Karen woke up with a nearly blinding headache, wondering idly if she'd gotten drunk the night before and somehow forgotten about it. Thankfully, the apartment was quiet, not unusual this time in the morning, early rays of sunshine peeking through her curtains, her alarm beeping softly.

Her brain was foggy, gray images swimming behind her eyelids, wafting away like smoke before she could catch them and pull them back into focus. She tried in vain to reach for them, but they slipped through her fingers, disappearing like they'd never been there at all.

There was a hollowness in her chest, a strange echoing when she took a deep breath, like something had been removed and no one had the foresight to replace it. She chalked it up to a fitful night's sleep, and crawled out of the bed, filling her coffee pot and switching it on. She must have had an awful nightmare. She should probably be grateful she had no memory of it.

She shrugged off the strange feeling, moving on with her day, with her life. As odd everything seemed, she also felt a little lighter, some dreadful heaviness disappearing in the dark of night. She resolved not to eat sweets at so late an hour, and shuffled toward her bathroom, intent on a long hot shower.

A month passed and the hollowness refused to leave her, even though sometimes she forgot about it. It would catch her off guard in the middle of the night, especially when things were quiet… when she felt lonely. She contemplated seeing someone about it. She waffled between worrying she had some kind of heart defect and thinking she was just lonely. On the worst days she told herself she would see someone about it, if not a heart specialist then maybe a psychiatrist. There was no reason for her to be feeling so… empty.

Not today though. Today she had things to do, errands to run before it was too late. Christmas lights twinkled along the periphery of her vision, red and green and white starbursts reflecting off storefront windows. The temperature was dropping fast, heavy moisture hanging in the air. A blizzard was coming, snow predicted to blanket the entire city in a matter of hours. She sighed, being trapped in her apartment for a couple days, the strange quiet of New York coming to a standstill, didn't seem like such a bad thing.

That's why she was pushing past frazzled looking moms and elderly couples, trying to get to the back of the grocery store. Her cart already had the essentials; bread, peanut butter and jelly, hot cocoa mix. It was too crowded in the supermarket, the hum of dozens of separate conversations buzzing under the sound of seventies hits playing over the intercom. There it was, that ache again. She stopped briefly to pick out the notes, straining to hear the familiar lyrics. When you wish upon a dream, life ain't always what it seems. There was something about the song that made her heart jump a little. The fluttering was unsettling. Frowning, she shook her head and pushed onward. She just needed to grab a couple bottles of wine and she'd head home, settle in to watch TV and snuggle with her electric blanket.

She wasn't looking when she rounded the corner of the last aisle, still peering behind her, apologizing to the last woman she'd nearly sideswiped. There was a man standing right in her path, glaring down at his scuffed boot, the one she'd just ran over with the front wheel of her cart. "Oh my God, I am so sorry," the words tumbled out.

He shrugged off her apology. "I should be buying real food instead of this sugary bullshit, but… electricity might go out, and the kids love the stuff." He grunted, fingers hooked through the handle of a gallon of milk, bending down to pick up the boxes of cereal she'd inadvertently knocked out of his grasp. Karen darted down to help, the shiny tiles cold against her knees. And then she looked at him, for the first time in their little exchange locking eyes.

His were dark and familiar, set over a slightly crooked nose, probably broken years before. Suddenly she was transported back to a fitful night of unsettling dreams. Dreams filled with heart clenching sadness and… this face. She let him take a box from her hands, fingers suddenly going limp. "D-do I know you?"

She blinked, his face wavering in and out of focus. Karen thought the maybe time had stopped, some weird glitch in the matrix, all the sound fading away in favor of an almost overwhelming white noise.

The man's expression faltered for just a second before everything rushed back to reality. "No, ma'am. I don't believe we've met."

He moved away from her, muscular arms cradling frosted flakes against the front of his shirt, eyes a bit wary. She watched him walk away, the hollowness in her chest threatening to swallow her whole. She couldn't breathe.

Instinctively, she followed him, abandoning her cart of supplies and tailing him through the automatic doors.

The snow was already falling, great white sheets of it whipping around in the foggy looking air. She caught her breath and ran after him, feeling sure that there was something she needed to say, something she needed to do.

Needles of cold air rushed into her lungs, watery and thick in her throat as she rushed up behind him. Emboldened by an inexplicable desperation, Karen grabbed him by the elbow before he could open the trunk of his car. He spun around with a quickness that took her by surprise, dropping his bags to the ground and reaching under his coat. His familiar eyes now seemed deadly.

The cap of the milk jug skittered away when it hit the ground, white liquid glugging out into the dark pavement in waves. She watched it spread quickly, rushing out in spurts like blood pouring from a severed jugular. The amount was unreal, pouring and pouring from the spout to pool at her feet.

