Several hours passed in a flurry of disjointed phone calls, panicked or concerned citizens coming into the station to report anything from a broken window to a missing cat. Charlie had already stopped counting the number of missing animals, sure they would most likely reappear within the next few days. He had a feeling the cats and dogs had more brains than their owners and decided to hide before the storm. Though when a farmer came to report he was missing half a dozen of sheep, Charlie just grimaced and wrote down the report, secretly thinking the chances of those poor animals to be found alive were rather slim. Especially knowing their last whereabouts was in the direction of the tornado.

When old Ms. Franklin came in complaining about someone breaking her window with a tree branch and Charlie had to spend the next twenty minutes trying to explain to the mostly deaf and senile woman that there had been a storm and chances were it was the culprit and not her next door neighbours, Charlie was seriously starting to regret his decision to come to the station.

Right now, the only real help he was offering was that he saved manpower and eased up one or two people to go outside and do something that actually helped. It wouldn't have been so bad, if not for the throbbing of his shoulder. Even though he was left-handed, Charlie realized very quickly how many things a person did with both hands. Or that the simple fact he had to adjust his posture to accommodate the sling while trying to write as fast as he could on the typewriter with only five fingers was a major pain in the... shoulder.

Really, the only bright point of the day for Charlie was a short visit from Rose. She only stopped by to get some information about the damages so she could write her report for the Courier, but Charlie still enjoyed her company. Especially when she spotted the sling and her face scrunched up in worry. Charlie felt a twinge of warmth inside his stomach at the realization she still cared for him. When she inquired about what happened, Charlie told her a short version, quite enjoying the widening eyes and look of excitement on her face. He would have gone into more detail as her pen scribbled frantically in her journal, but a clearing of a throat from Lawson brought an end to that.

"I believe sergeant Davis gave you all the vital information at this moment, Miss Anderson," Lawson said with a pointed look towards several people in the hall waiting to make their inquiry or report a problem.

Rose blinked.

"But uncle Matthew-" she started and stopped when she saw the look change into a glare. She realized this was not the right moment and with a sigh turned back to Charlie.
"Maybe we can pick this up later?" she asked, hope colouring her voice.

Charlie knew she really just wanted a story. He knew not to get his hopes up too much. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to their meeting.

"Maybe you can stop by at the house? Once things calm down," Charlie offered and was rewarded by a shining smile.

"Deal. See you later, Charlie. Take care."

Then she stepped towards her uncle and leaned in a bit, lowering her voice so Charlie didn't hear what she said. But he could see Lawson's eyes turning towards him for a second, then back to Rose with an eye roll.

"Why don't you go do your reporting and let me do my job?" he grunted, though there was no real harshness behind it. Rose huffed a bit and Charlie expected her to speak up about how she is trying to do her job, but in the end she seemed to have given up.

"See you later, uncle Matthew," she said with a cheeky smile and with a wink at Charlie left the office. Lawson let out a longsuffering sigh, muttering under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like 'Should have left her with her mother'.

Charlie couldn't stop the chuckle, though he managed to at least cover it up as a cough when Lawson's head turned his way.

"Anything on your mind, Sergeant Davis?" the man asked and Charlie knew that saying anything that crossed his mind right now would only mean quick death. So he shook his head and diverted his gaze back towards the phone, as if hoping a call would save him. No luck there.

"Nope, Boss. Nothing at all."

Lawson grunted noncommittally and turned back to his own work.

Charlie let out a silent sigh, jumping slightly as his phone rang. Back to work then it was.

At long last, the trickle of phone calls and emergencies seemed to die down. It was getting late and most emergency situations had been already taken care of. There were really only few farms affected on the outskirts of the town that would require more help. Charlie didn't know all the details, but he was aware of at least two families which had lost their house to the tornado, or who had to temporarily relocate until severe repairs were done. Some livestock went missing or had been found dead and many windows and roofs were damaged, but fortunately... and maybe even miraculously, so far there was no death reported.

Charlie could hardly believe that, especially after witnessing the strength of the tornado first hand. Just thinking about the unnatural force rushing over their heads made him shudder. His body reacted to the memory as if it was happening. Muscles went taunt, preparing to receive a blow. Charlie's ears became suddenly stuffed and he felt that strange pressure inside his skull just like before they drove into the storm.

"Davis?"

Charlie blinked. He was sitting behind a desk, at work. In front of him was his boss, giving him a look that seemed surprisingly like concern.

Charlie cleared his throat, running his tongue over dry lips.

"Sorry, Boss," he muttered, sure that Lawson had been trying to get his attention for a while now. Why else would the man be standing in front of his desk, staring at him?

"Maybe you should head home," Lawson spoke, his words just confirming Charlie's thoughts.

Charlie automatically shook his head.

"I'm fine Boss," he started, even though he realized how untrue that statement was. He felt cold and tired, as if he had just crawled out of that cellar, still in wet clothes. The hand that was holding a pen was slightly shaking and Charlie squeezed the instrument harder. His throat was parched and his right shoulder was throbbing in rhythm with the pulsing sound inside his ears. There was not one exact point that hurt, more like his whole right side was just sore, with the pain focusing in the joint.

