As Kermit sat beside his wife, holding her hand, Savannah remained as unresponsive as she had for the past six months. Suspended in a coma. Eyes closed as if she were only sleeping. Many times, Kermit had let the fantasy of her as 'Sleeping Beauty' get the better of him. Kissing her on the lips, he would pray that she would suddenly wake up and come back to him. But she didn't. The fantasy didn't help, but it didn't hurt.

She was lucky. Savannah was no longer on life support and her body seemed to be holding its own. Her bullet wounds had long since healed but the effects of the stroke had plunged her into this state of suspended animation, trapped between sleep and consciousness.

Savannah's doctor had told Kermit to make every effort to stimulate her senses. "Talk, play her favorite music, bring smells she would like, brush her hair, hold her hand, bring her friends to talk to her." He did it all. With no response. Regardless of the constant failure, Kermit would continue. It was all he had left of her. Hope.

Every lunch hour during the week belonged to her. Nights belonged to Kat. That's the way *she* would want it.

"Scarlett, you'll never guess what your, and I emphasize *YOUR*, daughter did to me in the grocery store last night. She relocated an entire display of apples onto the floor. Good thing those people had a sense of humor." Leaning over, he whispered teasingly into her ear, "Or maybe the shoulder holster changed their attitude. The Eagle can be very persuasive, you know."

She was becoming so small. It was as if she were disappearing. According to all the professionals, it was to be expected. Even with meticulous medical care, eventually her muscles would atrophy. Time was the enemy stealing what remained of the woman he loved.

The possibility of Savannah withering down to nothing loomed before him. The dark man forced himself to erase the deadly vision at each presentation. He knew that path led to utter despair; a road which he could not afford to travel. Savannah and Kat needed him.

When his time was almost up, he leaned down to kiss her good-bye. "Your brother sent a few new tapes for you." He plugged on the cassette player as Robert Johnson began to pour into the room. "R.J." as Savannah had called him during one of her Blues tutorials when they dated. "He sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads in the Delta so Satan would make him the world's best blues man," she had instructed, in a humorously mystic whisper.

Kermit Griffin's soul had been up for grabs on many occasions. He would gladly sacrifice it for her, to save her. Sadly, there were no takers who could make such an make such an exchange.

Once more, he stroked her hollow cheeks in farewell. Leaving was always the most difficult part of each visit. "Judy promised to keep your music going. I'll be back tomorrow. Love you, Scarlett."

Leaving her room, he caught a familiar figure strolling down the hall. The smoldering hatred that lived inside his gut began to claw its way free, breaking all the bonds of control he had spent months strapping around it. His vision narrowed to a tiny point containing only his enemy's face. Rage jabbed razor-like claws into his chest and blistering anger leapt into his throat as he stalked down the hall to intercept the man.

He grabbed Peter Caine by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell are you doing here??!!!"

Peter's body bounced limply against the wall, showing no resistance at the violent assault. Hands held up in the air, he answered the ranting question with calm. "Kermit. I didn't see your car. I'm sorry."

Seething, Kermit held him against the wall. Hissing into his face. "Have you been coming here? Have you?"

"Yes. The doctor said that having her friends talk to her might help, so I-"

"First of all, you don't talk to her doctor! Second, you are not her friend. YOU ARE THE REASON SHE'S HERE!!!"

"Kermit, you know I'm sor-" Another slam into the wall cut off the apology.

"I don't give a shit if you're sorry. She had three bullets slam into her body because of YOU and your screwed-up attitude. Three bullets! I don't have my wife. Kat doesn't have her mother. And the only reason I haven't separated your sorry head from your body is because of Paul."

Out of the corner of his eye, the enraged ex-mercenary caught sight of a dark gray uniform advancing cautiously down the hall. As the audience of nurses and others focused on their exchange, Kermit slowly released Peter's shirt. The frightened glare of the elderly security guard still observed them, but from a discrete distance.

Dropping his voice to a poisonous growl, too faint for anyone save his victim to overhear, Kermit informed the younger detective of his intentions. "Let me make this clear. I'm going down there to those nurses and tell them that you are NEVER allowed to go near my wife again. If you do, they will call security, then me. Then I will kill you." Point made, he stalked back to the nurse's station to make his wishes known. The security guard allowed him to pass without question.

*****

That afternoon, Kermit had made it clear to the staff and to Miguel that Peter Caine was less welcome than the plague at the nursing home. He wouldn't get near her again.

Watching the hard worn expression on Kermit's face, Karen Simms knew that something had to change. For Kermit AND Peter. Kermit was burning himself out. Peter Caine, even after his brief reverse to his normal mode of operations, was so 'by the book' and overly cautious that he was nearly unrecognizable and less than effective as a detective. That one glimpse of the old Peter didn't last. It had been weeks since his return to the 101st and the young man's guilt overshadowed every move he made.

