***ALEX***

Gabe and I are the first to follow Annie upstairs. We find her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring into space.

"Hey, guys." In a chair across from Annie sits Penny Crowe. We haven't seen her since the Aqua Killer days. She's looking much better now, though, with her slashed throat long since fixed. She still wears her infinity scarf, probably to hide the inevitable surgery scars, but at least she's able to talk properly again. "What's going on? Looks like bad news."

Annie looks up and laughs awkwardly. "Oh, um...no, not really bad news. But if it's not true, I'll be really disappointed." She sighs, hiding her head in her hands. "'Disappointed.' Try 'depressed.'"

"Don't be," I say. I'm tempted to take her hand and comfort her, but I only hesitate when I hear someone climbing up the stairs behind me - someone whom I sense to be Juliet. I turn around and learn I'm not wrong. Returning my gaze to Annie, I say, "I saw a picture of your mom. The woman that kid downstairs was talking about? That was her."

"Are you sure?" Annie asks, sniffling.

As Juliet sits on Gabe's other side, I take Annie's hand at last, just for a second. Long enough to respond, "Positive."

"You better be right," she says. "If I tell my brothers and it turns out we're wrong, they'll probably never recover."

"I imagine they wouldn't." Thompson appears at the top of the stairs and takes a seat in the dining room. "And I also imagine that's why your father didn't want you to hear about this." He's soon followed by everyone else, who finds space wherever they can. The furniture runs out of room pretty quickly, so Freddie ends up on the floor. I don't want to say "redheaded stepchild," but it seems like an appropriate choice of words.

"He said that?" Annie looks very dismayed.

"That's the first thing he said when he opened the door and saw me," Thompson says. "He said, and I quote, 'Please tell me you didn't bring Annie in.'"

None of us can help but laugh at this. "Nice impression of my dad," Annie says.

"I try," Thompson says, wringing his hands for a moment. I guess even in the Second 'Verse, that's a common tic among the elderly. In the old days, when the church (especially in Heaven) was still firmly stuck in the fire-and-brimstone phase, a lot of people took the "idle hands are the devil's workshop" thing a little too literally, and were scared into keeping their hands in motion at all times to avoid being sent to Purgatory. I once read a James Patterson book where one character had the same issue despite being a young guy, not even twenty years old. Patterson, however, wrote it more like a symptom of some autism-spectrum disorder. Stimming, I think they call it.

As the laughter fades, Annie says, "Kinda wish I had a Black Mirror right about now."

"What's that?" Fionna asks as she comes up the stairs herself. "Besides an Arcade Fire song."

I turn to her and smile, remembering that awesome opening track to the Neon Bible album. It's a great song for dancing like nobody's watching, especially when they yell the title line in French: "Un, deux, trois - dis 'Miroir Noir!'"

"Kinda like the Holy Grail of the Second 'Verse," Annie says. "It doesn't exist, but if it did..." She stares into space. "We could all find a use for it, probably. If the stories are true."

"What stories?" I ask.

Annie rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry. Forget I mentioned it."

"Oh, come on," Gabe says. "You mentioned something strange and potentially useful. Why not elaborate?" He scratches his nose. "Especially if it could help us in our war on Preston."

"Speaking of which," Thompson says, "with today's revelations...it's possible we may not have to, er, 'go to war' with him."

That's...way more interesting than some silly mystery about a Black Mirror. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"Don't sound so disinterested," Thompson says. "Well...let's begin with a theory I proposed many years ago. The same theory that got me laughed out of the scientific community, and despised by my own son."

Did I hear about this theory before? I don't remember. Fionna, however, seems to know what Thompson's talking about. "The idea that mortals come to this 'verse to be guardians for the living, along with the scrivs?"

"That's a hypothesis of mine," Thompson says. "But not the hypothesis."

After a long, dramatic pause, I'm finally baited into asking, "What's the hypothesis?"

