This is a 9/11 story. I always wanted to write one and it never quite worked until these two came along to carry it. People getting close in dramatic circumstances (never a good idea). A Piper-centric one.

PS: I don't have kids and I've never followed ratings when I was one, so I'm not quite sure how ratings work, but there is sex (nothing explicit), mild drug use, some violence and worst of all, Larry, in this one, so I'll give it an M to be on the safe side, if anyone actually cares.

She shuffles up the narrow subway staircase, faint scent of stale urine freely mixing with BO, floral perfume, and a good dousing of after shave from several directions. It's a mass of people, shoulder to shoulder, moving slowly and surprisingly orderly. Quietly, too. Piper has never felt this mass kinship in her life before. She's like one of the many legs of a giant centipede, all in tune with each other, moving along for the benefit of the whole. When her turn comes to step above ground she sees that the giant being extends even further, due South along Essex Street. She is keenly aware of the strange excitement spreading through the crowd and continues to shuffle, eyes riveted downtown, searching the serene skyline like everyone else.

The sound of a siren breaks the spell and she realizes she's walking in the wrong direction.

"… hey."

"Hey!"

Alex smiles. There is a mixture of emotions playing on her face. Piper figures the emotions are positive, mostly pleasant surprise and smug self satisfaction. OK, that one can be good or bad, depending on how you feel about the person. Right now, Piper is relieved to have found a familiar face.

Her expression drops immediately.

"Piper… what's wrong?" Alex steps towards her and grabs her arm. Piper seems on the brink of collapse. Alex searches her face for tell tale signs of intoxication but sees none. Still, Piper's early hopeful look has changed to despondency. "Come on in, you look like you've seen a ghost and I don't think I'm that pale, even first thing in the morning."

Piper follows Alex without thinking. She registers a clean, narrow staircase. Somewhere faraway there is a feeling of surprise at how cosy Alex's apartment is. Books everywhere, filtered sunlight, enveloping sofa, a surfboard as wall decoration, great view of the smoothie bar across the street.

There is no TV.

"Do you… do you not know what happened?"

"What happened?" Alex asks as if Piper is referring to herself alone. This is when Piper becomes aware that Alex must've just woken up. She's barefoot, no makeup, not even her glasses. Her hair is disheveled, which she becomes aware of as Piper keeps staring. She runs a hand through it with partial success and dismisses it with a smirk.

"Where's your TV?" Piper asks mechanically.

Alex places a glass of water in front of her. Piper drinks. Alex lights up a roll-up and takes a drag before answering. The scent of weed swirls around them like a protective genie.

"I don't have a TV. Tell me what happened." She passes the joint on to Piper and sits down. The blonde takes it the same way she took the glass of water. She chokes on the smoke. Alex's proximity isn't helping. Piper's eyes fixate on the intense colors of the floral tattoo, shinier than the rest of Alex's pale skin. Somehow that helps her get the words out.

"The Twi… there has been an attack. A terrorist attack."

"Where?" Alex seems to regain focus in an instant. She puts the joint down and kneels by the sofa, her eyes on Piper, hands on either side of her knees.

"Here!" Piper shouts in frustration at having to explain the un-explainable. Tears start streaming down her cheeks as words make everything real. "And Larry… oh my god! He was on the plane!"

"Wait, what plane? Piper, you're not making sense. Look at me."

Piper can feel Alex's hands gently cradling her face but she's scrunching her eyes shut at the reality, crying with loud gasps. Mindlessly, she grabs at Alex's shoulders and buries her face in Alex's hair. It smells like coconut and fresh bed sheets; it reminds Piper of her 9th grade holiday with her parents in the Bahamas, when they found a baby shark in their pool and nobody could figure out how it'd got there. She feels Alex hug her and speak softly in her ear. She starts crying harder, tries to speak. Her words come out wet and gummy, probably unintelligible to Alex.

They had all been marched to Holiday Inn and given rooms on the house. The ones who cried got single rooms, the others had to share. Larry doesn't mind sharing. It's a guy Terry from Maryland. A nice guy, divorce lawyer. Always good to know one, Larry jokes. We're Larry and Terry, the guy laughs. He seems inordinately relaxed.

