"Katharine, we're home!"

Katharine jumped up from her desk, eager for any excuse to get away from her math homework. Looking down she saw half the math worksheet covered with a doodle of the tree branches outside her window and she sighed, wondering at what point factoring had become sketching. It was done in pen, and she knew that she'd have to finish and hand in it with the picture on it.

"Katharine?!"

Sighing, she pulled on a sweater and abandoned the work- it wouldn't be a first anyways, and Katharine thought the teacher secretly enjoyed the random sketches that were found over almost everything she handed in. She pulled on a sweater and jumped down the stairs two at a time, landing on the small rug at the foot of the stairs. It slid over the sleek hardwood because of her weight and she fell to the ground to avoid bumping the dinning table that occupied the nook.

"Katharine, be careful," came the exasperated voice as her mom sidestepped her sprawled form on her way to the kitchen.

Rolling her eyes Katharine carefully returned the rug to its proper place, calling, "I'm fine if you wanted to know. I've got no broken bones, or, you know, concussions to worry about," she wandered into the kitchen during her rant, sighing dramatically, "Don't waste your breath worrying about me, I'm fine. No, really-"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes Mother," Katharine grinned at the desired question, kissing her mom on the cheek before dancing around her body and pulling the fridge open.

"How was yesterday's show?" she asked, genuinely interested. Katharine pulled out an apple,

"Fine. Larson tripped over the lamp cord during the scene change between act two and three."

"Was he okay?"

Katharine shrugged, washing the apple at the sink and wiggling, unable to stay still, "I think his pride took a number on that one."

"So what happened?"

"No big deal. The light in the lamp broke."

"Really?"

"Mhmm," Katharine nodded, taking a bite into the apple and grinning, "And it started sparking when the wash came up. Apparently the teasers across the proscenium almost caught fire while they were trying to figure out how to take the light out of the wash."

Maya regarded her daughter with a look of skepticism, "That sounds like it would be a big deal to me."

"Not really," Katharine shrugged again, sliding into the seat behind the small bar table, "Joey was getting ready to go out with the fire extinguisher though,"

"Wouldn't a contemporary extinguisher ruin the whole mood of a period piece?"

"Mom, I'm pretty sure we weren't as concerned with keeping the time period consistent than with the fact the stage might burn down." Katharine laughed at the memory, wishing she could have seen the faces on those who were onstage. Probably mortified of breaking character, all trying to scramble to cover for the klutz of a stage hand.

"Do you have a lot of homework to get done?" Maya was asking and Katharine shook her head,

"Just a lot of math, but I can do that Saturday morning. Why?"

"I rented Edward Scissorhands and Die Hard II- if you go finish your homework we can watch one of them after dinner."

"How did you-"

"I know what the list on your wall means- give me a little credit."

"I love you I love you I love youuuuu!" Katharine giggled, dancing out of the kitchen, slipping and sliding the entire way with her half-eaten apple. Maya laughed at her daughters antics, calling after her,

"Be careful!"

"Yeah!" Katharine yelled as slide to the base of the stairs. The front door opened as she hopped up the first two, causing her to whip around and jump back down, "You're home!" she giggled happily, dancing around her little brother to give her dad a quick kiss on the cheek.

Keith watched with a light smirk as Katharine took Ryan's stick from bewildered boys hands, treating it as a dance partner while she whirled around the foyer. "Dad," Ryan said as Keith took his sons coat and hung it in the closet, "Why did you have to adopt Katharine?" he asked seriously and Keith couldn't help but laugh as Katharine stopped her dancing and glared at her younger brother,

"You're the one who was adopted, Ryan," she teased, "Mom and Dad got you from the gypsies when they were passing by. I would know- I was there."

"Yeah, well-" Ryan's comeback was cut short as Maya interrupted, completing the family gathering and playing peacekeeper,

"Katharine, why don't you go finish your homework while Ryan puts away his hockey stuff. We'll eat and then go up to the family room,"

"Why?" Ryan asked, wrinkling his nose in semi-disgust. Katharine rolled her eyes- he was in that awkward age where everything and anything done with parents was considered 'boring' or 'stupid'.