Lawson raised an eyebrow.

"Blake called in. He's heading to the hospital with a patient, then he's coming here to pick you up," Lawson stated and Charlie blinked. He wasn't aware Blake knew he made it to work. Seeing the confused look on his face, Lawson sighed.

"You really thought I didn't ask him whether to leave you here or send you home?" Lawson shook his head. "Finish whatever you are doing, Davis and take a break. I don't want Blake chewing my head off for letting you overdo it."

Charlie felt his face warm up. He wanted to protest but realized that saying he was fine would hardly cut it. On one side, he could somehow appreciate Lawson's care, however grumpily he showed it, on the other he really disliked his health being discussed without his input. After all it wasn't as if he was the only one to suffer some ailment that day... and Charlie wasn't at Blake's back constantly checking whether the man was alright or if he was caught in a flashback.

Though even as that thought crossed his mind, Charlie realized in a way, he was doing the same. Keeping an eye on Blake, even if it was just through the radio.

"I'll just... grab something to drink," Charlie muttered and stood, grimacing as the movement jarred his shoulder. Maybe he should actually take some of those pills Blake gave him before the Doc arrives. If he saw him right now, Charlie was pretty sure he would get that 'I told you this was a stupid idea' look on his face. Charlie didn't want that... nor did he want Blake chewing Lawson out. That would only result in Lawson not letting him work next time the situation went haywire.

Charlie snuck his hand into the pocket of his jacket and without really reading the label shook out two pills. It was most likely aspirin and one would hardly cut it in time for him to appear unbothered when Blake came.

He walked over to the small kitchen they had in the corner of the office, mostly serving as a place to make coffee or tea for distracted people or witnesses reporting crime. It was a wonder what a cup of tea could do to calm the nerves. Charlie poured himself a glass of water and quickly downed the pills. Then he turned on the kettle and waited for the water to boil. He was leaning slightly against the counter, closing his eyes for a moment.

The weariness hit him like a train. Somehow all the energy he had has evaporated and his body felt shaky, legs too weak to support his weight. Charlie leaned into the counter harder. Two younger constables had just entered the office and headed straight to the counter.

"Enough water for all of us, Serg?" one of them asked and Charlie nodded casually. He hoped the men didn't note how his hand was shaking or the chills that went through his frame. Charlie was trying to control his breathing, gritting his teeth and praying for the moment of weakness to pass.

'What the hell was happening?'

Suddenly everything seemed just a bit too bright, a bit too loud. It was as if his nerve endings had woken up and were sending out confused signals. Only now did Charlie realize how blissfully numb he felt ever since the tornado.

His stomach churned and the floor seemed to wave slightly. Charlie gulped. The two men didn't seem to notice, they kept talking to each other. About damaged roofs. About seeing a car lying in a ditch, looking like a tin can that became a victim of an angry child.

"Man, it was so scrunched up! Old Webster was lucky as hell he wasn't inside when the tornado started tossing that car around." The cop laughed while the other one just shook his head in disbelief.

"I still don't believe you," he muttered. "Tornado in Ballarat?"

"Yeah, who woulda thought. What's next... a tsunami?"

They both chuckled but Charlie didn't. His left hand was clutching the counter with such a force it was turning white.

Scrunched up cars.

It would have been so easy to just have stayed in the car. But at what risk? Charlie's mind went to the state the farm house was left in when the tornado had passed. Torn in half... as if something cut through it. The painting still dangling slightly on the undamaged part of the wall.

The water in the kettle started boiling, the sound too loud. The whistle made Charlie jump, he could barely stop the yelp. Both men looked at him in surprise.

"You alright, sergeant?" the younger one asked.

Charlie gave a nod and his hand fumbled to turn the kettle off. He needed that blasted whistling to stop.

His hand was clumsy though and he inadvertently put it in the way of escaping steam.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, this time yelping from pain. He let the kettle be, angry at himself and the world.

"Sergeant?" one of the cops took the handle and poured the water into the cups, while the other walked around the counter, most likely wanting to check if everything was alright.

"Am fine," he muttered. "Fine." Without a second glance at anyone in the office, Charlie pushed around the men hastily and headed towards the bathroom. His hand was burning and he kept cursing himself.

'Way to go, Davis. Mess up your only good hand. Smart move.'

He walked into the bathroom that was thankfully empty. Clumsily and with more grunted curses on his lips, Charlie managed to turn on the faucet. Putting his hand under the spray of cold water brought at least some relief.

Charlie let out a sigh and wished he could just sit down, put his hand in a bowl of cold water and close his eyes. The bathroom at least wasn't as noisy as the office, but still the running water felt uncomfortably loud to his senses right now.

The door to the bathroom opened and Charlie was of half mind to shout that it's occupied, to just leave him the hell alone for a few minutes. He opened his mouth, but closed it as he saw the person in the mirror. It was Lawson.

