Thorpe dropped me off at the flat, reassuring (warning?) me we'd sort out my new life in the morning. I didn't particularly want to be assigned a new name, nor did I want to figure out what I was going to tell my parents. I liked my name and I liked my parents. This was the part of being in the Super Secret Ghost Hunting Club that I wanted to avoid altogether.

I climbed up the stairs to the flat, unnerved by the flicker of the yellow hall light. I knew I was safe, but I never accommodated well to new surroundings at first. Thorpe thought it best that I stay with Callum, Boo, and Stephen for the time being, at least until we get my new life "sorted". As a result, I was living on my own. On my own with 3 other roommates, that is. But still. Rory was starting to become an adult. The prospect terrified and thrilled me all at once.

I unlocked the door and was met with silent darkness. Everyone was asleep. I checked my phone.

2:30 AM.

Made sense.

I changed into my pjs, brushed and flossed, did the whole routine. I looked at the slightly flushed girl in the mirror.

She was skinny, surprisingly so. Her cheekbones jutted out more prominently, shaping her once roundish face into an angular one. I had always been fairly thin and blessed with a few sizeable assets, but recently, thin was turning into gaunt, and the assets were not as sizeable as they used to be. I was losing weight, and fast. I had chalked it up to the recent medical injuries, stress, becoming-a-terminus thing. I bit my lips so they weren't as paper-white. I ran my fingers through my washed out copper hair. It was finally back to its normal texture, and I was getting kind of used to it. I reminded myself of strawberry shortcake, with the red hair and smattering of freckles on my nose. I knew it had to go, and soon, before the red washed out and it became blonde. But as it was, I would enjoy it. Maybe I would assume the alias Strawberry Shortcake. I would bake shortcakes and wear aprons. It could work.

I sighed, turning off the light and trying to go to bed. I was relegated to the couch, as the whole Rory's moving in thing was kinda sprung on my flat mates last minute. Gallatnly, Stephen offered to take the couch. But that would mean that I would have to sleep in his bed. The innate masochist in me jumped at the idea, (Stephen's sheets! Stephen's pillow! Stephen's smell!) but seeing his discomfort, I declined. I could tough out the couch.

It turns out, I couldn't. The springs were brutal on my back. Giving up the tossing and turning, I flipped on the television, settling on some really old episodes of Dr. Who. That's the benefit of sleeping on the couch, I guess. You can't really sleep, but at least you can watch TV instead.

About 20 minutes into the episode, I heard the hallway floorboards creek. Stephen sat down on the opposite end of the couch. My whole body became instantly more alert, little nerve endings in my brain saying things like That's Stephen! You kissed him! while my heart threatened to explode.

"Can't sleep?" he questioned as he settled into the couch, his posture impeccable, even at 2:30 in the morning.

"Nope," a voice that was not mine squeaked out.

"Me neither."

I surreptitiously watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was barefoot, clad in flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He had his glasses on, and they reflected the good Dr. and his Tardis back at the TV. This made it impossible to see his eyes. His black hair was untidy, mussed from sleep. I looked down at his feet. I don't think I'd ever seen Stephen barefoot before. I liked his feet, I mused. Not, that I am a foot fetishist. I don't think I am, anyway. Could you suddenly become a foot fetishist or was it an inherent trait, like seeing ghosts? Were the traits linked? Were all people with the sight also foot fetishists?

"So, why can't you?" Stephen's deep, gravelly- sleep voice dispelled my internal foot fetish pondering for the moment. This relaxed, sleepy Stephen was sort of…sexy. I didn't know quite what to do with that.

I shook my head a bit to try to clear it. "Sorry, what?"

He glanced over at me. "Why can't you sleep?"

"Oh," I laughed a little. "Crazy night. Lotsa thoughts. You know the drill."

Stephen nodded as if he did, in fact, know the drill. "How about you?"

"All the sleeping I've been doing lately has interfered with my usual sleep cycles," he replied, finally turning to look at me head- on. "What happened tonight?"

I took a deep breath, readying myself for his reaction. "I told Jazza and Jerome."

Surprisingly, he just nodded. I knew, on some level, that he at least expected me to tell them. Thorpe wouldn't have driven me to Wexford if that were the case. However, I thought he would at least express his disapproval. Instead, he looked back at the TV.

"How did it go?"

I thought about it. "It went…really good, actually. They believed me, for the most part. It was scarier than I thought it would be though. It was like if they rejected what I was telling them, they would have been rejecting me, in a way. I think I had to put just as much trust in them as they did in me." I flicked my eyes to him. "I don't want to sever all contact with them, even though Thorpe says its best for them. I know what you're going to say, but I just- I've never had to cut people out of my life like that before. I understand why I should, it's just… it's going to hurt a lot." I sagged further into the couch at the prospect of losing- no, giving up- my two friends in favor of my new life.

Stephen looked like he very much wanted to say something. He lifted his hand, then seemed to remember himself before he touched me, so it hovered hesitatingly over my legs, which were all tucked up under me on the couch. We both watched his hand, as if it had a mind of its own free will. He slowly withdrew, and then folded both hands under his butt, as if he were afraid they would escape again.