"Mom got the new Die Hard genius," she quipped and Ryan stuck out his tongue. "Mature," she muttered with a sigh and Ryan took the stick from her hands,

"Yeah, well…"

"Well what?" Katharine asked as Ryan's voice faltered. He wasn't looking at her even though he faced her direction and suddenly she was very worried. "Ry? Ryan, are you alright?" she asked, taking a step forward. Ryan's eyes lost a little of their shine and she felt herself get a little colder. "Come'on Ry, I was just kidding when I said…"

Ryan didn't answer her, arms weighed down lifelessly at his side; the stick had disappeared and Katharine looked to behind him to her dad for help. Her heart started to hammer in her ears when she realized the same vacant look on his face that Ryan had. "Da-d?" she asked hesitantly, her voice cracking. Her fathers eyes only dulled more so, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.

"Mom, they're," terror overwhelmed her and weighed down the words in her throat as she turned around to see two large caskets and a smaller one floating at eye level. Taking a step back she shouted, "Mom? Mom! Where did you go?!" She turned back around to see that her father and brother were also gone.

The caskets behind her started to moan and she seized up, unable to move, unable to get any words out.

It was a nightmare she realized suddenly.

This was just a nightmare- that was all.

And all she had to do was-

The Loft

January 10th 7:02 am EST

"Hey, Kat, you okay?" Roger asked, scared to touch the withering girl. He kept glancing towards the open curtains, hoping that by some miracle Mark would rush in and save him. But Mark was still in the shower and Kat was finally beginning to wake up, after sleeping for more than 12 hours. And with Mark getting ready for his meeting with the lawyers it was Roger who got up to investigate the strange sounds coming from his old bedroom.

Kat turned her face away from the pillow and Roger saw that it was damp beneath her cheek. He could tell her eyes were red even though they were closed and knew she must have been crying long before he entered the room.

For a second relief flashed on Kat's face. It passed quickly, however, and Roger watched as she blinked a couple times in the bright light. His blanket-duct-tape contraption didn't really work out as well as he had hoped. Roger tried to look apologetic, "Mark's going out today to buy some curtains for this room. I don't usually care about light…"

That's it, he thought to himself sarcastically; remind her that she just started living here.

"Who are you?" she asked and Roger felt a little piece of him break at the question. Of course she wouldn't know who he was, but she sounded so sad. Her voice was broken and she looked like she couldn't decide whether to keep her eyes open or closed. Tears pooled in the corners of her glazed eyes, unsure if they should fall or not.

"Roger," he answered softly, resisting the urge to hold her hand. He didn't know her and she didn't know him. It wouldn't be right. "Davis. Roger Davis, that is. I'm uh, Mark's roommate, remember? He's in the shower but I can grab him if you-"

Kat shook her head, her body shaking so much Roger wasn't sure if it was intentional or not. "Or I could stay here," he offered, watching her closely and getting more comfortable on the bed. It really wasn't his place to ask any personal questions, and Mark showed no signs of acting the savior and walking through the bedroom door. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave after she'd asked him to stay.

He didn't understand why she wanted him to stay though.

"For a second I was with them," she whispered, her eyes closed and a light smile playing on her face. Roger froze.

When he came into the room he wasn't asking for this. All he wanted was to make sure she was still breathing for when Mark got out of the shower. No, there was no way he was going to let the kid continue her current train of thought. "We've got bacon," he announced, wringing his hands together and hoping he didn't sound as pathetic to her as he did to himself. Could he make it any more obvious that he didn't want her to continue?

"Bacon?" she asked with that broken voice of hers and Roger winced.

"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, and she looked at him for a minute, eyes swimming with emotion. It only took a second for him to look down. Who was he trying to kid? He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand seeing someone like this. Glancing at the door he sent a silent plea to Mark to come and save him.

"I don't like bacon," she whispered softly and Roger didn't know what to say, so he sat there becoming more uncomfortable with every second that passed of her looking at him. When the desire to fidget became too intense he stood up. Kat turned towards the wall, her back to him and he fled the room, shutting the curtain quietly on his way out, sighing a breath of relief.

