A/N: Alright, so this is something I started on a complete whim in an attempt to work off my writer's block. I plan to upload a new chapter every Friday to force myself to work- but we all know that's probably not going to happen. Anyway: this follows the plotline of the new continuity and will cover both films, with some non-canon twists that you will probably see coming because I haven't thought this through extensively. It's kind of a relief, actually, not to have planned in excessive detail for once.

Anyway- enjoy.

24/12/2016: Ignore everything you just read. This started out as a pet project and sort of- exploded. Also regular Friday updates are laughable, but in my defence, some of these chapters climb up to 9,000 words. In any case, please do enjoy. That was one of the few things my past self did right.

R-A-D-I-O-A-C-T-I-V-E

Act I

something beautiful and tragic in the fallout

I
Bright as Night

April 16, 2256 – San Francisco; California, Earth

It began innocently enough. Or, at least, as innocently as was possible when James Tiberius Kirk was factored into the equation.

The obscure subterranean bar known as Black Glass was neither one of his preferred dives- artfully weathered, thrumming with an ancient rock and roll soundtrack, as rich in flavour and authentic as the whiskey they served- nor among the countless sleek nightclubs of the inner city that subsisted on gaudily-hued cocktails, neon lights and pounding techno music. The place instead fell somewhere in between; smooth and innocuous with a hint of grit, like an updated version of a basement club from old film noir, the haze of cigarette smoke polished out. The remnants of its reputation as a historic former crime den was blended somewhat incongruously with tasteful fixtures and a classic décor of dark walnut wood, black wrought iron, dark tinted glass and shades of vanilla and sable, amber and citrus that set its interior glowing as though it was lit with embers. Attracting a decent trade at peak hours- enough to keep its finances solidly in the black, and sink any newcomer into comfortable anonymity- the ambiance was pleasantly bluesy, and the liquor sourced the old-fashioned way but relatively inexpensive.

Which, tonight, suited Kirk just fine.

The cadet was unconcerned with the finer details of how he had found that particular, unfamiliar bar- his focus was on drowning out all coherent thought, a personal mission in which he was currently succeeding. The space in his chest had been thoroughly numbed, mind quieted, a hollow heat beginning to spread through his veins, concealing and subduing the tangle of rage and confusion and regret twisting inside him. Kirk's tolerance level might have been far above that of his peers, but with the sheer volume of alcohol in his system it was a biochemical miracle that he could still see straight.

It was an even greater miracle that he managed to dodge the punch thrown at him when he turned from the bar to answer the tap on his shoulder. Starfleet Academy combat training and the muscle-memory of dozens of fist fights reacted in the millisecond that he registered a set of knuckles aimed at his jaw, and the brawl exploded in a concerto of shattering glass and pained grunts.

Though he would barely remember the fact by morning, the fight was- for once- not Kirk's fault. Its instigator had been harassing one of the bartenders earlier, and Kirk couldn't ignore it. He was a shameless flirt, true, but he operated on strict rules of etiquette: when somebody clearly told you no, you respected that- and anyone that didn't abide by that simple social grace deserved to be taught better manners. Even as intoxicated as he was, Jim took great pleasure in almost casually pinioning the creep's arm behind his back until a member of staff arrived to eject him, leaving Kirk to bask in the gratitude of the bartender and the free drink they offered. He might have even talked them into bed, pretty and pliable as they were, and offering up an invitation so obvious that it may as well have been in writing, but Kirk had stepped away with a cordial smile and allowed them to return to work.

Less than thirty minutes later, the aforementioned creep returned with a matching set of four in tow, salivating for a fight.

Kirk, on his part, was only too happy to give it to them.

He dodged a swing, delivering a vicious kick to his assailant's sternum in return, ducking another punch from behind. Kirk grabbed the offending wrist and flipped the body attached to it over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground with enough force that the glassware on the nearby tables shuddered.

It was then, as he was about to turn back into the fray, that a burst of pain exploded across his back, the force knocking him off his feet. Kirk let out a groan, his head spinning- someone had hit him from behind with a chair, or something that felt a lot like it- and he pushed himself up on his knees and palms unsteadily, vaguely aware that the floor was covered in shards of broken glass and that his leather jacket had not entirely protected him. He also noted on his periphery that someone was about to kick him in the ribs.

Oh, he thought distantly, that sucks.

