A/N: And another. As I said, the Wolverine movie inspired me to work on this again, mainly because of this chapter, which I'd had planned out for a long time. Enjoy, Gambit fans. :)

Chapter 12: Under the Influence

Sera

Monday, February 4

"I tell you, I'll be glad when spring gets here."

I looked over at Jonathan, smiling as he pulled his toboggan low over his ears. His cheeks were raw and red from the biting wind, and I knew mine must have looked the same. I pushed my scarf up over my mouth and nose, attempting to protect as much skin as possible.

"I know," I mumbled through the scarf, rubbing my gloved hands together. "Winters in West Virginia were cold, but this is ridiculous. We're only about 400 miles northeast of Morgantown... I didn't think there would be that much difference."

"It's the ocean," he said as we strolled the sidewalks of Ledding Street. "Once the water gets cold, it's over. This place will be an icebox until it heats up again."

"Fantastic," I said dryly. "I guess I'll get used to freezing all the time."

He leaned over, kissing an exposed patch of my cheek. "That's why they invented chili."

I followed him into the restaurant he'd chosen for our lunch date, a little hole-in-the-wall diner called Sal's Soups & Sandwiches. Cheesy alliteration aside, Jonathan had promised that the place had the thickest, heartiest chili he'd ever eaten, which sounded perfect on a day when the wind chill had dipped into the negative. We chose a little table against the left wall. I peeled off all the layers of clothing I'd piled on for my walks around campus that day – jacket, hat, earmuffs, scarf, gloves, pullover hoodie.

Once we'd ordered our chilis – Hot & Spicy for Jonathan, Homestyle for me – we set the menus aside. He gave me a sweet, easygoing smile, reaching across the table and catching my wrists as I brushed my bangs aside.

"Your hands are still cold," he commented, taking turns covering my hands with his to warm them up. It was a simple gesture, very sweet, and typical of Jonathan's protective personality. But while he seemed completely comfortable with our budding relationship, I couldn't quite match his enthusiasm. Dating someone exclusively again seemed strange, alien; and though we'd been dating several weeks, I couldn't quite bring myself to call him my boyfriend. It just didn't feel established yet, I supposed. We'd known each other for months, but for me, our affair was in its infancy stages. Jonathan, meanwhile, was moving full steam ahead.

"Yeah, those gloves aren't much match for this weather," I said. "I probably need a better pair."

"Damascus, maybe," he said thoughtfully. "They're pretty good. They sell them at that sporting goods store down on Keithshire. They're not too expensive, either. We could stop down there later, if you'd like."

"Sounds good." I squeezed his hands back. Life had gotten so much easier, actually, now that I didn't have to deal with Warren on a weekly basis. The ugly side of Jonathan – that special animosity he reserved solely for Warren and all of mutantkind – had disappeared, and he was once again the affable, handsome guy I'd met on my first day at SWU. Nice, fun, and drama-free.

"So what's going on this weekend? Got any plans?" Jonathan asked, winking.

I laughed. "Girls' night out, remember? Randi's dragging me downtown with the rest of her girlfriends on Saturday. And Friday I promised Dylan I'd have dinner with him. I think I'm going to be meeting his latest love interest."

"Oh, yeah, that's right." He pouted a little in jest. "Girls' night out, huh? Sounds like fun."

"I'm sure. Pretty much any activity with Randi is sure to be entertaining – maybe not necessarily fun, but entertaining." I smiled, picturing her bright, perky face and frenetic gestures. "I used to go to the bars with her all the time. She says now I'm 'out of practice' and that I need to come out with her more or I'll lose my capacity for alcohol."

Jonathan nodded. "Well, if you have fun with her, you should. Go out, eat, drink, be merry, all that... Just be safe. And, don't go home with any strange guys." He winked, and I chuckled at his request.

"I'll keep that in mind." Our waitress approached with two steaming bowls, and I released his hands, leaning back in the chair and tossing my paper napkin in my lap. The waitress slid my bowl in front of me, and I inhaled deeply, taking in the rich, savory scent. "Oh, you're right, this looks good."

"Told you."