The man glared at her, slowly easing his empty hand back from under his coat. Karen released a sigh of relief, unsure of what she'd been expecting. "Are you sure we haven't met?"

His expression changed, yet again, eyes going soft and misty, looking at something far away, pain clearly arcing through him. "Karen?"

Time stopped again. She was certain of it now. There was no sound, the cold air had ceased to make her skin burn, snowflakes suspended in midair. She was stuck, unable to breathe, unable to move away. It took an inordinate amount of effort to make her lips move, for her diaphragm to push the air up through her vocal chords. She persisted, forcing out his name. "F-frank?"

It was as if his name broke the spell, swirling the air back around her, snow flying even more furiously. The sound rushed in her ears like a tornado, and all she could see was Frank lunging toward her, arms pulling her into a tight embrace.

He held her close and whispered frantically in her ear. "Come back to me, this can't happen again!"

When she pulled back to look into his eyes, everything else was gone, the store behind them had disappeared, the hastily parked cars were gone, leaving nothing but a blanket of smooth virginal powder in all directions. It was just the two of them, outside in the middle a swirling blizzard, Karen's legs threatening to buckle beneath her. Frank held her face in his cold hands, pleading with her. "Please Karen, I can't take this anymore. You have to wake up."

He looked so desperate, barely contained hysteria in every line of his body as the wind whipped both of them.

Everything came back in a rush, slamming into her like a Mack truck, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The blood, the anger, the acrid smell of gunsmoke. How had she forgotten? Even know, holding on to the memories took all of her energy, her muscles trembling like she was Atlas, struggling to hold up the weight of the world. And then there was the song again, playing it's hauntingly cheerful melody seemingly on a loop, coming down from the silvery gray sky.

Shining star come into view, shine its watchful light on you.

What the hell was happening? She turned back to Frank. "I am awake!"

And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, she really was.

Karen had always enjoyed the smell of Chinese takeout, loved the way her tiny little apartment was infused with it days after ordering the indulgent food. As a child, Chinese takeout had meant a happy Thanksgiving dinner spent snuggled up with her carefree mother, watching It's a Wonderful Life playing on TV, her brother munching on fortune cookies and handing out the little slips of paper.

She secretly loved the way Frank had settled into this routine with her, chowing down on low mein and orange chicken, their heads bent as they scoured recently found evidence. She was beginning to suspect it was something he loved as well. The frequency of their takeout dinners had increased exponentially over the past month. Or maybe he was just lonely, the holidays creeping up on the both of them. Either way, she was grateful for the company.

Patting her full stomach, she smiled lazily at him across the litter covered coffee table. "So, what are you going to do with that?" She pointed at the flash drive lying between a pair of used chopsticks and her .308.

Frank shrugged noncommittally, glancing up at her over a box of fried rice. "I've got a guy."

Her eyebrows shot up. "A guy? Oh really, and why haven't I heard of this 'guy'? Seems like he would be fairly useful to an investigative reporter."

Her tone was teasing. She knew full well that this was his way of telling her about one of his contacts, letting her into his world just a little bit at a time. He smiled back at her, setting the box down. "Micro's a bit of a recluse, but he knows his way around all this technological shit."

"Micro? Wow, with a name like that, he better." Oh the wine had gone to her head, that was for sure.

He snorted. "David Liberman. Micro's a nickname, Page. He'll get this thing cracked open for us."

She felt a little blushy, and more than a little loose. This wasn't a combination that had historically led to good decisions. She did her best to be serious. "You trust him?"

He nodded, cocking his head to the side to study her. It flustered her somewhat, unsure of how to fill the silence. Frank could stare a hole in the wall, could set kindling on fire with the intensity behind his eyes. Defensively, she picked up her wineglass, hiding behind its rim as she sipped the ruby liquid. She swallowed, conscious of the gulping sound that seemed to echo between them. "And you trust me?"

The question was soft, almost a whisper. She was half convinced she hadn't even uttered the words floating around in her head until he nodded again, this time quietly coming round the table to take a seat beside her. He reached up to brush the hair away from her face. She swallowed again, too afraid to look away now that they were face to face.

"I do." His touch lingered. Her already flushed cheeks burning against his fingertips.

Suddenly it was too warm in her apartment, too close, too small, heat chasing along her skin like electrical currents. She reached up to touch the calloused fingers gently resting against her cheek, thinking maybe Frank would ground her, that if she touched him back she wouldn't burst into flames.

Biting his bottom lip, he slowly lowered his hand, breaking the volatile contact. "I have to go, gotta catch Micro before he locks up for the night."

Karen nearly whimpered at the loss of contact, biting her tongue. This was how it always went, the constant yo-yo of their relationship. Each time she thought they had a moment… he took a dozen steps in the opposite direction. She couldn't argue with him, knowing how hard all of this must be. She got up and followed him to the door, hand catching his wrist before he slipped away. "Be safe, Frank."

