Feedback: Please do.

Thanks: to Nicole for the quick read.

Disclaimer: They belong to the WB and others. Not me. Move along.

I thought I knew fear and pain the night Julia died. I'll never forget seeing the police, the looks on their faces as they approached me. But there were no police this time. No messengers of the first time I truly knew fear so deep it nearly crushed me.

For all the operations, all the times I've had someone's life in my hands; my hands never shook. I was always steady. Tonight, pulling my son out of that forsaken lake, changing his clothes and trying to get him warm... My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Hell, I've been sitting here for over an hour, the room dusky dark and Ephram fast asleep, and my hands still want to shake.

I can't stop staring at him. He'd never believe me, but when he was little I would go into his room late and night and just watch him sleep. Any time Julia would catch me she would get the sweetest smile on her face. Then she would simply nod and keep going about whatever she was doing. I treasured those times and I think she knew it. But I lost them, along with so much more, as my practice grew.

She died before I remembered how it felt. How I could stand in an open doorway and be overwhelmed by nothing more than watching my children dream. He was too young to remember the time he woke late one night to find me standing there, and too old now to believe I'd ever do it at all.

Now it's a totally different feeling. Yet somehow it's exactly the same. Pressing my hands together, trying to still the tremors that I still can't quite control, the young man before me blends into the boy we've left behind. The desperation that coursed through me, fearing something had happened. Knowing something was wrong... It's passed only to leave everything with sharp edges. I'm past angry. I'm beyond scared. The relief at having him back, safe and knowing he'll recover... It's overwhelming, pushing everything else aside.

I hold my breath, counting his. I rub my arms, seeing his chills. I want to reach out, pull him against me like I did in the boat. I want to crawl into the bed beside him and keep him warm and fight the nightmares should they come. I want to do so many things I've not done for far too long. But I don't dare. He's grown too much. We've changed too much. I don't dare shatter the fragile peace we'd gained -- what's left of it after this horrific trip I've forced on him.

Instead I sit here, knowing he's safe and yet willing him better. It's late and I should be exhausted, falling over where I sit. But I'm not. He'll wake soon and I need to be right where I am, sitting with him, waiting on him. I don't know what I'll say then. God knows my mouth helped get us into this situation. I can only hope maybe it'll help get us out, too.

He scared the living hell out of me but I love him more than my own life. I don't think you can have one without the other. One day he might realize that. One day he might even really, truly believe it.

For now I'll do what comes hardest. I'll wait.

end