The worst day was the worst for reasons that Harry had never expected. They'd woken in the morning, barely speaking as they sleepily got dressed, and Kel began his regular routine to connect with his host. Harry braced for the nauseating wave of pent up pain and rage that was briefly unleashed each day, but it never came. Instead, Kel just finished making his bed, flashing a quick smile when he noticed he was being watched.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, splashing his face with water in an attempt to make it seem as though he hadn't been staring. "Just thinking . . . I don't know how much we'll be able to get done today."

"So much snow," Kel nodded in agreement. "I suppose a day or two staying in won't hurt us."

The snow had started on their way back from the pub the night before, coming down thick and heavy. Harry hadn't been sure what to say as they trudged back through it. Despite his discomfort and intoxication, Kel had performed beautifully—showing just the right amount of confidence, expressing interest in all the right things, laughing at the right times. He even managed a real looking smile a couple of times. He had Hathorne wrapped around his finger in under twenty minutes. Kel spent another hour drinking and talking with him, getting the man interested enough for him to start taking risks, letting his behaviour and body language become just a tad too friendly. Once that change in behaviour came, Kel started talking about feeling unwell and needing to get back before the weather turned.

Had Harry been with Jack, they'd be laughing about it, reliving the best parts, possibly even delving into the fantasies of what could have been if they'd been in a more agreeable time. Had he been with the Doctor, he knew that a combination of slight jealousy and being turned on by the skill of manipulation would have had him struggling to keep his hands to himself until they'd made it back home. Making that walk with Kel, he was uncertain with what to do. He didn't imagine joking about it would have been received well, considering that Kel found the whole situation loathsome and didn't appreciate being put into it.

He tried to get Kel to talk instead, asking what Hathorne had told him. That didn't work out well. Kel could struggle to focus on uneven terrain and talk at the same time on a good day, and he was quite drunk at that point. He attempted to explain, struggling to remember and sort out his words as he carefully stepped through the thick snow. He switched languages a couple of times, without even seeming to notice, and then he stumbled. He would have fallen if Harry hadn't caught him by the arm.

Kel had pushed his hand away hurriedly, but then looked at Harry as though he were suddenly surprised. Drunk, Harry thought. Perhaps alcohol affected his connection with his host and it somehow felt uncomfortable to be touched. Harry took a step away from him to show that he didn't plan to touch him again and they continued their walk in silence.

When they got back to the tavern, Kel had dumped his clothing in a messy pile on the floor, skipped his usual night time routine with those odd little stones he carried, and climbed into bed, shivering and pulling the blankets over his head. Harry thought he had fallen almost immediately asleep and decided to hang his clothes and put his boots near the fire before getting undressed himself.

At least ten minutes went by before he heard Kel's voice mutter quietly from beneath the blankets, "Good night, Harold."

And now something was different.

Harry felt almost annoyed with himself for being concerned. He had expected Kel to wake up grumpy and bitchy over Harry's trickery from the night before, but he wasn't. It wasn't even the fact that he wasn't grumpy that was bothersome. It was something else—something that Harry couldn't put his finger on aside from the absence of the wave of negativity he usually released each morning.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Harry asked carefully.

Kel stopped moving for a second to think. "I believe so," he answered after a moment. "Though I suppose I wouldn't know if I had forgotten, would I? I don't remember anything happening after we came back."

"That's right. You just went to sleep."

"There we are then," Kel smiled that odd little smile of his. "Pub, drinks, Hathorne, and bed."

Harry nodded slowly. "What did Hathorne tell you?"

"It was rather straight-forward really. People go into the woods and they don't come out. There have been reports of missing persons for over a year now, nine people in total missing."

The facts were coming easily and with little thought. Kel wasn't struggling to remember them. He knew exactly what Hathorne had said.

"One witness said that his father wandered away from the path and never came back. They looked for him and saw a woman, watching them. They called out and moved closer, but somehow lost her in the trees—vanished without a trace."

"So it might just be a human woman."

"Or something that looked like one," Kel answered quickly. "Hathorne said that she was described as looking inhuman in some way. The witness said he was certain it was a spirit."

Harry frowned. "That's not a whole lot of information to go on . . ."

"I thought it might be an ellylldan."