He had stepped inside the bathroom, then leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised as he was giving Charlie the look.

"Bad day, Davis?"

Charlie let out something between a chuckle and a whimper.

"Yeah... I think so," he said after a moment, his voice breaking. The coldness of the water seemed to seep through the skin of his hand and right into his bloodstream. He wanted to think that the chills running through his body were caused by the cold, but he knew it wasn't true. With a hitched breath he pulled his hand out from under the faucet and took a few steps back, leaning his back against the wall. His chest felt tight and the room was starting to spin.

Charlie blinked as the light flickered. There was a loud rushing sound in his ears and his heart skipped a beat. Was that the rumble of the tornado? Was it coming back? Were they safe here?

"Come on, easy. Just breathe."

Lawson was standing in front of him, the typical glare for once replaced by genuine concern. Charlie looked at him wide eyed, unsure when the man even moved. But he felt his hands on his good shoulder and elbow, leading him down to the floor awkwardly. Charlie thought Lawson was pushing him towards the ground, but in truth his own legs gave out and the man was just slowing down the pull of gravity.

Clumsily, Charlie's butt ended on the floor and it was proof of how miserable he felt that he didn't even worry about sitting on the bathroom floor.

Lawson grunted as he leaned down, his own bum leg most likely giving a loud protest over being in such an uncomfortable position. But he didn't get up, instead he tapped Charlie's face, requesting his attention.

"Charlie? What's the matter? What's wrong?" he kept asking until Charlie swallowed and somehow managed to put together a reply.

"I c-can't stop... shaking," he said, his teeth clanging together as another shudder wracked his body. Lawson frowned, his hand landing on Charlie's forehead. The hand felt nice and warm but Charlie couldn't help but recoil. This was his boss for goodness sake. He had to pull himself together. He had to stop whatever was happening.

The problem was he didn't know what was wrong. All he knew was this overwhelming feeling of dread that overpowered all his senses. It made every sound too loud, every colour too bright. Charlie felt as if there was something heavy pushing at him from up above, pushing him to the ground. Making it hard to breath.

The door to the bathroom opened again and Charlie could hear a surprised voice.

"Boss? Everything al-"

"Leave!" Lawson barked at the intruder and the door slammed shut. Lawson turned back towards Charlie. "It's alright. You just need to breathe, Charlie. Calm down. You are alright."

It was almost surreal to hear Lawson talk in such a gentle tone. Charlie wished he could have appreciated the moment more, but right now he was struggling to keep some control over his traitorous body.

Charlie shook his head, trying to clear it of the dark spots puttering his vision.

This wasn't making any sense.

Was he dying? What was happening?

Charlie's head swivelled, looking all around the bathroom. The walls felt too close. Was there even any air? Or did the tornado suck all of it out? Will the ceiling fall down on top of them, burying them alive? Or would they be sucked out and become just another plaything for the twisting monster?

His mind was a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts and Charlie just wished for it to stop. He felt nausea creep up on him and when Lawson's face seemed to swim to the side, Charlie shut his eyes tight.

There was a hand at the back of his head, first offering support, then pressure. It was pushing his head forward until it rested on a bony shoulder. Charlie's shoulder screamed in protest but he didn't fight back. He heard the soft rumbling voice telling him just to breath and relax and he did so.

Several minutes passed by and Charlie's back was cranking up from the strange position. But it helped. Breathing seemed to become easier and the rushing in his ears started to decrease. Charlie could have stayed like this forever, falling asleep.

Until he recognized the voice as Lawson and the reality of the situation came back to him with a crash.

He was in the bathroom, on the floor, using Lawson as a pillow.

Charlie's whole body went rigid.

"Charlie?" Lawson noted the change.

Charlie grit his teeth, wishing he could be anywhere else. Pulling together all the courage he had left, he raised his head from the shoulder and leaned back against the wall.

"B-boss?" he spoke shakily. "Sorry, I... I don't... sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes. He felt Lawson's examining gaze on him and Charlie tried hard not to squirm. His eyes slipped down to his lap and he could see his left hand was still shaking. Blasted body, betraying him in such a way.

To his credit, Lawson cleared his throat and stood up, wincing as his own leg protested.

"Delayed shock reaction," he explained. "Nothing to be sorry for. Though maybe next time when Blake tells you to stay home, you will listen."

Charlie gave a nod, feeling his face flush crimson.

"Davis?" Lawson spoke and it was clear he wanted Charlie to give him his attention.

Charlie looked up, taken aback when he still found only concern and understanding on his superiors face instead of the disdain or disapproval he would have expected from anyone else.

"Are you alright now?" the man asked and Charlie gulped. He gave a slow nod, even though he still didn't know what had just happened.

"I c-couldn't stop shaking," he muttered, as if in explanation. Lawson's eyes slipped down to his hands, the right one turned into a fist inside the sling, the left one twitching nervously.

Lawson sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked suspiciously like one of Blake's flasks.

