A/N: After writing "Bloodrush," I started thinking about the idea of Michael coming back, making Rachel's recovery less about her gunshot and more about… everything else. If they did this on the show, I'm sure they would mine it for months and months of drama, which is not my style, but hopefully you'll enjoy what I've done with it. I will update every second day as long as nothing comes up. The rating is M for later chapters, and those chapters will be marked. Thanks for reading!

Lyrics from Small Victories by Folly & The Hunter. Title from Cornerstone by Luke Sital-Singh (which is really the theme song).

So I stormed out of the mist into a frail happiness,
the kind that feels like you're giving in.
I flirted with defeat in the face of coming heat,
and started walking dead for days on end.
How can I see what it all means to me
as I walk into the unknown?
All that I need are these small victories.

Tom was sitting by Rachel's bedside, watching over her sleeping form for the second—or was it the third?—day in a row. She hadn't woken up, her body slowly recovering from the massive blood loss and trauma to her shoulder. She would wake up, the doctors had promised him that, but she hadn't yet.

He heard a commotion in the hall, which was an anomaly. Tex and Bertrise and a few sailors had camped out in the waiting room, and the whole floor had been mostly silent since the doctor had told them that she would wake up when she woke up and all they could do was wait.

Now it sounded chaotic, with a doctor saying, "Sir, the security on this floor—" and Tex saying, "Look, I don't know what the hell you think you're doing—" and Chandler got up to check it out, running his eyes over Rachel's body first and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

Out in the hall, a doctor was standing with a clipboard near the nurses station, looking ready to call security, which they wouldn't need as long as Tex was backing the guy up against the wall, sailors planted in the background ready to move at any moment. Really, the guy didn't look like much of a threat—tall enough, but otherwise unassuming, though he needed a haircut and a shave.

Tex glanced across as Chandler approached, backing away to let Chandler take point, but Tom only walked up to the man and took a closer look at his face.

"You must be Michael," he said, putting a hand out to shake, and the other man looked around, confused by the change in tone as he tentatively shook Chandler's hand. Still holding onto his hand, Chandler turned to Tex. "You recognize him, don't you, man? From that picture on Rachel's computer."

Tex took another step back, tilting his head like he needed to get a better look, and said, "No kidding. You know, everyone thought you were dead."

Still backed up against the wall but with a little more room to move, Michael raised his hands to his hair, running them through and down over his beard, flustered. "Yeah, well, that's why I'm here. But then I hear Rachel's been shot? I still don't understand how that happened."

Chandler sent Tex a significant look and gestured to the others, asking Tex to settle them down while Chandler took the man down the room to the window of Rachel's room. As soon as he saw her, he bolted for the door, but Chandler stopped him.

"Listen, if you want to talk, we should do it out here." Michael nodded quickly, his eyes locked on the window, so Chandler went on, "I guess Rachel's work didn't used to be dangerous, but with this plague, trying to develop the cure—let's just say she went through a hell of a lot on that ship of ours. More trauma and blood and guts than she was probably expecting to face, but she made it through all of that. She got shot after the new president's inauguration, in a place crawling with Navy and security. It never should have happened. But she's going to be fine. She just hasn't woken up yet."

"I need to get in there," Michael said, and Chandler simply nodded, waving him in. If he were in Michael's position, he would be going out of his mind, and as he watched Michael enter the room and take Chandler's chair at the bedside, picking up Rachel's hand, Chandler was torn.

He empathized to a degree that was almost painful, but he also hated—absolutely hated—that he'd just lost his place at the top of the list of people worried about Rachel. Not because he wanted to be there—god, he'd give anything for her to wake up so everyone could stop worrying altogether—but because there was now one person between him and Rachel, a person who could actually claim personal involvement.

Chandler was just—colleague wasn't even right, Chandler was just some guy who'd run the ship she'd had a lab on, the guy she'd gone through hell with but nothing more. She'd been happy with Michael. That seemed like such a significant difference.

He couldn't sit by her bedside anymore, or be the one to watch her wake up. He was on the outside, now, and he hated it.

Still, he stayed by that window, standing at parade rest and waiting. He may have to look in from the hall, but he would be there when she woke up, come hell or high water.

That moment came a few hours later, and with his eyes locked on her face he saw her trying to blink, shifting her head slightly, before Michael looked up and saw the same, saying, "Rachel? Rachel, can you hear me?"

When she opened her eyes all the way, monitors starting beeping frantically as her heart rate spiked, her breathing accelerating. She looked at Michael with horror in her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing, and before the doctors and nurses rushed in to tend to her Chandler heard her say, "Am I dead? Did I die?" As soon as she saw the medical personnel she must have realized that didn't jive, and she started calling his name. "Tom? Tom?!"

He rushed into the room, brushing past the nurse at the head of her bed to take the hand that was grasping for him, saying, "I'm here, I'm here."

She clutched at his hand, staring at him in shock. "Tom, it's Michael. It's Michael."

