It shouldn't take this long to work. I shouldn't have had to take the fucking thing in the first place, really, I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. By all means I should be sleeping like a log.

A second later, unable to help myself, I finished the thought aloud: "But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do, it makes me feel... like shit."

I chuckled weakly into the pillow. Ridiculous, yes, but I needed something to laugh about, something to just think about that didn't involve the soon-to-be distant memory in the next room. A little while ago I had taken what I assumed was a sleeping pill, and now was waiting rather impatiently for the damn thing to do its job and shut out the world for a few hours.

Sometimes I really wish there were such things people could do, little buttons people could press to forget certain things or erase past mistakes. That's not an original thought, of course, everyone feels like that at one point or another. There's no one in the world who doesn't look back and say to themselves, "Oh my God, why did I do that?" or "How could I have said such a thing?" or "What was I thinking, to let some wispy, cat-eyed stranger come in and take over my life?"

"I could have just said 'Get out,'" I mumbled. "I could have said, like any normal person, 'You don't belong here, go away, you are not my problem.' But no. That would been the smart thing. That would have actually made sense."

Fortunately, this whole catastrophe was nearly over. By morning, perhaps even before then, we would be free of each other. Her people wouldn't be long now, surely since the Relic was back in her hot little hand. One call, and we could return to business. She could resume her studies, and I could focus all my energies on work without suffering from her distracting presence.

I knew exactly how it would unravel, too. By tomorrow, I would have difficulty recalling her soft voice. In a week from now, I would scarcely remember her name. In a month, I would surely forget her face- but not all at once. It would happen slowly, beginning with her eyebrows, then her cheeks, then down and across, erasing her nose and chin till the eyes and her smiling mouth were all that was left. Her lips- I mean, her mouth would naturally vanish after that, and her eyes- well, eyes that size would take time, but eventually, yes, they too would leave me in peace.

Letting out a small sigh, I turned over, so that I now faced the bedroom door. It will be so nice, I said to myself, when this is over.

As this thought drifted across my mind, I felt my heart flutter in anticipation- a sensation followed closely by a dull, throbbing ache which had plagued me since the day I danced with her on that bridge. Now, that especially I was looking forward to losing. There is nothing so annoying in this world than when your heart leads you in a direction contrary to where you actually want to go, and nothing worse than falling in love with someone who is the personification of everything in Life you want to avoid.

But again, that too will pass, as soon as she departs from me. Out of sight, out of mind, the saying goes. I mean-

Suddenly I heard the sound of a door opening. Not mine, but hers. On instinct I sat up a little.

"Why can't you be polite and meow first?" I heard her chuckle, presumably to one of my cats. "You know I'm blind as a bat without my contacts."

A little meow, one I recognized as Oscar's, answered her. One corner of my mouth lifted without any help from the rest of me, then froze when I heard footsteps draw nearer. I propped myself further upright, listening harder. Nearer and nearer they came, then stopped right outside my door.

I swallowed. What's she doing? I asked myself, the ache in my chest growing stronger. Is she coming to see me? Why doesn't she knock? She knows I'm here. That's all she would have to do. Knock, darling. Knock if you want me.

But she didn't knock. A few seconds later, she turned around and padded away. Disappointed, embarrassed, but certainly not surprised, I let myself fall back heavily against the mattress.

I shut my eyes, tried once again to talk myself into sleep. I told myself I needed my rest, that our record had suffered enough and would only be damaged further if I didn't get myself together. In desperation I shoved Mary's, David's, and Joe's names to the front of my mind. All these things and more thoroughly depended on her being gone for good.

Speaking of which, where did she go? I hadn't hear her door close yet. Was she downstairs? Or had her Boss quietly raptured her back up into heaven? (At that point, I couldn't even limit that last to sarcasm; after the last few days, anything was possible.)

That's when there rose a clatter coming directly from the kitchen. Not even stopping to think, I clambered out of bed, disturbing poor Tom at my side. I pulled on the first dressing gown my hand touched and opened the bedroom door a crack. From below, I could hear her humming what sounded like the chorus of the "Disaster" song she sang to us.

