This had to be a dream. I was lying on a blanket on a wooden floor. Isabella's small body was on top of mine. Her head was on my shoulder and I could smell her hair, feel her skin. "Make love to me," her voice wafted to my ears. In the lack of continuity dreams are famous for I found myself on top of her. I kissed my way down her neck, to her collar bone, her breast, her navel then lower still. I raised my eyes to see the look on her face as her lips parted under my tongue only to see Crawford kissing her neck.

In the next second she was on her feet with a sheet around her. Crawford was smiling at me from behind her. His hands moved down her body. I wanted to tear them off but I was rooted to the spot. Crawford walked around her and reappeared on the other side as Blithe. She turned her head away as he leaned into her. I dove for him and he disappeared as soon as I laid my hands on him. When I turned back to Isabella she was naked and facing away from me. There were seven bleeding gashes on her back.

He was standing in front of her, looking at me over her head. An unmistakeable scar was under his left eye. He put his arms around her, dragged his finger across one of the bleeding lines on her back and put it in his mouth, smiling at me as he did. Again, I was powerless to stop him. She turned around to face me. There was a child in her arms, a girl with black hair and startlingly blue eyes. Cain ripped the child from her arms. She stood there with a dazed expression. A boy with blond hair and those same haunting eyes came out of nowhere and circled her. Still I couldn't move. I reached out to her but she couldn't see me. I tried to call to her but I couldn't get a sound out.

The room started filling with every awful aspect of her life. I could see every broken bone, every cut, every absent lock of hair and every bastard who'd ever hurt her. The more the room filled the further away I got from her. I called out. My voice was still trapped in my throat but she was looking at me. Everything faded away and was replaced by darkness, then Kindle. She turned on the light and showed me a cloth. She then sat herself slowly down in my lap and started wiping my forehead.

"Breathe," she moved the cloth down my neck. "Shhh," her hands moved slowly to my back, "It's okay."

"No," I shook my head, pulling her other hand from behind my back, "It's not okay."

"You're hurting me," she said in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry," I removed my hands from her wrists, "I'm so sorry," I rubbed her wrists, "I'm going out for a while," I wiped my face with my hands and squeezed my nose before I remembered it was broken.

"Charles," she put her hands on my shoulders then cupped my face, "You can't go out like this," she put her face directly in my line of sight.

"I can't stay here," I flipped her then got to my feet.

"You're not going anywhere," she got up and grabbed my arm, "Not until you tell me what the matter is."

"Bad dream," I closed my eyes tightly and pulled my arm from hers. She followed me into the closet.

"I used to think you were cold," she faced the shelves and put her hands on them as if trying to hold herself up, "That's why I kept myself from investing. You seemed devoid of the prerequisite emotions and I must say you were. Then you met your precious little Izzy," she sighed the way she did when she couldn't translate something from thought to the spoken word. I could feel her looking at me. I stopped dressing and waited. "I thought she was part of the process, that you were finally growing up but... you're losing it."

"Don't analyse me," I picked up a vest and went back to dressing.

"Analyse you?" she laughed, "You think I need to analyse you? I wipe your sweat every time you wake up from a nightmare screaming her name. You and I were lovers for over ten years and friends, good friends. The last time you woke up screaming a woman's name your first wife had just died."

"Don't," I pointed at her. I could not stand to hear Isabella being compared to Crystal.

"I took care of you the last time you destroyed yourself over a woman. I helped you get back on your feet. Don't you dare point that finger at me," she hissed.

"I'm sorry," I owed Kindle a lot more than I gave her gratitude for. I went a little crazy after I'd killed Crystal, some would even go so far as to say suicidal.

"Tell me," she pleaded, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I don't know what to tell you," I was tired of fighting with Kindle. She knew too much about me. That, coupled with her annoying persistence, made the process draining.

"Something's eating you," she made me jump with her touch. I hadn't realised how close she'd gotten. "You need to tell me so I can help you," she put her arms around me from behind. It never failed to amaze me how foreign her touch felt after all these years. "Charles please."

"I met Isabella over three years ago," I remembered her standing on the roof of my building, right on the ledge. "She was so lost," she didn't even know what city she was in, "I took her home and we put her life back together. It was pretty great for a few months. Then her parents died. She left, told me not to call and said she'd be back when she was able," I shut my eyes against the images that were starting to fill my head, "I should have tried to find her," I put my forehead to the wood.

"What happened?" her fingers curled into my flesh.

"Nothing good," I closed my eyes tighter and tried to limit what I saw to the darkness.

"I'm sorry," she squeezed harder.

"Not nearly as sorry as I am," I extricated myself from her grasp, "I have to go see her."

"A broken nose isn't enough injury for one day?" she actually smiled.

