DAY TWENTYTHREE 19:32PM

Love is a Battlefield

Simon was startled awake by the sound of his cell phone. He fumbled for it in the pocket of his jacket, the room spinning as he shifted from a deep sleep into waking. Just as he snapped the phone open he slipped off the edge of the couch. 

"Ouch. I mean, hello?"

"Simon, what's up?" 

"Hey Alison, how's it going?"

Simon pushed himself back onto the couch. Ghosts of the dream were still swirling around in his mind's eye. Alison's voice sounded far away. A huge cathedral, bizarre patterns in stained glass, a choir singing then screaming... 

"... so I, well, I thought you might like to come," she said.

"Sorry, where again?" 

"Were you sleeping?" she asked, teasingly. "It's not even 8 yet."

"Yeah... That is pretty pathetic, isn't it?" 

Alison's voice went gentle. "Your current case is a tough one..." She always understood. She was one of the few people who even had a hint of the kind of work he did; she never pushed and always supported. Right now though, he couldn't handle it. Couldn't let himself be comforted. It stung.

"Yeah, listen Al. I really do need to catch up on some sleep." 

Something about the sounds and images echoing from the dream. Something about the case maybe. His superiors had been understanding too, after the raid at the motel. They didn't expect miracles from him, especially when it was clear Fujimoria and her collaborators were extremely talented. But their understanding had made him bristle too.

He needed things to be sharp. He needed to feel forged. He was standing on the edge of something. He needed to be ready to jump. 

"Sure Simon, that's cool."

"Listen Al, I'm sorry, it's just-" 

"No worries. Maybe next weekend..."