A/N: One of the things I'm working on, as far improvements go, is symbolism, specifically in this piece. I'm trying to work them into most of the chapters, not just this one. (In fact the only symbol I can think of in this chap is his job--building things like building a new life.) If you think you notice any symbols or pick up on any from here on out, I would very much appreciate it if you drop a review! Thanks!

He was still running. Spot Conlon had been running all night. In his brain, in his dream, his legs pushed against the pavement with great force. Uphill and never-ending. He wasn't in physical pain, for dreams never involve it, but the memory of such hurt coursed through his mind.

The city was dead silent, an eerie sort of quiet, without so much as a whispering wind. All he could hear was the heavy breathing from his mouth and the patter of his feet on the ground. The air was frigid cold and every exhale took the shape of a fast evaporating cloud before him. Where was he going?

Spot didn't turn any corners or go down any alleyways; he ran straight ahead of him. Southward. The lifeless city was void of any movement, and it cast a blackish blue atmosphere all around him. The night sky was empty with a lone gray moon. The buildings were dead, black, and dark. His heart was beating furiously now and he didn't know why. Why was he doing this; what was he doing? All he knew was that he had never been more terrified in his entire life. Suddenly, a cold grip grabbed a hold of his arm and spun him around, only to have vanished in front of him.

A gasp. In his Manhattan apartment, Spot Conlon awoke with a startling force jerking him up from his chest. His hairline was slick and the back of his neck was cool and cold. Like his dream, he could hear only his short, quickened breaths. His eyes darted in all directions frantically. A soft, warm touch on his bare arm suddenly comforted him. It brought him down absolutely from the haze between reality and dream. Gabby. She straightened up her torso from the mattress and observed him worriedly through half-open eyes.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled quietly.

"It's…" Spot rubbed his eyes briefly and tried to take a deep breath. His wildly pulsating heart beginning to calm as Gabby rubbed her smooth hand over his goose-bumped flesh.

"I'm okay," he breathed. "It's okay.

"Okay." Gabby dropped her head back down onto the pillow.

Spot blinked a few times and lay back down. As if he needed to protect her, he scooted closer to Gabby and wrapped her arm around her. There was a deep sense of comfort being this closer to her, as though he was connected to her completely.

Gabby's hand ran over his arm gently. Spot took a final deep breath and closed his eyes hoping that he would dream better, if anything at all.

The disconcerting part, however, was that it wasn't the first time he had had the very same dream.

"Ever get those dreams, Benny?" inquired Spot curiously at work the following morning. "Where ya have 'em all the time, same one?"

Benny furrowed his light, bushy eyebrows while he contemplated Spot's question. He squared up the nail on the half-constructed end table. Before responding, he brought down his hammer so the nail was planted deeply into the dark wood.

"Hm…" The strawberry blonde young adult pondered for a moment. "They bahd dreams?" Benny's voice dripped lightly with an Irish accent.

Spot retrieved the sandpaper from the table and began smoothing over cracks of wood sticking out. "I'm not sure. I wake up in a panic every time, though."

"C'mon, c'mon, I need that table finished today, boys!" grunted a fifty-year-old man of short stature. Mr. Bedford entered the workroom behind the show floor of Bedford Furniture shop in a huff. "Got a customer waitin' on it for a week. You boys are slower than a woman tryin' figger out the rules 'a poker!"

Aggravated, Mr. Bedford proceeded up the narrow staircase up to his office. Spot held his tongue and tried not to lash out at his boss' pathetic metaphoric insult against their working ability.

That was one thing Spot had had to learn upon moving out of the lodging house: a smart-ass tongue got you nowhere. In reality, he should be thanking old Bedford—landing this job got him out of that dreadful factory. Well, it didn't get him out of the factory as it was his dislike for authority that did that. His former employer had insulted him one too many times while unloading frozen animal parts one day; he said the "Irish was good fer nothin' 'cept plantin' potatoes, the dirty slobs!" because of him thinking Spot was too doing a poor job. So, Spot did what normally would have done—he punched him. (Never mind the fact that he had two people had home to provide). He threw down his gloves at the conveyor belt and walked right out of there before his boss could get up from the floor. Nobody insulted his Irish ethnicity, even if he didn't parade it around with a badge on his chest.

Bedford had also let slip the last time he was late to work a few weeks ago; it had been the third time in a row and he technically should have been fired.

"Anyway…" continued Spot. He sanded a little bit faster. "I keep runnin', in these dreams."

"Runnin'?" repeated Benny, thinking over possible explanations. "'At's a bit odd. Where to? Or from?"

Spot shook his head lightly. "I dunno. But I'm the only on the street and I just keep goin'. It's kinda scary."

Benny brought his hammer down a final time and picked up another nail. "I used to have dreams where I was on a cliff back in Ireland with a friend 'o mine, lookin' o'er the ocean. 'Ad 'em once 'er twice a week for two months. Until one night, in my dream, Tommy an' I were starin' at the ocean, an' I just pushed the lad! No apparent reason. Tommy fell into the water an' I never had that dream again."

"What happened in reality?" asked Spot.

Benny looked up from hammering as if something just dawned on him. "He died," he answered in a surprised yet calm fashion.

Spot halted in sanding. His eyes widened just a bit and he gulped.

