Date: Sat, 4 May 2002 10:58:04 -0400
From: DLS <dls_stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Sun From Both Sides Part 4

	Once again, huge thanks need to go out to Karen and Scotty T for
reading over what is to come.  Thanks also to Drewbie, just for being
Drewbie, and for forgiving me for not telling you that the first two parts
of the story were posted.

	And of course, thank you to Matt.  There are far too many things to
thank you for, boo, so I guess just thank you for everything.  SHMILY,
sweetie. :)

	Disclaimer is the same as it ever was.  Nothing contained in this
story is meant to in any way represent or depict real life.  Well, except
for the fact that apple butter and bacon sandwiches are the perfect
breakfast food.  That part is true, but that's it.  The rest is all
fiction.  It is, however, fiction that has a decidedly adult slant to it.
If you're not of age or shouldn't be reading this for some reason, please
stop reading now.  Otherwise, enjoy!


	THE SUN FROM BOTH SIDES

	PART 4

	I woke up with absolutely no idea where I was.  It certainly wasn't
where I had expected to wake up.  I had been expecting either the fiery
inferno or something vaguely cloud-shaped.  Maybe a reincarnation as a bug.
Not the total quiet and oddly disconcerting hum around me, felt rather than
heard.

	My eyes didn't seem to want to open, and I didn't see any reason to
fight them for it.  I tried to assess where I was through my other senses.
I had already struck out with hearing and sight, but I hit paydirt on the
third one, smell.  There was a distant antiseptic smell in the air that
screamed hospital.

	My fear of hospitals was one of the few fears that I saw no need to
try and get over.  In some strange way, I had always thought that it would
keep me out of them.  Panicking, I forced my eyes to open and clenched my
jaw and hands, trying to jerk them around myself.

	All I achieved was to send bolts of agony through both arms, and
elicit a cry of pain from whoever was holding my hand.  Not that it stopped
me; I continued to struggle, my eyes closing again, this time with the
effort I was exerting.

	"Nate!" I heard a voice yell as the hand in mine finally managed to
extricate itself.  I felt two hands fall on my shoulders and push me back
onto the bed.  "Nate!" they yelled again, holding me prone.

	"Let me up let me up let me up!" I screamed, thrashing against
them.

	The hands let go of my shoulders a mere second before one of them
slapped me across the face.  Hard.  They then returned to holding me down
on the bed again.  My eyes flew back open as I prepared to strike back at
whoever had hit me, and took in Andy's face as she towered over me, putting
all of her weight into holding me down.

	"Andy--"

	"I know you don't want to be here," she said, holding my attention
with the intensity in her eyes, "but you've got to calm down or they'll
sedate you."

	"Andy, get me out of here," I pleaded, focusing on her face to
avoid looking around me.  My heart felt like it was about to pound right
out of my chest, but seeing Andy there with me brought some semblance of
calm back to me.

	"I can't do that," she said, looking like she was about to cry.
"Even if I wanted to, I can't."

	"What's going on in here?" A man's voice asked.  I looked up from
Andrea in time to see a young man enter the room.  Judging from the
stethoscope hanging around his neck, I figured he must be a doctor.  I'd
always wondered if they really wore them like that, or whether that was one
of those things that the doctor shows on TV just made up.

	He was cute, I suppose.  About 5'11", dark hair and eyes, slight
build.  He was wearing brown cords and a blue dress shirt with a very
unobtrusive-yet-stylish tie.  He might have turned my head at one time, but
there were too many things going against him.  The fact that he was
frowning at me and I felt like I had been run over by every Mack truck on
the planet weren't the least of them.

	"He just woke up," Andrea said, taking my hand again, "and he
freaked out."

	"Mr. Healy," the doctor said, nodding at the information and taking
my other hand.  "You can't be doing that.  You'll just make things worse."

	I looked down at the hand that he was holding without answering
him.  Easy for him to say not to panic.  What I saw when he held up my hand
completely wiped any resentful thoughts from my mind.  There was a tight
bandage wrapped around my lower arms, starting about four inches from my
elbow and running down to just below my palm, and there were fresh flowers
of red blooming across it.

	"You've opened the wounds again," he explained, seeing my
expression.  "I'm going to have the nurse give you something to make sure
you don't do any more damage to yourself."

	"I won't take it," I said defiantly.  What I was going to do was
get up and get out of there.

	He ignored me and stepped out of the room again, motioning for a
nurse to come over.  They talked for a few seconds, and she nodded and left
my field of vision.

	"I won't take it," I said again, glaring at him.

	"Is he always this difficult?" the doctor asked Andrea, as though I
wasn't in the room.  It reminded me of the way my father had talked about
me to my mother when I was young, and it pissed me off.

