Jenkins slowly became aware of sounds, coming from someplace far away. They were muffled and indistinct, but they sounded like voices. Thinking that he was perhaps dreaming, he was content to lie still and allow the sounds to drift in and out of his budding consciousness for a time. Gradually, he realized that he recognized the voices. There were two: A man and a woman. The man, stuttering and low; the woman, warm and sharp.

They almost sound like Judson and Charlene, the immortal thought dreamily. But of course it couldn't be Judson or Charlene, they were gone now, years gone. He slowly opened his aching eyes and tried to sit up, and screamed as his entire body exploded with pain.

It felt as though he had been doused with liquid fire, billions of raw nerves all over his recovering body firing in response to his movements. He instantly stopped moving and fell limp onto whatever surface he was laying on, keeping as still as possible, hardly daring to breathe as the angry, all-consuming pain slowly subsided to a hot, aching burn that he felt over every square inch of his body. When the pain became tolerable again, he carefully opened his eyes and looked around as best her could without having to move his head.

His vison was slightly blurry, but he thought he recognized the ceiling of his lab, yet something wasn't right. It smelled different, sounded different. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened.

His brain worked slowly. With a tremendous effort, he forced himself to remember. He recalled the Library, that there was a mission—a very important mission. A dangerous artifact. A heart of some kind. No, a Heart Stone!

Cassandra!

His eyes flew wide as a flood of memory suddenly swamped his mind. He started to push himself upright again, only to once again be blinded by a sheet of searing pain. Shrieking, he dropped back onto the hard surface, writhing in agony. He dry-heaved with the pain, scalding tears springing to his eyes. Running footsteps and voices hurried toward him.

"Lie still, Galahad! Lie still!" He heard the woman's voice speaking urgently through the haze of pain. With a tremendous effort, Jenkins focused his attention on remaining absolutely still, his eyes closed. The pain faded again. He heard the soft tinkling of glass, then felt something cool and liquid being poured into his mouth, most of it managing to seep its way between his clenched teeth. He swallowed it reflexively, a small surge of pain gripping his neck like a vice.

"That's it," the woman said quietly. He could sense that she was right next to him, but she didn't touch him.

"Galahad, it's Charlene," she continued. "You're in the Library, in New York, in the year 1912."

1912. He remembered more details now. The Heart Stone. Cassandra triggered it; he tried to take it from her, but he was too late. They were sent to the Titanic, just in time for its sinking. He remembered dropping her into one of the last lifeboats, feeling her cling to him desperately, not wanting to leave him, begging him to let her stay with him and face certain death. Jenkins very slowly opened his mouth.

"Cassandra?" he barely whispered.

"She's fine," the voice assured him. Could it really be Charlene?

"She was rescued a few hours after the Titanic went down," the voice went on. "She made her way here to the Library, just as you instructed her. You saved her, Galahad; she's fine!"

You saved her, Galahad. The words reverberated through his mind. A wave of relief washed over him, taking the edge off of the pain. Cassandra was safe!

"Where?" he whispered again, cautiously turning his head toward the sound of Charlene's voice. There was a pause.

"She's not here, Galahad, I'm sorry," she said gently. "We had to send her home, to her own time. It was too dangerous for her to stay here any longer." The immortal had trouble understanding what Charlene was saying.

"Own time?" he breathed faintly. It came to him then; Cassandra had gone back to the year the two of them were taken from by the Heart, the year 2019.

"How?" he tried to ask, but could only mouth the word now; even whispering was too painful. Even so, his thinking was beginning to clear and sharpen, and he noticed that the terrible pain was beginning to ease a bit. He surmised that the cool liquid Charlene had given him earlier was some kind of potion.

"We used Mr. Wells's time machine prototype," Charlene said.

"We?"

"Judson and I," she answered him. Of course; it was 1912, Judson was still alive and very active in the Library. As Jenkins's mind reluctantly processed all of this, he suddenly felt something cool and metallic touch his lips.

"Drink this," instructed Charlene, and he automatically parted his lips. Another liquid, this one thick, almost slimy, slipped over his tongue and toward his throat, something bitter and medicinal-tasting. Bracing himself for more pain, he swallowed the liquid with a loud gulp, but was surprised when the awful searing sensation failed to appear.

"Rest now, Galahad," Charlene said soothingly. "You're very weak. We'll talk later, when you're feeling better. Please, just rest now. I'll come back later and check on you."

