He dreamed of a face.

He only caught glimpses.

When wandering through an endless desert, with shifting sands swirling around him like tidal waves crashing upon the shore, he'd see her dark hair floating on the stormy winds, her black eyes hiding behind the veil of sand.

When running down endless halls, climbing up to doors upon the ceiling, and slipping through windows into new worlds, he'd see her lips, full and sweet, calling him to turn the next corner, beckoning him to catch her.

When he stood upon a teetering tower, stacked high with the bodies of the fallen, their cries scratching against his ears so he couldn't even hear himself scream, her gentle face appeared through the haze. A slight smirk quirked her cheeks, her eyes challenging him, as if to ask, "you aren't giving up, are you?"

A beacon in the storm and a lighthouse upon the sheer cliffs. She dragged him along with a teasing smile and a promise upon her lips. He followed her everywhere, no matter how intense the pain or how dark the way, yet he never caught her. He wasn't sure he ever would, but still he persisted. So it continued until, finally, he stepped into the light.

He groaned, his eyes burning from the severity of the bright rays. He raised his hand to block the source of the light, but only managed an inch of movement before feeling the sharp pang of bad decisions.

"Fuck," he growled, dropping his arm back down. He hissed beneath the searing light, gritting his teeth against the burning strain of his triceps.

"Good morning, Cat. What will it be now? Another piss run, or are we going to argue about the finer points of tomato cultivation?"

"What?" he responded, the word a raspy scratch against his dry throat. "Who is this? Where am I?"

"Ooh, we've never gotten this far before. Let's see, I'm the princess of Uzbekistan and you are at my summer home in Germany."

"Who is this?" he asked again, trying his best to convey all of his anger and none of the fear that was coursing through him. Why couldn't he raise his arm? Was he bound? Who would have kidnapped him? And was he being held as billionaire Dominic Cramer or as the vigilante Catalyst? "No more games. Uzbekistan is a presidential constitutional republic, and it is fall in the Northern Hemisphere right now, not summer."

"Dude, you've been out for so long, how do you know it's not summer right now?"

He paused, panic sealing his throat. He needed a quick response. Hesitation would show weakness and he needed his captor uncertain of what power they held over him.

"Enough, show yourself, coward!"

"You are feisty this morning," grumbled the voice, though he caught a hint of humor ringing through. "I'm right in front of you, Cat. You'd think you'd recognize your gracious host considering you've been surfing my couch for the past day or so."

"What?" He blinked, struggling to withstand the intense light. With time, though, his eyes adjusted, and a silhouetted form took shape before him — a figure with tantalizing curves and a confident stance. "I... The light, it's..."

"Oh shit, you are right in the sun." The voice trailed, and the figure disappeared into the distance before pulling a curtain over two windows that bordered a quaint doorway. "Sorry, no covering for the top one. Not that I would if I had any. I'm not killing all my light. I try to keep things sustainable around here."

With most of the sun dampened by the thick drapes, Dominic blinked the spots from his eyes and looked up to find a face he knew so well, but a person he knew nothing about at all.

"Who are you?" This time, the question rolled out of his throat with a rumble of awe. He licked his chapped lips and attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, only for a renewed spring of pain to burst from within his shoulder.

"Apparently, your first attempt to move didn't teach you a lesson. You need to take it slow, Cat. You're still healing and you have a bruise the size of a basketball on the back of your arm."

"Shockwave," he mumbled, his memories trickling in as he sank back into a pillow.

"Yeah, that's the asshole that was knocking the shit out of you. You'd be dead if I hadn't gone out and yelled at him to get off my lawn."

"You..." He glanced over at the woman, who sat on the edge of a coffee table, sipping something that smelled like almond and cinnamon. "I know your face."

"You're really awake this time, aren't you?" she asked with a cock of her head, her thick eyebrows rising to a point. "Not going to lie, I'm a little bummed. I was hoping we could finish our conversation about whether squirrels would make good pets."

"They would make horrible pets. Unless you are a licensed rehabilitator..."

