Power of prayer

Rick paces the infirmary, his mind unable to settle on anything. He looks up at the clock. He'd gotten nothing done, but felt like he'd been working for a week straight. His mind could concentrate on nothing but Scott. So once again, he prayed. It was all he could do... it was the most he could do.


Scott can hear Hope's voice, and knows that he's just made a fool out of himself again. Embarrassment, more than fear, keeps his face buried as he rocks, trying to rid himself of this feeling that was clinging to him so tightly. What he was afraid of, he didn't even know or understand. Why he couldn't function, he didn't know. But all he could do was continue to make messes and cause strife.

But Hope's prompting was just soft enough... just strong enough to lift his head. Resting his chin on his knees, Scott is silent for a moment, holding back the tears that he didn't understand. He knew he was safe here... why couldn't he convince his mind?

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly. "That just... happens sometimes."

Swallowing hard he slowly uncurls, not wanting to follow Hope's asking, but knowing there was no other options. It took him a moment to get to his feet, teetering just a bit before leaning back against the wall. His eyes stay glued to the floor, and his hands go back in his pockets. "I should go."

Starting to walk away, he reaches the exit, looking out into the street. The sunshine. Fresh air. Freedom.

But Scott stops. The outside world terrified him. It seemed better than this... it seemed better than being forced to think about things he didn't want to, or talk about things he didn't want to discuss. It seemed like freedom. But... was it really? Was it really freedom, when he was enslaved by his fear? His pain? The memories that haunted him?

Scott's hand slides off the door handle. Slowly turning, he looks past the receptionist and past the secretary who was just picking up the rest of her fallen papers. His weary eye meets with Hope's, for a moment, the pleading having returned. But it wasn't a plea to let him go. It was a plea for help... and he knew it. No matter how badly he wanted to go home... no matter how badly he wanted to be left alone... he wanted help more. He couldn't live like this. And he couldn't recover on his own.

Still looking at Hope, his shoulders drop, signaling ultimate defeat. "I don't want to live," he admits quietly. "They were right."

Hot tears finally make their way to his eyes. "Rick knew if he let me go that I'd hurt myself... and I would have."

His hand makes its way to the door handle again as he fights to make the right decision. "Please don't let me go," he almost whispers. "'Cause I won't come back." His fingers wrap around the handle, his grip tightening. It took all the strength he had, not to walk out. Little did he know, the intensity of the spiritual battle around him.

"I don't know if this would be good for me or not." His words prove that he had heard Hope's earlier question and that he had retained it, even though he'd seemed to ignore or forget. "But... I can't..." He hesitates. "I can't live like this anymore."

As if the stress caused an open door, several horrific images flash through his mind, making him cringe and sending his eyes back to the floor once again as he relives the torture for a brief moment. "Help me?" he almost whimpers.