"It's the nerves, nothing else. Here... take a few sips."

Charlie looked at the flask doubtfully. He wasn't one for hard liquor and Blake's taste in whiskey didn't sit well with him.

"Come on. It will calm you down."

"I shouldn't... at work," he gave a feeble protest, even though his hand was reaching out for the flask.

"You were off duty the moment you rushed out the office, Davis," Lawson told him with a snort. "You're just waiting for your ride home."

Charlie could hardly argue with that. He took the flask and cringed as his hand twitched, almost spilling its content. Lawson raised an eyebrow.

Charlie put the flask to his lips. This whole episode left him thirsty and maybe a drop of whiskey would warm his bones and calm his insides. With some hesitation, he took a small sip, then pulled it away with a grimace.

"Ugh."

Lawson chuckled.

"Maybe take a gulp instead? That's not Jean's cherry in there... "

Charlie could agree with that. Jean's cherry actually tasted good. This slosh... well. Though he had to admit, it warmed his throat. With a sigh he put the flask back to his lips and without too much thinking he took several large gulps. Hell, maybe the liquor could chase away the shame of using his boss as a pillow.

"Okay, that shall be enough," Lawson stopped him, taking the flask away.

Charlie blinked. His insides were warm and calm. The rumbling in his ears seemed to calm down as well. Maybe Blake knew what he was doing after all...

"Thanks Boss," he muttered and even managed a half grin. Lawson was giving him a doubtful look, looking as if he was suddenly considering the wisdom of his decision.

"Can you get up now? I'd rather Blake doesn't have to come looking for you at the bathroom."

Charlie nodded. That was indeed a smart thought. His head swam at the motion, but it was different than before. More... numb. Calmer.

Getting up was bit of a chore, but Charlie at least managed without having to use Lawson as an aide. The man still stood there, waiting to offer assistance. Charlie straightened, taking a quick look in the mirror. He looked... almost normal. Admittedly a bit pale, but no real sign of his meltdown.

"Alright there?" Lawson asked and Charlie turned back to him.

"Yeah, Boss. Thanks," he muttered and Lawson gave him a nod, then opened the door to the hall.

"After you, Davis."

When Blake finally made it to the police station, it was already getting dark outside. His visit to the hospital with Mrs. Leighton took longer than he anticipated. She was in her last trimester when the tornado hit, and even though their house wasn't affected, the phone line was down. Her contractions hit and her husband was out in the field with the oldest son, leaving her at home with two of the youngest children. By the time Blake and Jean arrived at their farm for a cursory check, Mrs. Leighton was giving birth. The middle child had run off to fetch the father and Blake was glad for that. It seemed like the baby had decided to cause a bit of trouble and the best course of action was the hospital.

Jean had stayed behind with the children, while Mr. Leighton finally arrived and helped Blake and Ned put his wife into the back of the police car. The ride was one of the least comfortable Blake had the pleasure of enduring as he had to focus on the patient in the backseat and the car was jumping wildly on the road.

Jean was left behind to take care of the children until the husband returned or some of the relatives arrived to help out. Blake had left his car with her, so she had a way to get home, because there was no way to call a cab right now.

Which meant that once he stopped at the station, he and Charlie would need to find a ride home. But that was the least of his concerns at the moment. The day had been long. Blake haven't eaten or even drank anything since breakfast in the morning. The only thing he wanted was to grab his wayward tenant and drag him home, so he can stop concerning himself with the thoughts that he had messed up in the cellar. He just needed his family safe and together in the house, preferably sitting down behind the kitchen table and enjoying something warm and filling. Then a glass of whiskey and bed.

With these thoughts on his mind, Blake walked into the office. He had spotted Matthew right away... standing in front of a map and putting in several red pins. Blake squinted a bit and noted all the pins were in the places they had visited, the ones where the tornado did actual damage. Places which will need heavy repairs.

There were surprisingly little of them though, if Blake thought about how vicious the tornado was. It was very fortunate it had missed the town or they would have been in trouble. Blake shuddered at the thought of how much damage it could have caused running through the main street in the middle of the day.

"Ah, Lucien," Lawson turned to look at him. "Finally. I was starting to wonder if you haven't been swept away by another tornado."

Blake grimaced and shook his head.

"I wouldn't give you that joy, Matthew," he said then smiled. Lawson rolled his eyes and headed towards his desk, so Blake decided to join him and settled down in the seat across from it. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, but Blake assumed he was just off at the bathroom or doing some office stuff.

"I heard you had a really shitty day," Lawson started as he sat down and gave Blake a once over. His eyebrow rose a bit when he caught sight of something dark staining Blake's right coat arm. "Don't tell me you managed to maim yourself as well."

"What?" Blake looked down at the stain, then sighed. "No. That's not mine. Let's just say... Mrs. Leighton's pregnancy was more complicated than predicted. Also... if you are wondering where is constable Simmons... he's probably trying to clean out the back of the squad car," Blake explained and Lawson's face scrunched up in a grimace.

