The heat was unbelievable.

Nick Cutter had an idea that this was what hell must feel like, the oppressive heat and smoke pushing down on him from all sides, even the floor under him heated. Every breath burned in his lungs, though it was a toss-up whether it was from smoke or the bullet that'd torn its way through his chest.

"Temple, tell Claudia Brown…" Nick exhaled slowly, resting his head against the younger man's shoulder. "Never mind. Doesn't matter." His head felt as though it was splitting open, the pain in his chest pulsing hot in time with his slowing heartbeat.

He closed his eyes and sank back into the peaceful, fuzzy darkness that had been encroaching on him, as easy as falling asleep…

…and woke to a voice speaking above him, vague and blurry but growing steadily clearer.

"Nick? Nick, can you hear me? Are you back with us?" murmured a soft voice that he was certain he wouldn't be hearing again.

He let out a slow breath, feeling a sharp ache in his chest as he did so, reminiscent to the pain he had felt in his dream, though now much more real. And then, just because he couldn't help it, he mumbled, "Auntie Em, I had the strangest dream, and you were there, and so was Toto…."

"Oh, you cheeky bugger, it's about time you got back."

Got back? Where had he been? Nick opened his eyes slowly, squinting a little at the unexpected brightness of the room he was in. Four white walls and tall windows along one, with tiled floors and softly chirping machines tracking every bodily function. Hospital room. He looked up at the tall figure beside his bed, the owner of the hand resting on his arm. "Stephen," he murmured, the monitor beeping a little faster as his heart kicked up speed. "What—?" He started to sit up, then fell back with a moan as the motion sent a sharp pain through his left shoulder and arm.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy," Stephen, who ought to be dead, urged. "Relax, man, everything's alright."

No, everything certainly was not alright. "Where—what's happened? Where am I? Where's Helen?" Nick demanded. Helen. It was always bloody Helen. She had done this somehow, to torment him further, he just knew it.

"Nick, you've got to take it down a bit or the doctor's gonna come in here and sedate you before you tear your stitches," the very much not dead Stephen said urgently, pressing back against his other shoulder, the one that didn't hurt quite so much.

He was about two shakes of a whore's tail from throwing a complete wobbly, stitches or no, but the door of the room opened. He sank back against the bed, all the starch running out of him in a great rush. "Claudia Brown," he rasped out.

She grinned and crossed the room in three swift strides, leaning over the bedrail to hug him as best she was able, her soft cheek pressed to his stubble. Nick wrapped his arms around her back, inhaling the scent of strawberries and cream in her hair, mingled with whatever faint perfume she wore, still trying to grasp the reality that she was there and in his arms and still Claudia Brown. "Oh, Nick, we were all so worried about you," she murmured in his ear. She started to lean back, but he caught her face in his hands and kissed her, never mind that Stephen was standing there watching; he kissed her the way he had wanted to and only pulled back when oxygen became a necessity. She gave a small smile, a slightly dazed look on her face. "Oh, wow," she said dreamily.

"I thought I'd never see you again, Claudia Brown," he murmured.

A small crease formed between her brows. "What do you mean?" she asked in puzzlement, gazing at his face worriedly. "Nick, are you alright?"

"That's what I'm wondering," Stephen put in dryly, and she hastily straightened up, high colour in her cheeks as she straightened out her jacket.

Nick looked between the two of them, both watching him as expectantly and uncertainly, and shook his head. "Someone tell me what the buggering hell's going on before my brain explodes," he sighed at last.

The pair exchanged a slightly nervous glance, and Stephen asked, "How much do you remember after going through the anomaly?"

"The anomaly," Nick repeated, then tentatively hazarded, "The Permian? Baby Predators? That one?"

"Yeah, that one," Stephen reassured.

He paused a moment, weighed his options, couldn't find one that didn't sound completely bonkers, and went for, "Not much. My head feels like mush. Were we attacked by the mother Predator?"

Claudia Brown—his Claudia, not the pale imitation of Jenny Lewis, his soft, loving, beautiful Claudia—reached down and took his hand in both of hers, clasping her fingers tightly with his. "You were. The Gorgonopsid attacked your camp and killed the young ones. Then the mother showed up, killed most of Ryan's men, attacked the Gorgonopsid," she said slowly, and he nodded. That all sounded about right to him. "You saved Ryan from the Predator, and it injured you."

