"You should think about it," Clyde said, the two of them driving to the hotel in brittle silence.

"Think about what?" she said quietly, staring out the window. She could feel him watching her, always watching, waiting for her to fall apart, knew it was only a matter of time. She knew her sanity was held together by threads and stubbornness, at that point.

"That dog..." He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, as if the idea just occurred to him this very moment, as if he hadn't put a lot of thought into the matter. "You should adopt her. I spoke to her handler...the army can't use her anymore, in her condition, so they'll be sending her to a civilian home for retirement."

"Adopt her?" Emily repeated, looking at him for the first time.

"Yeah," he said, meeting her gaze, "Is that so crazy?"

"I don't know the first thing about taking care of a dog, for one thing," she pointed out. She'd barely managed to keep Sergio alive during the few months she'd had him and cats were independent, didn't need constant affection and attention like dogs. She knew the cat was better off with Garcia, happier even; Garcia would love him better than she ever could.

"What's there to know?" Clyde continued as if she hadn't gone off on a mental tangent. "It's like a human that doesn't talk...and occasionally eats their own shit."

Emily snorted. "Nice..." She crinkled her nose in disgust. "How about the fact that she obviously has PTSD?"

"Well..." he trailed off, brow raised pointedly. He didn't need to say the words, they both knew exactly what he meant by that one word, by the laden silence that followed.

"Clyde..." she said warningly. She looked back out the window. She didn't want to see what was in his eyes, not sure she could handle the pity or the condemnation.

"No, Em, just listen," he said, perhaps more fiercely than necessary. "They say it helps – a pet. If you won't talk to someone, maybe at least you should try this. Try something. For God's sake, Emily, you're ill."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"What do you want from me, Clyde?" Her voice sounded tired, broken almost.

"I don't know, Em." He sounded just as tired, just as broken. "A sign you still care – about your life, about anything. I want you to want to get better."

She sighed, long and weary. She pressed her forehead against the glass and shut her eyes tight. "I don't know what I want anymore," she said, almost to herself.


She was running. Running as if her very life depended on it.

All around her, it's dark. So dark it feels like it must be a tangible thing she could reach out and touch if she only tried. More than that, though, it's silent. A thick velvety silence that seems a part of the darkness.

She doesn't know why she's running, only that she must. So, she runs. She runs harder and faster than she's ever run before until she thinks her heart might explode.

She cranes her neck to get a better look at what's chasing her. Doesn't know how she knows it's there, only that it is and nothing good can come of it catching her. Or, perhaps, she is chasing it. Neither possibility makes her feel safe.

She wants to stop running. She's so tired, so very tired...it would almost be a relief to be caught, if only for the relief of knowing what's after her.

She stops. In front of her is Nyx, just standing there, panting, smiling even. The dog blinks at her as if waiting for her to do something, only she doesn't know what. She shrugs helplessly to show her she doesn't know.

She feels hot breath on the back of her neck and closes her eyes, ready to succumb to the darkness surrounding her.

Then, a yelp.

Then, nothing.

When she opens her eyes again, there is blood...so much blood. It's on her hands and soaking her hair and she blinks it out of her eyes. She doesn't know whose blood it is. The dog is still standing there, jaws bloody, still smiling.

Her heart is still tight in her chest. She can't breathe.


Emily lifted her head slightly off her arm, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Clyde?" she asked groggily, squinting against the light being shone on her face.

"What are you doing here, Love?" Clyde asked, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He sounded tired, weary, if only to mask the trace of worry. She wasn't used to him being afraid. It wouldn't be until much later that it occurred to her to wonder if he was afraid for her or of her...

"Hmm?" she mumbled, not quite aware of her surroundings yet. She pushed herself to sit up from where she was curled uncomfortably on the cold concrete. She stretched and rolled her neck to work out the kink developing there.

"I got a call from security," he explained, "What were you thinking? Breaking into a military base..."

"I didn't break in," she defended, "I have clearance."

Clyde just shook his head, seeming to think better of arguing with her about whether she was technically allowed to be there. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. She didn't say the word they were both thinking: nightmares...even though she knew he knew. "I couldn't stop thinking about her."

They both turned to look at the dog in question, curled up as close to the chain link of her pen as possible, to be close to Emily's sleeping form. Nyx lifted her head slightly, as if checking that Emily were still there, still safe, lowering it again to rest on her paws once she was sure.

"I'll tell them we're taking her back with us in the morning," Clyde said.

He didn't say 'I told you so' and Emily didn't say 'You were right' and neither of them said what they wanted to say, no matter how badly it needed to be said.

Maybe, for now, it was enough.