"As you know," Thompson says, "when Primers die, their nearly-identical second body comes to life in this 'verse. The question is, what happens to scrivs when they die? Or...or what about second-body mortals?" He looks at Fionna, Freddie, Kyle, and Gabe as he says this - and then at me and Juliet. "Those of you who were there when young Mr. Walker died - do you remember what he said? His last words?"

We think back to that night - last Monday night. Fionna's the one who remembers it best: "Something about sending us a postcard from the Third 'Verse?"

"Correct," Thompson says. "Which, theoretically, should not be possible. Because for us, the Third 'Verse is our own afterlife. We would believe in it in the same way that many Primers would believe in Heaven, Paradise, whatever you'd call it."

"In other words," Kyle says, "you can't prove its existence."

Thompson shakes his head. "That's what I've tried to do many times. Finding a Third 'Verse version of the Terminal, though, has proven fruitless. However..." He leans forward, folding his hands together. "If we can find Marian again, we could ask her to show us how she got here from the Third."

"Yeah..." That word drones out as something enters my head. "And then if there is a Third 'Verse, maybe there could be a Fourth, a Fifth...and so on and so on ad infinitum nauseam."

I'm pretty sure he's laughing less at my last, jokey words than at the intentionally bad Latin I used. "Possibly," he says. "But can you imagine every soul that ever lived, journeying through universes forever, entirely without end?"

"There has to be a limit," Gabe says. "Like, what if your soul's purpose of existence is fulfilled before you die in the Prime 'Verse?"

"Or what if you don't deserve a chance at continuing to live after your death?" Thompson asks. "A few of recent history's standard villains have never been reported in the Second 'Verse."

"So," I say, "no Hitler, no Stalin, no Osama bin Laden?"

"No Fidel Castro?" asks Penny. I've only heard of this guy through Gabe - there's no such Cuban dictator in Heaven. I think, last time we were here, Kyle said that every angel or demon had a human equivalent, but there's no such duplication between angels and demons. Something to that effect, anyway.

"He's dead?" Kyle asks. "Damn, I've been gone longer than I thought."

"He's only dead in Hell," says Thompson. "But Cuba in this 'verse is even more closed off than it is on Earth and in Hell. So it's entirely possible that Castro's demon has surfaced on this side of the Terminal in the last year or so, and we in the US haven't heard about it."

"You know," I say, "if all we're supposed to be doing is proving that there's a Third 'Verse, why is it that we're going to war anyway?"

"Because my son is so stubborn that he'll do anything to prevent himself being proven wrong." Thompson sighs. "I wouldn't get involved myself, but..."

Another dramatic pause, then Annie asks, "But what?"

"But if I stay neutral, I couldn't live with myself," Thompson says.

"'With great power comes great responsibility,' huh?" Gabe asks.

"Exactly." Thompson frowns down the stairs, as if expecting someone to be there on the receiving end. "That, and if I'm not here to temper him, Jensen might very well order my son's death as revenge for that of Marian."

"But Preston didn't kill my mom," Annie says.

"He paid the man who did," Thompson points out.

"That was confirmed?"

"I thought you knew."

Annie crosses her arms and sighs. "There are so many things I don't know."

"We can all say the same thing," Fionna says, looking up at Annie. Then she turns to Thompson and asks, "Doesn't mean we can't do any good here, does it?"

"No." Thompson purses his lips. "Any help Jensen can get for his project, he'll take it." He twists the handle of his cane in his hands. "He's been running Operation White Shadows for five years now, and to think it might be near its end..." He raises his eyebrows at me. "You mentioned Osama bin Laden, yes? Have you seen the movie Zero Dark Thirty?"

"I have," Juliet says, raising her hand and accidentally bumping Gabe's leg, as she's sitting at his feet. After apologizing to him, she adds, "Mr. Blanco showed it to us a few weeks ago. After the AP Gov exam, he had just about nothing left to teach us, so we did a shit-ton of movies instead. Including that one."

