On her way up from a little morning jaunt, Bee takes the stairs. Eighteen floors is a lot to climb, but it's a cheap alternative to a gym and she's always been in reasonably good shape anyway. And here, she doesn't even sweat. Which is still weird.

Less weird, only by virtue of lifelong familiarity, is the sudden sharp burst of someone else's life that hits her as she swoops around the landing one one of the floors below hers. She stops short, turning to look at the door, beyond which lies a hall of apartments just like hers - someone is out there. Whatever they're going through is strong, strong enough to get to her without seeing them. She hesitates, wiping her palms on her dress (force of habit more than necessity) and pushes the door open, stepping out to the hall.

The patterns become instantly clear even before she locks eyes on Tim, hauling boxes out of an apartment, is he moving? no, he's moving someone else's things, and with all that roiling loss and the repetition of it, that this is something he has done again and again, avoided thinking about again and again, and it's the same person-

She didn't mean to start crying. She honestly didn't.

"Tim," she says in a horribly quavering voice, stepping toward him on shaky legs.