Slowly, the car filled with the dim yellowish light of the emergency lights. He squinted, his head already aching and the harshness of the light only increasing it. Nick glanced at his hand. It was smeared with his blood; not too much, but enough to make him queasy. Wiping his hand on his pants, he gingerly touched his cheek again. It hurt like hell, but he wasn't gonna die.

He looked around slowly, the empty orange seats somehow ominous in nature. His eyes came to rest on the crumpled figure diagonally across from him. It was the girl who had come on after him. She'd sat down over . . there. His eyes fell on a seat across from him. And now she was over . . there. She'd gotten thrown a long way. And she was just kind of lying there.

Ignoring the ache in his head and face, he crawled over to the pile of bags and woman. "Hey, do you need any help?" She'd just been talking to him a minute ago. She had to be alright. She shifted slightly and looked up at him, bruise already forming across one cheek and right eye. "My head . . it hurts so much." Tears slid down her cheek, tears of fear and pain.

Nick felt a pang of sympathy for her. She didn't sound like she was from around here and, here she was, on the floor of what had to be one of New York's dirtiest subways. "Don't cry. You're gonna be okay, promise. Do you have any Tylenol or something in your bag?" He gestured to her backpack that lay partially open on the floor. She was quiet for a moment. "Yes . . front pocket."

He righted the bag and uzipped the pocket in the front. Tampons, map of the subways, keys . . and a travel bottle of Tylenol. Nick popped the top and shook out three into his hand, then held them out to her. "Here." The girl sat up slowly, visibly wincing, and accepted the tiny white pills. "I usually only take one." Nick shook his head. "You look like you could use all three. Take'em." She obeyed, tossing them into her mouth and swallowing them dry. "Do you mind if I take a few?" She shook her head and he promptly downed five, hoping to dull the excruciating ache in his head.

They both sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "What's your name?" She had propped herself up against a bench and she coughed, the spasms shaking her slender frame. "Gloria. And you are . .?" He blinked. He thought she would know who he was. His conscience or inner voice or whatever the hell it was kicked in. Ego much? He blinked again. "I'm, uh, Nick. And my friends call me, well, my friends call me Nick." He offered her a weak smile which she returned.

"You're funny." He stretched out his long legs in front of him and noticed with distaste a hole in the knee of his pants. He had just bought those pants. "Yeah . . people sometimes say that." He didn't know what else to say. Gloria spoke this time. "Do you know what happened?"

He looked up and their eyes locked. Nick felt like he was falling into those eyes, like he had known the soul behind them for ages. "I think the train crashed." He played with the tear in his pants, tugging at a loose string. "Oh. Does that happen often?" He shook his head. "Nope." And I have the luck of being right in the friggin middle of it. He dismissed thought from his head. At least she was cute and not a screaming twelve year old. He didn't think he could handle that, not with this headache.



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