I was getting tired of tiptoeing around Stephen. This, thing, this distance between us, was awkward. And I didn't like it. Lately, I didn't like any distance between us, but this new "I kissed you, you kissed me back kind-of, do you even like me?" rift was just not my style.

My style was more of the "let's air it all out and hope for the best" variety. But that hadn't worked either. So I was trying the demure thing for a while. Let's be clear, I didn't like it one bit.

A suggestive commercial about condoms came on. I blushed bright scarlet, thanking God for the cover of darkness. Stephen, for his part, looked non-plussed, but that was Stephen all the time.

I couldn't take it- Bedtime Stephen, the condom commercial, the silence. I just couldn't take it.

"So, have you found anything out about Sid and Sadie, the twin weirdos from Freakville?" I asked.

Stephen cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. I realized I had just brought him out of some deep reverie of his own. He hadn't even been paying attention to the condom commercial.

"So far, no. I've been…reaching out to a couple of contacts. Gathering up my resources, using all my contacts, you know. No one's heard of them, or the kind of power they possess," His brow furrowed. "Its troubling, really. We don't quite know what we're up against."

I thought about how strong they were. 3 grown men and 1 girl couldn't incapacitate them. I wondered how they would fare against a whole team of M15ers and guns. I kind of hoped I didn't have to find out. I'd had enough violence over the past 3 days. I kept replaying Jane's death over and over in my head. She was a bad person, but still, to witness someone being callously murdered… I shuddered.

Stephen pulled the afghan off of the back of the couch. "Here", he said, giving it to me.

"Thanks."

We sat in companionable silence for a little bit, me trying not to think about Jane, and Stephen's thoughts as ambiguous as ever. I looked over at him suddenly.

"How are you feeling, by the way? With the whole… well you know. Coming back to life thing."

Let me explain:

When Jane kidnapped me, she made me do an ancient Greek ceremony, one that would take me to some kind of underworld and allow me to bring Stephen and her freakshow twin cult-leaders back from the dead. I complied because of Stephen, and also because she threatened to kill me and a whole bunch of other people.

Anyway, this is what I remember: Jane, cutting into my wrist and dripping my blood on the Oswuld stone, drinking some sort of bad-tasting liquid, going to sleep with Stephen and the freaks all very dead, and waking up with them all very alive. I don't remember what happened in between those things, except for maybe fog. Fog and a tile floor. I remember fog, and fluorescent lights garishly glinting off a black and white tile floor. But that's it.

Stephen said he didn't remember anything either. I don't know what happened out there in the ether, and to be honest I don't care. I'm just so incredibly grateful Stephen is back, and alive.

Even if he hasn't so much as looked like he wanted to kiss me since then.

Stephen looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "I feel fine, physically. Dr. Marigold checked me out today. She said I was completely fine. No evidence of brain damage at all."

He sighed. "Mentally… I don't know. I feel fine. I don't quite know what to do about Boo and Callum. They're being so nice. Boo offered to share her take-out with me yesterday. Callum walked with me to the grocer yesterday. Its as if they're treating me like… I don't know…" He trailed off, puzzled.

I laughed a hard little laugh. "They're treating you like you treat me. They're being overprotective. You're their terminus. Except they love you and they know what it feels like to lose you. They're just trying to prevent that from happening again."

I don't know why I said the terminus part; all I know is that it felt right. Something inside me whispered Stephen's over-protectiveness stemmed from my being the only terminus for a while. I don't know, I was tired and frustrated with my feelings. I've been stabbed, drugged, kidnapped, and technically dead in the last month. Gimme a break.

Stephen let out a surprised breath. I half-expected him to insist he didn't protect me solely because it was his job, but because he cared about me in some way. At this point, I would accept a nice friend-zoning rather than endure more of this weirdness between us.

He opened his mouth, looking a little lost. "Oh," was all he said, his cheeks darkening. "I guess I didn't think about it like that."

I deflated. I was no longer Happy Rory, uncomplicated Southern girl. Lately, I was Sad Rory. Sad Rory endured unrequited love, stabbings, etc., and it seemed she had permanently taken up residence. And as long as things were like this between Stephen and me, she was here to stay.

"Well," I said, a note of finality in my voice. "I'm glad you're okay." I meant it, too. I was speaking from experience, the thing I said about Callum and Boo. I knew what it was to love Stephen Dene, and I knew what it was to lose him. Neither of these activities, as it turned out, were very much fun. In fact, they were both pretty crippling experiences.

He appeared to sense that I wanted to end this conversation. He stiffly stood up, bid me goodnight, and left the room. I watched him go, feeling oozy and unpredictable, like I wanted to scream and cry and kiss him all at the same time. I had never felt like this before, and I hated it. I felt like I didn't own my body anymore. This was precisely the reason I wasn't into recreational drug or excessive alcohol use- I hated feeling out of control.

Jane's words echoed in my head long after Stephen had gone to bed, leaving me to obsess in torment like some lame Shakespearian heroine.

"The way you reacted to seeing him confirmed it. This is the boy you love."

I had scarcely allowed myself to admit it, even in my own head. But I suppose, because it was nighttime- and nighttime reveals things- and the TV light cast a somewhat ethereal, important glow on one's life, maybe it was the look in Stephen's eyes when we moved his hand away, grim and sure; whatever it was, I finally acknowledged what I had never had before:

I was in love with Stephen Dene