Author's Notes: Let me start by saying up front that I have no first hand medical knowledge of what I'm writing about in this chapter. Everything came from researching online so please forgive me if I didn't get something completely right; it fit with what I wanted to do with the chapter. I don't want to give everything away now so I'll offer a further explanation at the end of the chapter. Thanks for your kind reviews and for reading. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: The show Flashpoint and its characters were created by Mark Ellis and Stephanie Morgenstern and belong to them and the networks who air the episodes. Since the show has ended, our only way of getting new Flashpoint is through fan fiction. This story is my attempt to help fill the void, and the only profit I make is the warm fuzzy feeling reviews give me. Anything that does not come directly from the show is my own creation and should not be used without my permission.

Numbing the Pain

Chapter 3

Spike visibly paled at Jules's pronouncement. He shook his head. "Jules?"

Jules wiped the tear away and stared out the front windshield. Twenty years after the fact, she felt traitorous voicing what had happened, even if it was every word of the truth. She took a deep breath. "She didn't mean it. I know that. I knew it then. Still, I have a little bit of an idea of how you feel."

When Spike had received the call from his mother that his father's time was shorter than they'd thought, he'd wanted to break down in tears. He couldn't at the time because lives were at stake and he'd been needed. He'd had to push aside his fears, his pain, all his emotions in order to do everything possible to ensure that that bomb didn't go off and kill everyone trapped in that building at the time. Later, once he'd arrived at the hospital, he'd had to suppress his emotions because he'd wanted to be strong for both his father and mother. There had only been a few times since his father had passed that he'd been able to cry the tears and give into the emotions that wanted to overwhelm him.

Now, sitting in the passenger side of Jules's jeep listening to his friend reveal something still so obviously painful, the tears flowed freely. He'd thought there could be nothing worse than feeling like he'd disappointed his father on his deathbed, but this? Hearing Jules talk about hearing her mother make death threats and then almost in the same breath defend her? He felt almost physically sick.

"Meant it or not, it couldn't have been easy to hear that. Words hurt, sometimes even worse than fists. How old were you?"

Jules still didn't face him, didn't want to see the look of pity or question she was pretty sure would be reflected back at her if she did. "Sixteen. Look Spike, I shouldn't have said anything. You've got enough on your plate without me burdening you with my old wounds. It didn't mean anything."

"I gotta call BS on that one, Jules. Nobody hears someone say they wished them dead - especially not 'in graphic detail' without it meaning something. I don't care if it's someone you love or someone we bust after a bad call. It stays with you and it means something. To hear someone you love say those kind of things, especially at sixteen, had to hurt like hell. I'm way past sixteen and the things between my dad and me are haunting me."

She couldn't lie to Spike, no more than she could outright lie to anyone on the team. She should have known better than to say anything but her own emotions had been floating too near the surface that when Spike accused her of not understanding what he was going through, she'd spoken before she'd thought it out. She twisted in her seat to face him. "Spike, it was a long time ago. Just forget I said anything."

"I can't. I can't pretend I didn't hear what you told me. Maybe I should respect your wishes and just drop it. As a friend, I know I should if you don't want to talk about it. But also as a friend, I can't. You can't tell me something like that and expect me not to be concerned, even if it did happen years ago. Besides, you look like you need to talk about it and maybe I need to hear it just as much."

It was Sam she'd expected to pull the truth from her. Sam was the one she should share her secrets with, was the one she wanted to share then with even if it was painful. She would tell him; not just because she'd promised him she would but because she didn't want to keep secrets from him. Right now though it looked like Spike would be the first to hear the whole story. She didn't want to, but maybe she needed to like Spike had suggested, not just for herself but for Spike as well. She sighed deeply. "Fine. I'll tell you about it but not here."

She checked the mirrors and then pulled back into traffic, this time with a clear destination in mind. If she was going to bare her soul to Spike, she was going to need a little liquid encouragement to get through it. Spike didn't press her for details as she was driving. He knew it wouldn't do her or him any good for her to get upset while behind the wheel of the car. He wasn't sure where she was heading but he could tell from the set of her jaw and the determination in her eyes that she did. It was only once they reached more familiar surroundings that he realized they were heading to her house.