I stirred the dark, thick stew with my spoon, waiting for it to cool before indulging. For the first time in awhile – well, since I'd started school – I felt like my life was approaching normal. The past semester had been incredibly stressful – starting over, adjusting to being the older, more conspicuous student in classes, dealing with Warren and his secrets... I couldn't deny that I thought of Warren and that awful night often, but not having to see him several times a week certainly helped me recover. When I'd run into him in astronomy – and what were the odds of that? – I knew I couldn't handle being in such close proximity three times a week. The man loathed me, the hatred practically radiating from his every pore. He'd been just as horrified to see me as I had hime. So what other choice did I have? I'd dropped the class immediately, knowing it was in both my best interest and his.

"So have you talked to Warren lately?" Jonathan asked, the question deceptively casual. Startled, I dropped my spoon, wondering how he'd tapped into my thoughts. He hadn't so much as mentioned Warren's name since the day of our final project, so I was confused and suspicious about the topic coming up at such a random opportunity.

"No," I said quickly, picking up my spoon. I scooped up a mound of chili, blowing on the top. "No, why?"

Jonathan shrugged. "He just walked by. Saw me through the window and shot me a dirty look." He snorted. "Whatever. Just didn't know if you had told him we were dating yet."

He had just walked by? I couldn't help but crane my neck to the right, trying to see further down the sidewalk through the window. Jonathan, deeply engrossed in his chili, didn't notice my attempt to catch Warren's retreating back.

"Um, no," I said. "I mean, I haven't even seen him or heard from him... so no, I guess he doesn't know we're dating." It seemed like such an odd thought to have – why would Warren care if I dated Jonathan? As I'd said, the man held little to no concern for my personal affairs. He had plenty of his own to worry about. "But I guess he'll figure it out, eventually."

Jonathan smirked, devouring another bite of chili. "I guess so."

xxxxx

Wednesday, February 6

I usually appreciated Andrew's fatherly attitude, but there were times when I wished he would trust me to take care of myself – and his bar – without assistance. Ever since the robbery incident, he'd been adamant about scheduling me to work with at least one other person, always a guy. And that special treatment applied only to me. Rick, Daniel or Andrew himself could close the bar by themselves, but I needed a babysitter, apparently. While I knew he did it out of concern – he'd never be able to forgive himself if something should happen while I was alone – it was a little annoying. I may have been young and female, but I wasn't helpless.

"Go on home, Drew. Your wife sounded pissed," I said. She had called to inform Drew that his two young twins had been taking turns vomiting all over the carpet in their bedrooms. They'd been sick all week, but Drew hadn't been home a single evening since the previous Friday. He'd originally scheduled Daniel to work the evening shift tonight, but when Dan had called in sick, he'd turned to me. And naturally, because I couldn't be left alone, he had shown up to supervise. It wasn't the most efficient system of scheduling, and he knew it. Which was why I was hoping to convince the man I was capable of closing down McCarthy's myself tonight.

He frowned. "I don't want to leave you alone here, Sera. Let me call Rick... maybe he can come in and close with you."

"Drew," I said, smiling. "I'll be fine. I promise. It caught me off guard the first time. If it happens again, I'm totally prepared. I've been learning from my Billy Blanks Tae Bo DVDs." I laughed, but he didn't appreciate the joke.

He sighed, rubbing his bald head. Some people fidgeted with their hair when they were speaking. Andrew fidgeted with his scalp. "I don't know, Sera. I still don't like the idea of you sittin' here without a back-up."

"I'll be fine. What's the point of installing this fancy security system if you're never going to trust it to work?" I tapped lightly under the bar, grinning. Our new 'security' system was in fact a police-issue Taser that Andrew had confiscated from a friend. "It's easy to use," he'd assured me the day he brought in the weapon. "Just point and fire. And don't worry, you'll disable a guy, but you won't kill him. It'll give you time to take his weapon from him and call the police."

"Fabulous," I'd responded. I didn't like the thought of shooting any sort of sharp electrified object into a person, safe or not, but if it made Andrew feel better about things, so be it.

However, even with his new security shield, he had reservations. "Still," Andrew said, sighing heavily. "I just don't like it..."

I grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it for reassurance. "Seriously. It's cool." He didn't say anything, and I pressed further. "Donna is probably tearing her hair out," I added. "Go home and take care of your babies, Drew. They need you far more than I do."

He finally wavered. I knew the children angle would work. "If you're sure," he hedged.

I nodded, relieved. "I'm sure."

He exhaled. "All right. But... Sera. Call me if you need anything, you hear me? Anything."

I practically pushed him towards the door. "I will, I will. Go. I'll take care of things here."

After Andrew left, I busied myself with some easy cleaning. Wiped down the counters, dusted off the shelves, cleaned the sticky spillage on the bottles. The place was mostly empty – as I'd said before, Wednesday night crowds (or lack thereof) were the worst – but only about ten minutes after Drew walked out, two new customers walked in; one familiar, one not.

Black Ice! He's back! I was startled at first; I hadn't seen the man since the night Andrew unceremoniously tossed him out of the bar, but it was unmistakably him – no one else in New York was that hairy, or had such an impressive set of mutton chops. He was flanked by a taller, leaner man with long auburn hair, a five-o'clock shadow, and an easy, swaggering smile. He wore a long brown trenchcoat and a pair of dark shades, which he didn't take off even in the dim light. He was carrying, of all things, a deck of cards, which he constantly shuffled back and forth between his nimble fingers as they walked up.

The two of them strode to the bar and sat at the counter. I couldn't stop myself from staring at Black Ice, watching with fascination as he pulled out his omnipresent cigar. I'd actually been hoping he might come in again sometime, as I wanted to thank him for saving my life, but I'd been certain he wouldn't come back. Not after Andrew's fit. Although realistically, he could have shredded Drew to pieces if he'd so wanted. He'd stayed away, it seemed, more as an act of peace.

But he was back, and I wondered why, and why now? The timing of their entrance coincided too easily with Andrew's departure, and I wondered if they'd been waiting outside for their chance to come in. But how could they have known it would just be me?

The newcomer was staring at me with interest as he shuffled his cards; despite the sunglasses, I could feel his eyes following me as I moved up and down the counter. I ignored him for the time being and exchanged a knowing smile with my metal-clawed savior. Wordlessly, I turned and pulled two cold Molton Black Ices from the cooler. I popped the lids and slid them across the bar top.

He raised one dark, thick eyebrow, pulling one bottle closer. "Good memory," he commented. His voice was just as gruff and gravelly as I remembered.

I shrugged with feigned humility. "A good bartender never forgets."

"Indeed, de best never forget, ma chere." The other man spoke up, his words sleek and laconic, a sharp contrast to his companion's low grumblings. I turned to him, curious and intrigued by his strange accent. His smile broadened, rakish and cunning. "But first, de bartender must get to know de customer, non? And dis customer would most certainly like to get to know you. What is your name?"

Black Ice coughed, a low, guttural noise of irritation. I laughed before I could stop myself, thrown by his blatant flirtation. This guy was trouble and frisky fun wrapped up in a perilously good-looking package, I could instantly see that. "Sorry," I responded, shaking my head sternly. "I'm afraid that's a well-guarded secret."

He crooked one finger at me in a mocking, scolding way. "Secrets, like long, wet kisses, are meant to be shared. But if you want to play dat way, I'm game. In de meantime, I'll take a drink."

"Well, what do you like? Do you prefer beer or liquor?"

"Whatever gets de job done... Remy doesn't discriminate." He leaned forward on his arms until his face was less than two feet from mine. "What would you recommend?"

"Well, we carry 37 beers, both domestic and imports," I said, reciting the same speech I gave to all new customers. I pointed to the taps along the far wall. "And--"

"Ah, see, I didn't ask what you had, I asked what you recommended," he interrupted, the corner of his mouth curling up into a delicious smirk. "You, jolie fille. What's your poison?"

"Jack and Coke," I said. "If you really must know."

"I'll take two, then." In one slow motion, he pulled off his sunglasses, and I breathed in sharply. His eyes were red... wait, not just red, but red and black. The irises glowed like the hot embers of a fire, a sharp contrast to the midnight-dark color of his scleras. He's a mutant, too, I realized, the thought dim in the back of my mind. He has to be. It makes sense, though, if he's hanging around this guy... His burning eyes should have frightened me, but I couldn't look away. What's more, I realized I didn't want to.

