Rachel Matheson had been staring out her kitchen window, at her darkened garden, when the doorbell rang. Upstairs, her son slept fitfully, her daughter, out at her job, as she called it, and she was alone… always alone. She watched the rain fall as she let the water run into the sink and over the dirty dishes. She looked at all the excess plates, necessitated by pretending to have cooked the dinner they had all eaten. Something that had gone wholly unnoticed by both guests.

Then the doorbell had pulled her from her melancholy thoughts, and she had gone to answer it, pulled open the heavy wooden door, and stared at the man standing in the drizzle before her. A familiar stranger.

"My name is Aaron Pitman, and… I don't know why… but I think I was supposed to find you".

Her night had only gotten more strange from then. She supposed she shouldn't have invited him in, this stranger who was obviously struggling with differentiating reality from fantasy, as he paced the living room, wetting her rug and talking about computers and a song that kept playing everywhere he went. At one point he had turned around and made her blood run cold in fright, as he picked up a photograph from over the fireplace, and said easily.

"Wow Charlie looks so young here… Ben too" the words had come from his mouth, and yet, when she had looked hard at him, his shock, she could almost believe he barely knew he had spoken them.

"How do you know Charlie? How do you know Ben?" She had asked, standing, putting distance between herself and this stranger who was becoming more threatening by the moment. Aaron had shaken his head, his expression as bewildered as hers.

"I don't know… I swear, you have to believe me… I – I don't think I've ever met either of them… but I know them… I… I know Charlie, I… watched her grow up" he stammered, and Rachel moved to the front hall, going for the phone.

"Please… you have to believe me, I – don't know what's happening" he insisted, following her to the hall, yet making no move to stop her as she reached for the phone.

"Are you calling Miles? Good… he'll know what to do" Aaron said, and backed up as Rachel turned to him, her eyes wide, clutching the phone to her chest.

"Is this some kind of joke…? Did Sebastian put you up to this?" she was demanding, following him as he backed away from her advance. He was shaking his head vigorsly.

"No, god no. Who is Sebastian?" he was babbling as he started backing down the stairs. Suddenly Rachel cried out, and before he knew it, his feet were slipping from him, and he was falling backwards. He saw her reaching out to him, as though it were in slow motion, only, as she leaned forward, the Rachel Matheson standing in front of him changed, her dress dissolving into battered jeans and a worn leather jacket, her sleek bun turning into a mass of blond curls. She seemed so familiar in that instant, as his hands reached toward her, he almost remembered where he had met her before. These thoughts flew through his head, before it met the corner of the fireplace, and everything went black.

Charlie felt the weight of the day settle on her as she flipped off that lights over the bar, leaving on only the green fairy lights and duke box. She tied her hair in a messy knot on top of her head as she shrugged on her coat, and cast a glance over at Miles, who Bass had managed to get into a sitting position.

"I can help you close" Jason was saying, and Charlie almost felt her patience snap. All night he had lingered, and she was getting sick of finding nice ways to tell him it wasn't going to happen.

"No need… go catch up to your friends" she said, a summoning a tired smile. He looked at her, this puppy dog look that she hated.

"What about those guys… I should at least help you get them out" he said, glancing suspiciously over at Bass, who was now making Miles drink some coffee. He might have noticed their shared absences from the bar.

"That's my uncle actually… so, I'm all set" she said, wrapping her scarf around her neck and coming out from behind the bar.

"Really? I didn't know… he looks a little… worse for wear" Jason said.

"Yeah, well, he has a right to today" she said, an edge to her voice, as she moved past him.

"Of course, I'm sorry Charlie… I just wish you'd talk to me…" he said, suddenly stopping her with a hand on her arm. She froze and turned around to face him.

"I know today must be hard for you, but you push me away, I just want to support you…" he was saying , his face the picture of sympathy. She quelled the urge to tell him to shove his pity, and stepped closer to him, hoping she could speak without Bass hearing, and certainly hoped Jason stopped touching her before he saw.

"Look Jason, that's really sweet… and maybe one day, a long time ago, it's what I wanted. But, I'm not a little girl anymore and I don't want your pity, or your sympathy. Poor Charlie, with her dead father and dying brother… I don't need it. I'm not that person, in your mind's eye. I don't need coddling or to be wrapped in cotton wool. It's not what I want" she said firmly, but gently, she hoped, and saw her words register in him.

