"Surely you've talked."

"On the phone" Cam shook her head in frustration. "Several times a day, in fact. But every time I've asked to see her, she's given me an excuse."

"You do know that she's working on the paintings for her show on the eighth, don't you?"

"Yes, I know that, and I know how consuming that can be. My mother is an artist—so are most of her friends. I've spent my life around them. But I've seen Blair work against a deadline before, and she's never shut herself away so completely." Not away from me.

"And she hasn't said...anything?"

"No. When we left DC, everything seemed fine." We made love almost all night. We were happy. She'd asked herself a dozen times what could have caused the abrupt change, and each time she'd come up empty. They hadn't had much time for conversation in the rush to get the team briefed before the short flight home. Blair had been quiet during the journey, but they certainly hadn't fought. Cam ran a hand through her hair, cursing herself under her breath. "I feel like an idiot even talking to you about this. But today she called to see you, so I thought—Christ, I don't know what I thought."

"Love makes fools of us all," Diane murmured in a surprisingly gentle voice. "You must remember that Blair and I have been friends since we were barely more than children. Despite the fact that we often argue and have been known to compete over...all manner of things, we love each other. She feels safe with me."

It was the kindness in Diane's voice's that brought a chill to Cam's heart. She stopped walking and drew Diane under the awning of a hotel, out of the way of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. She stared into Diane's eyes and thought she glimpsed sympathy there. "There is something wrong, isn't there? What is it?"

"Cam." Tenderly, Diane stroked the tight line of Cam's jaw. "Give her just a little more time. She's not used to being loved the way you love her."

"The waiting is killing me," Cam confessed in a tormented voice.

"I know. And so does she." Diane leaned close and kissed Cam's cheek. "I'm going to get that cab now. You have my number. Call any time."

Cam waited on the sidewalk until Diane disappeared into a cab, then turned to walk back toward Blair's apartment. If she'd thought Blair was being thoughtless or intentionally disregarding her feelings or just simply ignoring her, she would have insisted that Blair see her, explain what the hell was going on. But she'd heard the hesitation in Blair's voice when they had talked, as if Blair was struggling to be close but couldn't find a way. And some sixth sense told her that she had to let Blair be the one to break the silence. She just didn't know how long she could endure it, because she had never been so lonely in her life.

"Commander?"

"What?" Cam barked, not looking up from the reports she'd been reading all afternoon. Mindless, tiresome, boring work. Anything to pass the time.

"Ms. Powell just called. She asked if you were available to see h—"

Cam stood so quickly her chair rocketed backward and hit the wall. "Thank you, Agent Wright."

"Yes, ma'am." Barry Wright stepped hastily aside as Cam charged past.

Two minutes later, Cam knocked on the door to Blair's penthouse loft. Almost immediately, the door opened and she stepped inside. The huge space, partitioned only in one corner for Blair's sleeping area and bathroom, was suffused with the golden glow of evening sunlight. In the sleeveless T-shirt and loose cotton drawstring pants that she favored when painting, Blair stood backlit, her face in shadows. It didn't seem possible, but Cam thought her lover looked thinner than the last time she'd seen her, only two days before. Uncertain if she had been summoned as Blair's lover or as her security chief, Cam did not move to touch her. "Hi."

"Hi," Blair said quietly, an edge of exhaustion in her voice. After a few seconds hesitation, she stepped closer and reached for Cam's hand. "Thanks for coming."

"How's it going?" Cam asked cautiously. Now that Blair was nearer, Cam noticed that there were deep shadows beneath her eyes and that their usual vibrant blue was dull with fatigue. The fingers that loosely clasped her own trembled slightly. With her free hand, Cam gently lifted Blair's chin until their eyes met. "You look beat."

"I've been working pretty much nonstop since we got back." Blair gestured over her shoulder toward her studio at the far end of the loft. "I finished two more canvases."

"Are you happy with them?" Cam felt as if she were walking across a minefield in the dark. There was a barrier between them as tangible as a stone wall, and she didn't know how to breach it. The separation, so real she could almost touch it, produced a nearly unbearable ache in her chest.

