A/N: ...And then, from the depths of her internet ban, Q arose and

Rewrote this old thing?

Trust me, I have my reasons for this rewrite. Think of it as a placeholder for any really good updates.

As always, enjoy!

The new passengers boarding the crowded bus jostle you as they pass. Not one of them apologizes for their rudeness but you don't blame them in the slightest. You wouldn't have at this point either. Your day has just been too long and grueling to care about the comfort of others.

The most you can say about your job is it's respectable. Nevertheless you hated every moment you had to spend in that cramped messy cubicle. There you were just another number forced to slog through whatever papers were slammed on your desk.

You think back to your dismal interactions with you coworkers and the constant harassment you receive from your boss with distaste. Even though everyone there is working the same job and getting paid the same minimal salary you are, they distain any contact with you. Their patronizing glances incessantly beat your skin numb. You're surprised you aren't dented yet.

Your boss is worse than your peers. He's constantly making off color remarks that no one else seems to notice. The other women you work with don't seem to get toyed with, but then, they exude confidence, and you don't, they dress nicely and you, frankly, have given up. Your entire attitude is one of not caring about what people think. It's a shell you don't feel like dropping any time soon.

The grating screeches of the old bus's brakes jerk you from your wallow of self-pity. With a glazed dead look in your eyes, you rise from your seat and walk to the doors. As you reach the front you catch the eye of the bus driver. He squints at you for a moment before asking, "Are you that girl from the news, the one who was nearly murdered?"

You shake your head quickly and hurry off the bus. Of course, you are that girl from the news but you aren't going to tell him that. You don't want more questions.

There had been a lengthy news report on the murders you had witnessed. Most of it had been about Ticci Toby and his previous killings, but there had been a short segment of the police talking to you. You had never consented to let any mention of your name become entangled with the murders but the media are a sneaky bunch.

With your heels dragging, you walk to your house. The corner drug dealer looks up at you and waves a bag of some unidentifiable drug at you while mumbling something in Spanish. You look down at the proffered drugs and shake your head as you back away slowly. Once finished establishing a safe distance between you and the drugs, you nervously turn your back to him and continue your dismal crawl home.

The angry shouts of domestic violence reach your ears as you cross the street. Something is thrown from an upper story window. As it crashes to the ground below you identify it as a lamp. Several homeless people scurry over to see if it's useful. After deeming it useless they scatter back to their respective alleyways.

As you pass the 'vacant' house next to yours, you see a small thin child duck out from under the brambles obscuring the front door and scamper away out of sight. Someone from inside the house hollers some foul language after him.

All in all, your entire neighborhood looks bedraggled and unkempt. The house you live in is no different. Run down and weathered with peeling paint and missing shutters, the entire thing looks to be on its last legs. You regard it with tired resignation before walking up the crumbling front steps and unlocking your worn door.

When you step inside you're sorely tempted to just collapse to the floor and fall asleep there but sound reason stops you. Your neighbors aren't the type of people to see someone asleep out in the open and say 'Aww, poor thing', they're more likely to take advantage of their helplessness. Easy prey is easy after all.

Instead, you lock the door and wander away from it in a confused manner. Briefly you contemplate going to the kitchen and searching through your pantry for some food but the lure of your bed overwhelms your hunger.

With shuffling steps, you ascend your staircase. The rusted light fixture at the top wavers and flickers weakly. Sighing, you push your bedroom door open and, with slow, monotonous movements, ready yourself for bed. You collapse to your bed in relief. Almost at once your mind is caught in the currents of sleep.

You surface in a nightmare. You're back in that dark alley again. The entire area is coated in a fine red mist. You feel a slick viscous substance beneath your palms. Horror courses through you as you realize it's blood staining the pavers.

Before you, lay the bodies of the men that had attacked you. They both bleed profusely from gaping, ragged chest wounds but they aren't dead yet. Instead they're staring at you, irises milky white with red pupils. You scramble away from them only to collapse to the ground. Towering over the mess of gore is a dark ominous figure you know is Ticci Toby. He gives a single shout of insane laughter before slowly stalking over to where you lie and offers his hand for you to take. A single flash of light illuminates the splattered blood streaking his clothes.

