And that's the right opinion

Although at night I'm slipping

Win her, never ring her, now she thinks I'm a villian

The story behind the boys in the ring was intriquing but not something people haven't seen before. The Cinderella story of inner-city youths undergoing a life-changing transformation due to the power and integrity of physical sports was a tale as old as time. The Rocci Boxing League was no such exception, not even when her boss is making her do an article on these feather-weight champions. A community piece, he called it. Same old, same old.

Claire had to admit though, that Alejandro Blades packed one hell of a punch for a sixteen year old. The coach, a tall and muscular man named Domingo Perez, said he was the best he'd ever trained. She watched him spar against another kid, practically kicking his ass, from the sidelines where she took a few pictures on her camera.

Her phone rang then, just as she was about to snap a picture of Alejandro socking the other kid with a surprising southpaw. Truly impressive. Letting the camera fall against her chest on it's strap, she pulls her phone out of her jeans pocket and excuses herself.

A part of her immediately hopes that she'll see a certain phone number displayed on her screen but she knows it won't be there. Alas, no dice. She tried to hide her slight disappointment behind a smirk as if the person on the other end could see it anyway.

"Now what can I do for you, Officer?" She says, her voice smooth and light.

"What's up, Claire-bear?" Comes Chris' ever upbeat voice. "Feels like it's been ages."

She makes her way to an empty hall with lockers on the wall where the kids would keep their stuff. Leaning against one locker, she rolls her eyes. "It's only been, what, a week? Other than that, the longest we've been apart was when we were separated by birth."

"Oh, those were the best four years of my life. Then of course you just had to be born." The chuckle Chris gave was contagious and she found herself giggling.

"Don't be such a dick." She says. "Anyway, what blessed me with your voice?"

"Alright, alright." He pauses and she can hear some shuffling on the other end, and then a very muffled voice, distinctly female. "I uh- I kind of told everyone on my squad that my kid sister plays pool like no one's business and we're all going to a bar tonight."

"Alright and?"

"I need you, sis. I need to prove I ain't a liar."

"Sounds like a bit of a personal problem." She examines her nails.

"Oh come on. You love pool."

"Depends. Bet or no bets?"

"Depends who you're playing."

"I'll think about it."

Chris groans. "Oh, come on. Like you got anything planned tonight."

"Actually-"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, kid."

Ouch. Score one for the elder Redfield. "Jackass. I have work tomorrow." Then she realizes- "I have work right now."

"Come on. I'll drive you home, make sure you're tucked in all safe and sound, and I'll make you coffee in the morning."

"Sweeten the pot for me, dear."

"Bragging rights."

Claire deliberated this for a second. Bragging rights was on par with gold between the Refield siblings. For six months, Claire had lived with Chris calling himself the worlds greatest Pac-Man player when they were in middle school; it was Ms. Pac-Man. She needed something to hang over his head; it's been a few years since she had something like that last.

"I will destroy you." She says with an incredible amount of confidence in her voice.

XXXXXXX

Jill loves Chris, there it is. She loves his stupid shit-eating grin, his big brown eyes, the way he laughs so hard you'd think his ribs might bust open. She loves all of him. All of him which includes his grumpy days where he just wakes up and hates the world. The way he sometimes forgets and leaves the toilet seat up. How he occasionally talks in his sleep when she stays over. Jill just loves him, but she will never tell him. That word was never really in the Valetine vocabulary but neither was it in the Redfield's.

He's on his second beer when Claire walks in. Jill feels like she hasn't seen baby Red in ages and can't stop herself from pulling that girl into a bear hug.

"Yeah." She strains, her mouth almost buried in the other woman's hair. "Those are my internal organs."

"Sorry not sorry." Jill grins as she releases her. "Affection can hurt."

A smile. "What's up, Jilly?"

Jill gestures around the room. "You know, just hanging out."

"Who's here? Other than you and my brother."

"Most of the squad." Jill turns her around by the shoulders. "Barry." She points to the burly, yet cleanshaven, man trying his hand at darts near the back behind the pool tables. "Joseph." Her finger then goes to a younger in a slightly wrinkled STARS shirt sitting at the bar talking to a few girls. "Oh, and Brad." She adds as another man joins Joseph, beer in hand. "Well, that's it I guess."

"Not quite the turn out I expected." Claire admits. "Anyway, who's ass do I have to beat in pool?"