He felt a thin sheet of fabric being pulled up to cover him lightly. Jenkins drifted gratefully into unconsciousness again. The last thing he heard was the heels of Charlene's shoes tapping away across the cement floor of the laboratory.

Jenkins dreamed of having to say goodbye to Cassandra again and again. Sometimes he saw the scene between them on the deck of the hapless Titanic. Other times it was only her voice piercing utter blackness, weeping, apologizing, telling him that she couldn't stay in the Library with him, that she had to go back. In his dreams, she told him how much she loved him, that Charlene and Judson would be working on a way to send him back, too, while she and the others would work from their end to bring him home soon. She promised through ragged sobs again and again that she would never stop until they were together again, no matter what it took, at the same time begging him to keep trying to find his way back to her. He wanted desperately to reach out to her, to take her into his arms and comfort her, tell her that everything was going to be all right, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't make his body move.

He felt tears of shame and helplessness slip from the corners of his eyes and fall down his temples. He was supposed to protect Cassandra from things like heartache and pain, but he had failed miserably. She had shed so many tears because of him, and it broke his immortal heart.

"Cassandra!" he croaked, bolting awake. His vision was still a little fuzzy, but sharper now, sharp enough for him recognize the familiar, stark lighting fixtures in the ceiling of his lab. He heard the rustling of clothing and a familiar tapping coming towards him quickly, and he started to turn his head.

"No! Don't move!" Charlene ordered as she hurried to his side. She suddenly appeared next to him, and for a moment he was confused. How could Charlene be alive?

"You're looking much better today!" she said in a pleased tone, her eyes scanning him. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," he rasped softly, closing his eyes for a moment. His entire body ached and his head felt like mountain dwarves were using it as an anvil.

"Good!" Charlene said. "Thank God we happened to have a small bottle of the dwale potion; it cost the Library a small fortune to acquire, but it cures just about anything!" She bent over him and for the first time he got a good look at her. She was just as he remembered her, except her graying blonde hair was long now, and done up in the stylish "Gibson Girl" fashion. She wore a snug-fitting tailored ladies' suit consisting of a short, long-sleeved jacket and floor-length skirt of gray wool and a starched white cotton blouse. A pair of tortoiseshell pince-nez glasses was perched on the bridge of her fine nose.

"Where's Cassandra?" he asked. Charlene sighed and shook her head.

"She's not here, Galahad, I'm sorry. We had to send her back to the year 2019. Do you remember me telling you that earlier?" she answered. Jenkins nodded slightly, the memory dim, but present.

"How long have I been here?" he continued. "What happened?" Charlene pressed her thin lips together for a moment, unsure of how much to tell him, before replying.

"A few weeks," she said. "Apparently, your Librarian, Cassandra, accidentally triggered a Heart Stone. According to her, you tried to take it from her, and it ended up sending the both of you to the Titanic on the night it sank."

Memories that were fuzzy and uncertain in Jenkins's mind began to focus in clarity as Charlene spoke. She told him about the night of the tragedy, Cassandra's rescue, how she made her way to the Library with the Heart of Sorrow. She repeated for him Cassandra's story about Stone's attempt to trick her into touching it again, told him about Judson going to Nova Scotia and recovering Jenkins's "corpse" and bringing it back to New York. She informed him that he was frozen nearly solid by the time he had been plucked from the Atlantic by the Mackay-Bennett. She made a point especially of telling Jenkins that he was very lucky that Judson found him before the Canadian undertakers tried to embalm him. The old Caretaker shivered involuntarily when he heard that; he had no wish to go through that particular experience ever again.

"Cassandra wanted to wait until you regained consciousness, so she could say goodbye, but it was just too risky for her to stay here that long," Charlene finished apologetically. "She had to return the Heart to 2019 in order for the Library to be able to secure it completely. Plus, she knew far too much about future events; we just couldn't risk her inadvertently violating the law of causality." Jenkins tried to sit up, but Charlene quickly put her hand on his shoulder to hold him down.

"Oh, no you don't, young man!" she scolded. "You stay put! You're still far too sick to be up and moving around!" Jenkins groaned, but stayed down, letting his entire body go limp. He raised one hand to rub his face; he was shocked to see that all of his fingers were shriveled and black.