"Two? I..." It took a second to regain my composure. "I can just give you a double-shot of Jack with the Coke in a larger glass, if you prefer."

"No, no, defeats de purpose, chere. I'll take two."

"Sure." I grabbed a set of Rocks glasses and tossed a little ice in. I poured in a shot-and-a-half of the whiskey in each glass and sprayed soda to the top. Tossing in a small straw, I pushed both drinks over to him. "There you go."

"Merci." He picked up one glass, rattling the ice inside, but slid the other one back to me.

I frowned. "Is something wrong? You said you wanted two..."

"I did. But not for me. One is for you."

His companion snorted, a truly animalistic grunt that nearly tore my attention away from those bewitching eyes. Nearly. I bit my lip, unable to stop the hot flush rising up through my chest and neck.

"I appreciate the offer," I said. "But I'm working. I shouldn't drink on the clock."

"Oh, dat's a shame, n'est-ce pas? But we won't tell, I promise." He leaned even closer, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. I could feel my pulse quickening with each passing moment... and not with fear, but another baser emotion I'd be too embarrassed to admit out loud. My God, what was wrong with me? "I see no one else, so you are in charge tonight, non? Enjoy one drink with us."

"I..." I stared at the drink, wondering why the hell I was even entertaining the thought. Andrew wouldn't be upset; he was known to knock back one or two when he tended bar, but it just didn't seem right to me – not when I was just a lowly employee. Besides, how could I be expected to operate a Taser if I was tipsy? "I really shouldn't."

"No? Are you sure?"

"Lay off 'er, gumbo," Black Ice interjected, his cigar clenched firmly between his teeth. "Shut up and finish yer damn drinks." He stood up, downing the rest of his second beer and setting the bottle down on the bar with a decisive clack. "I'll be back. Behave yourself."

My suitor threw him a look of complete disdain as he walked off, then turned back to me. "Forgive monsieur Logan, chere," he said. "His manners are, shall we say, lacking."

Logan... his name is Logan? "He's fine," I said. "And his manners are fine. Outstanding, even, considering what I usually deal with in here."

"Outstanding?" He shrugged. "If you say so, though I disagree. But back to more important tings..." He pointed to the glass in front of me, that mischievous smile never leaving his face. I felt my resolve slipping almost immediately, and he hadn't even given me a single compelling argument – at least, not with his words. Oh, this guy was good.

"Well..." I hedged. The bar was nearly empty... and considering it was Wednesday, the slowest time of the week, I doubted many others would come in... "I really don't think--"

"Tell you what," he interrupted. He held up his deck of cards, splitting the pack and demonstrating an impressive dovetail shuffle. "Draw a card. Red, you drink, and you tell me your name. Black, I drink both, and you still tell me your name." He grinned at that last detail. "Fair?"

I reached over, ready to take the one off the top, but I drew my hand back, narrowing my eyes. "Let me shuffle them," I said.

His eyes widened and he laughed loudly, enough for the few quiet customers towards the front to turn and look at us with curiosity. "Beautiful and bold," he said. "I like it. Please, be my guest."

I took the cards from his hands. They were dog-eared; frayed and soft around the edges, and surprisingly warm to the touch. I stripped the deck and set it on the counter. "Okay," I said. Pulling the first card, I flipped it over.

The Queen of Hearts.

I set my jaw, fighting back an incredulous laugh.

"Mmm-hmmm," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Fair is fair. Time to drink up, miss...?" He dragged the last part out, indicating for me to give my name.

I sighed, picking up my glass. "Sera," I said.

"Full name, chere."

I picked out the straw, tossing it in the trash can behind me. "Fine. Sera Marie Slone."

"Ah-ha! Beautiful, fitting for a belle like you." He held up his own drink, indicating I should toast with him. "Enchanté. And my name is Remy LeBeau, delighted to make your acquaintance. Cheers, Sera Marie."

