Charles pressed the button a third time, wishing the elevator would go faster. His gaze flicked to the red numbers flashing floors sped by, and he clenched his jaw. How had he not been informed sooner? Was he not the first person who should have been called? Releasing a long sigh, he smothered his anger and allowed his worry to rise. Leah's injuries were minor, Tony had said. Still, he needed to see for himself.

His thoughts shifted to Leah's maid. She was still unconscious after a two day period. He doubted Leah was handling that well and for her sake, hoped Fiona would wake soon. But then again, perhaps Leah would gravitate more toward him with Fiona out of the picture.

Guilt stabbed him in the chest. He shouldn't be thinking this way, yet his thoughts dashed ahead to him being the one at Leah's side during this ordeal and the attachment she would develop. He would need to hug her more, of course, and whisper encouraging words. This might work in his favor, he thought. His lucky break.

The elevator dinged as its doors slid open, and after tucking in his shirt and adjusting a few strands of his curly, brown hair, he stepped from the elevator with renewed purpose. He found Room 402 with ease and entered without knocking in hopes of surprising Leah.

But the vision of his beautiful, childhood friend running into his arms for comfort shattered. The white room was empty minus Fiona's unconscious body resting on the hospital bed. Charles paused and hesitated; it felt odd being alone in a room with Leah's maid. He finally went to the bed, and pity welled inside of him. She looked as white as the cotton blankets she was covered with.

A bandage was wound tight around her head, and he saw none of her black hair. And that just seemed wrong; her ebony hair was, in his opinion, her biggest asset. More than once, he had wanted to touch a strand to see if it felt as soft as it looked. His gaze shifted to the IV and monitors, and a desire to escape the morbid scene caused him to turn. He found himself face to face with Edward instead.

"Wondered when you'd show up."

Charles squared his shoulders and masked his repulsion . He glared at the lanky guard, noting the dark rims under his eyes, and black and blue bruises dotting his face. "And I was wondering why I was not informed Leah was injured."

Anger flashed across Edward's face. "Maybe because everything doesn't revolve around you. And maybe because everything doesn't revolve around Leah either."

Charles's eyes widened as Edward pushed past him and settled in a chair that had been moved to be as close to Fiona as the bed would allow. "Did you just dis Leah? You're her guard. You had better show more care for her!"

Edward breathed deep as if searching for control. "I'm not her guard. I guard the Kingsley Mansion and all its inhabitants. Wren is her guard, and he is taking better care of her than I ever would. Like he always does. So if you aren't here to see Fiona, leave. Leah's not here anyway."

"And where is she?"

"Wren took her to the mansion to rest before she worried herself into a coma. Unlike you, she cares about what's happening around her."

"Well, maybe she wouldn't be so upset if I had been here to comfort her. I can't believe no one thought to call me."

Edward scoffed. "Oh, we thought it and quickly forgot it."

"Why, you!" Charles clenched his fist, wishing he could add another bruise to Edward's face.

"Oh, and trust me when I say this,"--Edward flashed a grin-- "Wren has done an excellent job comforting Miss Kingsley. You don't need to worry."

Jealousy sizzled inside of Charles, but Edward turned his attention to the unconscious woman. Not trusting himself to speak again, Charles left the room. But his mind raged.

Wren Adams has to go!

****************************************************

Edward curled his fingers around her small, limp hand. Restrained tears surfaced now that the room was empty, and he wished to see those gentle, brown eyes more than anything. Helplessness shadowed him.

A man of action, waiting wasn't his strong suit. Yet, there was no action in the world that could fix this. He rubbed a thumb over her palm. If only he had checked that the tires were secure after having them replaced that morning. He shouldn't have trusted that the mechanic had done everything properly. It was his job to protect his friends, to ensure safety in every situation. If he had checked the bolts or even kicked the tires, the wreck wouldn't have happened. It would have been enough to prevent this.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He knew Fiona didn't hear, but it comforted him to act as if she could. "So very sorry. This is all my fault. I can only hope you'll forgive me."

He dropped his forehead to rest on their clasped hands, struggling against emotion. Then, that limp hand squeezed his in the smallest of movements.

A cracked, strained voice caused him to lift his head.

"There's nothing to forgive. It ...wasn't..."

Edward shot up so fast the chair skidded backward, tilted, and clattered to the floor. "Fiona!" His entire body trembled when he glimpsed her eyes, and on instinct, he cupped her cheek. "You're awake! Do you know who I am?"

Her lips mouthed 'Edward', but no sound came out this time. She looked ready to try again, but Edward shook his head. "It's okay. Don't speak. I'm getting the doctor. I'll be right back, okay? I promise. Just... I'll be right back."

Edward slipped on the slick floor as he careened out the doorway. He yelled for the first nurse he saw, and relief made him limp as she rushed off to find the doctor. He gripped the railing on the wall, using it for support as the pressures of the past several days hit him. This time, he didn't fight his tears.

**********************************