When he gets home Dolores, the imagined Dolores in his head, gives him a rough time over the whole business, which is not surprising. I know I screwed up, OK? I let her distract me when I should have been listening, should have picked up the signs.

No, I was not hoping for more than a kiss. Dammit Dolores. You know I'd never-

I didn't let her, she just did it.

You think what you like, she's dead. That matters more to me than your misplaced jealousy.

Another drink later he can't stand the silence any more. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I let her down, I let you down."

He thinks this will be enough to get her attention. After all, an apology from him is practically gold dust.

But there's no reply, nothing, no sound at all except the clink of a tumbler on the neck of a bottle.

He sleeps for fourteen hours and then rises in an absolutely foul temper. His siblings stay well clear. Klaus brings him coffee with a pantomime of extreme terror, but for once says nothing. None of them do, they just look at him with sad eyes and wry, pitying smiles.

Their pity is worse than their gabbling.

He drinks coffee, drinks some more, throws in a slug of whisky and drinks more.

Now he's OK. He's fine. And, even though the girl is gone, he can go and look for her soul machine. There's a chance the Registrars didn't find it in the chaos of the chase.

There's a chance it will still work, and can put him back in his old body… if he can find that.

He knows it's hopeless, even as he lies to Klaus about going out for donuts. He ignores the poor logic and the fact that sentiment is driving him to search the basement for … something.

He walks to the old mall, slouching, watching the traffic. It's weird here. No phones, no internet in your hand. He only experienced the so-called present-day for a brief period, but he liked the internet very much. Back here, everything is old school.

And because he abandoned his one true friend, and screwed up his chance of making another one, he is alone.

Suddenly he tires of walking, and flashes directly to the department store.

By a long-odds coincidence the soul machine is on the floor in the women's changing room, right where he'd pointed it at the Registrars. He picks it up in his handkerchief, and turns it over. It appears dead.

Typical. But perhaps it can be fixed. Perhaps it holds more clues to the Registrars, or clues to aliens, and powers.

There is, ostensibly, no need to go to the basement. He's found what he came looking for.

Hasn't he?

He is in the elevator, then in the basement again, before he can justify his actions.

This time, he finds the light switch and uses it.

The place is a wreck. Store props and worthless stock. An apocalypse of unwanted things. Story of his life.

Not just your life.

Her voice, tinted lilac now like an echo. Five whirls around.

I have spent my life preventing other people living theirs. Monitoring how they used the privilege of a fresh body, punishing them if they were not worthy. Believe me, it sucks more that the soul machine.

"Where are you?" he whispers.

Now she's silent.

"Are you dead, or not? What happened?" Why can he hear her? Is this his mind again, playing tricks? Who, exactly, is he imagining?

I'm sorry, she says. I would have told you. But I was afraid you'd stop me.

From killing yourself, yes. Damn right. He puts down the soul machine, and hunts about. If she's here, he's going to find her.

That wasn't my plan. I screwed up. Have you ever screwed up, Five?

A dig, at a time like this! "You know I have."

So cut me a little slack. This wasn't my intention, I promise you.

"Where are you?"

He knows, now, what she's done. When she stood up to take the brunt of the Registrars' attack, it wasn't suicide. Not quite.

She's got her soul sucked out of her - and into some object, some worthless piece of junk that will dry out her soul until there's nothing of her left. Nobody talks to a toaster.

It's all right, she says.

"It's not all right, dammit. You know it."

I know you're too stubborn to accept defeat.

"I can't believe you would do this."

Silence. Then she says, Why did you come after me?

"I -" She has a point. And by beginning a sentence, he just admitted to her, and himself, that it was her he came back for. "I don't know," he says. For once, he feels very young.

There's a ripple in his mind. She's laughing.

"Nothing about this is funny," he says.

You have to have a sense of humour to survive.

He rubs his hands over his eyes. "Please. Just tell me where you are. I promise I will …"

Talk to me every day for thirty years?

He freezes. "What are you talking about?" Talking. Talking to her will keep her soul alie. Klaus did it for Ben, and Ben had no container at all. Five begins tearing at the junk. One of these useless junkpiles contains her. One of them is her. He scrambles over boxes and bags, tumbling their contents haphazardly across the floor.

Right here, she says. And I'm already dying for a drink.

"Where-" And then he sees it.

The basement holds a million objects, but the object nearest to Five right now is a mannequin.

Not just any mannequin. This mannequin's face is smooth and new, and as the fluorescent lights flicker overhead, Five sees that she has large bright eyes and a serene, loving expression.

He freezes. His throat is dry. Words will not come.

He picks her up, wraps her in a nearby packing sheet, and sits with her in his arms. He cannot speak. She says nothing as he wipes her cheek with his thumb.

At last he says, "What's your name?"

And she tells him.

THE END