Between Lives - 8. Chapter 8

"Will, could you come here for a minute?"

Jon's voice penetrates the fog of numbers and figures circling in Will's head. Annoyed, but only for a moment, he looks up from the stack of papers in front of him, keeping one finger on the column he was tallying. "Yeah?"

Jon glances over his shoulder, then points at the computer screen. "What the hell does this mean?"

Fighting the desire to sigh, Will abandons the problem he was figuring, stands, and stretches. His back cracks loud enough to make him wince. "I almost had that one list sorted out."

"You needed a break anyway. You've been working on those figures for over an hour. Give me a hand with this, would you?"

Scratching at his chin, Will steps around the table to the workstation and leans over Jon's shoulder. Jon's finger is pressed against the monitor, and, without thinking, Will reaches over and pulls it away. "Don't push on the screen," he mutters, studying the error message. "It's not good for it."

"Okay, but why can't I get this data to import like I want?"

Will reads the message again, squints, then adds a "What the hell?" for good measure, before leaning even further over the table. The screen is filled with gibberish. "I told you not to play with it. What did you do?"

"Why is it automatically my fault?"

Will looks down, and that's when he notices he's still got Jon's finger clasped in his fist. Jon's bemused expression makes him flush, and he jerks his hand back and clears his throat. "It's your fault because you were over here messing with something you shouldn’t have been messing with."

"Is that any way to talk to the boss?"

"It is when he acts like an idiot."

Jon's chair dips backward with the force of his laughter. "That's insubordination," he accuses. Will's relieved to see his eyes are dancing with amusement and his smile is genuine.

"It's the truth."

"Is it now?" Jon asks. He tips his chair back even further, balancing precariously. The back of his head presses to Will's chest, and . . . something changes. Will is bent at the waist, one hand balanced on the table, the other gripping the top of the computer screen – not the most comfortable position, especially as Jon's maneuvered himself so that any sudden movement will send them both toppling – but he doesn't dare move. He doesn't want to move. "I respect a person who speaks his mind," Jon says, voice still low. "Got any more kernels of wisdom you care to share?"

Will swallows once. There's no way he's reading Jon right. Surely not. But the invitation hangs in the air, and he can't resist it. "Many. How much time have you got?"

Jon tilts his head back slowly. The pressure of his skull against Will's sternum increases. "Plenty. I don't work round the clock, you know. I enjoy my fair share of playtime."

Will's fingers tighten on the monitor. Only someone as naïve as Nate would miss such a blatant invitation. His preconceptions scatter, and he's left as confused as the day he walked in the door two weeks ago. He steps back and away, the confidence he'd been filled with a moment ago gone in an instant. "I—uh."

Jon's chair hits the floor with a thud. He stands and faces Will, suddenly serious and also – Will's shocked to see – embarrassed. "Christ, I'm sorry."

Will shakes his head and holds up a hand, warding off the apology. "No, it's—"

"Hey, boss!"

The door to the trailer bursts inward, and a wave of light and sound spills in. It interrupts Will mid-sentence, which is a bigger relief than he'd like to admit. He eyes the foreman and slides backward to lean against the table.

Jon uses his foot to hook his chair and slide it back to his desk. His eyes follow Will's retreat. "Yeah, what's up?"

The foreman pushes his hardhat back off his forehead, revealing a dirt-streaked brow and jerks a thumb at Will. "Your kid's here."

The silence is almost comical. Will blinks, baffled, and stares back without speaking. Jon's eyes widen, then narrow. He crosses his arms and turns to Will, his curiosity a tangible thing. "Will?"

"Uh—" Then it hits him. His fingers clench around the scarred laminate desk. "Nate?" He pushes off and advances on the foreman, his concern edging away his natural inclination to stay silent. "Is it Nate?"

The foreman shrugs. "No fucking clue."

"Eddy," Jon warns. He takes his jacket from the back of his chair and slips it on. "What does the kid look like?"

Eddy chews his toothpick. He looks Will up and down, then snorts. "Nothing like your computer geek here. It's a teenage boy with flaming red hair and a—hey!"

Will pushes past Eddy, sending him stumbling into the coffeemaker, but he barely has time to mumble an apology before he's out the door and loping down the steps, shielding his eyes against the sun. Everything's a bright blur. "Nate?" he calls, turning in a circle. All around him, it's business as usual. For a breath of a second, he resents that nobody else shares his panic. "Nate!"

"Here."