"I agree," she interrupted with an unconcealed smirk, "but you didn't think so last night. Still, I was very willing to have you sway me, considering how passionate you were about the topic."

"I... I don't recall..."

"Well, you've been in and out ever since I bandaged you up a little over a day ago. You spent most of the time sleeping, but every few hours you'd cry out in your desperate need to piss or have a drink of water. Speaking of which, you should have some more. This was the longest you've slept without shrieking from pain or whatever was going on in your head while you were sleeping."

His skin burned with embarrassment as she rose up to grab him a glass of water. He pictured himself sobbing like an incontinent child on this poor woman's couch. However, there was some comfort in the way the woman's playful tone dampened while describing his situation. He hoped that meant it wasn't as bad as he imagined it, but he knew so little about her that it only gained him a single shred of relief.

"Here, drink up. I did my stretches this morning, so I'm ready and able to escort you to the commode if you need it."

"That won't be necessary." He felt a stab of unpleasantness somewhere around his elbow as he raised his hand for the glass of water, but was relieved to find his dominant right arm was in better condition than his bruised left.

"Yeah, well, we'll see if you're still feeling that confident when you try to use your leg."

"What's...what's wrong with my leg?"

She concealed a snicker before looking at her tea.

"What?"

"Cat, if only you could see how wide and innocent your eyes are. Big monster of a man like you with the look of a deer caught in headlights."

"Why do you call me Cat?" Dominic tried to sip his water, but groaned with the effort. The woman put down her tea and without hesitation placed her hand upon his good shoulder, aiding his movement so she could fit a pillow behind him. He felt the ache in his ribs as he did, but he found it easier to manage the pain given the distraction looming before him. Looking down at him, only inches from his face, was a pair of mischievous eyes, a playful smirk, and a long, elegant neck that led down to a pair of breasts that hung before him, daring him to look away. He swallowed hard and kept his gaze trained upon his caretaker, knowing full well that he looked like a deer caught in some very nice headlights at that moment.

"Catalyst takes too much effort," she said, as she pulled away and returned to her tea. "I expended enough energy hauling your ass here, you can deal with me shortening your fancy, nonsensical Gifted name."

And that pulled him out of his admiration like a shot of lightning.

"My...my... Gifted..." He couldn't form words, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, his throat dry and desperate for liquid. His vision took on a new level of clarity and he noticed, for the first time, the stack of scarred armor piled up in the corner of her small living space. He recalled how only a minute earlier he mentioned his foe, Shockwave, and without missing a beat, she voiced her knowledge of their fight. As fear gripped hold of him, he lost his own hold on the glass of water. Instead, his hand reached for his cheeks and found them unguarded by his helmet. His identity had been exposed.

"Look, water doesn't stain or anything," said the woman, ignorant of his struggle, "which is good considering your blood already destroyed one of my rugs, but could you not soak my couch. I don't want mold."

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

"Sure, you are," she replied with a sigh, before slipping out of view on her way to fetch more water. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in. Trust me, I'm still taking it in. I moved out here to get away from everything and then you two assholes start fighting over my roof. So far, you have not proven to be terrible, especially considering you're a Gifted and all, but like this is kind of inconvenient for me. I've got clients, I've got a job to get to and deadlines to meet. So, I need some promise that you're going to cover some expenses here. You've almost depleted my first aid kit, ruined a rug, and, now that you are actually cognizant for once, I can finally go in town and get you some new clothes."

She walked back to the sofa and handed Dominic a fresh drink. One corner of her mouth rose with a mischievous smirk as she continued. "I stand by that it's your fault I had to cut the clothes off you, so you're definitely covering the cost of a new wardrobe. However, I'm willing to pay a small share of the price considering you're pleasant to look at."

She gave him a wink, perhaps trying to dispel the embarrassment that painted his face, and had the circumstances been different, he would have flirted right back. However, her playfulness only made the drop in his stomach more painful.

He couldn't let her go into town. He couldn't let her live after seeing his face.