Everyone stared as though they were being paid to do it -- Mort Rainey, rushing in, just after an ambulance arrived carrying Carmen Allen on a stretcher. It was evident, even through the sheet that covered her, that there was blood.

"You'll need to stay out here," said the nurse at the desk, stepping out quite firmly to halt Mort from entering. "The police are going to --"

"We don't need any goddamn cops getting involved in this," Mort growled through gritted teeth. It appealed to his most feral instincts, what they were doing, like separating an animal from his mate. Carmen was his woman, and it was his sole primal goal to see that she was alive. He attempted to squeeze around the woman, but to no avail. "She's my damn girlfriend," he said, fists clenched at his sides, though he wasn't quite sure if he could even call her that anymore after everything had happened – remorse washed over him as he realized that men didn’t do things like this to women they loved. Rob wouldn’t have. Ted Milner wouldn’t have...

“Listen, lady,” Mort continued through gritted teeth, attempting to shake off his thought. "If I were anyone else but the resident psychopath, you'd --"

"You're not anyone else," the nurse said stoically, and it became quite clear to Mort, if it hadn’t already been, what everyone thought of him. "Now, we can't demand that you leave this hospital, but you will not enter that area until cleared by the authorities."

Mort's eyes narrowed -- he wasn't normally one to fight, but he was sure as hell past feeling just a bit hot under the collar. His face was reddening, just as his knuckles paled from being in fists so suddenly and for so long -- it hadn't helped how tightly he'd gripped the steering wheel while driving over here.

"I'm entering that area NOW."

He pushed brusquely past the woman, but no sooner had he passed her when a pair of arms clad in security guard uniforms reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back and shoving him back past the barrier that divided the reception area -- this was most definitely beginning to create a scene. People muttered about the murderer going in to finish a botched job, wondering what Carmen had done to deserve it now.

"You won't try somethin' like that again," the nurse said, nose upturned as though she were speaking to something filthy and lowly. "Else I'll be calling the police and they'll --"

"Mister Rainey," said a doctor, stepping out into the patient waiting area, pulling off his latex gloves and stuffing them in a plastic-lined pocket to be disposed of later. Mort's heart skipped a beat – no one would be speaking to him with such a lack of hostility unless something had occurred for which he was truly to be pitied. The expression on the man’s face, it could only mean…

She's dead, you know, said the voice inside of Mort, and Mort feared it would be is only companion for the rest of his life. She’s DOA, and you’re going to prison for this one. How do you survive being shot straight through --

"You...may come into her room." the doctor said stoically. Mort felt like screaming in anguish at that moment -- no one was telling him she was doing fine. No one was telling her to ‘be careful,’ or to keep his voice down because she was tired – and with a throbbing pain within, Mort realized that if she was dead, none of that would matter. He could collapse in a loud, insane fit next to her hospital bed, and it wouldn’t disturb her anymore. In all the stories besides his own, the girl turned out fine in the end, and everyone left her and her hero to be alone and perfectly in love. Why wasn't it happening?

Mort found himself rushing down the corridor once they'd given him clearance until he reached the door they'd indicated would be Carmen's. He pushed it open, only to come face to face with the new deputy sheriff exiting the room. He merely gave him a nod, maintaining a flat expression, and walked on.

They’ve got everything they need against you now. They feel too bad for you to even hassle you --

"No," Mort growled, pushing past the door, seeing Carmen laying on the bed, hooked up to monitors, and looking so frail under the stark white sheets and her hospital gown --

-- but she was alive. The heart rate monitor still beeped steadily, the sheets moved ever so slightly with her labored but very much existent breathing.

"Mort?" she said quietly in a strained voice, her eyes only half-open, but still noticing that his face was nearly as pale as hers, and he looked very much out of breath. "Are you alright?"

Nearly hysterical with glee and relief, Mort rushed over and knelt down by the bed, taking her hand. "Funny how you're the one asking about me when I'm not the one who just got shot," he laughed weakly, inclining his head and planting a kiss on the back of her hand. However, his expression shifted when he realized that this feeling would be short-lived. "The cops are gonna be after me soon, just so you know -- they like you around here, and I did pull the trigger --"

"They won't be bothering you anymore," Carmen said with a small smile. "I talked to the sheriff -- you're ok."

"What?" Mort said in disbelief. What could she have possibly said that could get him off the hook for this one? If he'd been any of those people out there, he'd have suspected himself in an instant.

"Perks of dating a writer," she laughed weakly, punctuated with a small cough. "You find you get a pretty big boost in creativity -- you should've heard it, it was the best story ever. You probably couldn’t even have come up with it yourself." She paused, noting with pride the look of surprise and curiosity on Mort's face before she continued. "I told the sheriff you were trying to pull a gun on yourself and I tried to get it away."

Mort paused and laughed, shaking his head. "You little cheat," he laughed, laying his head down on the pillow next to her. "That is the most outlandish thing I've ever heard -- we should collaborate on a book one day." He paused, noting the sad look on her face. "Not a good idea?"

"Carmen Shooter." she said simply, tears welling up in her eyes as finally, she was overwhelmed by everything that had happened in these past weeks, culminating in her lying in a hospital bed. "All this time I wanted to know -- and now I hate myself for it."

"Hey, you saved my life," Mort said, hesitantly reaching out and touching her cheek. "That in itself is sort of crazy, but I'm thankful, and I wanna do something for you."

Carmen weakly reached up and wiped her eyes, then glanced up at Mort questioningly.

"How about I rid you of that ugly name, hm?" he asked with an awkward, lopsided grin. "Rainey's not much better, but it rolls off the tongue easier. What do you say?"

Carmen paused to consider it, and was about to speak when suddenly, Mort began bobbing his head jokingly, repeating, “Carmen Rainey, Carmen Rainey!” in a comical, sing-song voice. She laughed quietly, reaching out a hand to swat playfully at what she could reach of Mort’s arm.

“How about we talk about it when I’m not doped up on painkillers?” she asked with a weak laugh, holding the crook of his arm with as much firmness as her weak, tired body could muster. Still, all the rest of that day, and well into the evening – being that they still regarded Mort as the resident psychopath, no one bothered to remind him when it was past visiting hours – all Mort could think of was the fact that after all he’d put Carmen through…

…she hadn’t said no.

---

A/N -It's been ages, I know, you guys! I've just been so busy lately! An update on me -- I'm now a college student, and ENGAGED! Anyway, now that my schedule is letting up because of school and classes being more spread out, I'll try to get to ALL of my stories! Hopefully I still have some reviewers out there!

Anyway, I love this chappie, because it's a nice split from the depressing stuff that preceded it. Stay tuned, the drama isn't over yet, though!