"I just need to see her," I explained, "I have this feeling I can't shake."

"You won't even get through the front door," she picked up the phone, "Give her a call," she passed it to me, "Then come back to bed," she rubbed behind my ear then slipped under the covers. I called, thrice, she didn't answer. She sent me a message telling me she was busy and not to call again. Big surprise. I got back into bed and curled up on my side. Sleep refused me. I stared into the darkness till the sun came up.

Shaughnessy's PoV

"I'm just here to talk," Nicholas broke the silence that was beginning to feel endless.

"Then stop pointing that gun at Irish," Bass's lips stretched into her cheeks but it was far from what could be called a smile.

"What's to stop you from killing me once I do that?" he asked her.

"Not much," she admitted.

"Nothing," he amended, "But I assure you I come in peace."

"The hell you say," she scoffed.

"Irish," he called. It took a while for me to turn my head. Feeling like I was on ground zero of the clash of the titans was not doing much for my reaction time. "If you would come this way," he gestured towards the dining table with the hand that wasn't pointing a gun at my chest. I looked to Bass for some kind of signal.

"Lift up your shirt," she stretched her hand in front of me.

"Rising from the dead is beyond even my brother," he pulled his shirt out of his pants and lifted it all the way to his neck without even changing the angle of the barrel.

"I've seen so many of your brother's tricks that Honest Abe could tell me you're his twin and I'd still require proof," she unbuttoned her shirt. Part of me wanted to ask what in the world they were doing. His shirt came down and hers came off. She took one step in his direction and he took one back.

"Throw it to me," he opened his free hand.

"Scared?" she raised the blue fabric in her hand.

"Of you?" his brows shot up, "I'd be insane not to be. And watch the aim. If I have to look away to catch that thing, I'm not catching it."

Bass being Bass she threw it way off centre. He ignored the shirt, raised the gun and fired. I'd never been shot at before. It wasn't an out of body experience, I wasn't seeing things in slow motion either. Besides seeing Bass pull me towards her, I completely missed the moment. "You son of a bitch," she said as she peeled back my t-shirt.

"It's a flesh wound," I heard his voice as I came back to myself, "I'm not going to shoot the boy's arm off. As I said, I come in peace. Try not to fuck with me though."

"Sit," I was pushed into a chair. It really was a flesh wound, hurt like a bitch but only needed a bandaid slapped on it. I looked across the table at the man who'd just shot me. Draped across his shoulders, via the front of his neck, was her shirt.

"Satisfied?" he asked her.

"No but I believe you," she walked around my chair and sat down next to me. He gave the shirt back. It made about as much sense to me as dogs sniffing each others' butts. Ritual but senseless.

"It's my eyes," he explained as he sat down, "They alternate between grey and blue. Grey against most colours, really blue against blue."

I forgot about everything else for a minute and looked at his eyes. Stupid as it was, I was fascinated by the anatomical aspects of it... until he put the gun on the table. "Let's skip the foreplay," Bass put her knife on the table, "Why are you here?"

He replied by putting a brief case on the table then opening it. "There are some things you should have," he turned it around. There were CDs, flash drives, hard drives and sealed envelopes. Not forgetting the cylindrical container abandoned somewhere on the floor. At first I couldn't make head or tail of it then I remembered that this was the twenty first century. Information was everything.

"Of course you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart," she said in a flat tone.

"I could do without the sarcasm but I want out," he replied.

"Up until today, you were as real to me as Harvey the Rabbit," she leaned closer to him, "Anyone who knew you is dead. If out is all you wanted this is the last place you would have come to."

"I was silent," he sighed, "I kept everyone on a leash but I slept at night because I was on another continent and had a 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy with my brother. The truth of the matter is this: I was raised as he was so I knew exactly what he was doing to you but I told myself there was nothing I could do. Even though you didn't think I existed, you knew all this was out there somewhere," he ran his hand across the top of the case, "I thought the very least I could give you was peace of mind."

"Is this everything?" she asked in a level tone. He nodded. "Get the fuck out of my house," she pointed in the direction of the door.

"I really am sorry," he pushed his chair back.

"Fuck your sorry," her hand shot across the table and pinned his with her nails, "For two reasons," she dug deeper into his flesh, "One, this isn't Jerusalem. You don't get to come here for redemption. Two, and listen closely, you're a liar."

"Fair enough," he didn't argue, "I'll be on my way."

She peeled her hand away but grabbed his arm forcefully when he got up. "I feel I should warn you," she let go and folded her arms, "I know people. And in the history of the world, no one has ever changed without a really good reason. Whoever it is, I will find them and I will rip them out of your life. Just for spite, I will trap you with nothing but your thoughts till you lose your mind," she rounded the table, "Now leave this place and know that to set foot on it ever again will be the end of you."