"So – what? You prefer being alone? I don't understand you Charlie –" he said, his tone confused and a little embarrassed. His hand had tightened on her arm, and that tiny act of possession made her step back, and pull her arm out his grip.

"You don't have to understand me – just, take my word for it. I'm not the girl for you, Jason."

"I think you are" he insisted stepping closer, and Charlie flinched as she felt a solid presence appear at her shoulder.

"I think she said she wasn't… don't disagree with a beautiful woman, kid. You'll always lose" Bass said, doing his best to maintain his playful tone. The two men stared at each other, and Charlie shifted uncomfortably in the mounting tension. She turned around and touched Bass's hand, bringing his attention to her, seeing his whole face soften as she reached his eyes, and pleaded with him wordlessly. Jason, standing still, watching them, could hardly mistake that connection, that wordless bond, the way they spoke in that silence, the things communicated with only that look, with that simple touch. He threw his hands up, and turned toward the door.

"Whatever, see you tomorrow Charlie" he muttered, heading out into the rain, realising that the couple behind him hadn't spared him a glance.

"Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here"

The music wound around them, and Charlie leaned into the hollow of his shoulder for a long moment, before a cough from Miles sent them scattering apart. She walked over to the duke box, the light glowing across her bare skin in the darkened bar. Bass stood, watching her, taking in every detail. She stretched her hands onto the cool glass top, and her hips swayed slightly as she mouthed the words along with the singer. She loved his song, he knew, she loved to listen to it lying in bed, watching the winter rain drip against the glass of the window in her apartment. She loved to trace the words against his back, just when he was falling asleep, his arms always trying to pull her closer, keep her tucked into his body, protect her without her knowledge, sooth her without her notice. But she always wriggled free, nocturnal, roaming the room, reading, cooking, sitting on the fire escape and staring at the city, in silence, so complete, sometimes he would wonder if she had fallen asleep. But he didn't disturb her, didn't intrude.

Because he knew what it was to spend time with one foot here, and another in another time, another place, with those you'd lost. He had one part of Charlie, and her ghosts had another, and it was alright, it was enough. One part of Charlie was still the best thing he'd ever had. The best thing that had ever allowed itself to belong to him.

"I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall"

"Bass – let's go" Miles called, suddenly breaking the tension remaining in the empty, lowly lit bar. He tore his eyes away from the girl who had started to take up his every waking thought, and caught sight of his friend, now perched on the chair, looking rough as hell.

"How you doing buddy?" he asked, going over and grabbing his coat, swinging it on, and offering Miles his own. Miles didn't deign to answer that as he slipped an arm into his coat, and swayed a little unsteadily.

"We are outta here kid, see you next year" Miles was slurring at Charlie, who was standing watching them a little forlornly. Bass knew how much it hurt her to see her uncle turn into this guy once a year.

"Actually, I was going to offer Charlie a lift home. It's really coming down out there" he said, reaching for an umbrella from the stand to shelter her with. Miles nodded a response, and the three started out the door. Charlie pulled her hood up and closed the door, turning around to lock it. Bass opened the umbrella and held it over her, earning an eye roll. He knew she hated it when he treated her like she was a delicate flower. And, ok, maybe she wasn't quite the fragile orchid other girls might fancy themselves to be, but it didn't mean he didn't want to be her knight in shining armour once in a while.

In the quiet street behind them, Miles's cell phone started to ring.

"Rachel?" his confused voice asked.

Charlie opened the door to her apartment, and stepped inside. It was small, and pretty cramped, but it was her own space, and it was all she needed. She wasn't in the mood for her mother's hysterics, so had asked to be dropped off at home. Besides, she had a ritual to perform. It was silly, and she knew it, yet every year, she couldn't stop herself.

She kicked her boots off, and unzipped her coat in the small foyer, placing her boots neatly on the shoe rack and piling her coat into a stuffed closet. Walking along the hall, she reached the kitchen and put the kettle on, then turned to her room, pulling off her tank top, and sliding down her jeans. She caught sight of her body in the full length mirror beside her bed, and studied it for moment. Wondering for a moment, what it was that Bass found so compelling. She was not delicate, she was sturdily built, muscled, and strong, and as she removed her bra, she pictured his hands coming around to cup her breasts, his stubbled jaw scratching her neck as he held from behind, pulled her into him, his hands roaming over body as though she were a exotic treasure that he had uncovered and longed to keep to himself as long as possible. She traded her underwear for a pair of pyjama shorts and a loose t-shirt, letting her hair fall down across her shoulders, she slipped her feet into slippers and followed the sound of the kettle whistling in the kitchen. She removed it from the gas, poured some over a tea bag into her favourite mug, the same mug every year, and sat down. Pulling open the drawer under the table, the one she didn't use for anything else, she smiled instinctively at the sight of her father wrinkled smile. She smoothed the old picture out, and set it propped against the fruit bowl as she wrapped her hands around her tea cup.

