Ethan was floating somewhere between waking and oblivion. It was peaceful in a way that he had not understood since very early childhood, when his brain had finally matured enough to comprehend his ability and manifest it in a way his mind could understand; that of basic numbers. In this place somewhere between, there were no numbers. His mind was perfectly still, no longer needing to comprehend every single microscopic thing about him.

It was boring.

Peace was not Ethan's strong suit. He had never once in his life sought out peace. He lived in the moment, in the thick of things, in the constantly changing flux of reality. What use did he have for stillness? Stillness had no potential, had no room for change or growth. Stillness was cease, and Ethan was, in no way, shape, or form, ready for cease. In a moment where he could have been reveling in his first true experience of serenity he was searching for the one thing that had always complicated his life, and had made it truly unique. He was looking for the numbers. He was pulling them back towards him, and was, at the same time, pulling himself towards them, and towards what they represented. He was pulling himself towards the ever changing existence that was life.

He was not going to stay still. He was not going to let the world go on changing without him to affect it. He was going to pull as hard as he could, until he dragged himself right back out of oblivion. Because there was nothing for him here. Nothing that he would ever want to find.

The cold water of the river was a shock, but his body was too weary for him to move even so much as an eyelid. He could feel the strain vibrating through every muscle in his body, but he could also feel something warm and solid, something that thrummed with life. Bree.

So, she had survived their tumble through the rapids. He had known that, but somehow it was reassuring to feel it, to comprehend it with a certainty that mere "knowing" could never bring. She was alive. He was alive. Against all the improbability, against everything that the laws of reality dictated, they had survived. Both of them.

He knew that the pain in his head would come later. Perhaps it might stay away an hour, maybe two, but it would come. That headache had haunted him as he had first fled across the country from Bree would not spare him indefinitely. He seemed to be winding up in this position a lot since he had met her.

Still, there was something very comforting in the familiar way she held him, in the way she spoke to him. She was probably only realizing now that they were tied together, even though such had been the case since that very first day they met. Briefly he wondered if he should tell her about that first time. Then he began to wonder what difference it made.

She dragged him out of the river behind her. He could feel the change of the air, even though he was still limp and vacant. If he hadn't been floating somewhere in semi-consciousness, had their roles been reversed, there was a very good chance he would be running now. He had done his duty, he had saved her life despite her foolishness in jumping in after him. Maybe then she would let him go.

But there was no going anywhere now. She wasn't about to let him go. He could feel that in the burning question she asked him. She might not arrest him, might not drag him to the nearest police station to ask him as many questions as she could, but that did not mean the interrogation would not happen. Could he avoid it? Did he have any right to? It was his life, what right did she have to change it?

She had already changed it. He had been running, desperate to avoid that very thought. It was too late, far, far too late to go back. He would if he could. But he couldn't. He was committed, and there was no avoiding that commitment. He would have to answer her questions, because there was no other option.

How was he going to explain it to her? She would never fully understand it. Not really. But maybe, over time, she might begin to. And he did not even consider the possibility that, over time, they might not be together, one way or another.

He was able to feel his fingers again. He twitched one experimentally, and was satisfied to feel it respond. He could feel Bree mopping his face, and he tried opening his eyes. The sky was very grey. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be when you came back from the brink. It was supposed to be a clear, perfect, spotless azure. But this was far from perfect.