"I've spoken to my wife and kids. My wife talked to my parents. For now all we can do is wait. We're really safe at this very moment," he insists, pushing his index finger down, to pinpoint the importance of the moment.

Larry hasn't got through to Piper yet. He has managed to talk to his mother and she told him his father was on his way home. On foot. Everything has shut down in the city. He's also left a message on Piper's parents' voicemail, in case they're worried. So they can get in touch with Piper. Her phone seems out of range. She probably forgot to charge it – again. Typical Piper, he thinks. He hopes that's all there is. He also hopes she's not out of her mind with worry. Also typical Piper. But, as Terry says, for now all they can do is wait.

His phone rings as the image of the plane cutting clean through one of the twin towers plays again on TV. Both Larry and Terry exhale loudly for the umpteenth time.

"Hello?"

"Larry! Thank fuck you're alive!" It's Polly. She laughs hysterically and Larry loves her right now. "I thought you were on that plane."

"Is Piper with you?"

"No. That's actually why I called. I was hoping she was with you."

"Wait, what? Wasn't she supposed to meet you this morning?"

"I know, yes. She never showed. Then again, it was madness. We were gonna meet at 9:30, you can imagine."

"I hope nothing –"

"No," Polly harshly interrupts him. "There was no reason for Pipe to be at the WTC. She took the A train into –"

"Shit," both of them shout at the same time. The A train passes by the WTC. "No," Larry echoes her, "by 9:30 everything must've been shut down already."

"Yes, it was," Terry confirms from his side of the room, a flicker of encouragement in his eyes.

It's dark out and eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of sirens. They're lying in Alex's bed with the lights off. The curtain flaps gently in the breeze. A whiff of burnt kerosene mixes with the scent of weed. Piper has cried so much she is out of tears. She feels beyond embarrassment. The weed has helped, she's aware. Also, Alex has been unexpectedly supportive. Considering they'd only met at Cal's Labor Day party, Piper was totally bold to show up on her doorstep at 8:30am on a weekday. The train had spat them all out, not moving further than Delancey Street.

The address had only stuck in Piper's head because they'd talked about the Bowery Ballroom. Piper had recently gone to a taping there and wanted to impress Alex, who seemed to know all there was to know about the Downtown music scene.

"I live around the corner from the Bowery Ballroom," Alex had said, with a playful glint in her eye.

"Maybe I'll drop by next time I'm in the area," Piper had flirted. It had been really innocent – or mostly. She never intended to drop by but had enjoyed chatting with Alex. More than that, she'd enjoyed their proximity.

"66 Rivington Street." They shared a chuckle and it brought them physically closer, shoulders bumping, hair brushing cheeks. Piper shivered at the feel of Alex's smooth, warm skin against her naked shoulder.

"Do you really live at number 66?" Piper had snorted, overly excited.

"666 is a guitar shop and all the floors at 69 were occupied by the Chinese family who runs the congee bar, so…"

"You're pulling my leg," Piper had said, incredulously, just as a very popular song came on and everyone started cheering.

"What?" Alex had asked, bending closer, her hand briefly on Piper's knee.

"You're making fun of me," Piper had shouted, lips brushing Alex's hair. Alex turned her head, smirking.

"Would I?!" she'd asked, innocently – only not at all – and her lips were right there, right next to Piper's mouth. Suddenly scared, Piper blinked and scooted away.

"Yes, you would. You totally would," she'd said quietly.

The one who turns her head this time is Piper. She's done crying, still feeling a bit embarrassed at having shown up uninvited – technically, she was, even if jokingly – and having dumped her emotions on someone she barely knows. But she's also aware that this is the closest to war any civilians of their generation have ever felt and she's read that people behave unlike themselves under extreme circumstances. So when she sees Alex's lips barely a breath away she's not scared anymore. They feel soft and yielding and a bit salty. Piper likes how hot they are against her own. She loses herself exploring them, pulling at the gentle flesh with her teeth… and laughs startled when Alex nips back at her lower lip, changes their position and whispers something at once silly and outrageous in her ear.

