Getting Neal to rest for three days turned out to be worryingly easy. By the end of the first twenty four hours he didn't appear to have moved. It was well into the second day before he stirred and woke… groggy, he tried to work his way out of bed just as Peter was changing the dressing on his forearm.

"Oh no you stay right there." The older man pushed him gently back. "Dr. Dalton says you need to stay in bed for three days… minimum."

"Why?" Neal settled for sitting up against the wall. "I have to…" he trailed off sleepily.

"You have nothing to do that can't wait." Peter told him. For the first time the young man seemed to register the bunk above him, the steel walls, the tiny bedroom, crowded even without the other men who lived there.

"What are you doing?" he looked lazily at his arm still resting in Peter's hand.

"Keeping you from getting a serious infection." He shrugged "You have a pretty ugly gash under there…and you pulled half your stitches out trying to load that last truck."

"We made it back?"

"Obviously… with two truckloads of toys and kids clothes."

"And the asteroid…" Neal choked on the word slightly. Peter dropped his eyes.

"It hit yesterday morning."

"Oh…"

"You cut it really close. Another minute you would have been sealed out." It was Peter's turn to choke. "You shouldn't have gone back that last time."

"But I found Dan… Sara's brother-in-law, didn't I?"

"Yes" he sighed "Neal… I just… thank you… really, but if you ever…" he gave up on explaining how frightened he'd been the previous morning and settled for carefully squeezing the arm in his grasp. Neal smiled drowsily… nearly ready to drift back off. "You should drink some water and probably eat something."

"Ok." the water was easy, a glass sat waiting on the bookshelf by the bunk. Peter handed it to his friend and hurried off to make him a sandwich. When he returned the kid had dozed off again… still sitting, propped against the wall, the empty water glass clasped loosely in his hand.

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Unpacking books was mindless work, but Mozzie didn't really mind mindless right now. Honestly if he could get his mind to shut down for a little while he would be grateful it was hard not to think about everything thing… everyone that was lost. He had always prided himself on his ability to not get attached, but now down here he realized slowly just how many attachments he had formed over the years. Far to many of them had been severed abruptly by a chunk of space rock.

He was unpacking a slightly worn set of classic novels when he happened to glance at the door. His hand paused in midair, still holding "King Solomon's Mines" as he caught sight of Neal walking through the door. The younger man still looked tired, but the he didn't carry the look of bone weary exhaustion that had hung over him the last few months. He was stronger and far less pale than he had been in a while. He hesitated a moment in the doorway before quietly crossing the room to join the smaller man.

"Look who decided to rejoin the living" Mozzie said pushing his glasses up and returning to lining up books on the shelves. Neal, he noted didn't smile. "Are you sure you are supposed to be out of bed?"

"Doctor said three days. It's been five and a half." The younger man grabbed a book and held it thoughtfully "I'm good." He tried to smile then, but it fell flat. Mozzie nodded, wisely deciding not to give his opinion on that. "I couldn't keep staring at those four walls anymore. I needed to do something."

"You've done enough, don't you think?" he didn't mean the words to sound angry… accusatory, Mozzie was as surprised as Neal when they came out that way. The kid dropped his eyes and stared at the book in his loose fingers.

"Yeah… I guess I have haven't I?" guilt laced his soft voice.

"Neal… I didn't mean it that way. I just meant…"He shrugged helplessly "You worked yourself into the ground for this… I thought… when you collapsed the other day, I thought… for a minute that you had literally killed yourself for this place."

"I'm fine."

"Now." The smaller man met his friend's eye "Just… don't do that again. Ok?"

"Alright."

"Good. Now are you going to put that book on a shelf or just hold it all day?"

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He let the painting take him… carry him far away… laying on his back on the scaffolding suspended more than thirty feet above the floor it was easier to push his overwhelming fear, and grief to the back of his mind. The only problem with his coping mechanism that Neal could see was he was rapidly running out of ceiling. The vast space had taken more than three weeks of painting several hours per night to transform, now he was down to less than an hour's worth of work. He glanced at his watch… he never wore a watch before except for the FBI transmitters, but he grabbed one, along with several packages of batteries, in the harried week before they were sealed in. For the next five to seven years there would be no visible night and day in their little world… just lights on and lights off.