Jules pulled into her driveway and cut off the engine. For a moment, she continued to sit there. She knew that once she went inside with Spike, she would be ripping open wounds that hadn't completely healed no matter how much time had passed or how many times she'd tried to tell herself they had.

"Jules?" Spike offered when it became clear she wasn't making a move to go inside.

"One thing you've got to know before anything else is said is that I love my mom. She was a great person and she loved me completely. The way she lived her life and the way her life ended are so different that it isn't fair. No matter what happened I can't and won't have anyone thinking badly of her."

Spike couldn't understand how that was possible given the bombshell his friend had dropped earlier but he would give her the benefit of the doubt until he knew more. He nodded and Jules opened the car door and led the way up the walkway to the front door. Once inside, Jules encouraged him to make himself comfortable as she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with two small juice glasses and a full bottle of straight whiskey. Setting the glasses on the table, she opened the bottle and pour a generous amount of the amber liquid into each of the glasses. Then she set the bottle on the coffee table in front of the glasses and sat down on the couch. Nudging one of the glasses toward Spike, who had chosen the chair instead of the couch, Jules picked up the other and emptied it in one long swallow.

Spike raised an eyebrow. He'd seen Jules drink before, had even seen her get wasted along with the rest of them from time to time; however, seeing her down a drink that fast and without blinking an eye was a first for him. He couldn't deny that the idea of a drink, of being able to wash down his pain with a good stiff drink, sounded pretty near perfect to him right now, but his own swallow was more conservative.

Jules refilled her glass but held it rather than drinking it. She stared at a spot on the ground. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Seems to me you already began with the hardest part. Damn, Jules, as much tension as there was between my dad and me, it's nothing compared to what you went through. I can't even imagine…"

"No, I guess you can't." Jules interrupted quietly. "I couldn't either. You know I have four older brothers. Mom loved the boys but she really wanted a little girl. You would have thought once she had me, she would have insisted on me being some sort of frilly, always in dresses and acting like a lady kind of daughter, but she didn't. From the stories told growing up, that was more Dad. Mom encouraged me to be and do what I wanted to be and do. One of my earliest memories was of me running into the house crying because the boys had told me I couldn't do something with them because I was a girl and girls couldn't do what boys could do. I think I was maybe four at the time. Mom picked me up and set me on the kitchen counter, wiped my eyes and face, looked me straight in the eyes and told me, 'So, are you going to sit in here and cry and feel sorry for yourself and believe them or are you going to get back out there and prove them wrong?' I think that was the last time the boys ever told me I couldn't do something."

She finished off her second glass as Spike chuckled. He had a feeling that while it probably wasn't the last time anybody had tried to tell her that she couldn't do something because she was a girl, it might have been the last time she'd ever listened to it even for a moment. Jules refilled both their glasses again.

"Mom was always encouraging me to follow my heart. She didn't protest when I said I didn't want to take ballet; instead she was the first one in the stands to cheer me on for whatever sport I wanted to try. Did you know I was the youngest person to make the school's varsity softball team?"

Spike shook his head in response to her question but he didn't think she even noticed. She never talked about her childhood and he had a feeling he was about to find out why. Jules continued.

"We made the playoffs. Big game against the best team maybe in the whole of Canada, but at the very least in Alberta. I was the starting pitcher. The game started and Mom wasn't in the stands. I remember being worried but I couldn't concentrate on the fact that she wasn't there because the team was counting on me. The game ended and she still hadn't showed up. I figured something had come up at home but when I got there, she wasn't there either. Dad was there and he was just as surprised that she hadn't shown up. He said Mom had left in plenty of time to get to the game. It was starting to get dark and she hadn't called or shown up. We were starting to get worried when she finally called. She said she was lost and didn't know where she was or how to get home. Dad had her put someone on the phone that was able to give him their location and he went to pick her up."

Spike frowned. "What had happened?"

