Hi all. I apologize for the long hiatus (read: my slacker time) but I am back with a new addition. Actually, scratch that. I have been doing things, i.e. preparing to move andgetting settled in my new job with the probation department, so I have an excuse, hehe! Anyway, enjoy!


"Rachel…Rachel, is that you? I'm over here…"

Through a semi-conscious fog, Barry was aware that he was talking, though he wasn't sure to whom. As he slowly awakened, he heard footsteps-or at least he thought he did. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was, in fact, alone. He discerned that he was lying on the floor, and as he gathered his bearings, he found it was the floor just inside the front entrance to the hospital. Slowly the events were coming back to him. He was outside with Lisa when a hailstorm of bullets began raining down on them from an unseen location. One of the bullets met its mark. Not a bullet…a tranquilizer dart. He lost consciousness. He didn't know what happened to Lisa. She wasn't anywhere to be seen now. He didn't have time to worry about her though. His first concern was finding Rachel and-

BOOM.

"Shit!" He instinctively hit the floor once again at the sound of the distant explosion, and the consequent tremor. He had lost track of the bombs. It could be the second…or the third. Time was ticking, that was the only thing that was certain. He forgot where he was; lost track of where they had already searched…

"Second floor!" he blurted out to no one in particular. He darted for the stairs, only to find he had gone the wrong way. After several hits and misses he found the door to the stairwell, and made tracks to the second floor.

As soon as he set foot on the second floor, the first thing that stood out to him was the oppressive heat of the air. It seemed to have risen ten degrees from that of the first floor. He pushed up his sleeves, which were already rolled up partway, and continued aimlessly down the corridor, when a faint noise from the opposite direction caught his attention. It had to have come from the general direction of the patient wing, and he heedlessly flung himself through the double doors into the hall there.

"What the hell?" Darkness was all that greeted him there; the only light that remained to navigate by was the intermittent glow of a flickering fluorescent light overhead. He crept down the hall without a sound, one hand hovering over the gun holster at his belt, prepared for anything. It seemed he wasn't prepared to be suddenly pulled by his arm into the elevator, though, as all he could do when this happened was to utter a surprised shriek.

"Rachel?"

The wayward detective smiled, leaning lazily against the wall while one hand crept down to hit the Close button on the keypad. Barry jumped as the doors slid home behind him, barely missing him.

"You're late. Where the hell have you been?"

"I…I…" He was too stunned to respond. "I was looking for you…"

"Figures. I've been here for hours waiting for your stupid ass."

"I'm sorry, okay? Come on, we've gotta get outta here. This place is-"

"What's the hurry? I thought we'd stay here a while longer."

"What…?" He stared dumbly at her. "But…this place is filthy and disgusting. You hate it here. And it's dangerous too. Come on, let's go."

She smiled again and grabbed hold of his collar with both hands, pulling him closer to her so that he was practically pinning her to the wall. "I think you'll want to stay."

Barry was completely confused now, but made no effort to move away. "W…what's gotten into you? Getting all friendly all of a sudden…"

"Is that a complaint?"

Barry swallowed hard as her hands moved from his collar to his shoulders, traveling slowly over them to meet behind his neck, pulling him even closer so that their faces were inches apart. He would be lying to himself if he said he had never fantasized about something like this. An elevator was ideal; close quarters, bodies pressed together against the wall, sweat slicking their skin, one hand tangled in her hair while the other snaked around her waist, his mouth consuming hers hungrily while that small part of his brain that was still able to think rationally hoped like hell that no one pressed that call button outside…

"Mmm…" Any complaint that he could have offered was forgotten when her lips captured his. Right away he knew something was off; the Rachel he knew did not do things like this. It did not take long for this thought to be pushed to the back of his mind, though, as the autopilot kicked in and he just did what came natural. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her away from the wall, allowing him to fully embrace her. His hands traveled lightly up her back, feeling the heat and sweat of her skin under her shirt. After a time they mutually broke the kiss, both struggling for breath. Unable to look her in the eye, Barry lowered his face to rest in the crook of her neck. She smelled of smoke and nervous sweat and the musty air of the hospital, and he drew the scent in with each deep breath. He felt dirty for liking it.

"What's wrong?" she whispered in his ear, her voice dipping lower to an even huskier, more seductive octave.

"Rachel, I…I can't do this. It's wrong." He almost regretted saying this, but then he forced himself to look her in the eye. It was wrong. He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't take her this way, in an elevator in a run-down mental hospital like some depraved teenager looking for a sick thrill. She meant more to him than that…only she didn't know. Her next words drove this point home perfectly.

"I know it's wrong. Not to mention it's pretty fucked up. But everything that's happened to us has been fucked up, so that's a good enough excuse, don't you think? It's just to take our minds off everything that's happened, you know? It doesn't have to mean anything."

"No!" he blurted out, surprising them both. "I don't want…I mean…I do want it…it's just that…"

She nodded quickly, a flush of pink spreading across the bridge of her nose as she raised an awkward hand to the back of her head. "Whatever. I get it. I guess I just assumed…you know, because you make all kinds of comments."