"Yes, I am. I think." Blair sighed and unconsciously rubbed at the headache that pounded between her brows. "I am pretty tired, I guess. I'll show you what I've done later, if you like."

"I'd like that very much." Cam drew Blair across the room to the sitting area. It was a testament to the depth of Blair's fatigue that she didn't protest when Cam guided her down to the sofa and then sat beside her. "I was starting to worry. You've been pretty quiet since we got back."

Uncharacteristically, Blair looked away. When she spoke again, she focused on their joined hands, which rested on the soft leather between them. "I called you because I need to go back to DC tomorrow."

Cam grimaced. "What is it this time? Lucinda or some other West Wing command performance?"

"Neither," Blair said in a subdued voice. "I have an appointment at Walter Reed Hospital tomorrow afternoon."

It took a moment for the words to register, and then Cam's blood turned to ice. "Why?"

Blair raised her eyes to Cam's. "I found a lump in my breast."

A million voices screamed inside Cam's head. Jesus, how long have you known? How could you wait to tell me? This isn't happening—not to her, not to us. Oh God, baby, are you scared? Christ, how am I going to fix this. And loudest of all, the desperate entreaty: Please, please don't let anything happen to her.

Throat so dry the words sliced her flesh as she spoke, Cam asked, "When? When did you...find it?"

"Monday morning..." Blair swallowed, struggling to fight back the terror. In some part of her mind, she had always known this was possible. Perhaps even probable. After all, she could recite the statistics from memory. But numbers and probabilities were so very different than the reality. Still, she reminded herself that this thing inside her could be nothing. And even if it was what she feared, she knew, too, of all the progress that had been made in treatment since her mother had been diagnosed. Since her mother had died. But despite what she knew, the experiences forged in childhood and burnished by loss rode roughshod over any rational thought, and all she could see was her mother's face and her father's sorrow. "I noticed it while I was showering."

"Why didn't I feel it?" Cam's words were more self-recrimination than question. Jesus, why didn 't I know?

"It might be nothing," Blair said, forcing optimism into her voice. "It's probably nothing. It's just..it has to be checked."

"Of course." Cam edged closer on the sofa and placed her hand gently on the small of Blair's back. Their thighs lightly touched, and their hands, still clasped, remained joined. "Which side?"

Wearily, Blair rested her head on Cam's shoulder. "The left."

The left. I touch you there all the time. Why couldn't...why didn't I feel it? If I had, would it have made a difference? Does it make a difference now? Oh, Christ. What does this mean? Cam feathered a kiss into Blair's hair and moved her hand up to cup Blair's neck, smoothing her fingers up and down the rigid muscles along her spine. "Can I...can I feel it? Will it hurt you if I do?"

"No," Blair rasped. "It won't hurt." She leaned her head back into Cam's palm, grateful for the strength in the long tender fingers. She searched Cam's eyes and saw something she'd never seen before, something she knew Cam would never let her see if she'd known it was apparent. Fear. She lifted a hand and stroked Cam's cheek. "It's all right."

Swiftly, Cam turned her face and pressed her lips to Blair's palm. "I know, baby. I know."

"I'm sorry I worried you."

Cam shook her head. "It's all right." She drew Blair close. "I wish you would have told me sooner...right away."

"I wanted to. I tried to." Blair's voice held a hint of confusion. "I just couldn't make myself say it." She shook her head. Her grip on Cam's fingers tightened. "That sounds crazy, doesn't it? I'm not naive. I knew it wasn't going to go away. I just wanted to come home and paint."

"Can we go into the bedroom?" Cam was desperate to hold her. Really hold her. She ached to shelter her, to somehow put herself between Blair and anything that could hurt her. She knew how to do that in the world outside these rooms. She trusted in her ability to keep Blair safe. But this...how did she protect her from this? She'd never felt so helpless or so frightened in her life—not even when she'd watched her father's car burn after the explosion, because she'd known, as much as she'd wanted to deny it, that he was already gone. "I want to hold you."

"Yes. God, Cam, I've missed you so much."

Cam fingered the Handie-Talkie on her belt. "Stark?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"You're in charge of the detail. I don't want any calls put through to me or Ms. Powell for any reason other than a Priority One."

"Yes, Commander," Stark snapped.