Annie and Marilla appeared at the top of the stairs, two elegant figures clothed in black standing against a red sky. Newt's eyes followed as they walked across the deck together, heels clicking on the wood floor. They came to a stop in front of the men.

The corners of Newt's mouth went up as he looked at Annie. She looked like herself, but different at the same time. Her blonde hair, usually pulled back, fell loosely over her shoulders, fastened on one side with an intricate looking pin. His eyes flicked between her face, and her dress, which hugged her body in a way he wasn't used to.

She gave him a shy smile, and something fluttered in his belly.

"Good evening," Marilla said warmly. "Shall we go in for dinner?"

Clark beamed and held out his arm. She wound hers through it, and he led her off the deck and toward the dining room.

"Shall we?" Newt asked in an exaggerated tone, holding out his arm for Annie.

"Of course, darling," she said, looping her arm through his.

They walked across the deck, the color in her cheeks deepening as she gazed up at him.

"You look nice," she said.

He flashed her a cheeky look. "It's Tom Ford."

She threw her head back and laughed, knowing he had no idea who that was or what he was saying.

He looked down at her and smiled, feeling his shoulders relax as he guided her toward the dining room. It was already better, having someone familiar around again. Perhaps the night wouldn't be a total disaster after all.

They entered the dining room. It was a long, rectangular space, covered floor to ceiling in wood paneling. A large table sat in the middle, overlaid with a white tablecloth and emerald green runner. Every few feet were cream-colored candles, illuminating the dark room with their soft golden glow.

Newt observed Clark pull out a chair for Marilla, and he imitated the gesture, helping Annie into her seat before sitting down next to her.

He placed his hands flat on the table and looked down at the spread before him. There were multiple wine glasses, and at least four different forks. He set a thick white napkin in his lap and tried to calm his nerves, reminding himself that whether he acted with perfect propriety or not really didn't matter. He had no one to impress. After tomorrow, he would never have to see the Montgomery's again.

Luann appeared from seemingly out of nowhere and held out a bottle of wine to Clark. He scanned the label and nodded his approval. She took it over to a cart, removed the foil, uncorked it with a satisfying pop, and poured four glasses.

After she passed them out, Clark raised his glass and smiled at the group.

"To youth. To beauty. To love."

"Cheers," everyone replied in unison.

Shortly after the toast the first course arrived. It was a gazpacho, and the three ate it with obvious enjoyment while Newt ran his spoon through the chunky liquid. He had never had cold soup on purpose before. Annie nudged his elbow and nodded her head at his bowl. He took a few bites to appease her; the flavor wasn't bad, but he still preferred Frypan's stew.

"I'm glad we all could do this," Clark said between bites. "Heaven knows I adore you Marilla, but sometimes I get lonely on this big boat all by ourselves."

"Likewise darling," she said. She looked across the table at the guests. "It has given us a renewed vigor to have you two aboard."

"We appreciate your hospitality," Annie said, smiling at Marilla before she took a bite of soup. She swallowed, and then asked, "Tell me, has it always just been the three of you? Or did you have friends who left the city too?"

"A few were able to escape," Clark said. "But we all went our separate ways. Some up to Canada. One good chap went down to Tijuana. Luann is the only one who came with us."

As if summoned by this statement, Luann appeared again to clear away their bowls. She replaced them with a grilled Caesar salad, which smelled strongly of anchovies and garlic.

"And you darling?" Marilla asked. "Surely you're not the only two to come out of Denver."

"I'm sure there were more; it was a big city. But, I mostly kept to myself. There wasn't really ... time ... for friends, working at WICKED." She looked down and stabbed pieces of romaine with her fork. "There was one girl I was friendly with, professionally - Teresa - but I haven't talked to her."

She glanced at Newt, whose fork hovered over his plate.

"You know, I was hoping you would bring WICKED up," Clark said, pushing his empty plate away. "I'd like it if you could tell me more about it. I still haven't given up hope for my movie, you see, and once those things die out and the blasted weather goes back to normal, I'd like to give it another go."

"There's not much to tell," Annie said.