"For those who haven't seen it," Thompson says, "tell us how it ends."

"Spoilers!" Gabe and I cry in unison.

Laughing along with everyone else, Thompson says, "It's based on true events, so everyone knows what happens in the end. But the very last scene..."

"When the ginger lady doesn't know where to go from here, and she breaks down crying?" Juliet asks. "That part?"

"I suspect Jensen might feel similarly when we finally defeat Preston," Thompson says. "He's left his home, he's forced his adult children to leave their homes, he's not had a proper vacation since-"

"Thompson? Annie?" Jensen calls them from downstairs. "A word, please?"

With another eye-roll (and a very beautiful one too), Annie says, "You guys might as well just go back next door. Maybe take a little cat-nap if you like."

"Knowing Jensen," Thompson laughs, "his 'words' will be many. So many, in fact, he'll take ages to get them all out of his system." He stands up and approaches the stairs. "We'll summon you back here when you're needed again."

"Thanks," I say. Others among us mutter similar words. We wait until Thompson and Annie are downstairs and have closed the basement door behind them before going down and out of this condo ourselves.

Following Annie's advice, I head upstairs to my room and go to sleep. I don't know how much rest I'll be able to get, but I undeniably need it. For half an hour, at least, according to my watch. I guess Gabe needs more time, though - when I wake up, he's dozing peacefully, with almost Luca-like heaviness. He's definitely settled in for a good long stay in dreamland, I think, based on the way he's got his hand behind his back, like Marty McFly. Even in death, he's still got that particular strange habit. He's lucky. My hands, they like to settle between my knees when I sleep, which cuts off the circulation and gives me serious pins and needles when I wake up.

Somehow, Gabe doesn't wake up when I leave the room. Neither does anyone else - it turns out that everyone else is asleep as well. At least, so I hear from Harlan, who's watching another episode in today's Orphan Black marathon.

I approach the sliding door and look outside to see the Jacuzzi sitting empty, all lit up and looking oh-so-inviting to me.

"You wanna go in?" Harlan asks, his mouth full as he bites down on an apple. "I could lend you a swimsuit, if you'd like."

"I'm sure your swimsuits wouldn't fit me," I say.

"You'd be surprised." He goes ahead and proves that point by getting up, going into a nearby closet, and grabbing a pair of board shorts. Literally - printed on one leg is a surfboard leaning against a palm tree. I hold them up to waist level and see that, while they'd be a little short on me (haha), they'll otherwise fit nicely.

"There's a little hut by the pool where you can change," Harlan says. "Don't be fooled by the fact that it looks like an outhouse - I swear to God, it's not."

"Thanks."

Stepping through the door and over to the hut, it occurs to me that, with the level of quiet in the condo, I could be dreaming again. Fionna could be joining me anytime soon, in her own borrowed swimsuit. Or perhaps no swimsuit at all - a thought which, naturally, occurs while I'm naked, tugging the shorts up my legs. If I close my eyes, I can see it better - but I'm pretty sure (ashamed though I am to admit it) my dream-vision exaggerates the size of her tits a tad bit.

Evidence against the theory that this is a dream comes pretty quickly, though. As I float in the hot water and feel the Jacuzzi jets on my wings, the water ripples as someone steps in and joins me. I turn to the side, water running off my stomach as I open my eyes and see who's there. I cry out in surprise, falling into the water and splashing her even though she's three feet away.

"Sorry!" Juliet laughs. "I-I didn't mean to scare you!"

"You didn't scare me," I say. "I just...I just felt a wasp land on me."

She steps out of the hot tub, laughing even harder, and disappears into the hut, coming back out a few minutes later. God, that purple bikini looks perfect on her. She's not nearly as curvy as Fionna, but she's got a pretty athletic figure. She's captivating me, and I need to stop staring. Can I, though?

