Something was buzzing. I was still trapped in that layer of reality between dreaming and waking, and couldn't quite figure out what was happening. A primal part of my brain screamed alarm, so I flopped my hand around on the nightstand, trying to find one. My fingers closed around a phone. With a grunt, I sat up and squinted to read the screen: 7:00 A.M.. The sound had been Jazza texting me.

You okay, Ror?

Then, a moment later:

It's Jazza. I was told that I could text once a day.

Could you try for two times? I miss you. XOXO

I smiled, then frowned. Why hadn't I known about this? Had Thorpe spoken to her without me? I felt stupid. Of course he did. Typing a quick "miss you too," I gently threw the phone somewhere and climbed out of bed. I was still in yesterday's clothes, and my hair was having a wild free-for-all. It would probably be best for everyone if I took a shower.

As I pulled clothes out of the closet, I was careful not to wake Freddie. We now shared a room. The twins were unleashed on London only a week ago, but the entire squad had since moved to a new flat and started what Stephen loved to call a "full-scale investigation." Freddie had practically peed herself with excitement. She had (unsurprisingly) proved important to the case thus far, and I couldn't help but admire her ability to sleep three hours a night and be okay. Was she okay? She consumes twice as much coffee as I usually do, so there's that.

I walked into the bathroom next door. It was small, something that tended to happen when you rented a three bedroom apartment in London. The lights were off, and when I turned them on, the center bulb flickered like a cheap Christmas light. Everything was black and gray and white. As I stepped into the shower, I half expected someone to leap out with a knife and stab me, like in Psycho. All of my weird dreams had put me on edge, and I couldn't help but see dead, twisted bodies everywhere. It was this moment that I chose to channel Cousin Diane, pushing out the bad vibes, and only letting the positive energy in.

I climbed out after a few minutes and dressed, patting my head down with a towel. As it turned out, no one stabbed me. My hair didn't really smell like cat food anymore either, but I considered dying it back to brown. The weird crunchy texture was just something else to live with.

The hall was dark and quiet as I headed into the living room. I almost didn't see Stephen sitting on the couch; his white tee blended almost perfectly into the fabric. But there he was, all messy hair and black sweatpants and empty coffee cups. Rain pattered gently on the windows. It was a peaceful picture, and the light from his laptop added to the quiet grayness of the room. Realizing that I had been standing there a little too long, I made my way into kitchen.

There were multiple more empty cups on the counter, and even some on the little breakfast table. He must have stayed up all night. Papers were littered everywhere as well; on the table, counter, floor, and hastily tacked to the wall. I honest to god had no idea how he managed this. We didn't even have a printer. Many of the sheets were handwritten, though, and I picked one up off the counter. His handwriting was short but neat, which I actually wasn't too surprised about. (I could also see him writing in long, overdone cursive, like the men with wigs did in the Pirates of The Caribbean movies. But that was probably just me. )

Getting too lost in my head, I made a weird hum-sigh noise. Stephen looked up and into the kitchen. I cleared my throat, and waved the paper.

"You wrote all of this? Last night?"

He blinked at me slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "Freddie was up with me until a few hours ago, but I told her to get some rest."

I felt a pang of unwanted jealousy in my gut. Really? Now was not the time to be petty. We still had a big search to conduct, things to do, and papers to read. Stephen had been up all night looking for something that could point us to the twins. By the quantity of notes he took, I felt like it was safe to assume that he had gotten somewhere.

He rested his forehead on his palm and watched me with little enthusiasm. I felt my assumption deflate a little.

"It's useless⎯ the notes. All of it." He closed his laptop. "I would see something that would seem relevant, and when I dug deeper, it would turn up nothing. I don't know where to look next."

This was a big deal. It was also bad. Stephen didn't ever admit that he was stuck. I had to be the one to help him fix this, to figure out whatever that needed to be figured out. I could start by sitting on the couch. Doing so, I moved his laptop, and pushed papers aside.

"Alright. Is there anything I can help with?"

"I..." He rubbed his forehead.

"Anything? I haven't been doing much, and it's killing me."

"Yes... There's something you can do," he said, picking up the papers that I had pushed aside. They were glossy, and printed.

"Where did you get those?"

He sorted them into a stack, stood, and picked up the mugs scattered on the coffee table. I didn't know why he couldn't have just refilled the same cup.

"The papers on the table?" He called from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

I heard the clang of cups being set into the sink.

"A book."

"Wait⎯ you ripped these papers out of a book?"

"Yes. I know it's barbaric, but we haven't a printer." He plopped back down next to me, running a hand through his hair.

I laughed at the formality of his tone, though it really wasn't that funny. Things were rough if Stephen was destroying books. It seemed like we'd just have to dig a bit deeper for this case, though I wasn't quite sure how to do that once you ran out of ideas. It seemed almost as if a week of official investigating was a long time for Stephen. After all, we identified and caught the Ripper copycat in a single night. With Freddie on hand, we should've had an even easier time sniffing out clues. That was not the case. The whole squad had done an excessive amount of research, and to be honest, our mental resources were running quite low. We practically ravaged the late Clover's magical bookstore, went to every tarot reader we could find (which was a lot), and visited any ghost that we thought could help (which was none). There was only so much information available on Greek pagan ceremonies, and I was pretty sure we had found every relevant thing there was to find. It's just that none of it made sense.