When you shrink back in fear from the terrifying apparition he hisses, "Maybe I should kill you after all." He raises his hatchet, stained in crimson, preparing to bring it down and end your life. "Goodbye [name]."

You yank your brain from the nightmare in fear. With labored breathing you lie in bed, trying to calm your mind. Unfortunately it doesn't work but then, it never does.

You lay in bed sleeplessly. You've had that nightmare many times before. It was about the murders again. Without fail, it bombards you with thoughts of the one who committed the gruesome acts. Ticci Toby.

After everything had calmed down that fateful night and you had sobered up, you went on your old clunky laptop and googled him. The kills you had witnessed were not his first. Apparently he had had a long string of them in this town alone. No one could turn up anything about him that was even mildly helpful. All images of him were grainy security camera shots that didn't show much. You also noted that there were no recorded incidents of him leaving any survivors. You had wanted to believe that made you special, after all, hadn't he said he would 'see you around'? But, if the past few weeks were any indication, this was not actually the case.

You roll over and press your face into the pillow with a groan. You're an idiot for ever hoping that he would actually show up. Besides, it's probably better this way. Do you really want a murderer dropping in for afternoon tea and a nice little chat?

Something creaks below you. Your blood runs cold and you pull your blankets up to your chin, as if they can protect you from the nightly terrors. It's probably the raccoon that's taken up residence under your porch. You're just psyching yourself out.

Crash! You bolt upright in bed. Not a harmless furry animal then. You take mental bets on which it could be. Due to your unsavory local it is probably a thief. Yet some little bit of you is hoping that it's Toby, making good on his promise at last.

You rise from bed as silently as you can. After wrapping yourself in a robe, you search for a weapon and find nothing. You settle on a heavy book. The person downstairs might have a gun, but you will knock them out with the power of knowledge, if you can. A small part of you remains aware that this situation is laughably terrible. You're armed with a book for goodness sakes! But then, hadn't Cardinal Richelieu said that the pen was mightier than the sword?

Clearly Richelieu had never lived on this side of the train tracks…

Quietly you sneak down the stairs, all the while wondering, why the hell does this always happen to me? The first thing that meets you at the bottom of the stairs is blinding light. Whoever it is obviously doesn't care about secrecy. You creep to where you heard the crash come from: the kitchen. Inside you see what made the noise and the person who broke the plate. "Frank? What the hell are you doing here?" you yell in annoyed confusion.

Your 'ex', Frank, spreads his arms out. You were never really dating him. You had just deluded yourself into believing you were special. "Aw come on, [name], don't be like that, love."

You feel unbelievably angry that he has the nerve to use your pet name after everything he did. "How did you get in?"

To your horror, he holds up a key to your back door. "Come on, love. Are you still upset with me?"

"You were the one who was using me as a convenient booty call. How do you think it felt?" You would have tried to grab the keys from him but you still are holding The Civil War and Reconstruction in your hands. Frank notices.

"Why don't you put that book down, [name], and we can just put all that history behind us." Frank slowly advances on you, reaching out to touch you.

You recoil from his hands. "No! Get out of my house, asshole."

"But I thought you loved me, [name]!" Frank looks confused.

"And I thought I told you last time that I never wanted to see you again! I was nearly raped and killed, but did you ever call? No! You only love me when you're too drunk to care about whom you're spending your nights with." You look in his eyes and see that you were right. He has been drinking again. You are proud to say that you have been sober since that fateful night.

"That's not true, love. You've missed me, admit it. I will. I have really missed you and I was really worried about you after seeing the murders on the news." Frank moves closer to you again.

"Just leave my house, Frank. I don't want to hear that bull." You mutter in exhausted resignation. It would be so easy to just let Frank stay, much quicker and less strenuous…

You hear the door behind Frank open and instant terror wraps around your heart because you know exactly who it is. Ticci Toby crosses the distance between your open back door and Frank in a second. Before you can scream he grabs Frank's collar and, in one powerful movement, spins him and deftly pushes him to the ground. Toby kneels on Frank's chest, slowly pressing the breath from his lungs.

Frank's face contorts with the agony of realization. "You! I know you; you're that guy from the news!"

Toby chuckles softly and leans forward. The familiar crack of breaking ribs reminds you of the last time you had seen Ticci Toby. Your fear comes to a boil as you see that this has every opportunity of turning out the same way. "Yes, I am. Now it's my turn, why are you here?" Toby's face is inches from Frank's.