"I hope everyone is alright?"

"Oh yes," Blake was happy he could deliver good news at least. He internally snorted at the word 'deliver' and realized he most likely had enough for a day. "Mrs. Leighton had to be taken to surgery, but when I was leaving the family had grown by a healthy little girl. And sans complications, the mother should be fine in few days as well."

Lawson nodded.

"That's good. This day needs some good news."

Blake frowned.

"Did something else happen? How bad is the damage?"

Lawson nodded towards the map.

"Luckily the damages aren't that bad. So far we have no reports on any casualties, except missing livestock. Several farm houses will need extensive repairs. I am more troubled by the fact the phone lines might take a few days to repair. Which might be an incentive for some of our less savoury citizens to try and do crime, thinking there won't be anyone to stop them."

Blake sighed. He didn't want to think there were people who would use this disaster to their advantage and try to steal or square up with each other. But he knew from personal experience that such people existed and those had no scruples.

"Do you have any plans how to stop that from happening?"

Matthew nodded.

"I've already requested some help from Bendigo... we will get two cars tonight. Few more people will arrive from Melbourne tomorrow and I will be putting cruisers into the areas where the communications are down. Let's see someone try take advantage of this," Lawson added with a smirk. Blake snorted.

"I am pretty sure some will try. As long as you don't bring more work to me or the hospital, I'd say enjoy yourself."

"I'll let Hobart know about your reservations," Lawson deadpanned.

Blake's stomach grumbled and he shot a look at his watch. What was taking Charlie so long? He wanted to go home and grab at least a sandwich.

Blake looked around the office once more and frowned. Charlie's chair was pushed in behind the desk and there was a suspicious lack of paperwork or even tea cups. Blake's sight turned to Lawson, who for some reason found his own paperwork more than interesting suddenly.

"Pray tell, where is Charlie?"

Lawson grimaced and Blake felt a stirring of worry. Not deep worry, he was sure that if Charlie was in any real trouble Lawson wouldn't be sitting there so calmly. But based on Lawson's body language, there was definitely a merit to concern.

"Matthew," Blake spoke the name calmly, though with some irritation.

Lawson sighed and looked up.

"Alright. Follow me," he said and stood up. Blake's eyebrows rose a bit on their own accord as he followed Lawson through the well known corridors. There was no mistaking. They were going to the cells.

"What's going on here, Matthew?" Blake asked, his impatience growing.

Lawson just pointed towards one of the cells. Blake shot him a glare and walked up to the door, peering inside.

Charlie was lying on the cot, right arm hanging half off, only supported by the sling. His left arm was thrown haphazardly over his face, covering the eyes. For all intents and purposes, Charlie appeared to be fast asleep.

Blake wanted to walk into the cell and make sure he was alive. He wanted to rush in and berate Charlie for the stupid idea of coming to work. Most of all, he wanted to get angry at Lawson for locking Charlie up like some kind of a criminal.

Seeing that Charlie's chest was raising and falling regularly and he didn't seem to be in any immediate distress, Blake decided that he was safe enough to leave asleep for the moment. Lawson on the other hand...

Blake swivelled from the door, glaring at Lawson.

"Why in the world did you lock him up?"

Lawson raised his hands.

"It's not how it looks," he said and already had the key in his hand.

"Then do explain please."

"I think he just had a bit of delayed reaction. He was doing fine until the last hour or so, then he got all shaky." Lawson shrugged. "Adrenaline fading I suppose. Or just the two idiots next to him gabbing about the tornado that triggered something."

Blake frowned. Was it really just psychological? Didn't he overlook something? Maybe Charlie suffered some other injury that caused a reaction... and why was he asleep now?

Blake shot an impatient look at Lawson and the man unlocked the cell.

"Anything else happened?" Blake asked even as he walked to the cot and gently moved the injured arm back, so it now fully rested on Charlie's stomach.

Charlie let out a small moan of discomfort, but didn't seem to wake, which gave Blake reason for more concern. He should not be this lethargic just from a dislocated shoulder. If anything, the discomfort would most likely keep him awake. Unless...

"Did he take the pills I gave him?"

Lawson stared at him for a second and Blake could see something clicked.

"Oh. Well... that would explain it."

"Explain what Matthew?"

It was the first in a very long time that Blake actually saw Lawson look sheepish. He would have taken a photo for future reference, but right now he had more pressing concerns.

"I might've given him a few sips of your whiskey."

Blake just stared at Lawson. Was the man serious? He was probably the last person on earth Blake would have suspected of bereaving his subordinates, at work nonetheless. And what the hell did he mean by Blake's whiskey?

"You... you got him drunk? While on meds?"

"Now wait a second! I didn't make him anything, especially not drunk! Not my fault the kid can't handle his liquor. He looked like he could use something, anyway. And how was I to know he took the pills?"

Blake let one hand run down the back of his neck as he shook his head. Well, mixing pills and alcohol could have been the cause of Charlie's sleepiness. Still, he needed to make sure there was nothing seriously wrong there.