I sink into the water up to my neck (the better to hide the bulge in my borrowed board shorts), close my eyes, and let out a long, contented sigh. All the energy in the water flows into me, relaxing me. Like a full-body recharge. It helps when Juliet gets closer to me. Even with my eyes closed, I feel it because all the buzzing wires of elemental power around me compress slightly when she approaches. Not enough to turn to ice, not even close, but enough that I can feel the disturbance in the Force, so to speak.

"I gotta ask," I say when she sits next to me and dips the lower half of her face into the water to kiss my submerged shoulder. "Are we dreaming?"

"I'm pretty sure we're not," she says, "otherwise that little brother of Annie's wouldn't have picked out a sweet bikini for me. Speaking of which, why does he keep them in his place?"

"Maybe they're for his lady callers," I say. "Or Russell's."

"Maybe." I catch her grinning for a moment, then her hand slides between my back and the side of the hot tub. She immerses herself completely, her head just an inch below the surface of the water. I hope to God she doesn't hear the frantic flurry of blowjob-themed thoughts in my head. She's teasing me, and the anticipation is fucking killing me.

Juliet then goes around to my other side to do the same sticking-her-head-underwater thing, this time to look at my tattoo. While she does this, she holds on to me with one hand at chest level. That hand slowly slides down my torso. I feel my core tightening, maybe semi-voluntarily, and her fingers fitting beautifully in the spaces between my abs. Now I feel a little less relaxed, as her touch arouses me. Jesus, is she really that merciless? Or am I really that hormonal? Of course, where I am right now feels like the makings of a wet dream in more ways than one.

Which might explain why, in the heat of the moment, I hear myself tell Juliet I love her. I'm not even sure if it's a thought, or if I say it out loud. Either way, it's a silence-shattering whisper.

She resurfaces again, her brown hair looking black as the skies above us as it's plastered to her shoulders. I can't tell where her hair ends and her wings begin. "I know," she whispers back.

In a lightning-fast movement, she wraps her legs around my stomach and her arms around my shoulders, then pins me to the side of the tub with a deep kiss. Wait...isn't this my job, beause I'm the guy?

As if you're not enjoying this, she thinks, smiling against my mouth.

You're right. I totally am. My thought-voice is as calm as ever, but my body betrays how completely the opposite of calm I am. I swear, my own elemental power is turning the water around us to steam. I find myself pulling away a couple of times to keep my system from getting too overwhelmed as my heart tries to jackhammer its way out of my chest. While Juliet kisses other parts of my face instead, I look down and see her chest heaving - she's as breathless as I am. I hate to use the word "loins," but ours are getting pretty close to each other. Too close - she's very likely feeling my hard-on. Okay...make that "definitely." She's grinding against me. Yeah, you read that right - "grinding."

I hope you have a condom somewhere, she thinks - we're too deeply enmeshed in our kiss to talk.

In my wallet. Gabe made sure to replace the one I used with Juliet on prom night.

She pulls away from me (I'm panting, amazed I didn't come already) and points at the hut. "I wanna do it in there," she says. "That way, if anyone looks outside, they won't see us."

"Good idea," I say.

Before we get out of the hot tub, though, we hear a loud snapping noise somewhere in the trees behind us. A male voice curses, and the two of us freeze. Especially me. I know that voice, and that Southern accent, all too well.

Juliet blasts the trees with wind, and I throw out a lot of water from the pool to further stun Elijah Emery.

It works - he hits the ground to avoid our attacks, swearing up an even noisier blue streak.

This would be the perfect opportunity for me to wake up - but there's no unexpected scene change as I return to my bed, whether here or at home in Spellman. So I assume that I'm wide awake.

I leap out of the water and stalk over to him, glaring at him. He rolls over and matches my expression with equal venom. "Why am I not surprised to see you, son?"

Unlike Elijah, I've spent a few months building up muscle. So I have no problem dragging him into the hut by the scruff of his neck. Juliet follows me, but doesn't step in right away, because Harlan's stuck his head out the door and is asking her what's going on.