Wrong, another voice from within said. Not to us; she sang that to me. It was all for me, just much as that kiss which followed, the lips that delivered it, and the girl who sent it collect. They're all mine.

I shook my head. That girl wasn't mine, nor did I want her to be. She was a hundred and one worries, and a thousand and one headaches, wrapped in a pretty pink package. She belonged to the people who sent her, who even now were likely striving to find her signal so they could reel her back in and file away all her "research". She could be whisked away any minute now. And I would never see her again. Never, ever again.

The pain in my chest grew stronger.

"Would you like some too, Cat?" I heard her ask from below. "Does Freddie even let you drink this stuff? I'll just give you a little, a few drops maybe. Let's make yours without cinnamon, just in case."

I frowned. "This stuff"? What's she giving them?

Having found my excuse, I tiptoed on bare feet down the stairs, taking great care to make as little noise as possible. Carefully I crept into the dining room and hid behind the doorway leading into the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a carton of milk sitting on the counter, and relaxed. I didn't honestly think she would really poison my babies, but it was nice to know for sure.

"You kind of look like her orange tabby cat, actually, did you know that?" she mused presumably to Oscar, the only orange tabby I had. "You know, from Breakfast at Tiffany's? I bet your daddy's shown you that at least once. It's a sweet movie, way better than the book. Kinda sappy, yes, but sometimes sappy is the best. Can't go wrong with Blake Edwards anyway- or Henry Mancini. Mmmmm, such good stuff."

She chuckled, then drew a heavy sigh. All was still, then, aside of the stove's hum and the whisk's scraping against the saucepan as she stirred the milk. As the silence ensued, I wondered more and more what she was thinking.

Without warning she started singing again- but this time, it was a song with which I myself was far more familiar: "Moon River, wider than a mile/ I'm crossin' you in style some day..."

Her voice seemed to take me by the hand and pull me in. The sweet, soft tones, tinged heavily with melancholy, calling to me as the sirens had called to Ulysses. Unfortunately, unlike Ulysses, I did not have the advantage currently of being tied up and surrounded by friends made immune to such black magic. I was alone, vulnerable, and willing.

Against my better judgement, I peered around the corner.

Julia stood in front of the stove, shoeless and dressed in her lovely green nightgown. Her hair, which hung loosely about her shoulders, looked a bit more tousled than usual, and her cheek a trifle paler. She did not smile as she sang; in fact, she looked to me the very image of unhappiness- and it confused me. I thought surely she would be exuberant, knowing that she had practically one foot out the door at this point.

Maybe she doesn't want to leave, I said to myself. It was a dangerous thought, but not nearly as dangerous - or absurd- as the next:

Maybe she won't leave me after all.

Julia ladled a small spoonful of milk into a saucer. "Here you go, you slob," she murmured gently, bending down to give Oscar his midnight snack. She stood up and turned, but I was so lost in my own head, beating myself black and blue with the myriad reasons she was bound to leave me, and how foolish I was to even entertain the idea it could be any other way, that I forgot to hide before she spotted me.

She let out a yelp of surprise, then began laughing sheepishly. "Oh, Freddie, you scared me!"

"Ooo, that's a first," I said, unable to help my own smile when I saw how flushed her face became. "Sorry."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

I shook my head, coming closer. "I was up anyway. What are you making?"

"Oh, just a little cinnamon milk," she shrugged. "Apparently, it helps you sleep, so I'm trying it. Would you like some?"

"You know, that actually sounds nice. Yes."

At her instruction, I shut off the heat under the milk, and she took down two short glasses from the cupboard. While she sprinkled cinnamon in our drinks, I studied her expression, which was much more sanguine than before. Her blues seemed to have vanished altogether; perhaps I had only imagined them in the first place. After all, what had she to be unhappy about?

After a little insipid conversation, so insipid I don't even remember what we talked about, I asked, "So are you going to tell your family about all this?"

"I would if they would believe me," she replied. "But they won't."

I cocked my head. "Why not?"