Now, he and Kermit were face to face every day. Daily doses of Kermit Griffin's venomous glares did little to improve the situation. She was concerned about Peter professionally and personally. "You KNOW that he cares about her...and you. What happened wasn't...."

Leaning forward, he spoke directly and calmly. "I'm grateful for everything you've done to help me and Kat. But this is not a point of negotiation with me. Drop it!"

The cellphone in his pocket began to ring. Snatching it open, he shouted, "Griffin!"

Karen watched his exasperated expression change to frantic concern.

"WHEN? How is she?! I'm on my way!" Kermit was moving. Forgetting that he wasn't driving.

Karen threw a twenty on the table and raced after him. "Kermit! What is it? The baby?" When she caught up to him, he grabbed her by the shoulders, grinning like a maniac.

"She's waking up!"

*Thank God!* she thought. "Let's go."

Karen violated her own personal pet peeve and used the blue lights for this extremely personal business, running every light and dodging through traffic like she was at Indy. Pulling up to the front door of the nursing home, she let Kermit fly through the front doors as she went to park the car.

Blindly, he ran through the halls. Automatically finding her room. The scene that met him was less than peaceful. There were two nurses and two orderlies surrounding Savannah's bed. The patient appeared to be frantically pulling her arm free from a wrist restraint as an orderly tried to fasten her other arm.

Savannah had her eyes clamped shut against the bright lights in the room. There were tears streaming across her face. All she could manage to say by way of communication came out in a garbled throaty grunt as she struggled against the muck of sensation. Arms and legs were jerking in random flares of motion. Pulling the childlike body from side to side in her bed.

Kermit barreled into the room, scattering them. The male orderly who had been trying to fasten his wife's arm hit the wall behind him. The two nurses were shoved out of the way.

"What in the hell is wrong with you people?!" Kermit demanded. "You know her history!" He pulled open the canvas strap and let her arm free. After her nightmare as Ericson's hostage years before, Savannah couldn't stand anything restraining her wrists without exploding into a panic attack.

Kermit watched her apparent struggle to get up or roll over. The spasmodic flailing of the fragile arm, ripping out an IV and sending a trail of blood smearing over the sheets.

"Mr. Griffin!" This time it was Judy, the nurse who had taken such a special interest in his wife. She was at his side, trying to explain. "No one is trying to hurt Savannah. Only trying to keep her from hurting herself." Gently, Judy tried to stop the bleeding from her patient's hand with a sterile dressing so that the IV could be reintroduced. "She's convulsing because all those nerves that had been at rest have suddenly been snapped into consciousness with her. The doctor is on her way."

Ignoring her, Kermit reached out and held Savannah's face in his hands. "Scarlett, baby. It's all right. I'm here." She started to relax in exhaustion. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Somebody dim those lights."

Savannah slowly pulled open her eyelids. The images flooded her mind. Light, color, movement. She was breathing in gasps. Terrified. Confused. There was a man standing over her. Dark, graying hair and sunglasses. He was speaking softly to her. Stroking her hair. When he pulled off his glasses, he revealed dark, soulful eyes. Full of love and emotion.

Order began to return to her mind. The man began to explain. "Savannah. You're in the hospital but you're going to be fine. Just relax. I'm here."

With a small, trembling voice, she tried to ask, "Who are you?" She couldn't make the words come out. Only confused warbling syllables choked out her plea. They were inside her mind but her mouth wouldn't form them. Fear began to escalate once again.

Kermit stood frozen. He understood from the wild look in those green eyes. She doesn't know me. His heart sank. What had this done to her? How much of her was left? The doctor had warned him. There was no way to tell how much damage there had been from the stroke and the resulting coma. No way to tell until she came out of it.

Forcing a smile to his face, he tried to comfort her. "Don't worry. I'm just someone who wants to take care of you. You can call me Kermit."

Establishing an identity seemed to calm her down. She relaxed onto the pillow. Kermit grabbed a tissue and wiped her face. "There, now. That feel better?" Savannah sighed in response and closed her eyes.

Dr. Ashton came rushing into the room, past Karen, who had slipped quietly in to offer her support. "Well, now! Seems Sleeping Beauty has elected to join us." She was a professional and went directly to her patient and began to evaluate her condition. "Mr. Griffin, why don't you wait outside for a moment."

He started to protest, but decided not to create any further tension. Gently taking her hand in his own, he soothed, "I'll be back in just a minute." Savannah used what little strength she had remaining to grasp his hand in return. "It's okay, sweetcakes. This is Dr. Ashton. She's been taking care of you. Trust her." She released his hand and he left the room with Karen following.