"Joseph." Jill answers. "He's been talking up quite the shit-storm."

Alcohol makes her hyper, beer makes her sleepy. Claire doesn't realize this until she's reached the bottom of her third and has won four games against Joseph and Brad who can't take a loss like a man. Chris is up next: head down, butt out, setting up his next shot she can already tell is going to be a scratch. She yawns into her shoulder.

"Any day now." She says. Sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth, he shoots and scatters a few of the billiard balls across the green felt. None of them even go near any of the pockets.

"How do you suck this bad?" Jill says, sitting on a stool near the end of the table. "Especially when she's so good."

"Genetics." Claire offered with a smirk. "He's got shaky hands."

"He's a sharp shooter."

Claire shrugs. "Maybe you should move him to a different position."

"I can hear you two." Chris grunts. "And it's your turn, Claire."

"Aren't you tired of this brutal ass whooping?" Claire sets up her shot. Solid blue about five inches from the left quarter pocket; perfect shot. It takes her three seconds to pot it.

Chris downs his beer. "Fuck it. You win."

She shrugs and proceeds to pot a solid red. "Suit yourself."

"I want another beer. Jill?" Chris holds his cue stick out to her. "Try your hand?"

"Why not." She takes the stick and Chris leaves for the bar.

"He didn't leave you in a good place." Claire walks around the table, looking for another good shot. She doesn't find any so she sets up on yellow near the center and hopes for the best. The ball hits the side. It's Jill's turn.

"So what's been going on?" Jill starts, aiming for an orange stripe to the right corner.

Claire shrugs again. "Same old, I guess."

"You still with that guy? Shane?" She pots the orange stripe.

"No." She answers, shaking her head. "I came to my senses."

"That's great." Jill goes for the green stripe. "He was a dick."

"I know." She gives a short, soft chuckle. "I guess we all have those at one point or another."

"Glad you knew though." She pots the green stripe too. Finally, some competition. "Sometimes people don't realize they're in love with an asshole." Jill goes for the red stripe; a miss.

Claire goes for the solid burgandy one sitting in between the side pocket and the corner.

"Found a new guy or are you going solo for now?" Jill asks.

She doesn't pot the burgandy this time in a slight hiccup. Her mind immediately goes back to Wesker.

To the day, it had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence. No visits, no calls, and no dates. She should have expected this; the man looked every bit the player if she ever saw one. It didn't surprise her, it didn't make her angry. There was only a tinge of disappointment that came that was so easily pushed aside and ignored. The thought of him was still appealing, but only for aesthetics; she had no idea what he was truly like and it was oddly crass of her to believe that it would be like some kind of affair that makes it to cinema. Everyone knows instantaneous and true love only happens in cash-grabbing, formulaic Hollywood movies. She'll find someone else and she won't even go out looking for him.

"I'm enjoying this newfound singular freedom." She says easily, feeling a warmness at the back of her neck. That's odd.

"That's the right idea. You're young. Enjoy it." Jill pots a blue stripe and immediately pots the cue. "Shit."

Grinning, Claire looks up toward the front of the bar. The door was slipping closed meaning the bar just got a little bit more crowded. She looks for Chris; he's taking too long with that beer. Scanning the crowd, she spots him there sitting on a bar stool but he isn't alone. Speak of the Devil.

"Claire." Jill catches her attention. "It's your shot."

He was standing there in his work clothes, STARS uniform in tip-top condition, talking to her brother. There was a grey folder in his hands and the tired look on his statuesque face was passive. The sunglasses weren't there over his eyes like before, but instead hung on the hem of his shirt. She tried to read his lips with no results.

"Earth to Claire?" Jill touched her shoulder.

"Yeah yeah." Claire examines the table; purple, easy. She pots it just in time to see Chris take the folder from his hands. There's nothing left but the eight-ball but it's at an angle. She sets up without thinking, eyes still flitting up, before she shoots. To even her surprise, the ball hits the side, bounces and rolls into a pocket opposite the one she was aiming for. And that's the game.

"What the fuck?" Jill says to herself in surprise, staring down at the table.

"Hey, Jill." She joins her at her side. Pointing at Chris and him, "who's that guy talking to Chris?"

"Hmm?" It takes her a second. "Oh, that's our Captain. Wesker. Why?"