I looked at the mess of timelines and notes that Stephen had written. He worked too hard. It wasn't unusual, of course, for him to take majority of the work, but it really wasn't healthy. Especially on such a "high-profile" case. Again, Stephen's words. I don't even think he was using that phrase correctly.

I tried to focus on more productive things. Things that would help: The Mysteries. Grapes. Greek people. Hercules. That decent Disney Hercules movie. It took a moment, but I realized that I knew nothing valuable. I thought some more, sipping my tea, but still couldn't beat my thoughts into a useful shape. Stephen was watching me. I don't know if he even realized it, but I sure did. I thought a little harder. The sound of footsteps snapped me out of my thinking session, and Callum appeared in the hall entry.

"Morning," he said. "Boo or Freddie up?"

Stephen turned away from me, and it was only then that I realized our knees had been touching.

"No. Just us."

Callum made a noise in the back of his throat. He frowned too, taking in the scene of the kitchen.

"Mate," he stepped forward. "What happened?"

"Notes. A shitton of them. They're all useless." Stephen seemed irked to be asked this again. Callum walked to the kitchen counter, and slowly sifted through the piles. I could actually see a bit of granite peek out from underneath.

"And how long did this take?"

"All night."

"All night? Freddie won't be too happy that she missed out."

I stood up, setting my tea on the table. It was cold now anyways.

"So, what do we do next?"

Callum looked to me. "I'm going to work," he said, turning to our overcrowded coat rack. I watched him grab a jacket and stick his muscled arms through the sleeves. Stephen nodded from beside me, adjusting his glasses.

"Keep your eyes open for any unusual activity," he said. Ring me if anything appears out of the ordinary." He watched Callum with a weird expression. I flopped him on the arm once with my oversized sweater sleeve, and then again when he didn't look at me. It took four flops for him to glance back at me.

"And what are we going to do?"

"We," he said standing, "are going to read. We've only gotten through a fourth of the books we've collected."

This was true. I glanced at the large pile of books lying by the windows. They all seemed to smile at me, like evil little word boxes. Reading them should be easier with the help of Boo and Freddie, but I wasn't sure if Freddie was due to wake up in the next fourteen hours. Granny Deveaux's third husband Phil actually used to do something similar. He was a self proclaimed "nocturnalist," sleeping by day and channel surfing by night. That may have been the reason why there was a husband number four. I mean, I can't blame Gran, there's only so many adult-sized Batman onesies that a woman can put up with. Before I came here, one of my biggest (and stupidest) fears was actually ending up with someone who wore adult onesies. I was almost glad to have something else to think about now.

When Callum left, it was just us and the empty gathering room. I could tell that Stephen hated being out of action. Thorpe had put him on house arrest on the grounds of "bed-rest," but that didn't make Stephen any less aggravated. If you asked me, he probably needed the down time. I'd only been in it for a month or so, but life on the force was exhausting.

Stephen yawned. I jumped on this.

"Go," I said. "Get some sleep. Take a nap. Rest ya' bones. Whatever wipes that dead look off of your face."

He shook his head.

"I have to tell⎯"

"I'll tell the others what you found. Which is nothing. Please just go, Stephen."

He stood, and glanced between the mess that was the living room and the disaster that was the kitchen. A sleepy Stephen was a snappy Stephen, and that was just about the last thing I needed right now. Plus, it's not like we'd find anything in the next hour anyways. He seemed to realize this, and turned towards the hall. I looked down at the papers again as he left.

There was a thump and then⎯

"Ow."

Boo stood in the doorway, clutching her head. From the way Stephen was rubbing his chin, it seemed like they had collided.

"Well someone's in a hurry," she said, gently shoving her way through the door frame. Stephen said nothing. He didn't even glance back before completely leaving the room. Boo gave me a look as if to say: "what happened?" But I had no idea. Stephen was probably tired. Or grumpy. Grumpier than usual, at least.

Boo shrugged it off. Her legs were covered in a weird pattern that I realized was snake skin— or yoga pants made to look that way. Probably the newest fashion. Or something "kinda wacky but kinda chill" that she found in a seven year old Macy's catalog. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Boo.

She turned to survey the mess, whistling at the junk.

"Stephen?" She asked. I nodded.

"Stephen."

Boo nudged the book stack with her foot.

"I guess we should work on these?"

She reached for a dusty volume, one that struck me more as 'estate sale' than 'magical book.' She thumbed through it. I could practically see her agitation grow.

"Bloody– I don't even know half of these words."

"What words?" I asked, pulling myself off of the couch.

"Like, this one: chthonic. Am I even saying that right?"

I made my mouth into a bubble and slowly exhaled.

"I don't know. I guess this is what we use Google for…"

Boo snapped the book shut and dropped it onto the coffee table.

