Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and thank you to 'treavellergirl' for the review; you can have one of the many cookies I just made. I'm sorry this took a while (really, I have no excuse, as the next fifteen-odd chapters have already been written). I'm just the best at procrastination. Further apologies if this one seems a little choppy; the integral parts of the story get going in the next part, for sure.

Reviews will get their very own Josef Kostan, because quite frankly, he terrifies me.

I had not recalled a dream so vividly for so long, I imagined by some extent that I simply did not dream at all, but when I opened my eyes, blinking away the blurry residue, I could see very clearly in my mind the crystal-like eyes and sharp teeth staring back at me in the burnt, chipped mirror.

The blanket I was shrouded in offered minor protection against the onslaught of memories fast approaching; the hypnotising dalliance of the flames before me seemed to bring them all back. Yet unlike before, my heart did not race at the remembrance of familiar faces; there had to be better ways of approaching it other than running off half naked with no idea where I was or where to go.

Gingerly, I pushed myself up. The blanket slipped down my shoulders as I did; beneath, I was wearing a stripped button-up shirt and underwear – or shorts. Neither of them was mine. Swallowing nervously, I glanced about my person. The space I was greeted with felt familiar too. In fact, I knew it was – I knew the apartment from many nights of binge-watching on repeats and wearing out DVDs, if that were at all possible. I had no doubt that my sixteen-year-old self would have felt a proud sense of accomplishment at such a feat had the aforementioned incident occurred.

There was no vampire to greet me this time. At the thought, turning and testing the word over in my mind, my stomach bubbled quite unexpectedly. The idea was comical. It could not be real, and yet here I was. I thought myself ungrateful, and considered that I should be at the very least elated, to make the best of a bad situation, but my mind was still reeling as the memories of the morgue came back to me; I was ever more desperate to find out why I had woken up there, and how, and indeed how I had travelled so far across seas to another country – and another reality. A reality that had its place in a television show, not the real world. Most certainly not my real world.

If I was here, it was uncomfortably clear that I was here to stay. Remaining away from the vampires seemed like the ideal solution until I figured out a reason, and a way home. Catching a plane seemed like a sensible resolution, however if they did not sound the same over a phone call –

My eyes darted around immediately, falling upon the short corridor a little way off my left, behind me which I knew – again, the bubbles piqued in trembling excitement – led to Mick's office. Sunlight streamed unapologetically through the uncovered windows, I reasoned he had to be asleep. Or out. Either way I was alone, and tendencies aside I knew I had to capitalise on this before the situation changed.

Whilst I was decisively more clothed than before, it remained incredibly surreal to be walking around Mick's apartment, and his office no less as my feet graced the threshold. I could feel the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck bristle. It was exact – placement for placement – even the filing cabinet with the tell-tale folder glistening with information any rightful fan-child would give their right arm to see. Almost. Nothing was worth mine right now, though I was no longer aware now much dignity I had left to protect. All I needed was the phone, a comforting call, and everything else could fall in to place quite nicely after that.

In a swift, rushed movement, I reached the edge of the desk and picked up the receiver, cautiously dialling my parent's home number with the (or so I hoped, as I had little reason to outright dial America from home) correct extension. All the while, with each ring, I trained my eyes on the so-far empty corridor. The dials stretched, seeming to echo in the quiet apartment. I was terrified he would hear, then terrified at my own reasoning. I had no reason to be afraid of Mick. I just had to convince everyone I was sound enough to be left alone so I could figure out just what had happened.

"Hello, Megan Caulfield speaking."

Up until that point, from the moment I had awoken in the morgue, there had been a dangerous pit in my stomach swirling wildly with fear and apprehension; with those four words, the uplifting chime of my mother's voice washed it all away. I felt tears instantaneously, and I swallowed them back. I had not cried in my mother's arms for years, but at this moment I truly felt it possible, even if it was simply down the phone.

"Hi, Mum," I breathed.

"Robin! Hello, sweetheart – is everything okay? I don't recognise the number." Her astuteness made me smile through the unwanted pain in my chest. She was on the ball with everything; a true attentive mother.

"I'm just at a friend's. I just wanted to ask you something," I was not entirely sure what, of course, and I was most definitely not confident in how I would word my unusual request. "Are you well, Mum? And Dad?"

I knew I sounded shaky; even though I felt I could lie through my teeth if the occasion called for it, I had never been skilled and keeping things from my parents. They could read me like the expression says – a very clear, open book.

"We're both good, Robin. What did you want to ask? I hope those students aren't giving you too much hassle, love."

"Students?" I pressed gently – if I were a teacher here, it would give me some platform to work from. My details had to be stored in the school; all of my background information included.

My stomach lurched as she sighed; it was still uneasy, and it added to the list of things I desperately sought to clarify. "I know being a teaching assistant was not what you wanted, but it's a job, at least until next year, and then you can do what you love. You could always do it here, Robin…"

I closed my eyes and steadied myself against the desk. A teaching assistant. I had gone from a teacher to an assistant – though there was absolutely nothing wrong with either – I had to ask myself why this had occurred. "Do you have the correct details for my school, Mum?"