Neal spared his handiwork a quick glance and felt a tiny smile slip into place involuntarily. The glowing paint stood out sharply in the dim incandescence of the emergency lights. Like the shadowy park below and library scheduled to open next week, hopefully his painting would offer an illusion of normalcy to the confined survivors of their community.

Normal… normal was gone… everything that was normal was utterly destroyed along with millions… billions of lives that were wiped out instantly by the surging mountain of water that crushed the coast lines around the world a month ago, along with the billions more who were struggling, dying even now up above in the dark uninhabitable environment left behind by massive dust clouds and erupting volcanos… he closed his eyes and forced his focus back to his painting… he couldn't think about it… about the world above, not yet, the horror was still to visceral.

Out of ceiling, he sighed and neatly sealed his paint buckets. Dropping his brushes into the thinner the young man rolled onto his stomach and slithered to the edge. The climb down in the dim light was a bit challenging especially in his exhausted state, but he welcomed the task, anything to keep his mind occupied until he collapsed into exhausted slumber for a few hours, too tired to dream.

"So this is what you have been sneaking out to do after everyone else is sleeping." A quick look over his shoulder revealed the silhouette of a man.

"Hi Peter… you caught me."

"Always do." The older man looked up at the ceiling for a moment "this is… wow…"

"I forged the sky." Neal shrugged and continued the climb. "What is the sentence for that?"

"Neal…" his voice carried a warning filled with concern "This is not a forgery… this is… amazing… you even have constellations… and the moon rising over there…

"I needed something to keep my mind occupied." His foot missed a bar and for a moment he scrambled for balance. Below he heard a sharp gasp. "I'm fine, I've got it." he called as soon as his grip was secure.

"Now that you've finished, you think you might be ready to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. I don't want to see you collapse again" Neal grimaced, embarrassed he had slept most of the first week in the bunker.

"I'm ok."

"Considering everything… you are doing as well as anyone. Elle couldn't stop crying yesterday. Jones got a case of the shakes the other day stocking books in the library and I have nightmares every night about my family being out there… and the worst part is some of them are."

"I know, Peter" his feet touched the steel floor and he sighed "I'm really sorry there was only so much space in the apartment…"

"I wasn't blaming you, Neal" Peter's warm hand landed on his arm in the dark "two thousand people… including me, my wife and our son owe you our lives… you have nothing to be sorry for..."

"Except for the billions of people who…"

"Even you're not arrogant enough to think you could save everyone in the whole world." He shook his head and grinned affectionately.

"I know there was no hope of saving everyone. I just… actually I try not to think about it too much."

"Hence the sky full of stars." Peter gestured upward.

"Yeah…"

"And the park, the school, the clinic and the swimming pool…" He smiled "and the library and the servers Haversham and his girlfriend spent the week before the impact downloading full of everything they could think of… when are you going to stop?"

"Now, I guess… I ran out of ceiling." Neal managed to return his sad smile.

"For the record… I appreciate the running track."

"You do?"

"I do and Jones' niece and nephew love the playground." He let the deep quiet of the sleeping bunker settle over them as they drifted toward the long hallway to their apartment. Neal was suddenly struck by a longing for the sound of traffic while he waited for his friend to say something. "You missed the community meeting last night."

"I know."

"I thought you might enjoy being a part of creating our city government."

"I assume you kept it pretty simple. Mayor, city council…"

"They nominated me for sheriff."

"Diana?"

"Yeah, she threw it out there before I could say anything."

"Better she nominated you than you nominating yourself… that way you don't look so arrogant."

"That's not what I…" he trailed off with a chuckle as he caught glimpse of his friend's playful grin in the faint glow. "You put her up to it didn't you?"

"I'll plead the fifth on that one…" Neal hesitated "that does still apply right?"

"Yes, Neal you still have the right to remain silent…"

"So any laws I should be aware of?"

"So far just the basics… don't kill anyone, don't drink too much homemade wine and decide to jump off the balcony…"

"Sounds pretty doable… I assume don't steal is in there somewhere."

"Yeah."

