"...know what could've caused him to pass out like that?"

"Not for any reason that I can find. The guy is perfectly healthy as far as I can see. His lungs are a little damaged, so my guess is that he's a smoker, or was a smoker, but other than that, he's fine."

There had to be some little dwarf marching around in my head, beating a hammer into the side of my skull. That's how hard my head was pounding.

I felt like I was going to throw up, too. There was a nasty taste in my mouth and my throat must've been rubbed raw, because it hurt to swallow.

What I really wanted was for the people talking in hushed voices to shut the hell up. I wanted to go back to sleep.

"Did you contact his family?"

"Yes. I pulled his name from his license and searched his records in the New York database. I called his wife - Hailey, I think her name was. Some name that started with an h. She said she'd be on her way. That was about an hour or so ago."

"Good. At least we'll be able to ask her questions about him."

Wait a moment.

These people had called Hadley? Where was I? What the hell happened?

I fought to open my eyes for a moment, and when I finally did, I was met with the blurry sight of some middle-aged woman in purple scrubs hovering over me, adjusting the pillows propped up behind me, fussing over me.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice raspy from sleep.

I wasn't exactly all that lucid at the moment, but I knew well enough to tell that something out of the ordinary was going on here. Well, something out of the ordinary more than usual.

The woman laughed, giving me a motherly sort of smile. "Not to worry, honey. You're just fine. You're in the hospital right now."

"Hospital?" I repeated confusedly. "I'm in the hospital? What happened?"

I couldn't remember a damn thing. I forced myself to focus, to think back on the last thing that had happened, but all I got was this black wall.

"You passed out," the woman told me, shaking her head sympathetically. "Hit your head pretty hard. Hard enough to get a concussion."

I passed out? When? Well, not only when, but where?

What on Earth could've possessed me to pass out? That was so not a manly thing to do.

"You called my wife?" I said after a moment, frowning.

The woman nodded. "She'll be here soon, not to worry."

Well, that was relieving. She may not have been there, but Hadley would be able to tell me what had happened. Somehow. I think it was a woman thing.

"Actually, she's here right now."

My eyes flashed to the door, and sure enough, Hadley was passing over the threshold, still dressed in her work clothes, looking rather frazzled.

"You sure got here fast," the woman said with a laugh.

"I have my ways," Hadley said wryly. "Would you give us a moment?"

"Sure." The woman gave me a smile, patting my hand. "I'll be back in a few to check up on you."

She waltzed from the room, shutting the door behind her, humming under her breath.

Hadley came to my bedside, a grief stricken look passing over her face, reaching out to clutch at my hand.

"Archer, what happened?" she asked softly. "I swear I almost went into early labor when I got that phone call saying that you passed out at Canaan and got a concussion."

Canaan? What was she talking about? What was I -

Oh.

Memories of walking into the prison, handing over everything on my person, walking into the visitation room, seeing Patrick St. Pierre for the first time in fifteen years.

Looks like you turned out like your old man after all.

"Archer." Hadley gave my hand a firm squeeze. "You have a horrified look on your face. Tell me what happened."

"I..." I couldn't spit out the words, no matter how much I wanted to tell Hadley what had happened. "He..."

"Who?" She frowned in confusion, looking at me concernedly. "Archer, tell me what happened.”

"Looks like you turned out like your old man after all. Looks like you turned out like your old man after all."

The room started to tip and spin and my vision started to blur. I knew I was repeating that sentence over and over again and I couldn't stop it.

Why had he said that? Why would he have said that to me? Was it true? Was it really absolutely true?

I heard a knock on the door and a white haired man stepped in. I could register an alarmed look on his face as he looked from me to Hadley.

"What's going on in here?" the man asked Hadley.

I felt a pang of something that seemed like hurt jolt through me when Hadley turned to the man and I could see that her eyes were brimming with tears.

"He had a flashback," she said.

"Flashback?" the man repeated. Was he a doctor? He must have been, if he was wearing one of those white coats. "You mean like a flashback derived from psychological trauma?"

What? What were they saying? I didn't have flashbacks. No way. My mother had flashbacks. Not me.

"Exactly," Hadley said with a nod. "My husband was never properly treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Among other things."