"Because time travel isn't supposed to be a thing. It's supposed to be impossible."

If you and your family are so fucking close, then it shouldn't matter, I grumbled inwardly- but aloud I began, "True; besides, the chances of you talking to a man who's already six feet-"

I cut myself off, realizing almost too late what I was saying.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." I turned away from her, staring a moment at the specks of cinnamon bobbing along my drink's surface. "I think we should have a toast."

Julia smiled. "All right. To what?"

"The future, of course," I said with a dramatic wave.

"Yes, to the future," she whispered, eyes locking onto mine. "Cheers."

"Cheers." I took a sip. "Mm, hey, that's quite good. What did you put in it again?"

"Just milk and cinnamon. It's pretty easy; I bet you could even make it."

"I wouldn't count on it. I've been known to burn water."

Julia sighed again. "Oh, I'm going to miss that."

I paused mid-sip, heart fluttering inexplicably. "...What?"

Now it was her turn to look down, cheeks reddening yet again. "The, um," she stammered, "the way you said 'water.'"

My brow arched. "Are you making fun of the way I talk again? Because two can play that game. Dez-ar-russ."

"Oh shut up," she giggled. "No, I think your accent is beautiful, but the way you say some things, like 'water', is perfect. I'm sorry, I can't help it."

"Thank you, darling."

The look in her eyes deepened, a trace of the earlier sadness resurfacing. What she did next threw me off completely: she set down her glass and wrapped her arms around me, nuzzling her cheek against my own.

"I'm going to miss this so much," she whispered.

Was it only my imagination, or did I hear something like longing toward the end there? Likely the former, she couldn't possibly feel as I did. Despite my heart's quickening rhythm, I continued to play it cool. I didn't move, I didn't speak. I just stood there and breathed, until finally Julia pulled away from me again. But my flesh still crawled, and my heart burned, even after she had withdrawn.

Julia raised the glass to her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear- and I blurted, "So- what else about - this - will you miss?"

"Oh, I'll miss the cats," she sighed after finishing her milk. "Oscar, especially. I'll miss the Deacons, and Rudy, and Straker, and I'll miss- I'll miss you, and the thrill of merely being with you, whether that means we're on the loose in Manhattan and Vegas, or we're just standing here bickering in your kitchen, like now. And..."

She trailed off a moment. I held my breath, till she spoke again, in a distant, but endlessly tender, whisper, "And I'll miss your smile, and your laugh... and your eyes...and your heart."

It suddenly required all of my strength not to take her into my arms. I needed to feel her lips against mine, to enfold her little frame and shower her with all the unwanted love welling up within me. I was losing the capacity for rational thought, my sanity slipping quietly out of my grasp. And I realized - or perhaps I realized some time ago, and only now had I accepted - that I was in chains, and my freedom would not be granted anywhere near as swiftly as I had hoped.

"You know, it's funny you should say that," I managed, moving toward her as though in a trance. "You see, I already miss you."

She blinked. "You do?"

"Indeed. I miss you horribly."

Julia looked around uncomfortably for some meaningless little task to busy herself, as she often would whenever the situation became too much for her. She grabbed the saucepan and carried it to the sink.

"What, um," she asked with her back to me, "what do you miss?"

By now I stood so close to Julia that her fragrance, sweet and subtle, was filling up my senses. I slid my hands round her waist, drew her up against me. She was trembling. So was I.

"I miss," I began unsteadily, as though one wrong word would topple me, "I miss the way you bounce along on the balls of your feet when you walk. I miss rowing with you over absolutely nothing. I miss the way your eyes fill up the room whenever you walk in, and they're all I can see- and how you can just be standing there at almost three in the morning, with your hair a shambles and no makeup, ladling milk into a saucer for a cat- and still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I paused a moment to swallow; there was suddenly something very thick in my throat. "There's much more, you know, but most of all, really, I miss feeling this way."

Julia shuddered. "What... way?"

I reached up and pushed her smooth, wavy hair back from her neck. There was one faint love-bite remaining on her left side; I kissed it, letting my lips linger there for a little while before pulling back.

