Doctor Who and The Great Eclipse: Part 24/34

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Gauntlet

Everything that could be run on the power cells or backup generators had been switched over during the twilight ‘night’ of the partially blocked blue star. The lights were brought in to a more centrally located arrangement with leaders heading off to the restrooms and the skiff. White sheets were hung to help with reflection of the ambient light. The outer doors and windows became places to avoid. Even the toilet was given an extra bit of a go-over, retaining more light in an effort to make the private space secure even though it was a bit away from the main area. The hanger office however was taken off the “kept lit” list and no matter how much Johns protested he couldn't stop the heavy crates that were piled in front of the door. He'd have to start shooting up in the sleeping area. At least the sheets gave them some privacy if they wanted it, being hung as they were on the cables around and between the beds.

That didn't mean he felt comfortable doing it where the kids might see him, though. The toilet was out for that purpose, the rule was that the light was to be conserved, as was the water and heat. They didn't know how much time they had, so they needed to conserve. This translated to moving the grooming supplies out of the toilet and reducing the small room to waste elimination. According to Fry the powercells of the Hunter-Gratzner could run the light generators for years, fully charged. The fact that they'd crashed half through the journey cut that down to six months to a year, but then the Doctor had worked out a way to recharge the cells on solar and there was a good chance that he'd managed to get them at least eight months worth of light.

This did not include the cost of using the cooking surface or making water. Both tasks took far more power than the light generators did. They had paper to burn though, so if worse came to, there was that minor glimmer of hope. In short though, they likely had more than enough power in the Hunter-Gratzner powercells to get them through a few months of the eclipse, at least. Longer if they were careful. Johns supposed then that he should be grateful.


The temperature of the twilight day never rose enough to make anyone miss the fans or the misters. In fact River piled out the warmer clothing and sorted it by size, knowing that they would need it now, even if they'd all though they didn't before. Even the Doctor accepted the stack of warmer socks, long underwear, turtlenecked shirt, and jumper. Richard expressed the simple fact that it need not be black and accepted a sky-blue thick knit sweater from her that felt like it would be very warm. She made sure he had a long sleeve undershirt and other items to layer as well.

Paris, of course, had his own things. This didn't stop him from pleading for extra socks however. Jack ended up with stacks of stuff, items that were too small for anyone else except Ali. Some of it fit River, but she'd allowed for that and knew Jack enjoyed having the option of picking what he wanted.

Johns glowered at the fussing girl when she brought him warmer clothes. She shrugged at his expression and left the items for him anyhow. After dark headed girl walked away he looked over the stack and noticed that she managed to get close to his size only erring slightly on the larger side where it might be comfortable, and seemed to have picked stuff that he actually liked. He found that strange, but then again the Tam girl was about as loony as they came. Her brother walked past him heading to his cot with his own stack of clothing. His stuff had been easily located and he had most of his own items. He'd shared with Hassan and Suleiman, making sure the two brothers had enough warm clothes.

Each cot had a constructed drawer under it with spare bedding. Their grooming supplies had been added to this. Johns made a face and pulled the blankets and stuff out so that he could fit his personal stuff that he'd carried here from the office in. In addition to the drawer under the bed, they had a shelf along the wall and a hook or three, depending. Since it was going to take them a couple of weeks longer at least, he finally gave in and started unpacking some of the stuff that he used most. His guns, his cleaning kit for his guns, his belts, his ammo, his computer. He located the emergency blanket in his stuff and walked over to Simon, “You handling the emergency supplies for what should go onto the skiff?”

The Doc-kid looked at him, “Yes.”

“Here, it might be useful.” Johns handed over the sealed packet.

The dark-eyed young man held his eyes for a moment, “I'd like to give you a physical and assess how fast your condition is deteriorating, marshal Johns. Even if you enjoy being addicted a management plan might be necessary to pull you through this.”

“Why? Fry thinks we'll be out of here in three weeks tops.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, “That's if nothing else goes wrong. With our luck we could be looking at six months. Do you have enough morphine to go six months, marshal?”

Johns had to think about that. He really wasn't sure. “Alright, lets look, huh?”

It came down to his having enough to maybe for eight weeks and five days at his current usage. Less if he was stressed. Which meant that Simon's offer was really a good one, but he was less inclined to accept it unless it looked like things were going to go south. He finally said, “I'll tell you if I think it's out of hand, OK? I think right now I'm fine.” Simon frowned at him and offered to store his stash. Johns told him no. The Doc-kid walked out his face twisted in a scowl. Paris glanced at the marshal. The redhead shrugged, “He's a good kid.”

