A/N: Slap me. It's been almost two months since I updated. But lo and behold, I have three chapters written down. After this, I'll be posting a chapter once a week.

xx

Mark awoke with a start. Someone with a familiar, female voice had called his name. He put his glasses and got up; Mark went straight to the Loft's front window, where the voice was closest to. He looked around sleepily.

"Huhwhat?"

"MARK! DOWN HERE! IT'S ME, TIMORY! I'm… …down… here." Timory. Mark looked downward from the fire escape, and saw that Timory had collapsed. She looked completely battered.

Mark yelled over his shoulder, "DAVIS, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED AND CALL 911!"

Roger bounded out of his bedroom, looking mildly pissed. "Look, Cohen-"

"I don't care about your beauty sleep or about your hair, just call 911 and say we need an ambulance for an injured girl."

He sped down the stairs and out the building door. Up close, Timory looked much worse. Her left eye was swollen and bruised, cuts and bruises adorned her face and body; blood was seeping down her mouth and legs. Mark took Timory's face into his hands.

"Please, Timory, wake up, wake up…" Timory stirred. With her good eye, she opened it a crack.

"Mark? … My head.. is… k i l l i n g m e…" She passed out again.

Roger came stumbling down the building's staircase a couple seconds later. "The ambulance is on their way. Now Mark, can I please know what the fuck is going on?" Roger looked expectant of an answer and exasperated from lack of information.

Mark chose his words carefully. Roger couldn't see Timory's face clearly for all of the cuts and bruises, and he would have probably freaked out if he had seen an April-look-alike here, bleeding in Mark's arms. Besides, Mark didn't really know how to explain the situation either.

Mark spoke tentatively. "… Remember how I went out filming, while you and Mimi were getting it on in the Loft?" Roger nodded, and Mark continued. "Well, I met here there at Central Park Square. Her name is TJ, Timory Jacqueline Thompson. I'm … not sure what happened here."

Roger didn't speak for a few minutes, leaving an awkward pause.

"Is it just me, or does she look familiar?"

"I wouldn't have a clue," Mark lied hastily. The ambulance sirens wailed, and the lights flashed brighter as it got closer. The ambulance had arrived, and the paramedics rushed out with the stretcher. The nearest paramedic, an attractive auburn brunette with a serious expression, turned to Mark.

She asked, "What happened? She looks like she's in a bad way."

"I don't know, but it looks like she was attacked."

"I'll say. How old is she? What's her name?"

"Fourteen. Her name is Timory Thompson."

The paramedic gave a half smile. "I'm going to assume you're not related to her. Are you going to ride in with her?"

Mark looked startled, but nodded. "If I can, I will."

"Doesn't matter. You're the closest person she has to a guardian, seeing that you're holding her and all. Most people just call and watch from afar. Get in."

Mark obliged and gave a side glance to Roger. "Rog, I'll meet you at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'm going to leave a note for Mimi firs though."

The door shut, and Mark squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to pray to God that Timory would make it…