Kermit leaned on the wall outside Savannah's door, then sank to the floor. Karen joined him. Snapping his glasses back into place, he sat in silence. Heart pounding with joy and fear. Bone chilling fear that the woman he loved was damaged beyond repair. Forever lost within her injured brain.

No! Kermit ordered those thoughts banished. He wouldn't entertain defeat for her. Not now. Not when she'd won a battle beyond all odds.

"I'm so happy for you both, Kermit," Karen patted his hand, surprised when he didn't shift away. "Tell me what you need."

What did he need? For the past six months he had existed without needs. Kat's needs took precedence over all. Savannah's unspoken needs also grabbed their sizable chunk of his psyche. What did he need?

"Tell you what, detective," Karen offered, "I'll go get Kat so you can stay here tonight if you want. In the morning, I'll work something out."

"Thank you," he said hoarsely. "And would you let everyone at the precinct know what's happened?"

"Gladly."

Dr. Ashton came out of the room -- and, in complete disregard for decorum, joined the two on the hall floor. "She's resting now. You can expect her sleep cycles to be erratic and lengthy at first. That burst of energy sucked just about all the strength she had."

He didn't want to ask the burning question. But, he had no choice. "How bad is the damage?"

The good doctor drew in a long, cleansing breath and dove into the case. "Kermit, we'll have to wait and see what her capabilities are over the course of a few days. Tonight, we're not going to pressure her. She's in a fragile state now, both physically and emotionally. I won't risk a setback by pushing her at this point."

"What are her chances of recovery?"

Looking every inch the intimate, caring physician, Dr. Ashton answered, "Well, she woke up, didn't she? What we have to do is have no expectations. Take what we get and work with it." Touching the arm of this dark man who had entrusted his wife to her, she said, "You go be with her. Visiting hours are round the clock for you." Getting up from the floor, she said confidently, "Tomorrow, we start from ground zero to rebuild. I'll be checking in from time to time tonight but if you need me, just have the nurses page me."

Looking up from the floor, Kermit said, "Thank you. For everything."

"It's a pleasure to have some good news for a change."

As Dr. Ashton left the pair seated on the hard tile floor of the hospital corridor, Kermit said, "I'll be needing some of that family leave, Captain."

"You got it, Detective."

Creaking the door open carefully, the man returned to his frail partner. Even with her eyes now closed in sleep, Savannah's body held little of the peace she exhibited in her coma state. Intermittent twitches and ticks pinched her face. Arms and legs would jerk involuntarily beneath the sheets.

As he approached, heavy lids rose over the long hidden green eyes. Confusion returned. A soft whimper pulled Kermit's hand to her cheek.

"Hey, now. No need to be afraid," he crooned, stroking her cheek. "All you have to do is rest. Nowhere to go and nothing to do."

A thick tongue traced parched lips. Opening her desert mouth to try words once again, the dryness stung painfully down her throat. Sounds croaked without organization or meaning.

"Want something to drink?" Kermit asked quietly in the dim lighting.

Somehow, she managed one nod. Nearly imperceptible except for one man starving for her every movement and sound.

Grabbing the water pitcher, he filled a cup and popped in a straw to bend between Savannah's dry lips. "Here you go."

He slid in the straw but was soon crushed to learn that she couldn't even perform the simple task of sipping. She didn't understand what he expected her to do as he held the straw between her lips.

"Let's try it another way," he said, sadly pulling the straw away. One hand behind her head, he tipped her forward and held the cup to her mouth . This was marginally more successful. Half the sip made it into her dry mouth. The other half spilled from the slack corner of Savannah's mouth and dribbled down her neck.

With iron-willed calm, Kermit screwed down the heartbreak as he read fear and humiliation in her eyes. "That's better," he encouraged, gently drying her neck then catching a tear that leaked from the corner of her eye. "A little water never hurt anything."

The tears continued to drip as Savannah closed her eyes again in exhaustion. Lowering the bed rail, he cradled her wrist in his large hand. Feeling her pulse. Grateful for every beat. "Sleep now, baby. I'll be here with you."

******

Peter Caine meticulously ran his spell checker program once more over his report. That obsessive mentality still a place where the newly restored detective sought refuge.

Little by little, over the past few weeks, he had begun to drop back into his familiar slot in the department. The welcome was offered more quickly than it had been received. No obvious offerings upon his return. The others simply behaved as if he had never left. As if the past six months were some unexplained vacation.

All except one.

To Kermit Griffin, the detective called Caine was a void. When the ex-mercenary was forced into proximity with the tainted officer, he directed his attention to any other minute detail in the room other than his arch enemy. If he couldn't kill him, he would ignore him. The collective sigh of relief could be heard for miles when one of the two left the room.