	"He doesn't like hospitals," Andy explained, brushing the hair off
of my forehead.  "But yeah," she smiled at me.  "He's always this
difficult."

	"Well he's going to have to calm down," the doctor said
disinterestedly.  "I heard him all the way down the hall."

	"What do you expect?" Andy asked, frowning at him.  I knew that
frown.  It meant that you might as well give her what she wanted because
otherwise she'd just remove it from your dead carcass when she was done
with you.  Part of me wanted to smile, but a much larger part was still
freaking about where I was.  "He's petrified of hospitals."

	Apparently the doctor was as smart as he was cute.  He didn't argue
with her, but moved out of the way as the nurse entered the room carrying a
needle.  Now I knew why he wasn't concerned about my cooperation.

	"Andy," I pleaded, squeezing her hand again, much more gently this
time.  "Please don't let her do this."  The next sentence came out before I
knew it was there, and the pleading note in my voice scared me almost as
much as my surroundings.  "Please?  I'll be good."

	"Shhhhh," Andy soothed, running the hand I wasn't holding across my
temple.  "It's just a sedative.  You need your rest.  I'll be right here."

	"I don't want her to."

	"I know you don't, sweetie, but she's got to.  Just let her do her
job.  I'll stay with you."

	The nurse didn't seem concerned at all about my escalating
nervousness.  Very business-like, she walked to the bed and rubbed my arm
with some sort of antiseptic.  Then she calmly plunged the needle into my
arm as I resisted every urge I had to jerk it away from her and thought
disjointedly that I wished Matt was there instead of her.  But that thought
brought up even more thoughts that I didn't need to deal with at the
moment.

	Her job done, she turned again and left the room.  'Friendly people
around here,' I thought to myself as I slowly relaxed a little bit.  I
don't know whether it was whatever had been in that needle, or just seeing
both the nurse and the doctor leave.

	"Where am I?" I asked, looking up at Andy to find her watching me.

	"Westvale," she said calmly.

	I wracked my brain trying to figure it out.  I knew that the name
was familiar, but it took me a minute to place it.  I had seen a news clip
about this place opening months ago.  The details were a little fuzzy, as
was just about everything in the past year, but I remembered enough to know
that I was in a pricey private care facility just outside of Toronto.  Not
a hospital per se, but close enough to keep my heart racing.

	"How--" I started, but she squeezed my hand.

	"Later," she said softly.  "There's a lot to talk about, but we'll
do it later.  You get some sleep.  You're going to need it for the major
beating you're going to get from me."

	I smiled weakly.  "I'm sorry," I managed thickly.  Whatever they
had pumped into me was certainly good stuff.

	She didn't smile at all.  "Are you?" she asked.  "I wonder about
what that really means, Nate."

	I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but the thoughts didn't
seem to want to translate to my mouth.  I lay there, watching her watching
me, until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.  "Don't leave me," I
managed to whisper.  The last thing I heard before giving myself over to
the darkness was her promise to be there when I woke up.






	She was indeed waiting at my bedside when I opened my eyes again,
though she wasn't holding my hand anymore.  She was sleeping in what
appeared to be a very uncomfortable position.  She was, however, in what
looked like a very comfortable chair.

	I took a much closer look around myself than I had before, and
found that it really wasn't bad at all.  I was in a private room, and it
was decorated much more like a hotel room than a hospital room.  The walls
were painted a deep orange-brown colour that my mind associated with
Arizona for some reason.

	The room was a large one, with several overstuffed chairs clustered
in the corner, making a small sitting area.  Andrea had brought one of
those over to sit beside me rather than have me wake up and think she
wasn't there.

	Looking down at myself, I realised that I was in a very soft bed.
It didn't seem like a hospital bed at all.  I pulled my arms out from under
the blankets and immediately noticed the bandages.  I was dressed in soft
pajamas.  I realised that they were my green ones from the apartment and
decided that they were Andy's doing.

	The bandages stood out starkly against the dark green of the
fabric.  The red blooms were gone, which meant that someone had been in to
change them while I was sleeping.  I gently flexed my fingers and felt some
slight pain in my wrists, but it was managable if I didn't overdo it.

	I wriggled myself into a sitting position without using my hands to
push my weight up, and tried to get comfortable.  I slid my pillows up
behind me and rested them against the headboard of the bed, resting my back
against them.