"Just asking." She says it with a shrug to keep herself from seeming nothing more than just curious.

"Didn't think he would come." Jill continues.

"Why?"

"He's an asshole." Jill says simply. "Keeps himself to himself except for bossing out orders and doling out reprimands." She looks at Claire who's looking at Wesker. "Don't tell me. You think he's hot?"

"I didn't say that." She gets defensive too quickly, she notices.

"Don't bounce from one asshole to another, Claire."

"Jesus, I'm not in love with him."

"Steer clear, girl." Jill says. Claire watches as Wesker turns and heads for the door. Chris grabs his new beer and makes his way back, the folder in his hands.

"What do you got there, Champ?" Jill says once he returns.

Chris sits on Jill's vacated stool. Holding up the folder, he says, "forgot to fill out a report. Got it personally delivered by Satan himself."

"Don't you feel special." Jill pats him on the shoulder.

"Who won?" He asks.

"Is that even a question?" Claire grins, and then hands him her cue. "Here, I want to get some air."

What amazes her is that when she gets outside, he's still out there. What doesn't though, is the fact that he's out of earshot and nearly a block away. She can only see his back as he walks toward his car and can't decide whether to let him be or call him back. Jill's words follow her out the door. Sticking her hands in her sweater pockets, she makes her decision.

XXXXXXX

Wesker could tell from the moment he stepped in the door that someone was in his house. There was a dim light coming from the livingroom that gave it away, along with the very faint scent of a woman's perfume. Instinctively, his hand goes to the holster still strapped to his hip, and he raises the gun without a second thought.

He didn't necessarily live in a good neighborhood, not terrible but not great. Lately, there has been a string of burglaries so he wouldn't have been surprised if this was one such case. Furious, yes. Annoyed, sure. Surprised, not at all. His neighbors house was cased just the other night.

Soft-footed even in his heavy work boots, he makes his way into the livingroom. The first thing he saw was the back of his black leather sofa, and then the TV stuck up on the wall in front of it that he didn't use; both were how he left it this morning. Quickly then, his eyes flitted to the armchair at the far corner of the room and felt a short, quiet sigh escape him.

"What are you doing here, Alex?" He holstered his handgun.

The woman sitting in the armchair, dressed in an expensive white blouse and tight black leather pants, closed the book in her hands and smirked at him. "Is that any way to talk to your big sister?"

"It's late-" He started undoing his belt to remove the holster.

"It's nearly eleven." She looks at the clock on the wall. "It isn't your bed time yet."

"I'm tired." Wesker set the holster down on the end table and pulled his shirt from his pants before sitting down on the sofa. As soon as he did, he felt a soreness in his body from a day sitting in his office, filling out report after report. It was a feeling worse than the one he got when he was on the beat, for STARS or otherwise.

"You're getting old." Alex teased, biting gently on her tongue.

"I am not."

"Sure, sure." She looks down at the book in her lap. "You have shit taste in literature."

"Why the fuck are you here?" He groaned irritably. "It can't just be to insult my tastes. That's Nietzsche, by the way."

"I'm hurt." She puts a hand to her chest. "Why can't I just visit my adorable little brother without him interrogating me?"

"At eleven at night?"

She nods, smiling a devious little smile.

"Fine." Wesker started to unbutton his shirt. "Mind if I get comfortable?"

"By all means."

He nods and then gets up to go to his bedroom which was just a few doors away, past the dining room and kitchen, curtesy of his small one story rental. Stripping out of his STARS uniform, he replaces it with a white undershirt and a black pair of drawstring sweatpants. Usually he was really strict about his appearance but now with her, he couldn't care less.

Returning back to the sofa, he runs his hands through his hair. "How are you?" He asks, his tone softening some.

"Oh, now with the pleasantries?" She huffs. "I just came back from London. Had lunch with a nice scientist there. She says Reguvinere's been itching for some of Umbrella's leftovers."

"Leftovers?"

"You know. The experiments no one's bothering with anymore."

"What do they want with our sloppy seconds?" He rubs the back of his neck.

"God knows." She pauses, examining the multiple diamond rings on her fingers. "Anyhow, how's that woman? What's her name?"

"Long gone." He sighs. "Very long gone."