Now the guilt set in; he knew it was only a matter of time. "You didn't let me finish. I do want to…just not here. Not now."

"Why?"

"Because…because…" Because I love you. He had said the words in his mind countless times, but he couldn't get his mouth to cooperate. He just kept hoping that she could tell, but sometimes he had to wonder if she even had the capacity to comprehend it. Romance had never been even a remote thought for the career-minded woman. Not to mention she was moody and stubborn, and most likely would go stir-crazy being tied down in a relationship. This was what he told himself all the time, but in reality he was just making excuses; he was aware of this.

"What the hell…?" The barely audible sound of the elevator starting up caught his attention. "I think the elevator's moving!"

"Don't change the subject," Rachel snarled, her features shadowed by a black rage unlike anything he'd seen before. "Why, Barry? You want this, don't you fucking lie and say you don't. So why don't you just fucking do it?"

Thankfully the elevator came to a stop at that moment, creating a momentary distraction-or so he'd hoped. It seemed she would not budge until she got an answer. She stood in the doorway with arms crossed, glaring daggers at him for an unbearable length of time before she finally scoffed, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette.

"Well, whatever," she said as she lit up. "I'll leave you here to think about it. I'm not in the mood anymore anyway."

"Rachel…" He watched as she strode down a darkened corridor, blowing smoke indignantly at the ceiling as she went. Barry took a couple steps backwards and fell back against the wall of the elevator, where he sank to the floor in defeat. He hung his head, dabbing at eyes that were already red from crying. He had resolved some time ago to tell her how he felt, but only when the opportunity came. It was only appropriate that it would come at the worst possible time. And, tragically ironic as it was, it seemed this was the time. He always knew, as much as he hated to think about it, that something might happen to one of them before he got the chance, and he had the unsettling feeling that one of them would not be leaving this place alive. He had to do something before it was too late. As fitting as it would be, he did not want his soul-baring confession to double as a deathbed proclamation.

"Okay…gotta do this thing…" Taking a deep breath as he rose to his feet, Barry stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor. He followed it for some time, lost in thought, and only when he refocused his attention on the task at hand did he become aware of the strangeness of the situation. The hallway became darker and even more claustrophobic the further he progressed. There were no doors to punctuate the monotony of the scenery; only ancient-looking light fixtures mounted in the shabby mishmash of brick and concrete of the walls that ended at the ceiling, which was nothing more than a tangled maze of rusted and dripping pipes. As unlikely as it was, it almost seemed that this place was not connected to the hospital at all, but at this point he was not counting anything out. Just when he was starting to think he was walking straight into a bottomless pit, the passage came to an abrupt halt at a door, which he almost ran into as he gazed all around. Without hesitation he barged through.

"Oh my God…" Barry's jaw dropped in complete bewilderment as he found himself standing in the lobby of the police station. After a moment of staring dumbly at the bronze SHPD insignia on the front of the reception desk, he stumbled clumsily around the room, examining everything to ascertain that what he was seeing was indeed real. He never imagined that the station, located in a section of town at least five miles from South Vale, could be attached so closely to the hospital, but the evidence was surely proving that. It did not explain, however, how a very old, hidden underground passage managed to surface right at the front door to the station. He was pondering this when a noise from somewhere nearby caught his attention.

"Who's there?" He crept over to the door to the left of the reception desk, the office of their recently deceased captain. He swallowed back tears at the all-too-recent memory, until he spotted something that really gave him a reason to cry.

Capt. Tim Cavanaugh, the gilded nameplate proclaimed. Barry stared slack-jawed at it until his eyes ached, but the afterimage remained burned on the backs of his eyelids when he closed them. Cavanaugh, that smug, womanizing bastard did not last long with the SHPD, and with good reason. A group of drug dealers walked free due to his gross negligence, following closely on the heels of a near-catastrophic shootout between the police and said criminals. Cavanaugh resigned and then disappeared without a trace soon after, but not before Barry learned of his affair with Rachel. As long as he lived he would never forget that day. He returned to the station after his shift to retreive the spare house key he'd left in his desk, when he heard a ruckus ensuing from the captain's office. He opened the door just enough to poke his head inside when he was confronted with the image of them…on the desk, of all places. Surely she wasn't enjoying it…how could she? How could she like being sprawled on her back on a cluttered desk, with a man they all despised, to boot. How could she even do it in the first place?

How could she…? Barry felt his jaws lock and his fists clench with rage as he remembered, and caught himself. He was angry at the wrong person, even if it had only been for a split second. She was obviously drunk. That bastard had probably planned it all along. After all, it couldn't have been a coincidence that she was promoted to detective the very next day. It was very fortunate that Rachel was more than qualified for her new position, because if he had set her up for humiliation, Barry swore he would kill the fucker himself. But it didn't come to that. It was probably for the best, but it did not ease the pain, the thought that something even worse could have happened. Maybe it did happen, and he just stood idly by and did nothing. That memory was the source of many a "what if" question that woke him in the middle of the night.

