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You know those people who only appear when you least want them? They're gone for ages and then wham-bam back again?

Dworkin is sipping wine, sitting at the Observation Window, watching the destruction outside.

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"Mary Anne."

He reaches out his hands to her and laughs.

She folds both of her hands around his, grinning.

"Staying out of trouble?"

"No."

He grins.

"Family. Blood. Wars."

"So I hear," she says.

"Much more interesting than out of trouble. Although I hear you've given the family a fright; your grandson told me you might be dead."

Dworkin shrugs.

"It might not all have happened yet. I don't remember when I'm from."

"Either you've been there or you will be," she says.

"It's not that important."

"It was bad. It will be bad."

Suddenly a hand, reaching for her, grasping. Dworkin's face is white.

She takes his hand.

"But it'll pass. It will be okay. I promise."

His face crumples, and his hand clutches hers.

"But I don't want to lose another child."

"I know," she says, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I--"

But there's nothing she can say to stop that.

"I'm sorry."

"They're all gone."

He's sorry too. And then angry, and there's power and worms rattling under his skin.

Common sense tells her to let go.

So she doesn't.

"And you're still here. It's shit, but it's what we have to live with."

"Are you going to be a mother?"

He imagines her as a mother.

"Don't out live them."

"Yeah, someday I...yeah."

Two little girls.

She nods shakily. "I'll keep them safe."

"Never put yourself in the position to love something more than you do your little ones."

That's his advice.

"I'll remember."

A long pause, then,

"What did you love?"

"The Pattern. Myself."

They merge somewhere.

Sometimes she wonders just how far apart they really are.

"And now?"

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