Seeing her on the internet, where pixels created her face, might as well have been fiction to Jack; it wasn't real, not like seeing her in person before him. Seeing her here, in real life, with skin he could touch and shadows on her face that he could see, glinting flecks of light in her eyes…this was the real confirmation.

When she'd gone missing in 1901, a small dark thought had haunted him every day and night, telling him she was dead. And he didn't know why or how'd they'd all crossed over into this world, this new life...but he'd been terrified she'd been left behind, that her stroy had ended back in their old New York.

She was walking in front of him now, about 20 yards ahead. All the little strings attached to him that had been pulling his skin in all directions, were now fixed on one point, pulling him to her. She didn't know him, not yet. But she would. The guys had all woken up; all memories had come back to them. Surely they would for her, too.

She entered the dance building, a fancy towering monument of brick and tall windows. He didn't think of what he would say when he followed her in, he only wanted to hear her voice speak to him, to further confirm that it was her. Even the smallest detail that didn't fit Ira might've convinced him that it wasn't her. Hard to believe even that, when everything about her was almost the same. He didn't want to let his guard down and allow room for disappointment.

But he stopped in his pursuit when he heard her call out to a group of dancers climbing the staircase in the lobby, all of them shouting for her, "Tiffany", to join them for lunch.

She turned on her heel, her eyes resting on the group of students. Her lips lifted into the smirk he knew too well.

"Go on without me," her voice echoed in the openness of the artsy building. "I need studio time."

She turned and went through double doors but he couldn't follow her. He was frozen where he stood.

Her voice…the Russian accent was gone. Her voice didn't have an accent, as if waiting for one to come along and it would fit the cadence and sound that came out of her mouth. There was a brightness to her tone, a husky sound hiding under it… The same that used to cry out in frustration, anger, fear. And the same that spoke to him low in his ear followed by a wicked smirk.

Without a doubt, it was her.

He shook his head after a minute, running his hands over his face like he wanted to tear the flesh from his bones, to scratch the itch beneath it.

He could follow her, could watch her through a window or a door, anything...could watch her dance.

No. Too much for one day. His chest was about to rip open from seeing her, his head about to explode from hearing her speak. If he watched her dance, the guys would be calling an ambulance.

He looked around, looking up at the high ceilings and fancy chandelier above him before turning on to exit the building.

"What happened?" Mush asked, the guys running to meet Jack on the sidewalk, completely forgetting their work.

"What'd ya say?" Race's words trampled over each other, almost incoherent in his eagerness.

David read Jack's expression, "You didn't say anything to her."

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't... But it's her."

The guys relaxed and breathed heavily, thinking. The sidewalks were clearing as the students disappeared into buildings for their classes. The guys still had work to do.

"C'mon," David said, clapping Jack on the back as he turned the guys back to their scaffoldings. "Let's all chill out a bit. Relax. You guys get back to work; I'm going to get us lunch at that café down the block. Race, text Spot."

Race grimaced, "Ah, right. Damn textin'…"

Jack turned his back to the arts building, grimacing. A fear was growing in him that while he couldn't see her, she'd suddenly disappear into thin air, and he'd wake up to the sound of his annoying alarm clock.


David's heart rate was almost back to normal as he left Washington Square park and the boys behind, heading towards the busy intersection on the opposite side from their work site. He was still in shock from seeing her, like all the boys. But he couldn't get the look of Jack's face out of his thoughts; it was like Jack had been numb, ever since the night Ira went missing in 1901. Now Jack was alive. Seeing her...Jack was Jack again. It excited David. Now if only they could wake her...

David crossed the street to the Block Café, the triangle building nestled on the corner. People and cars everywhere, even at noon. So many people, so much movement. And David had thought New York in the late 1800s had been busy. This New York was constant, always alive. It was no wonder why it had been named the City That Never Sleeps. David could barely sleep in it either. But the headaches kept everyone up, some nights more than others.

But this New York...he liked it. And he got the feeling the others did too. Maybe they could actually live here, all of them, and be happy.

The guys always got their lunches at the Block Cafe, the usual subs and cokes. David always volunteered; the others were better at manual labor than him. He wanted to see the city, research it and the history they'd missed. He was currently job searching for something that would be more useful to him and the guys, maybe a journalist...he smiled to himself, thinking of Denton.

He was about to open the glass door to the café when he saw it: a flash of bright red curls, bouncing on a tailored blue velvet coat. A woman's coat. Unmistakable.

David started and stood frozen as a statue on the side walk, his hand on the door as he watched the red head disappear within the flowing river of people.

It could be...he'd seen that head of hair in his dreams so many times...could it really-

He'd never know if he didn't move his feet.

And his feet were moving before he had fully made up his mind, acting on their own accord to follow the path she carved through the throng. He darted through clearings, almost stepping into traffic to get to her. She was the same height...walked with the same gait...he saw dark blue beaded earrings bouncing in the curls that hung by her face, and even those reminded him of her too...looked like something she'd wear...

At last, he got around her and stepped directly in front of her, making her almost run into him. He was breathing heavy as he looked down at her, all his hope and enthusiasm coming to a halt as he saw her face, his eyes meeting hers.

She looked up, clearly startled as she steadied her coffee and the stack of folders in her arms. Her blue eyes read his as he looked over her face. There were fewer wrinkles around her eyes than he remembered, she must have been a little younger in this life.

He didn't care if she remembered him, or if she hadn't woken up yet, or if she wasn't her at all. He was just happy to see her face; a familiar face among the endless sea of unfamiliar.

But her eyes widened, recognition brightening those blue orbs. The color drained from her face, her mouth hanging open. Time seemed to slow down, even when she dropped her coffee.

"Medda," David breathed.