Normally, Michelle couldn't drive alone without music on. But today hadn't been normal. Being bombed at work? Not normal. Asking a guy out? Definitely not normal. Being terrified that Los Angeles would be blown up? Not normal. And that kiss... far from normal. Nothing about her day had gone even remotely according to what she would have predicted twenty-four hours ago, so Michelle didn't even notice the lack of music during her drive home from CTU.

Michelle pulled up next to the curb in front of her apartment building, turned off the ignition, and leaned back into her seat, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. It's okay. It all turned out okay. After a moment, she opened her eyes, sat up straight, grabbed her purse from the passenger seat of her white Toyota Camry and walked through the doors to her building, waving to Hugh, the doorman.

When she stepped out of the elevator, she began, out of habit, searching with one hand through her purse for her key. With the general disorder of the day, her keys were slightly more difficult to find, and she stood at her door for a moment before, at last, locating her key, turning it in the knob and slowly opening the door to her apartment.

Michelle's apartment was small (she preferred the term "cozy") and slightly unorganized (she hadn't come up with a good explanatory term for that yet), but it was home. She planned on moving to a larger house at some point, but at the time being, her apartment was fine.

Standing in the entry, Michelle turned slightly and saw her own reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. Oh dear Lord. I can't believe he kissed me looking like this. Then it hit her. He didn't kiss me like this. I kissed him. Resignedly, she walked further into the living room-ish area, setting her purse down on the couch and walking toward the nearest bedroom. As she approached the door, she knocked lightly before walking in silently and approaching the bed, complete with sleeping body inside of it. Careful not to wake the sleeper, Michelle sat down gently on the bed and pried a pillow from the sleeping figure's hands, revealing the head and shoulders of a girl with hair just like Michelle's.

"Ellie..." Michelle whispered gently, running her hands through the girl's dark curls. "Ellie, wake up."

"Hmm I'm awake I wasn't sleeping what?" the girl said, sloppily pushing her hair out of her face.

Michelle smiled and said softly, "Of course you weren't. I'm home. And it's after nine anyway, so get up."

Ellie rubbed her eyes and stared up at Michelle, who was hovering over her. "Are you okay?"

Michelle nodded. "You?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Ellie responded. "I was really worried about you. When the-"

"Yeah I know. Hey- you jump in the shower, I'm going to do the same thing, and then I'm going to bed. Dishes are yours."

"Fine," Ellie responded flatly, slowly sitting up.

"I'll see you in a couple of hours," Michelle responded, pulling on one of Ellie's curls, then getting up and walking out of the door.

Ellie almost immediately snatched her pillow back from where Michelle had placed it at the bottom of her bed and returned it to its place over her head, blocking any light coming through her window. Hey, if Chelle is just now going to sleep, why shouldn't I?

Michelle left Ellie's bedroom and wandered across the kitchen to her own, then into her master bathroom. As she turned her shower on, she reflected once again upon the day's events. I wonder if Ellie will like Tony.

Ellie Madeline Dessler was fourteen years old, but looked more like she was twelve. She hardly pushed five foot three with her shoes on, and weighed less than one hundred pounds. She shared her sister's dark eyes and dark, curly hair so precisely that pictures of them at the same age looked almost like twins. An hour or so after Michelle had come home, Ellie reluctantly rolled out of bed and picked up a picture of a middle-aged man that was sitting on her nightstand.

"Good morning, Dad."