AN: So...y'all are not gonna like me after this chapter. Unfortunately, everything that happens is necessary. You'll see why later. Thank you to all who read and all who review. To the Guests that review, I so wish I could respond to you all individually. Please know I appreciate all of you. Soo...without further yacking...here ya go!

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Cold. That was the first thought his mind registered. The air around him was so cold, as if ice had somehow filled the expanse. The frigid temperature pulled Ian from the precipice of sleep and wakefulness, and he blinked his eyes open, immediately confused by his surroundings. Not only was the air bitterly cold, but darkness filled every crevice. His eyes turned downward, and he saw that he was no longer lying on the cold, dewy grass of St. James' Park. No, the floor beneath him was blackened, hard, and just as harsh as the air around him. Ian's gaze flitted level, and he instantly surmised that his surroundings had altered. Though the darkness persisted, it was no longer the dominating force. The scene had altered so that now he was in a mirrored hallway, light shining from an unknown source.

Slowly, he raised himself, first settling on his knees and then fully straightening his stance. Remaining stationary in his spot in the room, Ian made a full rotation, confused and desperately trying to make sense of everything. All he could see was his reflection, a reflection so incredibly and eerily life-like, he wasn't entirely certain it was a mere reflection. With leaden footsteps, he approached one of the mirrors and reached out to touch it, needing to be sure.

As his fingers neared the glass, it began to splinter. Ian stopped, his hand mid-air, fingers hovering just above the surface. Immediately, the splintering ceased. He furrowed his brow, unsure what to make of this peculiar happening. Unable to stop himself or his curiosity, Ian moved his hand once more. The tips of his fingers just barely touched the uneven surface before it instantly shattered, the shards falling hurriedly to the floor and causing Ian to jolt back in shock. The space in front of him was pitch-black, empty, but still protected by some invisible barrier, barring him from entering whatever was beyond the void. Ian whirled around and strode to the other side of the mirrored hall, once again reaching out his hand. Just as before, the mirror splintered as his fingers neared its surface, the tendrils spreading at lightening pace over the expanse. Once he made contact with the pane, it shattered just like the other one.

Ian took several steps back, arriving at his starting point, and staring once again at the black space before him. The absence of understanding unnerved him. His surroundings were unnatural, vacant of life, and indiscernible. Ian knew something was off, that what was happening couldn't possibly be reality; but the depth of detail, the intensity of feeling, was putting that belief to the test. An icy breeze faintly blew through the hallway, causing Ian to shiver and the hairs on his neck to rise. Responding to the cold, Ian lifted his collar, pulling his suit jacket taut around him. Finally deciding to venture beyond his current base, he hesitantly began to walk the length of the hallway, the bitter chill continuing to hang in the air.

The hallway felt endless, no final destination in sight. Another cold breeze blew, however, this time it was accompanied by the flickering of the lights. All of sudden, Ian felt what could only be described as static flit through his mind. It was almost as if something was trying to break through; something that sounded vaguely like a voice. Though he couldn't hear it, there was something instinctually familiar about it. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear it was-…

The cold continued to surround him. As his body shivered, there was another burst of static; but this time he was able to discern a fraction of the sound.

"Ian…"

On hearing that one word, his eyes immediately darted around, wildly searching for its source—Rose. Ian knew her voice, even if it had been distorted. If he'd heard her voice, that meant she was near, didn't it? A new determination resided within him, and he hurriedly pressed on, all traces of trepidation vanishing. As his search continued to be unproductive, Ian's pace changed. Now he was at an all-out run, his eyes frantically searching for his wife. As his footfall continued to gain speed, the lights started to flicker madly above him. Despite the periods of darkness, Ian pressed on, both physically and mentally unable to stop searching. Suddenly, the lights immediately cut off, throwing Ian into pitch darkness and immediately bringing his run to a halt. His lungs burned with each rapid breath, but Ian barely registered the pain. He was just about to call out into the darkness, when the lights abruptly turned back on.

No longer was Ian in a mirrored hallway; rather, he was in a circular mirrored room. He whirled his body around fully, anxiously looking for some exit, but it was in vain. There would be no escaping the confines of the room. He was just about to move forward, when his plan was halted by the sound of footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, their harshness echoing throughout the room; and Ian could feel his heartbeat synch into rhythm with them. He remained motionless, yet his eyes darted around, looking for the source of the footsteps that were directly approaching him. He couldn't discern where the figure would emerge, as there was still no visible entrance or exit. As the footfall loudened, the lights dimmed, creating shadows about the room. Abruptly the sounds ceased, and Ian waited with bated breath for whatever was to come next.

