Marissa and Braxton settled into a routine. She would get up in the morning with him and he would hook her up to her infusion. They had coffee and he ate breakfast while it was running. He tried and tried to get her to eat in the mornings, but she refused. After he went to work, she would go back to bed for a few hours, then - if she wasn't working days - Gail, Braxton's neighbour, would come over and help her with bathing and getting dressed.

He rearranged a few appointments so that he could be home by supper time every night, even giving up his lunch breaks to see those patients who couldn't reschedule for any other time. At home, he got supper ready while chastising Marissa for not eating the lunch he'd prepared for her. He would take it to work the next day after making her something fresh and he'd eat on his 10 minute break between patients.

After supper, he would start the dishwasher – something he rarely used when by himself – then hook up her IV infusion. While it ran, they would watch tv or just talk. She hadn't heard from Brian regarding a therapist, and once again Braxton offered to refer her to one, but she declined. He couldn't get her to talk about the beating, but she did open up about her life before her injury. She could talk for hours about her family and growing up on a dairy farm. It made him wonder all the more about why she'd left. It didn't make any sense. The closest he could figure was that it had something to do with her being kidnapped, but she wouldn't talk about that.

She didn't dream the night after the really bad one but did have one the night after that. Braxton once again came in to wake her up and stayed with her until she went back to sleep. He wanted to bring up the topic of referring her to therapy there in Denver once more, but he felt it would be futile. He just hoped that her boss found someone willing to see her online soon.

Thursday, Braxton took the afternoon off to take her to two appointments – with Ryan and Gideon. To do this, he scheduled his later patients for early morning, leaving the house at 6am to get to the office and get it ready by 7. Marissa had finished her infusions Wednesday night, so she did not get up with him, instead opting to stay in bed.

Ryan was pleased with how her bone was healing - he'd had an x ray taken of her arm before her appointment. He took her cast off to look at the incision and was not pleased with what he saw – there was a bit of pus oozing from it. Not a lot, but enough to be worrying. He said he was going to give her a week more of IV infusions and up the dose of antibiotic.

“I'm not going to put another cast on right now”, he said to her. “I will wrap it and I want you to take it off twice a day and pour disinfectant over the incision.” He had made the incision partially over the cut on her wrist so she would only have one scar. “I'll show Braxton how to wrap it back up again. There are pins in your bone so you won't re-break it, unless you fall on it or something.”

“What if she hits it on something?” Braxton asked.

“It could break if she hit it hard enough. Why?”

“She's having nightmares and she thrashes about in bed until I wake her up. I'm afraid she'll whack in on the nightstand.”

“Maybe you could move it away from the bed?”

“I will do that.”

“Marissa, why are you having nightmares?” Ryan asked. She shrugged.

“It's because of the beating that she won't talk about, Ryan. I've been trying to get her to let me refer her to a therapist, but she won't. She says her boss is looking for one who will do it over the Internet.”

“Good, whatever works. She doesn't need to be having nightmares. She has enough going on.”

“SHE is in the room, you know”, Marissa said irritably. She hated it when people talked about her as if she wasn't in the room or as if she were a child.

“Sorry, Marissa”, Ryan apologized. “Let's get your wrist washed with disinfectant, then re-wrapped.”

Dr Maynard's news was exactly what she wanted to hear, but she couldn't show it. “Marissa, unfortunately the biopsy is what I suspected – you have malignant cancer. It is stage 1, which is the best you can hope for. That means it is currently confined to the kidney. I've talked to other oncologists as I don't see a lot of people at that early stage. Usually by the time symptoms are felt and the patient is diagnosed, they are at least stage 3, sometimes 2. Your kidney stones saved your life. Because you went to the ER when they gave you such awful pain, you had scans which showed the tumour as well as the stones.

“There are two ways we can proceed – both surgical. You can have the entire kidney removed, as well as some surrounding tissue and lymph nodes, to make sure we got it all. While this is the best way to be sure we get all the cancerous cells, there is a risk of kidney disease down the road. The other option is to just take the tumour out, that will preserve function in that kidney but there's a higher chance of the cancer coming back. If you choose this option, we will do regular scans and at the first sign of the cancer coming back, we'd have to take the kidney. Please take a few days and think about it. Stage 1 is slow growing, so it's not as urgent as I'd initially thought. Call me by early next week with your decision.”