Larry and Terry spend the night flicking between CNN and FOX, trying to wrap their minds around what had happened. First thing in the morning they share a cab all way to Larry and Piper's in Park Slope. They exchange email addresses and phone numbers and hug each other like war buddies.

Piper is awaken by the insistent buzzing of her phone. She grabs it off the nightstand and barks a hushed hello. Next to her, Alex sleeps unfazed. For now, at least.

"Piper! OMG! You're alive." It's Polly. "Listen, everything is good. Larry's fine. He missed the fucking plane, can you believe it? He's fine, Piper, he's fine. I bet you haven't listened to your messages yet. He probably sent 200. Your mother, too. Get in touch with your people, woman. Not everybody –"

"Larry is fine?"

"Once more, with feeling, Pipe. I know shock does weird things to people but still. Why are you whispering? Where are you? You are at home, aren't you?"

"Larry's fine? God, Polly…" Piper bursts into tears. It's all suddenly hit her: the architecture of both her private and public worlds shattering in a moment, the powerful memory of attuning with all humanity at once, the rebirth of her intimate spaces within the cocoon of Alex's apartment…

Larry's fine. Like nothing's fucking ever happened. She gulps air and chokes on her tears.

"Yea, I know, but focus on the fact that he's absolutely unharmed, ok? He's probably on his way home by now. Call him. We'll talk later, all right?"

"All right," Piper whispers. Larry's fine. Her crying slows down to rhythmic bursts that coincide with her repeating this new mantra in her head.

"Call him!"

Piper sits against the headboard with her phone in her hand until her crying subsides. Larry is fine. Larry is unharmed. Larry missed the fucking goddamn plane. Larry is alive. Larry is currently on his way home. To Brooklyn. And Piper is right around the corner from the fucking Bowery Ballroom.

Piper springs into action by frantically looking around for her clothes. That's when she notices Alex leaning on her left elbow, watching her.

"I take it Larry is fine," Alex says with a little grin, or smirk, or whatever sophisticated type of smile Alex normally has and Larry doesn't. Because right now it's very clear in Piper's mind that Alex isn't Larry or the other way around, even though by the way Piper's acted in the past 24 hours you'd think they were interchangeable.

"Yes, Larry is fine," she answers flatly, "and I really need to get home before he does." She pulls her dress back on so fast the seams creak.

"I'll get you a cab," Alex offers. She's not moving just now, her amused stare still on Piper.

"Run him over!"

Piper smiles and walks to the window, nodding at a Joker, a Cartman and a GW Bush who play GTA on the colorless, beat-up couch Cal had rescued from the curb on his first week in NYC. Of course, nobody pays attention to her. She takes a sip from her home made margarita and pushes the curtain a little. The street is dark and empty. It's only 8pm. Or already 8pm. There's exactly one reason she's come to Cal's stupid Halloween party. And that reason isn't here.

"Come on, Pipes, don't be a wallflower in a Chapman residence," Cal says, slapping her back. He offers a joint and Piper takes a puff.

A cluster of college males at different stages of goatee fiddle with Cal's desktop, insisting that ironically playing that mashup of Nickelback's This is how you remind me of Someday will enhance the good time being had by all. Piper mingles, all of a sudden feeling the need to convince Cal's buddies that the early '90s are the pinnacle of popular music.

Polly, dressed as Mother Theresa, grabs her arm.

"There are too many teenage boys here. Or teenagers in men's bodies. Come, join a modern saint for some adult conversation."

Piper has hijacked Cal's desktop and has been forcing Walk on the Ocean on everybody for the past 15 minutes. Scrooge has the brilliant idea to turn the light off. A very stoned couple of Batmen swing lighters to the tune. Cal slaps the rhythm on his stool. Piper has a vague feeling he's slightly behind the beat and wants to correct him but she keeps missing it, too. They grin at each other, sharing the joint. Cartman, Dubya and the Joker are still playing GTO. Or again, light or no light. Mother Theresa hides their spliff just as there is a commotion at the door. Both Batmen, Cartman, GW Bush and Scrooge inquire if pizza has arrived.