Like a ghost, Nate appears at his elbow, and it only takes Will one good look to see his comparison wasn't far off. Nate's so pale the freckles that are spattered across his nose stand out in sharp relief. His mouth is pressed into a thin line. The same fear Will thought the boy had left behind is back in his eyes, but outwardly he's as calm and cold as the first time Will met him.

It's how Will knows something is very wrong.

"I'm here." He takes Nate's shoulder in a firm grip. "What's wrong?"

"Sophie," Nate says with a great gasp of air. He tilts toward Will, leaning into him. "She's sick. I think she needs to go to the hospital."

Will's mouth opens. It's on his lips to say, "Well, get a move on," before the obvious problems with that course of action strike him. He slides his arm around Nate's shoulders, and from the slight tremble in the boy's frame, it's obvious he's way ahead of Will in the worrying department. Will pulls him in for a quick, tight hug. "I'll take care of it."

Nate freezes in his embrace, then sags, his forehead dropping against Will's shoulder. His relief is palpable, but so is Will's anxiety, because he has no idea whether or not he can actually back up his promise, no matter how much he wants to.

"Will?" Jon slowly advances down the steps. When he reaches the ground, he hangs back, eyes darting between Will and Nate. "Can I help?"

Will shakes his head. He claps Nate on the back and pushes him gently away. "We're fine," he says, eyes boring into Nate's. "Right?"

Nate nods.

Nearby, a piece of equipment rumbles to life. A loud shout splits the air, and Nate jumps. Will steadies him, then tugs him closer to where Jon is standing. "My daughter's very sick. I need to take her to the doctor."

"Of course." Jon's response is immediate.

Nate is tugging on his sleeve, and Jon has already given his blessing, but Will hesitates. He stares at Jon, disliking the wariness in his eyes that wasn't there five minutes ago. "I'm sorry," he says again.

Jon's eyes dart to Nate and back. "Don't be."

"About—"

"Will." Jon shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I promise it won't happen again."

Getting by on what's unspoken is an art. Will knows that. It would be an easy thing to turn and leave. To let it go and never speak of it again. It would be for the best, especially for Nate and Sophie. But inexplicably, the thought of running away leaves a cold, sick feeling in his stomach.

Nate makes a small sound. He tugs harder on Will's arm.

Will gives him a stern look. "Hang on."

"But Sophie."

"This will only take a second. Where is she?"

"In the car with Bran." He points over his shoulder, then wraps his arms around his stomach and kicks at the dirt.

"Go. I'll be right there." Nate bites his lip, kicks harder at the dirt, and Will tightens his voice, slipping just a hint of authority into it. "This will take two minutes. Now go wait in the car with your sister."

Nate spins and walks off, his gait jerky.

"He's upset."

Will turns to find Jon hovering behind him. "Yeah. Listen—"

"Will, please."

"No." A crane sweeps by overhead and Will ducks out of the way. The site is busy, filled with people, and so loud that he almost has to yell to be heard. Not the best of conditions for a heart-to-heart talk. "You didn't upset me back there."

Jon tilts his head, but stays silent. He sidesteps a passing vehicle just as Will darts out of the way of a wheelbarrow. Absurdly, it feels like they're dancing.

"That's good to hear," Jon says, voice wary. He waits.

Will clears his throat, then shoots a glance over his shoulder to Bran's car. He can see Nate's pale face watching from behind the glass. He turns back with a sigh. "Can we . . . talk about it some more? At some point?" He winces. Damn it, he's no good at this shit.

But Jon's widened eyes and tentative smile prove at least some of his message got through. After several seconds, Jon nods. "Whenever you're ready." A loud horn startles them, and they both slide a few feet to the left, allowing an empty dump truck to rumble past. Jon steps up and catches Will's arm. "Better get going. I'll see you tomorrow, unless you need to stay with your daughter."

"Thank you." Will studies the hand holding his shirt, fascinated with how easily it wraps around his bicep. Jon's fingers are more tapered than his own, but just as rough, and there's a trace of gray dust caked under the nails. Their grip is strong and warm. Despite his promise to Nate, he finds himself completely disinclined to move.

Jon feels the same way, apparently, though he does finally step back, releasing Will and throwing him a parting wave. He scoops a stray hardhat off a bench before joining Eddy at the base of a nearby scaffolding.

Will beats a hasty retreat.

*~*~*

"Thanks, Bran." It's said almost as an afterthought, but Will's more concerned with how Sophie sprawls lethargically in his arms. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and even through the heavy material of his shirt, he cringes at the heat pouring off of her.