He took hold of Charlie's right hand, making sure the circulation was good there. Then he checked the pulse. A bit faster than a sleeping person might have, but nothing worth of concern. For all appearances, Charlie really was just... done and in need of some rest.

"So... why did you bring him to a cell?" Blake looked at Lawson, who was now leaning against the door, looking almost bored.

"He looked like he needed to lie down."

Blake frowned.

"Hardly a reason to lock the door then."

Lawson huffed.

"It was for his safety."

Blake raised an eyebrow. Lawson shrugged.

"No one really appreciated his singing. While Over the rainbow might have been popular with the troops, you must admit, Charlie is no Judy Garland."

Blake didn't know what to think. He had to fight down the chuckle that threatened upon the image of Charlie trying to belt out the song that decidedly wasn't made for his voice range. He didn't succeed, so clearing his throat and focusing on Charlie seemed like the best option.

He took hold of Charlie's left hand and moved it away from his face, intent on checking Charlie's level of consciousness. He was a bit surprised when a pair of light blue eyes peered back at him. The pupils were constricted, a clear sign of the unfortunate combination of medicine and alcohol.

Charlie blinked, then pulled his hand free. A bit clumsily, he put his finger to his lips.

"Shhhh. I'm hiding!" Charlie's words were supposed to come out as a whisper, but the volume was anything but. Blake twitched.

"Hiding from whom?" he asked, deciding to take this seriously. Charlie deserved at least someone to take him seriously in this situation.

"The Wicked Witch of the East," Charlie said, not batting an eye.

Blake could hear a stifled chuckle from behind. He didn't deem it worthy enough to turn and glare at Lawson right now. Instead he took in a calming breath, and tried to find some patience after a long and stressful day.

"Ah. And who would that be?"

Charlie blinked, his eyes squinting a bit and head turning to look around the cell.

"Mrs. Toohey?" he said in that too loud a whisper.

Blake looked at him surprised. "Mrs. Toohey? The lady that took care of the house while Jean was in Adelaide?" he wanted to clarify they were speaking about the same woman. Charlie bobbed his head in a nod.

"She tried to poison us," Charlie noted and Blake's eyebrows went up. He didn't remember any mention of poisoning during his and Jean's absence. He shot a quick look at Lawson, who just gave him an equally confused shrug in reply.

"Charlie... are you sure about that?" he asked, internally reprimanding himself for even entertaining the thought. What on earth was he even thinking? Mrs. Toohey was no witch...

"Have you ever tasted her meatloaf?" Charlie shuddered. "She is a witch and she wanted to poison us and I need to hide before she gets me."

With that statement, Charlie covered his eyes with his arm and once again pretended to be asleep.

Blake just sat there for a whole minute, too stunned to come up with a reply. Until he heard a shuffle of steps behind him.

"Well... I should probably return to my work and leave you to... handle this," Lawson said with a smirk.

"Don't you dare, Matthew," Blake growled. "This is all your fault."

Before Lawson could protest, Charlie's arm slipped off his face a bit and he looked at his boss.

"Tinman! You here to save us?" he called and Blake had to bite down on his lip to stop from laughing. The look on Lawson's face... dear Lord... that was worth the whole day.

"What did he just call me?" Lawson sputtered, turning to Blake. Most likely so he wouldn't try and strangle his senior sergeant.

"Tin man. You know... the poor woodman which was cursed by the witch, all his limbs chopped off and then replaced by tin? Except for his heart... he is still missing that," Blake helpfully explained with a wink.

"I know who Tin Man is!" Lawson growled. "Why the hell does he think it's me?"

Blake shrugged.

"Must be your hearty disposition, Matthew," he said somehow cheekily. Lawson gave him a glare.

Charlie didn't seem to like that though.

"Don't argue," he said in a somehow pleading voice. "You must help us, Tin Man. We need to return home, before the cyclone sweeps us away again."

Lawson huffed.

"He is out of his mind. Are you sure that's just the drugs?"

"Of course not. It's also the liquor. And the fact we had a tornado rush over our heads," Blake answered grumpily, then turned to Charlie, softly patting his hand.

"It's alright Charlie. I can take us home." Charlie's face turned into an unhappy frown and he shook his head.

"No one wants me at home. Not Ray, not eve Joey. Maybe... maybe I should stay here? I... I can help fight the witch and then they might want me back?" Charlie asked, throwing a look full of hope at both men.

There was a moment of silence in the cell. Lawson tried to look anywhere but at Charlie and Blake let out a sigh.

"I'm sure that's not true, Charlie. Your family is missing you."

Charlie stubbornly shook his head. Blake decided to change his tactic.

"Well, they don't know what they are missing then. But you shouldn't forget Charlie... you have more than just one family."

Charlie gave Blake a thoughtful look.

"Do you need my help to fight the wicked witch?" Charlie asked with some suspicion.

Lawson chortled, trying to hide it behind a pretend cough.

"The witch is gone and once you get some sleep, you will be back to normal," Blake stated, trying to keep his composure and not lose his patience.