"Hi dad" she whispered, as she raised her mug to him.

"You took long enough" Rachel admonished as she let Miles and Bass in. They were both wet from the rain, and thankfully it had had a sobering effect on Miles, who was looking much more alert.

"We were dropping your daughter off safe and sound at home" Bass said, his annoyance at Rachel Matheson always flaring up in relation to Charlie. She looked taken aback for a moment, before dismissing it and turning toward the living room. She trotted down the stairs, throwing a slightly panicked look over her shoulder, and Bass followed intrigued. What could have upset the implacable Dr Matheson, he wondered idly as he followed Miles, sticking an arm out quickly as he swaying toward and expensive looking statue sitting on an edge.

The sight that greeted him in the living room, was not one he could have imagined. There was a man, a large one, lying comatose on the floor, his arms sprawled to the sides, his face strangely peaceful.

"Jesus, Rachel… please tell me you didn't kill him" he muttered, and Rachel let out a shrill laugh.

"What's going on, Rachel, who is this guy?" Miles asked, crouching beside him.

"I don't know him… but he knows us – all of us, by name, he even knew… Ben. He recognised him from the picture… Charlie too" she said, and Bass moved forward.

"Well, let's wake him up and find out exactly why" he said, a menacing tone creeping into his voice. It worried him no end, Charlie working in a bar, knowing how many lost and lonely men wandered in and thought they'd found their own personal angel, he should know, he'd been one of them. The man suddenly moved, and they all jumped back. He moaned, and his eyes fluttered, before opening and fixing on Miles.

"Oh, thank god…Miles. I had the weirdest dream… I – I don't feel so good" he said as he tried to sit up and then sank dizzily back.

"Just, take it easy" Miles said uncomfortably, crouching down beside the stranger. They looked uneasily at each other, all at a lose about what to do with this strange man who had shown up.

"Rachel – get Aaron some water" Miles said, and Rachel went to comply. Bass turned to Miles, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"How do you know his name is Aaron?"

"I dunno, Rachel must had told me, I guess" Miles said, frowning. They shared a confused look, as Rachel returned with the water, and the man took it gratefully, gulping it down. He shuddered as the cold liquid seemed to calm him, and he then looked around, his face confused, and a little lost. He looked hard at Rachel, and then Miles, and finally at Bass himself. He blinked at him.

"Sebastian, of course…" he was muttering to himself, before he put his hands under himself and attempted to get up. Miles and Bass helped him stand, and then stepped back as he attempted to get his balance, touching the back of his head, checking for blood.

"I suppose the blow to the head must have scrambled the nanites" he was whispering under his breath as he looked around, seemingly obsessed with the room, the furniture, the lights, and TV most of all.

"Look buddy, you've had your fun. Why don't you just tell us what's going on" Miles said, his tone quite reasonable, yet Bass knew, it was a heartbeat away from threatening.

"What's going is… this isn't real. It's a dream, or some kind of hallucination… none of this is real" The man, Aaron stuttered.

"He's mad, why are you even entertaining this?" Bass demanded, already thinking of how he could kick the clown out on his ass and get home to Charlie, if she called him, that was.

Rachel shook her head wordlessly, her face confused, before she spoke.

"Because… I don't know… there is part of me that believes him… he is so familiar" Bass and Miles turned to her, eyebrows raised at that. Bass whistled long and lowly.

"Wow, Rachel, I know you're a bit wacky, with your bad science, and nanotech crap – but this… this guy is nuts, and so are you for believing him." He laughed, cutting abruptly off as Aaron suddenly spun around and seized his arm.

"What did you say? Nanotech? Rachel – are you working with Nano technology?"

"First, get your hands off me, second, explain what you're going on about, now, before I kick you out" Bass warned hi voice low, almost a growl.

"Oh, please, I am totally not scared of you anymore" Aaron said, rolling his eyes at him and sitting heavily down in a chair.

"You guys are best friends, right?" he said, indicating Bass and Miles.

'Hardly a long shot" Bass countered as he sat on the edge of the settee, watching the man closely.