"That's a shame. She made you happy." Alex looks at him out of the corner of her eye. If she went on, she was sure he'd kick her out. The subtly solemn look on his face told her that much. Such a testy subject; rightfully so. "Well, you're still young and handsome, Albert. I'm sure you'll find another girl that'll stitch up that broken heart of yours."

"Yeah." He didn't sound so sure. "I might have."

"You might have?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "What does that mean? Are you seeing someone?"

He shook his head. "It's over now."

Definitely surprised judging by the look on her face now. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It has occurred to me I may not be worthy of another's affections, considering my line of work."

"What the fuck does that mean?" She repeated.

"I just told you-"

"No. You wouldn't come to that conclusion on your own, you sappy bastard. Who told you you couldn't be in a relationship because of Umbrella?"

"I was talking with William-"

"Of course, therein lies your problem." She stood and reached over to him, giving him a good slap on the back of the head. "Stop listening to what that idiotic man-child has to say. Everyone deserves someone and you are no exception." Her hands found her hips. She was his sister but now apparently she was his mother.

"Is that what you came here for? To lecture me in a strange afterschool special?"

"It's my job." She sits on the sofa next to him. Putting a hand on his shoulder, "who was she, love?"

He doesn't answer right away, not because he has any particular desire to be dramatic but because he truly did not know what that beautiful redhead means to him- meant to him. "Her name was Claire. Nothing serious. One date, that was all."

"And why is that all?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"I'm not in love. I barely know her. She doesn't mean a thing to me, Alex. Just another woman who has come and gone."

"Your emotional constipation brings a tear to my eye. It's actually quite sad."

"And it's time for you to go." He stands and gestures to the door. "After you."

Rolling her eyes, she stands and the click of her heels against the tiled floor hammers into his head as a migraine begins to set in. When she's standing on his stoop, she turns to him again.

"You need to call her." She says firmly.

"Why?" He leans against the wood door.

"Because you're a cold bastard and no matter how many women you get in your bed, it will never be warm enough for you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Alexandra." He says, moving to shut the door. "Drive safe."

"Goodnight, darling. Enjoy your constant, self-inflicted state of solitary." She pecks him on the cheek. "Let's do lunch this week."

His bedroom door creaks open, it's never made the sound before. Despite living alone, he doesn't immediately jump up and investigate. As still as a statue, his eyes open and he sees a figure walking in front of him in the dark. Gracefully, cat-like. There's a soft collapse on the empty side of the bed where she climbs on top. A lithe form inching ever closer while he lies still. Not afraid, curious. Not angered, comforted. Her body drapes over his, the blanket being the only thing keeping her skin from his. She leans close, the breath rolls off her lips and lays flat on his parted mouth. The scent of her, like rich cherries, intoxicates and blinds until all he can fully comprehend is the feel of her pressing down on his muscles. He touches her but can't grasp and grab. Her body like silk falling from his fingers or like water just passing through. He wants to touch her, to hold her, but he can't. It's as if the world doesn't want him to. She leans down closer, her arms on either side of his head, until it's not just breath they share but each other's smooth and soft lips. It's a kiss so unfullfilling, so desperate that he sits up. Her legs wrap around his waist and he's on top of her. He needs to feel something, anything, because she's here with him and it can't be. It can't be like this where he's touching her but can't feel her. He grasps at her hair only for it to fall through his fingers. Gasping, he parts from her. Looking down, she begins to disappear. Her face becomes translucent, and she fades and fades until there is nothing left. Until there is nothing but his white bed sheets that he's staring down at. Until, again, he is alone.

His dream remains in perfect clarity when he awakes the next morning. Odd.

XXXXXXX

Leave it to Claire to forget her work camera in the back of Jill's car. And leave it to her to only remember she forgot her work camera in the back of Jill's car the next morning over a bowl of Lucky Charms and halfway through a rerun of Will and Grace while she has to be at work in an hour with pictures of Alejandro Blades knocking out a tenth grader. So:

"Shit!" She jumps up from the couch, nearly spilling milk all over the white button up shirt she was forced to iron, and reaches for the nearest phone. And:

"Hello?" Jill still sounded a little groggy. She had went home with Chris so she's probably tired from all the physical activities that that entails.

"Hey, it's Claire." She says into the receiver, trying to both hold the phone to her ear and turn off the TV at the same time. "I left my camera in the back seat of the Jeep." And she almost spills the milk again as she picks the bowl up from the coffee table.