Jules shook her head. "She didn't know. Turned out she was more than fifty miles from the house and she had no idea how she'd managed to get there. Dad was freaked out by it but he tried not to let me see how concerned he was. I could tell though; I mean who wouldn't be concerned? She could drive from the house to the mall to the field and back again almost blindfolded. How do you get that lost when you know your way that well? Mom laughed it off, said she must have had a blonde moment or something. She was more concerned about missing my game than about being lost. Then the next day I got home and Mom wasn't there. I was more than a little worried but she came home about a couple of hours later. She just started screaming at me that I'd wasted her time. Turns out she'd gone to the field for the playoff game that we'd played the day before. It was like she'd completely forgotten about missing it and like I'd purposely told her the wrong date. It was the first time she ever told me she hated me. I was devastated but I didn't want to show it. Instead I waited until I went to bed, and I think I cried almost all night long."

Spike whistled. "Did she go to the doctor?"

Jules nodded. She poured another generous portion of whiskey into her glass. Spike was surprised she'd managed to finish the one she had while she was talking. It seemed strange to see this side of his coworker even if he could somewhat understand it. "Yeah, Dad insisted. The doctors ran scans and ruled out the obvious. No sign of brain tumors or anything like that. One of the doctors suggested that it might be a chemical imbalance or something more psychological rather than neurological. Mom didn't want to go but Dad insisted that she at least give a psychiatrist a try."

Suddenly Jules's distaste for the yearly psych evals made complete sense to Spike. As she finished off yet another glass and immediately reached for the bottle, he wondered if he should step in and cut her off. He didn't for two reasons. One, if he cut her off, he'd pretty much have to cut himself off and he couldn't deny that the fiery liquid that scalded his own throat was a welcome distraction to the numbing pain he'd been feeling since his father died. The second reason was that he felt he almost owed her a moment of weakness and overindulgence as a repayment for her being there for him and allowing him the same the night of Lew's funeral. At least she was in the privacy of her own home and he could always cut her off later if he felt it was necessary. He finished his own drink and didn't protest when she immediately refilled it. He looked at her. "Did she go?"

Jules nodded. "Yeah, fat lot of good it did. He said it sounded like a form of depression, so he put her on a cocktail of medications. Medications that she didn't want to take but Dad insisted that she should try. Medications that turned her from being the mom I'd always known into this shell of a person I didn't recognize. Almost overnight she became this stranger I didn't recognize anymore and it didn't help the weird blackouts she was having either. The doctor said it would get better; once she got used to the medicine, the side effects would lessen and so would the blackouts."

She set her drink glass down on the coffee table. Spike couldn't help but notice that her hand was shaking. He wasn't sure how much of it was an effect of her telling the story that was obviously still so painful for her or the result of the alcohol she'd already consumed. She leaned her head back against the couch, rubbing her face almost furiously as if trying to avoid crying.

"Dad never really saw the worst of it because he was usually up and out of the house at sun up. There was always work that needed to be done around the property. I'm the one who had to make sure she took the medication, and, believe me, she resented the hell out of me for it. She would accuse me of poisoning her and sometimes she would scream obscenities at me. I tried to ignore it; told myself that she didn't mean it and that it was whatever was wrong with her that was making her say such awful things. I mean it was only words and it's not like words can really hurt, right?"

Spike shook his head and took a generous swallow of his drink. How many times had his father's words cut him to the quick? "Like I said earlier, sometimes words hurt worse than fists. Whoever made up that saying about sticks and stones was an idiot. Words have a much more devastating effect at times. Did she ever actually hurt you?"

