She's not sure what wakes her at first. All she knows is she's suddenly semi-conscious. She's ready to chalk it up as nothing and let sleep pull her under again, when she hears it. The doorbell ringing three times in quick succession, followed by someone pounding on the front door.

She's suddenly much more awake. She has no idea what time it is, only that it's far too late at night for any reasonable person to be at her house.

"Mommy!" She hears Neha's scream half a second before her sister's door slams open, then hears her parents' door open as well. She slips out of her bed and cracks her door open a bit. Her mom stands in the hallway with Neha clinging to her side. Her dad is creeping toward the stairs with an long, oblong shape in his hands. She realizes it's a baseball bat.

"Dad? Mom?" she calls out. Her parents turn to look at her. She can see the worry etched on her mom's face in the dim light. Downstairs, the doorbell rings insistently again.

"It's okay," her mom says. Her face betrays her true thoughts.

"All of you, stay here," her dad orders. "Lock yourself in a room if you have to." Her mom shakes her head and reaches her hand out to him.

"Raj, no," she says. "You can't go down there alone." The person outside resumes pounding on the door.

"This isn't a debate," he says. "Stay here. Stay safe." He turns to the stairs without giving them a chance to respond. A second later she hears the door open.

"Mr. Mansingh, sir," a voice says from outside.

She knows that voice. She has a feeling she'd recognize it anywhere, under any circumstance. Her feet move automatically, bringing her closer to the top of the stairs, but her mom reaches out and grabs the back of her shirt.

"Natara, don't," she warns with a firm shake of her head. Neha is still clinging to her mom's side and she stares up at the two of them. Downstairs, she can hear her dad asking if the person has any idea what time it is.

"It's okay," she says. "I know who it is."

"What?"

She ignores her mom's question and descends halfway down the stairs, just far enough to get a look at who's at the door. Sure enough, Mal is standing there, leaning against one of the potted trees by the doorframe. She's horrified to see blood on his shirt.

"You need to go home, son," she hears her dad say.

"You're not my dad," Mal frowns, swiping clumsily at his face. "Wish you could've been. You're way better than my dad."

"You're trespassing and disturbing the peace. Go, before I call the cops."

"Natara! There you are!" He brightens immediately, having spotted her on the stairs. Her dad turns, his face livid.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, stepping down into the foyer.

"I told you to stay upstairs," her dad says sternly. He steps halfway in front of her, crossing his arms.

"No," Mal moans, shaking his head even though it's drooping against the plant. "Come out here, I wanna talk to you." She's immediately on edge.

For the first time, she really looks at him. His clothes are rumpled and covered in blood, but so is his face, so she thinks it's probably his own. She thinks he might have a bruise forming on his cheek, too. His hair is ruffled, and not in its usual, cultivated way. He's covered in a sheen of sweat. When he tries to stand up straight, he stumbles back half a step before righting himself.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly. "You don't look good."

"I feel great," he says, but he's not smiling. She tries to edge around her dad, but he sidesteps and blocks her path again.

"Natara, I was just telling Mr. Fallon here that it is far too late to be here," her father says sternly. "The two of you can talk in the morning. He needs to go home." She peeks around her father's elbow and eyes Mal, who has resigned himself to leaning against the tree again.

"At least let me drive him home," she says, nodding toward the person in question.

"No," her dad says with a firm shake of his head. "Absolutely not."

"Look at him, dad," she pleads. "He can barely stand up. It would be irresponsible to let him drive, and he can't exactly walk all the way across town."

"I walked here," Mal mumbles. "Ran here. Whatever. Got here just fine."

"Shush," she tells him, then turns back to her dad. "There's not a whole lot of options here, Dad."

She can't read her dad's expression as he regards her silently, but she knows she's right. She supposes her dad could still tell her no, he'll drive Mal home instead. But even if he did, she'd insist on going with them, and she thinks he knows that. So, with that in mind, she plants her feet and stands up just a little taller. A second later she sees his shoulders slump.

"You bring him home and then you come straight back, you hear me?" he says, pointing a finger at her. "No detours, no stops."

"I promise," she says. She grabs a jacket from the front hall closet and shrugs it on, then grabs her purse and her keys. She's about to head outside when her dad stops her and presses something into her hand.

"Just in case."

She looks down and is horribly embarrassed to see pepper spray. She quickly stows it in her purse before Mal can see and glares at her dad.

"Thanks, but I won't need it," she says resolutely. She grabs Mal's arm, throwing it over her shoulder, and tows him to her car. More than once, she stumbles under his weight.

