"Well," her mother said. "I'm glad to hear that those teachers are recognizing that you need special attention. I was a little worried when you told me the classes were so easy. You like challenges, I know that."

Oh, I'm challenged now, Claire thought. Between the classes and Myrnin, being stalked by Jason and being terrified for Shane ... "Yeah, I do," she said. "So I guess this is all good."

"What else? How are your friends? That nice Michael, is he still playing his guitar?" Mom asked it as if it was a silly little hobby that he'd give up eventually.

"Yes, Mom, he's a musician. He's still playing. In fact, he was playing in the University Center the other day. He got quite a crowd."

"Well, fine. I hope he's not playing in some of those clubs, though. That gets dangerous."

There was more of that, the danger talk, and Claire worried that her mother was, if not remembering exactly, at least remembering something. Why would she be so fixated on how dangerous things could be?

"Mom, you're overreacting," Claire finally said. "Honest, everything's fine here."

"Well, you started out this semester in the emergency room, Claire, you can't really blame me for worrying. You're very young to be out on your own, and not even in the dorm ..."

"I told you about the problems with the dorm," Claire said.

"Yes, I know, the girls weren't very nice — "

"Not very nice? Mom! They threw me down the stairs!"

"I'm sure that was an accident."

It hadn't been, but there was something about her mother that wasn't going to accept that, not really. For all her fluttering and worrying, she didn't want to believe that something really could be badly wrong.

"Yeah," Claire sighed. "Probably. Anyway, the house is great. I really like it there."

"And Michael has our numbers? In case there's any problem?"

"Yes, Mom, everybody's got the numbers. Oh, speaking of that, here's my new cell phone — " She rattled off the digits, twice, and made her mother read them back. "It's got better reception than the old one, so you can get me a lot easier, okay?"

"Claire," her mother said. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"I don't want to pry, but that boy, the one in the house — not Michael, but — "

"Shane."

"Yes, Shane. I think you should keep your distance from him, honey. He's old for you, and he seems pretty sure of himself."

She did not want to get into the subject of Shane. She'd nearly stumbled over saying his name, it hurt so bad. She wanted to talk to her mother the way she'd used to. They'd talked about everything, once, but there was no way she could really talk about Morganville with her family.

And that meant, there was no way she could talk about anything at all.

"I'll be careful," she managed to say, and her attention was caught by the young nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting area, waving for her attention. "Oh — Mom, I have to go. Sorry. Somebody's waiting for me."

"All right, honey. We love you."

"Love you too." She hung up, slid the phone into her pocket, and grabbed her backpack.

The nurse led her through another set of glass double doors into an area labeled ICU. "He's awake," she said. "You can't stay long, we want him to rest as much as possible, and I can already tell he's going to be a difficult patient." She smiled at Claire, and winked. "See if you can sweeten him up a little for me. Make my life easier."

Claire nodded. She felt nervous and a little sick with the force of her need to see him, touch him ... and at the same time, she dreaded it. She hated the thought of seeing him like this, and she didn't know what she was going to say. What did people say, when they were this scared of losing someone?

He looked worse than she'd imagined, and she must have let it show. Shane grunted and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Yeah, well, I'm not dead, that's something. One of those in the house is enough." He looked awful — pale as, well, Michael. The baseball bat had left him with Technicolor bruising, and he seemed fragile in ways Claire hadn't even thought about. There were so many tubes and things. She sat down in the chair next to his raised bed and reached over the railing to touch him lightly on his scraped, bruised hand.

He turned it to twine their fingers together. "You're all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "Jason ran away, after." Walked, really, but she wasn't going to say that. "Eve's okay, too. She was here while you were in surgery, she just went home to change clothes. She'll be back."

"Yeah, I guess the diva dress might have been a little much around here." He opened his eyes and looked at her directly. "Claire. Really. You're okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Except that I'm scared for you."

"I'm okay."

"Except for the bullet wound and all the internal bleeding? Yeah, sure, tough guy." She heard her voice quiver, and knew she was about to cry. She didn't want to. He wanted to laugh it off, wanted to be tough, and she ought to let him, right?

He tried to shrug, but it must have hurt, from the spasm that went across his face. One of the machines near Claire beeped, and he let out a slow sigh. "That's better. Man, they give you the good stuff in ICU. Remind me to always get seriously wounded from now on. That minor injury stuff isn't as much fun."

It was wearing him out to talk. Claire got up and leaned over to stroke her fingertips lightly over his lips. "Shhhh," she said. "Rest, okay? Save it for somebody who isn't me. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to be hurt, Shane. With me, it's okay."

For a second his eyes glittered with tears, and then the tears spilled over, threading wet trails into his hair. "Damn," he whispered. "Sorry. I just — I felt it all going away, I felt you going away, I tried — I thought he was going to hurt you and there was nothing I could do about it — "

"I know." She leaned forward and kissed him very lightly, careful of the bruises. "I know."

He cried a little, and she stayed right where she was, his shield against the world, until it was over. Finally, he fell into a light sleep, and she felt a tap on her shoulder. The nurse motioned for her to step out, and Claire carefully pulled her hand free of Shane's and followed.

"Sorry," Helen said. "I'd like for him to sleep a while before we start with the poking and prodding. You can come back this afternoon, all right?"

"Sure. What time?"

Four o'clock. That left her the entire day to kill, and not the slightest idea what she ought to be doing with it. She didn't have to see Myrnin; Amelie hadn't given her any other instructions to follow. It was Saturday, so she wasn't cutting any classes, and she didn't want to go back to the Glass House and just ... worry.

Claire was still trying to decide what to do when she spotted a familiar, well-groomed figure standing outside of the hospital doors.

What was Jennifer, one of Monica's regular clique, doing hanging around here?

Waiting for Claire, apparently, because she hurried to catch up as Claire strode by, heading for the taxi stand. "Hey," she said, and tucked her glossy hair behind her ear. "So. How's Shane doing?"

"Like you care," Claire said.

"Well, yeah. I don't. But Monica wants to know."