A/N: Hey! So sorry about the break between chapters. I uploaded Chapter 5 to the doc. manager, but forgot to actually publish it. Wow. Congratulations, Me. You get a trophy for "Most Absent-Minded Person Alive." Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Quick warning, though. It does get a bit dark, toward the end, but it starts nice and happy! ... Mostly.

John Smith was a very good listener. He had to be, because Miriam wasn't going to let him get a word in edgewise.

This was what she did. She moved on. She kept going. She ran and didn't look back. But the pain was always there, underneath. If she stopped, it would consume her.

She didn't even know what she was talking about. She was just talking, making sounds with her mouth that conveyed pictures to the listener.

"… and they'll answer for it; they can't not," Miriam was saying. She hadn't realized it, but she was thinking aloud. Her train of thought wasn't one that, ideally, would've been shared with anyone.

This was where John cut her off. One word, very simple. "Stop."

Miriam looked over at him, as if he'd spoken after a long stretch of silence. For her, he had. "What?"

"I don't want to hear this," John informed her, "You shouldn't be talking like this."

Miriam suddenly became aware of what she'd been saying and hurried to defend herself, for she believed it to be right. "Tell me they should be allowed to keep doing this," she challenged him indignantly.

John shook his head. "That isn't the point," he replied calmly.

"Then what is?" Miriam cried.

He sighed, as if it should be obvious, and explained himself. "If you go looking for them, they'll kill you too, and if I let you go, that's on me," he said, "You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" he asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood. He really wasn't good with the serious bits of life.

"If I stay, they'll kill you," she retorted, "Would you do that to me?" She mimicked him.

John shook his head. "I'm not saying that I like that prospect, –trust me, I much prefer being alive– but you can't go looking for death."

Miriam threw her hands in the air. "Someone has to put a stop to it–"

"Why you? What about the cops?"

"Oh, there's a great conversation. 'Hi, I'm Miriam Yager, I've been experimented on by some evil scientists and now I have superpowers! I just attacked a receptionist and am currently being hunted by the police! Would you mind finding the evil scientists and putting them in jail? Thanks, bye!'" She said all of this in a sugary-sweet "I can do no wrong" voice and punctuated it with her signature eye roll. "Right. I think I'll pass."

John tried, –he really did– but he couldn't come up with an argument for that. "I thought you were under the impression you aren't a superhero," he said quietly.

Miriam huffed. "I was exaggerating."

"You can't go looking for it."

Miriam made no promises.

-l-l-l-l-l-

The next morning, when John woke up, he was faced with an empty couch.

He cursed.

Of course she hadn't listened to him.

-l-l-l-l-l-

He should've been relieved that she was gone. He should've been glad she wasn't dragging him further into her problems. He should've been happy that he was no longer harboring a fugitive.

But he wasn't.

John Smith was angry. He was worried about what had happened to her. He was afraid of what she might have done.

He wasn't expecting to find her so easily.

John wasn't ever quite sure why, but he had started automatically with his own building. Perhaps fate had taken a special interest in Miriam Yager's story and was helping him along. Perhaps it was chance. Either way, he found her in the super's office.

The super himself was seated across from Miriam, behind his desk. They had papers splayed out on the desk in front of them and broke off their conversation when John burst into the room.

He stood in the doorway, utterly confused.

The super, –Peter Allen– heaved himself up, onto his feet, in surprise. Miriam turned in her seat to look at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked in surprise, "I thought you were asleep."

"Yeah, I was. I thought– what are you doing?" John stuttered, his arms flopping down to his sides helplessly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Miriam asked rhetorically, "I'm signing papers."

Peter Allen looked between the two of them. "Do you know each other?" The answer was a bit obvious, so neither party graced it with an answer. Miriam almost, almost, gave him a "duh," but she held herself back. A "duh" wasn't a great idea, at the moment.

"But you– and the– but…" John trailed off, his sleep deprived mind unable to comprehend, "What?" he demanded, when he saw them both staring at him.

Peter spoke first. "Is there something we can help you with, Mr. Smith?"

John shook his head. "No," he said, "I was just– Never mind." With that, he turned and left the super's office.

"Friend of yours?" the super inquired, as they turned back to the papers.

Miriam nodded. "Something like that."

"Now then," Peter Allen said, gesturing to the papers, "What was your name again?"

"Lana Tyler," Miriam replied, giving absolutely no indication that she was lying.

-l-l-l-l-l-

It was revealed to John Smith, not too much later, that Miriam Yager had been signing the papers required to lease an apartment.

This was a great relief to Miriam, as she had hated her dependency on John. Not that she didn't like John, she just liked to be independent.

She took an apartment in John's building for two reasons. First and foremost, to watch him. She didn't know if the people from the facility had tracked her here and she was by no means going to let them kill someone else for helping her. Secondly, because it was practical; she was already there and didn't feel like going "apartment hunting." It really wasn't the sort of thing she cared much about or for.

For the first four weeks of her time spent there, life was quiet. Things were normal– as normal as they could get for Miriam, anyway. She fell into her routine quickly.

Up by seven. Dressed and breakfasted by seven-forty-five. Across the street and wearing her Starbucks apron by eight. Churning out mochas and frappuccinos by eight-oh-one. Smiling at customers and wishing them a "nice day," while frantically watching the streets through the front window for strange activity. Smiling some more. Back at her apartment by three. Watching the halls for people she didn't recognize.

Rinse, and repeat.

But by the third week, her routine had begun to bore her. Miriam Yager wasn't cut out for mundane work, and an idle mind makes for trouble.

By the fifth week, the guilt was beginning to eat at her. The farmer haunted her dreams.

In the sixth week, the farmer stood over her shoulder while she mixed the cream into the coffee.

By the forty-seventh day since her escape, the farmer followed her like the Reaper, waiting patiently for her time to come. The receptionist joined him at her other shoulder and together, they cast a shadow over everything she did.

Eleven days after the receptionist joined the farmer, they moved from the shadows, into the light and danced. The receptionist waved his arms and blew air horns, demanding not to be ignored. Demanding that she see herself for what she was. The farmer stood quietly and regarded her with judgement in his eyes.

On the seventy-first day, it became too much.

So, she jumped.

And woke up.

She took the pills.

And woke up.

She inhaled the water.

And woke up.

She sent a bullet through her head.

And woke up.

She got the message.

And cleaned up.

A/N: Hey! I don't usually put ANs at the end a piece, (I feel like they take away from the *wham!* at the end of a bit. Anyway...) but I felt as if I should mention that I'm now available for Beta-ing. So yeah. There's a thing. Hope y'all are enjoying this so far! I've been way more than thrilled with the response this has gotten! Thank you all –again– for all the reviews/follows/favorites! They mean so much more than I can tell you! 3