"Well, well, well…," a familiar voice broke the silence, "Isn't this a lovely turn up."

The voice was by far icier than the air had ever been, and Ian felt his heart seize and his lungs blaze as they struggled to obtain oxygen.

The figure took a step forward, allowing just the lower portion of his face to become illuminated. He flashed a sly, sadistic grin. Ian felt a wealth of emotions come flooding over him.

"What? No greeting for your old friend?"

"No…," Ian breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You…you can't be here. It's not possible."

The figure chuckled lowly. "Oh…here, not here; possible, impossible… it's all a matter of perception. Unfortunately, yours has always been, shall we say, askew."

Nostrils flaring, Ian clenched and unclenched his fists, his body beginning to tremble as he valiantly contained his rage.

"You don't seem that pleased to see me, Ian. I can't help but feel somewhat insulted. After all, we go back quite a ways. Been through a lot, you and I. Don't I even get a hello?"

"I could bloody care less whether you're insulted or not. Nothing about you concerns me," Ian gritted out through clenched teeth.

The man clicked his tongue reprovingly. "Now, now. No need for such hostility. Besides, protest all you like, but we both know everything you do concerns me. Has for years."

A silent beat passed between the two.

"Tell me, Ian, how long did it take to clean your hands? Minutes… Days… Years? Or are they still stained?"

A fierce pain twisted deep in the pit of Ian's stomach at the recollection. His lips parted as he went to speak, but his words never had the opportunity to be voiced.

"Remember how brilliant it was? All that red—so deep and vibrant, almost like a rose. Although… I never cared much for red roses. Prefer pink and yellow, myself. What about you, what's your favorite rose?"

Ian felt as if his brain was ablaze. A lump of restrained emotion lodged in his throat, nearly suffocating him.

"Oh," the shadow said with mocked disappointment, "Don't feel like having a heart to heart? How about a game, then? Games are so much fun…"

His multitude of emotions finally claiming him, Ian attempted to lunge forward, but found he was unable to move, his feet frozen in place. The detested figure stepped back into the darkness just as the room began to spin, the mirrored panes circling around and around.

"Ring around the Rosie…" the maniac began to singsong.

The spinning of the mirrored panes picked up pace, now racing around Ian's stationary figure at lightning speed.

"Pocket full of posies…"

"Ashes…ashes…"

The room immediately ceased spinning and all was eerily still. Ian felt his breaths coming in rapid succession. Suddenly, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and he whirled around, coming face to face with the inhumanity that was Harry Saxon. His face was uncharacteristically blank, which only increased Ian's anxiety. Slowly, Harry raised his hand, the hauntingly familiar dull metal clutched in his hand. This time there was no desperation, no uncertainty; there was only determination. Ian closed his eyes, waiting.

"They all fall down."

The gun fired, and all the panes of glass shattered in that instant, raining down on Ian and nicking his skin. When no bullet tore through his body, Ian's eyes flew open and he saw that he was no longer standing. Now he was on his knees, clutching a flaccid body in his arms, a crop of blonde hair obscuring the face. Immediately Ian registered who it was, and he blanched, all his blood ceasing to flow. He lifted his trembling hand, and frantically moved the soft blonde locks back, revealing Rose's rapidly paling face. Terror seized him, and Ian felt himself start to hyperventilate.

"No, no, no… Rose… Oh, God, no…," Ian cried, pulling her limp body closer. One hand was cradling her head while the other was holding her side. It was then that he noticed something was different between the hands. The one touching her porcelain skin was cold to the touch; but the other… it was warm…and wet.

Ian's wide and panicked eyes darted downward to see scarlet seeping through his fingers, staining everything its wake.

He felt bile rise to his throat, and tears poured from his eyes as he felt the life leave her body. "God, no…no, Rose, please… Please don't leave me… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Ian sobbed uncontrollably, his body shaking tremendously.

"Ian, wake up…," Rose's voice faintly called.

Hearing her, Ian searched her face, looking for life. The Rose in his arms remained silent, her eyes closed and lips barely parted.