"That may be more tempting in five to seven…"

"For more than just you." A few more steps fell under their feet "You know I have room for one more deputy… it even comes with a badge… a real one." Peter offered "I understand if you would rather not and it is entirely your choice."

"I still have a few months left on my sentence."

"Not anymore… as far as I'm concerned you are a free man."

"Thanks…" Neal looked around the hallway. "For what it's worth."

"Neal, I know this is hard, this place is confining and the quarters are close, really close-"

"Says the man not sharing a room with Jones, Mozzie AND a nineteen year old graffiti artist." The younger man lamented.

"You didn't have to bring them."

"I'm glad I did."

"I know… and I know living with them is a challenge… my point was-"

"We're alive and we are going to be ok." Neal stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I know that, Peter. I do… but it still hurts to think of…" his voice withered away.

"I know… if it helps, it hurts me too. It hurts all of us" His voice cracked sharply "but all we can do is go forward. And help each other when we can."

"Somethings never change." Neal muttered through a half suppressed chuckle.

"Oh really?"

"You're still telling me to move on… just like you did when we first started working together."

"I do know it's not going to be easy."

"It's not, but you are right… life goes on… for us at least…maybe it would help if we held some sort of memorial… Memorial Day is coming up… everyone could bring pictures of people they care about who aren't here and …if Elizabeth is feeling up to it…" Peter smiled as his friend continued planning… it would take some time but they would be alright and life would find a way to go on.

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The park was filled. Nearly two thousand people standing shoulder to shoulder in their best clothes. Miles Lancaster stood at the front of the huge room. His voice was quiet and somber as he spoke of all those lost. A surreal silence fell over the community as he turned and taped a picture of his brother to the wall.

"Winston Lancaster Jr." He said in a firm voice that resonated through the huge steel room. "I will never forget you." When he stepped aside the hush lingered as one by one the residents moved forward and placed pictures of their family and friends on the wall. As each picture was placed the names were spoken and the survivors said good bye. Marcus hadn't thought it was possible for such a large crowd to be quiet but aside from an occasional sob there remained almost no sound. When it was his turn he stepped forward, between Jeff and Selena as they placed the pictures of their classmates and friends. They took turns calling the names.

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Staring at the wall of photographs was overwhelming. Neal felt like he was drowning in a sea of grief. These pictures would fade… the faces they held lost and forgotten.

Everyone else had returned to their rooms after the memorial. Neal stood alone and studied

"It's overwhelming isn't it?" June's soft voice intruded on his dismal thoughts. He nodded silently "There is so much love on that wall." Neal's eye jerked around sharply to meet her gaze.

"So much loss you mean." He finally said.

"Neal, sweetheart you can't have loss without love." She told him firmly. The young man sighed.

"The memorial was supposed to make it easier."

"And it will." She smiled sadly "in time." She straightened her dress and met his gaze "It seems a shame though… that we don't have a more permanent memorial." Neal nodded again.

"It does, doesn't it?"

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Neal rolled out of bed and silently picked a suit from one of the four in his small closet. His feet made almost no sound as he padded to the bathroom, hoping it was unoccupied. He heard the shower running through the door. Twenty-five people with two small bathrooms meant they were rarely empty. Hanging his suit by the bathroom door he wandered into the living area. In the corner he knelt down and plugged in the Christmas tree there. The twinkling bulbs lit up special ornaments contributed by each person in their home, including a wooden baby's first Christmas he made for Mitch, and the surprisingly large pile of small gifts under it.

He smiled and allowed his gaze to drift around the room as he settled on the couch. In the six months since the community memorial this little space had become home. Somehow down here under a mountain they had found a new normal… a crowded chaotic normal rhythm of their lives and the detris of it could be seen in the apartment. Jones' shoes where he always left them at the end of the couch, Mozzie's book lying open over the arm of his favorite chair, Elizabeth's light blanket folded neatly over the corner of a sofa, Alecia's sketch book and his own easel against the wall were all hints at the life they had created here. Agent Harrison, Keith, sleeping on the couch opposite the one on which Neal sat. In the center of the large dining table sat an enormous bowl of Christmas treats, freshly made the last week with milk, butter and eggs from Mozzie's farm… in the far corner a small garden in pots grew enthusiastically under a single sunlamp, the fresh herbs sending out their scents to brighten the home.