Peter tried to grant them both as much relief as possible by making every effort to be away when Kermit was in the office. But today was Kermit-free! He almost felt like he belonged again. Strenlich crawled him for the huge pile of case files on his desk. Morgan had some lewd comment about an upcoming stakeout. Home. Surveying the organized chaos of the room, Detective Caine began to breath easier.

On the other side of the room, a small scene caught his attention. The heavy waves of emotion reached out to his senses, not requiring sound for clarification. Mary Margaret clutched the phone to her ear. Eyes closed, her face molded by the intense moment taking place at her desk. For a long time, she merely sat frozen. Intently listening and nodding to the caller on the end of the line. Tears began to bleed down her cheeks.

Halfway to her desk, Peter watched as Mary Margaret, who had also drawn the attention of Jody and the Chief, hung up the receiver and formed a smile through her tears.

"What is it, Skalany?" Jody was at her arm, holding on lightly.

"She's awake," she gasped in a near whisper. Then, stronger and with clear relief, she repeated, "She's awake! Savannah's awake!"

Jody grabbed her friend in the sheer joy of the moment. "Oh my God!!! How is she?!"

Looking up at the gathering crowd, Mary Margaret gulped down the lump in her throat. "That was the captain. She's with Kermit at the nursing home." Smiling at the chief, she tried to be more specific. "All she said was that Savannah was awake and they were running tests to evaluate her condition." Taking in the sight of Peter Caine's shocked expression, she added, "But she's out of the coma and back among the living, thank God!"

A wave of applause began to whistle its way through the room as the news spread. Family in support of family.

Jody already had her coat and purse in hand. Shoving the same into Mary Margaret's hands, she said, "I'll drive!"

The two women felt no need to ask the Chief's permission to leave in the middle of their shift. As they sprinted toward the door, Mary Margaret caught a glimpse of a third party joining in their entourage. Peter Caine, matching their gait in long legged strides, was glued to her side.

Stopping abruptly, the dark-haired detective broke from her blur of happiness at her friend's recovery and focused on her tortured partner. Savannah's recovery would be a key to healing Peter's overwhelming suffering. But...

"Peter, you can't go." Mary Margaret touched his arm lightly, to bring him from his dazed thoughts.

"I have to see her, Skalany!" he snapped, fighting into his jacket. "I have to tell her--"

"NO!" She stabbed back at him. Softening, she took a breath and started again. The determined look in Peter Caine's eyes was from months ago. Dealing with this man in such a bulldog state was a challenge. "Peter, this is THEIR time. Not a time to bring up old business."

"But she's awake and I should ...I want.." The words braided with the sudden realization that she was right. His last physical encounter with Kermit had only been days ago in the halls of the nursing home. Skalany was right. This wasn't about him.

"Let me go there. See her. I'll call and let you know what's happening." To the silent acknowledgment, the two women left.

*****

Peter sat at his desk, waiting for information. Patience had never been his intimate friend. What he wanted, more than anything, was to be at that hospital, to be with Kermit and his wife, to tell them he was happy for them. It was the truth. As true as his sorrow at causing their pain in the first place.

Staring into the dimly lit space of Kermit's office, he spoke with his pain once again. As a child, it had been drilled into him. Each action begets another. One pebble cast creates ripples.

"Caine!" Strenlich rumbled and frowned over the detective's desk. "Stop daydreamin' and get the paperwork done."

Flipping the pages of his mind back to the business at hand, Peter lifted the pages of data. "Here, Chief."

"Oh," the Chief back-peddled his gruff approach, "fine." For a moment, the burly hulk merely looked at the pages. Fumbling with sentiments that he rarely expressed, Frank said, "You okay, Pete? I'm glad to get the tidy paperwork, but how about everything else?"

"I'm doing all right, Chief." The reply was less than truthful, but the correct response. Peter was blending awkwardly into a team that had moved on without him. They expected the return of his kick-ass approach. What he was offering was something less. He wasn't meeting their expectations -- thus, Peter Caine was the last one selected to play ball on each new case.

"Well, you have a problem, come to me." Frank left the terse expression of his compassion behind and returned to his nervous patrol between the desks. "Where the hell is Skalany?! She call in yet, Broderick?!"

Peter watched the facade of anger that was Frank Strenlich bellow through the office. It made him smile. All of them cared for Kermit and his wife and wanted news.

Jarringly, the phone on Peter's desk sprang to life. "Detective Caine," he answered, ready to force himself to think of work.

The voice brought less than comfort. Good news warped. Peter listened intently, twisting an independent hand through his hair.

"When will they know how bad it is?" Peter focused will and hope into the receiver, feeling Frank Strenlich move nearby.