	Noticing a table in the far corner, I discovered my suitcase
sitting on it.  I looked back at the bandages on my wrists again and
decided that I was probably going to be in there for a while.  I turned
myself around and sat up on the edge of the bed, determined to unpack.  As
disturbing as the thought of staying in a hospital -- even a ritzy one like
this -- was, I wasn't going to do it without unpacking.  Besides, it was a
goal, and at the moment I was feeling lost.

	I groaned as I stood up, which woke Andrea.

	"What are you doing?" she asked, concerned.  She stood from the
chair, wincing at a pain in her neck as she did so, and put her hands on my
shoulders again, meaning to push me back to the bed.

	"I'm just going to the table," I said, shrugging her hands away.
"I'm not making a break for it."

	"You're not supposed to be straining yourself," she argued,
following me as I started across the room.

	"Hanging up a few things isn't straining myself," I argued back.  I
saw that it wasn't convincing her.  "Andy, I need to do *something*."

	She looked at me for a minute, then nodded.  "It could be worse,
you know," she said, standing by the table as I opened the suitcase.  "As
hospitals go, this one's pretty good."

	"It's still a hospital," I muttered, taking some hangers out of the
wardrobe beside the table.

	"Bitch about it all you want, but you put yourself in here."

	"This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

	"No kidding!" she said, exasperated.  She dropped into a chair and
stared at me.

	"That's not what I meant," I returned, taking a couple of shirts
out and unfolding them.

	She continued to watch me as I made little trips back and forth to
the wardrobe.  When I was finally finished, I closed my suitcase and looked
up at her.  Her eyes took me in without showing any emotion at all.

	I left the suitcase sitting on the table and walked over to sit in
the chair beside her.  Reaching out, I took her hand.  Her other hand came
over instinctively to hold my wrist, but it jerked away when it touched the
bandage there.

	"How could you?" she asked, her tears finally falling.  "How could
you just leave like that?"

	"I'm sorry," I tried, but the words fell flat.

	"You said that before," she said, sniffling.  "What are you sorry
about Nate?  Are you sorry about what you did, or are you sorry that it
didn't work?  Are you sorry that you gave up, or that you're still here?"

	"I don't know," I admitted, looking down at the floor.

	"How can you not know?"  she asked, dropping my hand.  "How can you
not know if you're sorry to still be alive?"

	"There are a lot of things that I don't know," I admitted, letting
my own tears fall and bringing my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms
around them.  That lasted for the millisecond that it took for the pain to
shoot up my arms.  I jerked them away quickly and wedged them gently
between my knees and my body.  "Nothing seems solid anymore."

	Her hand shot out and grabbed mine, pulling it away from my body
and up to my face, twisting it so that the bandage was in front of my eyes.
"This is pretty fucking solid, Nate."

	"Andy--"

	"Do you know how much this hurts?" she asked me, releasing my hand
again.  "To know that you were going to just give up rather than take my
help?"

	"You don't have any help to offer," I told her.  "There's nothing
that you can do to help me.  I don't know how many times I can say that.
It's something I have to deal with on my own."

	"You're not doing a very fucking good job of it," she hissed,
glancing at my wrists again.  I had my hands linked around my legs again,
but I was holding my wrists out awkwardly to keep them from rubbing.

	"It was too much," I pleaded.  "Andy, that's the only way I can
explain it.  There was just too much, finally.  It seemed like the only way
to resolve everything.  The only way to let all of you go on and let go of
me."

	"Don't you *dare* turn this into some sacrifice you were making for
our own good, Nate!" she argued coldly, turning her face up toward mine
again.  "You weren't doing this out of concern for us.  You were scared and
you ran.  Instead of fighting, you ran.  Again."

	"There's no fight left, Andy."

	"So you just run?" she asked.  "When there's no fight left, you
turn to your friends and let them fight for you!  You don't just run like
that."

	"I wasn't running, Andy.  That's what I've been doing for over a
year now.  I wasn't running away."

	"Then what in the hell did you think you were doing?"

	"I was giving in," I said softly.  "After a while, that's the only
thing that's left."

	"You've tried this before," she said, shaking her head.  "Didn't
you learn that there was always something else worth getting back up and
fighting for?"

	I shook my head as well.  "The first time was running away, not
giving up.  Those pills seemed like the best alternative I had at the time.
This," I said, holding up my hands with the palms out to her, "was the only
one left.  It was the best for all concerned."

	"Bullshit," she spit out at me.  "Don't try to pass off you being a
coward as some sort of altruistic sacrifice."

	I didn't know how to explain it so that she would understand.  I
didn't even know if I totally understood it myself.  Resting my head on my
knees, I let myself go and cried all-out, feeling the tears soak into the
fabric of the pajamas.

	"Tell me," Andrea said, just loud enough to make sure I heard her
over my own hitching breaths.  "Tell me why this was the only thing left,
Nate.  Explain it to me."

