"I promise you, you will love the view from up here. Really!" Chris Vincent tugged Djemila Najim's hand as they scaled the slope. Night was falling, but they could still see the path clearly without his flashlight. He had packed a picnic supper for them to enjoy and he carried a blanket for their comfort. It was high time, he informed her earlier that day, that Loki had constellations identified and named, and she was just the girl to help him do it. It was, in fact, a ruse to get her alone in the dark, and she willingly went along with it, as eager to be with him as he was with her.

At the summit, they spread a blanket and sat down together, gazing at the stars above and the tiny lights of Dover below them. Soon, however, they were lying on the blanket, and Chris was reveling in the smoothness of her lips, the softness of her hair, and the round lushness of her body. He had been thinking about doing this very thing for months. It was amazing, he thought, going from being playmates and then friends to suddenly make the leap to lovers. Yet it was clear that was where they were headed, and, if Chris thought about it for very long, he could picture them making that even more incredible leap to husband and wife.

He had surprised himself in recent months, thinking about the way his parents had been together: comfortable, familiar, companionable. Then his mother had died--had it been eleven months already?--yet somehow his father was still buoyed by the memory of her having been in his life. Chris thought for a moment and realized that his mother was still very much part of his father's existence, still very much part of his own. He imagined having that kind of unbreakable bond with Djemila, a bond that somehow seemed to transcend time and space, life and death.

He was surprised at the romantic turn his thoughts had taken, and would have been embarrassed to admit them to anyone. The reality was that Djemila was breathtakingly lovely, with her olive complexion and deep black hair with hints of red when the sun hit it just right. She was tiny, coming up only to his chest, and he loved the way he had to bend down to kiss her, or lift her up against him. Her lips were full and pink, yet she seldom wore cosmetics. She always had a ready smile, and everyone at Dover loved her. She helped out in the fields uncomplainingly and cooked for visitors from Alpha when extra help was needed. She worked tirelessly as a teacher to Dover's many very young children, yet she always had time for other things as well. Her name meant "beautiful" in Arabic, and Chris thought everything about her lived up to her name.

He slipped a hand under her tunic and heard her quick intake of breath as his thumb stroked her erect nipple. His kissed her just under her earlobe, inhaling the clean, natural scent of her skin and hair. "I want you," he murmured. "I want to make love to you."

"Oh, Chris, I want to, too. But I think we should wait." She touched his wrist and pushed it gently from beneath her shirt.

"Wait for what, exactly?" he asked.

She grinned in the darkness, a flash of white teeth. "Well, for one thing, wait until one of us has thought about some birth control. Have you?"

Chris was glad she couldn't see him blush. "Um, no."

She leaned up and kissed him gently on the mouth, and he felt her tongue against his lips. "Me, neither. So we wait."

He smiled and kissed her back, and they looked at the sky, giving groups of stars silly names like "the cucumber," "the great pumpkin," and "Eagle One." Unspoken, however, were their thoughts of their future together, which suddenly seemed to be a certainty. Chris contemplated what he might say if he asked her to marry him, and for a fleeting moment, pictured their children.

"It's late," she eventually said, touching his arm gently. "I'm afraid I'll fall asleep if I stay here much longer, and then you'll have to carry me home."

"It wouldn't be any trouble. You're as light as a leaf," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. They stood up, folded the blanket and started down the slope. Chris's flashlight lit the way, and the path was clearly marked, worn by many feet on the rocky ground.

About halfway down, however, the unexpected happened. Chris's flashlight, so bright in the darkness, went out, and suddenly the two were engulfed in a night so deep that the blackness was a physical presence.

"Damnit!" The light rattled slightly as Chris shook it. "I just charged this thing." Despite his efforts, the light would not come on.

"Djemila, take my hand. We're going to take this very, very slow. The path goes pretty close to the edge a little further down, and I don't want us to fall."

Chris's large, slightly callused hand engulfed Djemila's, and gingerly they made their way down the slope. Chris found a straggly little lucy bush, and he plucked a branch which lit their way for a while, but the plant's phosphorescence quickly faded when separated from the main stalk.

Chris could sense when they were almost to the end of the slope, and unconsciously his pace quickened slightly. Suddenly he heard Djemila slip on the rocks that littered the area, heard her yell his name, and felt her hand pull out of his own. After a second that felt like an eternity, he heard a small thud and then a deadly stillness.