Well, that much was obvious, but I most certainly did not have PTSD. The majority of my problems were because of my depression...weren't they?

"And what makes you qualified to make that assessment?" the doctor asked Hadley, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, for one, I am his wife. I would know if he had any mental disabilities or otherwise."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was all I could do to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter. I couldn't tell if Hadley was so pissed off because of pregnancy hormones or something or if she was just in a really bad mood.

"And I also happen to be a hospital licensed grief counselor. So assessing and diagnosing patients is my job. You can check my credentials, if you'd like."

The doctor stared at Hadley in complete and utter shock, his mouth hanging open. Then he quickly collected himself, clearing his throat. "Very well. I'll need to see his medical records, then."

"Fine. Contact Bellevue in Manhattan. They should be able to fax them over immediately."

"Fine."

The doctor left without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.

A moment of tense silence passed. I looked up at Hadley.

"Jesus, Hadley, you're a bitch."

Hadley burst out laughing.

"I am when I need to be."

She settled herself down beside me on the bed, and I reached out to take her hand at the same time she moved for mine.

"Will you tell me what happened?" she murmured, brushing a thumb across my hand. "Please? Do you have any idea how nervous I was about you?"

I had a very good idea about how nervous she was, but it was very uncalled for. If I was being honest with myself...I had no idea what happened.

St. Pierre had said those words to me, and something had happened. I'd sure as hell never fainted before. I'd never had a reason to.

"Archer."

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked up at Hadley again, frowning. "What?"

"Do you even remember what happened?"

All too well.

"I thought...I just...I knew seeing him was going to be horrific. I just didn't know he would still be this much of an asshole. God, Hadley, he didn't even care!"

"Care about what?" she asked softly, squeezing my hand.

"About Mom. Chris. Me. Everything."

Pure revulsion and hatred for the man was rising even more inside of me than ever before. I thought I was going to explode from how hard the feelings hit and with such intensity.

Going to see St. Pierre had been a horrible idea. It had accomplished nothing, and if anything, it had left me with more unanswered questions and bitter feelings than before.

"Honey. The man is a sociopath." One of her hands brushed back strands of hair from my forehead in a soothing gesture. "That doesn't reflect anything back on you."

How many times had I heard that?

"Were you serious?" I asked after a moment of thought. "About what you just said?"

Hadley sighed heavily, resting her cheek against the top of my head. "About the PTSD? Yes."

"But I..."

"Archer, after what you went through, it would be a miracle if you didn't get PTSD. There's nothing wrong with it."

"I know, just..."

The most my delusional mind was able to come up with was that there was not another mental disability I needed added to the whole list of problems I had going on here. It was bad enough having to listen to some therapist blab about how my depression didn't define me and how I had to learn to cope with it for six freaking months. I did not need any other type of psychotherapy forced on me against my will.

"You're going to be fine, Archer," Hadley said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Stop worrying."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I snapped before I could stop myself. "Did it ever occur to anybody that maybe things aren't going to be fine?"

But it was as if Hadley had been expecting I might snap like that, and she immediately responded just as heatedly.

"You have to stop thinking like that, Archer, I swear. It's not going to make anything better," she said forcefully. "You have to focus on the things that remind you what's worth fighting for."

The hospital door opened when I was about to reply and the same nurse from earlier bustled back into the room.

"Alright, honey, it's time for your CT scan," she said, whistling cheerily, like there was no problem at all in the world. "You got one nasty concussion, so this is just standard procedure."

"Fine, whatever."

I just wanted this day to be over with already. I didn't think that was going to happen anytime soon, though.

Three hours passed before I was finally able to return to my small, cramped hospital room. I'd been given the rather unfortunate news that I wouldn't be able to leave until tomorrow; I had to be kept under close observation because of my concussion, much to my chagrin.

When I was wheeled back into the room, I was greeted with the sight of my mother sitting on the couch by the window, next to Hadley.

"What are you guys doing here?" I asked in confusion. "I just - "

"Hadley called me," Mom said, cutting me off. "Right after she left." She got to her feet and came to the bedside, her face stricken with concern. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

I was beginning to sound like a broken record, and I was tired. Very tired. I wanted to sleep, and I wanted to escape everything that had just happened today. I never wanted to have another day like this.