"You're amazing," he tells her as she opens the car door for him. She doesn't answer. Thankfully, he knows enough of what's going on to get himself inside.

"Put your seatbelt on," she says as she slides into the driver's seat.

"Do I have to?" he whines- actually whines- from the passenger seat. She stares at him hard.

"It's the law," she reminds him. "And I'm not getting a ticket because of you. Put your seatbelt on." He grumbles, but complies. She glances at the clock as she puts the car into reverse. 2:18 am. She rolls her eyes.

They drive in silence for a while. At first, she thinks maybe Mal fell asleep or passed out or something, but when she glances over at him, he's staring at her with a strange expression. His brows are furrowed, his mouth turned slightly down into a frown, but his eyes hold no anger. And the intensity of his stare startles her so much that she quickly looks back at the road.

"Have you ever thought about how small humans are?" Her brow furrows at his strange question, but she keeps her eyes on the road.

"Small how?" she asks.

"Just like, the universe is huge," he says, and from the corner of her eye she can see him turn his gaze to the road as well. "There's probably billions and billions of galaxies out there, and the Earth is just one small part of it all."

"Well, yeah," she says slowly. "I guess it's crossed my mind occasionally."

"And humans are only a brief part of the Earth's history," he continues. "We're like the tiniest little blip at the tail end of it all. There's so much that came before us, and who even knows how much will happen after we're gone?" Something about his tone nags at her.

"'We' as in humans in general?" she asks. "Or 'we' as in you and me personally."

Mal only hums and then nods. He doesn't say anything else, and Natara chalks it up to the alcohol. She's not totally sure if that's accurate, having never been drunk before. A small part of her wonders what it might be like, and if it makes people become suddenly introspective. And another part of her wonders if that's just Mal.

Soon enough, she's pulling into Mal's driveway. Just like every other time she's been to his house, there are no other cars in the driveway and no lights on in or around the house. It makes towing Mal to his front door a little tricky, but she's thankful they don't have to worry about waking anyone.

"Where are your keys?" she asks when they manage to get to the doorstep. Mal pats at his pockets.

"Um," he mumbles, twisting slightly to pat at his back pockets. Natara huffs a sigh and tries not to get too angry.

"What about a spare key?" she tries. Mal brightens immediately.

"Oh, yeah, we've got one of those." His hand moves to the light by the door, searching. A second later she hears the distinct sound of a key hitting the ground. Mal stoops to pick it up and proudly shows it off to her.

"Ta-da!" he crows.

"Great," she says flatly. "I'll help you get inside, but then I have to go."

"What? No!" he says. "Stay. I just wanna spend time with you."

"Mal, it's almost 3 in the morning," she says crossly. She plucks the key from his hand, turns it in the lock, and shoves the door open. "We should both be asleep right now, and yet instead we're here."

"I'm sorry," he says, reaching for her free hand. She doesn't pull it away fast enough, and he latches onto it. "I really don't mean to be stupid or inconsiderate, I promise."

"Mal-"

"No, really, I don't," he insists. "I don't know why I always do everything wrong when it comes to you." She gently extracts her hand from his and prods him toward the open door.

"Come on," is all she trusts herself to say. "Let's get you to bed."

Instead of going inside, however, Mal steps toward her. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him in a nearly bone-crushing embrace, and she kind of hates herself a little for enjoying how warm it is.

"I'm sorry for going to the party with Blaise the other night," he mumbles into her hair. "I'm sorry I woke you and your family up tonight. I'm sorry I keep messing things up."

"It's okay, Mal," she manages to say even with her face pressed against his shoulder. "It's fine."

"No, it's not." He draws back a little. "It's not fine. I don't want you to think I don't value you or our relationship, or anything. Because I do."

"Mal, it's fine if you want to hang out with your other friends," she says, trying to subtly guide him into the house. "I know I'm not your only friend. It's really okay."

"But it's not," he says as he follows her. She manages to get them inside the front hall and close the door. "It's not okay because I love you."

She freezes.

"You're so important to me," Mal continues, not having noticed her expression. His palm comes up to rest against her cheek. "I don't want you to think otherwise, and I know I haven't done a good job at doing that."

She backs away from him and turns her head to the side. She can't be here right now. Besides, her dad is most definitely waiting up for her to return home, and she knows she's already spent too long here.

"I think this is a conversation that should be had when it's not 3 am," she says, then adds, "and one that we should both be sober for." Mal nods in agreement.

He doesn't fight her as she gets him up the stairs and into his bed. In fact, most of his energy seems to suddenly disappear the moment his head hits his pillow. She leaves a glass of water on his nightstand for the morning, or whenever he wakes up next, then turns and flees the house.