"Oh, my God! Oh, God! Djemila!" He felt for the edge, found it, and eased down, hoping it wasn't too far and he didn't land on her. It was only about three meters down. He dropped to the ground and, dropping to his hands and knees, felt frantically in the darkness for Djemila. He found her quickly, but was shocked to feel warm, sticky blood on the back of her head. She was breathing, though, and had a pulse. Without thinking, he picked her tiny still body up and sprinted toward the lights of Dover. He knew he shouldn't move her, but at the same time suspected that if he didn't act immediately, it might be too late by the time help came.

Ben Vincent peered out the window into the waiting room before opening the door. This would be hard. He and his team had been working on Djemila for several hours, and they still did not know what the prognosis would be. He opened the door, and Tarik Najim immediately stood up. Ellen appeared to continue to pray. Djemila's sister, Lina, sat close with her arm around her mother. Chris looked like he was going to burst into tears as he looked into his father's eyes, expecting the worst.

"She's stable," Ben said bluntly, "but we don't know how extensive the damage is yet." Ellen clutched her husband's arm, and Tarik's eyes filled with tears.

"Djemila had severe comminuted fractures of the basal and occipital skull. She also had compound fractures of the left ulna and radius. We corrected the fractures surgically, and we were able to stop the cerebral bleeding. She is in a coma right now, but her vitals are good. She is breathing on her own, which is a good sign, and her reflexes are almost normal."

"Can we see her?" Ellen asked.

"Yes, you can. But I need to warn you, she has had two seizures already, and she may have more."

"Does that mean there's--- there's brain damage?" Tarik asked, very quietly.

"Not necessarily. We really won't know the extent of the damage, if any, until she comes out of the coma." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "If she comes out of the coma."

"She could be like that forever?" Chris blurted out.

Ben wanted to hug his son and reassure him. He knew Chris so well, and knew the boy was blaming himself for what was an unfortunate accident. "It's a possibility we have to be prepared for," Ben said quietly, "but I think it is likely she will come out of it. It's best that she is in a coma right now, because it gives her brain a chance to heal."

"I shouldn't have moved her, I shouldn't have moved her," Chris murmured.

"Chris, the fact that you got her here so quickly is the only thing that saved her life. She would have died before we could have gotten to her."

Ellen hugged Chris close. "Thank you so much for bringing her here. I know you love her, and this was not your fault." She and Lina walked into her daughter's room with Dr. Vincent, and Tarik followed her, laying his hand briefly on Chris's shoulder as he passed.

Despite his father's reassurances, and Ellen and Tarik's quiet support and understanding, Chris couldn't shake the guilt that he felt over Djemila's injury. If he hadn't been such a horny bastard, he chastised himself repeatedly, if he hadn't wanted to get her alone so he could feel her up, then she would be healthy and fine and teaching young children how to color and paint at Dover's school.

Djemila remained in a coma for over a month. Chris had gone to visit her about every other day, and had been shocked by her appearance. Her head had been completely shaved, and there were two large angry-looking semicircular scars on her scalp once the bandages had come off. Once he had stopped by and she had had a seizure, violently kicking off the sheets that covered her, saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were open and seemed to look at him, but she was not conscious. He felt an eerie prickling feeling at the back of his brain, imagining that she was accusing him personally of causing her present condition.

He stopped by Medical less and less frequently after that, but he still asked his father for daily progress reports. When his father told him that she was showing signs of coming out of the coma, he knew he had to see her, to apologize to her for causing her injury, to do whatever he could do to make amends.

Chris walked into Medical and saw Ellen sitting on the edge of Djemila's bed. "Mama," Ellen said, pointing to herself, and Djemila stared at her blankly, a vacant look in her eyes. Then she smiled, clapped her hands like a child, and yelled "Mawwwww!"

"That's great, Djemila! Wonderful! Let's try it again." She caught sight of Chris and motioned him forward. "Look, Chris, isn't this wonderful! She's finally come out of it! Djemila, you remember Chris."

