I didn't ask you to cook," I pointed out. "Besides, who'd be able to tell if you got any stains on that?"

"You just have no appreciation for fine clothing, Sam," he said with a put upon sigh. Since we'd met the song and dance between his taste in clothes and my taste in clothes had been going on. As I joined in with the mutual teasing, I realized that I was taking comfort in this small thing that had become a part of my life.

"That for dinner?" I asked in a change of topic gesturing to the pot as Al put the cover on it.

"No," he replied simply.

"No?" I questioned. "So what, are you just cooking for the hell of it, then?"

"I know this may be a foreign concept to you right now, Kid," he started to explain as he went to the sink to get the sponge to wipe down the counter, "but it's for lunch. You do remember what lunch is, don't you."

"I'm not an idiot," I groused. For some reason his words suddenly grated on me. "I know what lunch is. I just didn't think you'd be doing all this work for lunch.

When he answered me his voice was measured and calm. "I thought you might like something beside the frozen pizza you had in the freezer and I don't think you're an idiot."

I buried my face in palms. Here Al was trying to do something nice for me and what was I doing? I was biting his head off. "I'm sorry. I know you don't think I'm an idiot." I sighed and looked all around the room – anywhere but in Al's direction. "You're trying to help and I'm taking my mood out on you. I'm sorry," I said again.

"Don't worry about it," he said waving off my apology. "Why don't you go in the living room and relax and read the paper or something. This should be ready in about 20 minutes."

"Yeah, ok," I agreed. I didn't say anything else before leaving the room.

I slumped down on one of the couches in the living room and picked the paper up from where Al had left it. I started flipping through the pages but realized I wasn't really reading it so I folded it back up and threw it on the coffee table. As I did, I noticed that the letter from Donna was still there. I started to reach to pick it up but quickly pulled my hand back from it. What good would it do to read it again? I had it memorized and no matter how many times I read it, it wasn't going to change the fact that she'd found another man who was better than me. Instead, I fished out the remote control for the TV from between the cushions and mindlessly started to flip through the channels.

When Al came in to tell me that lunch was ready, I was still flipping through the channels and had no idea how many times I'd done it. I turned off the TV and tossed the remote on the coffee table with the newspaper and the letter. That had to be a first for me since I usually just stuck it between the couch cushions.

When I got to the kitchen, Al had already set out dishes of stew on the central island for the both of us. Unless I had company, and I didn't consider Al company so much as family, I generally ate there instead of at the kitchen table.

"Dig in," Al told me as I sat on one of the stools. He didn't have to tell me twice. This wasn't the first time I'd had Al's beef stew and I knew it was a good as it smelled. Despite my teasing earlier, I knew if he ever did take an interest in it, his cooking could win awards.

I didn't say anything to him, just started eating but after the first couple of spoonfuls I could feel his eyes on me and I looked up in his direction. "What?" I asked seeing the amused look on his face.

"Nothing. I was just trying to figure out the last time you ate cause the way you're shoveling that in, I'd have to say it's been a pretty long time."

"A bowl of Cream of Wheat a couple of hours ago," I helpfully supplied but I did slow down how fast I was eating.

"I meant before that," he clarified. "When was the last time you actually ate a meal."

I didn't know the answer to his question. Well, actually I did but I didn't want to supply it because I didn't want to hear him blow his top when I admitted the last time I'd actually eaten a meal had been lunch on Friday. I never bothered with dinner when I got home that night and hadn't done more than grab something quick, usually a chocolate bar or a bag of chips while getting gas, during the time I'd been driving around.

"Sam?" he prompted me when I didn't answer.

"What?" I couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice.

"I asked when the last time you ate a real meal was."

Again I didn't answer but at least he gave up with the question…well, he sorta gave up.

"If you're not answering it's either 'cause it's been too long or you can't remember…which is pretty much the same thing."

Here it comes, I thought. Here comes the famous Al Calavicci lecture on remembering to eat and take care of myself. It was one I'd heard far too many times before.

"What's done is done," he said instead surprising me. My face must have betrayed my surprise. "Hey, I've given up telling you to eat and take care of yourself. I don't think you ever bother to listen so let's just forget about it. You're eating now so I guess that's all that matters."

We both lapsed into silence and the only sound in the kitchen was the scrape of our spoons against the bowls. Finally, Al broke the silence. "When we're done, we can start looking for a new car for you and then afterward we can go out and get some dinner. I was thinking maybe Fiorello's."