Luann came around the table and removed their salad plates. In their place she set down plates of seared fish sauteed in a lemon butter sauce, roasted dilled potatoes, and broccolini covered with shaved white truffles.

"Oh, surely you have a story or two," he said. "What were they like, behind the scenes? Were they as mysterious as they seem?"

"It was, uh, normal for me. I'm sure from the outside they appeared mysterious, but to me ... they were like family."

"What about you Newt?" He asked, popping potatoes into his mouth. "Any shady dealings going on behind the scenes? Strange experiments, things too macabre to tell?"

"I can honestly say Clark," Newt said, voice steady. "That they kept me in the dark, about everything."

Clark made a disappointed noise, and sat back in his chair while Marilla took over, complimenting the party on their attire and discussing once again her time in London. Soon Luann removed their main courses and set down white ramekins filled with creme brulee, each topped with mint and candied orange slices.

Newt tapped the caramelized crust with his spoon, breaking through to the custard below. He took a bite, and his eyes shut for just a moment. It was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted. He finished it quickly, scraping the edges of the bowl while the others ate theirs at a more leisurely pace.

"But surely," Clark began again, interrupting Marilla reciting lines from Macbeth. "In looking for a cure they had to cut some legal corners. Annie, if you worked in the medical department, you must have seen them experimenting on some of those people who were infected."

"You're talking like it was some sort of science fiction story Clark," Annie said, spooning the dessert into her mouth. "I can assure you, it was all very clinical."

"So you don't deny it," he said, smiling. "Like I said - mysterious." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar.

"Oh, not in here darling," Marilla said. "Wait until after."

He put it back in his pocket and wrapped his arm around the back of his chair.

"You know, I heard a rumor once they were experimenting on children. Ripping them away from their families, having them do all sorts of tests. Sort of like the Montauk Project in the northeast. Did you ever see anything like that?"

"You said it yourself - rumors." Annie said.

"But surely you must have seen something. Come on, what's the harm in a little pillow talk amongst friends?"

"No. And if what they were doing was as terrible as you say, I'd rather not speculate on it. Can we please change the subject?"

"But -,"

Newt slammed his glass down.

"She said she wants to change the subject."

Red wine seeped into the white tablecloth as he gave Clark a hard look. He didn't want to talk about it any more than Annie did. The dessert which he had finished with relish now sat heavy in his stomach.

"All right, sorry my boy. I meant no offense, I just have to start from the ground up after everything was destroyed. You know how it is."

Newt nodded, and unclenched his hand, which had been balled into a tight fist under the table. He fingered the nail marks in his palm, wondering where his sudden outburst had come from.

"How about we forget all this talk and retire to the lounge?" Marilla suggested. She looked around the table cautiously. "I think we all could use a nightcap."

"Wonderful idea biscuit." Clark pushed away from the table and stood up, already pulling the cigar out of his pocket again. "Newt, Annie?"

"We'll meet you there in a minute," Newt said.

Clark eyed the pair curiously but put his hand on Marilla's back and ushered her out of the dining room.

Once they left, Newt turned in his seat to face Annie. He looked at her intently, fingers drumming on the table.

"I want to leave," he blurted out. "Tonight."

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't like these people Annie." He sighed and threw his napkin on the table. "They ask too many questions. And we're just ... we're so close."

"Close to what?"

"To being with my friends again."

"Oh." She reached out and fidgeted with his napkin.

"I know," she said. "It's just been so crazy the past few days. It's been nice to have a distraction."

"I don't want a distraction," he said. "I just want to be with them."

Annie's hands went still as she looked at him. Something about that statement disappointed her, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"You'll be with them soon," she offered.

"I know. I just ... I feel ..." He reached out and took her hand in his. He looked down at the floor and began absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Yes?" She asked after a moment, when he didn't continue.

He looked up at her, a deep line creasing his brow.

"I feel like the serum is wearing off."

Her heart sank like a stone. "What?"

He dropped her hand and leaned back, rubbing the side of his face slowly.