He shook off the chills he'd gotten from being with her and jumped when he turned around. Mark stared at his odd reaction, blond hair still wet and dripping onto the many layers of sweaters. "What's up with you? Is Kat alright?"

"Sleeping, I think," Roger said, shifting away from the door and making a beeline for the table that separated the 'kitchen' and 'living room'.

Mark cast a glance at the closed curtains before following Roger, "What's wrong?"

Roger collapsed on one of the chairs, his head in his hands, "Your niece is messed up man," he muttered.

"Roger!" Mark protested.

Roger grumbled into his hands, "What?"

Obviously something was wrong with the guy, and as much as Mark wanted to be sympathetic, Roger's bluntness was uncalled for, "Don't be a dick. Kat just lost her family; what the hell do you except?" He sat down as well, across from Roger.

"For her," Roger was still mumbling into his hands, "To not be so… intense and creepy and destroyed."

Mark couldn't help but laugh, "Are you seriously scared of a seventeen year old girl? I thought you were tough," he grinned and Roger glared up at him,

"I haven't exactly been Mister Tough since withdrawal Mark."

Mark winced at the tone. Yes, something was definitely bothering Roger, it didn't take a genius to figure that much out. As to what it was that bothered Roger, however… "Did you talk to her?" Mark asked, determined to get to the bottom of the problem.

"She started moaning after you got into the shower so I went in to go see if everything was alright…"

"And was it?" Mark prompted, eyes darting to the door, forcing himself to listen to Roger instead of checking himself.

"I don't know… she said something like… 'I was with them' or something creepy like that."

"Roger!"

Roger winced at the almost-yell and glared, "What?!" He stopped himself when he saw Mark's expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked a little nervously.

Mark looked like he was torn between wanting to hug Roger and hit Roger. He stood up, "Because!" he almost shouted, and Roger leaned back slightly, "Do you realize that she's said virtually nothing these past couple days? To anyone? Much less a stranger?"

"Hey," Roger protested, suddenly getting very defensive, "It's not like I went in there and started demanding stuff! She just started talking and I cut her off!"

"Roger," Mark said gently, realizing that Roger misinterpreted his outburst, "This is a good thing. It means that… I don't know. She's not numb anymore or something."

"Numb?" Roger questioned.

Mark nodded, sitting back down and ducking his head embarrassingly, "I mean, when I first heard I guess I was a little… numb. It was surreal, like it wasn't actually happening. Like it didn't happen… I still don't really believe it…" Mark trailed off, picking at a dry drop of sticky something on the table.

"Are you okay?" Roger asked, leaning forward and focusing intently on Mark's features. He knew that Mark was going to blow off the question, but he wanted to see if he could catch any tells to confront him with later.

"It's got to be harder on her…" Mark shrugged, looking towards the door, "I mean-"

"Yeah, I know. Her family." Roger winced; he hadn't wanted it to come out quite that harshly. "But I was asking about you Mark. You lost someone too."

Mark was silent for a second, his face taking on a look that resembled that of a hurt puppy. He noted the expression. When Mark finally spoke, it wasn't to him, "Hey Kitty," he greeted warmly, giving a cautious smile. Roger stiffened, feeling Kat's eyes burning into his back.

Waves of guilt for leaving her in the room alone hit him hard and he shifted uneasily. Mark raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything to him. Instead, "Want some bacon?"

Kat shook her head and after a pause sat down beside Mark, across from Roger. Roger could feel her staring even though he wasn't looking. "She doesn't like bacon," he offered, refusing to meet either persons look at his odd comment. "What?" he asked a little self-consciously.

Mark watched Roger squirm, looking between him and Kat. He's scared of her. The realization came and Mark heard himself asking, "Rog, you want to go make some cereal for Kat?"

Roger nodded gratefully, sliding out of the chair and heading towards the kitchen a little too quickly.

Mark turned in his seat, putting a hand on Kat's arm, "You alright Katharine?" he asked softly and Kat winced, nodding. He debated whether or not to call her out on the lie immediately, but decided to give her a couple more days. Maybe she would open up on her own. Roger had said she started talking, but no doubt he stopped that before it got anywhere substantial.