	"He won't be able to do that," I heard a familiar voice say, though
it took me a moment to process it and realise who it was.  "I doubt he's
got a clear idea himself."

	I looked up and found the friendliest pair of brown eyes in the
world looking back at me.  "Hello, Nathan," he said, smiling at me.

	"Hello, Doctor Lauler," I replied, feeling the years drop away.
Suddenly I was a teenager again.  I couldn't bring myself to return the
smile.

	"I don't mind telling you that I'm not happy to be seeing you
again," he said, coming over to join us.  He took a chair facing Andy and
I, resting the clipboard that I remembered so clearly on his knee.

	"I'm not all that happy to be here," I said, still not smiling.

	He nodded.  "I'm sure you realise that there are two ways to take
that."

	"I do.  I'm not sure which one I mean, either."

	"That's where I come in, I think.  Don't you?"

	"You're the doctor," I said.

	"I'm sorry, but I'm confused," Andrea said, looking from me to the
doctor.  "You've met?"

	"I'm Doctor Maxwell Lauler," he introduced himself, shaking her
hand.  "And yes, Nathan and I are familiar with each other.  You would be?"

	"Andrea Cameron," she returned.  "I'm a friend of Nate's."

	"So it's Nate now?" He turned to me with a questioning look.

	"If you don't mind," I nodded.  "And she's more than just a
friend."  His arched eyebrow at that was enough to break through and get a
small smile out of me.  "She's my best friend," I clarified.

	"Or so she thought," Andrea interjected.

	I closed my eyes and waited for the pain of that one to dissipate.
It didn't do so very willingly.  I had damaged more than my wrists with
what I had done.

	"I see," Dr. Lauler said, nodding.

	"I'm sorry, but I'm still confused as to how you know Nate."

	"Dr. Lauler is the psychiatrist I worked with in high school," I
explained.  The flash of recognition that crossed Andy's face was almost
enough to get me to smile again.

	"He speaks very highly of you," she said, shaking his hand again.

	"As I'm sure he does of you, regardless of what you may think at
the moment," he returned.  I smiled inwardly at that one, remembering how
good he was at turning things around and comforting you without you seeing
it coming.  It seemed to have worked again, as I saw Andrea's calm return
to her.

	"We'll see how right you are after I get through with him," she
said, looking at me.

	"How about we let me have a go at him first?" Dr. Lauler said,
smiling.

	Andrea took the not-so-subtle hint to leave us alone.  "I'll go and
get something to eat," she said.  "That's another of the benefits of this
place.  Real food."

	Dr. Lauler's smile grew a little.  "It's one of the main reasons
that I enjoy working with people here," he said as she excused herself.

	"What are you doing here?" I asked him as soon as the door was shut
behind her.

	"They notified me that you were here," he explained.  "I'm still
listed as your psychiatrist in your records."

	I slumped back in my chair.  "God, when the news of this gets out,
I'm dead.  My publisher's going to kill me."  Realising the absurdity of
what I had just said, considering what had landed me there in the first
place, I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity and sank lower in the chair.

	"That's not going to be a problem," Dr. Laurel said, smiling at me.
That was another thing that I remembered about him.  He never seemed like
he was evaluating you.  Sessions with him were very much like just sitting
down and having a chat.  "One of the perks of being here at Westvale.  All
of the staff have signed non-disclosure agreements.  Even the custodial
staff and temp workers have to sign them.  On top of that, there are only
three people in the entire building that have access to your file.
Dr. Fitzgerald I believe you've already met.  Nice young man, though he
needs to work on his bedside manner."

	I nodded to let him know that I remembered him.

	"I'm one of the other two, since I'm listed as your psychiatrist of
record.  The third is the Chief of Staff of the hospital.  He's got access
to all of the files, though I doubt that he'd even glance at yours unless
Dr. Fitzgerald or myself asked him to."

	I nodded.  At least it appeared that this wouldn't do any harm to
Carrie or the publishing company.  It wouldn't hurt book sales.

	"Now you have to decide whether or not you want my services," he
said, getting my attention again.  "And in order to do that, you've got to
figure out if it's worth it.  I won't lie to you Nathan... Nate.  I'm a
busy man, and I don't have the time to put into this if you've decided to
give up.  I need to know that you want to help yourself before I can help
you."

	Another thing to like about him.  He didn't pull any punches.  He
was a straightshooter with a heart.  The least I could do was return the
favour.  "I don't know," I said.  "I didn't expect to have to defend my
decision.  I didn't expect to wake up again."