"Frostbite," said Charlene soberly, a distressed look coming to her face. "You've suffered quite a bit of it, I'm afraid. We'll...have to do some amputations, I'm afraid." Jenkins glanced at her suspiciously.

"What kinds of amputations?" he croaked. Charlene thought of downplaying the seriousness of the injuries, but dismissed it almost immediately. He would find out the truth eventually anyway. She took a quiet breath.

"All your fingers," she began clinically. "All of your toes, both ears, your nose. And, of course, you'll shed a great deal of damaged skin on top of that." Jenkins sighed. He wasn't surprised by the damage, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to the recovery process, and he was grateful that Cassandra would be spared having to witness it. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he cast an awkward sideways glance in Charlene's direction.

"What about...?" He flicked his eyes downward and back up again. It took a moment for the Guardian to realize what he was asking.

"Oh! Um...no," she reassured him quickly. "Somehow, miraculously, your...um...manhood...is completely undamaged." Jenkins heaved a heartfelt sigh. It was only male vanity, he knew, but he was relieved nonetheless. He turned his head slightly to meet Charlene's gaze.

"So I just lie here, then, on a table in the middle of the lab, until you deem me well enough to move to a proper bed?" he growled sourly, drawing a chuckle from the Guardian.

"You are on the mend!" she shot back with equal sourness, but he could hear the relief under her sarcastic tone. "But to answer your question—no, you will not have to stay here now that you're awake. We didn't want to move you until your nerves were healed enough to do so without causing you too much pain. I'll get some of the workmen to help move you to a guestroom that I've had prepared; your suite is too far away. The less movement you experience, the better." She turned to go and summon the men when Jenkins tried to grab her wrist, his dead fingertips were like claws on her skin. He tried to close his fingers on her wrist, but only he only managed to cause a flare of sharp pain in his what was left of his hand and up his arm.

"Wait! What did Cassandra tell you? About…herself?" he asked, his worried dark eyes burning into her blue ones. She blinked rapidly a few times, then gave him a weak smile.

"She told me that she was one of four Librarians," Charlene replied steadily, then chuckled softly. "Judson nearly had an apoplectic fit when he heard about that!" Jenkins let his hand drop to his side as he relaxed.

"She also told me that the two of you were Sealed," she said quietly, knowing that that's what he really wanted to know about. His head jerked toward her, pain lancing through his skull. He stared up at Charlene, his eyes now full of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Charlene…" he began, voice husky with illness and emotion.

"Don't be," she cut in firmly, meeting his gaze placidly. "I'm glad you finally found someone you can love, someone who can return it. You deserve that, Galahad—God knows that you deserve that!"

"But I vowed my heart to you, for all eternity!" he whispered, looking intently at her.

"You did not!" she countered gently. "You were still a young and well-intentioned knight, comparatively speaking, when you made that vow. But it was rash and foolish, and I rejected it on the spot, if you'll remember? You were never bound to keep it." She took his hand and held it gingerly.

"You have nothing to feel guilty about, Galahad," she reassured him, then her eyes became sad. "The one I feel badly for is the Galahad in the London Annex right now, pining for a love he will never have—and I can't tell him about your Librarian at all. I can't let him know that one day he'll find someone who will make him forget all about me!" Her face suddenly brightened and she patted his arm lightly.

"That reminds me…" she said briskly before turning and disappearing from his line of sight. He heard her rummaging around in something a few seconds before she reappeared. She held up a large, heavy ring made of gold, shaped like two tree entwined tree branches.

"You were wearing this when they fished you out of the Atlantic," she told him. Jenkins dark eyes caught sight of the glint of gold. His Sealing ring! A painful, aching longing filled his chest even as a tiny smile came to his lips.

"Fortunately, they put it in a bag with your other belongings," said Charlene. "Your clothes, shoes, the ring. You can't wear it on your finger right now, obviously, but I'll find a chain for it and you can wear it around your neck, if you like." He nodded, then looked up at her with an anxious expression.

"Was…was there a piece of silk in the bag?" he asked. "Like a handkerchief, except brightly colored?" Charlene instantly made a revolted face and went back to where she got the ring. She returned a moment later with a cloth—a gaudy pattern of bright green and blue paisley bordered with a wide band of pink—and held it up.

"You mean this?" she asked. Jenkins smiled radiantly and nodded as he reached for it, clasping it between his ruined hands.