Then Kirk heard a yelp of pain that wasn't his own, and forced himself to look up.

The figure he saw moved faster than he could comprehend. Svelte, silken, jet-black, as though made of pure shadow, in a few fluid, vehement motions they disabled Kirk's remaining opponents with almost frightening, effortless efficiency. Kirk struggled to his find his feet, speechless, his mind moving slowly as he watched the hazy figure calmly step over a prone body and approach the bar. They unfolded a small sheaf of large bills onto the countertop- he thought he heard them flippantly say something about it being for the damages- and he started in surprise as they turned on him abruptly, grabbed the collar of his jacket, and unceremoniously steered him out of the back entrance.

It was only when he was dragged out into the alleyway behind the bar, cold Californian night air sweeping across him, the slam of a metal door closing at his back, that he overcame his initial shock. Wrenching away from the figure, Jim brushed chips of glass and a rapidly congealing residue of beer from his sleeves irritably.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded, inexplicably annoyed.

"James Tiberius Kirk?"

The voice was cut-glass, English-accented, cool and sharp as steel- and unmistakably feminine. Kirk blinked, shrugging his jacket straight over his shoulders, and looked at the stranger properly for the first time.

The figure was, in fact, a young woman- overtly human, perfect as a clear night sky, beautiful in an elegantly angular way. Long dark tresses were bound up in a sleek French braid, swept away from her face, a few rogue strands escaping around her high cheekbones and ears; her eyes were as sharp as her voice, almond-shaped with irises a breathtaking shade of winter blue, the ink-flick of her lashes accented by an outline of ebony kohl. She was dressed entirely in black- high-necked leather jacket, skinny jeans, stiletto-heeled boots that reached her knees. Her physique and stature belied the ease with which she had demolished his assailants, having walked away without a single mark, her breathing not even slightly laboured in the aftermath.

Jim realised, when she arched an expectant eyebrow at him, that he was staring, unashamedly. He blamed that last drink.

"Who wants to know?" He asked churlishly.

"It is you," she responded tonelessly. "And to think that he was so worried that I wouldn't find you in time. You don't look too terrible, all things considered; he ought to have had more faith."

"He?" Kirk scoffed, his head beginning to ache. "I- look, okay, not that I'm not grateful for, you know, that-" He waved an arm at the emergency exit, almost breaking his wrist against the wall with the sheer carelessness of the gesture, "which, by the way, I would have got out of just fine without you- just saying- but I have no idea what's going on here. Who the hell are you?"

The young woman- she was more of a girl, now that Kirk was looking at her properly; no older than twenty, if he had to hazard a guess, but certainly younger than him- observed him shrewdly, a spark of something oddly akin to curiosity behind her eyes.

"You could call me the friend of a friend, I suppose," she said eventually. "I've been sent to perform damage limitation on their behalf. Apparently, there was little point trying to stop you from attempting to induce alcohol poisoning, but let it never be said that I will refuse a challenge. Essentially, I am here to prevent you from causing irreparable destruction to yourself, your future career, public property, and the planet as a whole. So: suit up, cadet. I'm dragging you back to the academy whether you like it or not."

Kirk snorted. His not-so long lost sense of offhand arrogance was flowing back, resurrected in the wake of his current lack of concern for anything in particular. "Right, okay. Listen- this has been nice and all, don't get me wrong- but go tell your friend that I don't need their help, okay? I'm just fine. I'm going to leave now," Kirk continued. "Later. See you around. Again, great to meet you."

Before he could take so much a single sauntering step away, Kirk found his arm held in a firm grip.

Piercing blue eyes stared up into him.

"I could just knock you out," she stated coolly, and Kirk glanced down at her fingers, pale and lunar and unyielding against the leather of his sleeve. "None of your aptitude test results or combat grades will help you against me- as remarkable as they are, I will admit."

That comment, for some reason, gave him pause. "Wait. Hey, you know about- that? About me?"