Marissa already knew what her decision was – to do nothing. However, she had to play along with him until the Cartel transferred her out of Denver. If she had to, she would let the oncologist schedule surgery, but for a few weeks away.

Dr Maynard took a look at her back, where he'd inserted the biopsy needle, to make sure she was healing well. He was pleased with it and felt the danger period for internal bleeding had passed. Braxton was relieved about that. On the way home, he asked her how she felt about what the doctor had said about her options.

“I don't know”, she replied listlessly.

“Surely, you must know which way you are leaning as far as the surgical options go?”

“I don't want surgery.”

“You have to have it, sweetie. You don't have a choice or this will kill you.” Marissa was silent. “What's wrong, Marissa? Is it the biopsy results or something else?”

“My arm hurts”, she said, holding it to her body.

“I'm going to stop at the pharmacy and pick up the pain pills Ryan faxed in. When we get home, you can lie down if you want. The medication and a nap should help you feel better.”

After supper, Braxton hooked up her antibiotic and disinfected her incision. As he was wrapping up her wrist, she said “You don't have to do this.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You don't have to play nurse. My boss would get a visiting nurse to come to my home if I asked.”

“Where did *that* come from?”

“I don't want to be a burden.”

“Have I said you are a burden?”

“No, but....” she let the sentence trail off.

“Are you thinking that because I'm quiet right now?” She nodded. He secured the wrap and sat down beside her. “I'm just frustrated that you won't talk to me, Marissa.”

“I talk to you!”

“Oh, you talk about the weather and current events, and even about your childhood. You talk about that a lot, but you won't talk about anything after .... after you were hurt. You never talk about your life *now*.”

“There is nothing to talk about. I work and sit around my apartment watching tv or reading. There is nothing to say about it.”

“Why don't you do anything, Marissa? You are too young to just be sitting around your apartment all the time when you aren't working.”

“What am I going to do? It's not like I can go dancing or for long walks or anything.”

“No, but there are things you can do. You could make friends, get together with them.”

“No, I can't.”

“Why can't you? Oh, right – your boss won't let you.” There was a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Well, he won't!”

“He lets you be friends with me, doesn't he?”

“That's because of what happened. He feels bad about it.”

“About you getting beat up? What does that have to do with him?”

“He just feels bad. And he knows I have to stay here while I'm on the antibiotics.”

“I wish you would trust me, Marissa.”

“I do.”

“You trust me enough to stay here at my house and you know I won't hurt you. But you don't trust me enough to tell me what is going on with you.”

“It has nothing to do with trusting you, Braxton. I really wish I could tell you. Believe me, if I could, I would.”

“If you are ever in a position where you can tell me, will you?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Braxton. I really do. Now, I think I'd like to go to bed. I'm tired.”

“Okay. Go do your nightly routine and then I will come in to help you undress.” He was still helping her out of her clothes and into her nightshirt before bed, doing it from behind so he wouldn't violate her privacy.

After Marissa was settled in bed, Braxton made a cup of tea and took it to the living room, where he sat in the dark, looking out the big picture window, and thinking. The street was quiet as usual. Nothing ever happened in this neighbourhood. It was a quiet, middle class area. He rarely closed the curtains in this room.

He was worried about Marissa. Not just because of the now-diagnosed cancer. That could be easily taken care of, if she consented to the surgery. He strongly suspected she was involved in something illegal and not by choice. She was constantly saying that he would be in danger if she told him anything. And that she couldn't talk to her family because if she did, they would be in danger. She never said she would be in danger – was that because she wouldn't be or she just didn't care? If only she would talk to him! He was sure he could help her get out of whatever it was. After all, he had a friend in the police department. He considered calling Logan, but feared that if he did, Logan would push hard to try to get Marissa to talk, which he felt would drive her away.

Braxton wondered if he should seek out a therapist for himself. Maybe he could get some tips on getting Marissa to talk. No, he decided, if he couldn't get her to talk, what business did he have in counselling others?