Harry blinked at him, a bit surprised by the optimism in his voice. "An ellylldan," he answered slowly.

"I'll admit that the environment here isn't quite what they usually go for but, perhaps just like us, it doesn't have much choice. The woods along the river would work as hunting grounds in a pinch."

Harry caught himself staring again and had to make a conscious effort to stop. All over the universe, there were stories of mysterious spirits that used some kind of lures to draw travelers into the water, where they would drown and be devoured. People on Earth called them will-o-the-wisps, aleya, or sirens, but the name they chose to take with them when they finally made it to the stars was "ellylldan". Time Lords called them Remnants in the old stories—believing them to be the discarded energy from a regeneration, attempting to carry on living. They were a myth that seemed to have touched every species, yes, but a myth all the same.

"Kel, ellylldan are just stories."

"No, they're not."

Harry felt a headache coming on and rubbed at his forehead irritably. "And what makes you say that?"

"I used to be one."

It wasn't even what he said. It was the way he said it. Kel was always so reluctant to reveal anything about himself and, when he did, it was usually to achieve something. It was to manipulate, surprise, or even humiliate. But there was no indication that this was an attempt to manipulate him and the way Kel carried on about his business made Harry think it had nothing to do with embarrassing him or throwing him off guard either. He wasn't watching for a reaction to enjoy or take advantage of. He was just gazing out the window at the snow.

"It's a proper blizzard now," he said quietly. "I think we'll need a rope just to get to the shed."

"Are you going to elaborate at all?" Harry asked after a moment had passed without Kel offering up any new information. "You used to be an ellylldan?"

Kel barely glanced in his direction before turning his attention back to the window. "As a host, of course. I fell for its trick. It was night and I was looking for shelter. I saw a light and thought it might be a building or a camp, followed it, and fell down a small cliff side into a lake below. I struck a rock and my spine was crushed. I couldn't move and my host sank into the water. When the ellylldan came to feed, I left my host and took the ellylldan instead."

"But it was alive."

Kel shrugged. "Once I was attached to its nervous system, all I had to do was cut off the connection the brain had to the rest of the body and wait."

"You mean that you killed it."

"Yes. I survived. It didn't."

"So you not only discovered that a mythical creature existed, but you inhabited its body and learned all about how it works, and you never thought that was worth mentioning?"

"Of course I did," Kel answered simply. "With your interest in the evolution of life, I realized shortly after I met you that it would be something you would find greatly interesting. I was waiting for an opportunity to tell you about it."

It was just conversation, Harry realized. That's what was so different. Kel wasn't lying or hiding or manipulating, and neither was Harry. They were just talking for the sake of talking, and Kel actually seemed comfortable with it. Harry remembered Kel handing him the fern he grew and telling him that he would like for them to be friends. He remembered Kel trying to start a conversation on their first night in Salem and how he reacted gruffly and shot him down. He had known Kel for years and had always just written him off as one of those relationships where they mutually disliked each other.

All the time they had spent in each other's presence and Kel was just waiting for an opportunity to talk.

"I'd like to hear about it," he found himself saying quietly. "When we have some free time."

"Of course," Kel answered without hesitation. "Seems like my date is cancelled anyway."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Date?"

"Mm. Judge Hathorne was very willing to give up information right up until I asked him where I might find the supposed spirit. He insisted that we meet so that he could show me." He grimaced. "I don't know what he could possibly hope for out in the woods. Even without the storm, it's freezing outside."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Honestly, things are a bit different in this time. Most likely, he just wanted to see you again. I don't think he would try something like that so soon."

Kel just shook his head.

Bridget didn't have much for them to do. She agreed that the snow was too dangerous for anyone to go outside beyond what a rope would reach. Harry volunteered to brave the outdoors, knowing he was best suited for it anyway, and bundled up. They tied two ropes around his waist, in case one of them broke, and Kel and Bridget's husband, Ed, held onto the ends. Then he ventured out into the storm.

The wind was cold and the snow was blinding, but Harry had actually been in much worse before. He fed the animals and came back with a basket full of eggs in only a few minutes. Bridget went easy on him after that, giving him just a couple of simple chores to do. She had Kel doing kitchen work, chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes for supper. Harry watched him work out of the corner of his eye as he cleaned, still looking for some reason for his unusual behaviour.