Going out this afternoon to car shop wasn't something that held much appeal to me nor was going out to Fiorello's for dinner. I knew that Al was trying to help, though so I forced a smile to my face. "That's sounds great. Thanks."

We spent the rest of the meal talking about some of the inconsequential matters at the project and both of us made a point not to bring up either the letter from Donna or my resulting excursion and for a little while, I could almost forget that it all happened.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

I was happy that Sam ate the bowl of stew I dished up for him. I don't know why, but I really thought that he'd fight me on that.

I was surprised when I got back from Smith's with the groceries and saw that he was still sleeping. I'll admit to some concern that there might be some hidden injury that the hospital had missed. I spent a couple of minutes watching Sam sleep trying to figure out if he really was just sleeping or had somehow slipped into an unconscious state. I was satisfied that he really was just sleeping when he started talking softly in his sleep and moving around restlessly.

Not wanting to wake him with my presence or for him to wake up and startle because of seeing me just standing there, I quickly backed out of the room and went into the kitchen and set about unpacking the groceries I'd bought. I'd stocked up on some dry goods and staples that were on sale and would keep.

Once everything was put away, I set about starting in on my famous beef stew. Sam wandered out to the kitchen a while later. I've got to admit, I was relieved when he started teasing me about my cooking and the apron. Maybe he was getting over this thing with Donna. Just in case he wasn't, I still had an idea up my sleeve.

Once we'd finished our lunch and cleaned up, we got in my car and headed to a car dealer to see if we could find a new car for Sam. Unfortunately, we struck out and decided we'd head up to Albuquerque tomorrow and see if we'd have better luck there. I was actually glad Sam agreed to go the next day and not drive up to Albuquerque right away. I never realized how picky Sam could be about a car until shopping for one with him. We'd spent a couple of hours on the lot looking at just about every car there…and Sam managed to find something wrong with every single one of them. By the time we were done, I was ready for dinner and turned the car in the direction of Fiorello's

For the most part dinner went well and we avoided all talk of Donna. That really wasn't all that hard to do since we never really talked about her anyway. It just seemed that after the letter, she'd become even more taboo although I sensed there was something about Sam that did want to talk it all out. He just wasn't ready for it yet but he would be soon. When he was, I knew there'd be no stopping him until he'd talked the whole thing out and reached some kind of solution that he was comfortable with.

I regretted suggesting a bottle of wine to go with our dinner as soon as I realized that Sam meant to drown his sorrows in it. I only had one glass from it but Sam finished it off by the time we finished eating. He added two glasses of scotch to the mix as well and I ended up taking home a very drunk physicist. I've never been so happy that Sam lives on the outskirts of town with no neighbors close by. Walking from the car to the front door he thought was the perfect time to break out into song – very loudly and very off key. Ordinarily, Sam has a wonderful singing voice but as drunk as he was, he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

"I'm completely wasted and fishtaced…tishfaced…ah hell you know what I mean," he'd declared sitting on his front stoop. He tried to lean his elbows on his knees and cup his chin in his hands but it took him a couple of tries to coordinate his body enough to do it. "Why do ya think she hates me, Al?" He sounded like he'd just lost the only friend he'd ever had in the world and it was the first time since this morning that he'd broached the subject of Donna. I watched as his face fell and lips trembled sure he was going to break down in tears at any second. I wasn't sure what I could say to him but knew I had to think of something fast if I wanted to avoid Sam breaking down into a weepy drunk.

He didn't give me any time to answer before his emotions seemed to do a quick about face. He sat up as straight as he possibly could in his inebriated state and threw his arms wide. "Know what? I don't care. She's gone…outta my life…no more stone around my neck. Good riddance to her. That's what I say good riddance and good luck to that other idiot. He's gonna need it. She thinks I'm gonna be all sad and mope around. Nuh uh. Ain't gonna happen. Wanna know why?"

Again he didn't give me time to answer. At this point I was just hoping he'd quiet down a little. I'm really not sure how far his closest neighbor is but I had a feeling they could probably hear him as loud as he was. He pushed himself up from the step he was sitting on and stumbled drunkenly down the walk. When he got to the end of it he turned himself in a slow, wobbling circle. "I'm happy. That's why I'm not gonna be sad." He broke out in song again. It was something I'd never heard before. Hell, I'm not sure if anyone on this planet had ever heard it before.