"I guess it will have to be enough to have met you once," he tilted his head to the side as he put the gun back into its holster.

"What are you playing at?" she stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. I couldn't help noticing how short she was every time she stood toe to toe with... anyone. The way Bass acted made me forget she wasn't ten feet tall and bulletproof.

"I've never heard of anyone like you," he backed up the slightest bit. It was a wonder to behold. He seemed afraid of her. The man with the gun was showing classic signs of fear. I wasn't sure I wanted to know about the history here.

"Right," she slanted her body and used the table for balance, "You guys have been doing this for how many generations?"

"More than I care to say out loud," he looked at the floor, "There were nineteen others," he kept his eyes glued to the floor, "Twelve died within the first six months. The seven who survived half a year were cut loose. They all killed themselves."

And that was as far as he went with his story before the chair broke against his side and he crashed to the floor. She disappeared after him behind the table. I could hear her curse with every punch. There is no instruction manual for this. This guy had obviously been involved in something really, really awful and, in all likelihood, deserved more than he was getting but what was I supposed to do? Sit here quietly? Stop her? Probably not a good idea. Leave? I'd have to walk around this table and past the carnage. My conflict resolution skills were weighted strongly towards the non-violent techniques.

"Bass," I got up and walked slowly around the table. Not the best idea but I was out of my depth here. With a scream, she slammed his head against the hardwood floor. Then she looked at me with crazed eyes. I jumped three feet in the air. It was like she woke up at that moment. The rage left her eyes and she got to her feet.

"Assalamu alaikum," she smiled as she wiped his blood off her knuckles, on her pants.

"Wa alaikum assalaam," He got up and walked to the door, keeping a cautious distance. Not once did he put up a fight. That was guilt if I'd ever seen it. She closed the door on him and I breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn't take her hands off it, breathing short gasping breaths. This I could handle.

"Just sit down and try to breathe evenly," I tried to pull her to a chair but she wouldn't budge.

"Hospital," she gasped.

"Just try to calm down," I did not want her to go out five seconds after a guy she'd just beaten up in this state.

"This isn't a panic attack," she pressed a hand to her heart, "It's coke," she laughed with a sad face, "This is what you get for doing as much cocaine as I did."

"Okay," I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and dialled 911.

"It'll pass," she slapped away the hand that I was using to check her racing pulse.

"You want to roll the dice with heart failure?" I tried to shake her up, "Lie down."

"Drugs kill," she laughed on her way to the couch.

"You think?" I turned from her and went on with the phone call. Her hands were overlapped on her chest, her eyes closed. The only thing missing was a pine box. "When did you fall off the wagon?" I distracted myself from the image.

"Still on it," she sang.

"Your heart rate and blood pressure are insane, your temp has spiked, your behaviour is violent and erratic," I listed.

"I'm clean," she slapped her forehead, "I have to lie to a lot people about a lot of things. Opportunities to tell the truth are not things I let fly by."

Our ambulance arrived before I could reply. There was a worrying lack of bitching as she was being hooked up to the monitors and such. "My chest doesn't hurt any more," she tried to get up, "Maybe I was having an anxiety attack," she shrugged.

"Please lie back down miss," a paramedic pushed her gently.

"If you like that hand," she sneered down at it, "You will take it off me."

"Just lie back down miss," he tried to be reassuring.

"She will. Hurt. You," I warned him.

"Just try to stay calm," he backed off a little.

"My heart rate is normal, the pain is gone. Happy birthday to me. Now let me off. There are things that need my attention," she freed herself from the equipment and swung her feet to the floor. "I'm asking nicely."

"Nice kitty," I put my hand up, "Pull over," I yelled at the driver.

"What do you think this is? A taxi?" the driver yelled back.

"If your friend doesn't stop this tin can I'm going to stab you in the heart and I'm gonna like it," she put a needle none of us had seen her swipe on her knee.

"Dude, she's had a really long day," I told him. He called to his buddy and we came to a stop. "Thanks for the ride," I smiled.

"Fuck you," he said under his breath. I almost laughed as he slammed the door.

"So, how are we ending the night?" I asked.

"I am going to dig up some information. You have two options," she talked like a game show hostess, "Door number one: this is a trap and you come with me because, well most traps involving me end in death for all people who aren't me. Door number two: when I say 'dig up information', I mean it literally. The location is Murderville so going on this expedition is perilous."

"Wow," I weighed my options. The rock and the hard place had nothing on these doors. "If anyone's gonna try to kill me I'd rather have you present."

"Okay then," she ditched the bogus cheer. We went back to the viper.

"You're going to the hospital after this is done," I was adamant.

