The cold kiss of steel. The burning bite of the blade scoring across his skin. So hot and cold all at once. Screams. Blood curdling screams. Thrashing bodies dragged through torrents of rain and mud, leaving a murky trail of red in their wake. The terrible, hollow ache in his guts as he watched helpless and terrified.

"He's just a kid," the words are wrenched from his throat with desperate fervour. "Just a fucking kid. Take me. Take me!"

Waking from the nightmare wasn't the shocking sort of jolt one would have expected. Rather it happened in increments. Slowly. Torturously. Until the haunting echoes of the past became a viscous blend with the present. The smell of smoke and blood so thick in his lungs he could hardly breathe.

And then the ache reared to slap him straight. Whimpering, standing over him, LeBron stroked a wet tongue over his face. Large, dark eyes shining with concern. The air stank of sweat and old ghosts. Rolling to his side, Marshall's belly clenched and emptied in a nauseating wave of bile and last night's lasagne. Nuzzling a nose under his arm, LeBron curled his body against Marshall and held there. A blanket of warmth to soak up all the madness storming inside of him.

"Jesus," he croaked. He'd fallen asleep on his bad arm again, and as a result the pain had short-circuited his dreams, ripping him back to that that rain soaked night.

Right shoulder throbbing in time with his galloping heart, he thumbed through the nightstand drawer for the half-finished bottle of Aleeve. Chasing the painkillers with a couple Paxil, he swallowed the pharmaceutical cocktail with a swig from the bottle of water he kept by the bed, and sighed.

It was the ass end of five in the morning. And knowing himself well enough to gather he wasn't going to get back to sleep, Marshall rose from bed and set on the coffeemaker.

Showering off the stink of a cold sweat, Marshall dressed for casual comfort in beach shorts and a sleeveless tank. Feeling better, revitalized from the shower and soothed by the meds, he set his sights on filling the hole in his belly. LeBron kept close, following his every step like a second shadow.

"Don't worry about me, I'm okay," he said, taking a knee and gathering LeBron in his arms for a rough, bracing hug. "How about bacon for breakfast?"

Taking the tongue lolling grin for a yes, he turned his thoughts on food, and lost himself in the simple task of cooking, humming along to Kings of Leon as salty porky goodness splattered in fat and oil.

When the food was done, setting a side half the rasher to cool for LeBron, he tucked himself at the table with a large steaming mug of Kenyan black and booted up his laptop.

As the screen cleared, on a whim, he opened up the last document he'd marked 'Insanity'. His eyes raced over the words of the last page and before he knew it, founds his fingers flying. For the next hour he poured himself into those string of words. Not thinking, just typing. Purging.

Only when LeBron barked at the sound of his ringing phone did Marshall realize he'd emptied himself into another eighteen pages. Clicking save, he moved from the table and caught the phone a ring away from bouncing into voicemail.

"Well, look who's still alive," Dee said. "Did you forget about our call?"

"Sorry," Marshall apologized, swiping a hand through his hair. "Got in the zone and lost track of time."

"Tell me you got something for me," she sighed, the clack of her fingers on keys falling silent. "You're behind schedule and interest is beginning to flag."

"Actually, I do have something for you. A collaboration." Danni fell silent as he worked through the conversation he had with Eva, highlighting the core concept and his thoughts on the overall tone he wanted to take.

The line hummed with silence and he could almost hear the gears in her head cranking. "This is only going to work if we've got something big to push at the end."

"With the interview-"

"Not enough punch, and you know it. We'll do a live to air segment. Show CTV that you have the chops to handle the camera as well as you do the pen. Give it a behind the scenes feel, kind of Barbara Walters meets Larry King."

"She'll never agree to that."

"Make her. Find leverage if you have to. Get the story."

"Dee," Marshall sighed. "Leverage and threats...that's not how I work."

"No. Don't start with me," she snapped. "Are you forgetting what's at stake here? What you stand to lose? Cause if you are, let me paint a picture-one that has your name going up in smoke and Catherine Clear taking up the mantle of CTV evening news anchor."