"No problem, Mr. Rhodes." Bran holds the door open while Will climbs out, Sophie held close to his chest. Nate's already waiting on the sidewalk. "Do you want me to stay? It's no trouble."

Will pauses, rubbing Sophie's back as he considers. They'd get home a whole hell of a lot faster, but it's risky. "I'm not sure how long we'll be. You know how these places are." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nate's shoulders slump and makes a split second decision. "Why don't you park and wait out here with Nate. I'll get her checked in and see how long it's going to be."

"Yeah. Sure." Bran glances over at the tall glass doors that lead to the emergency room. "It's probably for the best if we stay out of way. Come on, Nate." He climbs back into the driver's seat, and Will gives Nate a gentle shove toward the passenger side.

"Don't worry. Give me a few minutes to see what they say."

"Okay."

Will turns and heads for the entrance before Nate can change his mind. A blast of cool air rolls over them as they pass through the automatic doors, and Sophie whimpers softly.

Right on schedule, the self-doubt surfaces; his feet carry him over the threshold into the reception area, but no farther. If there's ever a time he's going to be found out, this is it. He's about to commit fraud, make no mistake, and advertise his crime with a paper trail to boot. The thought paralyzes him. So what if he's a drunk and a failure. He's never broken the law.

But fraud. It would be the end. The blunt, rusty nail in his coffin of his mostly defunct career.

"Sir?" A fresh-faced girl peers at him from behind the reception desk. "May I help you?"

"Just a moment," Will croaks. He can't make his feet move. Pain stabs through his head. A familiar thirst haunts him.

"Will?" Sophie is awake, staring at him with watery, bloodshot eyes and crimson cheeks. She snuggles deeper into his embrace. "I feel real bad." A tear gathers in the corner of one eye, then rolls down her cheek and over her nose. "Did I ruin everything?" Will shakes his head, too choked up to reply. Sophie's chin wobbles. More tears join the first. "I did, didn't I?" she asks, adding a hiccupping sob. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he says, and the déjà vu hits him like a freight train. The waiting room, the bright orange bucket chairs, the kind nurse at the reception desk, and the sick child in his arms. "It's not your fault at all." He presses a kiss to her forehead, then strides forward.

"Sir?" the woman inquires.

"My daughter's sick." His voice is blessedly clear and confident.

"Have you been here before?"

"No."

And so it begins.

Nate does an excellent job of stalling Bran, or perhaps it's the other way around, but regardless, by the time the boys find him in the waiting room, ensconced in one of the hateful orange seats, Sophie is registered and paid for. There's no health insurance to speak of, so his wallet is $150 lighter – thank God today was payday – not that he begrudges a single cent of it.

He greets the boys, then hands Bran a few dollars and asks him to grab them some coffee. Nate watches him meander off, then leans across the gap in the seats. "What happened?"

"She's registered. Sophia Kappler. They'll call her in soon."

"Kappler." Nate seems to be turning it around on his tongue.

"I had to. Her name had to match the name on my driver's license or there would have been questions."

"You have a driver's license?"

Will delivers an affectionate clap to the side of Nate's head.

"I was kidding." Nate leans forward over his knees and scrubs a hand across his face. "Mostly." He straightens suddenly. "What about paying? How much will it cost?"

"It's taken care of." Will shifts Sophie in his arms and looks the other way. Conversation over.

But he's forgotten about Nate's legendary persistence. "No. No." Nate shakes his head violently, spilling dark red hair into his eyes. His loud refusal draws stares from the nearby sick and injured, and one old man with a bloody hankie pressed to his hand shushes him. The Jerry Springer Show flashes across three wall-mounted television screens, volume muted.

Will keeps his eyes turned away. "Yes, Nate."

"Tell me how much it was."

"No."

Nate blinks, mouth hanging open. "She's my responsibility."

"I'm not disputing that." But if Nate thinks he's the only one who cares, he's not half as astute as he believes himself to be. "We'll discuss it later. Here comes Bran."

Nate's mouth shuts with a snap, but the surly expression remains. He slouches in his chair and watches Bran, who's walking with careful steps down the corridor, three coffees balanced in his hands. His left sneaker is untied, the laces flapping on the linoleum, and he's whistling something tuneless under his breath. Will smiles when Nate's expression softens.

"Here you go," Bran says, passing over the cup, and Will sends up a silent prayer of thanks. The coffee run was more than a diversion; he needs it badly. Nate accepts his and blows across the surface of the black liquid while Bran folds himself into the next chair over. He wiggles around until his shoulder is pressed against Nate. Smiling slightly, Nate closes his eyes and inhales steam from his cup.

