"Home is people. Not a place."

- Robin Hobb

Gríma Wormtongue paced the length of the bedroom, his dark cloak swirling around his ankles as he walked. His slight frame was hunched and his thin, white wrists were crossed at the small of his back. He appeared deeply troubled, anxiety rolled off of him in waves.

The bedroom itself was richly decorated with tapestries and paintings that depicted history and legends of the Rohirrim. A plush rug was spread across the length of the floor and a lit fireplace burned comfortably in the far corner.

A gigantic bed took up a large portion of the room. Intricate carvings were etched into its frame and posts and luxurious furs and cloths spilled over the edges. The posts of the bed climbed nearly as tall as a full grown man, symbolizing the absolute regality and power of the bed's owner.

The sole occupant on the bed, however, fell short in emanating the outright grandeur of the room around him.

The man on the bed appeared to be withering and feeble. Deep grooves of age saturated the face of the man, framed by unruly white hair. The man's eyes were red and raw, a stark contrast to his ghostly pallor. His irises had taken on the same hue as his skin. The pale eyes were almost unearthly as they calmly watched Gríma's agitated pacing.

The aged man was clothed in a simple nightgown, yet shining rings and a bronze circlet had been deposited on the nightstand beside him. Despite his bloodless and sickly appearance, any sensible man would be able to surmise that this figure was none other than King Théoden himself.

Gríma paused in mid-stride, peering intently at the King. Théoden had said nothing when Gríma had unceremoniously burst into his chambers. The King gazed at his advisor listlessly, his expression almost bored.

"Is this your doing? Sending this small witch to test me?"

King Théoden remained speechless, his dead eyes trained on Gríma as though the other man was transparent.

"And her hair… it is unnatural! It is short like a man's, and the hue of daybreak? What is this sorcery you have unleashed ? Is she a player in your grand scheme? What purpose does this girl-child serve?"

Gríma, irritated at the other man's silence, stalked up to the immobilized King. He thrust his pale, pointed face near the ill man, as though daring him to react. The latter just stared forward in his torpid state.

"What say you, Lord? I demand an explanation for this development!"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Théoden's phantasmal eyes slid to the side to look upon his advisor. The King regarded the latter in contemplative silence, focusing on Gríma as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"What is this folly you speak of, Worm?" the King spoke, though the words which spilled past his lips were not his own. The words resonated with power and enmity uncharacteristic to the sickly King of the Eorlingas.

Gríma, though it was he himself that had provoked a response from the King, seemed taken aback by the King's words. He shrank back as though suddenly fearful of the frail man.

"A slight, reckless girl with freakish hair has come to Edoras, my Lord," he replied, the previous fire that had ignited his words extinguished. "The survivors of an insignificant village regard her as a hero. What is her purpose in this land?"

King Théoden was quiet for several heartbeats. He seemed to mull over his advisors words, though his expression betrayed no emotion. It was as if the voice which spilled from the King's lips- so divergent from his true voice-was using the old, withered man only as a vessel for its message. The puppeteer could not be bothered with excess mannerisms.

"I know of no such girl," the King replied finally. "She is not of my army." He looked to Gríma then, the sheen in Théoden's eyes daunting. "You believe a mere child a threat? You have grown fearful and foolish, Worm. You mewl and quibble about meaningless matters. Théoden-King must remain alive, and summoning me from his lips only weakens him further."

By this time Gríma had recoiled from the bed-ridden figure, looking as though he would've liked nothing more than to flee from the chambers.

"If this child causes you to so quiver in your boots, then kill her. I care not. Just do not call me from Théoden's lips again, or I shall come to Edoras myself. I trust you do not want this to happen, Worm?"

"N-No, my Lord Saruman," Gríma stuttered. At this point, the wall to the bedroom was at the man's back, and he pressed himself to the wood as though he meant for it to swallow him whole.

"Good," the voice, Saruman's, replied. Théoden's eyelids slipped closed over those pale irises. "Do not fail me Worm, for if you do you will meet a fate much worse than death."

Kaz's father had woken up almost immediately after she had, and had lunged to envelop her into a fierce hug. His beard scratched at her face and his hair seemed to be greasy and unwashed, yet she did not care. She struggled to free her arms from the awkward position, moving them then to encircle her father. Kaz realized with a pang that she was able to fit her arms all the way around her father, where before she had only managed to brush her fingertips together at the small of his back.

She wriggled away from him, her mouth falling open to say something to him before she caught sight of the cluster of people behind her dad's head. They seemed to have sensed the movement in the hospital room and had swarmed up to the entrance of her hospital room. Her gaze met that of Erik's, which seemed to act as a trigger.

