Chapter dedicated to Mindy Morganna (again!), and needtowrite. Thank you both so much for the reviews.


U ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ

Chapter Four: The Present

The eleven days before Christmas passed both frighteningly quickly and dangerously boring. It was the bittersweet time of knowing one year had just passed, one year which they could never have again, but at the same time, knowing that another year was coming their way; another year full of opportunities and all the experience they'd bring. You can never stop time, you can only hold on for dear life and enjoy the ride.

Or, at least, that was David's philosophy.

Right now he was in his penthouse. It was 8:55am, which meant that in Ann Arbor, it would be 11:55am. Five minutes until noon; five minutes until Christmas lunch with Millie.

His penthouse was madly decorated with Christmas lights, trees, foam cubes wrapped in shiny paper and paper chains that swung from the ceiling. Last night, both he and Millie had gotten buzzed - not drunk, but more than slightly tipsy - and gone wild with the decorations that he had. When they'd run out, he'd Jumped them to Wal-Mart and they'd cleaned out the place. So now he had a store's worth of lights glittering away, and he was bubbling with excitement.

The problem?

What to wear.

It was such a feminine problem that David almost couldn't bear to admit that he actually HAD a problem, but the fact remained that he'd gone through almost everything in his wardrobe, trying to look handsome but not too formal. He'd tried the jeans-with-a-nice-shirt look, he'd tried the nice-trousers-with-a-ratty-shirt-look, he'd tried the tuxedo (definite no) and now he was reduced to wondering what to wear.

8:57.

Sighing slightly in frustration and running his hands through his short hair, he glanced at himself in the mirror again and decided that if Millie truly loved him, she wouldn't care how he looked. Laughing at himself for being so selfish, he still studied himself in the mirror.

White joggers, dark green jacket, a white shirt and plain black trousers. That was fine, right?

8:58.

Groaning softly, David shrugged and tore himself away from his reflection. He Jumped to the table, and took two of the four packages that were lying there. Two of them were for Millie and Mrs Harris, the others were for Sophie and his mother.

With one last glance at himself in the mirror, he sighed, turned around, and Jumped.

\/\/\/

He didn't notice that there was something wrong at first. He didn't notice the trembling silence, the scent of blood in the air. He didn't notice the garbled static from the TV inside. He didn't notice that he had unconsciously become tense, his whole body stiffening.

He didn't notice, until he called out "Millie! Mrs Harris!" and heard the ringing echo, so rare in Ann Arbor. There was a type of white noise that seemed to subconsciously occur when the human brain realized that something was wrong, but the mind hadn't fully clued in as to what. He could hear that now, the faint noise that he could never fully make out, the noise that became louder when there was danger, the noise that had almost programmed him to Jump…

And then it clicked.

SILENCE.

David dropped the presents unceremoniously, Jumping inside with no second thought to secrecy. He ran into the living room, and slipped –

slipped? On what? –

– falling to the wooden floor, covered in crimson blood, still warm. A horrified gasp tore from his lips, and his eyes tracked the source of the blood, rippling outwards from where he'd fallen in it. Mrs Harris lay on the ground, half-hidden behind the couch, her face open in a wide SILENT scream of SILENCE in the SILENT room oh God oh God where was Millie where was Millie WHERE WAS SHE WHAT HAPPENED WHAT HAPPENED –

David scrambled to his feet and slipped again, falling onto his knees. He was covered in blood, red, sticky, oh-so-horribly warm in that DAMN SILENCE which should have been full of laughter and happiness and words and friendship and love and instead was just SILENT without music or carols or bangs from bon bons or even a clock it was just SILENT and SILENT like when his mother had abandoned him and SILENT like when his father had died and SILENT like Millie's apartment had been in that one instant when he saw her, unconscious and helpless, before he was tagged by the Paladins and WHERE WAS SHE?

He got up again, frantically scanning the room, his hands flying to his head, blood beginning to trickle off them and down through his hair. Millie lay against the wall on the far side of the room, hidden behind the Christmas tree, behind the presents, oh God what happened what happened what happened and then he was kneeling beside her, screaming her name.

She was alive. She was alive but she wasn't awake and he couldn't get her to wake up and there was a note.

A note.

A note?

David took it from Millie's hand in trembling fingers, raising it up so that he could see what it said. It read the following, in large, child-like handwriting:

Merry Christmas, brother.

And there was nothing more.

Shaking in rage, David let out a hoarse yell of pure fury, and ripped the note in two. He stood up again, frantically looking for the Jumpscar that he knew should still be there. He found it, fading away, almost vanished, and forced his way through it with a Jump that ripped the room he left and the concrete he was now standing on apart.

Where was he?

An explosion of horns sounded around him, and he realized that he was in Tokyo – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. A car swerved to avoid him, as did another, as did another, until there was a massive, chaotic group of cars wheeling and smashing and breaking and losing control and there was the next Jumpscar!

David ran blindly towards it, trusting that it wouldn't close before he got there, trusting that it wouldn't lead to anywhere as dangerous as this. He vaguely realized that he was in shock, that he shouldn't be here but with Millie. The irrational part of himself ignored that, diving into the wormhole and following it through.