"Nothing we can't handle," I say. "Go back to your weed."

"I'm not smoking," Harlan protests, but he disappears into the condo without another word. Before he can close the door, however, Fionna races out the door - she must've just woken up.

Inside the hut, I push Elijah against the wall. He blows his hair out of his face - seriously, he looks like he hasn't cut it since November. "Don't I know you?" he asks in a falsely polite voice as he sees Fionna come in and close the door behind her.

Fionna pulls down her shirt's neckline and points to a roughly U-shaped scar cutting across her sternum and right breast. Right, because that's where her heart is, since she's a demon. "I was your last victim," she says.

Elijah scoffs. "Funny, I thought you and my son were together. Guess he doesn't like fucking dead girls any more than the rest of us."

I move to punch his worthless face in, but I stop just short of hitting his nose with my fist. "I'll cut you," I say, "like you cut Fionna."

"Who now?"

"She has a name, you godforsaken asshole."

"Feathers, you don't need to defend me to this clown," Fionna says. She approaches Elijah, then says, "But he's right. I do have a name. Fionna Marie Lee. Yes, the initials spell 'FML.' I've heard that shit before."

"You know," Elijah says, raising a stump where his left hand should be, "I seem to recall y'all cutting me once before."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Juliet cover her mouth. She knows the damage I did to him that night, but she's also been lucky enough to have never met Elijah in person...until now. "So you know I'm serious," I say, remembering that same moment. Truth be told, I deeply regret my loss of control that night, when I projected into him and made him hurt himself like that. Since he's no longer telepathic, I don't see any reason for him to know that. But he's smart - eventually, he'll call my bluff, and I'll have to make a choice whether or not to follow through on my threat.

Especially if this is the real life, and not just fantasy.

"As a Peek Frean, got it," Elijah says obsequiously. (You have no idea how long I've been waiting for a chance to use that word.) "But don't you wanna know why I'm here, kids? 'Cause believe you me, I have a much better purpose here than interrupting your angel-on-angel pool party."

"I represent that," Juliet says. Fionna gives her an appreciative grin, one sweet and snarky girl to another. "Also, I'm a hybrid too. Just sayin'."

The wolf-whistle Elijah gives sends shivers down my spine, as does the Loki-like pensive look he gives to Juliet's comment. "Would that I were a younger man," he says. "I can see why you like this one."

"Spare me the father-son bonding and explain yourself."

Elijah's eyes - my eyes, but with a "dead inside" hardness - narrow at me. "I heard there was this limey doctor in town who was looking for proof that this universe isn't the end of the proverbial road," he says. "And I'm here to give him the proof he needs. Anything to end the reign of terror being perpetrated by that phony bastard in the White House, you get it?"

I don't want to know how he knows about the Hollys - father or son. But as far as I'm concerned, he's said enough to make himself valuable - for the moment. "Come with us," I say, fighting to keep myself from losing my lunch. He disgusts me that much.

"You'll take me to him?" Elijah whistles again, this time in a far less lascivious way. "Where's that goddamn Easy Button when you need one?"

"Yeah," Fionna says. She lights her finger on fire and jabs it directly into his chest, singeing through the fabric of his shirt and leaving a mark like a cigarette burn. He gasps involuntarily, but doesn't give any other indication of pain."We'll take you to your limey. And if you behave, maybe that'll be the last injury we deal you."

Another whistle - this one supremely sardonic. How can whistles carry so much feeling from a piece of pond scum who has none to speak of? "Vengeance on our minds?" he asks.

"Shut the fuck up and let's go." I push him out of the hut, nearly throwing him head over heels into the hot tub in the process. Thank God I don't - the last thing we need is for him to just vanish into the water like he's done so many times before.

Also, as I march Elijah up to the condo, I feel a painful twinge in my balls, now very ultramarine with disappointment that they very likely won't be put to good use tonight after all. Elijah, you goddamn cockblocker...