"Okay, Skalany. I'll tell them. Tell Kermit, I'm...." he cut off the request. "Yeah, I know. See you when you get back."

"Well?" Strenlich asked, emotion adding more bite to his voice than he intended.

Peter dropped the receiver quietly back in place. Twisting his head slightly to throw the words in the right direction, he kept his voice low. "She's awake. They don't know how bad the damage is yet......she's in pretty fragile shape right now."

"You can win a war adding up small victories." Strenlich laid his rare offering of battle-weary wisdom on Peter's shoulders then walked away, leaving a quiet man behind him.

******

The night had been a long journey for Savannah and her husband. Sleep had been a temporal thing Kermit had grabbed in moments, resting his head on the side of the firm hospital mattress. Savannah's rest came in fleeting sections, divided by fitful moments of whimpering and trembling. Kermit would jolt from sleep at the slightest change in her breathing. Stroking the fear from her body with gentle words of comfort, he forced himself not to react when she flinched at his touch.

Now, it was morning. Dr. Ashton had spent the past few hours running various scans and tests to evaluate Savannah's physical status. The verbal tests had been less than successful. Savannah responded weakly to requests like, "Squeeze my hand," and made only garbled attempts at speech. The most heartfelt reaction came as the doctor tugged on Savannah's right hand, which was firmly bunched into a fist and glued to her stomach. A rasping growl blew terror and anguish back at the doctor until she released her grip.

"Very good, Savannah," Dr. Ashton encouraged, untangling her fingers. The doctor took a weary breath and smoothed her dark hair back into a haphazard ponytail. Turning to Kermit, who had watched quietly from the bedside, she nodded toward the door. "Let's step outside for a while."

Kermit's eyes rested on the tiny woman who sank back into an exhausted heap on the bed. Her skin bore a faded, almost translucent hue. Building a cocoon around her body with the blanket, he lightly traced the side of her face with one finger. The slight droop of her right eye and the slack corner of her mouth made her appear all the more wounded. Kermit tucked her in and followed the doctor outside to the sterile furnishings of a conference room.

Dr. Ashton quickly displayed the fruits of her morning's work, spreading sheets of scans and test results over the table.

"Well? What's the word, Doctor?" Kermit creaked down into a stiff plastic chair to await the verdict. Reading the woman's face was difficult. Physicians were masters at emotional control.

"I've seen worse, Kermit, and I'm encouraged." She smiled warmly with the news. "Her awareness is on the higher end of the spectrum, even though she can't speak at the moment. The attempt at interaction is clearly present. The expression of resistance when I tried to pull her arm, is a good sign."

Kermit shook his head in doubt. "She can't speak, can barely move, and I can see from the look in her eyes that she doesn't know who the hell I am and this is encouraging?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically. Grabbing the corner of a dark gray film, she held the transparency up to the light. "The damaged area is here," she traced a blotched section of the brain scan with her pencil, "and it's approximately the size of a tennis ball. Maybe a little less."

God.... He stared speechless at the evidence of his wife's injuries. Evidence that a bullet had plunged into her skull.

Delving into simplified clinical language, Dr. Ashton explained. "The bullet entered just behind her ear. We have overlapping damage to two areas of the brain, the left temporal lobe and the cerebellum--caused partly from the projectile, and partly from the resulting stroke."

In the face of his shock, she put the films away. "These areas of the brain control different functions -- we could have a variety of symptoms from this particular injury."

"Such as?"

"Well, the cerebellum controls coordination of motor responses. Balance, coordination, tremors, speech, muscle control, et cetera. Temporal lobes control more cognitive areas. Short and long term memory, speech perception, language comprehension, personality responses, organizational skills and problem solving." Dr. Ashton was quick to add, "That doesn't mean that all these areas will be affected. We just have to wait and see."

"Is there a way to repair the damaged area?" His voice became as clinical as the physician's.

"No. Brain tissue does not repair itself, BUT in many cases, the brain reroutes the neuro pathways and other portions take over the functions of an injured area." A caring hand reached out to touch his own. It was a careful touch, given without an attempt at forced comfort. "We just have to give all the medical and emotional help we can and see how far she can go."

Silence thickened the air, dampening the joy he'd felt at Savannah's awakening. What kind of life had she returned to? Drawing in a deep breath, Kermit did what he had to do -- began to assemble a plan. "What course of treatment do we use?"

The doctor smiled back at him. Kermit Griffin considered himself a partner in his wife's care -- not just a hapless consumer buying services. "To start with, we build up her physical health and make her as strong as possible. There are a few medications that can help the process along, and we'll try them one at a time, to guard against unnecessary side effects."

"What about her emotional health? She doesn't know me." The ache fluttered again, just as a reminder. "Do I tell her who I am? Who she is? What happened?"