"We'll need pizza soon," Cal confirms and everybody cheers.

Piper catches a glimpse of dark hair. Before she has time to say anything, the door closes.

"Wait, Alex."

The brunette turns and smiles. It's an affectionate, uncomplicated smile.

"Piper." She nods at her companions (a bearded redhead Piper knows and has never liked and a dark haired guy she thinks she's seen around) and meets Piper in the middle of the sidewalk. "Sorry I don't have time to stay tonight. You look cute." Alex initially wants to say stoned out of your skull but decides at the last minute to keep it smooth. Piper does look cute.

"Talk to me? 5 minutes?"

Alex seems undecided for a moment. Piper's very tempting right now, with this newfound sunny smile and guileless eyes and the same summer dress she wore when she came over that one time. What is she supposed to be tonight? Cinderella or Goldilocks or perhaps Sleeping Beauty? Piper's boundaries are looser than usual but it's because she's stoned out of her skull… Alex moves closer to her, enough to stroke Piper's wrist and open her mouth to speak.

Piper can tell by the look in Alex's eyes that she's going to apologise. She wants to stop her because, really, she's already forgiven whatever Alex has done the moment she touched her hand. No, that simple smile from earlier did it, Piper decides, just as a car breaks sharply 10 yards away. There is a flurry of movement Piper can't properly quantify but it involves people exiting the other car – 3 or 4 of them – and Alex roughly pushing her against a large sedan – Cal's? – parked by the curb.

Before Piper can ask what's going on there are shots being exchanged. She has a clear view of the redhead ducking behind the open back door of his car. The dark haired man is coolly shooting a large caliber pistol in the direction of the attackers' car. She feels Alex's heart beating wildly against her chest. She's not sure she can feel her own. One of Alex's hands is pressing her back, bringing their bodies very close together. It fills Piper with a sense of belonging that makes everything around seem unreal. She can see Alex's other hand move in slow motion just as a bullet whizzes by her ear. The dark haired guy has moved closer, shooting constantly. He nods at them but Piper can't understand what he wants. Another bullet splinters the windshield of the car that shields them. Piper watches in fascination a spray of glass shards sparkle under the street light and then settle on the asphalt. It feels like being inside a snow globe. There's a shot at very close range that makes her ears ring. Someone shouts in… pain? Anger? Then "Run!" says the dark haired guy. Piper feels her hand yanked. She doesn't know if she walks or floats rather.

Her mind unscrambles as she's huddling against Alex in the backseat. Piper feels tears run down her cheeks. The radio in the car plays loud rock music she can only identify as belonging to the '80s.

"Everything's all right," she hears Alex say softly. Her shoulder is warm against Piper's cheek. Piper cries harder, although she's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's just the wild beating of her heart running on adrenaline. She remembers things that don't quite make sense; the story line comes out all fractured. She detects within herself a surprising lack of motivation to put it all together. Instead, she focuses on Alex drawing circles on her back and secretly sinks into the naked pleasure of it.

"What happened?" Piper eventually asks.

"Rival gang," the bearded redhead speaks excitedly from the driver's seat.

"What?"

"This is the big city," the redhead laughs, "we've clearly encroached in on their territory."

Piper cranes her neck to look through the back window. Stoplights and city lights dance in front of her eyes faster than her mind can decode them. The car takes turns that confuse her sense of direction.

"It's ok, they're not going to chase us all the way to Little Italy," Alex says.

"We're going to Little Italy?"

"We couldn't risk taking you home," Alex explains. "I'll drop you back tomorrow." Piper nods, laying her head back on Alex's shoulder. It's cozy; smooth skin, coconut and a bit of sweat. She inhales deeply.

"Are you hurt?" she asks against Alex's skin, a bit sleepy now.

"No."

Piper feels a shiver ripple through Alex and she holds on tighter, so she can catch it with her body and enjoy its after-shocks. She smiles, content. Alex's matching smile reaches her a moment later.

"We're all good," the redhead says, meeting Piper's hooded eyes in the rear-view mirror with a wink she doesn't quite get.