The group poured into the small hospital room, circling her bed like a group of excited canines. Hands reached out to touch her arms, her face. Everyone was speaking to her; hurried, excited words filled the air. Kaz winced, the dull headache that had throbbed dully in the base of her skull returning with gusto.

"Everyone! Everyone-shut up!" Erik declared over the din, noticing Kaz's pained expression. "Jeeze guys, she just woke up!"

The group fell silent immediately, staring at her with poorly-disguised worry and excitement. The brief moment of quietude gave Kaz time to absorb the figures surrounding her. Erik and Marcus were right before her and Ms. DeFour was positioned behind her two boys. Shay and her little sister Haleigh had come around to her left.

Everyone she cared about… they were all in this room. Kaz's heart glowed. For a brief moment, she forgot why she was here.

"Sweetie, are you alright? We were so worried," Ms. DeFour said finally, breaking the silence. Kaz shifted her gaze to look at the woman. Ms. DeFour looked as though she hadn't slept in days. Worry lines creased her forehead. Kaz frowned, guilt eating at her.

It came to her then. Waking up in the middle of the night, howling from the torrent of pain from her belly. Seeing the fuzzy outline of Jay, the horror that marred his young features. The way she had lifted her head up, catching sight of the meaty, atrocious wound that spilled dark lifeblood on her mattress. The wound that had so mirrored the one given to her by that gruesome orc-creature.

Ms. DeFour was speaking to her again, but the words bounced off of Kaz like muted noise… as though she perceived the world through a bubble. Kaz looked down at her belly, wrapping the thin coverlet around her hips and hiking up the thin cotton of the hospital gown.

Marcus giggled and Erik coughed in embarrassment at Kaz's sudden exposure of skin, yet she ignored them. Her stomach was unmarred much like it had been after she had 'healed' herself in her dreamscape.

She stared in awe at the smooth skin of her torso, gingerly touching the freckle by her belly button to assure herself that it was real.

It was.

So it had happened again. I hurt myself in my dream, I hurt myself here. I healed myself in my dream, I healed myself here.

Kaz swallowed hard at this information. Everything that happens to me in my dreams happens to me in real life. Everything.

She looked back up to the group surrounding her. They stared at her in muted hesitance, as if they were collectively holding their breath. Watching and waiting to see what she'd do.

Her dad took her hand then, drawing it away from her belly. She looked up at him, meeting the depth of his gaze. There was so much pain, so much worry and anxiety in the depths of his eyes. Kaz found herself lost in his expression for several moments, and it took great inner resolve to pull herself from this distraction and focus on what her father was saying to her.

"I was so scared when they called me, Klare-bear. So scared," her father shook his head slowly, as though he could dislodge the memory from his mind. "They said you were bleeding out… that something had punctured your stomach and through your intestines and uterus…" her father drew in a shaky breath. Kaz was beginning to feel a little sick to her stomach.

"They said you were dying, that you wouldn't live… but God, he…" her father reached out, cupping her face between his thin hands. "He gave you back to me."

He then hugged her to him again, pressing her face into her shoulder. Kaz struggled half-heartedly, embarrassed at the attention. Though she had a ferocious headache, she certainly didn't feel as though she had almost died. At least, not at this particular moment. She definitely didn't feel deserving of all of this attention… or being identified as one 'spared by God.' It made her uncomfortable.

Her dad released her reluctantly, drawing her back to gaze at her in wonder. Tears slipped down his face and into his beard. Kaz's heart wrenched. She wanted to tell him… tell all of them… that it had been just a dream; this whole situation had been no one's fault but her own. That this whole situation was conjured from the dark recesses of her mind, that somehow her body somehow responded in kind to the events that unfolded in her dreamscape.

But looking around at the tense and smiling faces around her, Kaz knew they wouldn't believe her. They never would. They would simply attribute her story to delusions borne of her near-tragedy. A result of blood loss, maybe. The only one who would believe her… who could believe her… was-

Jay.

"Where's Jay?" Kaz asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the moment unapologetically. Her dad's face morphed into one of uncertainty, his eyes betraying themselves by flickering in the direction of Ms. DeFour.

Kaz's head swiveled around to stare directly at the boy's mother, gaze ripe with steely resolve. The woman looked as though she were about to cry at the mention of her son's name.

She pushed aside her guilt at unwittingly causing Ms. DeFour such duress. The gnawing feeling of guilt had become quite familiar to Kaz now, like the constant presence of an uncomfortable visitor.

"Where's Jay?" she repeated, her attention completely on the woman.

