A/N: Thank you for reading!

THIRTY-SIX

"What are you doing up, honey?"

I jumped, almost spilling the cup of tea I had just picked up from the kitchen counter. My heart was hammering in my chest as I fixed an easy smile on my lips before turning to face my father. "I couldn't sleep." I grimaced sympathetically as I came upon his frail shape. "You?"

He leaned against the doorway, stifling a yawn as he ruffled his hand absently through his hair. "Same." He hitched his head towards me, eyeing my winter scarf. "Cold?"

"Yeah," I answered, wrapping my hands around the hot cup. "I can't seem to get warm."

I was freezing. Ever since Max dropped me off about two hours ago.

My dad looked at me sympathetically. "Is it about that boy? Sean? And what he did?"

I absent-mindedly chewed my bottom lip before answering evasively, "It really wasn't that bad. I guess I'm just a bit rattled by it. Being at the hospital and all."

My dad knew of my aversion to hospitals and doctors, so I hoped that would satisfy his questions.

He nodded slowly and I was holding my breath as he slowly searched my face, afraid that he might find answers in my features that should best remain hidden.

The purple bruises under my father's tired eyes looked darker than ever in the sparse kitchen light as a fleeting spark of concern graced his gaze. "Are you eating okay? You seem thin."

I was momentarily surprised that he had noticed. Most of the time he seemed barely in the land of the living.

I looked at him incredulously. "You're one to talk, Daddy."

He aimed for a smile, but it was unpracticed and wobbly. "Point well made and received, daughter."

I leaned my hip against the edge of the counter, pressing my elbows into the thick cardigan I wore while trying to still my shivers and keeping my cup of tea from spilling over as I raised the warm liquid to my lips. Taking a sip, letting it slide hotly down my throat, I looked at him over the rim of my cup, "How about a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich…?", hoping that he would go for it. Even if it was just to be nice to me or to keep me company.

He really needed to eat something.

And after my rendezvous with Max, I found myself ravenous. It was the first time since Max had announced that he was going to find a way to not be connected to me that I had something resembling an appetite.

The connection still had to be broken, and my life was probably going to be hell from now on, but just knowing that Max was on my side in all of this, made it easier.

"That actually sounds delicious," my dad said and stepped into the kitchen.

"Great," I smiled, my heart feeling light. I could see a small sign of my dad, like he was before the fire. Maybe there was hope of getting him back from that deep well of sorrow.

Would I even be aware of my dad once Sean had gotten a hold of me?

Would I still be me?

Would I still notice if my dad was doing okay or would I walk around in a haze, like a zombie..?

Overcome with pitch black sadness, I pulled my father into a hug as he passed by me. I pressed my cold nose into the curve of his neck and squeezed my eyes tightly closed. I noticed the surprise in the tentativeness with which he hugged me back and my arms tightened around him.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered, swallowing back the tears.

Would I continue to love my father? Or would my feelings (the ones that were not mind controlled) go away?

There were so many things I still didn't know about my recently mapped-out future. Would I only be in Sean's control when he was with me or would I be mind-controlled all the time? And if it was only part-time, would I be aware of Sean's effect on me or would I believe the lie that Sean would be feeding me?

"I love you too, honey," dad answered and returned my tight squeeze.

I felt his shoulder blades jut out though his sweatshirt and concern flared.

Who would take care of my dad once I was 'gone'?

"You feel really cold," my dad whispered, interrupting the concern-induced anxiety which was tightening my stomach. "Are you getting sick?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for leaving his embrace, and took a step back.

"I'm just tired," I answered and produced a thin smile. "Makes it difficult to maintain body temperature, I guess."

My dad lightly grabbed my chin and angled my face up to his. He looked very paternal all of the sudden, telling me to, "You have to take care of yourself."

"So do you," I whispered, my voice breaking as my dad looked guilty.

"I know," he mumbled and let go of my chin, averting his eyes. "And I'm sorry."

I hesitated, not knowing if I was overstepping some boundaries in the father-daughter relationship, before suggesting, "Maybe you should talk to someone. A grief counselor."

Dad didn't react the way I had expected. He looked perfectly comfortable with that suggestion, and I suspected that he had been considering it himself once or twice. "Yes. I think I should do that."

