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Every flash of the strobe light lit the smoke-thick air like lightning, illuminating the entire club and freezing them all in stop motion moments. Kamboja lived for those seconds caught briefly in time, watching them fly by like a reel in a view master.

Flash.

Kam's hands caught a slender waistline.

Flash.

Fingers curled into his shirt while red lips laughed into his ear.

Flash.

Hands were up, everywhere.

A chant broke out across the club as they began bouncing in unison to a song that everyone knew - or pretended to, even if they didn't. The saucy brunette was dragging him to the exit while everyone was distracted and he wasn't resisting. This was the game. As she stumbled, he caught her, though he could barely catch himself after so many drinks. Her surprised laughter earned a chuckle from him and he smiled, lost in the sound. She used the wall to pull herself back upright and turned to him, trying to reclaim her edge as she walked backwards out of the door with fistfuls of his shirt in hand. A button popped and she smiled, popping another to expose his dark chest. There was something devilish in that grin.

"Emmie," a voice shouted behind them. 'Emmie' didn't notice and Kam hurried after her, trying to put distance between himself and the third wheel that he suddenly remembered.

"EMMIE, WE SHOULD GO."

Without the flash of the strobe lights to break up his world, the girl came at them too quickly. She was shorter, rounder, bitchier. He flashed his best, charming smile at the brunette as her friend wrangled her hands out of his shirt and tried to coax her into ignoring her much more sensible friend. His hands reached out for her but the redhead pulled his prize away. The way she was staring at him clearly said this was not a man anyone should go home with. She was probably right.

"Nooo," Emmie whined, but she was already leaning into her friend's arms, "I'm having fun." The newcomer looked pleased with herself as she muttered a series of calming 'shhh' noises and shot a triumphant glare over the brunette's head, directly at Kam. He just groaned and turned away. The beer bottle in his hand was still half full - it was better than going home completely alone. Kind of.

"Wait," the brunette called out suddenly, once she realized Kam was halfway down the block, "don't you want my number?"

No.

He drained his bottle and tossed it at a garbage can as he passed, pleased with the sound as the glass split and shattered in a thousand directions. Numbers didn't keep his demons away.


It was a long walk home, but he made it. Only after he'd walked four drunken blocks in the wrong direction toward his old place, of course, and turned around to retrace his steps. Years of habit were hard to break.

He reached the front door of his new apartment with Delphine, silently cursing her for choosing the freaking third floor, and leaned his head against the cool surface. One fist beat a lazy rhythm, trying to coax his blunette roommate to open the door. He tried again, and again. Once it was clear that she wasn't coming to the door he groaned and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He refused to lift his head up from the hard wood, but it still took less time to find them than he'd already spent waiting for Delphine. Dark hands dwarfed the little bronze key and stabbed it at the lock, muttering curses every time he missed.

At last he found it and turned, swinging the door open - completely forgetting he was using it as a prop. Kam stumbled into his apartment and nearly face planted, catching the door handle at the last second and keeping himself upright - not without causing the hinges to creak, or his arm to complain. With a grimace he slammed it behind him (he was going to get them kicked out, he could hear Delphine bitching already) and stumbled in a drunk storm through a dark living room.

Light flooded the apartment as he finally reached the kitchen, blanching the world around him in a stark blue glow from the fridge. He used one hand to shield his eyes as the other reached for a green bottle at the back of the fridge, but left it open as he popped the top of the beer and tossed his head back for a long chug. He'd lost count now, but the overbearing silence around him was too much if his buzz wore off.

Where the hell was Delphine?

He didn't really need to ask, he knew. It's where he was supposed to be.

The door to the fridge slammed shut abruptly and he crossed the dark apartment again, tripping over shoes.. or an xbox controller.. he cursed low under his breath. His beer sloshed out over his hand as he pushed himself off of the wall he'd fallen into, using his shoulder to prop himself against a wall in the hallway. Sweat peppered his forehead from the effort to remain upright. His free hand pushed clumsily at the closest door handle, swinging it open onto his room.

He had never been so happy to see a dark, empty place in his life.

Cool air wafted through the doorway from the overhead fan and his router blinked in welcome from the far corner, winking in and out like a beacon. He swallowed hard and pushed himself off of the wall, immediately swaying dangerously to the left and nearly bashing his forehead into the door frame. His elbow came up, blocking the blow, but his beer dropped to the floor with a dull thud. He left it where it fell, pouring its guts across the threshold.

Kam's feet managed to stay under him just long enough to reach the glorious comfort of his bed, which he flopped on face first without thought. He drew one, shaky breath before unconscious claimed him, comforted by the smell of his sheets. The lights of his router winked a last goodbye and then he was sinking deep down, claimed by a troubled darkness.