"Right. Cheers." I tilted my glass, downing the sweet and bitter concoction.

xxxxx

Women love to feel beautiful. Despite our insistence that men need to love us for our brains and personality, hearing words of shallow outer-beauty praise thrills us. Your typical ladies' man understands this, and learns to quickly determine the weak points of his targets: what words, what actions will melt her icy resolve? The compliments, the sultry looks, the not-so-subtle once-overs – they're all part of the game. And when done right, they're very effective, even against the best of us.

And if flirting was a game, like baseball, then Remy LeBeau could easily be crowned the home-run king.

"And where did you grow up, chere? Dat accent sounds Southern, but not my neck of de woods. Tennessee? One of de Carolinas?" Remy lounged on the counter, draping his lean torso across a good portion of the bar.

"West Virginia," I said. "Not quite Southern, but close." Despite knowing that I shouldn't encourage his flirtation, I couldn't seem to stop myself. His sensuality was intoxicating, like the most dangerous kind of drug. "And you?"

"One of de oldest and most beautiful cities in dis grand country," he said. "New Orleans. Have you been?"

Explains the accent and the haphazard French, I thought. "No, not yet," I said. "One day, maybe when I'm done with school."

"School? Ca c'est bon. Where do you go?" He sat up a little straighter, his red eyes fixed firmly on mine, glowing – literally, glowing! – with intensity. My face felt hot, my mind muddied. I didn't understand. I'd only had one drink, and not a strong one at that. Was I really that out of practice, as Randi always claimed?

"Sydney Williams," I answered automatically.

"Ah, yes, not far from here. What are you studying?"

"Finance." I stared at his curved, taut lips as he spoke, wondering what type of kisser he was. Soft and sweet? Insistent and demanding?

Stop! Stop acting like a 15-year-old girl! What is wrong with you?

"You like to deal with money, non?" He laughed, tossing his long hair out of his eyes.

"I..." I held myself up on the counter with my hands, though they felt disconnected, disembodied. "I'm good with numbers. I used to teach math."

"Dat is a very good quality to have, den. Where do you want to work? A large firm or company? Nichols & Rouche, Synchon Incorporated, Worthington Industries...?"

I snorted, leaning over on my elbows, my hair spilling over my shoulder. I shook my head vehemently. "No, no, no."

"No, no, no to what? Not your style?"

"No," I said. "None of them. And especially not Worthington Industries."

He leaned back a little, appraising me carefully as he spoke. "No? I hear de son goes to your school. You play your cards right, fille – flirt wit 'im, get in good – you would be set."

What an odd thing to say. Shouldn't you hate Worthington Industries, seeing how they're donating to a company dedicated to eradicating your kind?

"I know the son," I murmured, watching him pick up his glass. "And I'm definitely not getting a job there."

He raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing in mid-air. "You know Warren the third, eh?"

I grabbed a piece of ice from my empty glass, hoping the chip would cool down my body temperature. "I had a school project with him," I mumbled. Why are you telling him this? Stop it, Sera! "He... we had issues."

"Issues?" Remy's interest piqued further. "He break your heart?"

"No! No..." I closed my eyes, remembering the look of pure hatred Warren had thrown at me the day I'd chased on on the lawn. "I did something I shouldn't have, and now he hates me for it."

"And what did you do?"

"Something bad," I whispered. I felt detached from reality, like being lost in a dream. Why couldn't I shut my mouth?

"You? Bad? I don't believe it. Tell me, and I will be de judge of dat." He stood up, leaning over the bar towards me.

I couldn't look away from those eyes. "I found out something he didn't want me to know..."

He took ahold of my hands, gently caressing the palms. Any other man I would have shoved off, telling him to keep his happy hands to himself and move along. But I felt completely helpless; content, even, to let this fiery-eyed mutant take control.

"Oui?" he murmured. "What was that?"

I slowly shook my head. "I promised I wouldn't tell..."

"What did I tell you about secrets, chere?" he chided me, trailing one finger along my jawline. I closed my eyes, my breath ragged. I leaned into his hand, waiting and willing for him to make the next move.

"Hmmm?"

"What were you not supposed to tell, chere?" he whispered in my ear, his hot breath tickling my earlobe. I no longer cared that I was still at work, that I was kind of officially "taken", or even that he was mere seconds from getting me to spill Warren's gut-wrenching secret. I wanted nothing more than for him to throw me down on the bar, rip off my clothes, and have his sweet, dirty way with me, right there in front of God and anyone looking on.