"Thank you, Charlene," he murmured. Suddenly, he felt very tired and completely drained, and he closed his eyes. "It was a Christmas gift." Charlene laughed softly.

"You participated in Christmas activities?" she asked in mock horror. Jenkins smiled gently, his eyes remaining closed.

"Indeed, I did!" he said. His smile spread as the memory of Cassandra trying to teach him how to dance to popular music flooded his mind, how much she had made him laugh during that yet-to-come Christmas Eve. "I even attended a Christmas party that year!" Charlene, moved by the expression of sheer love and happiness that was practically glowing on the old knight's face, blinked back tears.

"With your Cassandra?" she asked. Jenkins nodded his head slightly.

"My Cassandra!" he whispered, then drifted off to sleep. Charlene said nothing more. She gazed down on the Caretaker for a moment, then turned to fetch the workmen to help her move him to the waiting guestroom.

Several weeks later the ex-Guardian set a breakfast tray down on a small stand outside of Jenkins's sickroom and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" answered a hoarse, gravelly voice from inside. She turned the brass knob and pushed the door open, then picked up the tray of food and hot tea to bring inside.

"Galahad," she briskly greeted the recuperating Caretaker as she swept into the room. She went directly to the small table next to his bed and set the tray down. "How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?"

Jenkins merely grunted as he slowly pushed himself up in his bed and watched her prepare a small plate of food for him: Toast with butter and orange marmalade, two soft-boiled eggs, three strips of crisp bacon, a small plate of apple slices and a cup of piping-hot tea.

Though he was much recovered now, he was still weak. As Judson had predicted, Jenkins ended up losing his fingers and toes, as well as his ears and his nose. These were all in the process of regenerating, but it would be some time yet before they were completely healed. In the meantime, he had to cover the gruesome injuries with bandages. Perhaps the most nightmarish wounds, however, had been the large patches of skin too damaged by the freezing cold to recover and that eventually sloughed off in large pieces that had disturbed Charlene the most. The new skin beneath was raw and sensitive, and it had to be covered and treated with a special healing salve until it was healed enough to be left to the open air. As a result, the recovering immortal now had the appearance of a half-wrapped mummy.

Jenkins, used to being busy almost every minute of the day, quickly became bored with being bedridden. Charlene caught him out of his bed just the other day as he prepared to try and walk across his bedroom by himself on his damaged feet. She quickly nixed that idea, giving him a sharp scolding for being so foolhardy and chased him back into bed. Charlene made him promise to stay there, informing him that his legs were unsteady and his balance was compromised because of his missing toes. And had he already forgotten about how quickly he tired? Still, considering the extent of his injuries, he was making a near-miraculous recovery

"Here you are, eat this," Charlene ordered him as she picked up the plate and spread a large napkin over his lap. Since his fingerless hands made it impossible for him to use any utensils, Charlene held up a piece of toast to feed it to him. Jenkins glared sourly at the Guardian for a moment, then leaned forward to take a tiny bite off the corner of the toast. Charlene sighed and gave him a reproving look.

"You have to eat!" she chided him. "You're becoming nothing but skin and bones!" Regeneration required a tremendous amount of energy, and Jenkins's injuries were serious; the immortal's body was rapidly consuming his body's fat reserves. This was the one situation wherein an immortal needed to take in food, to fuel the healing process; otherwise his body would literally devour itself as it tried to heal. Jenkins frowned and heaved a dramatic sigh of his own.

"I'm not hungry," he said petulantly, adjusting his position in the bed carefully. "Besides, I don't have to eat; I'm immortal, remember?"

"At least your childish disposition seems to have made a full recovery," she grumbled. She set the plate back onto the tray and picked up a brown bottle and a large spoon. She uncorked the bottle and filled the spoon with a thick, syrupy liquid. She turned to carefully hold the spoon out to Jenkins.

"Here—take this," she ordered. Jenkins didn't budge.

"Why? What it is?" he asked suspiciously. Charlene sighed.

"It's medicine!" she snapped. "Since you won't eat properly, you need to supply your body with the energy it needs in order to heal in another way. Now—take the damn medicine!" Jenkins blinked in surprise and stared at her, but he obediently leaned forward and opened his mouth to allow Charlene to pour the spoonful of medicine into it. As he swallowed, the Caretaker's face twisted in disgust.

"UGH!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips and rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tried to rid it of the horrible aftertaste. "That's nothing but cod liver oil!"