"I've been ... I feel different, you know? Sort of ... less patient. More paranoid. I can't stop thinking about my friends, and it hurts - it actually, physically hurts - knowing they're so close, and the only thing stopping me is this damn party and Clark and Marilla with their bloody weird ... everything. And any time someone mentions WICKED, it feels like ... like ..." He groaned and laid his head on the table.

She reached her hand out, but let it fall to her lap instead.

"Listen Newt," she said. "Don't focus on that. It will only make it worse. We knew the serum wouldn't last forever, but that doesn't mean you're going to turn back into ... you know ... tomorrow or anything. You will have the boat ready in the morning, and then we can go to the island. You can get to Thomas."

He peered up at her from the table. "But what if it's not soon enough?" He asked. "What if I don't make it back to my friends in time? What if I suddenly lose control and hurt people? Hurt you?"

"That's a lot of what ifs."

He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I just ... I can't ... I already lost everything once. I don't think I could bear it a second time."

"I know. I understand. But we have to be smart about this Newt. Going off in the ocean in the middle of the night isn't going to help anything. It isn't safe. So let's go to the lounge, just for a bit. Take your mind off things, and then we can go to bed, and in the morning it will be a new day."

He sighed, contemplating, and then nodded his head.

"Okay," he said. "Fine."

He pushed back his chair and stood up, taking off his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder while Annie got up and walked to the door. The cool night air tempered their spirits as they walked across the deck, and Newt held the lounge door open while Annie passed under his arm.

It was the room they had seen on their tour with Marilla. A large leather sectional lined one wall, flanked on either side by leather chairs. Clark was sitting in one, leg crossed over his knee, lighting his cigar. Marilla swayed in front of him, dancing to big band music coming from the record player.

Across from the couch, the fireplace was lit, although the room itself wasn't cold. It cast light and shadows over the room, making it feel smaller than it was. Above the fireplace was the stuffed head of a moose, and under it were two crossed oars, signed all over in black ink.

"Welcome back darlings," Marilla said. She took Annie's hand in hers and spun her in a slow circle. "Did you have a nice tête-à-tête?"

"Yes, but we missed your company," Annie said, trying to make everyone feel at ease again.

"All right my boy?" Clark asked Newt in a tone that implied he really did not care one way or the other.

"Just needed some fresh air," he said, sitting down in the other chair.

Annie untangled herself from Marilla and walked over, finding a spot on the couch.

Alone now, Marilla pouted, but went to a small bar cart and poured three drinks. Her hips swayed as she crossed the room, and she handed two of the glasses to Newt and Annie.

"You must catch up darlings," she said. "I'm on my second!"

"Third," Clark corrected from his seat. "And that should be your last one, bonbon, or else I'll have to carry you to bed."

Marilla laughed, a rich, vibrant sound, and moved provocatively back toward her husband. She sat down on his lap, and kissed the side of his face, moving down his neck, and playing with the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Is that a promise?" She purred.

She ran her hand under his shirt, and he choked on his cigar smoke.

Newt looked down into his glass, trying his best to ignore them as he chugged the contents. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Annie do the same.

"I think," Clark said, stamping out his cigar, "That it's closing time for us."

He pulled Marilla's hand out of his shirt and then scooped her up, lifting her into the air. She let out an exuberant shriek and continued to kiss his face.

"You'll forgive me for bowing out so early," he said, giving them an apologetic look. "My lady doesn't know how to hold her liquor. You kids can stay up as late as you want. We'll see you in the morning."

"Have fun, darlings!" Marilla said as Clark carried her out of the lounge. The sound of her laugh faded in the night as he headed toward their room.

"Thank God," Annie said, standing up and going to the cart to refill her glass. "I thought they were about to just do it right in front of us."

She looked through the bottles and stopped when she came to a fancy-looking decanter with a homemade label on it.

"Look at this," she said, holding it up. "Marilla's Mix. I bet this is what she was drinking." She opened the top and sniffed. It smelled like whiskey mixed with vanilla beans and something else vaguely familiar. She shrugged and poured it into her glass.

Newt got up and turned down the fireplace, then opened a small round window.

"I never want to smell cigars again," he said, breathing in the fresh air. "Bloody disgusting habit."

