Katherine is sobbing on the floor and Russell doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what happened. And he can't ask her anything because she can't even fucking breathe.

He always played music when he cooked. His mother did it. She played everything...the Taylor kitchen consistently floated across genres, jazz to pop, rock to country, oldies to classical...usually not classical, though.

Joanna Taylor, neé Grey, had a sweet tooth, and her favorite thing to make her boys was crème brûleé french toast. Incidentally, her favorite dessert was also crème brûleé. She woke up at the crack of dawn to have it ready when they woke up for school. Patrick didn't appreciate it the way Russell did. 

He always heard his father talking about how much of an emotional child he was. 

Mom's favorite fruit was peach. All year, all she talked about was peaches. How many days until peach season, how many days are left. There was never a specific day...just summertime. She was always happier in the summer because of peach season. She got to put her favorite fruit  on her favorite breakfast. 

It's the last day of June...peach season is here, and his mom is in this kitchen with him. In the music, in the custard, in the peaches. 

He'd just put the bread in the oven. Jake was hovering, naturally. Russell scooped him up and started swaying around the kitchen with him to Etta James' At Last.

He turned, then jumped a little as he caught sight of Katherine standing just three feet away from him. 

"Shit, you're quiet."

Her eyes looked normal, but she was too quiet. Initially, Russell thought she was coming up with some smart remark about dancing around the kitchen with a dog who looks like he'd much rather be on the floor. 

"Let him go," she whispered. 

Russell frowned, glancing to Jake. "Oh, he's fine. We dance all the time, huh?" But Katherine grabbed a knife from the block and turned it on him.

"Let him go!" That's when Katherine charged. It all happened too quickly for him to remember specific details. Somehow, he got the knife out of her hands and had her pinned to the ground. But she didn't look at him. She had her head turned as she sobbed, over and over again, "I don't have it" and "let him go."

"Katherine, it's Russell," he said. 

"Leave him alone!" She cried. "He doesn't know, he doesn't know, he doesn't know!"

"Katherine!"

"Get up!" She wailed. "Get up Charlie!"

Charlie.

Patrick had a buddy stay the night once after he got out of the Marines. Neither of the brothers know what set his friend off, but he slipped into some kind of PTSD episode. This is exactly how he behaved.

"Fucking Christ."

Russell leapt away from her like he'd been burned. 

"No!" It was the most blood-curdling scream Russell had ever heard. It sent a chill down his spine, pulled at something there. There was a need to do something, something he can't even begin to identify, but it's so strong. Russell felt like he was going to throw up. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Katherine!"

She wasn't even responding to him. This can't be PTSD. Well, surely it can, but this specifically is something else. 

What does he do?

He barely hears the oven beep over her sobbing. Maybe calling Patrick would do something. With shaking, mitted hands, he pulls the dish from the oven, turns the oven off, and fumbles for the landline.

But she's quiet. Her sobs have stifled to disjointed breathing. 

Russell peers around the counter. She's on her side, curled up, chest shaking. Her hands are behind her back.

The neighbor found her tied up, she said.

Fucking shit, she watched it happen. 

Russell wipes the tears from his eyes and drops the phone onto the countertop. Good fucking thing I didn't leave her gun in there with her.

He's not in the mood for peaches and french toast. Sorry, Mom.

Katherine groans, sounding a little more conscious, and rolls onto her stomach. The way she springs to her feet, even as groggy as she is, Russell knows she's like him. A hunter. 

She pushes her hair from her face, eyes darting around the house, occasionally settling on him. "Oh," she hums, voice thick with sleep, hoarse from screaming. "It's you." She runs her tongue over the roof of her mouth and stares at him. Russell watches the color drain from her face. "Did I—" Her eyes sweep over him like they're assessing for injury. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

Katherine's eyes don't meet his. "What did I do?"

Russell rests his weight through his palms on the counter. 

"Can you turn the music off, please?" She whispers. Russell cuts the music before sitting on the sofa. "What's your name?"

"Russell," he replies. "We didn't sleep together. You fell asleep in your car in my driveway."

"Why was I in your driveway?"

Russell squints up at her, that lump still in his throat. He's angry, but he doesn't know why. "Because you were coming to get your clothes." Her eyebrows knit together. "You don't remember anything about last night, do you?"

Katherine shakes her head, looking the most ashamed he'd ever seen someone look. "I get pretty tore up sometimes," she admits. She doesn't know why she even said it. 

Russell chews on his lower lip. "I made french toast," he croaks. "You want some orange juice?"

"I should probably get going—"

"No." He pushes himself up and walks past her. "No, you're going to stay for breakfast, because you look like you haven't eaten anything in a week, which doesn't make any goddamn sense because you're—" Katherine raises an eyebrow at him. He grits his teeth and gestures to her. "You look like you bench guys like me for fun!"

"French toast sounds nice," she croaks.