Even Bridget seemed to have noticed. She walked past Harry as he was scrubbing down the tables and chairs and tilted her head in Kel's direction.

"How much did he drink last night?"

Harry smiled a bit. "Too much."

"Did he find himself a woman?"

"No, ma'am."

"Hmm," Bridget raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the table again. "Perhaps he should drink more often."

Then she made her way over to the table where Kel was working and sat down beside him with a basket full of clothing that needed mending. She stitched and Kel chopped and they chatted together happily. Harry knew he shouldn't find someone else's peace so unsettling, but it was. It felt like Kel had disappeared in the night, his host and somehow come back to life, and now they were stranded with a stranger in the storm and didn't even know it.

After a while, Kel had finished the meal prep and instead started mixing medicines. Harry finished his own work and fetched a bowl of hot broth and a heel of bread, then sat down with the others at the table.

Kel was explaining the medicinal properties of his ingredients to Bridget as he worked them and she frequently forgot her mending as she listened. Harry ate silently and watched, listening carefully. If he'd known Kel better, he might have known more about his life before he came to Earth. He might have known the things that had happened that him the person he was. He might have known what he would have to forget to make him seem so happy and youthful.

His first guess would have been a failed romance—it was a common enough source of pain—but he doubted that was the case given what he'd learned the night before. His next thought was family issues and, while it was clear that those existed, Kel revealed that he remembered his family just fine.

"Where did you learn all this?" Bridget asked him at one point. "Your mother must have taught you."

Kel had actually chuckled when he shook his head. "I don't think my mother ever taught me anything."

Bridget seemed to find that amusing, smirking when she answered, "I'm sure she'd disagree."

"I'm sure she would. But she would also disagree when I tell you that the woman is a bitch, and that is, undoubtedly, a fact."

Bridget's eyes opened wide and Harry dropped his spoon into his bowl. Kel quickly looked back and forth between them, seeming to have realized that he'd done something wrong.

"Apologies," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to cause offense."

Harry could feel the nervousness coming off of him. Even without telepathically reaching out, he could feel it. He was unsure and worried that Bridget thought he was rude and Harry hadn't had to put forth the slightest amount of effort to feel it. He was completely unguarded.

Bridget smiled after a moment. "Of course not, love," she said warmly and reached forward to touch his cheek. "Not every woman is made to be a mother and it's only a fool who takes offense to the truth. Still, perhaps hurts can be mended. Are your parents still living?"

Kel seemed relieved by her touch and the kindness in her voice. "I don't know. I haven't been back in a long time."

Bridget nodded slowly and then announced that the smell of Harry's broth was making her hungry. She excused herself, pausing briefly to bend down and kiss Kel's head before leaving. Harry didn't need to reach out for her either to know what she thought. Kel may have been a full-grown man, but all she saw now was a boy who needed a good mother. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she'd feel the same way if she'd seen how easily he shot Mr. Corey in the head and gutted and stuffed his corpse.

"Have I said too much?" Kel asked quietly once they were alone. "Have I compromised us?"

"No," Harry answered. "It was just an unexpected thing to say, that's all. Most people don't speak about their mothers like that."

Kel raised his eyebrows, almost skeptically. "If you had met—"

"I don't think you should tell me anything else about your parents, Kel." He had hoped he wouldn't need to elaborate, but Kel looked at him with a face full of confusion and Harry felt the need to explain. "You don't talk about this stuff. You just don't. I think you're not quite yourself today and you wouldn't be telling us these kinds of things normally. I think you've forgotten something and that, when you remember it, you won't be happy about what you've been telling us."

Kel frowned a little, thinking carefully over his words before speaking. "I can remember them though. I haven't forgotten."

Harry sighed and acted on a hunch. "Does the word bandit mean anything to you?"

Kel thought again, his frown deepening. "No," he answered hesitantly. "Should it?"

"It was your name once."

"Oh," his eyes wandered slowly around the room, trying to recall and failing. "Strange name," he said finally and turned his attention back to his work.

Harry wanted to tell him what he knew—the small snippets of information he had. Whoever had given him that name had meant enough to him that it made him furious to hear Harry say it. His mind looked for that person when he woke up frightened in the night and needed to calm down. He had said she was the first person he had truly looked up to. Her presence had turned him into a completely different person and her absence had left a wound that would likely never heal.