"Naturally." Her tone was dissonantly casual, as though they were discussing the matter over coffee in a solar-lit barista bar, rather than in a dank alley after a bar fight. "Kirk, James Tiberius; twenty three as of next month, command specialism, widely regarded as the resident egotistical bastard of his class at Starfleet Academy- although, once you glance at his credentials, has actually somewhat earned the right to be. Walked into enrolment last summer from a shuttle out of Storm Lake, Iowa, passed the entrance exam and interview on a surplus of raw charm and intellect, skipped an entire academic year without so much as trying, and is currently counted amongst the top four percent of his course, acing every examination and simulation he is put through, from administration procedure to technicalities of operations, general maintenance to tactical thinking." Her head quirked to one side, the traces of a smile playing at her mouth. "You would be so much more impressive if you showed a little humility once in a while, you know."

Jim found himself grinning. "Humility's boring."

The subtle shadow at her mouth deepened, just slightly, into Mona Lisa proportions. She closed her eyes and gave a measured sigh.

"Alright. I can ask nicely, if that's what it will take. Please. Come back to the campus, if only to let me sterilise those cuts- otherwise they will probably be septic by morning. Besides, you and I both know that you are going to struggle to find another drink this late."

"I could give it a shot," Kirk said blithely.

The smile became sardonic. "No you couldn't."

Kirk opened his mouth to deliver a witty retort- and found that his façade had cracked. His self-assured smile faded as he realised, painfully, that she was probably right: all that he would do, even if he did somehow escape the hyper-competent stranger in front of him, was aimlessly wander the empty streets of San Francisco, slowly sobering, his heart increasingly heavy as dawn sketched the first seams of light into the horizon. Moreover, with that pitiful mental image firmly ingrained in his mind, he suddenly didn't want to say no.

Jim closed his mouth, and sighed.

"You got a ride?"

She turned on her heel, her hair gleaming like strands of spun onyx. "Follow me."

Kirk did as she asked, keeping his path steady and straight by tracking the natural sway of her hips, watching the tail of her braid brushing at her back. She led them though winding back-alleys, skirting around concrete corners and past miscellaneous shadows, until she finally came to a halt at a black chrome bike- sleek, streamlined and darkly gleaming- not unlike its owner. Kirk loosed a whistle, low and impressed, as she pulled the ignition card from her pocket. He had grown tired of the allure of material things, but he could still appreciate a beautiful piece of machinery and craftsmanship when he saw it, and this model looked to be in perfect condition.

"Ah, sweet."

She opened the compartment in the back and tossed him a spare helmet, her own swinging from her other hand by its straps. He caught it, barely, fumbling as he summoned up the last vestiges of his usual dexterity to snag the rim.

"Put that on. I'm not going to let you get a concussion if you fall off. And hurry up." She gestured to her boots, and the absurdly thin three-inch heel. "These shoes hurt."

Kirk grinned. "Heels not your thing?" He teased, pulling the sphere of moulded metal over his head and snapping it into place.

The girl in black looked unimpressed, locking down his visor for him; Kirk's sight was suddenly tinted with intense dark indigo, before the screen automatically adjusted to the low light.

"Stilettoes aren't my thing. Too flimsy to walk on; not nearly enough surface area. Get on."

Kirk straddled the bike behind her, placing his hands at her waist, the taut leather of her jacket hinting at the supple body underneath. She was quite petite, Kirk realised with delight, willowy and strong.

"Hold on. And keep your hands there if you value your limbs intact."

Kirk barely had time to grin to himself before she kicked off the ground. The spokeless bike hummed, the digital control panel between the handlebars glowing, and purred to life, before shooting off at a startling, spectacular speed. His grip instinctively tightened around her, pressing to her back, but she made no complaint, verbally or otherwise.

San Francisco and its waning night life rushed past them in a smear of bright light and flickers of mangled sound, the cold air forming a strong slipstream around them, the girl guiding the bike in smooth curves around the streets and other vehicles in their way with practiced ease. Revelling in the feeling of travelling, boundless, at such high velocity after so long, Kirk relaxed and tipped his head back to look up at the sky and dome of stars. Light-filtration shields surrounding Starfleet Academy cancelled out most of the ambient city light, the gift of an unimpeded view of the stars to the cadets working towards serving amongst them; dulled and blunted with alcohol, he couldn't trace out the ancient constellations, or identify which of the distant light sources were solar objects and which were planets. He could see the faint band of milk-white translucent light that had given the galaxy its name, the one for whom the very word galaxy in Standard Federation English had been coined so very long ago.

His heart seemed to simultaneously implode and soar.

"We're here."

Kirk levelled his gaze.