“Better than most, yes. I wonder what happened to his sister to drive him to leaving such a clearly loved profession.”

The merc made a “Meh” sound as he shook out the extra blankets, “Until I see a bounty in black and white for the girl I don't give a shit. No credits, no worries. Why, what do you care?”

“I don't. Just agreeing that he's a good kid and noting that he's a brilliant doctor,” the art dealer fluffed up his pillow and rearranged the cushions in his space. His shelf above his bed was stacked with canned goods, booze, small valuables and lights. The wire on the foot of the bed was fashioned with makeshift hooks that he hung his clothes on, and it was pretty clear that additional canned goods and booze filled his drawer under his bed. He had some of his better textile antiques scattered about his space, and spread on his bed. His preening made Johns take more note of the other spaces.

Some of them had been more proactive in personalizing their spaces than others. Jack and Ali had taken the far end and chosen to decorate the entire area with stuff. They had various bits of games hung on the walls, connected by wires, some of the light up toys scattered on their shared shelves, some of the favorite items littered the floor between their cots.

Just next to them was the older brothers, charged with keeping the youthful clutter inside the line of the younger boy's bunks. Hassan complained, a bit, but then Imam offered to switch with him and he decided that no, he'd gladly stay with his brothers if the priest just spoke with the boys about keeping their stuff cleaned up. He and Suleiman had more subdued decorations, but those games that the older boys liked, books salvaged from the settlement that they'd found interesting, the occasional odd toy, or knickknack decorated their spaces.

Fry's nearly unused cot sat across from Imam's although she worried about his Hajj. After a few hours she convinced Simon to switch with her, so that the holy man and his pilgrims were well in the clear on that. She contended that she'd sleep more in a different location. The swap put her on the same side as Rich, across from River's cot, although River spent most of her time in the Doctor's one that was one further down. In either location she did not have much to move. But then, Simon didn't either.

The ex-ranger, typical to his personality, kept a rather lean personal space, forgoing the shelf (he'd offered to the boys who had asked for it to be placed on the end wall) in favor of wire shiv holders, filled with the better examples of his handy-work. He had most of his clothes folded up in the drawer under the cot, the major exception being a hook for the goggles placed in the ideal location for him to grab them as he got up.

The Doctor's area was practically unused. It had a perfectly made bed. A single hook for the man's coat. An odd book or two tossed onto the upper empty shelf, and some paper flowers. The flowers must have come from the kids. Johns peered at the space again and then noticed the half repaired toy stuck under the pillow. River's space was a riot of stuff, like she'd torn her drawer apart looking for something. No one had made her clean it up.

Paris and Johns had the open end that led into the eating/cooking living space. One because he'd not been there to pick and the other because it was the best lit and the coolest when the misters had been running. Looking at the other small spaces Johns figured that no one would fault him for putting his stuff where he could reach it.

He walked out into the living area and tucked a sagging light back up onto the cable. Around him folks slowly wound down from their 'oh-my-god-it-really-is-happening' state of panic. Most of them just stopped where they were and looked about, as if to see how much they'd gotten done. He almost laughed at the shell-shocked looks they were giving each other. Then, the pale man and Riddick didn't look too shocked at all. They were finishing on hanging more white cloth above them to reflect the light down. It did not escape the merc's attention that some of the cloth was netting, or silver, or just light colored. Much was salvaged from the cargo, anything deemed too small or that they couldn't use in another way. But it was only after he swallowed his pride and asked them what they were doing that he found out that the Doctor expected a drastic temperature drop and was trying to hold in as much of the heat as he could, “For you silly humans.”Johns refused to ask what the hell he meant by that as some thermal hunting blind fabric was hoisted up over the sleeping area.

At the moment when sunrise should have happened, the twelve survivors gathered at the table. The guess was that they might have half a day of clear light, maybe. The single fiber optic left the gauge the sunlight remained dark as they all watched it, then took on a faint ruddy hue, picking up the reflected light from the sunrise. It's still very dark however, and the chances are it is going to stay that way for quite a while.

“Should we attempt to reach your box, Doctor?” Imam asked. Hassan and Suleiman looked on, eager to try if nothing else.