"That's enough, Cajun." Logan's growl broke through the haze, like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. My eyelids snapped open, and Remy leaned back, his sultry features narrowing. He dropped his hands, and I automatically reached to my face, feeling where he'd caressed my skin. He sighed, turning to face his companion.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "De belle and I were in de middle of someting."

Slowly, the air became less thick and warm, my mind less jumbled. I took one long, deep breath as my vision finally sharpened, bringing everything around me into focus. I felt like I'd been lifted from a fog. I blinked, looking around the bar. We were the only three left; everyone else had left – without paying, at that. Oh, Andrew was going to be pissed...

Logan glanced over at me, snorting. "Yeah, I could tell," he grumbled. "But we gotta go. Cops are coming up the street, heading this way. And unless you can hide those red eyes of yours, we need to get the hell out before they come in."

"D'accord," Remy sighed. He turned to me. "We will continue dis another time, oui?"

"I... what?" I asked. Glancing over at the clock, I was shocked to see that it was nearly midnight – well over two hours since the two of them had walked in. Where had the time gone?

Laughing, Remy picked up my limp hand. He brought it to his lips, gazing evenly at me as he kissed the top, his scruff grazing against my skin.

"Au revoir, Sera Marie," he murmured, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. He whipped out a wallet from his trenchcoat, his fingers dipping into the pocket and shuffling for a moment. He handed me a folded-up bill. "Dis should cover de drinks."

I glanced down. It was a twenty, more than enough to cover all of them, plus a tip. "Yeah," I mumbled. "You want change?"

"No, no, not necessary. You have earned it." He winked. "Be good." With that, the two of them turned and headed for the door.

What just happened?

I watched their silhouettes through the clear window front – one short and stocky, the other tall and lean – disappear into the dark night. I was alone in the bar, with only the muted sounds of the beat-up television in the corner to keep me company. I ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to process everything I'd just experienced. My God. What had I done? I had almost blurted out the one thing I'd repeatedly promised Warren I would never, ever speak of to anyone, ever. It had all happened so fast, and I didn't understand how I could have crumbled so easily on a subject I held so important. It frightened me, to be honest. I'd always thought I was stronger than that...

No wonder Warren was so horrified, I thought sourly. You claim to be so trustworthy, but you look into one insistent, pretty face and you practically spill his life story. If he can't trust you, then who can he trust?

The door dinged, and I looked up. The cops Logan had mentioned walked in, taking off their caps. Must have been a shift switch – which made sense, considering it was midnight. I knew I had to move, to get out from behind the bar and offer them quick drinks, but I still felt numb. Frozen. Shamed.

Move, Sera. Do something.

Swallowing, I slowly unfolded the twenty Remy had given me. Another bill fluttered to the floor; it had been tucked inside the twenty. I gave a little cry of surprise when I leaned over to pick it up, shocked. A hundred-dollar bill. He'd left me a hundred dollars as a tip. Sweet Jehovah.

No, not necessary. You have earned it. I sighed, running through Remy's last words as I tossed our empty glasses into the bus tray. Earned what? Why had he been so curious about my relationship with Warren? It unsettled me. Taking a deep breath, I shoved the bills in my pocket as I walked out onto the floor, approaching the cops.

xxxxx

Saturday, February 9

So Randi was right. I was out of practice.

In my younger days, I was capable of staying up until the sun rose in the sky. As long as I had a slow, steady stream of alcoholic beverages and some good music, my legs would carry me as far as the night could go. Back at WVU, my girlfriends and I had loved to party at Main Street Live until four in the morning, followed by an enormous pancake breakfast at Studemeyer's, the 24-hour joint down on Mill Street... followed by an enormous hangover late that morning. It wasn't something we did every night, or even on a weekly basis like some girls we knew, but it was our default party plan for birthdays and holidays.

However, a decade makes a big difference. And not necessarily for the better.

