Edge scowled at them both as he rushed up the stairs soon after the door slammed. He never bothered to knock anymore, and entered the room just in time to see Gabrielle viscously hurling the small table into the window, screaming in frustration. Edge stood for a moment then rushed to her side, bracing her arms down. She looked up at him with a terribly sorrowful and tear streaked face, her eyes pleading for some kind of truth from him that the man standing in their kitchen wasn't Jeff, but Edge believed his brother.

"But it can't be…" Gabrielle's words questioned his thoughts. "Edge, he can't be Jeff! I killed Jeff! There's got to be something wrong…" Her words were half yelled, half wailed in desperation and unwillingness to believe. Edge pulled her close to him, rubbing a hand soothingly over her back, kissing her hair.

"Gabrielle, give it time okay? We'll find out. I promise, I'll find out for you, okay? Just hush for now. Leave it alone and let it sink in." She collapsed against him and let herself be comforted by his caress and his words.

"I want to sleep." She told him absently, feeling tired and overwhelmed.

"We’ll sleep then." He led her to the bed and pulled aside the sheets, climbing in after her. As soon as he lay down, her head was rested on his chest, and her arms around his neck.

"Why do things always happen to us? Don't you think we've had enough?" She asked thoughtfully, more to herself than him.

"Sh. Don't worry about that. Sleep." Her breath deepened, but she wasn't yet asleep.

"I love you Edge." He kissed her hair again and his grip grew tighter at her words.

"I love you too. I'll be here." She nodded then fell into a sleep marred with visions of the dead she thought had been lifted years ago, but were now revisited.

"It's my fucking birthday. Fitting that I spent it in an alley with a dead corpse at my feet. Most people do spend special days with the ones they love. Unfortunately, one is dead, and the other isn't in love anymore. Bloody great. I spend all this time and energy, spend money on a damned plane ticket, get a piece of metal shot through my body for her, and she doesn’t love me. After all I did for her, she just dumps me out on the street. She told me to come visit sometime. I don't think I ever will. Her two lackeys would try and drive me out. The first time, they nearly burned me to death. And they're supposed to be my friends. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just went to that house one day, snuck in and just fucked her, then left. That'd make a splash with her boy toys, I'll bet. Then again, that happened to her before, and no one did a damned thing. Sure, there were the angry parties, the scarred parties, and people who just wanted to go and kick the fucking self-righteous bastard's ass. But nothing much came of it. He still walks without scars and thinks he's the dog's bullocks. I'm at least still in New Orleans, and I suppose it's an act of some sort of deity that we haven't crossed paths. Not that I don't want to, I'd give anything to be with her again. I hate that feeling, that used feeling that she gives me. I'm the one who's supposed to make her feel used, dammit. People don't use me. I use them. That’s the way the world works. See? I've been brooding over this for 23 years, 4 months, and two days. And its my birthday, did I mention that? I should get a whore, or find some easy 19-year-old in a bar and pretend it's who I want her to be. Or I can just go back and spend one night with her. " Kael shrugged, tossing a bill down on the bar. "But I've got it covered, you see? I know exactly how its all gonna work out." He smiled smugly, and rose off the stool. "And it's a rather brilliant plan I've got all worked out too."