Jules didn't answer. Instead, she busied herself pouring more alcohol into her glass and refilling Spike's glass. Again Spike couldn't help but notice her hands were shaking. If anything, the shaking seemed to be worse now than it had been before he'd asked his question. He wished he could take it back; he blamed the alcohol he'd already consumed for not recognizing it was the wrong question to ask. Her silence said more than words ever could. He set his glass down, not interested in taking another swallow. He looked at Jules who was looking everywhere but at him. She'd already finished off the drink she'd just poured herself and was refilling it. He sighed. Regret over the question or not, he had to see it through. "Jules?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Just once, maybe a month after she started the medication the shrink had prescribed. Like he'd said, the zombie effects the pills had caused had gone away but not the black outs. She would still have these moments when she just sort of zoned out and didn't seem to know anything or anyone. This particular morning, she was cooking breakfast and, I don't know, she just had one of those zone outs or something. I walked in and saw flames shooting up from whatever was in the skillet. Mom was just standing there watching it like it was nothing. I rushed in to try to put it out before the curtains or something else caught fire or something. Suddenly Mom grabbed my hair and pulled me back. I thought at first she was worried I'd get hurt but she started screaming at me that I was ruining the show. She'd shoved me to the floor and was just telling me how stupid I was and useless, and I every time I tried to get up to put out the fire, she kept pushing me away. I thought the whole house was going to burn down with us still in it. Luckily for some reason Dad came in and saw the fire. He put it out and asked what had happened. Mom accused me of starting the fire. I couldn't believe it, I just started bawling right there for everyone to see. Then Mom started crying saying she didn't know what had happened. Dad realized something was wrong and insisted on taking her to a different doctor, a neurologist this time."

Spike watched her carefully, wondering if, now that she'd started telling her story, she even remembered he was there. "Did it help? Was the neurologist able to tell you what was wrong?"

Jules shrugged. "Not definitively. The neurologist did all the same scans again that they'd done the first time and once again ruled out brain tumors or cancer or things like that. He'd been doing research on the possible transmission of mad cow disease to humans and suggested that the symptoms suggested that it could be variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. The only way to know for sure was either by a brain biopsy or later by an autopsy. He said the biopsy was dangerous and not recommended since a diagnosis wouldn't mean a treatment but without anything else to go on, it was the best working diagnosis he could determine. He suggested that we take her home and make the most of what time we might have left."

Spike's stomach turned. He couldn't help but remember the call they'd had not long after Jules had returned to duty after being shot. A woman with spontaneous CJD and her fiancé were trying to have one last night together before committing suicide because they couldn't live with the idea of watching her health deteriorate with the disease. It had been a hard call for all of them, bringing to question things they shouldn't have had to question. He remembered now that once they'd gone back to the station for the debriefing, Jules had seemed a little more withdrawn than usual. He hadn't thought much about it then but now it made perfect sense; while the call had bothered them all, it had touched Jules on a much more personal level. "Variant? How did the doctor think she got it?"

Jules sniffled. "It's possible she ate some beef contaminated with Mad Cow Disease or it might have been from contaminated blood. Mom had had surgery several months before and had to have a blood transfusion. The doctor said we might not ever know exactly how she got it."

Spike frowned, feeling a slight buzz in his head. "I didn't think there were any documented cases of blood transfusions causing CJD."

"Mom's case wasn't documented. The neurologist couldn't prove it was CJD or that it was caused by the blood transfusion so the diagnosis was never official; this was just a few years after the first documented case of Mad Cow disease happened in Alberta, and I think the doctor was worried about causing a panic if word got out that a person was sick with the human form of the disease." Jules finished another drink and set her glass down. She covered her eyes with the crook of her arm and leaned her head against the back of the couch. "Dad didn't want to believe it. He'd taken her to the doctor not only to find out what was wrong with her but how to make her better. The neurologist basically gave us no hope. Dad was a problem solver; if something was wrong, you fixed it. It was that simple. He couldn't handle not being able to do anything to fix Mom. So he sort of checked out. He spent as much time away from the house as he could so taking care of Mom fell to me, even more so than it had before. He didn't see the really bad side of Mom's illness and neither did my brothers. I saw it all though. Mom had some really great lucid moments in the months that followed. However, she had more hellacious days than she did good ones. Fortunately for her, she didn't remember any of the bad moments when she was having a good day; it just seemed wrong to ruin those times by mentioning things she'd said."

