The Universe's Mixer

Wes had been resisting the urge to visit Madame Xanadu's shop again. He didn't want to bother her day in and day out, but he had this uncontrollable need to see her. He always wanted to be assured she was all right, she didn't need anything, she didn't hate him and so on. He should have found it annoying, but he was glad to do it.

He was so focused on getting to the shop that he wouldn't have noticed if a train derailed itself in the middle of the street, got hit by a falling plane and exploded pinatas all over the City. He sure didn't notice the onset of immediate lust and love taking place on the very streets he traversed.

His focus wavered as he caught sight of a brown-haired strong woman. He kept trying to walk through the crowd towards where he thought the shop was, but his head kept turning towards the elusive woman. He bumped into people left and right, trying to get another glimpse of her face.

"Sorry, excuse me, I....well, why don't you two just get a room?"

It had been a long time since he'd seen or talked to Deb, which he thought was sort of odd. Why he hadn't thought about it before now was also kind of odd, he supposed. He'd just gotten so used to her not being around, that her being here had been the strange thing. It had been just the opposite at first, he remembered.

The reminder came when he had gone downstairs to drop a file off for one of the other cops. He'd seen his sister's name on the door along with another one. Anita Blake. They were partners now.

Dex hung around waiting for her to show up. Just to say hi. He thought maybe he'd offer to take her to lunch, see how things had been for her. Surprise her. She'd like that. Maybe she hadn't called because she'd gotten so settled in. Found somebody to occupy her time.

Well, he'd find out wouldn't he?

Dexter checked his watch and then looked up, smiling when he saw the familiar form of his sister walking toward him.

(for 21, 24, Elizabeth, Connor and Deb)


Shepherd Book was coming to deeply regret his decision to leave the church. It had seemed, at the time, to be the best course of action. Only course of action really, since there wasn’t much to be done inside the building to give him any clue as to his whereabouts. Nothing to be learned by staying in one place in any case.

When he’d set out on this exploratory walk, it hadn’t been what a body would call a pleasant day, weather-wise, but it had been passable. How quickly that had changed. The snow came quick and heavy, and Book decided to head back to the church. ( Answers could wait for another day. )

Anita shook the snow off her hair and coat as she walked in the front door of the City Police Department. She flashed a warm smile at the guard who sat bored at the front desk, untwisting paper clips. Stomping snow off her boots, she meandered her way past the maze of desks to her office.

She didn't notice the sign on the door had changed from "X-Files Department: Federal Marshall Anita Blake" to "Preturnatural Crimes: Federal Marshall Anita Blake and Detective Deborah Morgan". Oops.

What couldn't escape her notice, though, was  the note left on top of her penguin coffee cup. Someone knew how much she needed her morning cup (or three) of black coffee. She read it and looked around, noticing that the desk that had been there when she arrived for Fox had been replaced in the corner of the room. There was a coat rack now too. She hung her dripping black parka over it, ignoring the puddle of melting snow that formed on the floor. Her scarf and hat quickly followed.

"New partner? Well, hopefully she's not as prejudiced as Dolph was, there are a hell of a lot of monsters here that are on the side of right and quite a number of humans who are really monsters. At least I don't have to worry about some macho asshole trying to help the little lady. I'll help him right to being a soprano, dammit."

Anita hit the button on the coffee machine and waiting for the smell of hot caffeine to fill the office, She wrapped her hands around her mug after filling it and stood at the window, watching the snow fall. And fall. And keep falling until the cars on the street all skidded to the sides and stopped.

"Shit."

He knew in his heart that he shouldn't have put off calling Deb for so long. Dexter couldn't say why he'd done it, but he had. He supposed a part of him was hoping that she'd adjust to this place just a little before he had any contact with her so she'd be just a little bit calmer.

It wasn't likely, though.

Especially since he'd not returned her call quickly. She was going to be pissed off.

Dexter hit callback on his phone and listened to it ring. The side of himself that was really ashamed at what he'd done hoped that he'd just get an answering machine. So she could call him back later and yell at him. He knew though, really knew, that he needed her to answer so he could talk to her and let her know that he was here too. That she wasn't alone.

He sighed and sat on the couch, listening to the phone ring.
Christ, didn't she even have voicemail? How long had she set this thing to keep ringing?

It was early on in her relationship with Hannibal that he told her about the open-air market near her apartment. That the City had such a thing was a boundless source of joy for River; that it was so close was something that caused her to lapse into Mandarin expressions of happiness that English just did not cover.

Today, she moved about the market holding a green canvas bag that said "SAVE THE EARTH" with a recycling symbol on the side. River didn't much think recycling was going to save the world, but she didn't figure that anything that would would fit under her arm and hold fruit quite so nicely, either.

River was moving through the fruit stands, now, and the bag was already half-full. There were three apples, three oranges, and a small bunch of grapes. River stuck her tongue out, stretching, concentrating, tiny hand grasping for a pomegranite as she ran over in her mind what she knew about the fruit.

Very red inside. No flesh, not really. The red was what made it delicious, though. The red had been used in the past to dye fabric. She wanted to crack the pomegranite open and get at its insides. She wanted the red.

Her hand closed over the fruit and she tossed it up in the air, catching it with the open bag on her hip.

"613 seeds," she said.

Debra Morgan left police head quarters. Her desk continued to remain the only landmark that she recognized, which she quickly lost in the shifting streets behind her. The detective started to panic.

Her first thoughts were deeply entrenched in denial. This was obviously a dream. Except Deb had never dreamt in color before or in such lucid detail. Her next thought was madness which she quickly rejected. The third thought: head trauma, perhaps a concussion. As she came to this more acceptable conclusion, Deb found herself facing The City Hospital.

She spent thirty minutes sitting in the hospital clinic waiting room, spending a fraction of that time filling out paper work. She still wore her badge, her shoulder holster barely visible from an open blazer which Debra spotted a young boy eagerly peeking glimpses of.

"Debra Morgan?" the nurse asked. The detective followed her into examination room three. Debra removed her blazer, holster and badge and set them neatly on a counter top. The nurse took her blood pressure and asked only a few questions before leaving. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

She opted to sit in one of the chairs in leu of the paper covered examination bench and waited.

Mel's big blue eyes were narrowed and very, very determined. Forget the giant leprechaun guy. Forget it. Let's, she thought, deal with the complete craziness that was the city paper.

She'd picked up a copy on her way home, backpack slung over both shoulders, a soft pretzel in her hand and intermittently in her mouth, in large gobs. She was reading it when she got back to her apartment. It said 'soldier on.'

Mel had laughed out loud. But it got even ruttin' better: It has been recommended that if you discover a friend or family member missing that you report it. The City Police would like a clear record of all those who can't be found.

Well, shit. Really. The article said that Snow White was gone, and Bigby Wolf, too. Mel was pretty sure that was Rose's Bigby. And she was damn sure that was Rose's Snow.

She threw down the backpack, shoved the rest of the pretzel in her mouth in a very unladylike chunk that she could not close her mouth around, and she went back out.

Took no time to get to the police station, and when she got there, Mel leaned on the counter assertively, little elbows resting on the surface.

"Help you?"

Melaka Fray stood up straight. The green braid in her hair fell over her shoulder. And with the same sense of loss she'd felt when she lost Loo, when she knew that Harth was..... well, what he was... she nodded.

"I need to report someone missing," she said.