"It's cod liver oil mixed with the highly concentrated form of a magically-enhanced nutritional supplement," she informed him crisply as she recorked the bottle and set it on the nightstand with the spoon.

"Why would you do that?" he demanded, glaring at her in disbelief. "I know the potion you're talking about, it's the ? potion. And it tastes like honey!" She turned and fixed him with a baleful stare.

"If you're going to act like a spoiled child, then I'm going to treat you like a spoiled child!" she said flatly. "You can either eat the food you need to heal properly, or you can take a big dose of cod liver oil—the choice is yours!" She turned to the tray and poured a cup of tea. After adding sugar and milk, she held out the cup to him. "Would you like some tea?"

Jenkins eyed her dourly for a moment but held his tongue. He then leaned forward to gingerly take a sip of the hot tea while she held the cup for him. The familiar comfort of it soothed him at once. Charlene pulled up a small wooden chair next to the bed and sat down, then gave him another sip of the tea.

"You need to build your strength, Galahad; food helps to speed the process, and it's much more effective than potions," she reminded him patiently. "You don't want to look like death warmed over when you go back and see your bride again." Jenkins cast an anxious sideways glance at her as he took another sip of tea.

"We haven't really talked about that yet, have we?" he murmured and squirmed uneasily on the bed. "About Cassandra, I mean."

"We have nothing to talk about," Charlene said bluntly. "This is exactly what I always wanted for you—to let go of your infatuation with me and find someone else. Someone who was free to return your affection and your love. Cassandra seems like a perfect match for you, though I am a little bit surprised that you chose a Librarian." Jenkins snorted.

"It's not as if I had a large variety of options to pick from," he answered scornfully, dropping his gaze. "Librarians or Guardians, that's pretty much it. And immortal women don't exactly grow on trees, you know!" He took another sip of tea.

"You and Judson, your relationship has always been so...tumultuous! Thick as thieves one day, not speaking to each other the next!" Jenkins squirmed on the bed in agitation at the memories. "I kept hoping that maybe you would give me a chance during one the times you weren't speaking to Judson..." He snapped his mouth shut and made himself look up at the woman he had spent so many centuries yearning for. It was strange to feel absolutely nothing romantic for her anymore.

"I can't explain everything, Charlene, not without revealing future events to you, and you know that I can't do that," he explained, his voice tinged with regret. "I wish I could."

"I understand all of that, Galahad," the woman answered softly as she gazed steadily at him. "The details don't matter." She laid her hand lightly on Jenkins's knee.

"Galahad, I'm sorry for the all the pain I caused you over the years! I never meant to do that to you. I'm just glad to know that you're finally happy." She squeezed his knee as she smiled at him sadly. He laid his ruined, bandaged hand over hers and smiled as he patted it warmly.

"Was…was Cassandra very upset when you sent her back?" he asked, at last putting the subject of Charlene and him to rest forever. He tried to sound detached, but Charlene could hear the worry in his voice.

"She was upset, of course," she answered him truthfully, dropping her eyes. "I won't lie to you, there were tears. She said that she understood our reasoning, but she didn't want to leave you again after being separated on the ship. She felt like she was abandoning you again, I think."

"And the Wells prototype worked?" he asked anxiously, gazing intently at the Guardian.

"It appears so," she said carefully. "I think we were able to correct the drift problem. Judson set the machine to return to this time and place the moment Cassandra stepped off of it in 2019. It returned almost immediately after we sent her off. Judson feels everything went off without a hitch." She purposely didn't tell him that the machine was little more than a smoldering pile of molten slag when it had reappeared. Judson found no sign of human remains amongst the wreckage, thank the gods, and so he was reasonably confident that Cassandra managed to get off of the machine before it self-destructed.

"Galahad, I need to talk to you about Cassandra, and the Heart Stone," Charlene said carefully and adjusted her seat on the edge of Jenkins's bed. He looked up at her expectantly. He wasn't going to like what she had to say, but it had to be said.

"Cassandra told me that the Stone spoke to her," she continued. Charlene then repeated for him everything Cassandra had told her about the Stone and what it had told the Librarian about her destiny as a great sorceress. As the Guardian spoke, Jenkins's face grew pale, and his body stiffened visibly as he stared at her. When she was finished, Jenkins said nothing, only looked away.