When Kam woke the second time, it was to a distant buzzing somewhere beyond the darkness. At first he was only aware of the cramp in his back from sleeping against a wall, but then he realized what had actually woken him.

He slowly pushed himself up from the floor of the bathroom and found his way back to his room, silencing the six AM alarm as he passed the beaten old nightstand he'd bought at the corner thrift store. A more sensible Kam had set that for a pre-work workout; more sensible Kam probably would have also realized that what he really needed right now was rest and water. Sensibility completely forgotten, he went through the motions of changing and freshening up for a private gym session.

By six thirty he was out of the door and well on his way.

When he arrived at the gym it was still dark enough to keep a chill in the air, even in the dead of summer. He pulled his sweatshirt closer around himself and unlocked the front door of the building. The familiar mixture of sweat and lemon-scented cleaner hit him full in the face as he opened the door. It was usually a little more comforting than nauseating.

As he passed the front desk he dropped a bag of extra clothes on the counter, quickly followed by the sweatshirt he'd worn against the cold. The cool air of the room drew goosebumps across his bare chest and arms but he ignored it and fumbled under the lip of the desk from the customer side, grabbing the wrapping tape he kept tucked behind the phone. Everything was forgotten as he made his way to the back of the gym, bee-lining for the set of punching bags hanging in a bare corner. His feet followed the path from memory as he focused on his hand, setting the tape like he'd done a hundred times before.

There was no warming up, no stretching. He set his eyes on the punching bag and swung with an ease only earned from practice. One, two. One, two. At first it was an easy flow with a perfect rhythm. Every impact felt better than the last, like a little chip off of the load settled squarely on his shoulders. One, two. One, two.

It wasn't enough, though. Eventually he needed to swing harder, faster. The load on his shoulders was weighing him down and he fought back with every punch. He could feel the grit in his teeth as he leaned in, smashing his fists into the weight of the canvas. A cold, uncomfortable sweat broke out across his dark skin and peppered his forehead until it ran in lazy streams down his neck. Every smack against the heavy bag was like the sound in the red sea, the sound of the lieutenant's body giving way beneath Gehenna's fists. He couldn't stop. He could never stop. Every punch was the best and worst feeling, tangled together so tightly that he couldn't separate it anymore.

One, two, one, two. His lazy rhythm became frantic.

The frenzy broke abruptly into dizziness and his last punch grazed the bag, throwing him off balance. He caught himself with his other arm and latched it tightly around the hanging sack to keep himself upright. As it swayed with his weight, he was gasping for air. The world was still topsy turvy, swimming around him like the blood storm in his dream, but he reached out with a hand and balanced himself against the wall. Half crouched, he began to walk himself down the back wall, using his hands to keep himself upright. Every few steps he stopped and drew a breath. The sense of vertigo was overwhelming.

By the time he reached the opening for the men's room, he could barely keep himself upright. It was a struggle to cross the remaining steps inside and as he reached the stall, he fell into the door more than he opened it. It swung inward with a clatter of metal-on-metal and his hands grabbed the edge of the porcelain seat. For the second time, his body ejected everything it had. His mouth was soured with the taste of bile and his throat was already on fire again. Kam slumped to the floor unceremoniously, leaning back into the sharpie-covered wall of the stall. The faces of his dream passed before him and swirled with the rest of the world. He couldn't even find comfort behind closed eyes.

One hand dug blindly in his pocket for his cellphone and through hazy eyes, he scrolled down through the list of contacts. It was short and few, but they were all important. He hit send on what he hoped was the right number and leaned his head back against the cold metal wall.

It beeped and dropped the call, so he tried again.

The second time it rang once before it dropped.

With a sudden irritation, he opened his eyes and looked down at the signal - half a bar? Why did companies even show half a bar? He growled and flung the phone immediately, watching as it hit the far wall and rebounded. Something chipped off and flew in the opposite direction but he didn't have the strength to get up and chase it. The motion alone caused anther surge of nausea and he leaned forward, dry heaving over the stool. There was nothing left to push out, just that awful, overwhelming sense that he needed to.

Defeated, Kam fell back onto the tile floor of the gym - thankful that he had to clean the damn place after every shift, at least. Fatigue settled in heavy on his bones and he resigned himself to a nap right there in the middle of the bathroom, head and shoulders protruding from the mouth of the stall.

Joe was supposed to show up at 8. He'd be fine by then. For now he succumbed to the darkness, again, only thankful that he was too weary to find his demons waiting.