I leaned against the bar counter, staring out at the sea of sweaty dancers. It was only 1:30AM, still early for most in this crowd. But as much as I hated to admit it, I was spent. The five of us had begun making cocktails at six, before dinner, and Randi had kept them coming right up to the one I currently held in my hand – she'd been so excited that I'd come, she'd insisted on paying for all my drinks. I raised the glass high, downing the last of my whiskey sour, and set the cup aside.

Okay, that's it. If I don't head home, I'm going to pass out here.

Decisive, I unsteadily pushed my way through the crowd. I found Randi, along with our other companion Meghan, dancing suggestively with a dark-skinned Lothario we'd encountered early in the evening, a man with smooth, sophisticated moves and words and likely the worst of intentions. I hated to interrupt, especially when the girls seemed to be really enjoying themselves, but I knew I couldn't leave without letting someone know.

"Randi," I said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. I took a tentative step backwards when the room suddenly lurched. "Randi, sweetheart... I'm exhausted."

She stopped dancing and stared at me, aghast. Meghan, meanwhile, continued to grind with her seemingly boneless companion. "Sera, no! Have another drink! Come dance with us, you'll wake up!"

I laughed, wiping my sweaty, sticky bangs from my forehead. It was so hot inside, and I couldn't wait to get out into the chilly air for once. "Not that kind of tired. I'm not sleepy, I'm worn out. Believe me, this has been a blast, but I gotta head home. Think of this as a practice run – next time, I'll have built up more resistance and I'll stay out later."

She pouted and protested, but after several minutes of arguing, she gave in. "Fine. But I'll come with you outside to get a cab," she said. "I don't want you wandering off alone."

I accepted her shaky arm and the two of us shuffled towards the door. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of her motherly attitude – who was the likelier one to do something rash like running off alone? Our roles had been reversed for the evening, it seemed. On our way out, I said my goodbyes to the others in our party, all of whom seemed to have no indication of giving up the evening anytime soon.

Youth, I thought. So resilient and persistent. I wonder if I'll ever feel that way again?

It was a somber thought to have on such a festive night, so I pushed it aside. Besides, I'd reasoned, after the long, strange week I'd had, who could blame me? Randi guided me to the curb in front of the club after sweet-talking the guard into letting her return inside without waiting in the line that snaked around the corner. We laughed raucously as we flailed our arms in the air, attempting to flag down a cab. When one finally pulled over, she gave me a loud kiss on the cheek and a fierce bear hug.

"Call me when you get home!" she demanded. "I want to know that you made it all right!"

"I'm taking a cab straight there," I said, embarrassed when I hiccuped loudly. "I think I'll be fine, hon."

"Just do it." She wagged a finger at me as I collapsed into the backseat. "Night! Love you, Sera!"

"Love you, too, Randi. Stay safe." I closed the door, leaning my head against the back seat. I gripped the door handle and the seat as the car moved forward, hoping that I would sober up enough to make it up the steps to my apartment. Right now, things weren't looking good.

I vaguely recalled giving my address to the cab driver, and in my current state of inebriation, I could barely understand his response. He had a think accent, some sort of Spanish, but I couldn't place the exact origin. Still, he drove on without asking questions, so I had to assume he knew where he was going.

Cab rides can be awful – some are hot, smoky, and smelly, the seats uncomfortably sticky from the cheap plastic covers the drivers have installed. Others are more relaxing, and I was grateful that the man who had picked me up seemed to be cleaner and more considerate than many of his counterparts. He wasn't a smoker, his car had a relatively pleasant air-freshener scent to it, and he cracked the windows when I complained of being too hot. I let my head roll to the side as I slouched in the back seat, watching the city lights flash by.

We'd been cruising along at a decent pace for about fifteen minutes when the driver slammed on the brakes. I was tossed forward into the back part of front seat, grunting as my face met the headrest. I leaned over on my side, groaning a little.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice sounding thick and strange to my own ears. I would be hoarse in the morning, I knew.

"Accident ahead," the cabbie said. "Lots of traffic."

"Fantastic." I sat up, attempting to gauge where we were. If I was anywhere close to home, I could possibly just walk the rest of the way, even though it would go against my promise to Randi. But who knew how long we could sit in traffic? Not to mention that the sheer volume of alcohol I'd consumed would require a bathroom break sometime in the near future...