"This is where it gets tricky, Kermit." Dr. Ashton flipped her pencil repetitively between her fingers. "She's been isolated within herself for so long, and still is to a certain extent. It's been my experience that pushing contact is traumatic. If she reaches out, reach back, but that's all. Let's just let her come along one step at a time."

He understood. The understanding brought little comfort. All he wanted to do was rush into that room and hold her for hours. His only need was to see love in her eyes instead of fear and confusion.

But, that would have to wait. Kermit's needs paled in the face of Savannah's journey back to some sort of normal life. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly, "so we make her body stronger and we treat her like glass emotionally, and what else?" There was always a 'what else.'

"We get her another doctor." The woman closed the file and began to dig brochures out of her lab coat pocket.

"I like the doctor we have, thank you." Kermit rubbed his eye beneath his shades.

Handing him the brochures, she answered gratefully, "I appreciate that more than you know, but my specialty is caring for neurological injuries and comatose patients. Now that Savannah has, in essence, recovered, she needs to be moved to a rehabilitation center and be under a team of therapists who can take her as far as she can go toward regaining her mental and physical skills."

Kermit leafed through the brochures, assembling new mental checklists. "Recommendations?"

"University Rehab and Nursing," she tapped the colorful brochure on top, "has an innovative program, excellent staff, and it's ranked among the best in the country. I'd recommend a Dr. Clara Beason. Head injury and recover is her specialty." With a wink, she said, "And she won't be scared to death by you!"

Grunting a laugh as he stared at Savannah's new home on paper, he said, "A necessary requirement in your opinion?"

Rising from her seat, she patted his shoulder on her way out. "Definitely."

Kermit pushed the paperwork aside and pulled out his cell phone. It was time to make another call. Rolling over words in his mind, he made the call to Savannah's parents.

******

Billy March held his mother's delicate hand in a tight grip. It was obvious that his mother never noticed. It took that hold -- and long-legged strides -- to keep up with Betsy March's drag race down the nursing home corridor. "Slow down, Mama," he implored. The petite woman dragged him along, her arm a taunt leash.

The woman needed no directions. Her last trip there had left her limp and brokenhearted. For hours, she had hovered over the shell of her daughter, waiting for some glimmer of life. Suffering the vision of her once beautiful daughter lying in a shrunken mimic of sleep. No sparkling green eyes. No gentle teasing smile. No stubborn rebellion. No Savannah.

Kermit's brief phone call yesterday had been the answer to a prayer. Now, there was nothing short of an atomic bomb that could keep Betsy March from getting to her child. The numbered doors whizzed by in her frantic search for the right one.

Billy nearly plowed right into his mother as she planted her heels firmly into a dead stop. She had found the right door. But before the tiny woman could force the heavy door open, Billy tried once more to hold her back. "Maybe we should talk to the doc first, Mama. Or Kermit?"

Billy had a bad feeling about this. He was no less obsessed with seeing his sister awake and released from her captivity, but Kermit's call with the good news had been so guarded. "She's awake. She's not well yet and might have a long recovery."

His mother had heard the first part and ignored the rest. Donald March was still recovering from a bypass performed only two weeks earlier and couldn't travel, leaving his son to protect his mother. But the boy was no match for five-foot-two tower of steel will.

"Billy!" Mrs. March snapped, more harshly than necessary. "My little girl's in there. Come with me or not, but I'm going in that room!" With a firm slap to the door, the woman forced her way inside. Billy blew air out in exasperation, following close behind.

Her possessed dive into the room was halted abruptly in the heavy blur of dim lighting. Moving in slow motion, she found herself looking down on her daughter. Trembling fingers traced a loving path over what remained of a once vital young woman. "Oh, sweetie...." the distraught woman moaned through a screen of tears, as she stroked the limp mop of blonde hair. She slowly and carefully bent to kiss Savannah's sallow cheek.

"She's alive, Mama," Billy comforted from across the bed. "She's alive." The young man fought to feel the comfort in his words. His sister's physical condition had deteriorated drastically from the last time he had visited. In four months, she had evaporated into a childlike body. Her life force continued--the machines confirmed that--but seeing her was beyond grim. The mere sight choked Billy March with emotion. And Kermit has been with her every day, Billy thought, wondering briefly about the condition of his brother-in-law.

Betsy, though shocked to the bone by the frail condition of her child, felt intense relief that she was out of the coma. She could actually see the difference. This sleep had energy to it. The breathing was deeper. There was motion beneath the thin membrane of eyelids. Lips trembling slightly. The mother was reminded of this child as an infant as she pouted for an imaginary bottle. The mother smiled tearfully in remembrance as she fluttered delicate fingers over her daughter's forehead, as she had done so long ago.