"Complete," I replied.

She shuddered again, this time much more violently. For a split second I thought she might turn around and kiss me. But instead, she tore herself out of my grasp and went back to business, babbling some rubbish about hoping I liked the drink. She started for the Relic, where it had been sitting unnoticed on the counter this whole time.

And I snapped.

My hands fell to my sides, heart pounding, vision blurring. Julia was leaving me. She had the gall, the fucking gall, to purr all those sweet words into my ear, to let me hold her, to allow me to believe for one evil second that she maybe would reconsider and stay with me- and then turn on her heel and walk away. Not that she could. I would not allow it. She couldn't walk away from me. She belonged to me. She was mine. She would not leave. The fool. The silly little fool, thinking she could walk away. I could never let her go. I would never. Never. Never. Never.

Only after Julia turned around, and stared, did I realize I was laughing like a madman.

"What's it going to take?" I heard myself growl. "What's it going to take, Julia? I'd really like to know. What feat of Hercules must I perform, to get through to you- to make you open your fucking eyes?"

I seized her arms, clamping down so tightly she squealed. "Tell me, what do I have to do? Is there even anything? Are you just so used to being locked up and shut away that you've forgotten how to show it when you do feel? I mean, if you feel?"

Julia's eyes shut- and mine narrowed. "Look at me."

"No."

"I said, look at me!"

"Freddie, please-"

"Please!" I shouted, shoving her harshly backward. "Please what? Please stop? You want me to stop?"

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, gasping for air. She might have been speaking, I really couldn't say, my blood was pounding too loud in my ears, but somehow that only made me more upset.

"No," I declared through gritted teeth. "Never. Your heart- you may be content to keep it locked up, but not I. I shall have it. I will take it, if it's the last thing I do. I will make you love me... just like you made me love you."

Instantly her eyes opened, growing wider than I had ever seen them look before. I knew I was making a terrible mistake, opening my heart to her like this, but I was too insane, and too sleep-deprived, to care. Let her laugh. Let her jeer. Let her spit in my face and curse my name. If she was going to leave me, she deserved to know on what terms.

"Perhaps I should say it again," I whispered when Julia remained in stunned silence. "I love you. Still don't believe me? Did I say it wrong? Or do I need to prove it? Shall I get on my knees and kiss your feet? Because I will. Watch me."

There's a reason Cupid is depicted as a mischievous winged child, flying throughout the world and firing arrows of love haphazardly at every poor soul that he comes across. For Love is an inconsistent devil, a disease for which there is neither cure nor preventative measure. It can come at anytime from anywhere, strikes everyone in varying degrees, and takes many wildly varying forms. For some it manifests through a smile, a promise, even the gentle touch of a hand; others, however, may find themselves kneeling on the kitchen floor, eyes blinded with tears, bending over to touch their lips to a girl's bare feet on the off chance that the message might get through to them somehow.

What's the use, I thought to myself between kisses. What's the fucking use, she doesn't care. She's going to leave me, as well she should. What's the use? Why do I care so much? Why do I feel this way? Julia, angel, darling... what have you done to me?

Suddenly Julia fell to her knees. "Freddie," she cried, her own voice thickening as she put her hand under my chin, "stop this, please, I don't-"

I jerked my head up, revealing the tears streaming down through her fingers. "I don't," she had said, leaving what she didn't as a total mystery. But had she finished, I could guess what she would have breathed: I don't care. I don't trust you. I don't love you.

And there I found my saving grace.

"Say it," I whispered, laying my hands against her face. "I want to hear you say it."

Inwardly, however, I was begging her, Finish the sentence. Free me - free us - with your lack of love. Tell me that I've been wasting my time, and let me move on. Just say it, say you don't love me, and I will nod, get up off the floor, and let you go your own way.

Julia's eyes closed once more as she nestled her forehead against mine, almost as though she were going to Eskimo-kiss me- and then she spoke. Three choked words rose from her throat, three small words sent my heart soaring, three sweet words condemned us for all eternity.

She said, "I love you."