A real, happy, smile crept onto my lips and I tied the scarf closer around my neck to fight of the chills as I turned towards the pantry. "Let's make ourselves something to eat."

"Sounds great," dad replied and sank down on a kitchen chair.

My ribs were aching, my head was pounding, my abdomen felt sore and I could have sworn my jaw was in the wrong position.

By now, I knew what this meant. I just didn't want to face it.

I didn't want to believe that Max had dropped me off in the early morning hours, only to return home and get abused (even though he had alluded to that exact grim future just after having spoken to his father).

And it was because of me. He was hurting now because of me.

I hadn't felt the actual abuse, only the injuries slowly blooming out over my body. They had followed the chill, the chill which had slowly been freezing me to the core, even when I was wearing five layers of clothing, a beanie, a scarf and mittens.

And now I was sitting on the side of my bed, my knees bopping restlessly up and down, my arms wrapped tightly around my middle to preserve heat, trying to figure out what to do.

I looked at the clock on my bedside table. 4.11 a.m. Only one minute had passed since I last looked at it.

I was supposed to stay away from Max. I was supposed to break the connection to him. Tonight. As he had dropped me off outside of my apartment, Max had informed me quietly, "Try and break the connection tonight. Sean won't waste any time and I don't want him to find out that the connection he thought he broke through in the gym is back in place."

Obviously, I hadn't broken the connection yet. Otherwise I wouldn't be feeling everything he was feeling right now.

Max was scared and in pain. I was pretty sure I was only feeling a small fraction of it. Most prevalent to me was the cold. Was he outside? Because the cold must be coming from him. There was no other reason why I couldn't get warm.

I wasn't ready to break the connection yet. I had planned on not doing so until Sean was actually standing in front of me - wanting to force entry into my mind. I wanted to wait until the last possible second before I lost Max's presence from my mind.

I looked over at the clock. Still 4.11 a.m.

My gaze trailed to my cell phone, lying quiet next to the clock.

I hesitated, digging my fingers into the multiple layers of clothing, ignoring the pain from my ribs at the increased pressure and decided to count to ten.

One.

I needed to stay away.

Two.

We had decided. We had decided together.

Three.

Sean was my future. I had to forget about Max.

Four.

He was only one of my classmates now.

Five.

I was going to desperately miss him.

Six.

Would I be able to survive without Max? Even with Sean's dominance over my mind?

Seven.

I glanced at the clock again. 4.12 a.m.

Eight.

I bit my bottom lip and remembered how Max had bit it too.

I abruptly reached for my cell phone.

Fuck this.

I found his number in my contacts, dialed and waited for an answer.

"Liz?" There was clear surprise in his tired and sluggish voice. Apparently, I had woken him up.

"Hey," I mumbled, highly aware of the nervous rhythm of my heartbeat. "Sorry for waking you."

"What's up, Liz?" he asked, sidestepping all the polite chit-chat, his voice serious and worried.

"I need your help," I declared simply, hoping that he wouldn't hang up.

He groaned. "Last time you asked for my help, you wouldn't speak to me for a week."

"I know. I'll explain everything later."

"I think I'm quite well-aware of the reason behind your silence," he said quietly.

Of course he was. He was an alien, after all. They seemed to know everything. And he probably knew that I had figured him out. That he was not my long-time human friend any longer.

I briefly wondered how much he knew about the situation. Did he know that my mind had supposedly been erased just hours post figuring out that he was an alien? Either he didn't (otherwise he wouldn't have alluded to something I should no longer have any knowledge of) or he had been let in on the secret that Max had faked the wipe of my mind.

But why would Max tell Alex about it?

No, Alex probably just didn't know that I was supposed to be oblivious. So I settled for a mumbled, "Right."

"But I'm glad you called," he hinted with a hopeful lightness to his confession.

"I'm not ready-" I started hurriedly, because I wanted him to know - in the nicest way possible - that I might not be ready to forgive and forget yet. That I only needed him right now because he might just be the only one that could help me.

Alex saved me from turning the conversation into a circus of awkwardness. "How can I help you, Liz?"

"I…" I trailed off and glanced at the clock. 4.14 a.m. Pain was slowly spreading across my right eye and I knew that this was the right thing to do. I licked my lips and blurted out, "I need your help breaking into Max Evans' house."