"Are you sure? What about the flying monkeys?"

Blake blinked, caught a bit off guard.

"What monkeys? Are you seeing monkeys around?" he asked with a frown. If Charlie was having visual hallucinations, the drug reaction might've been worse than he expected.

"They are up at the office," Charlie replied seriously. "Flying around, filling out reports, imprisoning people," he added in a hushed tone. "And they hate singing!"

This time even Blake chortled.

"Oh, Charlie. It's... it's alright, there are no flying monkeys anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Blake reassured him. "They all returned to the witch. You are safe. Well... maybe you will be safer back home... and without telling everyone who you think they are."

Charlie frowned, confused.

"Why?"

"Just... trust me on this. You will be thankful in the morning," Blake said, ignoring the huffed chuckle behind. "Alright, can you sit up? I know from personal experience that these cots aren't all that comfortable."

"Well, this is hardly the Hilton now, is it?" Lawson commented, while Charlie flopped over to the side in an attempt to get up. Blake grabbed him and with some careful manoeuvring and lots of grunting, he managed to get him up into a standing position and somehow supported. Charlie stood there, looking around a bit confused and wavering unsteadily.

"Doc?" his wide eyes landed on Blake. "Why are we locked up?"

Blake sighed.

"We are not, Charlie. Matthew here just thought you would appreciate a bit of rest until my arrival."

"Oh. That's so nice of you, boss!" Charlie said with a thankful smile, while Blake pulled his good arm over his shoulder and slowly nudged them towards the door.

Lawson grunted, looking away.

"I better get someone to take you two idiots home," he grumbled and without waiting for a reply quickly limped off.

"Did I say something wrong?" Charlie asked, his forehead scrunching in confusion at the sudden departure of his supervisor.

"Nothing at all, Charlie," Blake reassured him with a smile. "Matthew just doesn't like being called nice. It ruins his image of a stern badass."

"Oh. Pity. I like him nice more," Charlie admitted somehow sheepishly as they were walking out of the cells. Blake nodded to a passing by cop who gave them a curious look.

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts then." Blake wasn't sure how nice will Lawson be once Charlie's drunken state passed. The boy would most likely be in for some serious talking to as well as being banned from work. Though if he really did have a sing off at the office, Blake was sure Charlie would be glad for time off. Not like that would save him from some good natured teasing of course.

Blake had a feeling that perhaps Lawson's glare managed to clear the halls of all stragglers. They barely met a person, and those who passed by pretended to ignore their drunken looking gait. Once they arrived outside, there was already a police car waiting in front. Ned a bit sheepishly waved at the two of them and opened the back door.

"You might want to move to the right side, Sergeant. The left is still a bit wet."

Blake saw an old jacket thrown over a wet patch of the seat and raised an eyebrow.

"Any reason why you didn't get a different car?" he asked, looking around at two other cruisers sitting idly in the parking lot.

"Sorry. The boss didn't want to risk another 'accident' and having two cars out of order."

Well, Blake had to admit that was smart. Especially five minutes later when Charlie's face turned green after Ned took a sharper turn than intended. Blake thought, with only a smudge of concern and a lot of amusement, that Charlie's face was now more reminiscent of the green witch of the east than Mrs. Toohey could ever be.

Charlie didn't remember that much from the rest of the day. After hearing Blake and Lawson joke about it during the breakfast next day, he was kind of glad for that. He still felt his cheeks turn red at hearing about him singing in front of everyone. Lawson was especially enjoying commenting on his voice range, when Jean's glare finally shut him up. Blake just cleared his throat and burrowed his face in the morning paper.

Charlie thought he might have to start looking for a new job. Maybe swiping the streets... or he could move to New Zealand? Anything to escape the embarrassment.

When Blake told him he should stay home for a few days to rest the shoulder, Charlie didn't even protest. While he wanted to help out at the station, he remembered catching sight of Hobart, sometimes after his great idea of taking the pills. Charlie wasn't sure what he told the man, but the look of consternation on Hobart's face warranted some caution.

The morning passed by quickly. Blake stood after his word and took Charlie in for an x-ray. Fortunately, nothing was broken and the damage wasn't too bad. Although the drive back home was anything but comfortable.

The roads were still littered with branches and rocks and Charlie had to bite down a grunt of pain more than once.

He was more than happy to just settle on the couch, while Jean was in the kitchen, preparing lunch.

She had spent the morning at a church meeting, where they decided to hold a baking sale and give the proceeds to the affected families as well as looking for volunteers to help out with repairing the damaged houses. Charlie hoped his shoulder would be well enough by then to offer his own help, at the least to the farmer and his son. After all, their cellar might have just saved his and Blake's lives.

Lawson had also offered some help in that department. Charlie knew he had at least few officers in mind when chosing 'volunteers' though he was a bit hazy on what the young constables did to be picked out like that. Oh well, that wasn't his problem. After what happened the day before, Charlie was glad that he didn't have to face Lawson right now. The man was back at work. That only left Blake, sitting in his favorite chair and relaxing with a book, as his patients were scheduled for the afternoon.