"C'mon, I hope you're this happy tomorrow morning when you wake up," I told him as I grabbed him by the arm and tugged him back up the walk, up the stairs and into the house. I can count on one hand the number of times I'd seen Sam drunk and this time was a real doozy. I didn't envy him the hangover he was going to have when he woke up tomorrow. Even worse, this false sense of happiness he claimed to have would evaporate in the cold hard light of day and he'd remember just what it was that drove him to try to drown his sorrows with alcohol.

Once I got him inside, he quieted down fast. Thankfully, as drunk as he was, he was also willing to do as he was told. I gave him a push in the direction of his bedroom and told him to get undressed and that I'd be in and in a few minutes.

When I came in the room, he'd managed to strip down to his boxer shorts and his socks and was sitting unsteadily on the side of the bed. His clothes were strewn across the floor which, even for Sam who wasn't a neatnik, was out of character.

"Here, take these," I said handing him a couple of Tylenol.

"How come?" he asked looking at the two tablets skeptically.

"Cause maybe if you take them now, you won't feel as crappy in the morning as you could." I'll admit, I was irritated right now and I was short with him. It wasn't his fault that the letter had hit so hard emotionally and it wasn't like he made a habit of getting this drunk. Honestly, I was just irritated with the whole situation in general that would force Sam to look for solace in a bottle. "Sorry, I don't mean to get short with you," I quickly apologized when I saw his face fall. "Just take them. Trust me, you'll thank me tomorrow."

"Nuh uh"

"Aw, Sam, c'mon. Just take 'em. Trust me, you will be thanking me." All I wanted to do was spare him some of the grief he'd be feeling tomorrow. Why did he have to be so damned contrary about it?

"I can't take them." I knew from the tone of his voice, drunk or not, that he wasn't going to give in on this.

"Why the hell not?" It was getting harder and harder to contain my irritation.

"'Cause, I'm shitfaced." His face lit up when he finally got the term right. A fist full of doctorates and he was happy to get a slang term for drunk right. Oh, wouldn't Mama Beckett be proud. "I know you're drunk, Sam," I agreed with him. "That's why I want you to take these so you don't feel as bad tomorrow." I felt like I was explaining it to a four year old.

"But they're Tylenol," he informed me as if I hadn't figured it out myself. I restrained myself from pointing out that I knew that and waited out his explanation. At the very least, it might prove entertaining. "Tylenol has aceamino…actamin….aceta…acetaminophen in it."

"And you're point would be?" I prompted him.

"When you mix acemin…aceamin…Tylenol with alcohol it's not good. It can cause liver toxic…toxim…tox…tox…liver failure. You never mix the two together."

Geez, he had me there. I should have known that and probably did but it slipped my mind. Leave it to Sam, even in his drunken state to remember. "Ok, you got a point there. Just hang on a second and I'll be right back.

I rummaged in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom and found a bottle of aspirin there. I had no idea how long they'd been there and checked the expiration date on them to be sure they weren't too old. Luckily they had about two months left before they did expire. I shook two of them out into my hand and headed back to Sam's room.

"Take these," I told him holding my hand out to him. "They're just aspirin," I explained at the skeptical look.

Silently he nodded and put the two tablets in his mouth and reached for the glass of water I held out to him. I was grateful that instead of just drinking enough to swallow the two pills, he drained down nearly the whole glass. With any luck, that would help with any dehydration from the amount of alcohol that he'd drunk.

I took the glass back from him when he'd drained it and put it down on the table by the bed. "Lie down and get some sleep," I half suggested, half ordered him. Once he'd done as I said, I pulled the blankets up over him. "I'll be in the guest room if you need me," I said before grabbing the glass and leaving the room.

I returned the glass to the kitchen before going back into the living room and settling on one of the couches. I was surprised to find the remote on the coffee table and not stuffed in the cushions. Now that was just not like Sam at all. Idly, I started flipping through the channels while thinking about how the day had gone. I knew that the rest of the night would probably pass peacefully, or at least I hoped it would. Tomorrow would probably be interesting, though.


	12. Chapter 12

I was not a very happy person when morning came. I was pulled from sleep by the sun leaking around the drawn shades in my room. It was probably just enough light to navigate the room without banging into anything but, to me, it felt like laser beams going through my eyes.