"I know," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "It's Michael. He's here."

She glanced over at Michael, still frightened, then looked back up at Tom. "He is? He's here?"

"Yeah, Rachel. He's here, and you're fine. You're going to be fine."

Her heartrate began to slow, though it remained high, and her breathing came back down to normal levels. The doctor asked to see Tom in the hall, and then remembered Michael and invited him along as well as the nurses made sure that Rachel was comfortable.

In the hall, the doctor sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. "I consider it extremely unfortunate that she had to wake up this way. The shock likely piled trauma on top of trauma, and when coming out of a period of extended unconsciousness… it's the last thing she needs. For the sake of her recovery, she needs as much rest and as little stress as possible in order to refrain from making that trauma even worse. However that needs to happen, please. Put aside your personal feelings, and do what's best for Dr. Scott."

Shaking his head, the doctor walked off down the hall and Chandler and Michael stood there for a moment, both looking anywhere but at each other. Chandler wanted to find a way to blame himself—he should have known better, he should have stopped it—but the truth was Michael had that history and relationship and Chandler couldn't do a thing about it. He really had no say here, which was already raising every hackle he had.

Heading back down the hall to the waiting area, Chandler didn't even look behind to ensure Michael was following, but heard his footsteps on the linoleum. They must have looked a state, because Tex was back on his feet the second he saw them, everyone else watching closely.

"What happened?" Tex asked.

"She freaked out," Chandler said, jabbing a thumb in Michael's direction, "when she saw him." Uncharitable, yes, but they might as well have all the facts. "We need someone neutral to talk to her." He faced Tex directly, meeting his eyes with all the command he still had in him, and asked, "Can you do that?"

"'Course, man," Tex said immediately. He waved the other men into the waiting room and walked off down the hall, shaking his head. Chandler and Michael took seats on opposite sides of the room, and Chandler braced his forearms on his thighs, leaning over and staring at the floor.

Tex told him about their conversation later. When he walked into Rachel's room, she was alone again, the head of her bed raised so she could sit up, and she smiled a little when she saw him.

"Hey, girlie," he said, taking the seat at her bedside.

"Hello," she said back. "Is everyone upset?"

"Well, yeah, darlin', you got shot. Everyone's pretty upset about that."

"But... Michael... I feel just awful."

"No one blames you for that. Not Michael, not Tom. The doctors want you calm and stress-free and right now that means you have to be selfish. Can you do that?"

She frowned at him, and he grinned real big.

"Now, I know that's gonna be hard for you, but if you don't act selfish now you won't be around to take care of other people later, you get me? Do you want me to tell Michael to get lost?"

The hand that wasn't tied up in a sling was plucking at the bed covers, fidgety, and as soon as Tex mentioned Michael she twisted her fingers up tight in the sheet, frowning even harder.

"Okay," Tex said. "That's the plan."

"It's not fair to him—"

"I don't give a rat's ass, pardon my French. At least as long as you're in the hospital, you need complete rest. If him visiting is going to stress you out, he's barred. No exceptions."

"Just as long as I'm in the hospital," she said reluctantly, glancing sideways at Tex.

"Sure," he said. "For now, I'll tell him as long as you're in the hospital. If that changes later, so be it. Now, the commodore..."

She glanced toward the door, then down at her lap, smoothing the sheet over her legs with her good hand. "It wouldn't be fair... if I won't see Michael..."

"Once again," Tex said, "I don't give a rat's. Will it stress you out?"

Her eyes shifted to the side, her hand still smoothing, and her lips pressed together before she gave a quick shake of the head.

"Okay," Tex said again. "The commodore's on the list. Michael doesn't need to know anything about that. I'll give him the boot before I say a word."

"Nicely," Rachel replied, giving him a hard look.

"Yeah, yeah." He said it dismissively, rolling his eyes, but then leaned forward and rested his arms on the bed rail. Meeting her eyes seriously, he said, "Have some faith. I'm gonna treat him like a kicked puppy, okay, because that's what you need. End of story."

Resting back on her pillows, Rachel sighed. "Okay. I won't be able to relax until you do it. Please." She looked at him with pleading eyes, and he got to his feet and planted his hands on the rail.

"I'm thinking I should send Bertrise in here while I'm gone, what do you think?"

She smiled and nodded, and Tex gave a mock salute before walking back to the door.

Before he pulled it open, he turned back and said, "By the way, if you're still needing neutral ground by the time you get out of here, I've got room and the angst of a teenage girl for distraction. No funny business, just a place to sleep. You can let me know later." Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and walked back to the waiting room, going first to Bertrise and telling her Rachel was asking for her.

Once the girl was off down the hall, Tex walked over to stand in front of Michael, asking with all the politesse in his arsenal if they could speak in the hall. Chandler watched from his peripheral vision, pretending his intense focus was still on the floor beneath his feet. Tex spoke calmly, using mild gestures, while Michael ran his hands repeatedly through his hair, turning and taking a few steps away before coming back and gesturing with one hand. In the end, though, Michael walked away, disappearing off down the hall, while Tex returned to the waiting area.