Djemila stared at him blankly, and Chris was startled to find himself repulsed by the line of spittle hanging from her mouth, the blank look in her eyes. The fuzz of hair growing back on her scarred head brought back miserable memories of his mother's final days, suffering through the cancer that finally killed her. Djemila was painfully thin, her skin pale with blue veins prominent just below the surface. This wraith did not resemble the Djemila he once knew and loved.

"Hi, Djemila. It's great to see you awake." He walked closer to the bed, determined to treat her like the beautiful girl he used to know, who he supposed was still trapped somewhere in that body, in that damaged brain. As he stepped closed to the bed, Djemila screamed, a high pitched wail. Chris stepped back, unsure what to do.

"Chris, she does that to everyone new who comes to see her. It's OK," Ellen said reassuringly. "She just came out of the coma. It's going to take some time, but she's going to get better. Aren't you, honey?" Ellen leaned over and wiped Djemila's mouth, and her daughter smiled, a flash of the old Djemila.

Chris hesitated by the door of his father's office, then knocked.

"Come!" His father's desk was strewn with papers, and he looked up from whatever he was reading on the slate he held. He saw the look in Chris's eyes and motioned to a chair on the other side of the desk.

"She's never going to be the same, is she?" Chris blurted.

"I doubt it, son. She's had an extensive penetrating brain injury, and that's serious."

"Serious? She can't even talk!"

"Chris, I know this is hard for you to see right now, but with therapy, she will be able to talk again. She may not remember anything from her life before the injury, and she is probably going to have to learn everything all over again--how to feed herself, go to the bathroom, to read. But she will learn them eventually."

"But she won't be the same," Chris said sadly.

"No, she probably won't be. She is probably going to have trouble controlling her emotions, she may have a limp or some trouble with arm movements for the rest of her life. Chances are she won't be able to remember a list of things, but only one or two at a time. But Chris, she's lucky. It could have been a lot worse."

"Dad, I've known her my whole life, seen her practically every day I have been alive. I know she would rather be dead than to have to go through this."

Ben was silent for a moment, then he said carefully. "Is that what you think she would want, or what you would prefer, so you don't have to watch her go through this?"

Chris started to answer, and Ben held up his hand. "It's natural to feel that way, and I know you are still blaming yourself for what happened, although you shouldn't. It wasn't your fault, and you're going to have to find some way to deal with what happened. No one blames you, and Djemila wouldn't, either. Be there for her now, Chris, maybe not the way you used to be, but remember that she is a person who deserves respect and consideration, regardless of her infirmities."

Chris nodded slowly and got up to leave. "Thanks, Dad."

Ben smiled and winked as he repeated the words of the nightly tuck-in ritual he had always said to all of his kids, "Remember who loves ya, baby!"

Chris grinned a little as he walked out of Medical.

Little by little, Djemila got better. She was able to go home with her parents, who devoted themselves to her recovery. Chris kept up with her progress through his father, who seemed pleased with the improvements in her condition, but Chris seldom saw her. He wasn't avoiding her, exactly, but he was becoming more and more involved with work, and other activities as well. Occasionally he went to the school area and helped out with the small children; he thought it was a way to keep the memory of what Djemila had been alive in some respect. And he surprised himself by enjoying it a great deal--the kids were so fresh and pure and had such a fun outlook on life. Slowly, he found the old Djemila fading from his memory, replaced by what she had become after her injury.

He realized that he needed to see her again for himself, to reconcile his memories with the reality. It had been about six months, and he found himself standing in front of her parents' door, a bouquet of sunflowers that he had swiped from the Ag area in his hand.

Ellen greeted him enthusiastically, the lines around her eyes crinkling pleasantly as she smiled. As always, she was a whirlwind of energy.

"Chris! What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in! You're just in time for dinner! You will stay won't you? Tarik, Djemila, look who's come to dinner! Let me put these in some water. They're lovely! I hope Pete didn't see you take these!" Chris followed her into the tiny kitchen area, and Tarik stood up and shook his hand. "Glad to see you," he said.

Chris felt reassured; this visit so far was just like the hundreds of other times he had come to the Najim household. Then he saw Djemila emerge from her room.