About a minute after waking up I was quickly aware of three things besides the laser beams of light. First, my head was pounding. No, pounding isn't a really good description. I had the whole percussion section of a marching band in my head and they were all playing as loudly as they could – and none of them were in rhythm with the rest. Second was that my stomach felt like it was on a merry-go-round. Now some might have said a roller coaster but I tend toward motion sickness and going round and round is usually enough to set my stomach off and that's about how I was feeling. Finally, it tasted like someone had put a dirty gym sock in my mouth while I slept.

I got out of bed as carefully as I could taking great pains not to jar my aching head and staggered into the bathroom. In my condition, I don't' think I could attempt anything other than a stagger. Walking upright with good posture was totally out of the question.

I made the mistake of flipping on the light when I got in the bathroom and it felt like the lasers went up in strength when I did. I looked through slitted eyes at my reflection in the mirror and it wasn't a pretty picture that stared back at me. My contemplation of my reflection was short-lived as I quickly lunged to the toilet and emptied my stomach into it. Even when I was quite sure there was nothing left to offer up to the porcelain gods, my stomach kept turning and I couldn't seem to stop retching. Finally, the dry heaves stopped and I slumped back against the wall cradling my aching head. I didn't even have it in me to climb to my feet to wash my face off.

A wet washcloth suddenly appeared in front of me. "Here, wipe you face off," a voice that I recognized as Al's said. Unfortunately, I hadn't heard him come in the bathroom and both the appearance of the washcloth and Al's voice startled me. I jerked back quickly and hit my head against the wall. That was the signal for the band to play louder and I couldn't hold back the groan that came out of my mouth.

I heard a sigh from above and beside me and knew it was Al. Next thing I knew, he was kneeling next to me and gently wiped the washcloth over my mouth and chin. "I'll get you some water," he gruffly said. The next thing I knew, a glass of water appeared in front of my face with the order, "rinse your mouth."

I took the glass and gulped some of the water, swishing it around my mouth and then spitting it out. The next gulp of water I swallowed greedily.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Al cautioned but I ignored him and drained the glass. About five seconds later, I was wishing I had listened when the water came right back up.

"Please, just kill me," I begged him as I once more sagged back against the wall. I wanted to say more to him…a lot more. I wanted to start with yelling at him for letting me drink as much as I did so I ended up this way this morning but I was sure if I did, my head would just explode.

Next to me I heard Al sigh and I just knew he was going to say something and it was probably going to be along the lines of 'I told you so'. I just wasn't up to hearing anything like that right now and decided to nip it in the bud. "Don't say it, Al," I told him as I continued to lean against the wall, my eyes squeezed shut. "Just don't say whatever it is you're going to say."

Of course, just 'cause I asked him not to say anything doesn't mean he was going to listen to me and when I heard him blow out a breath, I knew he was going to ignore my request. "What? You don't want me to say she's not worth what you did to yourself or is it that you don't want me to say I told you so."

I risked squinting my eyes open long enough to glance up at him. The lasers were still in full force. "Actually, I just don't want you to say anything 'cause it's just too damned loud," I clarified for him.

It was probably the wrong thing to say because Al started to chuckle softly and then he started to outright laugh. It seemed his laughing got louder when I cradled my head in my hands and groaned. I'd never thought Al could be sadistic but I was seriously starting to question that. Thankfully, his laughter started to taper off.

"I'm sorry, Kid," he finally said once he'd stopped laughing. Thankfully he kept the volume of his voice low. "I don't think I've ever seen you hung over quite like this and to tell you the truth, I never thought I would."

"Yeah, well, if I ever look tempted to do this again, just shoot me or something and get the pain done and out of the way."

There was quiet in the room for about a minute and then I felt Al grabbing my arm and tugging me up from the floor. For about a second, I thought I'd have to start worshipping the porcelain gods again. Thankfully, the feeling passed without anything coming up.

I shrugged Al's hand off my arm and made my way over to the sink and splashed some cold water on my face. Again, I blearily looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Why'd I let her do it to me?" I questioned. I'm not sure if I was talking to my reflection or if I was talking to Al who stood beside me. "Damn it, why do I keep letting her do it to me?" This time my vice rose and with it my fist as well but Al quickly caught it pulling it back.

"Woah, you already put your fist through one mirror 'cause of her, Sam, and it didn't make anything different then. It's not going to this time either."