Chandler was standing by the time Tex got to him, bracing himself for a similar talk, a similar dismissal, but Tex grinned and slapped him on the back. "Now that that's out of the way… I'm thinking the doc will be running out of steam soon, so you'd better get in there."

"Wait, what? I thought…" He waved a hand in the direction Michael had gone.

"Nah," Tex said, keeping a hand on Chandler's shoulder as he walked with him down the hall. "You're on the list, Michael's not. We figure he doesn't need to know that, but as long as he respects the boundaries, there's no reason for him to know." Tex stopped some feet from the door, glancing through the window at Rachel chatting with Bertrise from her bed, and said, "I'm sure she'll appreciate seeing you before she passes out again." With a final shove, Tex headed back off down the hall, probably to join up with his daughter.

Though loath to interrupt the girls' gab session, Chandler walked into the doorway and paused. Rachel looked up immediately, smiling softly at the sight of him, and Bertrise glanced over her shoulder and got up out of the chair.

"You don't let this man keep you from your rest, y'hear?"

Rachel blushed, waving her off, and Chandler smiled and said goodnight to Bertrise as they passed in the doorway, before Chandler took back the chair he'd been roused from hours earlier.

"How are you feeling?" he asked first, quietly.

After watching him warmly for a moment, Rachel set her head back on her pillows and closed her eyes. "Honestly… I'm exhausted."

"Any time you need to sleep," Chandler said, his tone reassuring, "just go right ahead." She opened her eyes again, looking calm and comfortable as she waited for the question she seemed to know was coming. "I was surprised," he said. "I thought you might've wanted me to go as well."

"Why?"

Why? A good question, and one he couldn't answer without revealing too much about his own feelings, which he was not about to do. "I'm not sure, I guess. I just want to make sure you're as relaxed as you can be."

"When did Michael get here?"

"A couple hours before you woke up, I think."

"And how long were you here before that?"

"Um, a few days. Why?"

Her eyes were struggling to stay open now, and she brought her good hand up to cover a yawn. "So you watched me sleep for a few days?"

"Not in a creepy way," he said instantly, and she laughed.

"I didn't mean that. I'm just…" She yawned again. "…about to fall asleep. Sounds like you won't mind."

"Go right ahead," he said again. "I'll be here any time you need me."

Her eyes opened then, staring at him for a moment, and then her lips curved up slightly as her eyes fell shut again, and she turned her face into the pillow, relaxing into sleep.

He was thankful, in that moment, that he was back by her side, watching her sleep. He hadn't expected it—he truly hadn't, and he wasn't sure whether he was under- or overestimating his importance in this case. Maybe she viewed him as completely neutral, so she didn't mind whether he stayed or left. That would be the worst case scenario, though it wasn't bad at all.

He just hoped for the other option: the option where they'd formed a bond that was more than strictly professional, more than even simply personal, a bond that remained strong even when her long lost boyfriend showed up at the hospital to wait for her to wake up. He couldn't let himself believe that, not really, but some part of him hoped for it, desperately.

She trusted him, certainly, felt safe enough to sleep beside him. That was all he could count on for now.

A strange rattling woke him some time later, and he opened his eyes to see Rachel sitting up, awake. He leapt out of the chair he'd fallen asleep in, leaning across to cradle her face in his hands, turning it toward him, and she squeezed her eyes shut with a bemused smile gracing her lips. After a second, he realized what he was doing and released her, sitting back down heavily, chagrined.

"Sorry," he said. "I guess I'm not used to you being awake yet."

Laying her head back down on the pillow, she looked at him and smiled. "I was trying not to wake you," she said, and pointed to where her morphine button had gotten tangled in the mechanism of the bed, out of her reach. He made quick work of untangling it, and she sighed with relief when he handed it to her.

"You should have woken me," he said, gently scolding with a frown.

"Probably," she agreed, "but you looked like you needed it."

"Are you saying I look tired?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Mmm." She tilted her head, examining him. "You do, but more that you looked so peaceful asleep. Can't they get you a cot or something?"

"That would entail admitting I can't actually watch you twenty-four-seven," he said wryly, looking down at his hands. When he looked up, she was smiling at him again, and he smiled back. "Why are you in such a good mood?"

She pulled her lips into her mouth, between her teeth, and then brought the sheet up to cover her mouth. "I don't know. Blame the morphine. I'm trying not to think about… you know…" She gestured vaguely, dropping the sheet, and her eyes grew distant before she focused in on him again and smiled. "I'm happy to see you."

That sounded promising. Promising enough to make him a little dizzy with hope, and he turned his eyes up to the ceiling, blowing out a slow, calming breath. He looked back down, smiling at her, though there was a question in her eyes now. "I'm glad. Whatever helps."

She stared at him a second longer before giving up on her curiosity and turning her face to the ceiling. "So," she said, relaxed on her pillows. "What have I missed?"