Frank blubbers and wheezes but no comprehensible words push past his lips.

Toby twitches as he asks in a deadly whisper, "Are you bothering [name]? That just won't do." Toby pulls one of his hatchets from his belt and, with dawning horror, you become aware of what's about to happen.

"Don't kill him!" you plead. You know exactly how awful he was, but you don't hate him enough to wish death upon him. Toby looks up at you slowly. His eye tics and he nods slowly, then looks back at Frank.

"Well now, it looks like [name] wants you to live. She has a softer heart than I do." Ticci gets up dragging Frank with him by his shirt. Holding the bigger man above him, Ticci whispers, "Now this is only going to go one way: my way. First, apologize to [name]."

Frank looks to me, eyes wide with fear. "I-I'm sorry."

"There, was that so hard?" Ticci Toby says pleasantly as the muscles in his neck twitch. "Now, promise to me that you're never going to ever come near her again."

"I promise never to come near [name] again." Frank blubbers. "Will you please put me down now?" he begs. You watch half in fear and half in horrible satisfaction. For some reason, it's extremely gratifying to see the man that caused you so much pain reduced to tears by someone half his size.

"One more thing." Toby snatches your spare keys from Frank's limp hand and shoves them into his pocket. "There, all done! Now in a second I'm going to release you and then you get 'til the count of three before I ignore [name's] wishes and kill you." Toby drops Frank. "One,"

Frank scrambles to his feet.

"Two,"

Frank throws himself at the door.

"Three."

The door slams behind him.

"This is much better! We can't have a polite conversation with the ex standing around." Toby puts his hatchet back in the empty spot on his belt.

You are thoroughly shaken and it takes a moment to get your thoughts together. There was no way that Ticci Toby could have known that Frank was here. That could only mean… Oh god, a mass murder was coming to break into my house in the middle of the night. The knowledge makes you weak in the knees and you feel yourself falling.

With exquisite grace Toby reaches out and catches you. "Don't go collapsing on me [name], I just saved your ass. Don't I get any gratitude?" He tilts his head to the side and looks, for all the world, like a puppy dog, albeit a murderous one.

You steady your breathing and attempt to get your feet back under you. "Thank you, Toby. You seem to rescue me a lot."

"No problem, [name], it was my pleasure." He taps his leg spasmodically. "To answer your unasked question, yes, I was coming to visit you. Can you really fault me for making good on my word?"

You really want to get upset at him for this moonlight visit but you're too torn between terror and horrible curiosity to tell him that. "No." you mumble. Now is not the time to be pissing off any killers.

"Then where's the harm?" Toby asks softly. His whisper has a dangerous edge to it that excites you. You train your eyes on the floor, hoping to hide the blush creeping into your cheeks.

Sirens bring your head up sharply. Toby just sighs. "Sounds like your ex called the police. What a shame." Toby pulls his scarf down and leans in quickly. The kiss he leaves on your cheek burns. "We'll meet again soon in less dire circumstances, [name]." He pulls his scarf up and is gone.

The door slams for the second time that night.

You don't move. The police burst through the door moments later and you collapse to the ground. The book you were holding makes a loud slap on the tile floor as falls beside you.

"Where is the killer, ma'am?" the police officer kneeling before you asks kindly. His accent is decidedly Canadian.

"He just left." you say quietly.

A looming shadow falls over you. Looking up, you find another, scarier and decidedly less Canadian cop standing over you. "My name is Sergeant Graves. We are very curious about your relationship with the killer known as Ticci Toby."

You only nod, afraid to say anything and give yourself away.

The Canadian furrows his brow. "Be kinder to the poor girl eh! She's just had a terrible fright."

Sergeant Graves only narrows his eyes. "We shall set up a time for you to come down to the station and give a detailed report. Is there anything of the utmost importance you would like to bring to my attention?"

Slowly you shake your head. "No sir." A thought drifts across your mind as Graves turns around. Toby took Frank's old set of my house keys…

That should probably worry you but you can't see the harm in it. To be honest, you like the idea of Toby coming back.

Whether you're ready or not, your life is going to get very interesting.

A/N: I have been having many of the good ideas recently and soon I shall start a new project.

Overly ambitious much?