So sorry for the long time between updates. I have no good excuse, really. But please, show me that you're amazing, forgiving readers and leave me a review. Maybe I'll be better next time. :)

Chapter Twenty-One

Commonalities

"They finished the surgery," Kate said, leaving Jack, confused and in pain, wondering why she stood before him looking so miserable. "I'm glad you're OK," she blurted out, grabbing his IV-free hand and pressing a kiss to it.

He knitted his eyebrows together, his uncertainty apparent. Kate wiped the tears from her cheeks while Margo excused herself from the room. "They said he won't wake up and he almost bled out in surgery and then he started clotting..."

As a doctor, Jack knew better than his girlfriend how weak Sam's body was. Typically, he wouldn't have recommended such drastic treatment for the man, but he wasn't an oncologist and he wasn't a transplant surgeon. That had been someone else's decision. The weeks of chemotherapy and radiation treatments had shattered his immune system, and the immunosuppressant drugs he would be given to fight off rejection would make him extremely prone to infection.

It would be an uphill battle.

He also knew he wasn't the best source of medical information for Kate right now, his brain hazy and close to succumbing to sleep from the dose of painkillers Trisha had just pushed. "He won't wake up?" he managed to croak out.

"Something about not reacting well to the anesthesia and he's not responding to the triggers they're giving him. He was supposed to have woken up by now, Jack."

Fighting the muddle, he wondered: if he was in Kate's position, what type of consolation would he want to hear– clinical doctor talk or supportive boyfriend talk? He chose the latter. "Give him a few more hours before you start to really worry."

Kate ran a palm over his short hair, something igniting within her. Jack needed someone too, someone more than his mother. He needed her. How was she supposed to be there for both of them? In the stress leading up to the transplant, she hadn't allowed herself to formulate a post-surgical plan. The two men were equally important to her. She felt stretched too thin, and the process had only just started.

Her father or her boyfriend seemed to be the situation, when it needed to be her father and her boyfriend. Even boyfriend seemed like a trivial title. Jack was more than that to her, which was why seeing him lying in the hospital bed, looking miserable, was so difficult for her.

"I'm really glad you're ok," she said again, clasping onto his hand and bringing it her heart – where it belonged. "Your mom and I were going crazy out there."

Jack chortled. "And I'm glad I'm ok too. And Sam will pull through. He's too stubborn not to, you know that, right?"

Kate grinned. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Taking a seat next to the bed, their conversation lulled and Kate noticed Jack's eyelids drooping as he fought to stay awake. She stood and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "You need to get some sleep. I'll leave you alone for a while."

He accepted her gentle kiss against his lips, but tugged at her hand as she turned away. "Just one more thing. You and my mom waiting around together for hours? How'd that go?" A grin tugged at his lips, although a little more subdued than normal.

As tempting as it was, now was not the time to bring up the depth of her conversation with Margo and that particular trait from Jack's past she had inadvertently revealed – that he had been married.

"It was... a little surprising, started out a kinda rough. But I like her, Jack. I think it went pretty well, considering the environment. She might have even liked me," she chuckled.

"What's not to like? Genuine, compassionate, beautiful–"

"You must be drugged to high heaven, Jack."

"No." His objection sounded similar to a whine, which amused her. She knew he wasn't quite with it and was getting more loopy by the minute, but she appreciated the sentiment. "I mean it. Sorry I didn't... sorry I didn't tell her about you. Because you're great and I love you and she should know about you and maybe we... maybe we could invite her over for dinner... or something–"

She pressed another kiss against his cheek, interrupting him. "Get some sleep, crazy."

It took him only a minute or two to doze off as she watched from the doorway, his transition seamless. She'd never been one to fall in love so quickly, or maybe ever, but as she saw his breathing slow and steady, she realized exactly why 'falling in love' was phrased as it was. She'd been flying, ridiculously happy with this man in her life. But seeing him like this and thinking of his long recovery, the ways it would change his life – it didn't take long before she hit the ground.

"C'mon Poppy, talk to me," Sam urged, leaning across the counter of Sal's Diner, where she'd worked for the past few months. "You know she was nothing to me. Nothin' happened, promise."

The blonde raised her eyebrows doubtfully. "Sure as hell didn't look like nothin' to me, Austen. That floozy was hanging all over you. And you didn't seem to mind."

