"God, I am so damn pissed at you," were the first words Beverly heard when she entered a state of semi consciousness. Her eyes were still shut, though. Had she been fully awake, she would have smiled at Griffin's words.

Hah! I was right.

"Honestly, Beverly," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "You scared the shit out of me; I'm never going to let you out of my sight again, I swear to God."

"Don't say that," came another, bitchier voice, and Beverly was touched that Deb was there. "She was a badass bitch, and I'm totally taking her to a club when she feels better."

"You are not taking her to a club," Griffin was quick to interject. "You're not even going to be taking her to a cafeteria. Jesus, Deborah, you almost got her killed!"

"Oh, please. She was fine. You're just overprotective. Kind of funny, considering where you live. You know she ran into Dennis there? I bet she would've been safe, had she stayed away from you." Inwardly, Beverly sighed. Deb was obviously feeling guilty for getting Beverly involved, but was hiding her emotions by provoking Griffin instead.

Yikes.

"When the hell did that happen?!" Griffin exclaimed, and Beverly would've winced, had her facial muscles been cooperating. "I told her not to go there unless I was with her! I bet that was your idea too, you complete—"

Thankfully, the two were stopped from creating an actual fight by different voice; a voice Beverly had doubted she'd hear for years to come, if ever again.

"Griffin!" Cynthia scolded. "Please, now is not the time. Deborah, if you could give my godson and me a moment?"

There was some grumbling from Deb, followed by the sound of a door clicking as the other girl left the room.

"Now," Cynthia's tone softened, and Beverly heard a chair scraping across the floor before someone—Cynthia, no doubt—sat down, "take a minute to calm down, then talk to me."

He did as told, his harsh breaths filling in the silence, as though he was struggling to remain calm. Beverly wanted nothing more than to reach out, hug him, and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Unfortunately, she couldn't move her arms. Or anything else, for that matter.

"I'm so goddamn angry." He admitted finally, the words terse and dripping with poorly concealed fury. "I'm angry that I left her alone when I knew something weird was going on; I'm angry at Deborah for getting her involved at all; I'm angry at Francis for letting her run off and not doing more; most of all, I'm angry at you."

If Beverly had been fully awake and able, her jaw would have dropped. Angry at Cynthia? Why would he be angry at his godmother?

There was a pause, and Beverly had the feeling Cynthia was just as stunned by Griffin's admission. "Me?" the woman asked, her voice surprisingly steady. "Why's that?"

"God, Cynthia!" there was a clatter as something—likely, she imagined, Griffin's chair—fell to the floor, followed by quick, pacing footsteps. "I realize Francis treated you like shit. I get that, I do; it makes me mad, too. But Beverly . . ." he sucked in a slow breath, and Beverly knew he was struggling with his patience. "Beverly didn't understand. You and I both know she was just trying to be nice when she brought you his letter, yet you told me what happened and asked that I stop talking to her in case she was relaying information back to Francis."

Wow. Beverly was honestly a bit hurt by that—did Cynthia truly think so little of her?

"I told you she would never do that, but you asked me to stand by you, because 'we're family, and that's what family does,' so I did. I did that, Cynthia, and look what happened! Beverly didn't come to me for help, and now she's lying in a goddamn hospital bed!"

A thud sounded, and Beverly wondered if he'd hit something. "You need to get over this, somehow." Griffin continued. "I'm not going to stop seeing Beverly because you and Francis can't get past this mess. Talk to Francis and get the closure you need, but don't you ever drag Beverly into it again."

The words were spoken lowly and with such intensity that Beverly was almost worried for Cynthia.

"Griffin," the tone of Cynthia's voice hovered somewhere between shock and shame, "I . . . I'm sorry."

Griffin scoffed. "Don't tell me that."

"You're right. I'll talk to Beverly when she wakes up, and, before that, I'll speak with Francis. I've just . . . I've been so scared about what would happen if we met again, and I couldn't see past my own problems. I took that fear out on Beverly, and I have no intention of doing so again."

Shuffling as Cynthia got out of her own seat. "I will apologize when she wakes up," the words were soft and sincere. "You just stay here with her, alright? She'll be up soon."

"Here's hoping." Griffin sighed, the two words lacking any kind of confidence.

"She will." Cynthia reiterated. "Stay strong. Do you want me to send Deborah in?"

"Do you want me to strangle her?" Griffin fired back, and Cynthia's chuckle filled the room, though it was tinged with nervousness.

"Right. I'll take that as a 'no,' then. Tell Beverly I said, 'hello' when she wakes up." The door clicked shut again, quieter this time, and Beverly was left with Griffin; she heard his clothes rustling as he grew closer, before the sound of the chair being up righted and someone sitting down followed.

"If she wakes up," Griffin muttered sadly, his fingers engulfing hers.

Inwardly, Beverly smiled. Don't you worry, Griffin. I'll wake up. She was quickly losing her hold on consciousness, though, so it would have to wait for a while.

"I'm sorry, too," Griffin spoke after several beats of silence, his voice thick with emotion. "We never got to talk, so we will when you wake up. For now, just know that I'm sorry, okay? God, I'm so sorry."

It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong.

His lips dusted over her forehead, and Beverly was thrilled at the familiar feel of the chapped skin. "Sweet dreams, Peach. Wake up soon, alright? I miss you. God, do I miss you."

Yeah. Alright. I miss you, too, and I will wake up soon. Just make sure you're here when I do.