"Ah, not to worry, Conlon," Benny shook off. "Nobody's in your dreams to die, right?" He gave a reassuring pat to Spot's shoulder and nailed back to the table.

The small bell from the shop's door chimed outside the backroom. Benny set down the screwdriver in his hand and exited, while Spot finished sawing off an unneeded limb from a rocking chair. He figured it would be another customer piling on a special order, in which case it meant longer hours and harder work. Spot listened for a voice expecting this item or that, in this color, and that type. He was pleasantly surprised, though, to hear Benny speaking to a familiar voice.

"Ah, good mornin' to ya, Gabby!"

"Good seeing you, Benny, how've you been?" The soft, lyrical voice floating into Spot's ears made him smile in content.

"Oh, not so bad. I see this little lad's doin' all right then?"

Gabby's softened chuckle resounded. "Yeah, Noah's holdin' up pretty well. He's getting so big so fast."

Then the thought of both Gabby and Noah lifted him to his feet. Bedford would have to wait a few minutes. He made his way out of the dusty room and into the store area that was decorated with newly built furniture from wall to wall. Gabby stood on the other side of the cashier's counter, opposite Benny. The early afternoon sun pouring in from the large window cast a sort of glow around her small form. It reminded him almost of how they first met; the sun's rays played off her long, chestnut brown hair, similar to what it was doing now.

"Hi honey," greeted Gabby as she set Noah carefully down onto the counter. "I just got done shopping and I brought you some food." She held up a small paper bag folded over at the top.

Spot ambled over next to Benny, as there was no way of getting around the counter from where they were. He leaned over and planted an innocent kiss on Gabby's lips.

"All right, I'll just get back to work!" said Benny as he returned to the other room.

"So thoughtful," said Spot, taking the bag in his hand. He stood back and really, really looked at her for a moment. Even though it had been a rough road getting here, Gabby looked as beautiful as ever, and that was on but a few hours of sleep each night. Motherhood had given her an actual form to her previously skinny, petite body, and Spot was not one to complain—her chest had grown into a quite pleasant size.

Gabby smiled sweetly, the blush of her fair cheek coming into the light along with the evergreen depths of her eyes. Spot was enamored, even after all this time.

Noah interjected a loud mumble from the counter. Spot looked down at the small, chubby-faced infant. Noah's pudgy arms were reaching upward to Spot as he continued with gibberish. A proud smile came onto Spot's face and he lifted his boy to rest comfortably in his arms at his side.

"Baby's doin' well I take it." Spot let his index finger to be taken into Noah's tiny hand to be inspected with the utmost fascination.

"Yeah, he hasn't been too fussy lately, which is almost too good to be true. He seems to do well in public places, I took him to the market with me."

"That's good." Spot's head then snapped quickly towards Gabby. "Wait, ya took him to the market?"

Gabby's thin eyebrows furrowed slightly at his hasty reaction. "Yeah, what's the—"

"It's so dangerous there, Gabby! Stuff's goin' on everywhere and it's so crowded. People get shoved and pick pocketed and pushed around and hit, and…you took my baby boy there," replied Spot protectively.

"It was fine. Really. We weren't there long, and—Wait a minute, your baby boy? It's not like you had him, Spot. It's not you who gets up in the middle of the night, and it certainly isn't you who waits on him, hand and foot! I'm the one who actually takes care of him, twenty-four-seven, you know—"

"Oh, don't give me that shit just because I have a job, Gabby! Who puts the food on the table here—"

"And who goes out to get the food, to cook it, and then put it on the table, huh?" Gabby popped her hip out and placed a clenched fist upon it. "Which is what we were doing today, if you wanted to know."

"What's all that goin' on down there?" Mr. Bedford yelled from the top of the steps. "You boys better be workin' on that table!"

Spot let out an irritated sigh. "I gotta get back."

Gabby, still put-off by the minor disagreement, reached over and took Noah into her hold. "See ya tonight," she added miserably and angrily.

"Fine." Spot scooped up the bag she had given him and turned to go back into the workroom. He heard a scoff come from Gabby's direction as he headed for the door.

Way to go, Conlon, thought Spot. Who fights over that stuff, honestly? It was all so petty. They had survived far worse than deciding who was the better provider. She had betrayed him entirely, lied and deceived him, a year ago when she was working for his enemy the entire time. This is stupid.

Spot stopped. He turned on his heels just as he entered the room, and headed back to the store.

"Gabby," he called from behind the counter just as she reached the door. She turned to face him, nearly annoyed but knowing this would happen.

"You know I love you," began Spot, "I'm just stressed out right now. I'm…" he trailed.

"You're what, Spot?" There was a blatant tone of irritated exhaustion in her questioning voice as if this had happened before. She knew what he wanted to say.

Sorry, he thought. I'm sorry. But Spot Conlon never apologizes for anything, even if he stood before the mother of a man he just killed with the gun in his hands. He simply pressed his lips together and stared at her without speaking.

A fed-up sigh came from Gabby's lips as she shook her head slightly. "You still can't say it. A year and a half with me and you can't even say it." She yanked open the door forcefully and stormed out.

Spot, frustrated that he couldn't patch things up, walked back into the other room.

Welcome to paradise.