I fought to free my wrist from Al's hand for just a few seconds before relaxing it and slumping down against the sink. "I know. I just can't help but think that it has to be something wrong with me. Why couldn't she commit to me – spend her life with me but she can with this other guy?" I kept my gaze down at the sink. I didn't want to see my reflection. I didn't want to see my failure.

Al grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. "You listen to me and you listen good," he said roughly giving me a little shake. "You are a good person, Sam Beckett, and there's nothing wrong with you. She's the one who walked out on you. She's the one who had the problem. Not you…it was never you." He fell silent and let go of my shoulders.

I swallowed quickly feeling like I was going to get on that merry go round again. Right now I would have agreed with anything Al said if it meant he wouldn't shake me again. I really didn't think I could take that again without christening Al's shoes. Knowing how he felt about his wardrobe, I knew he wouldn't appreciate that.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked lifting up my chin so I had no choice but to look at him. I hadn't even been aware of putting my head down. It was a good question – was I listening to him? Had I ever listened to anything he or anyone had said where Donna was concerned? I probably hadn't. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be in the fix I was in right now.

Maybe being hung over brought some kind of clarity or maybe I was just tired of making myself the scapegoat. Whichever it was, I started to really listen to Al – to listen to what he was saying now and had been saying all along. To listen to what my mother had said when Donna had first walked out. I turned back to the mirror and contemplated my reflection again.

"I'm listening, Al," I mumbled as I reached out to trace my reflection in the mirror. It was the face I saw every time I looked in the mirror but this time I saw something different in it. It wasn't the face of a man who had failed – it was the face of a man who had been failed. Maybe what Al and everyone else had been telling me was true. Maybe it wasn't my fault – it wasn't anything I did or didn't do. "I'm listening," I repeated and I knew how distracted my voice sounded.

"Uh, huh." Al wasn't at all impressed with my listening skills, I could tell. "If you're listening to me, what did I say?"

I turned around to face him, a little too quickly when the world almost went topsy turvy for a moment. I felt Al's hands grab me and brace me until I'd regained my balance I made a mental not to move that fast again at least until I started to feel like a human again. "It's not my fault," I told him.

He looked at me through narrowed eyes obviously not believing me. Hell, if I'd been in his position I wouldn't have believed me either. Talk about your 180 degree turns – this was one heck of a turn but all of a sudden it had hit me. It didn't matter what kind of person I was, it was the kind of person that Al was that mattered. Sure he could be a bullshit artist when circumstances called but when it mattered, Al was a straight talker and this mattered. If Al saw me as a good person, if Al knew it wasn't my fault, I had to believe him. If I didn't believe him on this, then how could I believe him about anything else?

"It's not my fault and it's not Donna's fault. It's no one's fault." I shrugged. "It was just never meant to be."

Al still looked suspicious. "And just what's brought on this epiphany. We all tell you the same thing and you don't believe us. All of a sudden it's, 'It's no one's fault.' What are you trying to put over on me, Kid?"

I leaned back against the sink. "I'm not trying to put anything over on you, Al. Maybe I just needed to drink myself under the table to realize what's been in front of me all along." My head pulsed again to remind me of the consequences of drinking as much as I had. "Then again, it's not a method I'd recommend."

I studied Al carefully. He looked like he was believing me but still not fully believing me. I couldn't say I blamed him. "I won't lie to you, Al. It still hurts and I guess there's always going to be a part of me that thinks that if I'd done something different Donna wouldn't have left. Even if I could go back and change myself, though, I can't change Donna." I looked down to the floor ready to make a concession I hadn't been able to make up until now. "It was the two of us. It just wasn't meant to be and I gotta accept that and move on. If I don't, it's always going to rule my life. It's always going to be the monkey on my back." I looked up at him meeting his gaze. "I'm ready to start accepting it now." I bit my lip before continuing on, "I think I'm gonna need some help from time to time to keep on accepting it."

He clapped me on the shoulder, a little too hard considering my head felt like it was going to fall off my shoulders. "Anything you need, Kid, I'm here for you. You take it one step at a time and it's gonna work out."

"Yeah," I said nodding my head. "Do me one favor, though, Al?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Please don't blink so loudly,"

He started laughing and kept laughing as he left the bathroom.

It wasn't going be easy and I wasn't just going to forget about Donna over night but I'd taken a first step. In time, the pain would go away. I just had to keep taking those steps forward and not backward. I knew how lucky I was to have a good friend to help me.


End file.