I heard rustling on the other end and I just knew she was searching her phonebook without even responding first. I smiled. A single tear brimmed just over the edge of my eye and trickled downwards. Infuriated, I wiped it hurriedly away. "The Los Angeles City College, right? Unless you've changed again, sweetheart; I just want you to be happy out there whilst you find your feet." I held the phone to my chest for the few moments I allowed to digest the information. College. Assistant. Was that the equivalent of assisting at University level? I knew so little about the academic formalities in America, and I knew that was something I would have to change. I could teach, however, or look at transferring to a secondary – no, high school.

Returning the receiver to my ear, I exhaled. "That's right Mum. Thank you. Listen, I have to go, but I promise I will call soon."

"All right, love. Is there anything else?"

Ah – crap. Indeed, there was. I silently chastised myself for being so foolish and forgetful. "You have my correct address too, right?" As she reeled off the address I scribbled it on a loose sticky note, my palms sweating profusely. It was not even warm in here; in fact, if anything, it was below comfortable temperatures.

At least I knew why.

We said our goodbyes and I gratefully returned the phone. Clasping at my sticky note, I moved around the office and returned to the sofa in front of the intriguing fireplace. I could not even call it one, really, but I had never seen anything quite like it – which probably spoke volumes for my pay packet as a student before I began something marginally more comfortable.

I sat, staring at my handwriting. I had an address. Everything I owned would be there. It was simply a matter of returning to said address and putting more of the pieces together. Unfortunately, it dawned on me in those few seconds that I would need to ask Mick for help in getting home; I prayed that he had bigger things on his mind than solving the mystery of a girl and he would not think nor look too much in to it. Equally so, I had watched the show enough to have a fairly confident grasp on his character; whilst not as tenacious as Josef, there was no way I would get out of this so easily.

I knew that he would be able to see the number on his call logs (if he presided over such small details), but I did not have time to worry about it. With any luck (and it seemed I had something of a smidgen of it thus far), he would barely notice I had moved, and I would be able to recite my address and claim total ignorance. It was, for a brief moment, a considerably fool proof plan, until the niggle of anxiety bestowed upon me during adolescence blinked like a flashlight, and I glanced immediately over my shoulder.

Did he have security cameras in his office? Was he watching me – from his freezer?

The air caught suddenly in my throat again and the world around me blurred. Frantically I blinked, digging my fingers in to the bare flesh on my upper legs; the pressure drew pain immediately through my uneven nails. Begrudgingly I looked to the fire, one of few staples I felt of Mick's unique penthouse; the movement of the flames I looked to calm the sudden rise of panic. This it did, for a short while, until the door clicked open behind me and I jumped, scrambling to my feet and almost doubling over the coffee table.

Mick approached cautiously, his hand outstretched again with his keys still in hand. There was something else, too, clutched in the fist of his other hand; my stomach lurched as I saw the dirty chain and the tarnished bat. "I brought you here to rest. You passed out," the door closed behind him and he lowered his hand as his feet stepped precariously forwards. Instinctively, I shuddered backwards. I was having a hard time focusing my gaze on his face, not on the vial of blood.

The world around me was becoming smaller again, and I knew that if I did not react fairly quickly I would pass out again.

Of course, the lack of sustenance might have had something to do with it.

"I just want to go home," I swallowed, trying to avoid addressing the fact that I was undoubtedly wearing his clothes. If he wanted them back that much, he could wait outside until I had finished changing. "I remember my address. Really, I'm fine – I just need food, and sleep." Something told me he needed a bit of both. The vial in his hand told me enough about what was happening and, roughly, where he had been. I very much so wished to have some clarity myself when he went to the funeral.

Mick fixed me with a quizzical gaze. I could tell he did not believe me, but that was none of my concern. I could deal with the reality of Moonlight as soon as I found my feet – I just was not sure how long that would take. The further away I established myself from Mick, however, the better. "I can take you home, but we need to find out what happened to you. Now, I don't want to frighten you, but you were in a morgue, and they said you drowned."

I could not remember. There was no way for me to respond in a way that would satisfy his PI senses. The entire situation felt reminiscent of Life on Mars, and although that particular show had aired a full year prior to Moonlight, the two could not possibly be interlinked. That would mean I had been in an accident, that the real me was not possibly alive –

But I am alive. I feel alive.

"I'm fine. I'll remember. And even if I don't, I promise I will take myself down to the station to figure it out. I just want to go home." I could barely plead worth an inch whilst sane, let alone in my current predicament. The assertiveness I had embraced whilst teaching would have been incredibly useful had I been better clothed – a fact I was still trying to ignore.

Even though I knew he was both unsure and not wholly willing, Mick nodded. He spoke briefly about not having anything else to dress me in, and I just as suddenly ushered the conversation onwards as I approached the door. I was still unsteady on my feet, and the sight of the hallway sent shivers down my spine. Righting myself, I pushed my hand off the wall and hugged the shirt tighter around myself. He offered me a coat but I politely declined. If I got too close, I would not want to let go – and I had to. As fascinating and enthralling as the world was, Moonlight was also an indisputably dangerous one.

Sitting in Mick's car was another whirlwind all together. I clutched at the corners of the seats as I saw in my mind Beth and Mick and their countless conversations. The lump grew thick and heavy in my throat. What would I say to my friends now?

Did I have any friends here?

I considered this, as Mick drove to the address I had given him. I supposed all the questions I had would be answered as I got inside, but still something felt incredibly uneasy.

I didn't even know what day it was.