"You know what? We're going to go out, get some food, come back, and then work, yeah? I can't read all of this without food."

There was an deep, audible "noo" from down the hallway, and the sound of a door closing. I snickered.

"I have to agree with Stephen on this one," I said. "Reading these suck, but it's best to just rip the band-aid off."

Boo twirled her hair around her finger. "Fine," she sighed. "But I call the ramen."

There was another loud noise from the hall as Boo went into the kitchen. I was kind a bit concerned now. Deciding to be helpful, I went to investigate the noise. Stephen's door was closed but unlocked, so I opened it, suppressing the hope that he was shirtless.

He was, sadly, fully clothed. And kneeling in middle of the room, papers everywhere, as if Benouville's singular Office Depot had decided to blow itself up in our apartment. I frowned, and walked up behind him.

"When did this happen? I was in here just last night and it was a lot less… this," I said, gesturing.

"That's because this just happened," He said, glancing up at me for a moment, and returned to sifting through the paper. I pushed some sheets aside and made a little seat for myself on the floor. This room was smaller than the one he had in the old flat, but had dark matching furniture and larger windows. Ikea would love it as much as Stephen loved maps, which was a lot.

I watched him stand, and make a small frustrated noise as if realizing something. He paced over to his bed by the window, pulled a box out from underneath, and dumped its contents onto the bed sheets.

"You're looking for something," I said.

"Yes."

He stopped rummaging and turned back toward me.

"Have you seen photos of our three original termini lying around?"

I blinked. "Photos? I don't think so." I twirled a sheet of paper with my finger.

"Am I allowed to ask?"

"Well," he said, fishing something out of his pocket, "I was heading to my room a minute ago and I realized something." He squatted in front of me.

"You realized something about the termini?"

"Yes. Look," he said, reaching for my hand. I swallowed as he placed our two current termini in my palm. We both squinted at them.

"Wait-"

He looked up at me and grinned a little.

"These are the same termini, aren't they? Stephen, you genius bastard."

"They're all nearly identical shades of gray, but Thanatos -the smaller one- I remember had a unique hairline fracture."

I turned the stones over in my palm. "Yeah, I see it," I said. The crack was small, but it was there. "And you're sure that this other stone is Hypnos?"

He leaned into me a little, analyzing the stones in my hand.

"I mean, it appears the same," he said lowly. "And if one made it out of the Thames and into Jane's hands, why couldn't the other?"

He did have a point there.

"And you believe that she somehow used magic to retrieve them?"

Stephen regarded me, then the stones, before replying.

"I do," he said, sitting down. "It's not conventional, but… it makes more sense than the alternative."

There was a knock at the door, and Boo poked her head in. "Sorry to break this up, but I can't do this reading thing right now. I'm going out to find another ghost for our map. Be back in a couple hours?"

Stephen leaned back and sighed. "Yeah, alright," he said. Be careful. Tell Callum the same thing if you see him."

I wiggled my eyebrows at Boo. "Yes, tell Callum to use protection." She groaned and shut the door. I looked back to Stephen. He rolled his eyes, and took the termini from my hand.

"I'll do more digging," he said, placing them in his pocket.

"I bet you will. After that nap."

"Rory, I'm fine."

"I know you're fine, but you won't be if you don't sleep."

He only stared at me. I stared back. If this was some sort of power move, I wasn't going to be intimidated. The clouds outside shifted, and sunlight slanted through the window right behind him, coloring the top of his dark hair golden. My breathing slowed as I took the moment in; just us, no world in peril or impending doom. Or maybe we were doomed, but that was too far off to forecast.

"You know," I said quietly, "I don't think you've worn hair gel all week. It's different."

He nodded, as if acknowledging his lack of hair product.

"I don't wear hair gel."

"What? What do you use then?"

He looked down, then back up at me, his head tilted. "A lady never tells."

"That was a joke, Stephen, you just made a joke."

He snorted as I grinned. "I think we've been over this before: I can be something other than serious, it's just not the most professional."

"Really," I raised my eyebrows at him. "I doubt that this 'Serious Stephen' thing is all a ruse."

"It's not a ruse, Rory, it's me finding a balance between work and other things."

"Mmm. Callum hates it, you know. He makes bar jokes about you when he's especially agitated. It's a bit upsetting to watch."

"Are they good?"

"No."

He shook his head.

"And, Stephen?" I asked. "I've been meaning to talk to you about this. Sorry that it's so early in the morning, but… I know that we're technically even with the whole life-saving thing. You saved me, I saved you, and so on, but I still don't feel like we're even. And I don't think I ever said thank you for doing what you did. You died, albeit accidently, and all I did was cut my arm.

Stephen opened his mouth, then closed it.

"So, thank you," I said, standing up. I paused. "I'm going to let you get some sleep now. I'll wake you up when Callum and Boo get back."

He nodded as I walked into the hallway and closed the door. We had a lot of things to do, a lot of things to read, and any guilt or other stray emotion that I felt would just be a distraction. We would find the answer to everything and take down the twins later, but for now it's baby steps.