It didn't seem right that he should forget that, but it didn't seem right that Harry should try to make him remember either.

He wondered if this was what he would be like if he lost his memory of the Doctor. He was, without a doubt, the most influential person in his life and even the pain of losing Qhoya had been made different—worse, really—because of his presence. His childhood, his education, his career, his adventures in the stars and his battles on planets, they all swayed with the Doctor. He thought about what it would be like if he couldn't remember him and the thought made him feel ill. Even when they were enemies, even when it made him unhappy, he knew that a life without the Doctor was never what he had wanted.

When Bridget returned, Kel continued his lesson and Harry noticed that she was now going a little out of her way to show him affection and praise his work. If Kel noticed at all that he was being coddled, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to mind when Bridget was standing behind him and looking over his shoulder, carefully observing his technique, and placed her hand on his back.

Harry saw her thumb touch the strange lump on the back of his neck, barely concealed by his hair. He saw her look and then quickly look again, noticing it for the first time. He watched her carefully move her hand a little higher, her fingers gently, curiously stroking the lump as though she had simply wanted to affectionately touch his hair. He tried to think of a way to distract her or make Kel realize what was happening, but wasn't sure how to do it without raising suspicion.

After a moment, Bridget caught him looking. She relaxed her face and smiled at him, kept her hand where it was, and let her cheek rest against Kel's head. She wasn't afraid. She didn't even look concerned. She just kept listening to Kel's instructions and let her fingers rest on the back of his neck.

Harry thought that might be the end of it until Bridget surprised him again.

Kel had just finished showing her the recipe he was working on when she stood up straight, thanked him for showing her, and then touched the back of his neck again. "So, is this the real you then?"

Without a second's hesitation, Kel nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Can I ask what you look like?"

"I don't know," Kel answered, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. "I'm blind actually, so the only time I'm able to see is through a host, which means I've never been able to see myself. I suppose I could try—"

"Kelevra," Harry cut in. Kel stopped talking and looked at him curiously—clearly, he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be pretending to be human. "I'm feeling a little unwell. I would appreciate it if you would make a cup of tea for me."

Kel looked at him for a brief moment, seemingly trying to work out why this had been asked so suddenly. "Of course, Harry," he answered, still looking slightly puzzled.

He stood up and left the table, taking a hand full of ingredients with him to return to the kitchen. Bridget simply stood there, smiling at Harry, as they waited for the kitchen door to close.

"Mrs. Bishop—"

"Save your breath, boy," Bridget interrupted quickly. "I knew you two were trouble when I picked you up. I knew you were hiding truths about who you were and what you were doing. I knew then, and I took you in anyway. I did wonder, with the things I heard and the things I've seen you do, if you were some kind of ungodly things—witches, or even demons."

Harry opened his mouth to try to explain but Bridget quickly raised her hand to quiet him.

"Demons don't get angry with their mothers, Harry," she said gently. "They don't have mothers to be angry with nor do they have people to miss. They don't get chilled from the cold, or bleed from their noses, or get foolish with drink. I've heard you two talking, when you think you can't be heard, and I know that you're men. You might not be . . . I might not know what you are exactly or how it is you live, but I also didn't understand how roots and leaves become medicine until someone cleverer than a tavern-keeper taught me how. I'm not foolish enough to think I know everything about God's creation—not even the men He built."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, so he settled for bowing his head humbly and saying, "Thank you."

Bridget nodded in return and crossed her arms, spreading her legs a little and planting her feet as though she were bracing for a fierce gale. "So," she said hesitantly. "Are you spirits then?"

"No, ma'am," Harry answered quickly. "Flesh and blood, just like you."

She gestured at his body and face. "And this is you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What happened to the boy that . . ." She paused and took a breath, seeming to prepare herself for the strange question she needed to ask. "The face that the good doctor uses."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. He died before Kel took him though."

"Seems unnatural," Bridget muttered, almost as if to herself. "Though, I suppose I wouldn't mind it if someone else found a use for my old bones after I was gone. No harm in being useful."

Harry couldn't help but smile at that. Bridget was nothing if not practical.