He finished his tea. With a sigh, he got up and took his cup to the kitchen before going to the bathroom. Next, he checked on Marissa. She was asleep but she was lying on her back with the covers off. Was she hot or did she kick them off while thrashing about during a dream? He nudged her and asked her to roll onto her side. She didn't budge. He pulled her over onto her right side. She moaned. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to get you off your back.” He put a pillow under her left arm. “Are you hot?” he asked.

“No. Cold.”

Braxton pulled the covers over her. “Did you have another dream?”

“Yes”, she mumbled.

“We'll talk about it in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

The next morning, she checked her email before she got up. There was one from Brian, saying he'd been unable to find a therapist on the payroll who was willing to do online sessions. There were a couple more that he had not been able to reach as of yet, but he would keep trying. She sent a reply, telling him about her infection getting worse and of having to stay on the antibiotics for a while longer.

Out in the kitchen, Braxton brought the subject up while tending to her incision and IV. She told him about Brian's email. “Marissa, please let me find someone for you to talk to.”

She could not let him do this. “Brian still has to reach a few”, she said. “I'm sure one of them will talk to me.” Oh shit, she thought. I just told him my boss's name.

“Will you please promise to let me find someone if they won't?” Marissa was silent. “Marissa? Please?”

She couldn't stand the pleading, so she said “Okay, Braxton”, knowing that if she had to talk to someone he recommended, she wouldn't be able to be completely honest with him or her. Well, she'd likely be transferred soon anyway, so she doubted she'd have more than a couple sessions. “But I insist on it being online. I do not want to go to an office.”

“I don't understand why you don't, but if this is what it takes to get you to talk to someone, then okay.”

The next night, after Braxton had tended to Marissa's medical needs, they decided to watch tv. She had to go to the bathroom first, and when she entered the living room, he was sprawled out on his back on the couch. “Oh, bugger – you beat me to it”, she said to him.

“Did you want to lie down?”

“It's okay, I'll sit in the chair.” She headed for the recliner.

“Come here, Marissa”, he said. “Sit down.”

“Where?” she asked. “You are taking up most of the space.”

He patted his thigh. “Here.”

She looked at him quizzically. He better not be thinking of trying anything, she thought. “What the hell, Braxton?”

“I'm not going to hurt you, Marissa. I would never harm you. And you aren't heavy enough to hurt my leg. Come on, sit down.” Warily, she sat down on his thigh. “Put your crutch down.” She laid it on the floor. “We can share the couch.” He pulled her backwards off his thigh and into the space between his legs. “Lie down on me, I won't bite, I promise.” She lay down and rested her head on his chest. She could hear the beat of his heart. She squirmed a bit until she found a comfortable position, and rested her casted hand on his belly. He put his left arm around her. He had the remote in his right hand.

“Does this bother you?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

Braxton put the tv on the listings channel and they selected a program to watch. Subconsciously, he started to stroke her hair. She tensed up. “Don't like it?” he asked.

“It's very comfortable, Braxton, but don't get attached to me.”

“For goodness sake, why not, Marissa? Am I repulsive to you?”

“Of course you aren't! I just can't get close to people.”

“Oh, right. Your boss won't let you. Tell me, have you ever had a relationship?”

“Yes. Before .... before the incident”, she replied, referring to the assault where her Achilles tendons were cut.

“What happened? Did he leave because of that?”

“No, we had broken up long before that. It just didn't work out.”

“What about sex? Surely, you are 'allowed' that? I hope I'm not prying too much.”

“I could have one night stands, but I'm not into that. I need some water.” She tried to sit up, but only got halfway there when they heard a loud noise and she felt something whiz by her head and embed itself into the wall. “What the .... ?” she asked.

Braxton pulled her down and back onto him as another object sailed by them. “We're getting off the couch, watch your arm.” He pulled her down to the floor with him. She ended up face down. He lay on top of her as they heard popping sounds and glass breaking.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“Someone is trying to kill one or both of us. Those are bullets.”

“Why would ....”

“Doesn't matter. What matters is that we survive this. I'm going to get off your back and you are going to crawl to the hallway, then down to your bedroom. Be careful of your wrist, do not use that hand. I'll be right behind you. Ow!” he yelped as he felt something embed into his back.