Will guzzles the coffee, an easy task as it's lukewarm at best, and it does wonders. His hands steady and his stomach settles. Caffeine, the wonder drug. If he could have a cigarette, he'd feel almost normal.

"Sophia Kappler?"

Bran glances up, then looks around the waiting room.

Will curses silently, and Nate freezes with his mouth at the edge of his cup. He darts a panicked look at Will, his fingers tightening around the Styrofoam until it starts to crumple. Curiously, Bran only raises his hand, then points to Will once he has the nurse's attention. "She's right here."

Swishing the dregs of coffee around his mouth, Will hoists a sleeping Sophie higher in his arms and stands. He nods at Bran. The look they share speaks volumes, and Will's estimation of the boy rises a few notches. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be here."

Nate shoots to his feet and follows Will to the double doors that lead to the emergency ward. Sophie protests the sudden movement by moaning and knuckling her eyes open, and Nate reaches over to pet her hair. "Hey, Soph. I'm here, and the doctors are going to make you better, okay?"

"I want Mommy." Sophie's raspy tone has the nurse clucking her tongue.

"I'm sorry, young man," she says to Nate. "There's only room for your dad back there. I'm going to have to ask you to wait here."

Will groans under his breath. "She's very attached to her brother. Are you sure there's no way—?"

I'm sorry, Mr. Kappler. Rules are rules."

Nate grows red in the face. Agitated, he shifts back and forth. His hand clenches in Sophie's hair, and as though sensing her brother's fear, she begins to cry. Will grinds his teeth. "Please. It'll keep her calm. Can't he come?"

"I'm going with her." Nate edges closer to his sister, and the nurse frowns. A sudden hush falls over the waiting room. Will holds his breath, knowing they're on the brink of disaster. Blissfully unaware of the drama, Sophie cries quietly against his shoulder.

"Hey, Nate." Bran's voice breaks the stalemate. "No big deal, right? I'm sure your dad can handle it. And I bet they'll let you go back if Sophie needs you. Isn't that true?" His smile radiates enough sunshine to blind every person in the room, and, predictably, the pretty nurse is dazzled.

"Well, I'm sure if it becomes a problem, we could make an exception. We don't want this little darling too upset." She purses her lips and looks back and forth between Nate and Sophie. "Let's see how she does first, okay?"

"Fair enough." Bran nods and winks at her.

Will feels like kissing him. "She'll be fine," he says, and when Bran takes Nate by the arm, looping a finger through one of his belt loops for good measure, Will pulls away and follows the nurse through the doors. Nate doesn't follow, and Will hopes it's not because Bran has him restrained, but rather because he has some measure of faith in Will.

They're led to a room, and Sophie endures more poking and prodding before the nurse leaves them alone to wait for the doctor. "Daddy's here, Sophie," Will says, and Sophie smiles.

"I'm glad," she whispers before closing her eyes again and drifting into a fitful sleep. Will holds her and waits. Outside in the corridor, people scramble by, machines beep, and phones ring nonstop. A gurney rolls down the hall, wheels squeaking. Somewhere close by, two nurses gossip about the newest member of the staff. Will closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, only half-listening to the discordant orchestra.

His mind drifts, and this time déjà vu has the sharpness of actual memory.

*~*~*

He was in court when the call came, arguing for a kid who, without a doubt, had the worst luck on the planet.

"Your Honor," Will said. "There was no violation. The stipulations of Simon's probation dictate that he must check-in at school no more than twenty minutes after he leaves his house. He can't drive. How else is he expected to get to school in time if he doesn't cut through this particular neighborhood?"

The judge spread her hands and looked down her glasses at him. "Mr. Kappler, what do you want me to do? I can't alter the rules for one child."

"Your Honor—" Will rolled his eyes. He stood, and, after patting Simon on the shoulder, walked to the bench. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, voice low. "Marie, come on."

Marie covered the microphone mounted on her bench. "Will, my hands are tied. Give me something to work with. Some other option."

Will straightened his tie while he ground his teeth. "Like what?"

"A new school?"

"He's attending the one closest to his residence already."

Marie pointed her finger at him. "It isn't like you to come to me without an answer. I'm disappointed. Give me something. Anything. I don't want the progress this boy has made erased, but I'm not a miracle worker."

"Well, neither am I," Will spat.

"And you look like shit," Marie said as though Will hadn't spoken. She sat back and removed her hand from the mic. "Thank you for that enlightening information, Mr. Kappler," she intoned loudly. "I'll take it under consideration. Simon Mossel?"