Neal yawned and stretched comfortably marveling at the resiliency of the human mind. Just seven months after the end of everything they ever knew, life went on as if it had always been this way.

The bathroom door opened and Neal was not surprised that Peter was the one who beat him to the shower. He grinned at the older man.

"You're up early."

"Mitchy woke up an hour ago." Peter shrugged "He went back to sleep…"

"You didn't" he teased, Peter sighed

"I thought I might take a stroll around the square…" he smiled "you know make sure everything is still ready for later." Early morning strolls had become a habit of Peter's and the whole community was beginning to refer to them as the sheriff's rounds.

"Give me five minutes to shower and I'll join you."

"I can wait five minutes I guess." He shoved the younger man gently toward the bathroom. "You want some coffee? I know it isn't Italian roast, but..."

"Sure." Neal agreed over his shoulder "Don't forget to add water this time." He added with a brilliant grin.

Ten minutes later they slipped out of the apartment, both men clutching steaming mugs of coffee. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment.

"So a suit… I haven't seen you in a suit since…" Peter began

"Since the memorial… there really hasn't been much call for one."

"You do have a point. They aren't the best for the type of work you've been doing lately."

They reached the open expanse of the park area. In the hallways the upper floors covered them, but here the ceiling rose forty feet from the steel walkway and the room opened up to a vast nearly three acre space. To their right a concrete perimeter contained the soil of the park and community garden. Under the ceiling lights that just began their morning brightening several small birds could be seen darting among the flowers and trees. A young squirrel scurried back up a pecan tree. The grass was vivid green and the blooms and butterflies spanned a range of brilliant hues.

Near the far end of the park an evergreen tree stood nearly twelve feet tall from its seat in the raised ground. At its crest a star glittered brightly and ornaments cascaded down the branches. At the bottom almost five hundred gifts represented each child in the bunker.

To the left was the clinic, the sheriff's office and jail, the community hall, the school, library, commissary, and the children's home… all twined with Christmas lights and deck with artificial garlands and wreaths. Down the center expanse rows of tables were set up for the feast planned for later in the day. Games and races were laid out in preparation for entertainment at the party.

The vast room ended at a wall painted with an intricately twisted forest of trees. Each small branch bore faces in place of leaves. Thousands and thousands of faces decorated the memorial forest, each one unique… each one the face of someone remembered by a member of the community. Neal smiled sadly as he reached the mural. He had painted each portrait from the photos left at the Memorial. Under many of the tiny faces a name was written in delicate script. Flowers and small mementoes frequently decorated the base of the wall. Just staring at the size of the complicated painting made the young man's heart clench painfully. It took him the better part of five months to create it and each day he had felt close to tears. Somewhere in the long process he found a measure of peace though… He found he could think about the way things used to be without feeling like he was being crushed by a sheer overwhelming wave of guilt and grief. The agony of the first few weeks had faded to a dull throb in the back of his heart.

He dutifully followed Peter through his rounds, making light conversation and laughing. At last they reached the door of their home and Neal stepped inside. Breakfast was just being laid on the table and their family was gathered for it… Sara's family was already in attendance and Alex and her crew arrived just moments after the two men. There was barely room to stand in the small apartment with approximately fifty people crowded into it, but the laughter and smiles combined with Christmas carols someone had put on set a cheerful mood. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and at least a dozen candles gave a festive glow to every face.

They all found a place at last and Neal lifted a glass of orange juice as he stood. He opened his mouth to offer a toast and hesitated, allowing his eyes to glide slowly over the people here… a family… his family gathered for Christmas. He felt tears sting his eyes and his lips turn up in a small smile. Darkness had come… had fallen over the whole world. They had no way of knowing if there was anyone left alive outside or even in other bunkers, but here… here inside their little safe haven they were alive and together… they would find a way through this night and into the sun again.

He cleared his throat and lifted his glass again.

"To the rising sun and a bright future."

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The End

obviously not mine but they are so much fun to work with. Thanks to Kitty for all the editing. if you made it through the whole thing let me know what you thought,