It started with coffee. Coffee: one of the simplest of things in Alana's day, and a necessary starting block. Alana slid into her car and was half way to work when she realized that she forgot to put the lid on her thermos. She shakily drew the warm life source to her lips and tried to take a sip.

Red light. She looked up in time to slam on the breaks, effectively spilling the burning coffee onto her blouse. Groaning, she put the thermos into her cup holder and dug around in her glove compartment for napkins, but came up empty. By the time she got to work she was running twenty minutes late, smelled like old coffee and her lavender blouse had a large brown stain down the front. She pushed it from her mind and began running to her class.

The elevator closed when she was two feet away. Glancing with wide eyes at her watch, she began trotting up the stairs. Her heels began stabbing into the back of her ankles and she deliberated stopping to take them off, but she didn't need to; one of the heel's snapped off and she tumbled forward, catching herself before her head hit the stair.

"Shit!" Alana spat. She heard footsteps and dragged herself to a standing position, holding her shoes in hand.

"Are you okay?" She looked up and groaned internally.

"I'm fine," she muttered to Will and brushed past him. He followed her with his cloudy eyes.

By the time she made it to her classroom, all her students were there; it was when she got to her desk that she realized that she had dropped her briefcase the stairs and never retrieved it. With a quick, exhausted sigh, she shed her coat and told her class she'd return shortly. No sooner had she turned the corner did she almost run face first into Will. He held up her briefcase and smiled tightly, almost apologetically, as if he were the reason that she had left it.

"You're a saint," she muttered and took the case from his grip; she brushed his fingers lightly with her palm and Will jumped a bit at the touch.

Alana strode into her classroom and began the lecture on psychosis, almost half an hour late into the period. At the end of her morning classes she used her lunch period to track down a pair of shoes, as she was barefoot from her incident on the staircase. Be as it may, by the time her day ended she was drained, physically and mentally. Her feet ached from wearing a pair of old tennis shoes that were too small, though, she was grateful to one of the nurses who spared her second pair; she was hungry and slowly going through caffeine withdrawal.

Head pounding, she slid behind the wheel of her car and rubbed her temples. This must be how Will feels, she thought bitterly as she pulled out of the driveway. The snow came down heavy, coating her windshield the minute she was out of the garage. She flipped her windshield wipers on full gear and scowled at the large globs of snow that collected in her line of vision. If she were anywhere else, she would watch the snow and smile at its' beauty; but as it was, she was trying to drive through it, which caused nothing but havoc.

Her car started to whine about forty into her journey home. Alana ran her tongue nervously over her bottom teeth and stroked her steering wheel.

"Come on, old girl, you'll be okay," she whispered: she was half way there.

No matter how much she prayed, though, she knew what was happening when her cat shuttered to a stop on the side of the road. With a scream that surprised even her, Alana hollered at her car and slammed her palms against the wheel. The car was dead: no heat, no lights, no anything. To her dismay, her car wasn't the only drained object.

Her phone wouldn't turn on. Dead as a doornail. She cursed the stars and got out of the car, (resisting the urge to kick the tire) and wrapped her arms around her self, trying to be protected from the bitter winds. It took her about twenty minutes to locate a highway, and when she did, there was no one on it. The snow came down like thick, king-sized frozen tears; it didn't surprise her that nobody was out driving.

Finally, forty-five minutes after her car died, she managed to wave over another driver. She watched him lumber out of his truck and swallowed her words.

Alana had never been the type to judge, but this man was a sigh: greasy hair collected in the nape of his neck (or, more accurately, necks) and a beer belly that moved with every stinking step. With a hard swallow, Alana forced a smile.

"You lost, lady?"

"No. No, my car broke down and my phone died. Do you have a cell phone I could use?" Screw a ride home.

The man spit off to the side and pulled out small, dinosaur age cell phone. Careful not to get too close, Alana took the phone and quickly dialed the number. When the ringing stopped she turned a bit away and whispered quietly.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me, Alana."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, Hi." Will coughed and she heard the click clack of dog nails on the other end; she took a strange sense of comfort in the sound.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure?"

"I need you to look up a tow-truck company really fast. My car and phone died and I'm stranded on a back road."

"I don't have a phone book," he mumbled. Alana pushed her palm into her eyes.

"Oh."

"Where are you?"

"Uh," Alana said, leaning over to get a look at the sign. "I'm on Port Road, about a mile in."