"She has the Old Magic, Galahad," Charlene said. Jenkins's head swung sharply back to face her.

"You told her it was all nonsense, of course?" he rasped tightly, his dark eyes boring into hers. Charlene sat up straight and shook her head.

"No, I didn't," she said. Jenkins instantly made a sound of angry disgust and she reached out to lay her hand on his leg.

"It can't be dismissed, Galahad!" she retorted. "It's not going to just disappear! It's part of who she is! She can't stop having it be a part of her any more than she can stop breathing!" Charlene leaned forward. "But she needs guidance, Galahad; she needs to learn how to use it, how to control it, how to live with it..."

"It won't come from me!" he cut in brusquely. "I will not be the one who helps my own wife to destroy herself—nor will I allow anyone else to do it!" Charlene exhaled quietly and leaned back.

"Galahad, I understand how you feel..."

"Do you?" he croaked loudly, his eyes filled with anger and pain. "Funny—I don't recall seeing you there when I was burying what was left of everyone I ever knew and loved after the Old Magic destroyed them! I don't recall you weeping beside me as we looked down on the burning ruins of the citadel after Morgan used the Old Magic to raze it to the ground! I don't...!" Jenkins stopped speaking suddenly and looked away as he fought to regain his composure. Charlene remained silent. After a few minutes he turned back to her, but his eyes remained downcast.

"Speaking of Judson—I can't help but notice that I've seen very little of the man himself," the Caretaker commented drily, changing the subject entirely. "I'm surprised he even bothered to come looking for me at all in Halifax. He must've been very disappointed to have found me before they tried to embalm me."

"That's not true!" Charlene protested, fixing the ill man with an admonitory stare. She decided to let the subject of Cassandra and the Old Magic go—for now. She knew the Caretaker. He knew she was right; he just needed time to think about it, to come to terms with the situation. "Judson was very worried about you! As soon as we heard that a recovery ship was being dispatched to recover the bodies, he got on the first train to Halifax!" Jenkins snorted again, loudly.

"Yes, and his frequent check-ins to see how I'm progressing have been utterly heartwarming," he replied acidly. He then frowned and cocked his head to give Charlene a tart look. "Oh, wait…I have yet to see him even once!"

"You come from well into the Twenty-First Century, and you two still haven't reconciled?" Charlene said, exasperated. "You're worse than squabbling children, the both of you!" She noticed the guilt-ridden look that came to the Caretaker's face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, looking away to stare out of the window in his room. "I shouldn't be so hard on Judson, that's all. I was—am—fully half of the problem, after all." He turned his head to look at Charlene again. "And for that I'm sorry."

Charlene looked at him for a moment, puzzled and surprised by this sudden relenting in the normally pessimistic and combative immortal. In all the time she had known them, she had never heard Galahad speak of Judson in such a regretful tone of voice, had never heard him apologize for the tension between them. She opened her mouth to ask him about it, but he spoke first.

"So—how are we planning to get me back to 2019? I'd hate to accidentally run into myself someday," he said, waved the stump of his hand at the tray next to him to indicate that he wanted some of the apple she had brought him for breakfast. Charlene speared one of the apple slices with a fork and held it at the ready for him.

"The prototype, I presume?" he asked. She could see exhaustion begin to glaze his eyes. Charlene shook her head, letting the topic of Judson drop.

"No! There…wasn't enough energy left in its battery for another trip," she lied. "And when Judson tried to recharge it, the battery blew apart. The whole thing is little more than an utterly useless paperweight now—if it hadn't been so imperative for your Librarian to return to her own time with the Heart, we would never even have tried it with her." She saw the alarmed expression that came to his worn face and hurried to reassure him.

"Don't worry, Galahad, she made it home all right!" she said, forcing confidence into her voice, hoping that she was fooling the wily old Caretaker. "You know how temperamental time machines can be and how much Judson dislikes using them. We'll find a way to get you home. It might just take a little time before we can find something that will work, that's all." Jenkins said nothing and turned his head to stare at the apple slice in her hand. She frowned as she watched his look of concern turn into one of distracted thoughtfulness.

"What is it? What are you thinking?" she probed. He raised his head to her, a pensive look in his brown eyes.

"I think… I think I might just know of a way," he answered slowly, a note of wonderment in his voice. "I'm not unfamiliar with this exact type of situation, believe it or not, and I'm afraid that the only way out of it—is for me to take the long way home."