Crews woke cold, shivering, his back pressed against whitewashed cinder block walls. There was an ache in his gut, twisting him in knots, and the sound of rain hammering down made him swallow hard. This isn't Pelican Bay. The floor was polished concrete and it stung when he pushed himself up, blinking into the harsh florescent lighting that hummed and buzzed.

It's not Pelican Bay.

He remembered the eyes, which weren't real. They weren't real because he could see the edges of the contact lenses. He remembered the beefy hands that came down like hammers - fast, so fast, like a boxer, a man who'd been hardened into fighting. A man who'd had training. Men who hit like that had been inside, had been in the military, had been on the streets. Men who hit like that knew violence, lived it, ate it. He knew men like that. He knew what they could do. The shiv tore through muscle and hit bone before he could even mo-- God, God he was back there, he was back. Back ins--

Breathe in, just breathe.

Crews breathed in through his nose as he sat still in the center of the room, his eyes closed as he shut out the world, this world. This world was not his world, not now, not again. He had to think. To think. Reese would find him. She could find him, he knew she could. He wanted to laugh, to scream, to bite and to snarl, but he didn't. He was in prison sweats and a gray tee (familiar, horribly familiar). Pelican Bay replica, Crews could tell. He wanted to take them off, but he didn't. It was cold. Cold like a tomb.

His tomb.

Crews could hear his heart beat hard in his head, throbbing to the ache of his jaw as he breathed in. Why? Why now, why me? Why? Why!? I was already here. I was here for twelve years, why did you put me--

He swallowed again and pushed the panic down, all the way down as far as it would go until the rage and helplessness was a small cry in the back of his mind. He had to think. If he could think, he could get out. He didn't have to be in here. He could be here and not be here.

He could think of Reese. Crews could see her, the curve of her cheek, the way her hair hung, the tendrils that escaped when she had it up, the tilt of her lips when she was amused, the taut lines of her body when she was furious and exasperated. He could feel her fingers on his for a moment, and his eyes snapped open, expecting to see her there, somehow.

Nothing.

He took a ragged breath in and tried to relax. He was on a beach. No. He was in his car, his big, powerful car, letting her drive. He was letting her drive him home. He was already home in his mostly empty house, the lights on, Ted ordering Indian (spicy, something spicy). He had apples, he had oranges, he had lychees. Reese passed him a slice of pear (crisp Asian, golden brown, sweet and crunchy, it was, that's what it was), laughing, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She smelled like oranges, tangerines, a hint of kiwi, a touch of vanilla. Mostly, she smelled like Reese.

He didn't have to be here.

Crews stayed liked that, sitting in the lotus position, his hands on his knees; thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, thumb to finger, over and over and over until he heard boots on hard concrete, echoing. The door was metal and it didn't open, the slat at the bottom did, and a tray emerged.

No fruit.

Not really food, either.

"Do you want to break me?" he asked. "Do you think you can break me?"

"Detective Crews," a deceptively soft voice said, "you're already broken."

"Why did you kill those girls?" he asked in the same soft voice, only there was hard, steel beneath his. Quiet laughter echoed and Crews caught his breath. "Why did you kill them?"

"I didn't kill them," the voice whispered. "The world killed them. And now the world is going to kill you." There was a pause, then breathing, then a soft scrape of metal against metal. "Sleep tight, Detective."

Clip, clip, clip. His footsteps faded, the booted heels growing fainter and fainter until there was nothing.

The lights snapped off and he was left with the sound of the rain, echoing in the tiny space of his cell like gunshots, tiny gunshot, exploding so loud the swore he could hear each one. They filled his head, pounded down on him, and for a moment, he wrapped his arms around his knees, pulled them to his chest and rocked. No screaming. He wasn't going to scream, no screaming. He shuddered and grit his teeth and held on.

His head spun.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He could wait.

Reese. Dani? Dani...Dani. Get me out of here. I shouldn't be here, get me out, get me out, get me out, get, get me out, get me, get me out, get me-- Stop. Stop. Stop it. You're not there. This is not then. It's not now. It's not. Zen. Be Zen. Must be Zen. Have to. Have to stay present, have to stay. Can't go back. Won't go back. Can't, won't. Dani. You connect things, connect everything. Find me. You can find me, I know you can find me. No, no, no, no, no, no, no panic. No panic. No. Panic. It's not forever. It's not forever. This world can't kill you, it's not your world. It's not yours. It's not--

"By thoughtfulness, by restraint and self-control, the wise man may make for himself an island which no flood can overwhelm," he whispered, his eyes shut tight as the rain came down harder. "No flood. This is a flood. It can't touch me. It can't touch me. She'll find me. My partner. My partner. Reese. I'm not here. I'm not. This isn't here, it isn't now, it's not even likely that it's now. There are peaches on my counter, bananas, grapes in the fridge, orange juice, there's a papple in her car. There's a papple."

There was a papple in Reese's car and she said he could have it later.

"Reese," he said, lifting his head in the darkness. "Reese, is it later yet?"

The pounding rain answered him.