Ms. DeFour's bottom lip trembled and her grip on Erik and Marcus's shoulders tightened as though they were the only things keeping her upright. Marcus let out a small whine in protest, yet Ms. DeFour didn't seem to hear him. One lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye, tracing the contour of her cheek.

"He's at the police station," Marcus answered helpfully, squirming a bit under his mom's grip.

Kaz's eyes widened as her gaze flicked to Marcus. Her mouth dropped open.

"He's where?!"

"They… they think he stabbed you," Erik said, his voice strangely calm and quiet. "They're holding him at the police station. It… it looks bad Kaz."

No no no no no no no no.

"Jay did not hurt me," Kaz responded immediately, her voice firm. She had to clench her hands into fists together to keep them from trembling in anger. "He never has, he never will."

The group around her seemed to exhale in relief at that moment. Ms. DeFour sagged at Kaz's words and looked as though she were about ready to collapse on the group in a heap. Erik noticed and wrapped one secure arm around his mother's thin frame, keeping her upright.

Shay and Haleigh were watching the scene as though they were afraid to say anything. Her father's comforting hand found hers again.

"Klara…" her dad said, trailing off. However, his tone and expression spoke volumes. You don't need to lie to protect him were his unspoken words.

Kaz yanked her hand from her father's grip, fury coloring her judgment.

"Jay did not hurt me!" she near-yelled, shrinking back from the man. A nurse, clad in blue scrubs, had entered the room to see what the commotion was. Seeing that Kaz was awake, the nurse flew out of the room again, perhaps to find a doctor.

Kaz hardly noticed. She jumped out of bed and Shay and Haleigh hurriedly moved out of her way. Kaz scoured the room in an effort to find some clothing.

"Klare-bear, you need to rest. Klara!"

Kaz rounded on her dad, her eyes burning. "Jay did not hurt me Dad! Look, I feel fine! I'm going to the police station to get him right now. He doesn't deserve to be there. Now where the hell are my clothes?"

"Here they are," said a small voice to her left. Kaz looked over to see Haleigh hold out a plastic bag to her, her expression ambivalent. Kaz could see the faint outline of clothes weighing it down. Kaz accepted the bag with a grateful smile at Shay's little sister.

She then proceeded to plunk the bag on the ground and fished out a pair of jeans, ignoring the sound of her father's protests.

She was pulling the jeans on under her hospital gown when a doctor entered the room, followed closely by the nurse from before. The doctor was a young guy, tall and bronze-skinned with closely-cropped brown hair. He raised one dark eyebrow at Kaz, who was hopping on one foot at this point.

"Going somewhere, Miss Zachary?" the doctor asked. His tone was firm and professional.

"Yeah, I'm going to go get my friend," she responded tersely, pulling her jeans over her hips and buttoning them. "The police think he hurt me and I need to go tell them he didn't."

"That's actually what I want to talk to you about, Klara. May I call you Klara?"

Without waiting for an answer, the doctor glanced up to look at all the people crammed in the small room.

"Would everyone except immediate family please wait in the waiting room, please? Thank you."

One by one, everyone except her dad filed out of the hospital room. Shay gave Kaz a small smile as she walked by, perhaps in an attempt to comfort the other. Marcus turned around to give Kaz one last, puzzled look as he was ushered out the door. Erik was too focused on helping his mother out of the door to look at her; Ms. DeFour had all but collapsed against her son, shoulders trembling in barely-suppressed sobs.

The doctor closed the door as the last person exited the room. The nurse wordlessly handed the doctor a clipboard; the doctor accepted it and began to thumb through the pages.

"Klara, my name is Doctor Pueser. I treated you during your stay here, and may I say that your case is very remarkable. You were brought into the emergency room, transferred to the intensive care unit, and then to the general wing of the hospital in a manner of two days."

"Let me guess," Kaz responded, looking at Dr. Pueser. A bra was clutched in one hand. "It's because I healed really fast, huh?"

"Well, yes," the doctor replied, "You healed from a potentially life-threatening injury in a matter of hours. The ambulance EMT's had never seen anything like it—they said your wound had begun to knit itself together even on the way of the hospital. The technologists actually watched your organs regenerate in the series of x-rays they took. It's astounding, your rate of recovery."

"Awesome," Kaz muttered. She turned around so that her back faced the men before pulling off the thin cotton of the hospital gown and pulling on her bra. The bra felt weird and constricting on her chest, and Kaz realized that she had been notably lacking any sort of support under her hoodie in Middle Earth. Going au naturel for so long in her dreamscape had spoiled her.