"That's why he smiles like that, isn't it? Must feel strange to him," she said quietly. "You know, they call him the Smiling Man in town. Some folks think it's funny, but some think it's strange. Folks can be unkind around here."

Harry nodded. He wished he could say something about the people in town not knowing any better but he couldn't make the words come out. He knew better and he'd done the same thing. How many times had he mocked or even scolded Kel for that smile?

Bridget took another moment to think before uncrossing her arms, placing her hands on her hips instead. "And you're good men?"

"We try to be, ma'am."

"And are you dangerous?"

"Not to you, ma'am."

Bridget eyed him suspiciously. "Well, you might not tell the whole truth, but you choose your words very carefully so as not to make yourself a liar."

Harry smiled again, feeling a little sheepish. "Yes, ma'am."

She looked back towards the kitchen door, making sure that it was still closed, before pointing her thumb towards it. "Is he sick?"

Harry tilted his head curiously, unsure what she meant.

"He forgets things. He's asked me if the axe is in the shed more times than I can count. He's worse than my old Nan was before she died."

Harry had hoped she hadn't noticed that, but he supposed that it had helped them in the end. A demon surely wouldn't have the memory of a senile old woman.

"I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. "I didn't know there was anything wrong before we came here. If I get him home, I could get him to a doctor."

"And I don't suppose you can get home on a horse, can you?"

Harry shook his head and Bridget sat down at the table.

"How can you do it?"

Harry pointed hesitantly at bowl of paste that Kel had mixed together on the table. "It would look a bit like that."

Bridget raised her eyebrow and stared at the bowl for a long moment. "You mean that it looks like a witch's work."

"Anything looks like witchcraft if you don't understand it," Harry answered quickly. "There are no devils or demons or unholy alliances involved, I promise you. It's only knowing how the elements of the world can interact with each other, pure and simple, just like making medicine or cooking a meal or turning metal ore into tools."

"You'll be hanged if your caught."

"Yes, ma'am."

Bridget leaned back in her chair, sighing again. She looked like she had more to say, perhaps even like she wanted to argue, but she stayed quiet. Harry couldn't imagine being in her position and not asking a thousand questions—he would want to know where they came from, how they traveled, and what they were. But Bridget was too practical for such things. She'd asked everything that she needed to.

Kel returned a couple of minutes later with three cups of tea. He seemed to notice the heaviness of the silence as he carefully put them down and offered them one of his strange smiles. Bridget smiled back immediately, warm and loving, looking at him as though she were seeing him for the first time.

By lunch time, work was done and Bridget seemed tired of talking, so they went their separate ways. They'd chosen not to tell Kel that he'd blown their cover and Harry hoped he might not realize what he'd done. If he knew he was safe to speak freely around Bridget, he would be more likely to slip up again and reveal himself to someone less friendly than her.

They retired to their room for the afternoon. Harry was glad for the chance to get some extra rest, hoping that it might help speed along the healing process in his head, but Kel seemed strangely attached to staring out the window. Harry briefly wondered if it was the first time he'd seen a blizzard. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he couldn't even remember seeing snow before today.

Maybe they should talk about it, he realized. If it were happening to himself, he'd want to talk about it. Jack would want to talk. The Doctor wouldn't want to, but he would need to, and he'd feel much better afterwards. Surely, it was frightening? Even in just the short time that Harry had been stuck with him, he'd been noticing that it was getting worse. He knew how frightening his attacks could be, unable to remember and feeling like he was losing himself, and couldn't imagine feeling it all day every day, aware of just enough to know that it wasn't stopping or even slowing down.

He wanted to offer to talk about it but couldn't seem to make himself say it. He told himself that it would be wrong anyway. Kel wasn't his usual self—being more open about his feelings and his personal life, and Harry was certain that he wouldn't care to share that kind of information at any other time. To ask his questions or to try to get him to talk about his health concerns would be taking advantage, wouldn't it?

He was still mentally debating it with himself when it happened.

He heard Kel gasp and saw him bend like he'd been punched in the gut a split second before the pain hit. Harry felt like he'd suddenly had his head split with an axe and blood immediately began to flow from his nose. For a second, he had no idea what happened.

But then he felt it.

