"I knew you'd come, Boo," she answered, never even turning from her place at the window. "Morgan called you, didn't she?"

"Well ..."

"It's all right, Kevin, I knew she would. Since when has she ever listened to anything I had to say?"

A faint smile on her lips, she turned to face him fully.

Bile rose in his throat and he nearly lost his breakfast on her floor. In spite of her smile, her pallor was gray and her hair, what there was of it, was limp and dull.

"You look --"

"Don't Kevin. I know I look awful."

"I wasn't going to say-"

"Yes you were, you were taught the intricacies of polite conversation before you could walk. It's all that Kentucky breeding and charm that the fans love." She grinned at him, for the first time resembling the girl he once knew.

"So tell me what's going on."

"Well, that was blunt and right to the point," she said, turning her back on him once again.

"Morgan tells me -"

"Morgan is right. I've stopped the treatments and I'm being released tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Why? I don't have to explain my reasons to you, you just have to accept them."

"No, no I don't."

"I'm an adult and I can make my own choices. I'm a married woman now, not a little girl on the playground, Kevin."

"So where is he? Why isn't he here with you, Chrissy?"

A sharp intake of breath was her only reply.

He pressed on. "If *I* was your husband I would-"

"But you're *not*, are you?" She spun on him in anger. "There was precious little chance of *that* ever happening. You always made it clear that we were buddies, *pals*, and I accepted that. So don't come in here now and preach to me -"

"Good, Chris. Get angry. Get so goddamned mad that you feel alive again and can see what you're doing to yourself."

"I'm tired. You need to go."

"I'll go, but I'll be back. And we're going to talk about this. I will *not* stand by and watch someone else I love die, especially when *this* time there's another answer."

Spinning on his heel, he let his anger carry him from the room. It wasn't until he reached the elevator that reaction set in and his knees became too weak to hold him.

A small hand wrapped around his arm leading him to a chair in the nearby waiting room.

"Better?"

Looking up, he found himself staring into a pair of the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen. The name tag on her lab coat read, *Elizabeth Carroll, MD*

"Yeah," he mumbled, "I think so."

"You must be Mr. Richardson. Chrissy's friend Morgan told me to expect you."

"And you are-"