Dr. Pueser was still speaking. "Klara, I must insist you stay for at least another day. We'd like to test your rate of regeneration here at the hospital. It really is extraordinary, but we want to be certain that no repercussions or lingering effects from your wound persist."

Kaz had pulled on her t-shirt and jacket at this point, and she turned around to face the doctor. Every moment that ticked by only exasperated her further. She needed to get to Jay. He was stuck at the police station for a crime that he didn't-wouldn't ever-commit, and it was completely her fault. At this point, the quibbering Dr. Pueser and silent nurse were simply obstacles to her goal.

"I'm fine. Look? See?" Kaz said, lifting up the hem of her shirt to bare her smooth belly at the doctor. She patted the unblemished skin in emphasis. "I'm leaving now, put that on your clipboard. You can't keep me here. I'm going to get my friend."

Kaz reached up to tear away her paper medical bracelet, depositing it on Dr. Pueser's clipboard before pushing past the two medical personnel. They let her go with little resistance. She simply ignored their objections.

Kaz emerged into a brightly-lit hallway. She was blinking away spots from her vision when a hand settled on her shoulder.

"This way," a gruff voice said. Kaz looked up questioningly to see her dad standing over her. His expression was equivocal, yet resigned to his decision.

"The waiting room is this way. I'm sure Samantha will give you a ride to the police station. She's probably heading back there now that you're woken up."

Samantha was Ms. DeFour's first name. Despite his earlier protests, her father had resigned to the fact that it was futile to try to stop Kaz from leaving. She wondered then what he thought of this situation, if he actually believed their neighbor was capable of harming his daughter in such a way.

Well, no matter what her dad thought he had chosen to support her in her decision. Kaz felt a smile spread across her face. That was all she could ask of him.

"Thanks dad."

Titus Ashford hated hospitals. He hated the way the entire place reeked of disinfectant. He hated the way nurses splashed up those big, fake smiles on their faces when speaking to the families. He hated the way the pages of the magazines in the waiting room stuck together. He hated those forgotten Cheerios crushed into the carpet. He hated how the constant ringing of phones and the beeping of machines comprised the background noise.

He hated how the families in the waiting room would huddle together, despair and anxiety hanging over them like a cloud. He hated how the little boy would sneak glances at him curiously, mindful of his mother's hand clutched protectively around his smaller grip. He hated how the mother had hunkered down within herself, completely immersed in her own misery. He hated how he would catch the older boy looking at him, distaste written all over his face.

Not that he blamed the kid. Ashford was, after all, the detective that had arrested his kid brother.

Jay William DeFour, nice kid. Nice family. No priors. It was a shame, really, what he did to that little girl.

Ashford had gotten the call over his radio a few days prior. He was in the area and his ledger of cases was notably vacant, so he had decided to check it out. A scared teenager had called for an ambulance from a run-down cluster of apartments in Chicago's near west side.

The victim was a small young woman with pink hair. Klara Arlene Zachary-or 'Kaz' according to the neighbor kids-was impaled directly through the stomach with something long and sharp.

The whole mess, however, was unlike anything the forensic analysts had ever seen. The blood had been isolated on the bed, indicating that the girl had been stabbed while sleeping. The mattress, however, hadn't been penetrated in the slightest with the weapon used to wound the girl. In fact, they scoured the apartment and weren't able to find the weapon anywhere.

Ashford would never forget the look on the kid's face. When he had first approached him Jay was seated on floor, back against the wall and bloodied hands held in front of his eyes as if he couldn't believe they were there. His brother, Erik DeFour, was seated on the floor next to him and spoke in a hushed, urgent tone. Fat tears trickled down Jay's cheeks as he shook his head back and forth slowly. It was as though he had ceased listening to his older brother and was instead trapped in his own mind, possessed by horrors that he had just witnessed.

Ashford remembered picking the kid off the floor, despite Erik's protests. He remembered reading the kid his rights, shoving Jay's arms behind his back and fastening them together with a pair of handcuffs. Jay had offered no resistance, and simply stared into space as Ashford hauled him out of the building and into the back of his cruiser.

It was like that when they had questioned him. Jay simply sat there in subdued silence, staring at interrogation table as though he found it the most interesting thing in the world. When they asked him if he had stabbed Klara, he had said no. When they asked him if he knew who had, he had said no.

The boy seemed sincere in his responses, as though he really didn't know who had injured his neighbor. Or he was a very good liar. But the facts of the situation reigned supreme—Jay had been alone in that apartment with Klara. There were no signs of forced entry, no signs of anyone else but those two kids in that apartment. All evidence-what they had of it-led to Jay DeFour. Klara's injuries had been declared too severe and she wasn't expected to survive more than a couple of hours.