They were coasting towards one of the outer walls of the academy campus, towards one of its more isolated entry checkpoints- a security measure that was more of a mild precaution, thanks to the planet's overall safety being higher than most, especially in the very heart of what was often called the Federation's city. She drew up short of their destination, pulling the hoverbike up against the kerb underneath the thick shadow of a row of indigenous trees, and switched off the ignition. The silence seemed to seethe, crisp and clean and full of the scent of spring.

Kirk climbed off the bike as she stowed their helmets in the back, discovering as he tried to stand that he must have drank more than he thought- he had lost track, eventually. The girl caught him before he could stumble and smash head-first against the pavement, slinging his arm around her shoulders.

"I, uh, thanks," he muttered, still sober enough to be abashed, as they began walking.

"Don't mention it," she replied, with only the slightest smudge of sarcasm colouring the words.

They somehow managed to make it to the checkpoint without injury, the translucent energy shield refracting light in a shimmering web against the pale grey stone walkways and sculpted segments of grass interspersed between. Lifting Kirk's identification card from his back pocket, the girl in black swiped it through the scanner, triggering a panel to unfurl with a smooth snap, the fingerprint pad to sliding up. Apparently not trusting Kirk's hand-eye coordination at present any more than he did, she took his right hand in her own and pressed his palm against the surface, waiting until it beeped obediently. The designated section of the shields dropped with a hum.

"Isn't there usually a guard on duty around here?" Kirk mused aloud, glancing at the compartment installed into the column tower beside the deactivated gate, noting vaguely that it was unattended.

"Usually, yes." The girl steadied Kirk on his feet and, once assured that he wouldn't drop the minute she released him, turned towards the station. Uncomprehending, he watched as she calmly picked the lock on the door and reached over, editing something into the gently glowing screen inside.

"Uh- what are you-?"

"Cleaning."

She pulled away and snapped the door shut. Before he could ask anything further, she was hauling his arm over her shoulder again and they were walking again.

The grounds were quiet. Most of the cadets were diurnal, as were the teachers and lecturers; those that were awake, burning the midnight oil and either sprinting towards a thesis deadline or else just trying to grasp something unclear from an earlier class, were inside and oblivious to the unusual pair trekking across the smooth lawns. Still, the girl in black chose to take a more secluded route, dousing them both in shadow and the safety of obscurity.

They reached the Apollo Building- each accommodations block at the academy having received their name from an ancient celestial Terran deity- and took the circular glass elevator up, the door gliding open at the eighth floor. Kirk gestured towards his room and found himself swiftly nudged through the threshold.

"Lights," the girl commanded the systems built into the suite, "sixty percent." The room was instantly illuminated, enough to see with clarity but not enough to worsen Kirk's growing headache- something for which he was profoundly grateful. "Hm. Roommate not in?"

"Nah," Jim sank down onto his bed behind the partition, running his fingers through his hair as she checked the adjoining bathroom nonetheless. Satisfied, she returned. "Bones had some kind of medical- retreat- thing. I have no idea. But he's gone for the week, so we-"

"Do not say what I know you're thinking, because then I will be forced to punch you."

Kirk laughed. "You know something? I think I really like you."

The girl looked both flattered and somewhat surprised by his admission, unpacking several silvery medical instruments from a black messenger bag that she had retrieved from the back of her bike while replacing their helmets. "I, ah- thank you. I suppose. Um- jacket off, please. I need to check you out."

Kirk refrained from making the obvious joke, settling for a lazy grin as he stripped off his jacket and leaned back on his elbows, knees wide, to which she replied with a silent, exquisitely sarcastic arch of an eyebrow. Standing above him, she tugged his collar to get him to suit up straight and raised a slim handheld bio-scanner, detached from a medical tricorder, running the device over the air surrounding his head; Jim followed her shadow out of the corner of his eye as the instrument confirmed that there was no concussion or serious damage. His vitals were relatively steady, she informed him clinically, so they could avoid an uncomfortable trip to the medical bay. The girl then set to work on cleaning and sealing the many superficial cuts he had sustained in the chaos, tweezing splinters of glass from the lacerations on his knuckles. She was gentle, Kirk noticed, watching her- meticulous, deft. When he winced, a piece of glass that she was removing snagging on living skin, she was immediately more careful, her touches lighter on his calloused hands.