It was a storm of grief and guilt and rage. It was pain over loss and anger over abandonment and the fear of being alone and lost. It felt how he felt when the Doctor had forced him to leave Qhoya behind, when they'd grappled in the TARDIS and the Doctor wound up leaving him bleeding and dying on his mother's dining table. It felt how he felt when he had regained his memories and gone in search of home, only to find that Gallifrey and all the Time Lords were gone. It felt how he felt when he slid the knife into Kahlia's back and felt her twitching and fighting in his arms.

Harry shot from his bed to the wash basin, gasping for breath and blinking through the pain just to see the water below him hurriedly turning a deep red. His legs felt weak. His stomach rolled over. His skin lit up with golden light. For a terrifying moment, he thought he might be dying.

His knee gave out and he almost fell, but didn't. He felt something holding him, pulling him up. When he looked to his side, he could Kel gripping his arm, helping him back to his feet. His face was solid as a stone and his eyes were dull and far away. It was the face of a dead man, showing nothing—he couldn't see Kel in there at all.

"I'm sorry, Harold," Kel said quietly.

Harry's skin flashed again, threatening to regenerate, threatening to die. Kel helped him back to his bed and pushed a cloth to his face to catch the blood flow. Harry could see his hands had turned pink and even red in some areas, burned from the raw energy. Still, Kel didn't flinch or react to the pain. His face simply didn't move.

"What happened?" Harry gasped, his head still spinning and his mind starting to panic from the sight of so much blood. "What did you do?"

"I remembered," Kel answered. His voice was so quiet and still, Harry barely heard him. "I wasn't ready for it. I sincerely apologize. This must be painful for you."

The waves were still striking him, pounding into his fractured mind like battering ram, breaking him. He heard someone knock on the door and a voice call through it, but all he could focus on was the pain in his head and the overwhelming feeling of an old and insidious rot, eating him from the inside.

"Harry is unwell," Kel called to whomever was at the door. "I have it under control, thank you."

It didn't feel under control. It felt like the world was spinning too fast and that gravity was crushing him, pulling him apart. He tried to find a way through the pain but all his mind found instead was Kahlia and Qhoya and the Doctor and his father and his mother and his homeworld—how much he had loved and hated them all.

There was a sound he didn't recognize and a strange, rough feeling on his skin. He realized that Kel was using a sheet of paper to apply his cream to his skin, slathering on a generous amount. The cream began to help with the physical pain almost immediately, but the rest took a little longer. Harry felt the storm of feelings getting quieter and smaller, somehow being crushed down and forced back.

After a moment, he started to feel calm again. His skin didn't flash anymore and he could breathe.

"Can you hold this?" Kel put his hand on the cloth, pushing a little bit to show him that he wanted him to apply pressure. Harry nodded and gripped the cloth tight. "I'll be right back."

Harry waited and tried to calm his thumping hearts. The blood was slowing down and would surely stop soon. He'd be fine with some rest. It had only happened because he'd made a powerful telepathic connection without bracing for it and not because he was dying or anything quite so dramatic. He closed his eyes and told himself over and over that he'd be fine.

His mind started to wander away then, waving away the pain and the stench of blood as unimportant. There so many nicer things to think about. Harry thought of his garden at home, a symbol of the life he'd chosen and built for himself, lovingly and carefully tended each day. He could feel the warm sun on his neck, but the heat wasn't too much to bother him and the breeze was cool. He could hear Ganbri laughing, running around in the yard with J.J. and Annie. The three of them were brandishing sticks as though they were swords, teamed up like the three musketeers against the Doctor, who seemed to be taking the game very seriously and spewing out line after line of dramatic dialogue.

"I don't know how he has the energy for it," Jack said with a tired sounding sigh.

"Because he's just a big kid himself," Donna answered quickly.

The two of them were sitting at the little bistro table, just a few feet away from him. Harry could see his own drink on the table with theirs, cold and beaded with drops of condensation, waiting for him to finish his pruning and return.

"Works for me. He tires out the kids, they have a day full of fun, we get to sit back and drink," Jack said happily. "I think we can say that we're pretty awesome at this parenting thing."

