Hey ya'll- its been a while. I honestly don't even know if anyone still reads this, haha. I hope so!

Anyway, here's the second to last chapter. There will only be one more, the final conclusion! Ah! As always, reviews are appreciated. Much love, xx.

After an exhaustive 5 hour "Let's Stop Sid and Sadie" sesh, everyone hunkered down to get some sleep before the big day. A day that will live in infamy as "The Day the Shades Stopped 2 Gods from Wreaking Havoc on the World and No One will Ever Know". Or "The Day the Shades Failed at Saving the World and We're All Screwed", I guess. Goddamn.

Callum and Boo were canoodling in Callum's room, having slunk off as soon as Thorpe signaled the end of the meeting by briskly clapping his hands together with a very British "Right then".

Stephen left with him to help strategically prepare their part in tomorrow's plan. I, just being the terminus- oh, and the brilliant mastermind behind the plan in question, something both men conveniently seemed to forget- was left out of any further discussion and told to get some rest. This was mostly okay, because my head felt like a dwarf was beating it from the inside with a tire iron and I kept having to quietly throw up in the bathroom. I hadn't told anyone about what Sid and Sadie said, or what I suspected. Thinking there is a good chance you're going to die and knowing it are two different things, and honestly, depending on how tomorrow went, it might not matter.

Despite my maudlin suspicions, my overall anxiousness, and just feeling like complete shit, I couldn't handle spending possibly my last night on earth alone watching TV. So I texted Jerome and Jazza and invited them over for a pizza night.

I missed them. And the fact that it would incense Stephen was just a plus.

Before they came over I called my parents from one of Boo's track phones.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Rory?" her voice shifted then, sounding strained, and immediately grew sharp. "Rory, where are you? Dad and I have been frantic. We got a call from this Thorpe person who told us you were safe, but he wouldn't say anything more. Rory, please come home. Please. There was an attack on the bridge…. Please just come home. We're so worried."

I heard a muffled "Is that Rory?" in the background. Dad sounded so upset. I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry.

"I'm sorry mom. I- I can't tell you where I am right now. I just wanted to call you and tell you I'm safe, and that... and that I love you. I'll be able to call you with more details after tomorrow but, I can't right now. I'm sorry."

Mom sucked in a breath, somehow more punctured over the phone. "Rory, I don't know what you've been involved in, or what's going on, but honey, there's still time to fix it. You can come home. Please, if.. if you do, me and dad won't ask any questions, we'll forget about your running away, we'll go home. Home, home. To New Orleans. Forget about this year like it never happened." She was pleading now. "Please, Rory, please-"

With shaking fingers, I hung up.

I was in the bathroom, sitting on the back of the toilet, feet planted on the seat. I looked up and saw the tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I sniffled, wiped my hands across my cheeks, and stared grimly into the mirror. How had I gotten to this point? How had my life changed so drastically in just a few months?

Before I could really get too deep into that particular abyss of crap, the doorbell rang, signaling Jerome and Jazza's arrival. I blew out a breath, shook off my dismal disposition, and readied myself to spend some much-needed time with my friends.

If anyone were looking into the flat's windows, they'd see a fairly normal scene:

One young, golden-haired, bright-eyed girl shoving an adorably curly haired, tallish boy who was gesturing wildly with a slice of pizza in his hands, paying no mind to the pizza sauce flecks that were staining the carpet; a nearly empty pizza box revealing numerous grease stains laying open on a worn, wooden coffee table; a pale, thin, brunette girl watching them, loving them, losing herself in a beautifully normal moment, the type of moment that you can't really treasure until it's passed and you've changed.

If anyone were looking into the flat's windows, they'd see 3 high school kids having fun. But no one was, and I knew better.

Jerome made some quiet comment about the attack on the bridge yesterday, looking at me questioningly. Of course he would link that scary weirdness to my scary weirdness; the kid was too bright. I mumbled a vague response and conversation resumed easily like it always did, with Jerome breaking out his quick witted jokes.

Just as Jerome got to the punch line- some physics joke that went over my head and had Jazza snorting her pop out of her nose- Boo and Callum ventured cautiously into the living room, looking bleary eyed and mussed.

