Essentially this is a longish one shot that I'm breaking into bite-size pieces (roughly 6). This chapter is the first of those bites.

It takes place beyond 4.13: Sometime post surgery, but well before Swarek can get his sorry ass out of bed for himself. Ollie's still in a hospital gown too. (Not that there's anything wrong with that).

Rated T for Sam's internal cursing. That kind of thing.

Eggs

"You, uh. You gonna eat this, buddy?"

Sam tilts his head to the side, far enough and just in time to notice Shaw already has a spoonful of jelly and custard aimed toward the roof of his mouth.

Sam smiles, small and involuntary. He's relieved Ollie's alive. Is glad they're all still here, frankly. Would probably be downright elated if it weren't for the clusterfuck that led to all this.

He waves a wrist at his friend, slow, and without a lot of effort really put in. Every part of his body still burns as it moves. Everything. The worst (physical) pain of his life. It might have something to do with the recent deaths that he's had.

("Twice, Sam," McNally informed him a couple of days ago. When he was finally breathing without the aid of plugs, tubes, and machines. "They had to resuscitate you twice."

Sam didn't know what hurt more – the residual pain of having his chest thumped one too many times, or the cracks in her voice. He was also a little concerned that the look on her face might kill him again.

"Sorry..."

"Shut up." The sweaty palm she'd had barely touching the bone of his wrist was suddenly gone to wipe at her face.

"Sorry...")

"You see her earlier today, Sammy?" The spoon is out of Shaw's mouth now, making its way back to the dish that was dumped in front of Sam about an hour ago. "McNally. She in here before?" Oliver's not watching anything bar the utensil that's headed toward his mouth.

Neither is Sam.

"You talk to her yet?" Shaw asks around his second mouthful and some uncomfortable silence. "You gonna tell her everything you told me? Before? What you told me out in the woods? Everything that needs to be said?" His buddy lifts his gaze, makes sure he catches Sam's eye this time around. "Sooner the better, you know –"

Sam shuffles a little, turns his face to the direction it was originally at. That re-run of Bonanza he hadn't been watching before is looking like must-see-TV right about now. If he happens to grimace, it's only because another potential Cartwright wife has just died.

Sam blinks.

"Oh, no, no, no," Oliver insists, head shaking so much Sam's bed almost moved. "That the way it's gonna be again? You taking the Charlie Chaplin approach?" Shaw grunts, takes a couple of breaths and then sighs. "There are no damn answers in silence, Sammy. Nothing you want is gonna be found there, my friend." By the end of the allocution, Ollie has resorted to a mutter and frown. "Should know that by now."

Sam lets out a small breath. It's almost a yawn. He's so fucking tired, he just wants to sleep. And it's not that he doesn't want to talk about some things. When he can stay awake for longer than half an hour, that is. In fact, there's 35 years of crap he wouldn't mind getting off his chest. He just doesn't want to talk about talking about things. Because he is well and truly done with that kind of thing.

"You stole his lunch?" McNally's cop voice is a godsend. Loud and firm, it perks Sam right up. "Again?"

Sam's renewed sense of energy in the last few seconds has him turned enough to scan her form up and down. She's got her hands on her hips, but she's definitely more relaxed than she was yesterday. And the day before that. It might have to do with the fact that she's not in uniform, or maybe it's because it's the weekend. Whatever the case, her sashay through the doorway this afternoon suggests she's almost across the eggshells that paved the path before this.

Sam grins – a second attempt after the first one got bitten back. "Hey."

McNally's smile is all sunshine. It fills the whole room. Gets warmer still as she hovers over his bed. She puts a bag on the side table and bends at the waist. Plants a kiss on Sam's forehead - just like every visit before.

Clearly, there are still some eggs left to be cracked.

"Hey," she replies, a little less to the smile. Her eyes shift to Shaw, and so do her hands.

A battle ensues over Sam's hospital dessert: McNally v Shaw. Both are gripping at the plate like it's a gun.

Sam waits patiently for the whole lot to be spilled.

"Swear to god, Oliver," McNally hisses, her jaw clenched and the stare she gives perps. "If you took his sandwich as well –"

"He told me I could have it," Oliver gapes, no sign of relinquishing what he's got in his hands. "And if you need to keep tabs, I gave him some of my damn 'tatoes, okay?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. He's pretty certain the potatoes were on his lunch plate in the first place, and that Shaw had pilfered a few while Sam was asleep…

But. Right now they're all wasting valuable time and Sam could care less about the excess or lack of starch in his meal.

He reaches a hand out – relieved that there seems to be less pain with each stretch. Places it gently on McNally's left hip. "The custard's not even real," he explains, hoping to distract her, get her attention on him. "I don't think they used eggs."

It does get her attention. She freezes in the spot, a look that can only be described as 'mortified' starting to etch itself into her face.

Sam watches her, every second of his day infinitely better than a whole bunch before. "Gross, huh?" And he should be embarrassed with the way he sounded just then: pre-teen at the fair.

He's not. (Embarrassed that is).

McNally gets a grin up again. This one is crooked and aimed back at Sam. "So wrong," she agrees, eyes and nose abhorred with the thought of pistachio ice cream and such matters all over again.

Sam can feel his face twitching some more. He keeps his eyes locked on hers. Rubs his thumb, just a centimetre or so along the band of her jeans, testing. "Let Shaw have his damn eggless custard," Sam says, voice going far too soft and spongy for a conversation this light.

McNally doesn't move. Smiles some more though. "Everyone knows eggs bring life to dessert." Sam thinks she's trying to inform Shaw of this fact, even though her eyes are still fixed on Sam's.

Sam can't see Oliver for all the tunnel vision he's got himself at the moment, but he hears his pal groan. Is pretty sure there's some eyebrow going on when his buddy finally chips in. "I'll leave you two Martha Stewart's alone to swap recipes then, shall I?"

"You'll be needing your afternoon nap anyway," Sam agrees, still unable to take his eyes (or hand) off McNally.

Sam does catch sight of Oliver then. Can't be avoided, really. His best friend makes himself known by getting himself to the foot of Sam's bed. "Be sure to share those recipes, yeah?" Shaw says, painfully obvious in his seriousness. The direction is aimed at Andy as well, Ollie staring her down all the way until he finally backs out the door and leaves them alone.

With Shaw out of the way, Sam decides it's time for a talk. He fixes a couple of fingers around one of the McNally beltloops, and tugs.