Sam was exhausted. The smell of the hospital seemed to linger on him and he wanted to burn his clothes. It was the same as last time, sitting there helpless while he watched someone he loved struggle to live. The beeping of that stupid machine, the sound grating against his nerves, had given him a headache. It felt like each gap between beeps was a knife in his stomach.

But it was better than the alternative. The silent machine, no longer metering out a heartbeat. Images of the last time he saw Thomas, still and lifeless in that hospital room, bombarded Sam. He wanted to drive them away.

Then he felt the warm hand of Ali on his back, leading him into the living room of their apartment.

She had persuaded him to come home for a shower and a change of clothes. He was so grateful she was here. At least this time he didn't feel so alone.

But he still felt the guilt.

"Let's sit for a minute," offered Ali. She pulled him on to the sofa, curling into him. Her warmth felt nice. She smelled nice, not like antiseptic. For a moment he was able to push the horrors of the day away. Sam concentrated on her.

But it was a brief reprieve.

He was so tired. He didn't have the strength to fight. Guilt and worry crept back in, his mind rehashing the same argument.

Did he cause this?

Was his father's heart attack because of the argument they had? Was not conforming to the family business so stressful? Sam shook his head. No, he wasn't to blame. Not this time.

"This time?" Ali's voice cut through his thoughts. Had he said something out loud?

"Sorry, what?"

"You said this time you weren't to blame."

"I did?" Sam mentally kicked himself. "I was just ...."

Ali picked up Sam's hand and brought it to her lips for a gentle kiss. "My love. You can tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"The thing that weighs on your mind. That you blame yourself for."

"I don't..." he started to object

"Sam." Ali cut him off. "It's written all over your face."

She reached out and rubbed the spot between his eyes. She had often mentioned she would find the little crease there cute if it wasn't Sam's tell-tale sign, he was worried about something. "For months now, since we came back, I often catch you in thought with this," Ali poked the spot gently, "marking your discomfort. I've tried to give you space, hoping you would open up to me about this. But it's getting worse. Talk to me, Sam. Let me in."

Sam swallowed. He thought he was doing a good job of shielding Ali from his internal demons. Looking at her, he recognized that face – it was one of determination. He was not going to get out of this one with distractions.

Besides, he was too tired to think up a diversion. Tired of holding in what constantly seemed to be on his mind. Reminders of Thomas popped up everywhere, the hospital had simply been too much.

"It was the night of Greyson's party, before the ski trip." When everything was possible. "Remember I told you about it?"

Ali nodded her head in agreement. "The one where Vicky was trying to get your attention."

"Yeah. I'd had enough and was trying to bail, saying I needed to get up early in the morning. Greyson insisted we do a final round of shots to toast new adventures. And that was it. I found myself too drunk to drive and even worse, back in Vicky's arms." It had happened so fast. He thought he was being careful, not drinking at all to keep his whits about him.

"I...I couldn't believe I had ended up with her again." Sam shook his head. Even now he couldn't quite understand how it happened. "I woke up in Vicky's bed and was yelling at her when I got the call from my parents about Thomas and the accident."

"Oh, Sam," Ali murmured, stroking his chest.

He just had to come out with it. "Vicky...she told me." Sam's voice cracked. "It was me."

"You what?" Ali spoke into his chest.

Sam had never truly admitted it out loud. "I...I called Thomas that night. He was only on the road because he was coming to pick me up." Sam couldn't stop the words now. They tumbled out of him. "Why was I drunk again? I was so stupid. I wasn't going to drink. But I did and...and I guess I was in control enough to know not to drive, or maybe Vicky stopped me. I don't remember. It's all a blur."

Closing his eyes against the truth, Sam wished for the millionth time that he could go back. Go back to that night and do it differently. Not drink. Not be selfish. Not dial the phone. "All I know is that I called Thomas to come to pick me up. And being the great brother, he was, he came." And got killed for his kindness.

"Thomas is dead because of me."

Ali pulled away from Sam. Confirming his fears. This was it. Disgusted with his behaviour, she wouldn't want to be with him. He wanted to pull her back to him, crush her against him and beg her not to go.

But she didn't leave. Ali placed a hand on his face, brushing away the tears he hadn't realized were leaking from his eyes. "It wasn't your fault," she whispered.

"No, you don't understand," Sam protested. "If I hadn't been so selfish, he wouldn't have been on the road."

Ali whispered again. "I understand. It wasn't your fault."

Sam shook his head.  She wasn't listening. Everything that happened was because of his failure to think about the consequences of his actions.

"He'd be alive if it wasn't for me. I signed his death sentence with that call."

"Sam," Ali grasped his face with both hands and forced him to look at her. "Did you make that call intending to hurt Thomas?"

"No! Of course not! I don't even remember making the call."

Ali continued. "Did you drink and then get behind the wheel?"

"No, I told you, I called him because I was too drunk to drive." Ali was frustrating him now. Sam didn't want to talk about this anymore. He didn't want to remember. His face felt hot and he had started to shake.

"Then it wasn't your fault."

"Stop saying that." Sam practically yelled. "It was my fault. If I hadn't..."

"Sam," Ali gently interrupted him again. "You didn't drink and drive. You were not driving a car that night. You are not responsible. You didn't kill your brother." Sam tried to pull away from Ali's eyes but she held him tight, refusing to break the connection. "It wasn't your fault."

"But if I hadn't called him..." Sam started to object weakly.

Ali shook her head, letting the unspoken words repeat themselves. 

Sam stared at her. Deep down inside his chest, at the spot where he caged up all the pain and guilt of his brother's death, something shifted. Ali was always honest. She wasn't like his parents, his friends, Vicky, all trying to ease his guilt with platitudes. There was no pity behind those sapphire irises, no avoiding him. She really believed it was not his fault.

"It wasn't your fault." Ali stuck to her mantra.

He had told his version of the story for so long. But only to himself. Never to anyone else. Never talked about it. Never allowed anyone to challenge it. Ali saw it from a different point of view. A perspective Sam hadn't considered.

Could she be right? The dark hard lump he held onto began to melt as he let Ali's viewpoint go to work. It ate at the reality he had constructed. Sam nodded slightly, testing out the new theory. It felt odd like he was trying to sidestep the responsibility. But it didn't feel... wrong.

Ali nodded back at him. Willing him to say it.

A sob erupted from him, expelling a portion of the black guilt lodged in his soul for all those long years. Gasping for breath, he forced out the words. They were barely a whisper. "It wasn't my fault."

Ali let go of his face and pulled him to her, resting his head over her heart. She tangled her fingers in his hair and gently massaged his scalp. "No, my love, it wasn't."

Sam clung to her, breaking down in her arms. She held him together as he repeated her words in his head until he began to truly believe them.