He was cold... so cold. And he was so alone. And he wanted so badly to crawl out of his bed in what he could only assume was the most private area of the emergency room in some New York City hospital, and go off in search of his brother. He knew Aj had to be there somewhere. Somewhere very close. And yet he still felt so very far away.

His pain and the cold weren't what kept him from attempting an escape though. He may very well have crawled out of his bed and gone in search for Aj if it hadn't been for the guards. The pain and the cold were nothing compared to the two massive police officers standing guard in his doorway. They were bigger than any of their bodyguards had ever been, and they were meaner looking too. And these two guys - Brian dare not mess with either of them, especially if their purpose in all of this was, and he believed it was, to protect him.

He hadn't feared for his life, at least not really, until the moment the ambulance had pulled up in front of the hospital. He'd spent the entire morning in a rush of adrenaline and emotions, terrified about Aj and trying not to think about what had happened, and in all of the chaos he'd not thought much about his own mortality. But when they pulled up to the hospital, and those two, burly, mean-looking officers, fully clad in bulletproof vests and helmets, stepped into the back of the ambulance where he was lying helpless on a stretcher, hooked up to iv's and being pumped full of pain killers, to warn him about the possibility of a "lurking suspect" and the risks now associated with being Brian Littrell... that was when the realization hit him. And it hit him hard. He had nearly died. He could have died. And in truth, he probably should have died.

And even then, even after the miracle of his survival against the attacker, even those two huge officers couldn't guarantee his safety. But they would assure him they'd 'do their best' to not let anything happen to him... and that would have to be enough.

And he'd remembered when they wheeled him out of the ambulance and he saw the flashes of light from the photographer's cameras and he heard the questions being screamed at him by reporters, how scared he had been in that moment. But not for his life. Instead, he had imagined his wife sitting home alone in Georgia, and turning on the television and there on her screen would be a picture of him on a stretcher and what would the caption say? What could the caption possibly say?

Aj had been shot and their manager murdered... Brian himself was badly injured... and what little information the media knew, they would release. Like vultures sent to suck out the very smallest marrow from the bone of a story, even if the story hadn't yet fully developed. And his wife would watch the news... or his mother. And there he'd be on the stretcher and the caption would read something along the lines of a "Backstreet Murder" or "Backstreet Boy Shot: Critical Condition" and how would they feel? How the hell would that make anyone feel?

He laid there in the bed, the bed that still felt icy cold despite the three heated blankets covering his weakened body, and he thought about what it would feel like to find out that your loved one had been injured... or worse... had been killed, while you're watching tv. He glanced around the room, taking in the various bits of hospital equipment. This was unlike the hospital rooms he'd been in before. There were no windows with views of the city. No flowers with get well wishes. No balloons, no cards, no television to keep him occupied. And the worst of all, there was no phone. No phone to call his wife or his mother to let them know he was alive.

Just when he thought his entire body would go numb from the cold a nurse poked her head in the room past one of the mean-looking bodyguards.

"Mr. Littrell," she said with a smile as she walked into the room with an iv and a clipboard in her arms, "you're awake."

He nodded in response, still leary of any stranger. Still waiting for the next person who entered the room to pull out a gun and finish him off. Or maybe they wouldn't do that... probably not. They would do it somehow... some quiet way that no one would notice. Maybe, perhaps they'd slip something into his iv or not tap the syringe when they gave him a shot. He shook the thoughts from his head. He had to stop thinking that way. He had to have faith.

She must have noticed the concerned look on his face because her own face softened immediately as she took the seat next to his bed and began fiddling with the iv in his arm. "I bet you're worried about your friend."

He nodded again. Worried was an understatement.

"Is he... can you tell me how he's doing." He choked out the words. The first words he'd spoken since arriving in the hospital.

She held out his arm and inserted more saline to flush his iv before standing to start a new drip of medication. "He's here, in the ICU," she replied and watched his face as he waited eagerly for more information, "I'm sorry Mr. Littrell.."

"Call me Brian," he interrupted.

"I'm sorry Brian," she continued as she threw the needles away in the sharps container and removed her gloves with an emphatic 'snap' sound that seemed to echo through the room as time stood still for Brian, "...I can't give you anymore information until his family has been contacted."

Brian heaved a sigh of relief. That was better than what he'd been expecting. What he'd been expecting, since he'd seen Aj lying in a pool of blood that morning, and the words he couldn't get out of his mind... "I'm sorry... he's not going to make it."

And then his thoughts went to Aj's family... to his mother. God forbid she saw the news on tv. At least he would be able to call his wife and tell her he's okay. At least he would be able to hear her voice and she would be able to hear his and then she would know that the news... though about him in so many ways... that it was not him. Not he who'd been gravely injured. Not he who'd died.

But Aj's mom. This whole thing was just so unfair.

As the nurse turned to leave the room Brian found his voice again and spoke louder this time, "Ma'am," he called out and waited as she turned around to face him, "Is there a phone that I can use? I need to let my family know I'm okay. I need to talk to my wife... my little boy."

She nodded. "I'll get you one."

And she left the room and he leaned back in his bed and though he was still so very, very cold and now so tired, he felt warmer inside knowing that soon he would speak to his wife... and his wife could always make things better.