Annie nodded and then went to the record player, picking up the needle and removing the current selection. She opened the glass cabinet that housed their collection and thumbed through the cardboard covers.

"Wow," she said after a moment. "They have everything."

She took a sip of her drink and then let out a delighted sound.

"Newt, look!"

She held up an album that had a man smashing a guitar on the front.

"What is it?" He asked, squinting from across the room.

"It's The Clash!"

She set her drink down and excitedly pulled the record out of its sleeve and set it on the turntable. She put the needle down gently, pushed play, and took a step back. A moment later, loud guitar and drums came through the speakers, filling the room with its raucous noise. She turned around, smiling.

"What do you think?"

He rolled up his sleeves as he cocked his ear toward the music. After a moment he smiled.

"You were right. I like it."

"Well, don't just stand there!"

She picked up her drink and crossed the room, holding out her hand to him.

He laughed at her. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on," she said. "One more distraction won't hurt you. Besides, you can't be any worse than me."

He reluctantly put his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him away from the window. She spun him in a circle, and then moved around the room, shaking her head back and forth in time to the music.

He stood back and watched her with an amused expression, tapping his hand against his leg to the beat.

After two songs she collapsed onto the leather couch, breathing heavy.

"Oh, I'm dizzy," she moaned.

"You're drunk," he said, laughing as he set his drink down and picked up his jacket. "Enough of this, we should sleep. Big day tomorrow, remember?"

She peered up at him from her spot on the couch, looking disappointed.

"I'm not a very good distraction, am I?"

"You're a wonderful distraction Annie," he said as he went over to her. "But a bloody terrible dancer. And a lightweight to boot."

She stuck her tongue out and pushed herself up from the couch. She swayed as she stood, and he held out a hand for her. She waved it away as she took a step, but then knocked into the table, pitching forward.

"Bloody -!" He instinctively moved forward and grabbed her waist, steadying her. "You all right?"

She looked up at him, face flushed. "Fine, thanks," she said breathlessly.

"No problem." He released his hand and took a step back.

"Saved me again." She gave a shaky laugh. "Guess it's your turn next."

She turned away and went around the room, embarrassed by how much more her drink had affected her than it had Newt. She removed the needle from the record and turned off the player, then picked up her shoes and straightened her dress.

Newt pushed a button on the remote and turned off the fireplace, then went to the window and shut it. The room filled with darkness, and the sudden silence rang in his ears.

He could just make out Annie's figure staggering toward the door. She opened it and stood in the frame, silhouette outlined by the silver light of the moon.

"Coming?" She asked.

He followed her out of the lounge and walked with her across the deck, and then down the stairs. His hand hovered near her elbow, just in case she stumbled again.

They made it below deck without incident, and he carefully walked her to her room. Instead of going inside, she stopped, and pressed her back against the cool wooden door.

"So," she said. "Was it as bad as you thought?"

"The dinner wasn't great," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "But the lounge was all right."

"Yeah ..." She said. "It was fun. I'm glad you were there - are - here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. "Clark ... he reminded me that I never really had any friends, back in Denver. Besides my mom, really. Sometimes I wonder ... I wonder if that's why I stopped that night, you know? Maybe I was lonely. And being with you ... a stranger ... was better than being alone."

He gave a slight nod of understanding and she went on.

"But you weren't really a stranger, were you?" She looked up at him with furrowed eyes. "There was something familiar about you ... I felt like I knew you, you know?" Her words ran together, slurring the more she tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Even as you ... as you were ... there was something safe, and familiar about you. Do you ... do you understand? Do you ever feel like that?"

He looked down at her and gave her a sympathetic smile. He wanted to tell her he had felt that way before, but in all honesty, his first memory of her would always be waking up in her living room and smelling those eggs.

"I think," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That if I knew you before, I'd definitely remember you."

She looked up at him with soft eyes, and his heart pounded an extra beat in his chest.

"We should get some sleep," he said suddenly, dropping his hand to his side.

"No, wait," she said, straightening against the door. "I have something to say first."

He folded his arms and looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

"It's about ... what you said earlier."