Larry is confused. Confused and terrified. Cal and Polly have called. Or Polly has called from Cal's. Cal was hosting a Halloween party for his college buddies, and, for some hard to fathom reason, Polly and Piper were there. Larry has been held up late in the office. It's hard now, with 3 of the editorial team gone. He feels a pang of… something in his chest, rubs his eyes. Anyway, Cal and Polly have called. Piper… well, she's not missing, she's really fine; everybody says she's fine. Polly has spoken to her. It's just that she got caught in a bit of a scuffle.

"How did Piper get caught in… a scuffle? What kind of a scuffle?" He can't imagine his sweet, goofy, occasionally clumsy fiancée caught in anything remotely resembling a scuffle. A shouting match, on the other hand…

"What do we tell him?" Polly whispers to Cal.

"I don't know. That's why I wanted you to call. You've been friends longer, you've double dated." Polly rolls her eyes.

"Larry," she starts… and stops.

"Pol?"

"Piper went out to… check on Cal's car," Cal puts both his thumbs up, "and then gang warfare erupted."

Larry is quiet. The office is deserted, illuminated by his desk lamp only. The cleaner has gone home almost an hour ago. He looks out the window at the city below. Lights, cars, people going about their Wednesday night business. And somewhere in the heart of Brooklyn, gang warfare goes on unabated.

"Larry? Larry, you there?"

"What do you mean "gang warfare erupted"?" Larry asks slowly. "Is this a regular midweek activity in Bushwick?"

"Not regular," Cal chimes in, "but it can happen."

"And you let her go out alone?" Larry sounds angry now. "To check on your stupid 20 year old station wagon?"

"She kinda –"

"It was alternate side street parking," Polly says with authority.

"What?"

"Alternate side street parking," Cal agrees. Larry is quiet again. Before any of them can intervene, he speaks.

"But she's safe?"

"She's safe, Larry," Polly and Cal say together.

"So where is she?"

"She's um…" Polly says, "she's with a friend of ours. She picked her up when the gang war started."

"More of your friends are out on the street during gang wars? This is worse than Morningside Rise," Larry muses. He sounds overwhelmed.

"You get used to it," Cal says, trying for nonchalance.

"Where does this friend live? Let me go pick Piper up."

"Larry, hold it until the morning. Piper is safe," Cal insists.

Larry wants to believe.

Piper is indeed very safe in Alex's arms. She thinks so, too, except the morning brings back the realization that Alex and Larry are still – annoyingly – not interchangeable. Alex isn't the Friday night, party version of Larry. She's a whole different person, with a whole different life; the kind of life Piper really, when it comes down to it, isn't comfortable with. There's no way around it: she's scared. Acting erratically on 9/11 was one thing. Getting caught in the middle of rival gangs shooting at each other is another level altogether. It's now like a major crisis per month. This is not the kind of life Piper was thinking about when she'd settled with Larry. Because if she did… well, she might have shopped around a bit before settling with this particular Jewish boy.

"I really need to get home," Piper says against Alex's shoulder.

"I'll get you a cab."

Piper rolls her eyes.

"Don't be glib."

"I was aiming for polite."

Piper makes a face at Alex's choice of words.

"I was really scared, Alex," Piper says, frowning. She's irritated. Irritated at Alex, irritated at herself for inserting herself in the situation in the first place – Can I see you real quick? – irritated at Larry for… for not being Alex-Larry, irritated at the "stupid fucking gangster gobshites that started shooting like fucking lunatics! Were they actually trying to kill us? Yes, they were. They were, weren't they, Alex?"

"Piper, let me explain."

"God, how many times have I heard that in the 50 days or so we've known each other?"

"What? 3 times?"

"You are still being fucking glib!" Piper shouts, pushing herself away from Alex. Without thinking, she grabs something off the nightstand and slams it against the wall, eyes on Alex. As whatever Piper had picked up smashes against the wall, the brunette's expression is incredulous.

"My glasses," she muses aloud, shaking her head at Piper. The blonde looks mystified. "I guess that told me?"