	He nodded.  "But if you had it all figured out, why are you
hesitating now?"

	That was the question, wasn't it?  "I guess," I started, piecing my
thoughts together as I went, "that there was a minute there when I woke up
the second time that I was glad to see the room around me.  To see Andy
sitting beside me."

	"That's a start," he said.  "But I need a committment to try from
you, Nate."

	"I can't give it to you," I said, looking back down at the floor.
"Not right now.  I don't know how I feel about all of this anymore."

	"That's okay," he replied, ducking his head a little to get my
attention.  "You expected to be dead, Nate.  You're not.  That's going to
take a little time to process.  You think about it.  Talk it over with
Andrea and your other friends.  Your partner if you have one.  See if
things look a little brighter than they did."

	I nodded my head and promised to think about it.  He handed me a
small card with a handwritten number on it and stood up.  "You call me when
you make a decision.  And Nate?  I want to work with you again, if that
matters.  You were a good boy back then, and I'm willing to bet that you're
a good man now."

	"Thank you," I said, taking the card and putting it in the breast
pocket of my pajamas.

	"Call me if you need to talk," he said, walking to the door.

	"I will."  He smiled at me again as he walked out into the hall and
shut the door, leaving me alone.

	I almost took the card back out of my pocket again, meaning to rip
it up.  Nothing had changed.  At least, nothing significant.  While my
attempt to escape it all hadn't worked, the reasoning was still sound, at
least in my mind.  Then I thought about that initial moment of relief when
I had opened my eyes and found Andrea sitting beside me.  Running my
fingers over the edges of the card through the fabric, I decided to hold
onto it after all.







	"Nate," Andy whispered, knocking slightly on the open door.  I
opened my eyes and lifted my head to let her know that I was awake.  "You
up to a little company?" she asked softly.

	"You sure you want to be around me?" I asked back, wriggling up
into a position that vaguely resembled sitting.

	"Look," she said, coming into the room and taking the chair again.
She reached out and took my hand.  I had a feeling that that hand was going
to get a lot of contact in the near future.  "I don't understand what you
did, or why you did it.  I don't like it, and I'm about as pissed off about
it as I've ever been about anything.  But you need me and I'm here."

	"Andy--" I started, not sure of exactly what I was going to say.

	"But, make no mistake," she interrupted.  "When you get out of
here, I'm going to beat you senseless for scaring everyone like that."

	How could I tell her that I wasn't at all sure that I *would* get
out of there?  That I wasn't sure I wanted to be around that long?  I just
squeezed her hand and kept my silence.

	"So are you up to some company?" she asked again, standing up.

	"Don't you qualify as company?"  I wondered what she had up her
sleeve.

	"Not in this case," she smiled gently.

	"Then who does?"

	She released my hand and walked back to the door.  The overhead
lights were out, with the only light coming from the much softer reading
light above the bed.  The door was in shadows, but I had no problem picking
out the forms Andy retrieved from the hallway.

	"Hello," Dad said, coming into the room with his arm around Mom.
When she saw me sitting there, her hand came up to her face, partially
covering her mouth.  It was the sort of move that you thought only happened
in the movies.

	"Hi," I managed to get out before the looks in their eyes brought
tears to my own.

	They both came over to stand beside the bed, nudging Andrea's chair
out of the way.  Andy stayed at the foot of the bed, her hands absently
rubbing my shins through the blankets, offering me whatever comfort I chose
to take from her.

	Instinct took over, and I reached out to take Mom's hand.  She
clasped mine in hers and brought it up to her mouth, gently kissing it.
Her eyes took in the stark white of the bandages, and she carefully ran a
finger up them from the palm toward the elbow, unconsciously tracing the
wound underneath.

	"Oh, Nate," she whispered, the tears falling freely now.  "Oh."

	I reached under me and pushed up off the bed, trying to sit up
fully.  The instant I put pressure on my arm, I felt the pain lace its way
up my forearm and hissed.

	Andy was there, lifting me and taking the weight off of my arm.
She helped me get sitting up, then turned me around so that my feet were
dangling over the side of the bed.  I reached out and pulled Mom into a
hug, being careful to keep from rubbing the bandages across her back.

	I could feel her shudder against me as she cried and, looking up, I
saw how close to tears Dad was as well.  That got me more than anything
else.  Dad *never* showed strong emotions.  Not for the first time that
day, I wanted a drink.  Something told me, though, that as ritzy as the
place was, they didn't have a bar.

	Mom clutched at me, as though trying to make sure that I was really
there.  I suppose that was an understandable reaction to everything that
had happened.  She kept whispering my name, her hands rubbing my back
comfortingly.  I wondered briefly which of us was getting the most comfort
from it.