"Wizard," Donna agreed, and they clinked their glasses together.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes that Harry noticed he'd been given something else. Kel had placed a stone in his hand with the cloth. It was small and grey and didn't look particularly special—one of the ones he often saw Kel holding in the evening.

Kel was standing next to the fire, holding a pot over it. Harry hadn't even heard him come back in. His face was still blank and there were snowflakes on his shoulders, but Harry could still feel the sun on his neck and the leaves brushing his hands. Every time his body tried to draw attention to the pain that threatened to split his skull, his mind would disregard it and simply wonder back to his garden, listening to the kids laughing and the Doctor's silly character voices and Jack and Donna chuckling together.

"Oh, just leave it, Harry," he could hear Donna saying. "Come have a drink with us already. You're making us look bad."

Kel poured a little steaming water from the pot into a cup and brought both of them to his bedside. Harry laid still and decided to let his mind stay in his garden while Kel carefully cleaned him up, washing away the blood from his face and hands with warm water. A small part of Harry felt ashamed for not helping, not even bothering to hold his own arm up as Kel washed his wrist and forearm, but the other man didn't say or do anything to show that he found it irritating.

He noticed that Kel was careful not to touch the stone when he moved it to Harry's other hand. Instead, he carefully manipulated Harry's arms to make him pass the stone to the hand that had just been cleaned and then set back to work.

J.J. was leaping onto Jack's lap, making that little squeal he used to make when he was having fun but just getting to the borderline of being frightened. Jack laughed and gave him a couple of encouraging pats on the back while J.J.'s golden eyes turned back to the game to reassess.

"Want me to beat him for you?" Jack asked, picking up the stick that the boy had dropped.

J.J. hesitated. "No," he answered, taking the stick back and hopping back down. "I'm gonna get him!"

"That's my boy," Jack said with a smile, watching him run off.

Kel's hand was on the back of his shoulder now, pulling and encouraging his to roll on his side. When Harry did, he found that the cup was being held up for him.

"This will help."

Harry took a cautious sip. It was just warm water with some herbs and what looked like a small chunk of bark put in it. He might have been able to identify them but the smells from his garden seemed to be interfering. Kel tipped the cup up more and Harry decided to cooperate and take a big gulp.

"What is this?" Harry finally asked, opening his hand to reveal the stone. "Why isn't it hurting me?"

"It's not telepathy," Kel answered. It was strange to see him speak—to watch his mouth move at all when his eyes were so empty. It was the first time Harry's had really thought it looked like a corpse speaking to him. "Just hold onto it while it lasts, and try not to think or you might make it change. Try to sleep if you can."

The memory of his garden and the children playing were tempting enough that he didn't argue. It was nice to feel like he was back there for a while. He could think of the Doctor sitting beside him, short of breath and simply glowing with joy when he finally came to sit down. They sipped their drinks and chatted and the children kept playing. The Doctor was touching his face and sliding his fingers down his neck, moving a little closer, seeming to not care that there were other people about. Harry thought it was odd, quite certain that that hadn't happened in real life, and he puzzled over it for a moment before he realized that it was Kel's hands cleaning him, somehow interfering with the memory.

After a few more strange changes, Harry realized that the stone was changing or running out, or whatever it was that Kel implied would happen to it. By the time he decided he would let it go, Kel had finished his work and left his bedside. There was no trace left in the room of blood or anything that had been used to clean it.

Kel was standing by the window again, looking out at the blizzard. His face and body were as still as a statue, completely unmoving to the point of being unsettling.

Harry placed the stone on the table beside him. The gentle sound of it touching the wood was enough to make Kel glance back. Harry had expected to feel some residual waves of the emotional storm that had been unleashed earlier, convinced that he would start to feel it again once he let go of the stone. But there was nothing.

The room was as still and quiet as the body by the window.

It seemed so unnatural to Harry. He felt like he'd just witnessed a tornado tear apart a town, only for each house and car and mailbox to fall gently back in their usual places, completely unharmed. He felt like he was standing in the street, without so much as a whisper of wind, looking for any sign that the disaster that he'd just witnessed had truly happened, and finding nothing.

Nothing but the Smiling Man.

Harry stared into those lifeless eyes and couldn't help but ask, "How do you do that?"

Kel turned his eyes back to the snow, that eerie smile of his unmoving.

"Practice."