Sam spent the night beside to the chaise lounge they moved Rebecca to, alternating between kneeling like she was praying at an altar and sitting cross-legged with her forehead propped up on the couch. She might have drifted, but if she truly slept she didn't know, fighting to refuse it every waking minute.

She didn't let Patrick tend to the gash on her forehead until they'd done what they could for Rebecca; a nasty bruise had formed on her jaw, her lip was split and swollen, and she also bore multiple lacerations on her face. A large gauze pad on her forehead mirrored Sam's own. Sam knew that had to be from when she hit her with the table, and felt like her heart was a solid ingot of lead in her chest while she watched Patrick apply butterfly bandages and the sterile fabric covering.

Everyone in the breaching party was a sorry mess. Landry was arranged similarly on a couch in another room — his vest and strike plate protected him, but he still had at least a couple of broken ribs. Epstein was asleep in an armchair next to him, sleeve cut away and shoulder bandaged. His armor took a hit too — another few inches and the round might have punctured his lung.

Sam's whole body ached and she had a multitude of small bruises and scrapes she hadn't noticed getting. Still barely noticed having, they blurred into a background haze of discomfort drowned out by her anguish every time she lifted her head and looked at Rebecca.

She'd started to recognize Chrissie's and Pat's footsteps — she could tell which one was coming to check in, or if it was just one of the newly liberated citizens clearing out the bodies and debris from the battle. That meant she knew it would be Chrissie who spoke a moment before it happened.

"Hey hon. I know you won't leave her, but here, at least drink something, okay?"

Sam lifted her head and blinked. Hints of dawn were starting to creep in through the windows. She didn't say anything, but nodded and accepted the water bottle Chrissie held out to her with good-natured imperiousness. It was surprisingly frigid and Sam gasped after she forced down the first swig.

"I just refilled it from the pump outside. Sorry if it's too cold?"

Sam shook her head, wincing with regret immediately after. "No, it's okay. It actually feels kinda good on my throat. Thank you."

"Of course." Chrissie leaned slightly to pat Sam on the shoulder. It hurt with her armor long since removed, but Sam bit her lip and stayed quiet. "Any change?"

"No. God, I hope I didn't put her in a coma... I can't..." A sob cut off her sentence, and Chrissie dropped to her knee to put an arm around her.

"Hey, hey. Rebecca's a tough cookie, she'll pull through. And it wasn't your fault, hon. She'll tell you that just as much as we have."

Sam sniffed, trying not to do it so hard that she increased her head pain again. "I still did it, Chris. I did this to her."

Christine sighed. "You didn't know. It was dark, you were in one hell of a fight... you should talk to the guys when they're up for it, or Ronnie when we see her again. I don't doubt they've seen friendly fire incidents."

Sam sighed and remained silent, so Christine gave her a gentle squeeze and retreated quietly, familiar footfalls padding back towards the stairs.

**

Maybe an hour after sunup, Rebecca stirred and Sam's heart leapt. At first, it was just a small moan from Rebecca, then a frown and she turned her head.

A minute or so later, she opened her eyes, looking around in bewilderment. But... when their eyes met, Sam caught the way Rebecca flinched, eyes widening and jerking her hand away from where Sam's fingers touched hers.

Sam felt like someone was rending her soul in two. "No, Rebecca... it's okay. You're safe. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you. You're okay." She instinctively started to lift her hand towards Rebecca's again, but checked the movement almost immediately, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm so damned sorry, sugar."

Rebecca blinked twice, her startled breath gradually slowing, and then she looked around hesitantly. "What happened? The hostages? Landry, Epstein?"

"We got the girl out okay. The older lady... she didn't make it. She wasn't injured, so our best guess is maybe all the commotion was too much, maybe her heart gave out." Rebecca grimaced and Sam nodded sympathetically. "Yeah... sorry. The guys are a little roughed up, but they'll mend. Epstein got Mags, I think she was behind you or something."

"Mags..." Rebecca frowned, and turned her head in the general direction of the front room. "Ow." She took a careful breath and continued. "Behind... oh. The girl. I saw the girl behind you, she was coming out from behind the table, and it looked like you were turning your gun towards her. I tried to warn you, that's why I was running." She winced and lowered her head to the pillow again.

Sam picked up a pill bottle that was on the floor next to her and opened it. "Here, please take some of the codeine. The guys have already had some, Epstein actually conked out soon after and Landry seems to be breathing better. Your eye dilation was a little wonky, you might have a concussion." Sam thought about what she was saying and took a long ragged breath, not mentioning she'd only taken a couple of large ibuprofen. "Please, it'll make me feel better if you do."

Rebecca groaned quietly. "Okay."

Sam helped her sit up partway to wash the pills down, and then lowered her gradually back down, just like Rebecca had done for her after a battle months ago. As she slid her hand out from under her, she realized she felt the tense muscles in Rebecca's shoulder relax ever-so-slightly as her fingertips were leaving them. She looked down at the floor, eyes following grain lines in the wood as she wiped another tear away.

Rebecca closed her eyes for a few moments, but Sam could tell she was still conscious — taking slow careful breaths before she spoke. "Something... I stumbled, or maybe Mags tripped or shoved me? I don't know. I was just trying to get close enough to put my hand on your arm." She opened her eyes and lifted her hand towards the bandage on Sam's head. "What about you?"

"I'm pretty sure someone clocked me in the head with a mirror." Sam looked away again and muttered under her breath. "Better than a damned table..."

"Seven years of bad luck for them all at once, I guess. I'm glad you're okay. Pat and Chrissie too?"

"Yeah. They've been looking after the rest of us wrecks for the night. Dylan was trying to get to sleep and then going to take over so they can pass out."

"You should too."

"I've been keeping an eye on you. I feel like shit, Rebecca." Sam looked in to Rebecca's eyes mournfully. "You're the last person I'd want to hurt."

"I know, Sam. It's not your fault."

"Chrissie said you'd say that."

"Now who has to hear things twice to get it through their head, huh? Hey, I made you smile." Rebecca lifted a hand towards Sam, who took it, carefully but also hurriedly — almost desperately. "I'm pretty tired, you should get some rest."

"I needed to know you were okay." But, being honest, Sam could barely keep her head up anymore. It had been such an unimaginably long day since she woke up in their comfortable bed some 24-ish hours ago.

Rebecca smiled weakly. "I get it. I would too. But let's both rest so the other one doesn't worry, huh? I love you, Rosie."

Sam blinked, trying to hold back tears and talk around the lump in her throat. "'kay." She lifted Rebecca's hand and kissed it. "I love you too, sugar."

Rebecca smiled and withdrew her hand — to Sam's lingering regret — and lay it over her eyes, her breathing slowing. Sam sighed and stood slowly, carefully, reached for a blanket on the back of the couch to drape across Rebecca, and walked away as quietly as she could.

She'd sleep in a bit, but first she had to find someone to wake Rebecca every two hours to make sure she wasn't showing signs of a worsening concussion, find a fencepost to lean against, and stare off into the distance for a while. She was tempted to seek out Patrick's flask of booze, but damn if that didn't make her worry about being too much like her father.