Ogilvie shook his head, “Chances are you'd not make it there to get back here. And even if you did how long do you think it would take to get it out?”

“I still think its a waste of time and resources,” Johns stated. “Focus on the skiff.”

“So - what? Eight of us can make it, and those that worked the hardest stay behind?” Simon asked. “I mean, if you hadn't heard, Carolyn was opting to stay with anyone left here, and River and I can't go into cryo.”

Johns frowned at looked at Fry, “Why you offering to stay?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Company says I'm responsible for everyone that survived, so if my staying might save someone else, I stay behind. Besides, the flight path will be pre-programmed and you can fly the skiff, Johns.” She glanced at the table and sighed, “Even with all the shit you've pulled I trust you with the lives of the others. You can get them to safety and get help for the rest of us.”

“You're fucking out of your mind. Why would you want to stay?”

“Because there are two kids here, Johns. And young people that will have to stay here even though they deserve a chance to live, and - it's only fair.” Fry got up from the table and paced away. After a moment Riddick got up from the table and caught Carolyn by the arm and led her into the sleeping area.

“So, your box, Doctor... Do we try to collect it?”

The Time Lord looked at them all. If the Imam and the pilgrims, and Paris, Johns, Jack and Rich got on the skiff, he could get River, Simon, and Carolyn to the TARDIS and then capture the skiff off planet and save everyone. It was a distant hope, and much could still go wrong. But they had the time now to spare, as long as he could keep a grip on his pheromones. If he went out with those that were at risk then Death would pluck them from him, and that would be that. She hovered in his awareness daring him to challenge her over the claim she was making. “There won't be enough time. Once the sun is up enough to power the 'cat we'll only have a few hours before the planet catches up with it. We might make it there, but we won't make it back.” he shook his head, “Too risky.” He hated to agree with the merc, but it was pointless to be caught out in the desert, with a non-working vehicle, when the eclipse struck.

The ex-ranger and the docking pilot moved back into the eating area just in time to hear Simon, “You really don't think there's any way to reach it before we run out of light? Even if you go yourself and don't try to raise it.”

“Exactly what point would that serve, Doc?” Paris asked. “I mean, he's got to bring it back here anyway, doesn't he?”

River looked for a second like she might contradict the fellow but decided not to say anything. The Doctor took her hand and she slid into his side. “The situation is Simon, that there just is not enough time. Racing it and making mistakes won't help us. We'll stay here and work on the skiff.” The younger man nodded, understanding that there were things that he did not want the art dealer to know.

Carolyn sighed, “So what do we do? Just carry on?”

“How about we take a break from the frantic moment to moment struggle for survival and soak in what sunshine there's gonna be?” Riddick suggested. “Once it's gone it'll be gone for a long time.”

As loath to admit it as he is, William found himself echoing agreement, “He's right. If the engine work is going to take a week to finish and a week to test just to get it to the point it won't go up in a fireball, and we don't know how much time it will take to test the life support... Well, we're looking at a month?”

“Can we survive a month?” Paris inquired.

“Little late to ask that now,” the merc replied. “Pretty stuck as it is, but we got a better chance than the original settlers.

“Why? What did happen to them?”

Johns looked over at Riddick, “Ol' silver eyes here was right. They were in the Coring Room. I'm betting they got caught by a sandstorm two weeks before and because they put up tarps to stop the drill that the natives came up through the hole. Ain't that right, Rich?”

The con nodded. The art dealer looked faint. Iman said, “Then we pray and rest to fortify ourselves through the coming night.” Instead of their frantic panicked actions, they watched for the first rays of the yellow sun’s brave attempt as it fought to cast its rays against the little yellow rocky world. And once the light was bright enough, once the light came they threw open the hanger doors, inner and outer, and gathered on the runway or the doorway and absorbed those last few hours of sunshine, for once not working feverishly, because they knew now that it made no difference. This day would bring darkness as the sun was chased and swallowed by the luminous rings and a dark shield of the gas giant world. They would be stuck here until the skiff was done, and it was better to take the time to pay homage to their protector one last time than to ignore it and have regrets later. Imam led them, all but Johns, in prayer. Even the Doctor and Riddick were respectful although they didn’t actually join in the repeating the words.

The Time Lord stood focused on his ship, hand clutched around the key, mentally screaming for her to respond and come to him. Reality was repaired now, she could make the hop. In response he received a sweet mental whisper, and a definite refusal. She was unharmed. He was unharmed. And if he really thought about it, there were ways to get to her, even after darkness fell. She challenged him to come up with one.