He frowns at her. "You're real stubborn, aren't you?" Katherine bristles. "You like crème brûleé?" Russell gruffly asks, turning away from her to find a spatula. "Fuck, where's Jake? Jake?"

"Who's Jake?" Katherine asks, a note of panic in her voice.

"My dog. Well, the dog."

Jake's huddled up on the bed in Russell's room, ears pinned and tail anxiously thwacking against the comforter. 

Russell saves the questioning until they're both halfway through breakfast. Thinking about his mom isn't any happier a topic as the one he's going to insist on talking about, but usually, thinking about his mom brought a little smile to his face.

Russell sets his fork down and sighs, watching her fingers twirl her own. "I'm sorry." He lifts his eyes in time to watch Katherine's snap to his face. He never realized how...blue they were. He doesn't even have anything to compare it to. Not the shocking, icy, cold blue...this blue has a little green in it. Not quite phthalo, which he only knows because it was Heather's favorite color.

"For what happened to you," Russell continues. "And your husband."

Her jaw unhinges a little and adjusts, like she's manipulating an emotion to go back down her throat. She isn't looking at him anymore.

"You said you were tied up."

Katherine sniffs. "I was talking?"

Russell's eyes flit to the floor. "Screaming. But the other night, at Frankie's. You told Trina the wife was tied up."

Katherine swallows. "How'd you figure it was me?"

"Saw your picture on the TV right after you left."

She sighs and nods. "My picture on the news is the last thing I need."

"'Cause you're a hunter," Russell hums. "That why you have all those bruises?"

She looks at him with a furrowed brow, watery eyes. "I don't think I like how observant you are."

"It's not hard to find another," Russell murmurs. "Does...that happen often?" He nods to the floor, where she lay for a good part of the last hour.

Katherine swallows thickly. "Do we have to talk about it?"

"Well you almost stabbed me, so...yeah."

"God." She puts her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"It's f—"

"No it isn't!" She slams her hand on the table. That seems to upset her more. "I'm sorry."

Russell offers her a small smile. "Worse things have happend to me than a knife being pointed in my direction. Promise."

Katherine's blue-green eyes flit over his torso, his face. "They happen often enough," she murmurs. "They started after D..." She breathes the last bit. A name she isn't able to finish. A name she chokes on, just like he chokes on Heather, even still. He can't even think his daughter's name without throwing up. "They started a few weeks before he died," Katherine croaks. "I lost someone else."

"You loved him."

She doesn't meet his gaze. "I didn't want to."

"Usually how it happens."

She chuckles a little. 

"That why you get so drunk?"

Katherine's jaw does that thing again. It's an uncomfortable tic. "Yyyeah," she drawls. "If I get...sedated enough...sometimes I get lucky and I don't have to see it again." She picks up her orange juice, and there's a knock on the door. Her nose wrinkles a little, eyes moving to the door, then to Russell. Questioning.

"Stay here," he murmurs, pushing himself up from the table.

Paula is holding a small basket of peaches as he opens up the door. She beams at him. "Hey!"

"Hey," he chuckles. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Well, I had the day off, and I know we said we'd go to the farmer's market together, but I went with Milly and I know how you like peaches, so." She wiggles the basket. 

"You and Milly sure got through that farmer's market quick," Russell says, opening the door up. Then he closes it real quick again, stepping out onto the patio with wide eyes. "Uh, Paula?"

"You are so weird," she states. "What?"

"There's a situation," he says. Behind her sunglasses, Paula's big brown eyes sweep his face questioningly. "Remember way back in March, I brought a woman into the ER who fell into the creek?"

After a few long moments, Paula nods. "Yeah...yeah, the woman who flatlined."

"Yeah, her. Uh...she...is here."

Paula's eyebrows shoot up above her sunglasses in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"No, not here like Winchester, here like in my house." Her ears pull back. "It's a long fuckin' story, a really sad fuckin' story, too, and we're having breakfast. Do you want to come in?"

Paula swallows before nodding a little. "I'd like to meet her, yeah."

Russell opens the door wide, but Katherine is gone. So is her plate from the table.

"What the..." His eyes shoot for his bedroom door.

"Where is she?" Paula murmurs. 

"She was just at the table," Russell mumbles. "Katherine?" He calls into the house. "Where'd you run off to?"

She pokes her head out from the dark bathroom. 

"The hell are you doing in there?"

"Uh..." She steps out from the shadows. "I didn't know if this was going to be a situation." Her eyes flit between Russell and Paula. "I'm guessing this isn't going to be a situation."

"This isn't going to be a situation," Russell affirms. "Katherine, this is Paula. She was your nurse when—"

"When I fell into that creek," Katherine murmurs. "Yeah, I remember." Her eyes flit between the two again. "How long y'all been together?"

Paula smiles. "Oh, just a few months. We met that night, actually."

"Oh." Katherine offers a fleeting, crooked, uncomfortable smile.

Russell is grinning. "Where'd you stash your plate?" He asks. 

Katherine's cheeks turn pink. "Under the sink," she admits.