"Love, wake up...," Rose's voice called again, this time stronger.

Ian's surroundings began to fade, and he felt himself being pulled away by some unseen force.

"Cillian, wake up!"

With a shuddering start, Ian was finally pulled from his nightmare and bolted upright, gasping for air. A pair of familiar hands grasped at his arms.

"S'alright, love. You're okay, you're safe."

Ian's eyes darted about the darkened room, finally focusing on the figure kneeling beside him. His senses instantly registered her identity.

"R-Rose?" he asked with a shuddering breath.

She nodded, her soft hand cupping his cheek, stroking her thumb across it comfortingly.

"It's me. I'm here," she assured him, her warm eyes never leaving his.

Ian stared at her, his breathing still labored. It had been a nightmare, simply a nightmare. Rose was with him. It had worked. He scooted closer to her, his legs now hanging off the side of the sofa. Even in the dark of the early morn, Ian could see her wide eyes staring at him with such intense love and compassion. Ian cupped the back of her head, his long fingers tangling her soft tresses. His eyes searched hers for one fleeting moment before he lowered his head and fiercely captured her lips.

Consumed with the need to prove that it wasn't a continued dream, that she truly was there, he pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss. Every sense heightened as he felt Rose's hand snake around his neck. It was these heightened senses that caused Ian to come to a startling realization. Her stomach wasn't rounded; she wasn't pregnant. The Rose in his arms was not his wife.

Ian's eyes snapped open as he tore his lips away from Rose's. For a brief moment, her eyes remained closed, still lost in the moment they had just shared. Finally, her eyes fluttered open and locked with his.

Realizing his hand was still fisted in her hair, Ian quickly released his hold on her, pulling his hand back and leaning away from her. Rose still appeared in a haze as she slumped back on her heels.

"Wow...," she whispered, running her hand through her hair and releasing a breathy sigh.

Clearing his throat, attempting to rid himself of the emotions built within, Ian flicked his gaze to the side.

"That, uh...that was a mistake," he replied, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Rose widened her eyes upon hearing his response.

"Didn't feel like a mistake..."

"Didn't feel like anything," he countered, still not meeting her eyes.

Her head jerked back and her eyes widened further at the harsh words he'd uttered.

"What?" she asked in complete disbelief.

Surely he didn't just say what I think he said.

He ran a hand through his hair. "How did I get here?"

Blinking a few times, Rose answered, "Jack an' me found you nearly passed out in the middle of St. James'. We brought you here to sleep it off."

Mutely he nodded, rising to his feet while steadfastly refusing to look her way. "Well then, I sh-…"

"No," Rose interrupted firmly, hurrying to her feet. "You do not get to deflect this. Answer my question!"

Ian closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself for something to come. Finally, he met her gaze, his expression distant, vacant.

"It was nothing; nothing but a mistake. Something that should not have happened. An error. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept. It's a fairly common one."

His clipped, biting words made Rose see red. She stepped forward, angrily pointing her index finger at him.

"Don't talk to me like that! No matter how angry you are, I do not deserve a snide remark like that!"

"You wanted an answer, and I gave you one. Don't get angry with me that it wasn't the response you were hoping for!" Ian bit back.

"The only response I was hoping for was the truth!" Rose retorted.

"And that's exactly what you got!" Though he threw the words at her with conviction, he was unable to hold her intense gaze as he spoke them.

Rose silently regarded him for the briefest of moments before taking another step towards him. "Look me in the eye, an' tell me ya felt nothing. That for that one moment, ya didn't lose yourself."

Ian released a haggard breath, repeatedly running his hand through his hair before finally garnering the nerve to meet her waiting eyes.

"I… I…" He wanted to deny it, wanted to say something, anything; but his tongue prohibited him from forming such lies, no matter how much he silently begged.

"You can't do it, can you?" she knowingly asked. Once again, he diverted his eyes. "Then tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Rose! Nothing! I'm alright. I'm always-…"

"Don't!" Rose snapped, anger rushing over her. "I know what you're gonna say, and it's a lie—plain and simple!"

"Oh, really, Rose?" he asked, sarcasm lacing the words.

"Yes, a lie! And not just for me, but for you. Ya say it because you don't wanna admit that you're in pain. That you feel! It's a wall you're hiding behind."