She put her hand out, resting it on his forearm. He glanced down at it and stiffened.

"Listen to me," she said, a newfound urgency taking over her countenance.

"You're not going to lose anything Newt. Because I'm not going to let it happen. One way or another, you're getting on that boat tomorrow and going to the Safe Haven. We're going to finish what we started. I want - I need - you to trust me."

She stared up at him, desperately searching for a glimmer of hope within him. He let out a deep breath, face softening as he looked at her. She was so earnest; he felt she could have asked him for anything and he would have said yes.

Perhaps, she was the most dangerous one on this boat.

"I do trust you," he said softly.

He unfolded his arms and slowly leaned in toward her. She could feel warmth radiating off him, smell the spicy, sweet scent of rum on his breath. Her heart beat rapidly as he swam in her vision, face inches away from hers.

She gave a soft gasp as she felt the door open behind her and looked down to see his hand clutching the handle.

"Goodnight Annie."

He pushed the door the rest of the way open and then straightened, dropping his hand to his side.

"Get some sleep."

She stared up at him, mouth slightly parted, but said nothing. She went into the dark room and then turned around just in time to see him close the door behind her. She stared at it for a moment as her heart slowed down within her, mind too muddled with drink to figure out what had just happened, or why she suddenly felt such a rush of disappointment. The coldness of the empty room set in, and she shivered.

"Baby, baby, won't you hear my plea?"

She sang as she undressed, putting the shoes back in their box and hanging the dress up in the small closet. She sat down at the vanity, rubbing her make-up off with a soaked cotton pad.

She blinked slowly at her reflection. She looked like herself again, and yet she felt that inside of her something had changed. She shivered again and stood up, going to her bed and crawling under the satin sheets.

She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep, and the new day.

"C'mon sugar, just come on back to me."

Next door, Newt undid the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off, setting it on the wooden dresser. He went to the mirror, and touched the stitches on his chest, tracing his fingers over the skin that had darkened with veins once more. He sighed, and went to his bed, flopping onto it.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep before the busy day tomorrow, but his body would not obey his mind. He was wound up, energized, with a new longing in his heart, different from the one he felt when he thought about his friends. One he couldn't quite understand or felt before.

"Aspirin!" He said suddenly, eyes popping open. In the morning, Annie would need Aspirin. He pulled back his covers and threw a t-shirt on. He crossed the hall to the bathroom and searched through the cabinets and drawers. He could find six different scents of hand lotion, but no medicine.

Not wanting to give up, he went up the stairs, climbing them two at a time, and headed toward the bridge. He was certain there would be a first aid kit in there somewhere.

He was about to go through the doors when he heard someone giggle on the other side.

"Stop it!"

It was a woman. But it wasn't Marilla, and definitely not Annie. He thought perhaps the person was in trouble and was about to go in when he heard a masculine laugh.

"Why? Don't you like me?"

"You know I do Clark."

"Well, why not then? Don't you want to try again?"

"We've already tried," the girl said. "It's impossible, you know that."

"I know ... but I really enjoyed trying …"

He heard the girl give a high-pitched squeal. Newt took his chances and looked through the round window. His hand flew to his mouth.

"Clark, stop it!"

"You know I can't help myself around you Luann. Marilla is great, but she hasn't been the same these past few months. She won't even let me … you know … I have needs. She gets me all riled up, and then nothing. I'm dying here, baby."

"Okay, well, maybe just for a minute ..."

Luann began to undo Clark's belt, and Newt turned around. He had heard and seen enough.

The Aspirin long forgotten, he hurried back downstairs and tried Annie's door, anxiously wanting to tell her what he had seen. It was locked. Not wanting to wake her, he went to his room and closed and locked the door behind him. He paced back and forth, unsure what to do.

In the end, he sat down on his bed and fell backward, groaning. These people's lives, crazy as they were, were none of his business. He would just be grateful for The Timmy Too and leave them behind in the morning. He could forget about Clark, and Luann, and Marilla, whom he now felt pity for. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had never gone upstairs. He had found demons among these people from the city of angels, and none were safe from their sins.