"Ok, well, how about this one. You two are in love, have been for years… since before Charlie was born" he said, indicating Miles and Rachel and the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Bass looked in alarm at Miles, whose face was carefully blank, and Rachel's whose was draining of blood.

"Are you two together in this world?" he continued, seeming oblivious to the bombs he was dropping.

"This world? What are you talking about?" Bass demanded, louder this time.

"Ok, calm down, General. You see… Rachel made them, Rachel and Ben, but they malfunctioned, and multiplied out of control… they ended the world, destroyed the world. They sucked all the energy from every source we had, even every battery… and 15 years passed… 15 long years, with no order, no electricity, no medicine, no government." He was rambling, talking in nonsensical sentences, and seeming to become more and more agitated. Suddenly he cut off, and stared at the window, transfixed. Slowly the rest of them turned to follow his gaze, and they were caught in his wonder as they saw something extraordinary outside. In the cold, winter's night, the backyard outside had somehow, improbably, filled with green fireflies. They swirled and swarmed, and… waited somehow.

"What the hell?" swore Miles as they approached the window.

On the day her father's funeral, Charlie had dressed in a black dress of her mothers, and stood at the front door, watching cars arrive one by one, up the twisting road of her neighbourhood. She had heard Danny coughing through the wall, and had felt so removed from herself at that moment, her reflection was a strangers in the glass. She had seen Miles arrive, and Uncle Bass. She hadn't seen him at her uncle's side in a while. A tour of Iraq, Miles had told her. Looked like he had returned to tell the tale.

What a funny thing. That he could go to Iraq and back. Live in a warzone, and yet be standing in her driveway holding flowers, in an old looking black suit. While they all prepared to bury her mild mannered father, a man who had never participated in conflict in his life.

There were no rules anymore, she realised at that moment. There was no right or wrong, good or bad. Stuff just happened, and it happened to who ever it happened to, without rhyme or reason. He had looked up for a moment, and caught her eye, the cold morning in Winter, strangely sunny, inappropriately cheerful. She had watched him, looked him up and down, and not bothering to hide her frank appraisal, as he had tilted his head to the side, and gave her look, a considering one. It wasn't full of false pity, and morbid curiosity, as she had gotten from her University classmates and professors, even from her friends.

"Charlotte" he said, a solemn tone, offering her the flowers, which she took automatically, her hands curling around the bound stems. It was all he had said, and she was grateful.

Later, after the service and the churchyard, when she found herself putting her mother to bed, and her uncle to sleep on the couch, Danny also upstairs and asleep, she had been surprised to turn around in the silent house and find him still there. He had taken off his jack, leaving a dark shirt underneath. There was something off about the way he looked in that outfit, like seeing a jungle cat in a cage. It didn't quite fit him, he seemed a little uncomfortable, pulling at his tie, and unbuttoning the top of his shirt.

"You can go – everyone's asleep I think" she had said to him, kicking off the sensible low heels she had worn, now a few inches with mud licked up the sides. Moving through to the kitchen, past him, she had let the pins out her hair and let it fall in a whoosh around her shoulders, padding barefoot into the kitchen, she slammed a window shut, and stood suddenly still leaning over the sink and staring out at the garden.

"Do you want me to go?" he'd asked politely, the second thing he'd said to her in more than 5 years.

"I don't care" she had replied honestly, turning back, and crossing the room to the alcohol cupboard, leaning down and pulling out a bottle of scotch, setting it on the counter, with a couple of shot glasses. He had inspected her again, this curious expression, taking in her defensive posture, her determined face and the glasses.

"Then… I'll stay" he'd said, rolling the sleeves on his shirt, and settling at the table, clearing plastic plates and empty juice cartons from the surface, making space for the bottle and glasses she was setting out. She sat down, crossed legged on the chair, pulling the dress over her knees, poured the first two shots.

"To Ben" Bass had said, pausing only a moment before downing it, followed by Charlie. She closed her eyes, let the sting of the spirit warm her, before reaching for the bottle.

"To the meaninglessness of existence" she had toasted, slugging back another shot, losing count of the number. He had drunk along with her, but she sensed he wanted to say something, but didn't and the longer that went on, the more it annoyed her.

"Why don't you say you're sorry for my loss, or something?" she'd demanded after numerous shots.

"Would it help?" he'd asked, raising an eyebrow at her, or at least she thought he had, it was hard to see clearly. She laughed, a sudden startling sound.