Klara would die. Jay would be charged. Case closed.

Except, a new development muddied the waters. Ashford had seen the gigantic bloodstain that had seeped into the ratty mattress and remembered wondering how the in world so much blood could have come from one so small. He remembered thinking that no one could possibly survive this. He remembered dismissing the girl to be as good as dead. Ashford had been a detective for ten years now and had witnessed plenty of grisly murder scenes. He knew a lost cause when he saw one.

The girl, however, defied all expectations. To the absolute shock of the EMTs, doctors, surgeons, and nurses that had worked on her case, Klara Arlene Zachary completed repaired herself in just two short days. Well, one day to be exact. She had spent the second day sleeping but completely healed. It was as if the universe had said, "no, not this one," and thrust her back into this world completely restored.

The medical staff was bewildered. Ashford still didn't quite believe it when they had called him, despite their excitement was nearly palpable over the phone. Nevertheless, his boss had sent him to the hospital to collect Klara when she was ready to give her statement. In truth, Ashford felt more like a glorified babysitter. He suspected the real reason he was here was to prevent Klara from running off.

So here he was, sitting awkwardly in the hospital waiting room with the family of the boy he had just arrested. They knew who he was; he had no doubt that Erik had said something to his mother during one of Ashford's bathroom breaks. He had felt eyes on him for hours. Not that he wasn't able to ignore it, working as a detective demanded a certain degree of resolve. However, the constant staring had begun to wear on his psyche.

Ashford hated hospitals.

A commotion from the hallway broke the reverie of the waiting room. Ashford looked up from the sticky magazine he had been pretending to read to see the younger son, Marcus skid into the waiting room. The boy had entertained himself for the last hour by sneaking away to peek into Klara's hospital room, even after being chastised by several nurses.

"Guys! She's awake! She's awake!"

Then off he was again, vanishing down the hallway. The effect was instantaneous; four bodies rose in conjunction to follow the boy.

Ashford rose from the waiting room chair, stretching out like a cat. He felt several joints pop in response and he grunted. He definitely needed a shower—no one had relieved him from his post at the hospital so he had ended up staying here all night. Ashford didn't dare remove his sport jacket for he wasn't sure of the state of the armpits on his shirt. He had already taken off his tie, having sacrificed the garment as a napkin to mop up the accumulated coffee spills on his collar and jean legs.

Ashford settled back down into the chair, setting aside the magazine. He patted his holster for his gun and his pocket for his cell phone. Check and check. Klara would have to come down this way to exit the building. He would be waiting for her.

The residents of the waiting room came back shortly afterward. Jay's mother, Samantha, looked even more broken than when she had left, all but falling atop her eldest son. Erik supported her entirely, leading her to one of the chairs and gingerly lowering the thin woman into it. Samantha looked lost, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking her blouse. Erik cast Ashford a withering glare before attending to his mother, whispering comforting words.

Ashford felt no remorse at the scene. He supposed he ought to of, for it was him that had arrested the woman's son, but despite the protests and misery of his family, Ashford still felt as though Jay DeFour was completely guilty. Distraught family members, especially mothers, of the convicted were the norm for Ashford. Family just refused to believed that their son, brother, sister, whatever was incapable of the things they had done. More often than not, the family was in denial.

Ashford watched the grieving woman in silence. After all, it must be near impossible to accept the fact she had raised a monster.

Only a few moments seemed to pass before her saw Klara, walking into the waiting room with her dad on her heels.

There you are.

The girl didn't seem as small as the paramedics had made her out to be. She stood at about 5' 3" tall, about the same height as one of Ashford's cousins. She was scrawny though-her features not as sharp and angular as the DeFour boys-but thin regardless. The pink mop of hair atop her head was mussed and faint circles rimmed her eyes as though she hadn't been asleep for the past three days.

Her hazel eyes, however, were bright and burned with determination. Klara's eyes caught Ashford, consuming his appearance warily. She was careful and deliberate in the way she moved, the detective noticed. Her eyes held an understanding and intelligence uncharacteristic of girls her age. This girl, he remembered, pursued no secondary education and worked in a waffle shop, yet she scrutinized Ashford as rigorously as he would inspect a convict.

Ashford felt his hackles rise in response. Perhaps it would be unwise to underestimate Klara Arlene Zachary.

"Kaz," Erik said, surprise evident in his voice. He had not expected Klara to emerge from her room so quickly. Ashford noted this.

Klara's eyes, which were trained on Ashford, never wavered.

"Who's this guy?" she asked. The detective noted the boldness and impatience in the girl's voice. "He looks like a cop."