Simon shot to his feet, nearly toppling his chair in the process. "Yes, ma'am."

"Your Honor," Will corrected him as he returned to his side.

"Right, sorry. Your Honor." Simon shuffled his feet. "I promise I ain't doing nothing but walking to school. I stay away from the guys, I swear."

Marie adopted what Will called her 'pissy grandmother' expression. "You've had no contact with the members of your gang since the beginning of your probation?"

"Jesus fuck, no! I swear!" Will choked on the sip of water he'd just swallowed, and Simon helpfully smacked him on the back. "I swear, Your Honor. I'm turning it around, you know? Kapp's been helping me."

"Hmmm." Marie sniffed. "Mr. Kappler should spend more of his time helping himself, I think."

Will's humorless snort was lost in her next words. "Very well, Mr. Mossel. Mr. Kappler has been kind enough to promise a quick resolution to our conundrum." Will glared at her. Marie answered it with a serene smile. "He's ever so resourceful. I'm confident he'll envisage an acceptable solution."

Simon gave a slow nod. "Um . . . what?"

Marie leaned over her bench. "He'll fix it."

"Oh." Simon grinned, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth. "Yeah, he always does. Kapp's da bomb."

Marie nodded. "Yes, he certainly is. Very well, this is how we're going to proceed. . ."

Will's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he surreptitiously slipped it into his palm to check the number. Though he didn't recognize the string of digits right away, a name popped onto the screen a moment later: Highlands Academy. His knees went weak, and a clammy sweat erupted over his brow. He barely noticed when Marie broke off her monologue, pointed a finger in his direction, and spoke. "Mr. Kappler! Is that a cell phone in my courtroom?"

"Um . . . I—yes. I'm sorry, Your Honor."

"You okay, Kapp?" Simon shot nervous glances between Will and Marie.

"Will?"

Marie's voice finally broke Will's paralysis. He pocketed the cell phone, swallowing heavily. "It's Alex's school," he told her.

"An emergency?"

"They wouldn't call otherwise."

Marie nodded. "Off you go. I'll make sure Mr. Mossel is returned to his classes promptly."

Simon's mouth formed an O. "Uh, how you gonna do that?"

Will had already grabbed his briefcase and was halfway up the aisle, dialing the school back, when he caught her answer. "Why, Mr. Mossel. Since yours was the last case of the morning, and I find myself at loose ends for the lunch hour, I thought I'd take you myself." Simon made a mouse-like squeak, and despite his anxiety over his daughter, Will laughed.

He wasn't laughing an hour later.

The clickety-clack of Catherine's high-heels echoing down the hospital corridor made him sigh, and though he didn't want to, he stood to greet her. She stopped several feet away, suit and makeup impeccable, spearing him with her cold, green eyes. "You look like shit," she said.

"You're not the first to say so."

"You might try eating some calories, instead of imbibing them." She touched a hand to her upswept blond hair, and Will's anger exploded.

"In case you were wondering about your daughter, she's in X-ray now. She's got a skull fracture, they're pretty sure." He brushed past her to the vending machine and punched enough quarters through the slot to pay for a cup of coffee.

"I know that, Will. I called ahead."

Will rolled his eyes as the cheap paper cup filled. "How efficient," he mumbled. Louder, he asked, "Did they tell you what happened?"

"Not in great detail. She fell?"

Will nodded, still facing the vending machine. Its glass front was smeared and dirty, too clouded for him to see Catherine's reflection. Not that it mattered; her tone was indication enough of her own worry. They still shared this one thing – a precocious seven-year-old girl – but very little else. "She fell off that train caboose in the park. One of the other kids said she hit the ground head first." He pressed a hand over his eyes when Catherine gasped.

"They said it was just a short fall."

"Onto a steel platform, Cat."

Catherine sighed. She dropped her briefcase on the floor and, grimacing in distaste, lowered herself into one of the plastic seats. "I'm sorry. I should have been here sooner. My flight was delayed and traffic was hell. I didn't want you troubled."

A dull pounding took up in the base of his neck. "It was no trouble, for Christ's sake. She's my daughter."

Cat's laugh was shrill enough to give him goose bumps. "As if that ever mattered before. Who knew this is all it would take for you to show a little interest in her. You even left work early, I see. Whatever will all those delinquents do without you to champion their cause?"

Will took one sip of the bitter coffee, then tossed the rest into the trash. "Think you could tone it down? Just this once?"