"What's happening, then? Pizza party?" Boo brightened and quick as an asp, snatched the last piece, plopping herself down on the love seat next to me. His hand still reaching for the now- empty box, Callum looked at her with equal parts annoyance and fondness. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Good to know that while some things changed, Boo ultimately stayed the same.

As Callum took a spot on the floor, Jazza explained, "We were just about to watch this new Ripper documentary. Jerome is interviewed in it. It's supposed to be eerie and give new updated background info on the Ripper, but… now that we know what really happened, we thought it would be funny."

I waited for Boo or Callum to get upset by this, but neither seemed to care. Callum just grinned and softly knuckle-punched Jerome's shoe where it was resting on the coffee table. "Wonder what they would've done if you told them the real story in your interview?"

As I sat there watching my friends from my two different worlds hang out, I felt an indescribable peace settle over me. Yes, tomorrow would be dangerous and scary, and yes, we might all die. But right now, right now in this moment, there was love and joy and the triumph of living. It was a good life, I realized. No matter how short or long, as long as this existed, it would always be a good life.

It was while I was thinking this that Stephen finally came home.

He seemed surprised to find his apartment full of pizza and people, but he said nothing, just took off his coat and shoes, walked to the love seat (empty now, save for me, as Boo was curled up like a cat next to Callum), murmured a quiet "Shove over", and sat down next to me.

I knew I was in trouble by the way that little action made me glow inside. I felt so violently happy I could hardly contain my grin.

He smelled of London: exhaust and cold. He blew on his hands, like they weren't quite warm enough yet. Emboldened by the darkness of the room, I took them in both of mine and slowly rubbed them. I brought his hands to my lips and blew gently as I met his surprised stare and watched his lips part slightly. I wanted so badly to close the distance between us and kiss him, but the presence of everyone, specifically my ex boyfriend, in the room held me back.

After a beat, I tore my eyes and hands away from his and concentrated on the movie. It was torture to sit there next to him and feel his closeness, yet feel so empty, knowing I couldn't bridge the gap between us. The wanting started somewhere in my toes and then worked its way up into my soul, until I felt I could scream for the unfairness, the overflow of need bottling up with no relief.

Five minutes, or maybe five thousand, passed by, and I felt I was nearly about to go insane when suddenly I felt one, two, three fingers, then a hand, on top of mine. I glanced up at Stephen, who was still staring at the TV. He rubbed my thumb with his, and the corner of his lips turned up a little.

Well.

Two could play at that game.

I slowly, so slowly, moved his hand to my thigh, not high enough to be there but just high enough. He sucked in a breath, finally turning to look at me.

I smirked. He frowned a little, then pursed his lips. Moved his hand farther up, raised his eyebrows. A challenge.

If I had known playing with fire would be like this I would've started doing it a long time ago.

I bit my lip, widened my legs on the couch, forcing his hand to move even higher. His fingertips were brushing there, and he must have noticed this, because his hand stilled. My cheeks heated, and I felt like crying out.

But then Callum asked Stephen a question without turning around, and Stephen jerked his hand back like I burned him.

Soon enough, Boo and Callum sauntered off to Callum's room, and Jerome and Jazza had to leave. I protested, of course, but in response Jerome rolled his shoulders and said a bit sheepishly "Sorry, Ror, school night," and that was that.

I hugged them both extra harder than I needed to, and kissed Jazza on the cheek. "I love you guys," I said, attempting nonchalance. I guess I failed, because Jazza gave me a concerned look as she left.

Then it was just me and Stephen alone in a dark apartment.

He was looking at the kitchen tile, thinking hard about something. When he noticed me staring, he took his glasses off and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it.

I prepared myself for a "what we're doing isn't a good idea" speech, but he just glanced up from underneath his thick eyelashes and in a real quiet voice asked "Bed?"

I nearly melted to the floor.

"Bed." I responded, nodding.

In his room, I could hardly breathe.

I mean, it was Stephen I was laying next to, but also it was Stephen I was laying next to. The boy I loved.

He was shirtless, in his boxers. He had bashfully thrown his shirt on the floor while I took off my jeans, and so between the two of us we weren't wearing a whole outfit.