Her words were starting to slur as she talked. Spike glanced at the bottle she'd been pouring from since they'd arrived and he was surprised to see that it was almost empty. He hadn't realized they'd - mostly she- had drunk as much as they had. No doubt she would have a hell of a hangover later, but he had a feeling the headache wouldn't even come close to matching the heartache she was currently reliving. He thought about the toil caring for his terminally ill father had taken on both him and his mother and they were adults. He couldn't imagine what it had been like for Jules at sixteen to have to shoulder that burden mostly alone with a mother that was not only dying but experiencing mental instability as well. Suddenly he felt ashamed for any complaining he'd done about his father's illness and subsequent death; as bad as it was, it didn't hold a candle to what she'd been through.

Jules removed her arm and sat up, looking at him. "Don't Spike. Don't sit there and question your right to grieve the death of your father." If Jules noticed the surprise on Spike's face that she had known what he was thinking, she didn't show it. She poured herself another drink and topped off his own as she continued. "Losing a parent hurts like hell and it doesn't matter how it happened. I didn't tell you all this to make you doubt your own reactions. You lost your father and things were difficult between you before you lost him. It's going to hurt, probably for awhile; don't let anyone tell you it shouldn't."

Even though he'd thought he was through drinking, Spike found himself picking up his freshened drink and taking a sip. "I thought about not going to the funeral today. It seemed almost wrong. We might have made a start at making a repair to our relationship but we were still so divided on things. After listening to Aunt Louisa telling me how disappointed Dad was in me, I really thought I didn't deserve to be there. I went mostly because I knew Ma needed me." He braced himself for recrimination he expected to get. How could anyone even think about not attending a parent's funeral? He had to be the worst son ever.

The recrimination he was expecting didn't come, however. Jules finished off the last of the bottle. "I only went to my mom's funeral because my grandmother insisted. I'd already told my dad that I didn't think I could go; he had said he understood. He didn't know about Mom's worst moments but he knew taking care of her had taken a toil on me. I think with her death he felt bad that he hadn't done more and he realized he'd put a lot on me. Then my grandmother came to town and she about blew a gasket when she heard I wasn't going. Told me it was an insult to my mother's memory and that I was a bad daughter if I didn't go. So I went. I sat there between my dad and my oldest brother and listened as the priest talked about what a loving mother and wife Mom had been. While I believed every word he was saying, it was almost impossible for me to listen to. My great and wonderful mom hadn't been so great and wonderful toward me for so long except for a few incredible moments. About ten minutes into the service I got up and ran out of the church, expecting my grandmother or my father or maybe one of my brothers to come running after me. They didn't and I just sat in the truck until the service was over. No one said anything about me leaving but I could see the disapproval on my grandmother's face for the next four days she was there."

She glanced at the now empty bottle. How had the alcohol disappeared so quickly? Some part of her brain that wasn't quite so whiskey-soaked knew she didn't need any more. She'd already consumed more than she usually did and had done so much quicker than was probably safe. Her head was spinning as it was and twisting around to lay down on the couch and passing out completely sounded really good. The less rational part of her mind was trying to remember if there was any more alcohol in the house. Dimly she remembered that Sam had picked up a six pack of beer the night before to go with the pizza they'd eaten. She was pretty sure there were at least three left in the fridge.

She stood up to go get them. Need them or not, getting totally smashed so she didn't have to think about the past sounded too tempting to pass up. Immediately, the room started to spin, her stomach lurched, and she had to sit down again. She hadn't eaten much while at Spike's earlier. The almost empty stomach had allowed the alcohol to go straight to her head. She lowered her head to her knees and took several deep breaths.

Spike winced. He knew that reaction all to well and he also knew it was only going to get worse before it got better. Without leaving his seat, he reached over and touched her back.

"Jules, are you okay?"

She shook her head, not looking up. Okay? How could she be okay? How could she have bared her soul like she had to her friend? Spike was grieving the loss of his father; the last thing he needed was to listen to her sob story. She was usually so careful not to lose complete control like that. Yeah, she could hold her own with the guys on any drink night but to get that wasted in the middle of the afternoon the day her friend buried his father. What had she been thinking?