He collapsed onto the snow, unable to breath, unable to think in the piercing cold. His body had almost frozen solid, he could barely move an inch. He realised where he was with a horrifying sensation of feeling his own body freeze to death – Mount Everest. There was a Jumpscar. Two inches away from his groping hands. He couldn't reach it. Two inches; it may as well have been two miles. He Jumped the two inches, and then screamed as his body went completely numb, the skin turning purple. But he wasn't dead. He threw one hand into the wormhole, and Jumped.

Falling.

Where was he? He was in the air, how high, how high, the ground was only meters away, he was FALLING, where was the Jumpscar dear God where was the JUMPSCAR?

He saw it whistle past, reflecting light. He Jumped back up to where he'd fallen from, and then Jumped through it, only having time to barely note the red cliffs of Ethiopia as he left them, passing through a microsecond of darkness and finding himself in the middle of a dust storm.

Well.

This was great.

So far as he could tell, he wasn't in danger here, but he couldn't see three inches in front of his face. Closing his eyes before the dust could start to sting them, he blindly felt around. Instinct would tell him when his hand passed through a Jumpscar – but how did he know that the Jumper hadn't just started to run? For all he knew, the other could be standing three meters from him.

As if to prove that theory, a resounding punch knocked him to the soft sand of the desert. Before David could react, he felt a sharp kick in his side, and then another on his back. He cried out, and then managed to form coherent words, streams of insults flying from his lips. He couldn't see, even if he opened his eyes, so he relied on his hearing. There was a faint squish to his right, and he rolled away. He heard a frustrated curse, and realised he could actually smell the other – a strange combination of fresh water and dirt among the dust and sand. He lashed out in a random direction and felt his hand collide with a face – the right cheekbone. He heard a pained curse, and David demanded into red-black blindness "Why did you attack her?"

"Why didn't you let me wipe out the Paladins?"

"Griffin!"

"Duh, you dolt!"

"Listen – Griffin – wait – !" David yelled desperately. He was torn between attacking the other and getting revenge, or doing what his mother had asked him to do. He tried to think of what she would do, what Millie would do, and held up his hands in submission. He hated himself for it, but he had the idea that his mother might hate him more if he didn't. All he wanted right now was her approval, her love.

He didn't have anything else.

Just her.

So he held up his hands in submission and called "Truce! Griffin, I need to talk to you! Truce! Please!"

"What the hell do you want this time?"

He turned towards the source of the voice, cracking his eyes open a microscopic amount. Griffin was wearing pilot goggles, his arms crossed over his chest. He was standing in front of David, apparently finding it easy to see in the whirling red wind of dust. How he did that, David wasn't certain. Instead, he closed his eyes again and explained rapidly "I need – please – just –"

He heard Griffin sigh in disgust, and then felt a globule of spit hit his forehead. He shirked back, and Griffin roughly said "I'll be in the Coliseum in a couple of hours. If you want to talk to me, be there, fuckwit."

With that, the familiar sound of a Jumpscar ripping open reached David's ears, and he sighed, pushing himself into a kneeling position on the soft red sand. He wiped the spit off his face, suddenly feeling humiliated and small. There was a hurricane of emotions inside him, as wild as the whirling red sand around him. Pain, fear, anger, disgust, embarrassment, agony, resentment, sorrow, depression…

Unable to stand it anymore, he Jumped.

\/\/\/

Hawaii.

Peaceful. Calming. Relaxing.

It was 7am there, and he was swimming in the warm water with all of his clothes on, washing himself off as best he could. The smell of blood would bring sharks, but he'd be out of there before that happened, and he could honestly care less as to what happened to anyone else.

Except Millie.

Millie, who may or may not be dead by now.

Millie, whom he'd abandoned.

He couldn't bring himself to go back to the house. Not yet. He didn't know if the police were there or not, and the surging guilt and selfishness within him kept him tied to where he was now – alone, warm, safe. He felt weak and abandoned. On some level, he realised he was in both emotional and physical shock. Physical, from the cold on Mount Everest and being beaten up. Emotionally… well, that spoke for itself, didn't it? He'd been expecting nothing more than a nice lunch, movies, and then to be able to go and visit his mother and sister.

Now, he didn't know what to do. He was too scared to go and visit his mother, and he didn't have the guts to go back and visit Millie's mother's house.

He Jumped to the shoreline, sitting on the white sand and gazing out at the water. He was dripping wet, and he didn't even know why he had Jumped, but it didn't really matter, did it? He was a coward. A weak, gutless coward. He knew he'd have to go back sooner or later, but not now. Not yet. He couldn't face it.

Not yet…


Author's Note;

Hey all! It's been raining like mad here, so I've been writing like mad. I've got the rest of this fic outlined in great detail, even if it is a bit quirky. (Example: Noooezzzz! Millie is attack-ted-ed by Griffin! Angsty angsty angst angst angst! Fighty fighty! Spit, muahahah, fighty fighty!) So, my bizarre outlining skills aside, I hope you're doing well and living nice lives.

Please review?

- Req.