All at once, the long eyelashes fluttered open, causing a barely muffled gasp from the tearful pair hovering over their loved one.

"Savannah! Baby..." Mrs. March crooned, holding the young woman's face in both hands. "Oh, sweet girl. I'm here. We missed you so much. So very much!"

Billy threw out all notions of hesitating. Grabbing his sister's hand, he kissed it warmly. Her arm was limp as he held the tiny hand to his cheek. "Hi there, Sleeping Beauty," letting his trademark dazzling smile. "I was about to send a Barry Manilow tape to shock you outta that nap you've been taking!" Leaning over to kiss her forehead, he whispered, "That would have earned me a beatin', huh?" The pale face tensed at the physical contact, a reaction that reached out to slap him.

The two faces hovering close and the restraining hands on her face....Eyes widened in fear, Savannah tried to turn away from them. Her forehead a map of wrinkled confusion, the young woman's mouth opened to force out a garbled plea of twisted sounds.

Both visitors paused in shock. Shock at the effort behind the unintelligible words. Shock in the slow realization of what that expression meant. Billy's gut tightened. It was even worse than Kermit had told them.

"It's Mama, sweetie. Ma-ma!" A creeping hysteria was bleeding into Betsy's tone. "You're in the hospital, Savannah. It's Mama. Don't you recognize me? Can you see me?"

"Van? It's Billy? Remember?" The young blonde head leaned more into his sister's line of vision.

Both Marches were now hitting full-fledged frantic, unable to bear the shocking conclusion. His sister's eyes filled with tears. Not tears of joy. Tears of unspeakable terror.

"What have they done to you?!!" Betsy pulled her child into her arms and began to rock. Praying that suddenly her daughter would know her.

Savannah's inner self tensed violently against the touch. Unable to translate that into physical resistance, she moaned in fear. The sounds. The arms encircling her. Who were they? What did they want? She couldn't breathe! The terror began to swirl within her chest. Choking out the air. They wanted something...but what. *Go away....please...* The thoughts snagged on her short-circuited web of brain.

"Uh...uhhh...nuhhhh...." Savannah managed, the fear in her body and soul now overwhelming.

They were talking so fast. Babbling into her ear through sobs that she couldn't understand. Breath began to chop from her throat between the attempts to force out sound.

"It's your mama, sweetie! Please remember me...please...." the older woman cried, feeling the despair as she realized that her daughter didn't know her and couldn't even respond to their pleas. Billy, his eyes a misted with deep blue sadness, backed away, watching his mother try to coax life from his sister.

"Betsy?!!" The booming voice came from the door, Kermit plunged into the room. "Wait!" He moved swiftly, trying to remove the frantic woman from his wife. "We have to talk first! She's not ready for-"

Betsy gasped as Savannah's body went rigid in her arms. Then the broken body tensed into an unnatural, stiffened posture as violent tremors jerked her limbs over the white sheets, tearing her out of her mother's arms. The bright green eyes rolled back to leave sickening white slits peering out through her lids.

"Get the nurse!!" Kermit shouted to a stunned Billy March.

Billy broke from his paralysis and sprinted out the door to scream down the hall for a doctor. Kermit grabbed his wife's shoulders as he tried to hold her body still. The frail woman's body seized violently in his grasp. "Hold on, Savannah. Hold on," he chanted, forcing calm into his voice. Calm blanketed the terror he felt as Savannah's body flopped over the bed and her head shook back and forth in rag-doll fashion on the pillow.

Betsy had pressed herself against the wall in dazed horror as her daughter writhed over the bed in a macabre dance of illness. Four nurses burst into the room, with a tall, authoritative woman on their heels.

"Everybody OUT!" Dr. Beason shouted, prying Kermit away from his wife. They moved in concert. As she quickly checked the jerking body's vital signs, she shouted again, "I said OUT! Now!" Turning back to bark orders for medication, the doctor left no room for discussion.

Kermit gently wrapped an arm around his frozen mother-in-law and walked her firmly into the hall. His heart was in his throat. He wanted to be with Savannah, but he trusted this doctor. Dr. Beason had taken over the case immediately after receiving Dr. Ashton's referral. She was the expert. If she said get out, then that was the best thing to do for his wife and he would do it.

Billy took over his mother's shaking body and sat her down in a padded chair. Betsy March had gone pale with shock. "Sit down, Mama."

Kermit knelt in front of the small woman who bore his wife's delicate features. He shoved down the anger he felt at her actions. After all, he understood her impulse all too well. He held her hands lightly and spoke with the most level tone he could manage at the moment. "Betsy, she's...well, she's very fragile now. She-"

"She didn't know me." Betsy stared into space. A fractured heart speaking to the air.

