As they walked into the rehab center, Freddie's grip on Nick's hand grew tighter. He looked down at her. "It's not too late to go back to the hotel, sweetheart. Uncle Kevi--"

"I wanna stay," she said.

"Okay."

Nick led the way to AJ's room, knocking on the door. AJ looked better already, still too-thin, but without the bags under his eyes, the shaking hands, the sickly cast to his skin. He knelt down, meeting Freddie at her own level.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Freddie whispered.

"I, um." AJ squeezed his hands between his thighs. "I'm sorry," he said.

"That's okay. You're sick." Freddie hugged him tightly, startling him.

AJ's eyes flew to Nick's face. He hugged her back. "I wasn't very nice to you," he said.

"You're sick," Freddie said again. "My other Daddy, he was sick too. He died, though."

AJ picked her up, carrying her to his bed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Mr. Thompson -- he took care of me before Daddy -- he was sick, I think. But he didn't get any better. I'm glad you're getting better. Daddy would be sad, if you didn't."

"I know," AJ said. He glanced at Nick, smiling softly. "I don't like making your daddy sad."

"Me neither," Freddie said. She noticed the conch shell on AJ's dresser -- at her insistence, Nick had brought it with him the day before. "You got my present."

"I did. Are you sure you don't want to keep it yourself?"

"There's no oceans here," Freddie said.

"No," AJ said.

"Thank you," he said.