the city on the edge of forever

“What the #$!&,” Gert thinks as she watches the dagger leave Geoffrey Wilder’s hand, already 100% certain what’s about to happen, how this ends. If she’d had enough time, she would have wondered where an overconfident back-from-the-dead piece of yuppie scum trash like Wilder had learned to throw a knife so hard, so true. If she’d had enough time, she would have felt a little satisfaction, maybe, from the fact that she was right: she was never going to turn out to be a Heroine, after all.

If she’d had enough time, she would have gotten out of the mother#$!&ing way.

But nevermind enough time, what she actually has is none, and then the knife slams into her, searing hot and it hurts like a bitch and then -

- and then it’s gone.

Then everything is gone.

--

Gert is waking up, and the weird thing is that she’d been pretty sure this was something she wasn’t ever going to do again. If she felt better she’d probably have to come up with some kind of crack about it, but she’s sore everywhere and she doesn’t have the energy. Gingerly, she lifts a hand and brings it to her belly, probes the spot where just a moment ago Wilder’s knife had split her open. It’s sore and aches deeply but her fingers don’t press in like she might expect, her hand doesn’t come away sticky with blood. She pulls her shirt up gingerly, only vaguely registering that these aren’t the clothes she died in, and finds the skin on her stomach smooth and unbroken.

The next thing she registers is that Old Lace isn’t with her, and it’s only this that sends a jolt of adrenaline through her. She’s not here - Gert doesn’t know where she is - and that’s definitely not okay. In fact, that’s never happened to her before. Panic shoots through her, quick and queasy, and she bolts up, wincing and coughing in pain.

That’s the first time Gert realizes that while Old Lace may not be here, she isn’t alone. She isn’t alone at all.