Ian stepped to her. "How would you know? Hmm? What makes you think you know anything about me?"

"Because you can't hide from me, Cillian!" she shouted, "Haven't been since I met you! Why do ya think I came back to the restaurant that day? Because I saw you! You were hurting, burying y'self, hiding away from the world. I can't explain it, but I could see you through that. And every time we've been together since, I've seen more and more of who you are. So don't you dare stand there an' try to lie to me, to hide from me!"

Ian could feel a war within him, two opposing forces fighting for domination. The woman, the force before him was breathtaking—full of fire and compassion. So much like the Rose he'd lost, the Rose he craved above all else. But the stronger, more ingrained force was bringing the pain of losing her and his child to the surface, of thinking he'd returned them, only to be slapped with the knowledge that he was still in his own hellish reality. It then began hurling images of the destruction he brought, of a lifeless Rose in his arms. That was the final straw. He couldn't take it any longer; the pain was too overwhelming.

Angrily he scrubbed his face, walking over to the wall and slamming his fist against it in frustration and agony. He turned back to face her, his wild eyes meeting her hurt and begging ones.

"Don't delude yourself into thinking that you know anything about me or my life, Rose," he spat, "That you can 'see' me! You see what you want to see. You're simply feeding into some childish fancy that you can help some poor stranger. Never mind the fact that I never once asked for your bloody meddling! Never asked for it, never needed it, and most certainly never wanted it! In fact, if I could go back and change it all, I would! Because ever since I met you, my life has been one bloody mess after another, and I'm done with it! So just stop it!" he roared.

Rose could only stand frozen, hot tears fighting for escape. This wasn't Ian. This man was someone else altogether, and he was crumbling before her. Each word had felt like knife after knife had been plunged into her heart. She felt as if she was bleeding out. The man she loved was breaking down right in front of her, but Rose couldn't reach him. A strangled sob managed to break forth from her before she regained control of her emotions and stifled another bout.

Something within Ian stirred and he felt his heart ache at hearing her cry out, no matter how briefly it had been heard. His muscles twitched, almost as if yearning to pull her in close.

Suddenly, something shoved him, causing his head to bounce against the wall. Focusing his eyes, Ian saw an irate Martha breathing heavily in front of him.

"Who do ya bloody think ya are, talkin' to her like that?" she demanded.

Ian hadn't even thought about Martha's presence in the flat. It had felt like ages had passed when he and Rose had wordlessly stared at each other. Obviously, he'd been wrong.

Before he could make a poor excuse, Martha tore into him again. "I don't wanna hear any of your bloody pathetic excuses, you sorry git! I don't know how ya ended up here, but you're a bleedin' nutter if ya think you're spendin' one more second here! Get out!"

Both Ian and Rose were frozen in place—Rose because she was floored by Ian's raging, and Ian because of Martha's wrath. However, Martha was not going to give him time to process her words. She'd been torn from her dreams to hear this man ranting at her dear friend. His words made her blood boil and she'd immediately taken action. No one would treat Rose like that!

Determinedly stepping forward, she grabbed his arm, jerking him with surprising strength.

"I said get out!" she hollered, throwing back the door and pushing him outside into the cold air, slamming the door behind him. She turned around to see Rose still standing in place, clearly in shock. Worriedly, she rushed over to her friend and pulled her into a comforting embrace.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice somewhat muffled by Rose's hair. Rose's hands remained at her side, her body rigid. Martha pulled back and looked at her.

"Rose?" Martha prodded, her heart constricting at the faraway and unfocused eyes staring back at her.

Clearing her throat, Rose stepped back, pulling out slowly from Martha's hold.

"It's, uh…," she cleared her throat again, struggling with the myriad of emotions plaguing her. Finally gaining control, she began again, this time her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm gonna go shower. Think I'll head to the shop early. You should… you should go back to bed. Get some rest."

Offering the weakest of smiles, Rose turned without another word and headed for the shower. Martha stared after her, unsure of what to do. Quickly deciding, she rushed after Rose, only to find the bathroom door locked and the water running. Sighing, she stepped away from the door to return to bed. Before she could even take two steps, Martha heard the muffled sounds of Rose's sobs. There was another twist to her heart, and she sank onto the ground to wait for Rose, tears of her own falling to the cold, wooden floor.