Time for truth. "She doesn't know anyone. She can only make sounds and I'm not certain if even she knows what they mean. She can barely move. The MRI that they ran yesterday shows some significant damage to her brain."

"And what does that mean, Kermit? Will she get better?" Billy tried to be the strength his mother needed. Clamping a firm grip on his panic, he perched on the edge of his mother's chair.

"We have to see if the rest of her brain can compensate," Kermit answered quickly. "The doctor seems to think there's hope. We just have to wait for her to get stronger."

"What just happened in there, Kermit?!" Betsy shook herself out of the blanket of her shock. "Did I hurt her? I'd never hurt her! Oh God...what have I done!?!"

Keeping his voice calm, Kermit tried to ease her mind. "I don't know what's going on. This seems similar to when she woke up but I just don't know." Patting the hands gently, he said, "Let's just wait for the doctor."

Agonizing moments passed as the family waited in the corridor. Finally, the doctor emerged smoothly from the room. Serious but not grim, Kermit observed silently.

"She's all right," Dr. Beason offered quickly. Waving a hand down the hall, she instructed, "Follow me."

After their collective relieved sigh, the group moved down the hall in silence. Billy held his mother supportively. He knew his mother would be reliving this moment for a long time.

After Kermit supplied brief introductions, they gathered in the privacy of a waiting room. The doctor stubbornly waited for all to be seated before beginning. "Like I said, Savannah's going to be fine."

"Was it another stroke?" Kermit asked bluntly. Bad news no longer a shock to him, but he regretted his tone when he saw Betsy twitch.

Shaking her head in emphasis, the doctor answered, "No. It was a seizure, but there doesn't seem to be any damage. I'm adding a drug to reduce the chance of further attacks." Trying to explain, she added, "Seizures are a common side effect of traumatic brain injury. Medication should help control them."

Betsy wanted nothing more than to get back to that room. "Then we can see her now?" She needed proof that her baby was all right. She wanted to see the proof for herself.

Halting the woman with an upraised hand and a smile, the doctor shook her head regretfully. "She's sleeping now. She will need rest to get over this episode. Maybe tomorrow. But," she paused as the group settled once again, "we need to discuss a few things first." Steeling himself for more bad news, Kermit leaned forward as she began. "Savannah's condition is extremely fragile at present. Physically and emotionally. Although her seizure wasn't caused by the visit, I just can't risk traumatizing her. ALL her energy must be focused on healing. On herself."

"You mean we can't SEE HER!?" Betsy began to harden her voice in the pain. "She needs me! Us! Her family!"

"Of course you can see her," the doctor responded quickly. The gray-haired physician leaned forward in her chair, offering herself as part of the circle, and not the moderator. Pulling off her plain silver eyeglasses, Dr. Beason gave her voice a softer, less authoritative tone. "But we have to be a bit more cautious with the contact, Mrs. March. Savannah needs gentle handling at this point. We can't put any pressure on her to remember or respond in normal ways."

"You mean don't tell her who we are, don't you?" Billy chimed in, getting the point the doctor was making.

"That's exactly what I mean," the doctor nodded in confirmation. "Visit her without pressure or emotional outbursts. As friends that will just spend time with her without forcing physical or emotional contact. She simply can't process all the information now."

"Let her come to us? Is that what you're saying?" Kermit eased back into his chair. It was the same advice given by Dr. Ashton.

"Exactly," the doctor replied. "Let her make the inquiries of you. She'll ask or reach out if she's ready to process the information. Still, we will have to hold back even if she does ask. Don't force physical or emotional contact. The sensations are simply overwhelming to her at this point in her recovery."

"But we already told her who we were, Doctor." Betsy unconsciously grabbed at her son's hand.

"Mrs. March, Savannah probably won't remember this episode tomorrow." The doctor offered the information a gently as possible in the face of the disappointment. "Her memory, both long-term and short-term, was damaged -- she will learn from repetition." Getting up to return to her patient, she concluded, "She has a long way to go and she must go slowly. I know it's painful, for her and for all of you. You just have to remember that she IS recovering. Not at the rate we'd all like, I know. We would all like her to be sitting up, laughing, talking, remembering and being her old self again. Reality tells us that that it will be time and hard work before that happens. Especially time." Deciding that she'd given them enough to ruminate on, she stood. "She'll be sleeping the rest of the night, so I'd suggest that you all go home. Come visit her tomorrow."

The doctor left them alone to absorb the information. Kermit finally broke the silence. "Why don't come both come spend some time with Kat." He stood and offered his hand to the small, shaken woman. "You'd be surprised how much better she can make you feel."

Casting one more longing look down the hall, Betsy agreed and the three filed out of the hospital.

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