"Did you just hear something?" a male voice spoke from behind the door, and Barry jumped. He turned to run, but he was too slow. He felt as though he was moving on leaden feet when the door opened behind him.

"Oh, it's just Barry," a female voice said.

"Rachel!" Barry blurted awkwardly, spinning around to face her and almost knocking her flat in the process. The inscrutable smile on her face instantly filled him with a disheartening self-consciousness. The view over her shoulder did little to ease this.

"Barry, how the hell are ya?" Tim Cavanaugh's loud, overly friendly voice boomed. Barry bit his cheeks and smiled in spite of himself.

"What're you guys still doing here?" he asked, feeling even more foolish with each passing moment.

"Happy hour, man," Cavanaugh answered as he filled a glass from the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his desk, which he handed to Rachel before he poured another for himself. "Why don't you join us?"

"Um…no thanks." You fucking coward. Why are you being nice to him? You hate him, remember? His mind screamed at him, but still he just stood there like an idiot. Of course, there was still the question of how and why he was here, apparently back in the position of captain after being missing and presumed dead for several years, not to mention all the other weird shit that had happened up to this point. He felt as though his head was going to explode.

"Barry, what's up? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Rachel said as she lit a cigarette. From the near-overflowing ashtray on the desk, Barry could easily conclude that she had been here awhile; on the other hand, though, it was hard to tell with her. One cigarette soon turned to ten with her.

"Um, well, I…" He took a step to the side so that her head was blocking his view of that irritating man, and lowered his voice as he spoke to her. "Rachel, did you…notice anything weird on your way here?" That alone sounded so strange that he hoped he wouldn't have to explain, but he couldn't be that lucky.

"Well I did see a guy arguing with a stop sign, but that's not really weird, considering we do have a second-tier mental hospital right here in town," she said.

"No…" He rolled his eyes; he should have expected that she would react to mind-bending shifts in reality with smart-ass remarks. "Rachel…do you know anything about…some other world? Like an alternate reality?"

"Alternate reality?" She pondered as she took a drag. "Nope…can't say I do. Honestly…can't say…I do."

"What? Then how…?"

She looked at him strangely. "Barry, honey, did something happen to you?"

"Yes, something did happen to me." He no longer cared about looking crazy; he figured he would have to be at this point. "Ever since we got separated back there at the hospital, a lot of really weird stuff has been happening."

"Hospital…?" Her apparent case of amnesia was troubling, to say the least. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been here all day. I just got off work, to be exact. Where the hell have you been?"

"I wouldn't worry about it Rach, it's probably just a senior moment," Cavanaugh chimed in, and Barry could not resist the urge to flash him a choice gesture, which he unfortunately seemed to ignore.

"What did Ernest do to you?" he almost screamed, grabbing her by her shoulders, a sharp pain in his left hand reminding him of the incident that started it all. "Why don't you remember?"

She slowly backed toward the desk, reaching for the whiskey bottle en route and filling up her empty glass. "Here, Barry, I think you need this more than me."

He stared at it, but as tempting as it was, he forced himself to decline. "No, what I need is answers. I wanna know what the fuck is going on here." His eyes drifted to Cavanaugh, who was now covering his mouth with one hand in a half-assed attempt to hide the fact that he was giggling like an idiot. "I wanna know what the fuck you're doing here."

"Uh…" Cavanaugh shifted his eyes to the side, obviously still stifling a snicker. "I work here? Is that a good enough excuse?"

"What…? But you got…but you don't…"

"Look, just give it up already, old man. It's not my fault you got passed over for a promotion so many times. Wife divorced you, can't get a woman to save your life. That's all you, man." As he spoke, he rose from his desk and approached Barry menacingly, standing face to face with the elder detective. "Let's get one thing straight, old timer. This is my house. Don't ever forget that."

"Okay, I think I've had enough drama for today," Rachel interrupted. "Fuck it, let's go drink some more."

"Good idea." Cavanaugh reached over and grabbed her hand, shouldering Barry aside en route to the door, though he didn't quite make it that far.

"Don't you walk out of here. I'm not done yet," Barry said, planting a hand in the center of the captain's broad chest.

"What, you wanna join us? Aren't you due back at the nursing home soon?"

Rachel burst out laughing at this-her familiar drunk laugh, but that did not make it sting any less. Barry swallowed hard.

"Whatever. I'm leaving, but I'm taking Rachel with me."

Cavanaugh scoffed. "Sorry, but I don't think she's into the geriatric scene. Now if you'll excuse us…" With that, he succeeded in clearing a path to the door, and Barry stood by helplessly and watched the pair leave. He sank into the chair next to the desk and clutched his head in his hands, breathing hard to drown out the sounds of laughter still in his head. Laughing. They were still laughing at him. More importantly, she was laughing at him. The one person who had never laughed at him…or so he thought. Maybe she had been all this time and he just didn't realize it. The more he thought about it, the more it came together. Surely she was mocking him with all the jokes she told, the comments she made…even when she kissed him in the elevator. Especially then. It was only fitting, though. Everyone else did, so why not her too?

"How could you…Rachel…"