There's a pause. "Oh, that sucks."

"Yeah. Can I come pick it up?"

"Of course but I have to be at work in fifteen minutes."

"I thought you started at ten." She pauses at the door with her keys in her hand.

"Yeah but the Captain's making us come in early for drills." Claire can hear a car door closing shut in the background. "Oh, yeah. I see your camera bag." Another pause and something muffles in the background. "Chris says hi."

"Hi Chris." She's out the door in record time. "I'll meet you guys at the station."

One train ride later sees Claire standing outside of the police station waiting for a green Jeep Sports Cherokee to come around the corner. Her stomach was feeling weird because the milk she had with her cereal was a little off and she blames it on that instead of the fact that she's been looking at the shiny black BMW sitting on the curb in front of her. Oh yes. She and that shiny black BMW got to know each other quite well. Okay, in honesty, it wasn't the car that was bugging her out. If it was here then it's owner was probably in the station, and bumping into him wasn't something she wanted to do. So there she stood, her foot tapping anxiously against the concrete, waiting for Jill in her green Jeep Sports Cherokee, having to be at work in thirty minutes.

And then it appears from around that corner in all it's sporty glory. Her foot stops tapping and she pushes off the gate she's been leaning against. She walks over to the street, toes of her shoes on the curb, just as Jill slows and pulls over. Chris is in the front passenger seat and greets her with a sleepy smile.

"Hey-a sis." His voice was scratchy.

"Hey, bro." She replies, leaning into the window.

Jill leans over Chris. "I got to go find parking. Meet us inside."

The Jeep pulls away. She sucks her teeth and squints at the Jeep as it disappears around the corner at the end of the street. Now she was going to be late for work.

The station outside was an intimidating mansion-like structure made of white brick and steel. Inside, it had marble, or atleast faux marble, floors and white plastered walls. It was pearl on the inside. Pretty like a museum.

Claire trailed along the front steps inside the foyer, walking back and forth, hands in her jeans pockets. It had only been a few minutes but she was staring up at the clock stuck to the wall behind the front desk as if it owed her something. Her boss was a prude when it came to punctuality; she was late once before and nearly went back to filing paperwork and taking calls. That was a learning experience.

"My bad, Claire-y." Comes Jill from behind her. She turns around to see Jill and Chris coming up the stairs, an apologetic look on her face and a black camera bag slung over her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." Jill hands her the bag and she takes it. "I got to go. See you later."

"Same bar, same time?" Chris asks.

"Absolutely." Claire sticks her thumb up as she walks to the door.

Checking the raspberry-colored watch strapped to her wrist, a gift from Dylan of course, she doesn't pay attention to where she's going. What- who - she runs into as a result of inattention in classic Claire fashion firmly cements her belief that the universe is just a playground bully that loves to pick on the Redfield children.

"Oh." Came the reply from the human wall she just ran nose first into.

Claire somehow knows who it is before she even looks up. "Oh."

"Claire."

"You."

Wesker has his hand on his chest, where she had just headbutted him, and was looking at her with a most unreadable expression. "Me."

"Oh." Claire felt like she had just been caught doing something bad, but she didn't know why.

He was quiet for a moment, looking at her, and then he spoke. "Been arrested again?"

"Sorry." She scoffs, slightly offended. "Not today."

Wesker knew the moment he woke up this morning that he wasn't going to have a good day. It was a feeling, something rattling his bones and not in the good way. He was drowsy and he woke up before his alarm went off. He spilled hot coffee all over his fake marble counter top and he jammed his right pinky toe on the metal leg of his bedframe. The words coming out of his mouth then were sure to send a mother rolling in her grave. Surely an angel would drop dead in the presense of such a filthy mouth. On the freeway in the car, he encountered a particular sticky lane of traffic, some asshole in a Range Rover tailgating him for a few miles, and a teenager that kept cutting him off. And now here he was, standing in front of the one person he wasn't ready to see.

"What are you doing here, then?" He asks, because it is the only thing he can do.

"Picking up something from my friend." She gestures to the camera bag sitting on her hip. "What's it to you?"

"It's not everyday I bump into the same girl in the police station that has no business in a police station."

Claire shrugs. "We have common interests."

He shakes his head. "I don't have an inane desire to be incarcerated."