For once it was Richard that steadied and grounded the Doctor and not the other way around. The large but skilled hand that settled on his shoulder eased the tension away. Neither man said anything as the watched the shadows shorten, the shimmering bands climbing ever closer to the star that still gave them light, and the desperate prayers of the others looking for a absent higher power to help them.

Both knew that they should be doing something, but they were reluctant to look away from the sunshine, the last they would see here for a very long time. It was the ex-ranger’s presence that caused the Doctor to see the TARDIS’s actions in a new light. Even though Simon was ready to leave, the con had not yet learned everything he was meant to learn. They couldn’t leave yet. He let the key go, allowed it to settle back into his pocket. The decision to stay prompted his tapestry of choices to rearrange. Suddenly he saw only one way off this planet. No matter what he did, people were going to die here. Some of them had been living on borrowed time since the crash.

He really hated knowing that.

The rings of the giant planet caught up to the yellow sun just before noon, casting the entire world into ruddy twilight. The red star never made it out from behind the dark and light bands leaving them tinged bloody red throughout the morning. Paris was the first to realize that they shouldn’t be outside once the light failed while the others are totally mesmerized by the eerie sound of countless voices screeching out their joy at the freedom from the light, “I do believe we should be inside.” He managed to get to his feet and back away as the noise coming from the canyon grew. Off that way another darkness, like smoke, was pouring from the spire-tops. The misty cloud formed waved, roped, and eddied as countless hatchlings danced, with mass intelligence, through the sky, squealing in delight. He backed slowly toward the hanger not once removing his eyes from the eerie sight.

“Jesus, how many can there....” murmured Johns from the inner doorway.

The living gravity-defying soot kept rising, filling the deep ruddy sky with thick ripples of dark and darker. Mercifully for the survivors as most of them remained kneeling or siting, spellbound, twisted to watch the black forms against the deep orange-brown sky, the hatchlings were too caught up in their new freedom to be hunting. The bulk of them were moving away from the Hanger.

The Doctor felt the entire situation shift as the mass intelligence woke fully to the fact that it was night. He's shocked at how cunning and smart it is, although totally violent and selfish. Part of him wanted to rush out and start grabbing people and getting them inside. But Richard was gripping his left shoulder, hard, and he can barely retain his own thoughts with the pressure. Next to him he hears the whisper, “Beautiful...”

He twisted his head to see that Richard had his goggles off and is staring at the deadly life. He turned his own head back and dared to switch on his night vision. Richard was right, the sight was beautiful. Deadly to the extreme, but awesomely beautiful. He was quivering inside as his awareness kicked in to the possibility that someone might die here as one flowing branch cleaved from rest -- and gracefully twisted through the air until it headed their direction.

“Just a suggestion, but perhaps we should be moving inside,” the art dealer said again.

This time they listened; Fry ordering, “Come on, into the hanger, let’s go!” everyone scrambled to their feet and began snatching up various items of worship before heading in a fast clip to the doors.

Both con and Time Lord snapped out of their daze, one rushing to the door controls the other whipping out his sonic device to form a shield that would drive back the hatchlings that were speeding their way. River reached the door, one arm full, the other dragging Paris. Riddick was waiting to close the outer portal, but wouldn’t if there were people still outside. The pilgrims must gather up their rugs and their books, and they scoop them up in a mad rush. Fry skidded to a halt at the Doctor’s side; then Simon and Jack arrived. Imam was urging Ali to hurry, finally resorting to grabbing the boy, “The rug is not as important as your life, child.” The sharp black cloud was close enough now for them to hear the clicking of their teeth and claws as they snapped at the flowing cloth. Abu passed the Doctor with Hassan and Suleiman on his heels. The Time Lord raised his sonic screwdriver, and it, with a high pitched whine, forced the hatchlings to swerve away.

They screamed with anger as the tiny metallic tube with a pinprick burn on the tip in that pale hand cheated them from their meal. The Doctor tugged the docking pilot back as he stepped inside the outer hanger door. Not until the metal hit the floor with a clang did he lower the device. Soon after there was the pelting sound of a thousand tiny claws trying to cut their way into the Hanger on the main entrance. The survivors backed further into the enclosed space. Hassan and Imam pushed the inner doors closed as soon as they were all clear. It was only after that Johns said from his position inside a patch of blue glow, “And so it begins.”