She almost reminded him of something wild, half-tame, unreal- like a young panther that could shed her pelt at night to take on human form, or an ageless fae thing made of crystallised shadow and moonlight with breath like ice, or some equally impossible folkloric creature that he had once heard of from an ancient fairy tale or shred of mythology.

And, wow, was he drunk.

Finally, as she was daubing a clear gloss over his cuts- something to speed healing and keep out infection, she had said, though Kirk hadn't been listening very closely- she spoke.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Huh?" Jim had been busy examining the delicious curve of her neck and collarbone, exposed by her unzipped jacket as she leaned forwards. "About what?"

"Whatever it was that made you want to induce liver failure."

Kirk tensed.

"No."

"Okay."

She didn't push the issue further. Instead, she simply bandaged up his hands with a strip of clean medical gauze each, and ordered him to remove his shirt so she could check where one of his attackers had hit him from behind- it had been a chair, apparently, a predictably underhanded bar fight move. The girl in black sounded almost disappointed- or disgusted- by the lack of creativity. She confirmed that there was a bruise forming in a vicious red streak along the back of his shoulders, reaching down into deep tissue, though nothing that couldn't be drawn out and set healing at an advanced rate with a salve.

Her fingertips smoothed over tracts of muscle, tracing out the shape for him. Kirk closed his eyes at the simple contact, a series of shivers running through his flesh.

"It was my mother," he found himself blurting out as she applied a scoop of waxy, frozen balm to the bruise. "She- I found out that she died today."

All movement behind him froze.

"Oh." A hand rested against his shoulder, steady and cool as moulded steel. "I'm sorry."

Jim shook his head in reply. "No, it's- no. I don't- you don't have to- I mean, we weren't exactly close or anything. Ever, as in at all. I mean, she was always off-planet and my stepfather was a prick and after my brother left- I mean, what was I supposed to do? I tried, I guess, after I enrolled, but she didn't- I- she never- I don't know." He was already rambling by this point, the words spilling out without thought or consent, but the girl dressed in black didn't seem to mind all that much. She quietly continued to work, smearing the salve across his back. It seeped into his skin instantly, the formula setting a cool sensation needling in his flesh wherever it touched. "I never understood why she married him, you know, my stepfather. My brother always said she had no idea what he was like when she was away, or maybe she wanted someone for us when she was off-planet, but I never really understood why she would have wanted to replace him, I know she didn't really love him- my stepfather, I mean, not my dad. Of course she loved my dad. Like, serious love. Everyone said so. Frank was just- there. Filling empty space. I get it, I do, wanting to move on, but- why would you want to replace someone you loved that much? Can you even do that? I just- I think- you know what, actually, I don't understand why she would choose him, and I tried to tell her, but she never listened to me and all I wanted was for her to just- argh."

The frustration overwhelmed him, rendering him silent.

There was a moment of stillness. The girl said nothing- listening, Jim realised belatedly, and with some surprise. She had been patiently listening to his grieving, alcohol-induced, half-coherent ramblings as though they mattered. The shock of the idea was enough to spur him on, unthinking.

"I really loved her, you know. Really. I did. I just- I was just so angry with her. After my brother got out of that place I just couldn't take it anymore. When I left it was just- good riddance. Seriously, what the hell? She didn't even care. I wasn't exactly perfect either, I get that but- I said some things I didn't mean sometimes. More than sometimes. The last time I tried to reach her was months back." He swallowed. "When I told her about Starfleet. She didn't call back."

Her fingers moved over his shoulder blades, soothingly.

"Whatever else may have passed between you, I would be willing to bet that she was proud of you." Her tone was flawlessly neutral, and yet then again, not quite. "Parents tend to be."

"I think she was- maybe- in the end. I-I hope so," Kirk choked out, realising that his vision was blurring. He blinked rapidly. "I- hey, sorry, I-"

"What are you apologising for?" The girl had finished applying the salve, her slicked palm coming to rest against his spine, directly behind his heart. "She was your mother. No matter what might have passed between you, no matter what your relationship was, it's perfectly reasonable for you to feel upset, or conflicted, or not know how to feel, so long as you don't do something destructive in an attempt to drown it out."

"What, like," Kirk laughed, a single tear spilling over his lashes and dripping onto his bare arm, "going out drinking and needing a complete stranger drag me back to my room before I do something stupid?"