"Sure," she surprised me. Of course it was still too early in our friendship for me to know that sure, even without the sarcastic tone, meant no. I kept stepping on the imaginary brake every time we rounded a corner. She would chuckle in her throat each time. We stopped on a street straight out of Wrong Turn and she pulled a sledgehammer from the trunk.

"You're kidding me, right?" I stood there with my mouth open, "A sledgehammer in the trunk of your car?"

"I keep my insurance policies under the floorboards," she put it on her shoulder. Then I couldn't help but laugh. "One remark about any cartoon with a hammer and you're gonna get it."

"You were funnier when I was drunk," I followed her into the shadows. The interior was surprisingly... not dingy.

"Give me that," I pulled the tool from her.

"Chivalry is dead but okay," she directed me. I hacked up the floor and pulled out a leather satchel.

"Do I want to know what's in here?" I asked back in the car.

"No," she hit the gas, "Nobody wants to know what's in there. I wouldn't need to drink a fifth to go sleep if I were ignorant."

"Hospital?" I stuffed the bag under my seat.

"Apparently," she brought the car to a screeching halt then pointed outside my window. A little girl was bent over, coughing on the side of the road. "I'd call 911 but I'm afraid she'll be gone when the ambulance gets here."

"What is she doing here by herself?" I opened the door and ran to her. She backed up and curled into herself. "I'm a doctor, I'm here to help you."

"Yeah right," she she spared me a distrustful glance.

"Little girl," Bass poked out of my window, "You're coughing up blood. Getting in a car with a stranger is not the very worst danger at this point. Also, standing on this street, not one of your best options."

"As always, your lightest touch," I threw a dirty look at her. I spoke too soon. The skinny little child practically ran into the car.

"You'll have to sit in his lap," Bass said sympathetically. A shrug was the only response.

"Perhaps a two seater was not the best means of transportation," I commented as we were crammed into a small space with bodily fluids flying.

"It was either this or the bike," she leaned over to glare at me.

"Two billion dollars and you can't buy one practical car?" I hissed.

"I like you Irish," she said in a high pitched little voice, "Don't make me hurt you."

"Bitch," I said over the little girl's head.

"Blow me," she drove faster still. Blood got coughed into her face. "If you give me TB, kid, I'm gonna kill you."

"She's joking," I patted the girl's hand.

"What's your name?" Bass asked after a long silence.

"Her name is 'Coughing up blood', don't make her talk," I said as I tried to make her comfortable.

"Yes Doctor," she put the pedal down. We pulled into the ambulance bay and would have passed for one if we had a bigger car and a siren.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I trudged to the locker room.

"Count me in," she followed.

"I hopes that's as dirty as it sounds," I put my arm around her.

"Flirting, I like it," she pressed herself into my side. We carried on like this all the way to the locker room. I jumped into the shower and jumped three feet in the sir when Bass came in, naked.

"Pass the soap," she laughed.

"Dude, you can't shower with me," I caught myself as I was about to turn to her.

"I'm not gonna jump you and you're not going to jump me," she was very matter-of-fact, "It's harmless."

"How do you know?" I asked the tiles in front of me.

"Turn around," she instructed. No good could possibly come of this but I turned to face her, "Anything?" she smirked.

"Shockingly, nothing," I couldn't believe it, "You're hot and I'm a warm-blooded twenty five year old, healthy man. Hell a sick man would want to fuck you."

"Maybe we were related in a past life," she snatched my shower gel. It was strange. I've been attracted to people I didn't even like so I was at a total loss here. "You've never checked me out. Not once," she went on. I could feel my brows move closer to each other.

"Hold on," I cupped her face and kissed her. She kissed me back. It felt strange. "Maybe we were related in a past life."

"Told you so," she soaped up, "Where is everyone?"

"Working themselves into early graves," I mumbled, "So you might want to watch your actions."

"What does work ethic have to do with me?" she almost laughed.

"It's not work ethic," I couldn't believe she hadn't connected the dots, "When you pull a stunt like the one you did today the big Bass takes it out on Crawford, Crawford takes it out on the heads of the various specialities and it trickles down."

"It must really suck at the bottom of the food chain," she laughed at me.

"It blows," I nodded. We finished our shower with a shocking lack of weirdness. She wore my orange scrubs again. We went through people's lockers and ate their snacks. "This was the most terrifying night of my life," I walked backwards in front of her to the door.

"You spoke too soon," a bottled sounding voice said behind me. I turned to see a woman in a jump suit. "If you would stay inside this room till we've set up the proper facilities. You've been exposed to the pneumonic plague and you're being quarantined."

"Now my day is perfect," Bass slid to the floor. She seemed more annoyed than anything else. I sat down next to her and put my head on my knees. And to think I could have spent this night watching surgery tapes. A warm blanket and a stale beer sounded really great right now.