"That's about, mm, twenty minutes from my house. I could come and take you home…?"

Alana breathed hot sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it. See you in a few." Will hung up before she could respond and Alana smiled tightly at the trucker.

"Thanks."

"Yep." He waddled away, hopping into his vehicle. Alana didn't bother to watch him leave; instead she hurried back to her car and shut herself inside, trying to stop her haunting shivers. Her teeth chattered erratically, sending painful vibrations into her jawbone.

Knock knock.

Alana jumped, hitting her head on the roof of her car. She looked over and saw Will standing outside, snow collecting in his burnt hazelnut curls. With a smile she swung the door open and got out.

"Thank God," she mumbled. Will smiled tightly and then gave her a once over, shaking his head.

"Did you know its almost negative fifteen degrees outside right now, and you're wearing a fall jacket?" he mused, leading her to his car. Alana slid in, grateful for the heating system, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I wasn't-t planin-n-ning on this hap-peninn-ning," she responded numbly, teeth chattering like a wind up toy. Will shot her a sympathetic look and turned up the heat more before shrugging off his own winter jacket.

"Take yours off. Its damp, it'll just make you colder."

Alana didn't object, and she wrapped the fluffy coat around her. It struck her that she recognized Will's scent; not only that, she found comfort in the deep, musky Will-smell. She buried her face in the sleeve and Will smiled.

"How far is your house?"

She grimaced. "About forty minutes from here."

Will looked through the tiny frame that his windshield made and bit his lip. Neither of them had a doubt about what the other was thinking: the snow was still coming down like there was no tomorrow, and Will's house was only a handful of miles away. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then tried again, searching for the right words.

"Do you remember that one time you said you'd like to cozy up with my dogs?"

Alana laughed, pushing the damp hair from her face. "Yes."

"Er, now would be a good time, maybe? I mean, this weather isn't safe to drive in, and I'm nervous just trying to get here," he said, trailing off.

He felt Alana's hand on his knee and looked up, managed to hold her gaze for a few moments. "Your house is fine, Will."

Will smiled tightly and nodded. They were silent the rest of the way to his house. When they walked through the door, they were greeted by a parade of dogs. Winston immediately came and stuck his nose into Will's palm, nuzzling his cold hand with a content sigh. Alana took a deep breath, thankful to be somewhere warm and safe. She turned to the shy sound of Will's voice.

"You can take my bed," he said, motioning her up the stairs.

"No, I'll take the couch."

"Are you sure?"

"Just as long as I can sleep with a dog," she joked, but Will smiled.

"The dogs sleep wherever, usually. Though," he said, looking down at the gold and brown-specked dog that wagged at his heel, "Winston usually sleeps in my room."

Alana nodded and ran her fingers through the fur of the small mutt who had their head balanced on her lap. "Anyway, I'll give you the tour. Come'n."

She followed Will up his groaning stairs and noticed when he skipped the top one; the action filled her with a sudden warmth, because she realized how well he knew the house and how comfortable he must feel here. When she stepped on it, the stair gave a small squeak and she understood his small leap.

"This is the bathroom, my room, attic staircase… kitchen is right below us," he said, running a finger along the faded woodwork. "If you wanna shower or whatever, towels are in the hallway closet. There are already blankets on the couch, but if you get cold there are more in the closet beside couch. I think there's an extra pillow, too." Will turned to face her and she smiled.

"Thanks a lot, Will. You saved me."

"It's no trouble." He watched Alana run her finger along the waistband of her skirt; such a casual motion that he would see her do countless times a day, but this time something occurred to him. "Do you want a pair of sweat pants or something? To sleep in?"

"That would be great," she breathed. Will nodded and she followed him into his bedroom. She noted his bed, halfheartedly made and a towel sitting on the nightstand. A lamp with a fish swimming on the shade, and it made her smile a little. She looked away when Will held out a pair of worn gray sweats and an old college tee. Grateful, she took them and smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Will ran his fingers through his hair and stretched. Alana saw his shirt come up and looked away from the spot of skin that showed over his belt, blushing slightly. "I'm gonna get some sleep. There's a TV and book, and food in the kitchen if you get hungry. Make yourself at home, as they say," Will said, scratching at a space between his shoulders.

"Thanks. Sweet dreams," she said, walking from the room.

"G'night." Alana heard him call from the room, and she heard the light thump of a shirt hitting the ground. She padded softly down his stairs and settled herself on the couch, comforted by the timid whines of the dogs.