	When she finally let go, there were very definite tear streaks down
both cheeks, but she had stopped crying.  "How could you?" she asked, her
eyes pleading for an answer that she could understand.

	Unfortunately, I didn't even have an answer *I* could understand.
Rather than answer, I slid myself off of the bed and brushed past her,
heading for the window on the far side of the room.  "I don't have an easy
answer," I whispered, then cleared my throat and repeated myself.

	"Then give us the hard one," Dad said, taking Mom's hand again and
standing with her, facing me.

	"I'm tired," I said, then realised that they would probably
misinterpret that as a plea for them to leave.  "I'm just tired of having
things blow up on me.  I want it all to stop.  Now."

	"Nate--"

	"I thought I was okay, you know.  I really did," I said, overriding
him.  "All those times that I said I was fine, I really believed it.  It
feels like this," I said, looking at my tightly-wrapped wrists, "came out
of nowhere, and at the same time, it's like everything was building up to
it.  Like it was inevitable."

	"It wasn't inevitable," Andy said, though I barely heard her.

	"The first time," I continued, now completely in my own world as I
thought about it.  "The first time was different.  It was like I thought it
would change things.  I wasn't looking for a way out, just a way to change
things.  Like I didn't really think it would work.

	"This time wasn't like that.  I didn't want things to change.
There was no way for them to change enough to bring back what I've lost,
you know?  I just wanted them to stop.  I'm sick and tired of having the
rug pulled out from under me.  This time, I decided not to pick myself back
up."  I turned and faced them again.  "I'm tired," I concluded.

	"We shouldn't have ganged up on you like that," Andy said, sitting
down on the bottom of the bed.  "We pushed you too hard."

	I shook my head and closed my eyes, turning my head back to the
window.  "You didn't do it.  It was inevitable."

	"Don't say that," Mom pleaded, taking a step away from Dad and
toward me.  "Things are never as bad as they seem."

	"Sometimes they're worse," I finished for her.  "How much is
enough, Mom?" I asked without looking around.  I could see her ghostly
image in the dark glass.

	She couldn't find the right words, so she retreated back the step
she had taken.

	"I'm 25 years old, and I'm exhausted," I turned to face them again,
tears in my eyes.  "My entire life has been one big downhill run, with
occasional bumps to show me how happy I could be until it all falls apart
again.  After a while, you lose the urge to get back up when you fall."

	Dad lunged forward and grabbed my arm, making sure to place his
hand above the elbow.  I jumped, surprised by the sudden movement, but
couldn't pull my arm free.  Both Mom and Andy gasped as he dragged me
across the room to stand in front of the mirror in the corner.

	"What do you see?" he asked me, shaking me a little.

	I was looking at him, trying to remember when the anger had
surfaced on his face.  He let go of my arm long enough to grab my head and
turn it to face the mirror instead.  "What do you see?" he demanded again.

	"David," Mom said, coming over and trying to pull him away from me.

	"Nathaniel James Healy," he insisted, pulling his arm from Mom's
hand.  "Look into that mirror and tell me what you see."

	I took a sidelong glance at him again and knew that he wasn't
kidding.  With a sigh, I turned my attention to the mirror and looked at
myself.  Green pajamas, bare feet, bandages, just what I expected to see.
Taking in my eyes, I stared at them.  They looked beaten.  There was no
spark left in them at all, as though the light didn't even reflect in them
anymore.  My eyelids were drooping slightly, and there were very definite
streaks of red through the white of my eye.  Everything about my image
spoke to exhaustion.

	Looking back to Dad, I felt my shoulders slump even more.  "I see a
tired little boy who just wants to go to sleep," I answered him.  "That's
all."

	"Bah!" he said in what I would have swore was disgust.  He threw my
arm out of his hand and turned away from me.  "I see a sad little man who
doesn't know how lucky he is!" he said angrily, taking my position at the
window.

	"Dad," Andrea said, then silenced again as he put his hand out to
stop her.

	"I see a petulant young man who would rather give up than fight for
all of the things that are worth fighting for."

	"Are they?" I asked softly, frightened by the sudden change in his
demeanor.

	"Damn right they are!" he half-yelled.  "You're a damn lucky young
man, Nate.  You've had some very shitty things happen to you, and you've
managed to get above each and every one of them.  Why is this one
different?  I know you had it tough in high school, though there's a lot
that you and Andrea won't tell us about it.  Whatever happened to make you
try this the first time, and then losing your parents.

	"But look what you did!  You stuck it out, you got your degree, and
you made a life for yourself doing something that you're good at and that
you love to do.  You lost a family and gained another one.  You're as much
our child as Andrea is, and the thought of losing you is killing both of
us."

