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Restlessly Eleanor turned over in bed and flung out an arm, squishing the pillow down so she could see the alarm clock. 1:30am. With a sigh she sat up, rubbing sleepily at her eyes and shuffled to the edge of the bed. There was not a night since she had met Natron that she had slept properly. Everything he had told her kept running through her mind. Every one of their late night chats replayed over and over. The first had been a warning given and a question asked. Eleanor hadn't considered not trusting him because he’d spoken of the children and his earnestness had been enough.

Aliens on earth, stealing children and teaching them the art of war. Hidden in plain sight. A secret organization hell-bent on stopping them. It all seemed too fantastical; a science fiction novel. At first she hadn’t wanted to believe it but as the days past she had noticed things she normally wouldn't have; news articles, reports of strange sightings and vandalism, missing children. There had always been a lot of odd happenings in Destiny City and she had never stopped to think about it.

Eleanor stood up and put her nightgown on. With Samuel away on another business trip the house felt even lonelier than usual.

Could she really be of any help? It didn’t matter. She had to try. If there were children out there suffering and in need of her protection, then it was her job as a woman and a teacher to make sure they were kept safe. It was the first time that she’d ever felt absolutely certain about something.

Fluffy slippers on and she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

Eleanor had just filled up a glass of milk when there was a knock on the door. At first she stood in confused silence and then it cleared because it could be nobody else. She put down the glass and left the kitchen, travelled slowly down the hall and placed her hand on the doorknob. There was only a brief hesitation, enough time to take a deep breath and then she opened it.

"Natron," she said in greeting, smiling at the younger man. "Welcome, please come inside." Her free hand tugged her nightgown around her more securely.

Eleanor stepped away from the door and led him into the lounge room. "Do take a seat. I'm sorry, I must look like a mess." She began needlessly fluffing up pillows as she spoke. "Can I get you anything? Something to eat? There’s leftover chocolate pudding." She was nervous, fidgety, perhaps because she understood without it even needing to be said that tonight would be a special night.

It would have been nice to be dressed properly and with a couple of hours notice, but chances were she would have been just as nervous with all that, as she was now, without. In your own home, in the middle of the night, was as good as anywhere to discuss your future.

Eleanor knew she was scatterbrained, but she wasn't stupid. Nobody went out of their way to discuss their dangerous world of war and aliens to you, if they didn’t expect you could be of some use somehow and she presumed their conversation would get there eventually.

Pudding at least put her particularly at ease. Just the act of serving someone a meal helped focus her mind.

As she opened the fridge to retrieve the pudding, she chuckled dutifully. "I lived with an artist for a few months in college. Well, she was a sculptor, to be specific. I used to despair of ever having a clean apartment but she was so lovely, I could hardly really mind. I wonder what she’s doing now…"

Eleanor put the pudding down on the kitchen table with a spoon next to it and then took a seat as well. The living room would be more comfortable, but for her the kitchen was more comforting.

"How have you been, sweetie? Are things… okay?" As she looked at him, she was again struck by how young he seemed. Too young to be out fighting wars.

Her cheeks donned a grateful flush. "Thank you, I’m so glad you like it." Only last week she’d tried to teach her class the simple recipe. Only half of them had completed it because of Byron making a nuisance of himself again and had distracted everyone by trying to put his pudding on the ceiling.

Eleanor laced her hands together on her lap, unseen beneath the table, where they could grip as tightly to each other as they could and ease any further nerves.

"That’s good. I know what you do is important but don’t put yourself at too much risk." It must be so hard to carry all that weight. "Sam’s well. Judging from tonight’s phone call, his case is going just the way he wants it. He thinks he’ll be back in a week. I miss him a lot."

At dinner especially, she noticed his absence and she wished she had friends to invite over to pass the time with.

"Thank you, Natron," Eleanor said, smiling past that little sad ball of loneliness. Quite honestly, she’d had more personal interaction with Natron over last few months than anyone else, Sam not included. It was, she had to admit, rather unfortunate and she took a moment to think briefly, and fondly, of her family at the other side of the country.

Then the promised moment was upon then.

Her decision loomed.

"I’m ready," she told him, "I want to help."

There was no other answer that she could imagine giving. Eleanor had made her choice. It was easy, so easy, to put herself into his hands, to trust him with her life and promise to serve with all her being.

Eleanor stood with him, let out a nervous, shuddering breath and said, "I'm ready."

Then she simply waited for him to begin, her hands clasped together in front of her and her heart racing.

Eleanor could remember getting appendicitis at the age of seventeen. It was the worst pain she’d ever experienced in her life. It had built and built, until her father had driven her to the hospital and only after the surgery had the doctors told her it had been about to burst. She could have died.

That didn’t compare to this. That was a gentle caress compared to this.

But it wasn’t just the pain. It was the sense of something important being taken away. Eleanor had a brief moment of horrible regret before it once against resolved itself into determination. In order to save people, you needed to make sacrifices. You needed to be willing to do anything.

So she bit back her screams and gripped tightly to Natron’s arm, tears falling freely until she stood new and improved.



"Is it done?" She asked but she already knew the answer.