A shot of pain in his left arm brought back a crash of vague and fleeting memories, the dying embers of a swiftly fading dream. His head was throbbing and he felt ever so slightly nauseous, as though he'd been drinking all night rather than gallivanting around the Underworld with Mary.

Then it hit him that the sound he'd heard wasn't a river, but had in fact been a toilet flushing. He took a second look at his surroundings and realized with a sinking dread that he was in a public restroom. Judging from the amount of pink used, it was a women's restroom. And he wasn't alone.

He scrambled the rest of the way to his feet, quickly slipping out the door just as the bathroom's other occupant emerged from the stall. He took a moment to get his bearings, then headed for the ICU. Every nerve in his body cried out in protest, yet he pushed himself to run through the nearly deserted hospital corridors.

He ran up three flights of stairs, certain that if his heart were still beating it would have exploded by now. The hallway seemed impossibly long, stretching for miles in front of him. He could see James and Deanna standing together outside a room, tiny specks in the far distance. It seemed that hours passed before he reached them.

Tristan: "Is Mary…"
James: "Fine. Awake. The nurses are dealing with her. I'm on my way to check on Emily now; Markus and Abigail are with her-you guys very nearly ran out of time."

James turned without another word, walking solemnly back the direction Tristan had just come from. Tristan looked at Deanna with confusion, which was quickly joined by guilt. He could tell by the red around her eyes that she'd been crying, though she'd done a good job of covering it up.

Tristan: "Deanna, I'm so sorry."
Deanna: "I'm not ready for this right now, Tristan. You'd better hurry and go with James. I'm going to stay here with Mary. Just… come and get me when you're ready to leave."

Deanna echoed James, turning and walking away in silence. Tristan stole a glance into Mary's room, briefly catching her eye. She smiled weakly at him, mouthing the word 'Go'. He nodded, running to catch up with James.

Tristan: "Where is Emily?"
James: "First floor. She was in surgery."
Tristan: "But we got her back in time, right?"
James: "According to Markus, just."

James: "Tristan-"
Tristan: "Yeah, I know. I'm a bastard."
James: "I was actually going to say I'm glad you made it back all right."
Tristan: "Oh."

The elevator doors opened silently, revealing Markus and Abigail standing together at the end of the hallway. Markus looked grim and somewhat angry--the face of someone tired of dealing with insanity. Abigail looked mildly bemused, a calm contrast to her grandson.

Tristan: "How is she?"
Markus: "She's going to live, but what happened to her… it was traumatic to say the least."
Tristan: "I know. I've gone through it."
Markus: "They don't put dead bodies on painkillers, Tristan. They'd already started to cut her open."

Tristan closed his eyes, trying not to think too hard about what it must have been like for her. He could only hope she wouldn't be able to remember much after returning to her body.

Tristan: "Is she awake?"
Markus: "No. After she woke up they started the morphine pretty quick, but she was… they had to sedate her. They just moved her up to the ICU, room 313 I think. It'll be a few days before we know if there's any lasting damage from all of this."

Tristan: "But she'll live. We saved her."
Markus: "You got lucky."

Tristan flinched at the anger in Markus's voice. He couldn't recall ever seeing him angry in all the years they'd known each other--the display was disconcerting.

Markus: "They may not let you in to see her tonight. Personally, I'm going home. You guys do whatever you want, it's not like you wouldn't anyway."

James: "Needless to say he didn't approve of the plan."
Tristan: "Clearly."

James: "Listen, I'm going home. I need to be alone for a while."
Tristan: "I just have to see her. To know for sure that it worked."

Tristan stared at the floor, trying to avoid his friend's piercing gaze. James seemed to be having an inner debate, carefully weighing out his words.

James: "You should probably take Deanna home soon."
Tristan: "Right."

Tristan found himself alone for the first time in what felt like days. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't work out just how much time had actually gone by. According to the clock on the wall, a mere 4 hours had passed. The exhaustion in his body indicated it was far longer.

He made his way back up to the third floor, heading in the opposite direction of Mary's room. A nurse was just leaving a room at the end of the hall, hardly giving him a passing glance as he walked by.

Events seemed to repeat themselves as he stepped through the doorway and into Emily's room. The lighting was the same subdued glow of machinery; the only sound the quiet pulse of the heart monitor. Even the smell was the same. He wondered fleetingly if he was perhaps reliving the nightmare again, that he'd reach her side and find that she was still dead. He approached her side with caution, slowly and carefully making his way across the room.

Her body was ravaged, her arms swathed in fresh gauze, seemingly more permanent than the previous bandages had been. With a sting of distress he noted new bandaging around her chest, a grim reminder of just how lucky they'd really been. Even though she was as still as the last time he'd seen her, he knew for certain that he and Mary had been successful. The woman before him was more than a body, more than just an empty shell.

As he reached over and brushed aside a strand of hair from her forehead, her eyes flickered open briefly. There was recognition in her gaze, visible even through the pain. A fraction of a second later her eyes were closed again, the lines on her face ever so slightly softened.