Sam grimaced. He was falling in love with Diane, but was having problems controlling his playboy lifestyle. He couldn't help it that women were so attracted to him. "Ok, maybe I could be a little more subtle," he agreed. "But you're the only one for me Poppy. You know that."

"Oh do I?" she asked, hands cocked on her hips. "I think you're going to have to prove it to me."

After a hard day's work at a new construction site, the red vinyl stool attached to the typical checkered tile called his name. He sat down at the counter and leaned on his elbows. "Let me take you out tonight."

She flashed a smile at him. "I work tonight."

"Of course you do. Ok, tomorrow night."

Diane took in a deep breath, contemplating his request. She wasn't an easy woman to win back. And that girl was a floozy.

"One – diner food doesn't count. You will take me somewhere nice, where I can dress up and order a nice bottle of wine."

"Fine–"

"Two – don't think because you bought me dinner that I'm going to sleep with you right away. That is all," she said matter-of-factly.

Sam sighed but tried to appear thankful for her decision. "You got it, Poppy."

Diane yelled back to her boss, who had shouted at her to get back to work. She wiped the counter down, smirking at him. "I really wish you'd stop calling me that."

Sam smiled. There was something about this one. Something about her made him believe in the prospect of love as he had not before. "No you don't."

Sam floated, unsure of where or when he was, unable to focus on any of the flashes in his mind for long enough to determine their importance. But he hadn't dreamt of his Poppy in years, as much as he'd tried, especially since Kate had come into his life, a constant reminder of her mother – stubborn, sarcastic and strong, but with just enough of a feminine edge.

He tried to push through the barrier, whatever it was, he couldn't tell. But it resisted and he gave up. He was tired and wouldn't mind going back to those vivid dreams of Poppy. They were nice to relive.

Maybe he was imagining it, but he felt his hand being squeezed and heard the faintest of voices. Why couldn't he wake up?

Sam was elated. He couldn't explain, couldn't even figure it out in his own head. But the feeling was caused by her, that much he was sure of.

He pushed open the door of Sal's, sank down onto the stool and waited for Poppy to make her appearance. She'd left giggling that morning, promising to have lunch waiting for him if he visited.

Somehow the powder blue dress and white apron she sported looked better on her today than ever. She wore a smile and her blonde hair flipped at the ends. 1978 was a great year, he mused.

"Hey, Poppy. Where's that patty melt you promised me?"

"Hold your horses. That's no way to greet a lady."

Sam made a spectacle of himself, showering her with attention and a greeting fit for a queen. When he'd finished, she slid the patty melt across the counter to him. Checking that her greasy boss, Ralph, wasn't watching from the deep corners of the kitchen, she leaned forward to kiss him.

He left half an hour later, smiling, committed to halting his playboy ways for this woman. He had no idea it would be the last time he ever saw her.

No, he thought as he floated again. He did not want to remember things like that! His hand contracted again – someone was definitely gripping it. Ok, he thought. He could talk himself through this. Just move each finger, just a little, just try to make a fist. Just wrap your damn hand around hers!

Kate sighed, exhausted but far too anxious to sleep. She'd just checked on Jack and was assured by Trisha that everything was going fine. But Sam still hadn't woken up. It had been two more hours. Why weren't the doctors as worried as she was? He hadn't even stirred.

Marcia had come by, even after Kate's resistance. Marcia didn't belong there, she thought. She and her father were not that close. All the older woman had done was sit by the bed and stare at Sam, then asked Kate how Jack was doing. Then she'd left. What was the point of that, exactly?

So she gripped her father's hand, willing him to wake up. He looked peaceful, at least, that much she could see. He appeared much more relaxed than he had in the time since she'd met him. It was probably the sedative, but maybe the piece of the new liver was already working. Maybe he had hope.

"Any change?" she heard from the doorway, as she turned and saw Margo standing there, leaning against the doorframe. She looked as exhausted as Kate was.

Kate shook her head. "Nothing yet."

Margo approached Sam's bed, arms folded leisurely across her chest. "He looks determined, doesn't he?"

Kate wasn't sure how much of Sam's story she knew. She couldn't imagine the woman would know any more than what they discussed in the waiting room, but her words were comforting. Margo had a tough exterior, that much she could see. But she was also compassionate, and Kate wondered why Jack didn't have a closer relationship with his mother. What she wouldn't give to have that time with her own mother.

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?"

"Well," Margo sighed, gathering her purse and overcoat. "If he's anything like you I'll bet he makes it."