Beyond this were deeper clicking, larger wails, and the sound of crumbling dirt. Fry looked to Riddick as the sound built, “What is it? That noise? What’s happening?” Because thus far the only thing she’d encountered were the little ones. River whimpered. Simon dropped the implements and bowls that he’d grabbed from the prayer circle and enclosed Mei-Mei in his arms.

“Like I told you. Ain't me you gotta worry about,” Riddick replied.

The Tam scion swallowed, “The adults are emerging from the burrows.” Through his little sister he felt them, climbing, digging, launching, and soaring through the cooling air, ready to hunt and eat. Searching for the red blood that they found so appealing.

Outside, the gas giant’s bulk overtook both suns. The world went dark. Howls of glee filled the air.

“Quiet, please. Everyone,” said Imam as he listened to the sounds through the doors. The others piled up alongside him their ears tuned like radar. Clicking in waves swept over the outer door and echoed between it and the inner one.

Jack whispered, “Why do they do that? Make that sound?”

Abu thought and then replied, “Perhaps, it is the way they see. With sound, reflecting back.”

“Echo-location. That's what it is....” Paris said.

Carolyn Fry was shaking. After all she’d done, all she’d struggled with, the drive to live that caused her to make such bad choices, she was reduced to a frightened child faced with phantoms that are all too real. What if the doors weren’t strong enough? What if the roof wasn’t? What if the light failed? She was so tired.

“So. Now what?” Suleiman asked.

“What is that doohickey you used to drive off the hatchlings?” Johns cut in. He sounded accusing again, but was careful to not actually voice it.

Imam stepped in, “Let us gather around the table and eat. We need clear heads and empty bellies don’t lend themselves to such things.”

Instead of answering the marshal’s question the Doctor moved silently to the hotplate and began the process of cooking. Simon and River stepped in to assist him, equally quiet. The three seem to function as an extension of each other, to Johns’ way of looking at it. As if there wasn’t enough fucked up things going on here, now there was this. He looked over at Sir-Shiv-a-Lot, “What is that gizmo he used to force the hatchlings back?”

“How should I know? Some sonic toy of his, I suspect. Maybe if you help out with the table or something you’ll actually get fed this time,” Richard replied as he and Carolyn began to set the table. Johns made a face and took the stack of silverware that Fry was holding out to him. He set out the place-settings.

Jack and Ali fetched water from the reclamation unit now functioning on battery power for both the meal and the cleanup after. Paris settled one of his antique vases in the center of the table filled with paper flowers from an activity book that Jack, Ali and River followed to create over the process of staying out of the adults’ way. Soon there was a hot meal on the table, water, wine, and tea to drink. Even Johns was included, which was a first in over a day. After a short prayer food was passed around and quiet talk started up in scattered conversations. It was hard to act as though everything was normal when there were creatures lusting after your blood just outside the door. “How soon can the skiff be ready?” Paris asked from across the table.

“Don’t know. River’s been double-checking my work, and what she’s found hasn’t been promising. I need to take a break from it and get more than two hours of sleep,” Fry replied. “Maybe another week for the rough rewire? A week for testing? Two would be better.”

“Then by all means, Carolyn, rest. The Skiff is not going anywhere. And neither are we until it is done. However long it takes. Dr. Tam, do you have anything that can help Carolyn get sleep?” Imam inquired.

“A small glass of wine wouldn’t be amiss, actually.”

The docking pilot made a face as Paris poured her a glass. At the far end of the table the boys chattered on about the creatures, oblivious to the nightmare inducing reality of the situation, as of yet. To them it was all too surreal.

Off at one end of the table, feeling dizzy and disconnected, the Doctor sipped his tea, played with his food (what little of it he’d taken), and let everything just wash over him. It had been over two weeks since he’d touched his ship. It had been over a week since he slept soundly. His eyes drifted over the group, and settled on the one thing keeping him here. The con was silently watching his blue-eyed-devil. It was as if Fate herself was determined to make sure that bond was completed. As if - No. Romana set this up. He wasn't sure why, but she was the only one that could have. Had she asked the TARDIS to bring him here and keep him here until the bond was finalized? If so would he have been able to leave with more of them alive if he'd not fought it? Or was there something else here, something he was overlooking. His eyes drifted back to River and he caught out of the corner of his eye that odd blackish sludge again. What was that?