	"Dad, I love you both.  You know that, but I can't--"

	"For someone who's life is falling apart, you've got it pretty
good, wouldn't you say?" he asked, glaring at me.  But now, below the
glare, I could see the concern and the fear.  "You've got a great career,
friends who seem to be willing to put up with all of the shit you throw at
them without flinching, parents who love you, and yet you're willing to
throw all of that away."

	"I don't deserve any of it!  Everything I touch crumbles! Don't you
see that?  I won't do that to you!"

	"That's bullshit," he said back, eerily calm.  "What have you
personally caused to fall apart, Nate?  You didn't ask for the trouble you
had with this Jack person.  You couldn't help who you were or how people
reacted to it.  You didn't kill your parents, either.  The only thing you
had control over was leaving Brian.  I tell you, I wish like hell you'd
never met him."

	I glanced up sharply.  "Don't say that."

	"Why not?  He's what caused all of this!  If you'd never met him,
you wouldn't be where you are right now, Nate.  You wouldn't have broken up
with him, and none of this would have happened."

	I shook my head.

	"You're here because of Brian, whether you want to admit it or not.
He's the reason."

	He seemed about to say something else, but my hitting him put the
thought out his mind.  I don't know exactly how it happened.  One minute I
was listening to him blame Brian for what had happened and trying to think
of a way to shut him up, and the next I was diving at him and watching as
my fist connected with his jaw.

	"NATE!" Andrea screamed and came running over, dragging me off of
him.  She didn't need to worry, though.  I had accomplished my goal of
stopping his words.

	He sat back up, rubbing his jaw, and watched me.  He seemed almost
pleased with himself.  Looking back on it, I suppose he was.  He had
managed to find the one thing that I was willing to fight for.  I wondered
if he had been trying to get me to hit him.  I also wondered whether he was
disappointed in what that one thing was.

	He was still sitting there when Dr. Fitzgerald came rushing into
the room, drawn by the yelling.  "What the hell is going on in here?" he
asked.  It seemed to be the way he always entered my room.

	He took in Dad sitting on the floor, and me standing back away from
him, my hands clenched into fists again, regardless of the pain.  "Don't
you *ever* blame him again!" I hissed at him, trying to glare a hole right
through him.  "Brian's the best thing that ever happened to me, and it's
*my* fault we're not together, not his."

	Andrea led me to the bed again and made me lie down, pulling the
blankets around me.  "Nate got upset," she said, turning to face the
doctor.

	Dr. Fitzgerald shook his head, frowning at me.  "I want you all to
leave now," he said.  "I'm going to give Nate something to help him sleep.
You can come back in the morning," he paused to look pointedly at Dad, who
was still rubbing his jaw, but was standing up again.  "If you want to," he
added.  He turned again and left the room.

	Andrea nodded and leaned over to kiss my forehead.  "I'll be back
tomorrow," she promised.  Taking her father's hand, she led him out of the
room without another word.  I could see them both waiting out in the hall
as Mom came over and took my hand again.

	"He shouldn't have said that," she said, giving me a kiss in the
same spot her daughter had.  "He's just upset.  You've got us both upset."

	I nodded.  "I know I do.  I didn't mean to hit him."

	She nodded and patted my hand, then put it back in the bed and told
me to get some rest and that she would see me in the morning.  I sat back
and watched her as she rejoined Andy and Dad in the hall.  They paused to
talk to another figure that I couldn't quite make out, then continued down
the hall and out of view.

	The other figure stepped into the doorway and I saw the soft light
in the room glint off of blond hair.

	"Hi," I said, motioning for him to come in.

	"Hi," Nick answered, stepping to the side of the bed.  He hooked
his foot around the base of the chair and brought it around to himself.
"How are you feeling?"

	"I've been better," I smiled.  There was something about Nick that
made it almost impossible not to smile.  He seemed to exude comfort.

	"Looks like Mr. Cameron has too," he said, sitting down.

	I nodded.  "I hit him."

	Nick gaped at me.  "You what?"

	"I hit him.  Punched him, to be more exact," I said, not at all
proud of myself.

	"Why on earth would you hit him?"

	"I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to leave," the good
doctor interrupted, coming into the room with another needle.  Apparently
he wasn't taking any chances on my refusing a sedative.  "I want Mr. Healy
to get some rest."

	Nick stood up immediately, but I grabbed his arm.  "He stays right
where he is," I said, glaring at the doctor.

	"No, he leaves when I tell him to leave," he insisted.  "You're
proving to be quite the handful, Mr. Healy, but I assure you I'm more than
up to it."