Tears filled her eyes. She was supposed to be comforting a friend in need, not the other way around. She started to apologize to him but started to sob instead. It had to be the alcohol. Yeah, she could be emotional at times and had been known to shed a few tears after a difficult call but never like this.

Spike left his seat in the chair and knelt beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to pull her close. It scared him to see her so upset, but beyond that it also just hurt him to know she'd experienced something so tragic. Jules pulled away from his embrace however. She didn't want him or anyone - or at least almost anyone- seeing her like this.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I shouldn't have made it about me and what I went through. That's not what you need right now."

"Jules, it's okay. Maybe what I needed was to be reminded that I'm not the only one who's ever lost a parent or had a rocky time with it. These last couple of days I've been focusing on how bad things had gotten between my dad and me. Instead of dwelling on it, I should have been a little more grateful that we did have the time we did right before he died. We might not have settled everything but I know we made a start. I need to remember that. You said a few minutes ago that you did have some incredible moments with your mom while she was lucid." He didn't know why he asked about it. He guessed he was hoping to remind her of nicer times to help ease the pain the bad memories had caused.

Jules nodded. She sat up but scooted to the other side of the couch where she hugged one of the throw pillows to her chest. "Yeah, she got progressively worse after we met with the neurologist. She finally got to where she couldn't even get out of bed. Then a week before she died, I took her breakfast into the bedroom. I usually had to feed her because she couldn't even handle the spoon. This particular morning, she was sitting up waiting for me. I looked in her eyes and knew she was once more my mom, the mom she'd been before she'd gotten sick, the mom I hadn't seen for months. We spent several hours just talking until she was too tired to talk anymore. I continued to sit on the bed next to her even after she fell asleep. It had felt like such a perfect morning. I knew she was still sick and that nothing was going to change that but for at least a morning I had had my mom back. It was the last lucid moment she had before she died."

Spike nodded. He was glad she'd had that at least. "I'm sorry, Jules. Sorry you had to live through that, sorry your mom had to go through it, sorry what I'm going through brought back painful memories, sorry that nothing I say or do can make it better."

Jules sniffled again. "I know. You don't have to be sorry though. It's not your fault. Just like it wasn't Mom's fault she got sick. Sometimes life just sucks, you know. My mom, your dad, Lew, they died before they should have. I know it happens and nobody's at fault but sometimes I don't understand the system of why it happens. Why do some people get sick and die and others don't? Why do some brave officers die in the line of duty and others don't?"

Spike sighed. "I've wondered that myself. I'm the bomb expert; I've defused thousands of bombs in my career and I'm still here. Lew takes one and he's gone. The other day when Sam, Raf, and I were caught in that explosion and we knew Sam was hurt, I thought, 'not again, I can't lose another friend.'" Spike's voice broke. With everything that had happened during the call and after, he hadn't had time to dwell on just how much Sam being injured had scared him and brought back memories of Lew. Now that he'd said it though, he couldn't get the fear he'd felt in those moments out of his mind. He was glad Sam had been okay but at the same time he hadn't been able to keep away the thought of why couldn't Lew have been okay as well.

"The day that Lew died, that night as I lay in bed trying unsuccessfully to sleep, I wondered why Lew and not me. That day I was shot, there's no reason I should have survived but I did. If I could beat the odds, why hadn't he? I'm no better then Lew; if anything he deserved to live so much more than I did."

Spike shook his head, his tears flowing more. "Stop it. Don't talk like you should have died. It was bad enough that we lost Lew; I'm grateful we didn't lose you before that or Sam after, glad we didn't lose Ed when he was shot. Maybe I'm damn selfish but I can't take any more loss right now. Bad enough that Wordy had to transfer."

Jules sat up again, groaning as her head swirled with the effort. She put her hand on Spike's shoulder. "Spike, I don't wish I'd died; I just don't understand why I didn't. That's all. I'm sorry; I'm supposed to be helping you feel better not worse."