I looked out the window, staring at tall, thin cables and an expanse of water. We were on a bridge, though I wasn't sure which body of water we were crossing. Ahead of the cab, all I could see was an endless line of taillights. Curious, I rolled down my window, crawling out halfway to get a better view.

I squinted, trying to ignore the way the bridge lights flared in my blurry vision. "There are cars overturned up there," I said, incredulous. "What in the world?"

"Bad accident," the cabbie said.

"I guess so..." I slumped back in the seat but left the window open. The cold air was soothing to my flushed skin.

A loud creak snapped me back to attention. The cabbie sat up straighter, too, on alert. "What was that?" I asked.

"No sé," he stammered, shaken enough to forget to speak in English for me. We heard another creak, like the sound of metal being pushed past its resistance, and then an SUV that was several cars in front of us flipped up into the air, falling down on top of a Volvo with a spectacular crash. I screamed, ducking down in the seat. Suddenly the entire line of cars ahead of us began moving, shoving to the side, flipping through the air, spinning like tops. I grabbed at the door handle, intending to get out and run as fast as my wobbly legs would take me, when I felt our cab tilting. I tumbled to the other end as the vehicle flipped side over side, crashing through several of the bridge cables. My head ached; I'd knocked it against the back glass. I gripped the headrest of the passenger seat, attempting to steady myself.

At first, I thought the uneasy rocking was a result of my inebriation, but when I opened my eyes and focused, I realized the truth was quite different – the cab was rocking because we were perched precariously over the side of the bridge; half the weight on, half off.

Oh my God. Oh, God, help me...

I screamed.

Somehow, the end of the car had been spun around, and when I looked through the back window, I could see nothing but water and the reflection of lights shimmering with the waves. Because I was in the back, the movement of my weight could affect the momentum of the car's rocking. I turned around, refusing to look again.

I have to get out. I have to do something...

Scooting to the open window as carefully as possible, I stuck my head out, frantically searching for an escape. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't think straight. The cab driver moaned, holding one hand to his bleeding head. "Don't move," I whispered. "Do not move."

I leaned out, staring at my options with a growing sense of panic. Stay in the car and wait for help, or take the risk of jumping onto the metal siding on the bridge, which was a good ten feet away? Which was less likely to lead to my death? With a growing sense of dread, I realized there was no right answer.

I stifled a sob. "HELP!" I screamed. "HELP!"

A crowd had collected along the top railing; a dozen or so wide-eyes faces stared back at me. It was futile. None of them could help. The car was rocking dangerously in the wind, threatening to spill over into the river. It would take time to get a proper crew on site to save us, especially with the strange mess of cars tossed about on the bridge, blocking the road... it would take too much time...

Is this really happening? It felt like a nightmare, surreal and dreamlike. Hot tears burned my eyes. No, not like this... I'm not ready to die...

A blast of wind shook the car, and the cabbie cried out, just as terrified as I was.

I leaned out, hanging half-in, half-out of the window. "HELP US, PLEASE!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, my voice cracking from the effort. "PLEASE!"

I heard the gasps of the crowd, but I didn't understand what was happening, not at first. I felt another burst of wind and assumed it was the weather again until I realized that it had come not from the side, but from above. I looked up.

The Angel gracefully dropped into view in front of me, floating in the air between the car and the bridge. His wings obscured the crowd, and I fell limp, clutching the car door as I stared at him in his full glory once again.

I gasped, nearly choking. His eyes widened with recognition as he flew closer, his mouth falling open.

Tears continued to roll freely down my cheeks. "War--" I started to cry out, still drunk and reckless with my words, but I stopped when he cut me off.

"Sera," he said sharply. I nodded dumbly, realizing my mistake. Breathing raggedly, I reached one hand towards him and leaned further out, hesitant. The car swayed in the wind once again, and I fell over, my torso hitting the bottom of the window hard. I was hanging halfway out of the cab, unbalanced and staring at the dark, looming water yet again, when I felt his hands take my arms. He gently lifted me until I got my balance, and I looked up, meeting his intense, unreadable gaze.

"I know you hate me," I whispered, gripping his hands tightly. "But please, please help me."