"Of course not… but it's what people do… to be nice"

"Maybe I'm not a very nice guy" he said with a lopsided smile that made her heart thump strangely. She narrowed her eyes at him, her impulsiveness, her long forgotten crush roaring back to life, her drunkenness making her brave, she had leant forward and put a hand on his knee, slowly sliding it upward.

"In that case, there is something I would much rather be doing… if you really want to make me feel better" she had slurred, stopping only as his hand closed around her wrist.

Charlie tidied up her tea things, putting her photo back into the drawer for another year. She brushed her teeth, leaning on the sink, humming Skinny Love still, her mind drifting to the bar.

"Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer"

She sang softly, spitting into the sink, about to stand up when she spotted a dark patch on her arm. She rubbed her hand against a towel, and glanced back, suddenly stilling as what she saw froze her. Her hand was dirty, filthy almost. How had she not noticed this? What had she touched? She ran the tap and started to run her hands under the hot water. Looking in the mirror, she gasped as she realised her entire bare arms, exposed by her tank top were also dirty. Smears of mud and dust, oil and hand marks streaked them. She stared at them incredulously. Stripping off her top, she reached into the shower to turn the water on, casting her mind to the kitchen, wondering if she had somehow pulled coffee grounds down on her, or rolled on the floor, and had no memory of it. She chewed her lip pensively as she stuck her arm into the spray of water to check the temperature. It was warming up, and as she pulled back, she instinctively dried her arm on the towel hanging by the shower stall.

She stared at it. Blinked, and stared at it again. It was clean. Completely unmarked. She raised her other arm and stared at it's creamy cleanness.

Shaking her head, she turned off the shower, and left the bathroom, pulling her top back on. Putting it down to the weirdness of this day, every year, she determined to go to sleep, and put all other things out her mind.

In her room, she slid between the cool, crisp sheets, and reached for her phone on the bedside table.

No messages.

She stared a moment more, contemplated texting him. She wanted to, wanted that contact, his rudimentary, and usually terse texts, a methods of communication he did not care for.

But, she reasoned, putting her phone down, he might still be with Miles, might be busy. She shut off the light, and looked up at the ceiling. For the slightest moment, she felt sure that she could see the stars, blinking at her in complete darkness, as though she were sleeping outside. In the next instant, they were gone, and her white ceiling remained grey, patterned by the shadows of the trees moving around the streetlight outside.

"My place is just around the corner… come on" the guy, Brad, she thought his name was, but couldn't quite recall right now, urged, as he slip a clammy hand around her upper arm. She let herself be pulled forward a couple steps, then stopped. Her face felt hot, and her heart was beating erratically. She took a deep breath. Backing away from 'Brad' she turned and dashed toward the bathroom.

Inside the stalls were small and cramped, and smelled as well as you'd imagine at 5 am. The greasy tiles were littered with toilet paper and cigarette butts, but she had hardly time to care as she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. She vomited again and again, over and over, tears squeezing out her eyes, running down her face, as her stomach clenched painfully, already empty, yet she continued to retch. Collapsing back, she leaned against the flimsy wall, feeling it dent behind her weight, as she rested her forehead on her knees for a long moment. Her mouth tasted awful, her eyes were swollen, and her head pounded. She opened her eyes, feeling pain lance through her as they struggled to focus.

She sighed, struggling to her feet, grimacing as she touched the disgusting toilet floor, she made her way to the mirror. She braced herself on the blocked sink, and braved the mirror, her reflection a shock.

Her hair fell in greasy tangles down her back. Her skin was shiny, she looked feverish, and her face, hollowed out cheekbones, sunken eyes, dull and lifeless, were almost unrecognisable.

Who was this person? She asked herself as she put the cold tap on, and splashed a little cold water in her mouth, spitting it out a few times. She dragged her heavy hair to the side and put her cool hands on her burning cheeks, taking a deep breath.

4 weeks and 2 days. It had been 4 weeks and 2 days since her father had died, and she had forgotten how she was supposed to act.

She hadn't been home in a few days, she couldn't take her mother, pretending to be over Ben's death already, turning to work and other 'productive' things. Charlie couldn't do, couldn't shut her emotions off so ruthlessly.

"Erm… are you ok?" a male voice called, and she sighed. Great, what had she got herself into with this random. She had lost the tiniest bit of interest she'd had in the thought of taking some faceless stranger home.

She went to the door, and opened it. The loud music was a slap to the face, as well as the heat of the room, crowding her immediately.