"Oh, by all means, drink yourself into oblivion if it will make you feel better. I won't stop you," the girl said indifferently, sliding off the bed and walking around to face him. Her fingers found his chin, gently tilting his head to back meet her eyes- still arctic in colour, yet seeming to thaw slightly as he met her gaze, as though under the high summer sun. "But somehow, I don't think it will."

She swiped away his tears.

"Emotions are not meant to be ignored. Stop shutting them out, James, before they rot you from the inside."

He cracked a faint smile. "Jim."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Jim." His smile widened, despite his eyes still gleaming with unshed tears; confusion, when painted over the aloof beauty of her, looked downright adorable. "Most people call me Jim."

Her response, and her smile, were both unexpected and warm. "Oh. Is it alright if I choose not to count as most people?"

This time, his laugh was genuine. "Well, I've known you for about half an hour, and I sure don't. Why not?"

"Excellent," she said, her smile becoming wry as she knelt in front him. "Now hold still, James. I need to fix your pretty face."

"Oh. You think I'm pretty?"

"I know you are. And unfortunately, so do you. Now hold still."

He obeyed with a grin, closing his eyes as she set to work once again. Her left hand was at the nape of his neck, nails scraping lightly over his skin and sending a cascade of sparks through his nerves, the other efficiently daubing medical sealant onto the cuts on his cheek, his jaw, his lower lip, the bridge of his nose. Kirk relaxed under her hands, the tension in his shoulders unravelling. The girl kneeling before him had witnessed his most vulnerable self, the secrets of his past unwrapped, and- even knowing of his infamous reputation- allowed him out spill out his heart and mind in an incoherent storm before promptly stitching himself into his usual blasé confidence and flirtation. She hadn't even flinched.

Vaguely, Jim wondered whether he had just fallen a little bit in love, or whether that was just the whiskey talking.

When she was done, Jim opened her eyes and saw a small, serene smile cross her mouth, like clouds unfurling from across a bright crescent sliver the moon. "Finished. Alright, cowboy," she said, tugging off his boots and lining them up beside his bed. "Jeans off, too. You will need to get some rest, now, before the hangover starts to set in. If you are lucky, you should sleep through the worst of it."

"And if I'm not tired? I mean, I'm sure you could find a good way to wear me out, and you are the one who suggested I take off my-"

"Hypospray."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me, Kirk. I dare you."

"Ooh, Kirk? What happened to James? I liked James."

"Bed. Now. Before I become tempted to tranquillise you and leave you drooling into the carpet."

Kirk chuckled, amused for no other tangible reason besides general intoxication, as she yanked the bedsheets from underneath him in a single movement. She tossed the covers back over his almost-bare form, throwing his folded jeans over the back of a chair.

"I never asked your name," he slurred, slumping back against his pillows.

She glanced at him, straightening the bedspread and packing up the medical kit.

"No you did not."

"Well?"

The girl in black zipped up her bag and knelt next to the bedframe, her gaze level with his, forearms braced on the edge of the mattress. She was close- close enough that he would barely have to lift his hand to thumb a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"Well, what?"

Jim gazed into her solemnly, entirely serious and sobering slightly. "A name. Any name. I might forget your face in the morning, but I never forget a name. Doesn't even have to be real."

The girl hesitated, softening.

And then stabbed him in the neck.

"Ouch!"

She removed the needle of the hypospray from his flesh, dropping the case into a side-pocket in her bag and holding back laughter at his betrayed, increasingly drowsy glare. However, just as he though she was about to disappear forever, she leaned forwards, mouth against his ear.

"Raven," she breathed. The corners of Kirk's vision were becoming laced with black, tendrils pulling him into sleep. "You can call me Raven, if you must."

"Raven…" He echoed in a murmur, eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to remain conscious. "Beautiful."

The girl in black smiled and, on pure impulse, leaned forwards to press her lips against his cheek.

When she rose to her feet, Jim Kirk was already dead to the world.

The next morning, when Kirk awoke with a pounding headache, an aversion to all forms of light and a mouth filled with the taste of stale alcohol and copper- mercifully, someone had left an unopened bottle of water on his bedside cabinet, and he kept painkillers in the drawer below- he remembered nothing of the previous night, exactly as predicted.

Nothing except a pair of eyes the breathtaking colour of blue ice, and a name.