A/N: It's 3 A.M. :P Apologies for any little mistakes/typos/suckage I didn't happen to catch!


Tamsin is floating somehow. It's all the lightness of an out-of-body experience, the surrealism of watching herself navigate the hours from above, but she hasn't left her body. The sensation radiates from within the confines of her own mind; she is sure of it. Still, she is sick, or something is wrong. Random waves of nausea grip her and won't let go. It started happening when she killed that girl, that other dark fae, Bruce's master or whoever she used to be—used to be, because now she's gone. She's gone and it's all Tamsin's fault. She never meant for it to…

"Kenzi!" She is breathless and doubled over. "I think I'm going to throw up."

It's been getting worse, the lightheadedness intensifying and her stomach turning more frequently all the time. Every day she's tried to hide it, tried to push it all out of her mind, but it just keeps coming back.

And then… hurried footsteps on the stairs. "Tamsin, what's wrong?" Not Kenzi's voice. Bo's. Tamsin shrinks back into herself. Even though she knows now that Bo doesn't hate her, she still doesn't know how to talk to her. She's borderline afraid of her, if she's being totally honest with herself. She doesn't know why, but she has all of these strange feelings of guilt whenever she's around Bo. Guilt and… something else, something primal. Something that almost feels close to animosity, or jealousy? She can't tell. She just knows it bothers her.

"Where's Kenzi?" she manages to slur. It's getting harder and harder to stand. She slumps against her cot in Kenzi's room, looks around at the rapidly-blurring wooden walls.

"She went to see Hale. Are you all right?" Bo's brow furrows and Tamsin almost smiles. Her eyes are so soft and brown, and there's genuine concern in them. That's nice. She doesn't remember much concern for her well-being from other people in her past life.

"Yeah," she says, "I'll be fi—" And then her ankle rolls underneath her and she slips, hits her back on the metal bed frame and lands on the floor in a twisted heap. "Ow!"

"Okay, buddy, come on; you need to lie down." Bo starts toward her, reaches out to help her up. Tamsin recoils on instinct.

"No! Don't touch me!" She can feel her eyes getting dark. Not now, not now

"Tamsin," Bo says, her voice firm, "let me help you."

"No, don't—"

But Bo grabs her arm. They hit her all at once, full force, like a river exploding from behind a dam. They flood into her mind and overwhelm her senses and rush through her veins and claim her and she screams and screams. Her memories, her memories—all of her memories are there and she can scarcely rescue herself from drowning in them.

Somewhere—somewhere distant—Bo is yelling and shaking her and trying to snap her out of it. She sees it all: the vial, the blade she held up to Bo's neck, kissing her in the woods, sabotaging her bath, her confliction, her betrayal, the soap suds in the floor of her truck, the shattering of glass and beer running down the alley wall. All of her old memories are in her new body, her young, innocent body—but no; she's old? Ancient, even? She doesn't feel old. She feels sick. Killing all of those people, those fae. I almost killed Bo. Dyson was right. I tried to kill Bo.

She's crying and she's scared.

"I'm so sorry," she says, rocking back and forth, "I'm so sorry."

"For what? Tamsin, for what? Come on, talk to me, you have to tell me what's going on." Closer now, she feels Bo's hand gripping her arm, her fingers running through her hair. "Calm down, Lil' T. It's okay. It's all okay."

Little T? Oh, right. That's her now. No, that was her before, and old Tamsin is "now"… oh, it's too confusing. She collapses into Bo without meaning to and starts coming back into herself.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

"No, no, you don't have anything to be sorry for, sweetie!" Bo's voice is almost motherly. Tamsin would be insulted if she were more coherent.

"For everything, for the compound"—a shudder wracks her body, and she sucks in a deep breath—"and the vial, a-and—" Tamsin braces herself against a whole new wave of sobs, and wins out temporarily. Come on, Tamsin, get it together. Valkyries don't cry.

Bo's arms fall, and she frowns.

"I didn't want to," Tamsin says. "I swear, I didn't want to. Maybe at first but then—" She sits back, shaking. Bo stares at her, searches her face with that same confused frown, her arms crossed now.

"Tamsin," she says, a flat new recognition in her voice.

Tamsin nods. She stares away. She can't stand to look Bo in the face. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to look her in the face again after this.

"When did you—?"

"Just now," Tamsin says, a pleading note in her interjection. Perhaps some of her new self has rubbed off on her after all.

"Look," Bo says with a sigh, "you helped me a lot. My mom, too. I forgave you a long time ago, okay?"

"I just… never got to say sorry." Tamsin composes herself, clears her throat and wipes under her eyes.

"Well… thank you." Bo leans awkwardly in as if to—to what? Pat her on the head, shake her hand?—and then thinks better of it and pulls her into an awkward one-armed hug. Tamsin closes her eyes, new memories flooding her this time: "That's what love feels like." She breathes, leans into Bo's shoulder as Bo wraps both of her arms around her back, feels the smoothness where her wings used to be, could be, will be again. Her touches are so warm. They send tranquility rippling through Tamsin's body from each contact point, each fingertip pressed into her shoulders. "Forget about it, okay? You don't have to worry," Bo says as she rises and heads to the stairs.

But forget is the last thing Tamsin would ever want to do. Forget, she cannot; forget, she will never. All she is now is a network of memories, winding streams waiting to be sorted out. She sees Bo's eyes flash blue in her mind. Bo. She has a lot of catching up to do.