Johns pushed away his empty plate and drained his glass. He leaned back, “I thought you said the rough wiring was done this morning because you had six hands working on it, Fry.”

“One side,” she agreed. “We have possible control on one side, I still need to do the other, and even when it's done that doesn’t mean you can just slap in the 160 gigs of power and go, Johns. One loose connection and the entire system will burn out like a string of firecrackers,” Carolyn said before she yawned. “I’m gonna get some sleep. I’ve been burning the midnight oil so long that I don’t even remember what it feels like to be not tired.” The blond pushed away from the table and set her dishes beside the sink.

Its exactly what Paris has been telling Johns the entire time. He expects the marshal will ignore Fry’s words just as his own were. “Who’s doing the dishes?” asks Imam.

The pilgrims jumped up and began gathering dirty plates and bowls and moving over to the sink. For a change, Rich let them do it. His mind was too busy trying to figure out what the merc was planning.

Johns sighed and wandered into the sleep area too, he was feeling the need for a hit, and the boys were too excited to sleep, so he could do this here. Fry already knew about it. She walked over to his bunk with her cheeks slightly pink from the wine. “That stuff really that good?” she asked.

He paused with the ampule in his fingers and then slid it into the needle, “Sometimes. It sorta sneaks up on you, you know? Like - I don't know, a good lover?”

“One that gives you so much hell you feel physically ill if you ignore it?”

“Yeah.” Johns looked at her. “You look like shit, Carolyn. Get some sleep.”

She sighed. “I just wonder what you might be like sober. That's all.” the blond headed back to her bunk.

“I was - hyper, back in the day. Grew up on a piss-ant mining world with deep pit mines. My pa had lots of kids, but no one woman would put up with him long. He made good money though, and so the court kept giving him custody. My oldest sister got married at fourteen to get the fuck away from him. She told the judge that raising other woman's little shits made her old inside, and she wanted a good man to take her off that soggy pit before the old showed up outside. He allowed her to stay married.” William settled down on his bunk. “My other sisters followed suit, my brothers ended up diggers just like pa. Me? The school said I was smart but a troublemaker. They suggested military academy. It was my ticket out. How about you Fry?”

“Um?” she sounded sleepy, which he supposed was good. “Well... my parents were joined by strong chains, I guess. They stayed together, roaming about, all over. Stayed one step ahead of dept, barely. Then they settled on Scorpio, my brother got a scholarship as a mechanic. He was brilliant. If it was a machine he could fix it. He taught me what he knew. Which was really a hell of a lot. But I wanted to be a pilot. Not many slots for women open. I had to apply a bunch of times, push really hard to get them to even look at the apps. Once they did they awarded me enough of a scholarship to hook me in. My folks took off, after that. Last I heard they'd gotten caught for some scam or another. And of course - I'm footing the bill.”

Johns shot up while she was talking, and sank into the wonderful feel of the high. He was able to rouse himself enough to respond, “Ah, that bites. But Company runs that way. What your brother do?”

She let off a laugh, “Fled to Blue Sun, changed his name, got married and started raising cows. Last I heard he had something like fourteen girls, no boys and about thirty grandkids. Keeps inviting me to come live there...” He heard her shift in her bunk, “Cows - can you imagine ... me with kids and cows?”

He froze as his mind actually conjured up a bunch of towheaded and carrot-topped kids running barefoot through a dusty yard on some unknown backwater, laughing with glee. The sound of distant cattle floated on the breeze along with the tinkle of bells and the cluck of chickens. And when he looked up at the house there she was, dressed in some simple floral smock that graced her slim form with a baby on her hip, a smile on her face, and the sun in her golden hair. There's a sense of peace and happiness. He blinks back the sudden onslaught of tears. “You know what, Fry?”

“Um?” she's nearly out now.

“I can't...” There's a soft snore. Damn it all, if she didn't fall asleep on him. He got to his feet and swayed forward until he saw her face. She was out cold and peaceful for a change. The blue-green lights and his own sense of soaring made him see something more than just a tired, guilty, burnt out, wanna-be killer. She glowed. William blinked at her, seeing again that smiling vision. She was beautiful. He was a loser that didn't deserve her. “ -- Not without me...” And he realized then that maybe he did need the kid-Doc's help. He idly wondered if he'd remember this when he was sober.