"Okay, dick." She sighes. "My brother works here. Did you forget?"

"Oh yeah. The other Redfield." He tries to keep the distaste out of his voice. "I honestly don't see a relation, in my opinion."

"That sucks. Anyway." She goes to move around him. "I have to go."

He was about to reach out for her when he stops himself. "Wait, Claire."

She stops then and looks at him with a waiting expression, an expectant look that said 'what do you want?'

"It's nice to see you again." He says quietly, in a way that seemed so much unlike him. He hated the way that sounded.

She bites her lip, trying to gauge the honesty in his eyes. It seemed like it was there; his stone face seemed genuine enough. Still, she couldn't figure out what to say in response. How could she explain that she too was glad to see him and was annoyed as hell at the same time?

"Well," She begins in a sigh. "Why didn't you call?" It sounds petty coming from her which annoyed her more, but it was on her mind for a while.

"I didn't want to impose on you." He answers.

"It's been two weeks. I mean, if our situation was different, I wouldn't care but-"

"What is our situation?" He asks, genuinely confused.

A man coming through the door wearing a black RC Raccoon's ball cap and sweater with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder distracts her for a moment as he comes through the door.

"Nothing." She attempts to wave it off. "Just thought you were interested, that's all."

"What makes you think I am not interested?"

"It's been awhile since you've even talked to me. Usually that means one thing."

"Claire-"

She notices the man in the ball cap rush behind him and back out of the door. It was then when she saw his face; square jaw, five o'clock shadow, half of a Glasgow smile. He pulled down slightly on the bill of his hat before he had pushed his way out the door. He didn't have the duffle bag with him. Claire wasn't the type to create whole world's and situations based on over thinking and radical assumptions but there was just something wrong with that.

"The bag." She says and Wesker looks at her with confusion.

"What?"

"That guy looked really shady and he came in with a bag." She says, scanning the station for it. "He didn't take it with him."

"What did he look like?"

"He was wearing a black hoodie and a Racc's hat."

He began to do the same and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, suddenly anxious. There'd been a few bomb threats in the last few months alone that had all turned out to be bullshit except for one that went off in an abandoned steel mill in the hills. He rubs the back of his neck and spots the bright red fire alarm on the wall. That would be the easiest way to evacuate the building.

"You need to get out." He says calmly even though urgency has sparked his heart rate.

Claire mumbles something incoherent and he reaches for the fire alarm. The following noise was sharp and overwhelming and she found it stabbing inside her skull as she pushed through the doors.

If she were to dress it up, she'd say it was mayhem when everyone in the station met down the street. Everyone was supposed to calm and composed, filing out one by one and listening quietly and patiently for instructions. There was none of that. People are easy to panic and someone let slip the word bomb and that was it.

She was lost in the crowd, tiptoeing to try to see Chris or Jill in the sea of people. The police were pushing people back, trying to get them to move faster, as the bomb disposal unit rushed in. She couldn't find Wesker; he had went to do his job, get people out. She had long since forgotten about her own job and the camera bag against her side seemed to have disappeared as all the commotion made her forget all about it.

Dark hair catches her attention, moving back into the building.

"Chris." She mumbles under her breath, pushing past people back toward the building. The street was filled now and multiple policemen were trying to guide the growing crowd down the street. She was like a fish trying to swim upstream against the current. How she manages to slip through between officers is a wonder considering everything going on, but there she is, slipping back through the front door calling out her brother's name. As irrational as it was, she needed to go in and find him, drag him out. Claire knows Chris would do the same. It's not even a question.

She just needs to know that he's not in danger. It's been like that for years, ever since their mother and father died. After all, without each other, what would they do?

"Claire!" A growl flowed through her ear and sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing while she felt a pressure on her arm. Turning, she sees Wesker. Who else would it be? "What are you doing in here?"

"Chris-"

He grabs her hand and pulls her back toward the front door. "He went back outside. We need to go."

Her feet follow easily and without her conciously aware of it, her hand tightens around his. For a moment, his did the same. They were almost out the door when it suddenly grew quiet. She heard a pulse and he pushed her forward, knees landing solid against the concrete. Then in an instant, the world was as loud as it was at birth, ringing in her ears.

XXXXXXX

Author's Note:

I don't have the luxory of a spell checker so I apologize for grammatical errors.

So yeah um..

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