It was in that calmness and tranquillity that Charlie finally tried to sort through the mess in his head. The last few days felt like a roller coaster really. First his family... and Charlie still needed to call back home and let his mom know he was alright. Once the phone was back online. He was grateful that at least Lawson had the forethought of giving a call to his mother last night, before heading home from work. Charlie should have thought of it himself, but to be honest, he still felt hurt by his family.

It wasn't even their fault really and after being almost swept up by the tornado Charlie realized how childish he was acting. Not towards Bernie. Because it would be a cold day in hell before Charlie started thinking of the man as anything even a bit reminding of a father. But his mom or brothers didn't deserve his ire.

Charlie sighed and rubbed at his shoulder, grimacing when that just worsened the stiffness. He looked up from the book that had already closed in his lap, unread. Well, maybe he could at least help Jean out in the kitchen? What was she even doing? Ah, right. Peeling potatoes. Hardly something to do with one arm. Charlie pouted and reopened the book. Where did he end?

It didn't matter. Three sentences in and Charlie once again lost focus. Maybe it was the side effects of him mixing medications with alcohol. He shuddered as he remembered the lecture he got from both Lawson and Blake early in the morning as he stumbled into the kitchen for coffee. He could barely remember his name at that moment. His mind was still foggy and full of strange dreams with flying monkeys and green skinned people and dear Lord... did he call Lawson a Tin Man in a cell?

He did. Charlie moaned in remembered shame.

"Shoulder bothering you?" Blake asked, startling him from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You keep rubbing it and grimacing. When's the last time you took the pills?"

Charlie let his hand fall from his shoulder. He was rubbing at it, wasn't he?

"Uh, breakfast. But it's fine. I was just lost in thought," he added the last. Blake gave him a look then sighed.

"You do know Matthew was exaggerating, right? I doubt there was more than two or three people around last night when you had the reaction. And they surely understand the reason of your... indisposition."

Charlie cringed, wishing he could forget the whole affair as simple as that.

"No offense Doc, but... you don't know how the guys are there. Maybe I better stay on sick leave until we catch some gruesome murder case..."

Blake rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense. Don't worry so much, Charlie. I'm sure if there's a problem, Matthew will sort it out rather quickly. After all... he was the one who supplied the whiskey," Blake said with a wink and Charlie snorted.

Well, Blake wasn't wrong. Charlie wouldn't have made such a big fool of himself if it wasn't Lawson's attempt at help. Though Charlie couldn't find it in himself to blame the man. He was still a bit taken aback by how Lawson tried to help. Even this morning when he was making fun of Charlie's singing proves, he never once mentioned the meltdown in the bathroom, or the fact Charlie used him as a pillow. Charlie appreciated it more than words could say.

Of course what followed afterwards was what would haunt his nightmares for the foreseeable future probably. He wasn't sure what triggered the meltdown at the station, maybe another mention of the tornado from one of his colleagues, but after Charlie and Lawson returned to the office, things just became... hazy. All wavy and unreal and Charlie suddenly remembered the all too colourful movie Wizard of Oz. The cyclone sweeping up the house... and landing Dorothy and Toto in a land full of strange characters, swirling colours and music.

Suddenly, Charlie felt stranded. All alone in a place that stopped looking familiar and somehow reality mixed with the movie his mother so loved watching whenever she could. He was lost and trying to find his way, until Blake came and took him home.

And this was his home, Charlie realized as he was sitting on the couch, listening to Blake and Jean softly speaking in the kitchen.

When Blake suddenly appeared with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel in his hands, Charlie looked at it uncomprehendingly.

"Here. For the shoulder. It might help." Blake handed over the towel and Charlie put it on.

"Thanks," he said, blinking. His eyes felt suddenly a bit too dry and scratchy.

"Lunch will be in twenty minutes," Blake commented but didn't settle back in his chair. Instead he sat behind the piano. "Fancy some music?"

Charlie gave him a suspicious look. Blake winked.

"Jean? Any requests?"

Charlie felt relief when Jean called out a song he didn't really know and Blake started playing. It was that ease and familiarity that made him appreciate his current state. The cold from the ice was numbing his shoulder, but it warmed his heart. He wasn't alone and forgotten. Family wasn't just in blood after all. Family were people you loved and who in turn loved and cared for you.

Charlie loved them. Even if they were sometimes a pain in the ass, Charlie thought as Lucien finished the song Jean requested and started playing the all too familiar tune.

Charlie wanted to chuck a pillow at him or maybe that pack of ice.

Until he heard Jean's voice from the kitchen, softly singing.

"Charlie? You wanna join in?" Blake asked with a smile.

Charlie rolled his eyes. He waited a moment, contemplating. Then, in the most challenging part he joined in with the most horrible rendition possible.

The laughter from the kitchen and Blake hitting the wrong key in startle was definitely worth it.

THE END