"Oh, there you are… I was worried.. so shall we go?" he asked, and fell into step beside her. She walked over to the bar, and grabbed her jacket off the stool.

"I don't think I'm in the mood anymore… sorry" she mumbled as she held onto the edge of the stool for balance. She saw his expression go from hopeful to pissed in one second flat. Great, she thought, another winner.

"Well, what the fuck? You can't just change your mind… just like that" the guy was complaining, and she turned away from him, closing her eyes, trying to shut his irritating voice out of her head, as it only contributed to her headache, which was shaping up to be epic.

"Of course she can. Now beat it, before you not able to" came a gruff voice from her shoulder, and she opened her eyes, to see not other than 'Uncle' Bass standing behind her, arms crossed, looking majorly pissed off in the mirror behind the bar. The college guy took one look at Sebastian Monroe in a bad mood, and turned and walked away, double time. She sank shakily down onto the wooden stool, and rested her aching head in her hands.

Great, could the embarrassment get worse, she wondered, before realising that she didn't actually feel all that bad about it. In fact, she didn't feel very much of anything, except the beginning of a mean hangover.

"Well, Charlotte. I'm glad to see you are handling this like an adult." He was muttering as she slid into the seat beside her, asking the barman for a glass of water.

"Drink this" he instructed, sliding it across the countertop under her face. She capitulate, mainly because her mouth was sawdust, and she could barely swallow.

"Not too fast" he rebuked as she finished it in a couple of gulps. Closing her eyes as the cold water hit her stomach, she spoke softly.

"Why are you here?"

"It's my local"

"Really?"

"Not, of course not really… I was looking for you. Your mom called Miles. And, if it's possible, he's in worse shape than you are right now"

"So, how did you find me here?"

"Well, there aren't that many places near your apartment… it didn't take long" he was saying reasonably, and she couldn't help a hysterical little laugh from coming.

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"Nothing… just… Captain, Lieutenant…whatever… Monroe, out searching college bars on a Saturday night…" she glanced sideways at him, further amused to see his stiff carriage, the uncomfortable way he was sitting, military even now.

"Come on. We are leaving" he muttered, standing up and grabbing her by the upper arm.

"Hey" she protested mildly as he pulled her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and wrapped her scarf around her face until everything was covered but her eyes. He then took her hand and pulled her out the bar. Outside, the traffic noises babbled by them, and the music faded as the glass door of the bar swung slowly shut. She took a deep breath, and felt the cold air soothe her raw chest. He had already started walking, in the direction of her apartment.

She trailed after him slowly, until he stopped impatiently, waiting for her to catch up, his foot tapping.

"If you have to go.. don't let me stop you" she bit out, strangely irritated by his obvious desire to get the hell away. He waited until she caught up, and then, his clamp like grip came down on her wrist again, and they were moving, much fast now. He didn't answer, and soon they were almost at her apartment. The streets were quiet now, there was the sound of delivery trucks unloading wares at storefronts on the way, and the street cleaner rumbled along behind them. As her door came into sight, she stopped, jerking her arm from his. He stopped, and turned to face her with an exasperated look.

"What is it now? Let's go, we're almost there…" he said, reaching for her arm again.

"No – you go… go and do whatever you need to. I'm fine on my own, just leave me alone, you've done your good deed for today, alright?" she folded her arms across her chest and turned away from him, making to cross the road.

She had no idea where she was going, all that mattered in her hungover/half-drunk state was getting away from him, so that she could crawl home alone and salvage some semblance of dignity.

"Charlie, where do you think you're going… I'm taking you home" he said firmly, grabbing her shoulder, his strong grip stopping her in her tracks.

"No, you aren't" she ground out, glaring up at him. Everything about him was irritating the hell out of her. His presumption, his condescension. There might be a tiny part of her that realised that he wasn't the real problem, yet there was no way she was listening to that reasonable voice right then.

She deliberately ripped her shoulder out of his hand, and stared him down. Challenged him to disagree with her, to fight with her. He looked at her, his face more understanding than she could take.

"Don't look at me like that" she spat before she spun around, and started to walk away. The next instant, she found the world turning upside down, as her midsection was suddenly slung over his shoulders, her legs clasped firmly in his grip, leaving her handing over his shoulder.

"Hey!" she cried, grunting with the effort of speaking when her chest was so compressed.

"You've left me no choice, so just shut it, and give me your keys" he said, carrying her toward her front door.

