Note: Thank you for the reviews you guys. And thank you wednesdaysfire for commenting, really love your stuff. I can't wait to find out what happens in Snatch. This fic is basically my version of a thank you to all the really great Bering/Wells fanfic writers out there. Should probably explain that somewhere. Maybe in my profile or someplace. New at this you guys. So, not so great at it yet!

Indigo, that infernal color, so pleasant, so mellow. So infernally infernal. She was lost in a haze of profanity, better that then actually putting word to thought. It would not compute. Charlie's numbers were spinning and her head was on fire with the images she could not unsee. And once seen, were never to be forgotten. It began with "fuck indigo" to "bloody fucking indigo" and every combination of sewer rat vocabulary she could dredge. Eventually it became expletive in its own standing. After the indigo stream that pulled her into a world where "that woman" had invaded the one safe space in every universe. "That woman." "Indigo."
"Indigo."
"Indigo, indigo, indigo."

How? The numbers were drawing her closer. The tide had pulled her in. She was sure that she was close, closer than she had ever been to finding home. Reaching Christina had proved that. She had been able to fight the crushing current, she had pushed against it until she'd reached far enough to be drawn into her sphere. Christina was gold. They were too. They must be. She had thought she'd just have to let the current take her far enough into her own time to find them. But indigo. She'd slipped out of the stream and crossed the barrier into bloody fucking indigo.

The last thing she remembered was Giselle in a pink? satin chinoiserie robe pawing at her mother, no, not her mother, indigo, another her, pawing at HG, simpering, "Come back to bed." Charlie's head was pounding, pulsating a redness of closing eyelids. It was pounding so hard its contents threatened to burst forth in a B-movie horror flick type gruesome mess. The pain was leaving her dizzier and dizzier and more and more breathless until gold and turquoise and infernal indigo faded to black. The sticky smothering blackness of tar became the blackness of wool became the beautiful beautiful blackness of the cosmos and the face that she'd been moving towards all her life emerged from it, almost within reach, "Mom?"

"Momma...it's me Charlie..." She did not know what she was saying. It seemed she was speaking all at once in a mad rush to reach the woman's awareness.
At once calling out to her, at once trying to explain that she'd been looking for her for a long time, at once explaining that Christina had been saved, at once pleading..."remember me, please remember me."

Before she could reach her, daggers of light sliced up the blackness, dismantling it piece by piece. Then it was cold. Cold and wet. The woman's face blurred into lights that were searing into her eyes. Reflexively she shut them tight, scrunched her lids real tight but the fear was greater than the need to shut out the pain. The fear of losing her entirely, that the woman would be lost to her afresh because she'd closed her eyes, that fear was far greater than the pain of enduring the searing whiteness.

A face emerged, a blur of concern and cold hands and ice pressed to her head and cheeks and neck and strong arms. Her eyes slowly, painfully adjusted to the light. Hands on her cheeks, voices, commands, "We need to get her into the tub now."

A woman's panicked voice calling for more eyes? A man's voice panicked voice calling for more eyes...Ice...Ice. The cold and the burning and the still blurry face.

Throat dry her lips were moving but no sound was drawn forth. The woman's face moved closer to her. "Wake up darling. That's it open your eyes dear. What is it darling?"

"Mom-"

Her voice was unrecognizable to herself. She struggled to open her eyes fully. She focused on the woman's face, on her eyes. Mind and vision had failed her. She finally recognized the voice, the eyes. Recognized them and knew that the light had pulled her further away but perhaps had also brought her closer. "Mum?"

Her hands were being held tightly. She was being comforted and shushed and dark eyes the color of the beautiful blackness were looking back into hers, now focussed and open and seeing.

"You are a bloody frightening young lady. And your mother must be a fearsome woman indeed." The teasing voice of the English woman sounded relieved. Her face was serene but her eyes were all relief until her eyes widened momentarily in bewilderment.

"Indigo."