Spike smiled and covered her hand with his own. "Believe it or not, you are. I think I should probably go home though. I had my break and my breakdown; I think I'm ready to be there for my ma now. She had most of the burden of taking care of my pop like you did your mom. In my own grief I haven't really given much thought to what this has all been like for her. Thanks for being there for me today and sharing your story with me. I know it wasn't easy for you to do it but I think I needed to hear it."

Jules groaned and it had nothing to do with the pounding beginning in her head. "Damn, Spike, I can't drive you home. I'd give you the keys to my jeep but I don't think you have any business driving either. I think I have some cash in my purse; why not get some out and call a cab. It's the least I could do since I've sort of stranded you. I think I should probably see if I have about a gallon of water cold in the fridge or else the headache I'm going to have in a little while is going to be a big bitch."

Spike watched to make sure she was a little steadier on her feet this time. Once she was in the kitchen, he picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. The person on the other side answered after a couple of rings. "Hey, it's Spike. I need a favor."

- FP - FP - FP -

Sam inserted his key into the front door lock. Not for the first time, he said a little thank you that he was once more in a position to have it. Swinging the door open quietly, he stepped into the house that was starting to feel like a home to him, maybe even more of a home than his own apartment ever had. His eyes swept the room and landed almost immediately on the figure sprawled on the couch.

Jules was asleep or passed out, he couldn't be sure which. An empty water bottle sat next to an empty bottle of whiskey. Her face was red and splotchy, suggesting she'd been crying before. He closed and locked the door and then joined her at the couch. Sleep was what she needed but he knew she would sleep better in her bed than on the couch.

He gently lifted her into his arms, wondering not for the first time how someone so light could carry so much weight when it came to work. She didn't open her eyes but she did curl more comfortably into his chest. It seemed like her breathing evened out a little more.

"What are you doing here?"

Sam leaned his head down and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. It didn't surprise him that she knew it was him without opening her eyes. He was also glad to see she'd been asleep and not completely passed out. However, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. "I figured if Spike's condition was any indication of yours, I should probably check on you."

"Spike?"

He started up the stairs. "He called and asked for a ride, which I was happy to give him. He didn't explain what had happened and I didn't ask him. Figured it was none of my business. I dropped him off at his house after making sure he was really okay and then figured the coast was clear to come back here. If you'd rather be alone though, I'll leave after I get you settled in bed."

She shook her head, the fingers of one hand wrapping into his shirt as if to hold him closer. "Don't go. There's no place else I'd rather you be."

Sam grinned. "Then here is where I'll be. Do I want to know how much you had to drink?"

Again Jules shook her head. "Don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have to." Sam promised. He used his foot to push open the bedroom door. He set her down carefully on the bed and started to undress her. He knew she'd be more comfortable not only in her own bed but in more comfortable clothes as well. He started with her shoes and then eased the dress over her head. She didn't help him and he wasn't sure if she had any control over her own limbs. Once she was undressed, he left her long enough to retrieve one of her oversized night shirts from the dresser.

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd had more than his fair share of practicing undressing women, although Jules was the last woman he ever wanted to undress. Dressing them afterward, however, wasn't something he was as skilled at. He hoped he didn't jar her too much as he slipped the nightshirt over her head. If it bothered her, she didn't let on.

Once he had her dressed more comfortably, Sam pulled the covers back on the bed and held her beneath them. Then he kicked off his own shoes and laid down beside her. Jules snuggled up close to him. Sam skimmed his fingers up and down her arm. From the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd thought that Jules Callaghan seemed larger than life. As he'd gotten to know her, as he'd fallen head over heals hopelessly in love with her, that hadn't changed. She might be petite and little in size but her personality and her determination more than made up for it. The only time he'd ever thought she looked small and helpless had been in the hospital after she'd been shot, that was until now.

He'd known when they'd left for the funeral that Jules was feeling vulnerable. He'd known that sitting through the funeral or watching Spike suffering hadn't made anything easier for her. He didn't know what had happened after she'd left with Spike but looking at her now, he guessed that all her feelings had come to a head. It killed him to see her look vulnerable but if it helped exorcise the demons that had been plaguing her, then he guessed it was worth it.