"No way… put me down, or –"

"Fine, but, just remember, I did ask" he asked, almost a grin to his voice, and she felt her face flash red as his hand dug into her back pocket, feeling around for the key. She tried to kick him with her legs, but found it totally ineffectual, and settled for pounding his back with her hands, as hard as she could.

"You're such an asshole" she grunted, as her hands started to feel numb the pain of hitting his unrelenting back.

"Put me down right now – or I swear, I will scream so loud –" she threatened, and fell silent, her mouth stretched in wordless outrage as he delivered a stinging blow to her backside.

"Pipe down… geez…" he grumbled as he opened her door, and jogged up the stairs, her still slung over his shoulder.

"Evening" she heard him say, presumably to someone they were passing in the hall, and she closed her eyes in mortification.

He reached her door, and opened it. Striding into the small space. He carried her along the dark hall, kicking door shut behind him. Being back in her apartment, spurred her fight again, and she started wriggling as hard as she could. One of her kicks escaped his hands, and connected with his face, and she braced herself as heard him swear, and the world to shift back to normal. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned her fury on him.

"Jesus Charlie, you've given me a shiner-" he was saying as she straightened up, and her hand was already moving, already connecting with his jaw. The hard slap echoed in the empty apartment, and his head turned with it, his mouth round with shock. As he slowly turned his face back, she felt her anger rise up, a well of rage, just simmering below the surface, now, irrepressible. She raised her hand to hit him again, and he moved back, her hand flailing into the air between them. She gave up trying to touch his face, and pounded his chest. This time making contact. She hit him again, he didn't sway at all. In fact, he stepped closer. She raised her fist again, thumping it hard into chest, as hard as she could anyway. He didn't flinch, instead, his look became only more fixed, taking on a determined quality.

"Give it to me Charlie.. everything you got… I can take it" he said softly.

She hit again, and pushed him, and spoke words that she couldn't remember, cried tears she couldn't track... swore and cursed in every way she knew and wasn't even aware off. She snarled and spit, she cried hot torrents, dripping down her face.

She didn't know how long passed, in that close hallway, in the dark, all she knew was that at some point, her strength failed, and she was only crying, her legs wouldn't support her anymore, and she was sinking to the floor, and turning in on herself. She heard the ugly, harsh sobs coming from her throat, from afar. They were almost inhuman, a wail, a dirge. The undiluted sound of human suffering.

Behind her eyes, there was such darkness, such silence, that she longed to break it, longed to feel someone next to her, someone to stand against that pressing weight of endless night, that had taken residence in her soul.

She barely registered as he pulled her gently upright, took her into the bathroom, and turned the shower on. As he knelt by her feet, as she held onto the towel rail, sobs erupting from her, loud snorts and hiccups, her eyes and nose dripping onto him as he unlaced her boots and slid down her socks.

Rising before her, he had pulled her arms from her coat, unwound the scarf, and stroked her hair back. Next he had moved to her jeans. The tight material clinging to her, cutting into her, marking her. He had undone her belt as she had doubled over the bath, waves of sickness passing over her, as grief literally made her sick to her stomach. Stripping off her jeans, he had then pulled the shower door open, and lifted her in. The water had been so warm, so comforting, washing her face of the tears and snot and mascara, the traces of her vomit. Her tears joined in the flow. The water flowed over her shirt, and her over her whole body as she clasped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her, pooling in the shallows of her body, glancing off Bass's arms, as he had placed her there, splashing over him, wetting his shirt and jeans, catching in his hair.

The next morning, when she had woken, she had sat up slowly, looking around her little apartment, seeing it with clear eyes, for the first time in months. She glanced to the side, and saw Bass, sleeping, still in his jacket, on top of the covers, his mouth slightly open, his face surprisingly innocent in his dreams. The curtains had been left open, and she had risen, carefully, not disturbing him. She had walked over to the window, and in shock, found herself standing a patch of sun. She had watched the light move over her bare legs and arms, and felt as though the sun had finally come up, the endless night had passed, the eclipse finally over.

"Charlie?" his voice, throaty in the morning, his eyes flickering over to her, his hand rasping over his stubbled jaw.

'How are you?" he'd asked, his blue eyes staring directly into hers, in a way that spoke of the connection they'd forged, a gaze that was impossible to evade or fool.

"I'm ok… I think. I think I'm going to be OK" she had said, walking over to him, her bare feel cool against the polished floorboards. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, tilting her head to look at him. He'd stared right back, until the clock beside him, her alarm clock had began to chirp. Shutting it off, he had sat up, swinging his jean clad legs to the floor, and making to stand.