Catherine shrugged. She crossed one long leg over the other and tapped her fingernails on the table beside her. "She's your daughter, Will. She deserves some of your precious time."

"My job—"

"Yes, yes," Catherine muttered. "Your very important job, I know."

The doors to X-ray opened, and they both jumped to their feet, but it was only an orderly, pushing an empty bed ahead of him. Will found it almost impossible to tear his eyes away from the mussed white sheets and the rumpled pillow. Catherine's tired, slightly bitter voice interrupted his thoughts. "So . . . how was the office today?"

Will clenched his teeth as he sat back down. The desire for a decent cup of coffee was a physical ache. "I was in court."

"Putting more criminals on the streets?"

She never changed. Will closed his eyes and didn't answer.

Catherine began to roll her ankle in circles, her shiny red pump the only bright color in the whole room. "I was just wondering," she said. "Busy, busy, these days, aren't you? Though I'm sure you make time for your three-martini lunches. Shame you had to skip it today. I bet Marie was disappointed. She does love your regular lunch dates. It must be because you flirt shamelessly with her after you've knocked back a few."

"Do we have to do this now?"

Catherine leaned forward, and Will tracked her progress through narrowed eyes. Surviving one of their conversations was like trying to take a swim in the shark tank without getting eaten. "Little does she know," she drawled, "that she's just not your type."

Right on time. Like a goddamned atomic clock. "Meaning?" he asked.

"You know. Although I've noticed that you do like them older."

"Catherine." Will wrung his hands in his lap. "Leave it. This isn't the time or place." Her answering twist of a smile wasn't encouraging.

"Does she know? Marie?"

Will shot her a glare. "I've only told you."

Catherine shrank back into her seat. Suddenly, she no longer resembled the beautiful, competent marketing executive that she had when she arrived. She looked old and broken. "I wish you hadn't," she whispered. "I wish you'd never said a thing."

Will's stomach lurched. "Do you mean that?"

"I don't know." Catherine swiped at her eyes. Will watched, feeling such a lack of sympathy that it shamed him. There were many days when he wished he hadn't told her, even though truthfulness and forgiveness had seemed so important.

But somewhere along the line, the shine of honesty had lost its luster. And Catherine Kappler had no forgiveness on offer.

Her fingers tap-tapped on the table. Her ankle spun round and round. "William, I've made a decision. This seems as good a time as any to let you know." She sighed. "I don't want you to see Alex anymore. I'm just not comfortable with it."

Shock silenced him for nearly a minute. She hadn't even looked at him when she'd said it, the cowardly bitch. His voice, when he answered, was as steady as he could make it. "No," he said. "I don't care how uncomfortable you are. I'm not going to abandon her."

"It's not like she'll miss you."

Cowardly and cruel. "No."

Catherine set her painted lips into a thin line. "We'll see."

They didn't speak after that, except for Will to inquire with stiff politeness if she wanted a cup of vending machine coffee. They said nothing to each other when Alex was wheeled out of X-ray, or when she was tucked into her private room for the night. Will spoke to Alex, and Cat spoke to Alex, and both of them tried to pretend they didn't notice how Alex kept glancing nervously between them and whispering how she was sorry.

*~*~*

"Mr. Kappler?"

Will opens his eyes and the vague shape in front of him swims into focus. It's a man in a white coat. "Yeah?" he asks, voice rough. "Sorry." He clears his throat and straightens up in his chair. Sophie moans and peels her eyes open.

The doctor dismisses his apology. "Don't be. I’m sorry it took so long to get to you. We had an accident victim come in." He's tall and bald and reminds Will of someone.

Sophie, however, makes the connection before he does. She sits up with a gasp. "Mr. Clean!"

"Sophie!" Will hisses.

The doctor tilts his head back to laugh, and the illusion is complete. All he needs is a bucket and a mop. "Good news," he says as he reaches forward to pat Sophie's head. "Just a bad case of strep throat. A couple of days with some antibiotics, and your little darling will be right as rain."

It takes Will a few seconds to process the words. The sense of relief is overpowering. "Thank you."

"No problem at all. Again, I'm sorry you had to wait." He hands Will a prescription. "In the meantime, Tylenol for the fever, and popsicles for the sore throat."

"Easy enough. We can handle that. Can't we, Sophie?" He pinches her nose, and she manages a small giggle.

"Yes!" She throws her arms around his neck and hums in his ear. Her heart beats fast and steady against his own. "I love popsicles!"

"I love you," he whispers against her hair.