He wasn't someone who could normally sit or in this case lay around and do nothing but this felt right. He felt like he was right where he needed to be. He shifted on the bed slightly so he was more comfortable. Then he heard her sniffle. "Jules?"

"I'm sorry."

He moved again so that he was facing her eye to eye. Even though her eyes were still closed, the tears slipping down her cheeks showed she was crying. "Sweetheart, you don't have anything to be sorry for."

She sniffled again and nodded, her eyes opening about halfway. "I told Spike what was bothering me before I told you. I didn't mean to. It just sort of started coming out and then I couldn't stop. You should be the one I share my secrets and my hurts with, not Spike. And even though I want to share it with you now I don't think I can do it again. Yet here you are being so sweet and taking care of me."

Her words were slurring together and he had to really concentrate on what she was saying in order to understand her. He'd seen her drunk before and knew her emotions went on overload when it happened. A happy drunk Jules was a sight to see and probably should be videotaped for prosperity if everyone wasn't scared of the hell she'd give later if she found out about it. An upset drunk Jules however was heartbreaking. He'd give anything to never have to see it again.

He kissed her, cupping her face in his hands so she had no choice but to look at him. "Jules, I want to know all your secrets, all your joys, and all your pain but I don't have to know any of it in order to love you. It's okay that you told Spike before you told me because I know you needed to talk to about it and I'm sure Spike was the one who needed to hear it. It's okay. Someday, when you are ready, you'll tell me. Until that happens, just know that I'm here for you however you need me to be."

Jules swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You aren't upset?"

Sam kissed her again. "I'm upset that you are upset but not that you talked to Spike before you talked to me. Go back to sleep; you're going to have the headache from hell later so rest while you can. I'll be right here."

"Are you sure?"

As close as he was to her, every word she said gave him a renewed sense of how much alcohol she'd consumed earlier. "I'm sure. Now sleep and no more talking; I'm getting buzzed just off your breath."

"'kay." She snuggled back against his chest and he watched the even rise and fall of her chest. Just when he thought she was fully asleep, she stirred again. "I didn't tell her I loved her."

There was a quiver in her voice that cut him to the quick. He held her tighter. "Didn't tell who?"

"Mom. The day she died. She was drifting in and out of consciousness and we didn't know if she would wake up if she did lose consciousness but I didn't tell her I loved her before she did."

Jules buried her face against Sam's broad chest. He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sure she knew. We don't always get to say everything we want to; it doesn't mean the other person isn't aware of it. And moms have that superpower of always knowing everything. So I'm sure she knew. Don't worry about it."

Jules shook her head. "No, you don't understand. There were so many times in the last couple of weeks of her life that we thought it was the end. Each time I would whisper to her that I loved her. I don't know, maybe I thought the words would act as some sort of magic to make sure she stayed alive. It always worked and she'd stay with us but that last time I didn't say it. I know it's silly and it would have happened eventually whether I said it or not but I can't help but feel like if I'd said the words she would have held on just a little longer."

He knew what she was talking about. Those moments after she'd been shot would forever haunt him. Sitting in the SIU interview when he would have rather been at the hospital with her had been hell. Every moment he'd spent with her for the twenty four hours before the shooting kept running though his head. Had he said everything he'd needed to say, could he have done anything differently?

Before he could think of anything to say that would comfort her, he realized she'd gotten quiet. Glancing down, he realized she was once again sound asleep. He kissed her again and settled back on the bed, content to just hold her. It was clear that all her demons hadn't been shed but he was determined to be there for her until they were, whether she could tell him what they were or not. She was worth being there for.

- FP -

Author's Notes 2: So I started out doing research, trying to find an illness that would produce the kind of symptoms I was looking for. Once I came across the CDJ, I knew I had found what was I was looking for. Then I realized it was what the girl was diagnosed with in "Last Dance" so I re-watched the episode. Jules's reactions in the episode seemed to fit with what I was imagining Jules to go through here so I decided to keep with my idea. I hope it didn't disappoint. Again, I have no first hand experience with the disease so any mistakes weren't intentional. I hope you enjoyed.