"I better go – leave you alone." He'd murmured, smiling a little at her, his blue eyes warm.

"Actually… I wish you'd stay a while. I'll make breakfast" she'd offered, with a small grin, the first real one in weeks. He had considered it a moment, before nodding.

"Well alright, then."

Miles and Rachel were upstairs, arguing by the sound of it. Bass watched Aaron Pitman, as he called himself pacing the living room, muttering away to himself.

"Hey, can I ask you something… about… the other place?" Bass called suddenly, surprising the distraught man into stillness. After a moment, Aaron nodded.

"Rachel said you know Charlie too…" Bass said, his tone casual, too casual. Aaron nodded distractedly.

"Yeah, I lived with her and Danny… watched them grow up – until your men came to town, killed her father and took off with her brother" Bass froze at those words, cold creeping over him as he struggled to remind himself that this guy was nuts, and nothing he said mattered.

"Say what?" he asked, his tone not half as light as he hoped. The man stopped pacing a moment, and focused on him.

"You were behind her father being shot… and her brother's death, with those goddamn helicopters…"

"Helicopters? I thought you said there was no electricity in your supposed 'real world'" Bass accused, turning from the man to stare back out the window.

"There isn't, it's well, it's complicated." Aaron said, and Bass found himself striding across the room, and taking the man by the lapels of his jacket, his voice low.

"Why don't you explain it to me then, stay-puffed… because it isn't making much sense right now" he warned, and saw the man's eyes go round.

"That's the General Monroe I know… wait! Did you just call me Stay-puffed?"

"No – I don't know… why?"

"Because… you must be remembering" Aaron was saying, his voice rising as he raised his own hands to grip his shirt.

"You have to remember – you remember me – you remember" he was shouting in his face.

"Get off me, what the hell?" Bass said, stepping away. His felt strange, his mind running to fast, his thoughts leaping ahead, confused, losing a grip on the present.

Aaron had moved to the front window, and was staring outside, his face turning whiter and whiter by the second.

"Oh my god.. it's not possible… he'd dead." He was saying when Bass pushed him out the way and peered out. There were military assembling in the front yard, he saw to his alarm, lead by a little guy in a suit, who was staring at the house with grim determination.

"Who the hell are you? And what have you gotten us all into?" he asked, his tone turned harsh as he turned to Aaron, hearing Rachel and Miles coming downstairs.

"What's going on outside, who are those guys?" Rachel was asking.

"They are here for me… for us, I guess. They want me to fix the code…"

"So – fix it" Miles said, and Aaron let out a strangled laugh.

"If you were you, you wouldn't say that" he said, pacing agitatedly. He abruptly turned to Bass and Miles pointing at them accusingly.

"You guys can't let them take me – you have to stop them… do your thing, and stop them" he said, his eyes wild.

"What thing? What are you talking about?" Bass shouted back, as they heard the sound of pounding on the front door.

"Please- I'm begging you… help me" Aaron pleaded, as the door splintered inward and Rachel screamed. The room was filling with these army guys, but their uniforms weren't any he'd seen before. Aaron was trying to run away, and was being herded into the centre of the room.

"Danny!" Rachel was crying, attempting to run up the stairs.

"You're coming with us, Mr Pittman" the little man in charge was saying, as the soldiers managed to put handcuffs on the him.

"I won't help you – I'm not fixing the code" he gasped, getting pulled along with them toward the door.

"Of course you aren't, not without the proper persuasion. That's why we are bringing your friends along." He said, and signalled the rest of the men in the room, who started to converge on Bass and Miles.

Aaron locked eyes with him, for a moment, as he shouted.

"If they are taking you, they'll be taking Charlie too! Help us… fight this…" he grunted, disappearing out the door.

His words settled like stone in his stomach, as he watched, almost in half speed the men in buzz cuts approaching him, their guns raised. He suddenly felt a weight his hand, where before there had been nothing. He looked down, and was surprised to find a sword, heavy and thick, with a serrated edge, more like a machete than sword. He looked up, locked eyes with Miles, and nodded.

Charlie wasn't sure what woke her exactly, as when her eyes snapped open, she found herself already holding her breath. There was only silence, and she lay there, still and silent, listening. She strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. Her heart beat quickly, and yet, the sensation felt familiar.

She heard it then, the quiet scrapping of metal against metal.

The quiet sound of someone entering her apartment.

Someone without a key