"Archer." Mom brushed hair back from my forehead in a comforting gesture. "You really scared me, moroso. I thought I was going to lose you."

I fought back a sarcastic laugh. "No way, Mom. You're not getting rid enough of me that easily. I just hit my head, that's all."

"From a flashback brought on by PTSD," Mom said heatedly. "This is serious, Archer. You shouldn't have gone. I should've - "

This was a conversation I had no intention of listening to. I knew all of the things that were right and wrong and I knew all of the things that were wrong with me, and the select few things that were actually right. Nobody needed to keep reminding me.

"Mom," I said, cutting off her long winded rant about how she had known all along that I shouldn't have gone to see St. Pierre at all. "Please. Can we save this discussion for some other time."

Mom sighed heavily, reaching out to brush back my hair. "Okay. Fine."

"Okay."

"I'll just...go get something to eat."

She kissed my forehead and then left hospital room after grabbing her coat and bag off the couch where Hadley was sitting.

Hadley stood when I was about to ask her what the hell was supposed to happen now, crossing her arms over her chest, walking to my bedside.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Fine."

"Look, there's someone here that wants to talk to you. You're not going to be happy about it, but I think you should listen to what he has to say."

"What are you - "

"Long time no see, Archer."

Death came strolling into the room, hands in his pockets, a collected expression on his face.

I felt myself drawing a blank.

"Excuse me?" I said confusedly. "What the hell are you doing here? What happened to you won't be seeing me again?"

Now I was half expecting Havoc to come bursting through the window, guns blazing, ready to kill us all.

Why did everything keep changing? Couldn't there just be one set of rules everybody had to follow and not some edict or whatever Havoc had mentioned when we'd seen him at my aunt Sophia's house?

"I know what I said," Death said with a shrug. "Circumstances change. Hospitals and churches are the ideal place for visits if I'm desperate enough. Too many souls mixed together in one place. But I can't stay for too long."

"Oh, well, that's nice," I said loudly. "Something good must be coming our way, then, right?"

"I'll...just take a step outside," Hadley said slowly, giving the two of us a cautious expression before leaving the room.

I had the urge to jump out of bed and start running and not look back. But my head was pounding from the fall I took back at Canaan and it wouldn't do me any good.

Since when had running away from my problems solved anything?

"What do you want?" I asked warily. "Say what you have to say and please, just...leave."

Death settled into the chair beside the bed and clasped his hands together, acting as if he were readying himself to tell me a long, long story.

"I told you once I had a wife, didn't I?" Death began, giving me the same depthless look that he had the last time I'd seen him months ago.

I did not like how this story was beginning. I already knew that it wasn't going to have a pleasant ending.

"Yeah," I said with a heavy sigh. "Last time, when Hadley was in the hospital. And you're bringing this up why?"

Death gave a short, humorless laugh. "All for a reason, I assure you."

"Yeah, well, you also said Havoc killed your wife, so if this is some story about how - "

"Actually, my wife killed herself because of Havoc."

I felt my mouth drop open.

"I don't want to hear this."

Death cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "And do you think I enjoy repeating any of this?"

"Then why are you telling me this?" I demanded. I was having trouble keeping my voice calm. "Because I don't think - "

Death stood, gripped the bed's railing and leaned over until we were almost nose-to-nose.

"I'm telling you this to make a point. I couldn't save my wife and I couldn't save the baby that died with her. I waited and waited, too scared to act, until it was too late, and I wound up burying my wife and our son. You have the chance to protect your wife and your child. Don't throw that away. You can't imagine what it's like, living with that guilt for four hundred years. Don't be stupid enough to make that same mistake I did."

He leaned back after a moment of staring at me with his eerie eyes and stepped back, walking to the door.

"Don't make me have to tell you that again. I risked my ass coming here in the first place, and I’m not too keen to do it again.”

He left without looking back.

I slid down underneath the covers and buried my face in a pillow, running Death's words over and over again in my mind.

I didn't want to imagine how Death had lived with that for hundreds of years because I knew I would never be able to do it.

Visiting St. Pierre had been a terrible idea, but that didn't mean there were other things I couldn't handle.