It wasn't the first time Ashford had been accused of such a thing. He wondered briefly what 'cops' tended to look like, and how he kept fitting the definition. He wasn't even dressed in a suit—just a neat sport jacket, white collared shirt, and jeans. And yet this Klara girl pegged him right off the bat. He found that he was just slightly annoyed.

"He's the bastard that put Jay away," Erik answered, the bitterness evident in his voice. Marcus looked at his brother in shock, as though stunned at the revulsion in his older brother's voice. Erik ignored him, however.

Gee thanks, kid, Ashford thought, watching Klara's eyes narrow. From the girl's reaction, it was very obvious Klara wasn't too happy with that nugget of information. The girl stalked up to Ashford, stopping within a few feet of the man. The detective had since climbed to his feet, meeting her gaze easily.

His fingers twitched as though they longed to rest protectively on his holster. Ashford didn't think that the girl would be so foolish as to attempt to attack him, but the fire in her eyes burned right through him, straight to his core. This was a woman on mission, if he had ever seen one.

"Why are you here? To stop me from leaving?" Klara hissed, her hazel irises glittering dangerously.

"My name is Detective Ashford, Ms. Klara," he responded, inclining his head in greeting. "I'm glad to see that you are well. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions."

Klara hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at Samantha DeFour. The woman was propped up against her eldest son's shoulder, eyes unseeing as she stared blankly at the opposing wall. The girl sucked in a quick breath before turning back to Ashford.

"Fine. You can ask me on the way to the police station."

The detective was sloppy, that's what Klara had first noticed. Faded stains were apparent on his shirt and jeans, likely from carelessly spilled coffee. His nails were chewed to the quick, indicative of a severe nail-biting habit. His shirt had become partially untucked. His shoes were scuffed and dirty and looked to be about twenty years older than the rest of his attire.

The second thing she had noticed was that he showed no remorse for Ms. DeFour's shell-shocked state. Her father had offered to drive the little tribe-sans Shay and Haleigh, who had come in Shay's rickety car-to the police station in Ms. DeFour's car as the latter was clearly unfit to drive. Ashford had watched, unblinking, as Erik and her dad had delicately raised Ms. DeFour from her seat and guided her out of the building.

There was no regret on his face, not even a grimace when Erik had once lost his grip and nearly sent his mother careening into a wall. Nothing.

Kaz decided quickly she didn't like Ashford. It was obvious he had already made up his mind about Jay; that to him, the plight of Ms. DeFour and her family were simply a result of those who could not come to grips with the truth.

On the promise of answering his questions, Ashford had agreed to drive Kaz to the police station. Her dad had protested leaving her alone with the detective but finally relented when Ashford had promised to delay his questions until they reached the station. Perhaps if she weren't so preoccupied with her concern about Jay, Kaz would have once been entertained by the idea of being in a detective's car.

Instead, she stuck her cheek against the frozen glass of the passenger side window, peering out of the window and counting in her head the amount of streets left until they reached the station.

"So Klara, where'd you go to high school?"

This caught her off-guard. She had expected the detective to remain silent on their drive. From the way he had looked at her, Kaz had determined that he didn't like her much either. She had made her stance on Jay's guilt perfectly clear.

"Don't you know?" she grumbled, not lifting her cheek from its position pressed against the glass. Doesn't he have… a master file on her or something?

Ashford chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that blossomed from his gut. His laugh was distinct and reminded Kaz of Aldrich's. She looked up at the detective then, furrowing her brow in suspicion. What is he doing?

"You caught me. Just humor me, alright?"

Kaz studied him for a moment before heaving a sigh. She told him.

"Ah, my little cousin went there, y'know. Did you know a Kelly Ashford? Bout your size, maybe a few years older?"

Kaz shook her head no.

"She was a good kid. Real bright too. You kind of remind me of her, y'know? Wouldn't take any lip from no one, that one."

Kaz was already bored with this conversation, so she stuck her face back into the passenger side window. Ashford, however, just kept talking.

"Anyway, Kelly met this guy in her senior year. His name was John… or James? Oh well, it was something with a 'J.' It doesn't matter. Kelly really fell hard for the guy, was so in love with the kid it was scary. But this John or James ran with a tough crowd, y'know? Little things at first—a little pot here and there. Gettin' caught smoking in the high school parking lot. Stupid stuff."

Kaz rolled her eyes slightly and watched her breath fog the glass of the window. She had a sinking feeling she knew where this conversation was headed.

"But then after they graduated, John or James was getting pinched for the harder drugs. Then it was armed robbery. He was in and out from behind bars for years, yet my cousin still loved him. Thought the guy shit rainbows or something."