And there goes the red flag. "Wait, what? That's…what?"

"You don't remember?" Stephen asked, and Nick hastily shook his head. "Well, I guess that's not much of a surprise, hard as you hit your head. That damn thing tossed you like a ragdoll, you cracked your skull on the way down, and you've been out of it ever since. This is the first time you've been conscious in six days, Nick."

Six days? Six days? "So I've been…unconscious all this time?" he said slowly, numbly.

Stephen and Claudia both nodded. "Practically comatose," she murmured, her voice thicker with worry as she squeezed his hand tightly.

He had been unconscious all this time. Which meant…. "It was a dream," he whispered. "It was all just a dream." He began to laugh, softly at first but then louder and harder, because it was either laugh or start screaming, and laughed until tears ran down his face and his sides hurt. He laughed until it was hard to get a breath in and he was wheezing like an old man.

Still standing next to his bed, Stephen and Claudia exchanged glances once again, and then the tracker said, "I think we broke him."

When his hysterics finally died off, Nick looked up at the two people standing over him, the two people that he cared about more than anything in this world, and felt himself grinning again. "No, you didn't. I'm alright." He turned his gaze to Claudia Brown and tightened his hand around hers, pulling her closer so he could reach up and touch her cheek, twisting a stray curl of her soft strawberries-and-cream scented hair around his fingers. She was real and solid, and he hadn't imagined her, hadn't lost her. And he wouldn't let her go again, come hell or high water. "So, is everyone alright?" he asked.

Stephen was glancing between the two of them and shaking his head, but in good humour as he answered, "Yeah, we're all fine. Connor's been making himself about sick with worry. Abby's had to sit on him once or twice to make sure he eats before he passes out. Ryan's been a bit tetchy, but I think that's just because his big manly soldier boy reputation was bruised, getting saved by an old boffin like you."

"Ryan? Ryan's alright?" Nick asked, breathless. Christ, that had been some kind of nightmare.

"He is, thanks to you."

He let out a sigh of relief, sitting back on the pillows and groaning again as the motion pulled the aforementioned stitches in his chest and shoulder. But even that was good. Pain was good, because pain meant he wasn't still in that awful, desolate dreamworld that his mind had pulled together out of all the worst of his nightmares. But then he noticed something else. Neither of them had mentioned someone. "What about Helen?" he asked.

Again, the little glance between the pair, and Nick had a creeping suspicion that Claudia Brown had been making a good friend out of Stephen Hart in the past six days. He despaired slightly of that, because now that meant he would have two pseudo-nursemaids to bug and pester him whenever they though he was working too much, and working together against him at that. Stephen didn't realise it and denied it fervently if brought to his attention, but he could be as bad as any woman when it came to mother-henning someone.

"Nick…when the camp was attacked, the Predator…it got her, Nick. She's dead," Stephen murmured lowly, eyes downcast. Nick recalled sharply all that had happened between them in his dream-world, and he would do everything in his power to keep it from happening again. They were due for a very long and private conversation later on. It might very well be a figment of his imagination, but he wouldn't pull the wool over his eyes again.

But Helen…. He wasn't sure what he expected to feel, knowing that she was dead. He didn't think that tears were anywhere on the agenda, but to his utter shock, he didn't feel much by way of remorse or regret. There was a faint twinge from the old corner of his heart that she had first claimed, but not much more. In fact, there was almost a sense of relief, a loosening of some knot that'd snarled up in him. Maybe once upon a time, he might've felt worse, but that was before. Maybe she wasn't as mad as he'd dreamt, but then again, maybe that was his subconscious' way of warning him that she was dangerous, wasn't the person he thought. "You're sure?" he asked quietly.

"Ryan saw. She's gone."

He let out a deep breath and nodded once. Perhaps the mourning would come later, once the shock all wore off and he wasn't reeling. He didn't think it would; he'd mourned for her already, and for long enough. It was past time for him to start moving on. Looking up at Claudia Brown, he had a fairly good idea of where to start.

"Are you alright?" she asked again, softly as she reached up with her free hand—he still hadn't relinquished his grip on the other one—and smoothed his hair back.

Nick tilted his head into her hand. "Aye, I think I will be," he replied. A soft laugh escaped him.

"Something funny?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's just…. You wouldn't believe the dreams I had, Claudia Brown," he chortled.