6:13 a.m.

So read the fluorescent green digits.

Sam exhaled a slow breath, blinking as he made a right turn at the flashing lights dimmed by drizzles. Windshield wipers beat a constant rhythm against the erratic drumming of the rain. The streets were eerily empty, with occasional passing cars and joggers. Still too early for much traffic.

He glanced over to the passenger seat, confirming yet again that he had remembered to bring the paper bag with him. Magazines, videotapes, a few mini-bags of chips, other things. Stuff he had promised to bring to the hospital last night, before he got drunk and fell asleep after a couple of beers.

Maybe CJ had a point; he must be tired. He couldn't remember the last time he had got drunk on two beers. He didn't think he had ever gotten drunk on two beers. He certainly hoped not. If he had the time, he would have been embarrassed.

But he didn't. He had just finished CJ's press release before he left. He would have to head back right after he dropped off Josh's bag - staff meeting at seven-thirty.

He could've waited until tonight, but he had promised. Josh had wanted them yesterday.

He would just drop the stuff off. Josh was probably still sleeping anyway; he wouldn't want to wake him. He didn't need to talk with him or anything.

Just bringing things for his friend, as he promised. That's all.

It really wasn't about him wanting to see Josh.

Not about that at all.

Frowning slightly, he squinted at the street sign and wondered if he should have turned left at the last intersection. He wasn't overly familiar with the streets in this area. He'd had to detour from his usual route because of demonstration blockades. He should probably make a left turn at the next corner.

He could drive the usual way to GW with his eyes closed, he'd done it so often in the last few weeks. Arriving at night, leaving in the morning. CJ thought he was overdoing it. That he shouldn't be spending so much time with Josh. She thought that he had spread himself too thin.

But there were things she didn't know. Things that she and the others had not been told.

He had seen it in Josh's eyes. Recognized it, when his friend woke up in the middle of the night, hands clamped tight over the still tender scar, sweat dotting his skin. He knew that his heart pounded wildly in his constricted chest, that his breath came in gasps. He knew how he felt. He knew what he dreamt.

He would touch his hands then. Reminding him silently that it was over, and he had survived. They would joke about things, or even play a game or two, until Josh fell asleep again. The doctor had mentioned traumatic experiences often caused such reactions, and they would eventually stop.

His eyes strayed again to the paper bag on the passenger seat.

The dreams would eventually go away. And until then, he would be there.

A bark sliced through the stagnant morning air.

He looked up, and a flash of bright red caught at the corner of his eye. In front of his car. On his left.

Instinctively, his hands jerked the wheel to the right. His foot slammed on the brakes.

The world swivelled. Screeching flooded his ears. Pain flared.

Then everything was still again.

The rain kept falling.

Something was pounding far away. Someone was shouting. A dog barked.

The shouting and pounding and drumming and barking all blended together into soft dark silence.

As they slowly dissolved away, the green digits on the clock jumped ahead.

6:14 a.m.