Ashford paused to snicker softly at his own joke.

"One day, John or James got home. Was real mad about something, that one. Beat poor Kelly to a pulp, his knuckles even had her blood on them. But even in her hospital bed she still insisted he didn't do it, that she loved him and he would never do such a thi-"

"Okay, I get it," Kaz interrupted, turning her head to look directly at the detective. He was watching her from the corner of his eye. "You think I'm defending Jay because I love him or think he shits rainbows or whatever the fuck, right? Well, you're wrong. I'm defending him because he didn't do it. That's it. End of story. So please, just shut the fuck up, I don't want to hear it."

A silence settled over the car then, spanning several moments. Finally Ashford spoke.

"So, if you're so convinced your friend didn't do it, then who did?"

Kaz remained quiet as she turned and pressed her face back into the passenger side window. She didn't respond.

"Gríma!"

His name echoed down the long hallway, bouncing against the wooden walls and pillars. The tone was urgent, desperate, yet the man in question would have recognized that voice anywhere. Éowyn.

Gríma closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the delicious sound of his name falling from the lips of the flaxen-haired beauty of Edoras. He sucked a breath between his teeth before turning, as if to prepare himself for the sight of Éowyn, daughter of Éomund.

She was hurrying towards him, her ivory fists clutched at her skirts to permit her to glide more freely down the hallway. He watched her approach with shrewd fascination, his eyes raking over her form shamelessly.

To this day, Gríma was still unable to explain the unmistakable pull the King's niece had on him. Perhaps she served as some sort of symbolic light to his darkness, her cheeriness and pure strength able to chase away the shadows and lies he had cast around himself. Or perhaps he simply wished to conquer her, to gain mastery over and hoard her inner light in his gnarled clutches.

Alas, the reasoning behind his fixation was a moot point. Soon, the Dark Lord would conquer and make whole the divided, pitiful lands of Middle Earth. Gríma, as a loyal and dutiful servant, would be gifted with the entirety of Rohan and its riches. He would then take Éowyn as his bride. She would be his.

If Éowyn had noticed that Gríma had unabashedly leering at her, she gave no indication. She came to a halt before the King's advisor and drew up to look him in the eye.

"Gríma, Miss Klara has been taken to the jails," Éowyn huffed, her grey eyes alight. "You did not permit I nor the Upbourners to speak in her defense! This is folly, I implore you to reconsider your actions."

Gríma only grinned, his thin lips drawing over yellowed teeth.

"You are so young and foolish, girl. I have consulted with Théoden-King and, ill as he is, the King sustains my advisement on the matter. You may whimper and moan all you like, yet your complaints fall on deaf ears here."

The King's advisor turned on his heel and strode back down the hallway, his body language clear in his dismissal. To his annoyance, Éowyn fell into step beside him.

"Upon coming to Edoras, the grey wizard spoke of ill fortune brewing in the east. You ignored him, casting him away with only a horse! Now a strange, exotic girl happens upon Edoras, a hero to the survivors of Upbourn. Survivors of an orc attack, even! And you ignore this, too? This girl could-"

Gríma whirled then, his cloak spiraling behind him in a wave of darkness. His eyes met those of Éowyn, boring into her grey depths.

"Hold your tongue, woman!" he hissed, the serpentine timbre of his voice likely to cause goosepimples to all who heard it. "For in your accusations you not only question the wisdom of the Lord's advisor, but your King. All decisions that originate from Meduseld fall from the lips of Théoden-King himself. The fate of the daybreak-haired girl lies in your uncle's wizened hands."

A pale, long-fingered hand emerged from the inner sanctum of Gríma's dark cloak, reaching up to touch Éowyn's chin. The woman shivered.

"I will forgive your indiscretions this time, my dear Éowyn. But I do advise you to be more careful in your fits of hearsay."

He offered the woman one final smirk, curling his lip, before turning again and continuing down the hall.

To his perverse satisfaction, Éowyn did not follow him. In his own conceited delusion, Gríma felt as though he were ultimately successful in disgracing the meddling noblewoman.

With his back turned, however, Gríma missed the way Éowyn's teeth grit together and how her eyes blazed with a fire of defiance.

They hadn't let Kaz see Jay.

They told her that he was here, locked in one of the temporary cells of the station, but she wasn't allowed to see him until she was properly interviewed.

So here she sat in the hard, chrome chair of the interrogation room. Another, matching chair was pulled up the table across from her. The room was brightly lit and a one-way mirror stretched across the wall to the right of her. Kaz didn't watch many films, but she knew enough to know that a group of people could possibly be on the other side of that mirror, watching her intently without her knowledge. She tried her best not to think about that.