Maybe that was why Katharine was watching Roger so intently now- to see why he was so reluctant to listen to what she had to say. Most people would lend an ear, if only to be polite. Mark could see Roger fleeing the second their conversation- if you could call it that- took an emotional turn. It must have been hard for her to start saying something personal only to be shot down.

"You want to talk about it?" Mark asked, just to be sure and as he predicted, Kat shook her head. A familiar, if a little uncomfortable, silence fell between them and they listened to Roger bang around in the kitchen excessively. Just as Mark was about to go see what warranted the unnecessary noise, Roger walked towards them, placing a bowl and spoon in front of Kat.

"Hope you like Captain Crunch," he mumbled, standing awkwardly above them.

Kat looked up at him for a second before lowering her head, "Thank you," she said softly, delicately picking up the spoon and dipping it into the bowl.

Mark leaned back and gestured for Roger to sit down. Roger shook his head, his eyes widening and Mark cocked his head. Roger shrugged with a helpless look and wandered over to the couch, picking up his guitar along the way.

Settling down, he started strumming it and Mark noticed Kat pause mid-chew.

"Something wrong?" he asked and Kat shook her head, continuing her meal with a blush. "You should be lucky Roger isn't playing Musetta's Waltz," he tried to joke but Kat only gave him a blank look before finishing off the cereal. For a second she sat there, looking at the back of Rogers head on the couch,

"Can I go to my room please?" she asked and the despair in her voice was enough to moisten Mark's eyes. He nodded, feeling like a failure because she still felt the need to ask permission. He took the empty bowl and spoon over to the sink while Kat disappeared behind her door. It took a couple minutes for him to wash the breakfast dishes, and by the time he was finished Roger was picking out the notes for his infamous song, completely immersed in the music.

"What was that about?" Mark demanded and Roger jumped as the voice came from behind him. He hadn't heard Mark move at all and was a little weary that he'd been so oblivious to not notice Kat had left the room.

Roger stopped the movement of his fingers, the last note ringing out clearly. "What?"

"What's the matter with you? You just suddenly got all jittery," Mark pointed out and Roger glared at him as the other man sat down,

"I did not all of a sudden get jittery," he growled, focusing on his guitar instead of Mark. He refused to let himself think that Kat was affecting him so. Mark seemed to read his mind,

"Roger, I need to help her through this," he reminded softly and Roger glared at him,

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Mark sighed, leaning back against the couch and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. It was the first time that Roger noticed Mark looked older- less mugger-material and more mature. Less the giddy eager blonde filmmaker he'd come to the City as and more of a patient, understanding caretaker. More of how he remembered Mark being during his withdrawal, solemn and serious. Less… bohemian.

"Mark…" Roger started, wanting to point out the change but Mark didn't hear him, or didn't care,

"It means that I think you find that Kat reminds you of yourself. How… you were when April died."

Roger bristled at the name, launching himself off the couch, clutching the neck of his guitar angrily: partly because somewhere deep down he knew it was the truth and partly because Mark thought figured out what was bothering him about the girl. "So, what's it to you?" he demanded, putting the guitar down and picking up his coat.

Mark watched his movements, saying carefully, gently, in that caring Mark way he said stuff, "I know you don't want to go back to the place you were then, and you should know that you don't have to. You went through that once already Roger. You don't need to go through it again."

Grunting, Roger stalked towards the loft door, opening it with more force than was really necessary. To let Mark know he wasn't angry with Mark, but with himself, he grumbled, "Mimi's," when Mark inquired where he was going.

Mark watched Rogers retreating back, heard the loud knock on Mimi's door, and waited until the loft door below had opened and closed before getting up to close his own. He couldn't help but think that it would be a miracle if they all made it through this.

8:01 am.

A/N: I meant no offense by the Gypsie comment that Katharine made in the beginning. She's young.

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter- I sent it to my beta (yay! Thanks Katie ;)) but I wanted to post this up, so if you notice anything odd or whatnot, just give me a shout.

Hopefully y'all liked it more than last chapter. Reviews would be appreciated, as always, and thanks for reviewing the last chapter, you-know-who-you-are-and-so-do-I!