"I'm so fu–"

"Eh, you broke it you bought it," Alex still jokes.

In the cab, Piper listens to Polly's instructions and tries to compose herself for meeting a very worried and confused Larry. She also realizes she's missing her bra. Not that it makes any difference. It was a nice bra, though. Maybe Polly could…? Then again, maybe not. She has a nagging feeling that tequila and orange liquor mix just a tad better than Alex and Polly.

Polly requests a "girls' night in" and offers her place. Piper brings her customary gift of tequila. They spend almost an hour catching up on work and gossip before Polly thinks they've warmed up enough for the main course.

"You need to come clean, Pipe. What the fuckity fuck were you doing outside Cal's house when all hell broke loose?"

Piper considers how to approach this. 9/11 was such a confusing time, that Polly and everyone else had been easily appeased with vague mentions of having "stayed over a coworker's". After all, many people had done just that. This, on the other hand, is harder to explain.

"You just ran out of the house," Polly adds. Piper wonders if she could use this bit of information in her favor.

"I thought it was the pizza guy."

"The pizza guy?"

"I had the munchies," Piper shrugs. "And then it was too late. I was lucky Alex recognized me and pulled me to safety."

Polly shakes her head, unconvinced.

"Between your pizza guy and our alternate side street parking I hope you're happy with your reasons for this adventure, Pipe."

Piper sighs. Her heart swells with the realization of Polly's unconditional support. She tears up.

"Come on, now, no crying," Polly says, pulling Piper into a tight hug. "No more booze for you tonight."

"I slept with Alex." It burst out without Piper's knowledge, she swears it did.

Polly tilts her head, with a little smile. It's not exactly mocking – not exactly Alex – but it's not a clean cut, "Have a nice day" smile either.

"The kind of thing gang warfare makes us do, right?"

"No, I mean, I slept with Alex before. Even before."

"Even before," Polly chuckles. "How long has this been going on?"

"God, Pol, you make it sound like this is a full blown affair!"

"Isn't it?"

"No! It's only happened twice, for god's sake. And this second time… I was really scared, you know? Why is everybody acting like it's funny?"

"Who's acting like it's funny? I'm just surprised, Piper. I've barely met this Alex woman 5 minutes altogether in my life, I would definitely not be able to pick her out of a lineup, and now I find out she's been fucking my best friend for the past couple of months."

"Two times, it was just two times. And the second time we were being shot at. Have some sympathy, Pol!"

"Did you have sex before or after being shot at?"

"After! God."

"Just asking. It seemed like the sequence of events was important is all. So you went to her place and started going at it? Was the shootout foreplay?"

"You know what, Polly? Forget it. For the second time in two months I was this close to being killed and you're making fun of me. You're worse than Alex."

"What? She make fun of you, too?"

"Yes. And I broke her glasses."

"In retaliation?" Piper nods. "Good for you, Pipe. She puts your life in danger and then she makes fun of you, it's only fair you break her glasses. She had it coming. So is she now running into furniture like a mole in a strip club?"

"She had another pair."

"Oh. Time to pay her a new visit and break that pair as well. Before the sex. No, after! After is strategically better."

"Fuck you, Polly!" For a moment, Polly thinks Piper is going to punch her. She has this cold look in her eyes as if the alien oil from the X Files has invaded her. But she only throws a cushion at Polly and bursts into laughter, her face all scrunched up and her eyes goofy. Polly throws it back, hitting Piper in the nose. They collapse into a fit of giggles that goes on until they start to hyperventilate.

"So where are you headed now, Piper? Metaphorically speaking."

"Nowhere near Delancey Street, that's for sure. Too many confusing memories. I might stop taking the F train into Manhattan altogether. Except for when I really have to." Piper looks all sober now.

"You mean like every day for work?"

"You're not helping, Pol," she giggles, hugging the cushion, a wistful look in her eyes. So much for looking sober.

"As a matter of fact, I meant to talk to you about something you might be interested in. Like on a daily basis. And you can totally skip the F train."

Piper's eyes refocus on her friend and she starts asking pertinent questions. There is hope for her yet.

…maybe.