"You don't; have to be so dramatic, Dee."

"I'm not being dramatic. How do you think this looks if you cant manage to push a measly human-interest piece? Do you think anyone is going to touch you if this spirals south? You get one shot in this biz. One. And you swore you could swing this your way, and I got the big wigs to run with it because you assured me you could deliver. That's why you're there, isn't it? To deliver?"

Taking a deep, calming breath, Marshall nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Cause my trains hitched to yours the moment I backed you and I am not letting you drag me down, got it? Now pick up your balls, slap them on and get her to do the live to air segment. Or seriously consider a new career path."

The line clicked dead and Marshall set down his phone.

"That went well," he muttered, his eyes meeting LeBron who was staring up at him. And could have sworn he saw a measure of disappointment in that dark brown gaze.

In his hand his phone began to vibrate. Not a call, he realized, but his alarm. Five minutes to seven. "Shit." Taking LeBron by the collar, he led the dog out to the back, filled up the water dish on the shaded deck and made a dash for the steep path.

#

Checking her watch, Eva looked up as Marshall jogged her way, a smile on his face and whistling a cheerful little tune. He'd dressed casually, in shorts and a white sleeveless shirt, long arms, bronzed from the sun and corded in muscle. Dark sunglasses wrapped over his eyes and hair tied away from a clean-shaven face.

At his approach, she gave her wrist a wiggle.

"You're cutting it close. Less then ten seconds to spare."

"Punctual is punctual," he countered, a sheen of sweat on his brow and slapped his hands together. "What's the game plan?"

"If you're going to tag along, make yourself useful, then." She jerked her head at the camera gear she had packed up and ready to go. Stuffed her car keys in his hand. "Pack those in the trunk. I'll be out in a minute."

Waving a salute, Marshall did as he was commanded. Hefting the heavy gear with ease. While he worked, Eva returned inside to her home office. Opening her small fridge tucked beneath her desk, she tossed a couple extra bottles of water in her bag-since she was having an assistant-found the spare memory card she'd cleaned off last night, and, on a whim, a roll of film for the vintage beauty she'd purchased online.

Doing a last sweep with her eyes, content she hadn't forgotten anything, Eva slipped out into the hall, stopped when she caught her hazy reflection in the window. Her hair had grown over the last couple of weeks, and presently stuck up at weird angles from the strong morning breeze.

Eva ran her fingers through it, smoothing and combing the disorderly waves into some semblance of order.

Jesus, she thought, dropping her hand. This was how it started. First she'd be futzing with her hair, and next she'd be slapping on mascara.

She found him waiting for her in the car, radio on and trunk packed.

"Where we headed today?" Elbow cocked out the open window, Marshall waited for her to snap on her belt and turn on the car before asking the question.

Tipping down her head, Eva's sunglasses fell to the tip of her small nose as she swivelled around to look out the back window as she reversed.

"To the ferry harbour, first. I like to stroll along the boardwalk and there's a rush of tourists coming in this morning."

They shared the short ride in silence and Marshall took the rare opportunity to study her profile. For all her faults she really had a striking quality about her. A sort of face that drew a man's eye and held it there. And with the short cap of hair, he had nothing to get in the way of his study, from the curve of her sculpted cheeks to the plump bottom lip she was worrying between her teeth.

In thought, not nerves. And a part of him wondered what she would taste like? Would she melt into him? Or would she give as good as she got? As she rolled down her window, the breeze roped into the car and sent the uneven layers of her hair to scatter, giving him the impression of a mad little pixie in flight.

The image made him chuckle loud enough for her to snap her attention to him with an inquisitive smile.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, dangling his arm outside the window, rolling his hand in the breeze. "Just looking forward to seeing you in action."

"Let's get through day one, shall we? Keep out of my hair, don't ruin my shots and we'll get along fine."

"I'll be a fly on the wall," Marshall vowed, laying a hand over his heart. "You won't even know I'm there."