Kaz knew she had been hard on the detective on the way to the station. He hadn't said more than five words to her before depositing her into this interrogation room. She wondered idly if his story about his cousin "Kelly" held any grain of truth. Perhaps she'd be more sympathetic if one of her best friends weren't locked up for a crime she knew he didn't commit. Perhaps she'd be more sympathetic if Ashford didn't look at her like she was caught within her own delusion. Perhaps she'd be more sympathetic if she weren't acutely aware that Jay had spent his 17th birthday in a jail cell.

Oh god… Jay.

Exhaustion suddenly hit her like a wave. However, the exhaustion she felt was not physical. She reached up to knead her face, grinding her fists into her eyes like she could rub out the memories of these last couple of days. How had her life become so royally fucked up?

She was a freak, that's the only explanation she had for what's happening to her. Her body makes real whatever happened to her in the weird, fucked-up dream saga she was having. And the dream is about a book she had never ever read, to boot.

Kaz remembered when her dad had embraced her back at the hospital, declaring her speedy recovery as an act of God himself.

Well, if this is really Him, then God really has a fucked-up sense of humor, Kaz thought darkly.

The door opened then, shaking Kaz from her thoughts. She lowered her hands from her face, bracing her elbows on the table and leaning forward. An unfamiliar older man dressed in a suit walked in, followed closely by Ashford. Kaz raised an eyebrow in almost-challenge, prepared for the questions the two men were prepared to toss her way.

"I'm tellin' ya Joe, the kid did it," Ashford protested nary a moment after they walked out of the interrogation room. "She can say 'no' all she wants. She's just protecting him for some godforsaken reason. She even acts like she is the one who inconvenienced him."

Joe Henderson turned to face him, smoothing down one bushy eyebrow. It was a sign of stress, Ashford knew. Henderson was Ashford's partner before the older detective had opted for a more desk-oriented position. For health reasons, the man had said. Ashford knew better, though. After the birth of his little granddaughter, Henderson had decided that keeping close to the station was in the best interests of him and his family.

Ashford had little family, and no children. He couldn't empathize, but he understood.

"I'm sorry Titus, but our hands are tied at this point. There was no weapon, and the only thing that links the kid to the attack is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plus the girl says he didn't do it, and doesn't want to press charges. We have to let the kid go. I'll tell the Chief."

"She's lying," Ashford said, trying to meet his old partner's eyes. "She's good at it, but she's lying. You and I both know she is. There's something she's not telling us."

Henderson looked at Ashford, shrugging helplessly.

"Again, I'm sorry Titus. Sometimes it just is what it is."

"Jay!" Kaz shouted immediately upon seeing him.

The detectives had since led her out of the interrogation room and to a cluster of chairs that served as a makeshift waiting area. She had plunked down next to her dad, who informed her that Jay's family had gone back to see him in his cell. Kaz had begun to tap her foot impatiently, eyes trained on the door leading to the temporary holding cells.

After what seemed like hours, Jay's dark head appeared in the door frame. He looked haggard and worn, but it was him. Ms. DeFour had her palm placed between his shoulder blades as she gently guided him through the station. Erik hovered on the other side of his brother protectively, looking as though he were ready to growl at any police officer that dared to approach his little brother. Marcus trailed after them in silence.

At the sound of his name, Jay looked up and met Kaz's gaze. She felt a wide grin break open her face when Jay's eyes landed on her, but there was no reciprocation from her friend. His eyes and face were expressionless, haunted. There was a faint flicker of recognition, but no inclination of joy. No semblance of relief. Nothing.

The entire exchange lasted only a moment before Jay looked away, but it was enough. Kaz felt as though the floor had opened up beneath her sneakers and had swallowed her whole. She felt as if all the breath had just whooshed out of her lungs. He… he looked at me as though I wasn't even here.

Guilt threatened to suffocate her right then and there. It suddenly became hard to breathe.

She felt the comforting hand of her father come to rest on her shoulder, yet found little comfort in it.

"Give him time, Klare-bear. This whole thing has been hard on all of us."

She didn't respond, simply watched the backs of the DeFour family as they crossed the room and exited into the elevator. When the elevator doors closed on Jay's empty face, Kaz felt as though those same doors had closed upon her heart.

Author's Note: I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! ^-^ I made it a little longer because I'm actually not going to be able to update again until the end of March. I have a designation test coming up that I really need to hit the books for.

Thanks again everyone for the lovely reviews, even to the Guests that I'm not able to get back to because I'm not able to PM them. You guys are awesome. :)