"No worries, Page."

He disappeared down the hall, and Karen resolved for once to not worry. Frank had never let her down before.

She went to bed that night warm from the alcohol swimming through her veins, happily content and full of chinese food. Thoughts of pulling Frank down into the tangle of sheets with her ran through her mind on a loop. Maybe next time…. maybe.

Her phone's familiar ringtone pulled her out of the morass of sleep, it's tinkling an unexpected annoyance at 2 a.m. Her heart climbed into her throat, fear clutching at her, when she saw it was an unknown number. In a former life she wouldn't have answered it, but this was a life with Frank, a man who changed burners every other week.

She hit answer, a groggy "hello," coming out hoarsely.

The voice that replied was a man's, Frantic with worry, words falling all over each other in an attempt to get her to listen. "He's in danger, I fucked up. Shit! I knew it was too easy. It's a trap, Miss Page."

"What?"

"I got into the flash drive, and…" The man on the end of the other line sounded like he was having a panic attack. "Fuck, it was like they wanted him to go there."

She sat up straight in the bed, swinging her legs over the side. She was getting dressed before she even knew what the plan was. "Give me the address."

Minutes later, Karen page was hailing a cab, .308 tucked into a shoulder holster, determination the only thing hiding the fear she felt.

The beeping was driving Frank insane. It was like water torture, drip drip dripping on his head, rarely changing pace, always the same tone. Sure, it meant that she was alive, but it also meant that she was in a hospital, unconscious and lying in a god damned hospital bed.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he hung his head, hating himself more with every passing second. Why the fuck had he gotten her so involved in this?

"Frank, you need to get some rest."

There she was again, the kind nurse with the dark eyes and waves of empathy rolling off of her. She held out a glass of water, pushing it into his limp hand. His fingers closed around it, and he took a swig so she could see, so she would feel better. The woman was a caretaker, and he had no reason to fight against it. He grunted an answer at her, "Can't."

Sleep on the best of days was a difficult proposition. Horrible nightmares stalking him through the dreamscapes. But now, Christ, now it was damn near impossible to close his eyes without seeing her crumpled body, blood blooming out across her silk blouse, her blonde hair stained with red where she'd hit it on the way down.

Micro had fucked up, but it was all Frank's fault. His fault for tossing his burner before giving Micro the new number, Frank's fault for not being careful, Frank's fault...

His fist clenched against his knee, anger at himself bubbling to the surface. Karen's skin was so pale against the hospital gown, her icy blonde hair pushed away from her face. She could almost be a porcelain doll were it not for the lack of color in her cheeks. How the hell could this be happening to him again?

He'd stayed like this for days, drifting in and out of consciousness, dozing in the chair by her bed, head occasionally dropping down against the sheets beside the hand he rarely let go of. There were prayers just on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd thought long forgotten. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Claire's presence was the only thing that kept him from crawling into the bed with Karen, from holding on tight so she couldn't slip away from him. Still, he scooted his chair closer, glancing at the nurse from the corner of his eye. "Any news?"

Claire shook her head, moving around the bed to adjust Karen's pillow. "It's still really early, Frank. You of all people should know how these things can be. Head injuries are tricky."

His throat constricted, not for the first time. He wanted to yell, stomp around and make an ass of himself. He was helpless here, anger clawing at him from the inside out. Why the fuck hadn't Micro just let him die alone on that rooftop. Calling Karen, trying to warn her, to send help… it had been a giant mistake.

His self loathing was interrupted by a whimpering noise, her nearly colorless lips twitching in the dim light, eyes darting back and forth beneath the closed lids. He leaned closer, the breath caught in his chest, afraid that if he made a sound he'd miss something. He squeezed her fingers in his, forgetting for a moment that Claire was in the room.

And then it happened, a tiny sound issued from her. His name. "F-Frank…"

He completely lost it, jumping out of the chair and leaning over the bed. He caught her face between his hands, leaning down to touch her forehead with his. This time he prayed out loud, her name interspersed between the rote supplications to God, desperate pleas. "Please, Karen, come back to me. This can't happen again. Wake up, honey, wake up."

His own eyes were squeezed shut, tears escaping and falling down onto Karen's cheeks before he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, voice thick with emotion. He didn't see her eyes slowly open, the wide open blue pools full of their own tears. But he felt her, felt the way her arms came up around his neck, felt her hot breath against his ear.

"I'm awake."

A/n: Finally! Thank you to anyone who stuck with this story all the way to the end. Of course there are things that I would like go to back and change a little, there are always are (and I might actually go back and do it this time?), but I'm just so happy to have completed it. Please feel free to leave any and all feedback (i am not kidding when i say i live off of it.)