	We'd see about that.  "Nick's not going anywhere because I say he's
not going anywhere," I repeated myself, bringing my voice to full volume.
I wasn't yelling, but I wasn't moderating my voice either.  I normally
tried to speak rather softly.  This was the voice I reserved for being
heard through a crowded room or making sure that someone knew I meant
business.

	"Please leave," he said, turning to Nick.

	Nick started to move again, but I hauled him back.  "Don't you move
a muscle," I ordered him.  "Look, doctor, I don't think it's any secret
that we don't particularly like each other.  We don't have to.  But here's
the deal.  Nick stays with me, and I don't put up a fight about that needle
you're holding.  Nick leaves, and I make sure that every patient in this
building thinks that you're slaughtering me in here."  I risked a glance at
Nick and saw that he was trying valiantly to keep a smile off of his face.
"Take it or leave it, but that's the offer on the table."

	He searched my face, apparently surprised.  I had actually
surprised myself.  One of the voices in my head asked me whether I was
really as tired as I kept saying, but the other voices shushed it to see
what was going to happen.  Dr. Fitzgerald looked at me closely for another
moment, and then turned to face Nick.  "You can stay, but as soon as he's
asleep, I want you out of here."

	Nick looked at me, as though asking if that was okay.  He had
stopped trying to hide the smile.  I nodded my agreement and rolled up my
sleeve as he sat back down.

	Once Dr. Fitzgerald had gone again, glaring all the way, I reached
out and grabbed Nick's hand.  "Thanks for staying."

	"I was afraid not to," he laughed.  "The way you looked, I thought
you were going to attack him."

	"I'm all attacked out," I said, lying back on the bed.

	"So why did you go after Mr. Cameron?"

	I rubbed my hand over my eyes.  "He said something that I didn't
want to hear."

	"What?"

	I closed my eyes.  "He blamed all of this on Brian," I said, my
voice barely a whisper.

	"What?"

	"He said that if Brian and I hadn't met, I wouldn't be here right
now.  Before I knew what I was doing, I was hitting him.  And now I have
this shit pumping through my veins to calm me down."

	Nick shook his head and turned my hand over to look at the bandage.
I was already getting sick of looking at them.  He ran his fingers over it
without applying any pressure.  "Does it hurt?"

	"Only when I flex my hand or put pressure on them," I said.  "They
sort of throb constantly, but they don't hurt exactly unless I try to exert
myself."

	He continued to look at them without speaking again.

	"I suppose I have you to thank for waking up here?" I asked him,
getting his attention.

	"Huh?"

	"You were the only one in the apartment.  I assume you got me
here."

	"Yeah," he said, nodding.  "After I went to bed, I wanted to ask
you something.  I knocked on the bathroom door, but you didn't answer me.
After I knocked a couple more times, I got scared and broke it in.  You
were... you were..." Nick started to cry, and the hand holding mine started
to squeeze as he fought for control.  "You were just lying there..."  Nick
words dissolved as he let himself cry.

	"I'm sorry you had to see that," I whispered.  I hadn't really
given much thought to the fact that Nick would have been the one to find me
the next morning, and I was kicking myself for being so selfish.

	"You knew, didn't you?" Nick asked through the tears.  "Out on the
balcony, and then in the living room.  You knew and you were saying
goodbye, weren't you?"

	"Yeah," I said softly, my eyes downcast.  "Yeah, I was."

	"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.  "Why didn't you say anything?
We could have talked about it!"

	"That's why I didn't say anything.  There wasn't anything to talk
about.  I'd made up my mind."

	"Do you know what this is doing to Brian?" he asked suddenly,
looking into my eyes.

	I flinched away from his gaze, but didn't answer him.

	"He's shutting down, Nate.  He's way worse than he was after you
left, and I don't know what to tell him.  Nothing seems to get any sort of
rise out of him.  He just sits there.  He spent all day crying or sleeping,
and he won't even eat anything."

	"Nick-" As much as I was hurt by his words, it was becoming a
detached sort of hurt as the shot Dr. Fitzgerald had given me started to
take effect.

	"This is destroying him, too, Nate.  You've got to work this out.
Get through it somehow.  If you love him, you can't leave him like this."

	They were words very similar to the ones that he'd spoken in one of
our phone conversations right after I had left Brian.  Right before I had
hung up on him.  My mind made the connection as my eyes slipped shut, and I
felt my hand clench around his again briefly before it relaxed totally.

	The last words I heard from him came as though through a wall.
They were muffled, but completely understandable.  "I've got to tell him,"
he said, just before I lost track of everything around me.

To be continued...