He sucked in his breath audibly, unaware that Tarik and Ellen were watching his reaction. Djemila's hair had grown back out, and now it was a stylish short cut, much different from the way she had worn it before, but surprisingly attractive. She hadn't gained back the weight that she had lost immediately after the accident, and her former lush curves were now angular and slim. The short hair and the thinness of her face emphasized her huge, dark eyes even more, and her lips, he realized with a disturbing tingle in the pit of his stomach, were the same pink, moist lips he had kissed so hungrily just minutes before her terrible fall. She was, he realized, even more beautiful than she had been before.

As she walked toward him, he realized that she was dragging her left foot slightly. It probably wouldn't be noticeable to someone who didn't know her, but to Chris, who had always thought she had danced rather than walked, it was obvious.

"Hi, Djemila, you look great!" Chris stepped toward her to give her a hug. He felt so relieved that she looked so good, so healthy. Maybe his father's predictions about her recovery had been wrong.

Djemila shrank back, avoiding his embrace. "I-I don't know you," she said very softly and hesitantly, frowning.

"Honey, this is Chris," her father said gently. "You two grew up together."

"Oh, OK." The perplexed look left her face and she smiled, her old smile, which illuminated her face. "Hi, Chris! Let's eat! Mama made my very favorite dinner in the whole wide world--spaghetti!"

Chris followed her to the table where dinner was waiting. He couldn't believe that she didn't remember him at all. It was like her whole life had been erased and was being rewritten on a clean sheet of paper.

Chris enjoyed Ellen's usual good cooking, and Tarik and Ellen were animated, asking Chris questions about work, his part time work at the school, and all the latest Dover gossip. Djemila was quiet, and as Chris watched her, he had a sense that she had to concentrate intensely on the simple acts of passing dishes, cutting her food, and answering Tarik's occasional questions.

Chris watched her reach for the bread basket, and suddenly, her left hand shook wildly, spilling the bread from the basket onto the floor. "Oh, no, no, no!" She wailed. "I spilled again! I spilled again! I always spill! I hate to spill!" Crying, she ran from the kitchen to her room, Ellen close behind.

"Her hand shakes like that sometimes," Tarik explained to Chris. "She can't help it, and then she gets so frustrated. She is trying so hard, and has made so much progress, but she has so far to go."

"She looks so healthy, but she's so... so..." Chris searched for a tactful word.

"Different. Childlike. I know. But Ellen and I thank God every day that she's here with us. She could have died, Chris, if it wasn't for you, and we thank you so much for getting her back here as quickly as you did."

"If it hadn't been for me, she wouldn't have been there at all." Chris couldn't make himself look at Tarik. Suddenly the guilt that he had weighed on his soul all these months came to the surface, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Mr. Najim, I am so sorry," he whispered. "It's all my fault. I wanted to be alone with her. I wanted--"

"Son, you can't blame yourself. She was where she wanted to be, with the person she wanted to be with, doing what she wanted to do. It was an accident. A terrible accident, but it's no one's fault. We would never blame you."

Chris wiped his eyes, took a deep breath and stood up. "I'd better go."

Ellen came from Djemila's room and put her arm around him, walking him to the door. "Tarik's right, Chris. It's not your fault, and we never have thought it for a moment. You know Djemila wouldn't, either." She squeezed him tightly. "But, Chris, you need to get on with your life. I don't think... I don't think Djemila will ever be like she was, and I doubt if it would ever be the same for you two again. Come visit anytime--you're like the son we never had, after all," she smiled kindly, "but Djemila won't be the same. She is always going to be like a child, I think, and you need to find someone to be with as an equal."

Chris did not go straight home, but walked toward the path where Djemila had fallen, where her life, and the lives of those who loved her, had diverted from their planned paths so radically. Intellectually he knew that it had been an accident, that it had not been his fault, but he knew it would take him a long time to work through it and that it was something that he would certainly carry with him always.

In the meantime, he decided, he would be Djemila's fiercest champion and help her all he could. He would hold the memory of what she had been in his heart, just like his father and his brothers and sister had done with his mother after she had died. She had lived on in the hearts of all of them, and what Djemila had been before her accident was something that he would nourish and keep her alive in his heart, even as he knew that he would eventually come to appreciate, too, what she had become. He could look out for her and help her as much as he could to deal with what life had handed her in just a few seconds on the side of a cliff on a dark evening.

He straightened his shoulders and walked back to the settlement, for the first time in his life feeling like a man, with a man's burdens and a man's responsibilities.