But we still weren't touching.

I think we were both lying face up toward the ceiling, not looking at each other, but I couldn't tell because I refused to look at him.

Then he turned to me, and reached out under the covers, and found my hand. And I turned to face him.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," he whispered back.

For about 30 seconds, we were silent.

Then I said, "I'm scared."

He frowned. "Rory, we don't have to do anything-"

"Not about that," I interrupted him, wiggling closer to him to prove my point. "I- I'm… I'm scared of losing this, all this that I've built here. This city, these people, this life, all of it."

He shuddered and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. "Me too."

A confession.

I buried my head into his neck, breathing him in. Mmm. The faint hint of whatever posh cologne lingered on him.

For some reason, the scent triggered a memory. "Hey Stephen?" I asked, the sound muffled against his warm skin.

The vibrations of my voice had him tensing and pulling me closer, holding me tighter.

"Mhmm?" he said sleepily.

"What's the Shadow Cabinet?"

Stephen sighed, rolling over and putting an arm across his eyes.

"There's a lot more to it than I want to get into right now, but it's essentially a secret group dedicated to the protection of London."

I blinked. His forthrightness was surprising for many reasons, the least of which was, well, he was Stephen. He never just shared information unless it was absolutely necessary. I expected to have to at least have to needle him more.

He glanced over out of the corner of his eye with a rueful expression, noticing my astonishment, and huffed a laugh. "I'm only telling you because you already knew."

"What?"

"In the... Other Place. When- when you came to get me," he swallowed. " I explained it to you then."

"You remember what happened?" I shrieked. "How?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But you didn't, and.. it didn't seem right, to tell you."

"How would that not seem right? Stephen, we had the same experience, you always do this to me, shut me out-"

"I wasn't shutting you out," he cut in. "I was protecting you. And I'm telling you now."

I felt like I should be mad, but what he said made sense, and besides…

"There was snow… and my house in Louisiana… and a diner," I said softly, the memories flooding in. Seeing Stephen lost and confused, waiting for his sister.

"We kissed?" I asked.

He nodded his confirmation.

"Hey," I said gently, reaching for him again. "Are you okay? About Regina?"

He looked at me then, regret and pain and sadness in his eyes. But nothing I saw there was anything to be worried about. Stephen was strong, and he was still grieving, but it was the kind of grief that never quite went away, the kind you have if you lose someone you really love.

"Yes," Stephen answered. "I'm okay."

We spent a while just staring at each other in silence. There were still moments like these, sometimes, little blissful moments when I marveled that Stephen was alive, really and truly alive.

Despite everything.

And I knew, I knew that what we faced tomorrow, it would change everything. We may survive, or we may not, but either way there would be a conclusion; I might never be able to be this close to Stephen again, I realized. I might never be able to say the things I needed to say to him.

So I did it then.

"The day you died, I…" I stopped. Started again. "Well, I went out of my mind. I wouldn't let anyone touch you. I knew I had to try to save you, bring you back…That's why I grabbed onto you, wouldn't let you go. It was probably-" at this my voice cracked. I cleared my throat, tears leaking out. "It was probably the most selfish thing I've ever done, trying to keep you here like that, trying to make you into a.. a ghost." I whispered the last word, ashamed.

"But I had to," I continued. "I had to. And you know why? You know why I followed you into hell, Stephen Dene?"

"Because despite everything, despite you trying to get me to go back to America ever chance you get, despite the way you shut me out, despite not really knowing what our futures are going to look like, despite all of it, I love you. I love you, and I wasn't willing to say goodbye to you then, and I'm not willing to say goodbye to you now, and I probably won't ever be. And I love you. I love you. And I needed you to hear it tonight, right now, because tomorrow… tomorrow we might have to say goodbye. For good this time."

"And I can't make the same mistake of letting you go without knowing, without me ever telling you. So, yeah," I finished lamely, wiping my cheeks. I snuck a peek at his face.

And my heart stopped. Because Stephen was looking at me like…well.

Like he loved me too.

"Rory," he said my name like a prayer.

He fit me back against the whole length of him, and ducked his head to my ear, placing a kiss on my temple, my neck, my earlobe, before he finally murmured:

"I love you too."