When I open my eyes, I am laying on concrete.  I slowly pull myself to my feet and look around.  This is most definitely pre-apocalypse; the sky is blue and I can hear cars in the distance.  

I sigh, breathing in the fresh air.  It's been so long since I've felt a breeze.

I turn back around to study my surroundings.  It seems that I'm in the middle of a dam.  A good distance away from me, there are three large stakes in the ground with heaps of charred material at their bases.  What the hell is that stuff?  It almost looks like bodies...

I turn and see Michael behind me.  "Where the hell are we?" I ask.

He appears slightly emotional, but he quickly clears his throat and composes himself.  "A dam in LA, a year or two before the apocalypse."

"What the hell is by each of those stakes?" I question.  

"You'll find out soon enough," he replies ominously.

Before I can further question him, a young man, probably just a year or two younger than me, runs into the dam.  He approaches each of the heaps on the sides, seemingly shaken, as I turn to Michael.  "Is that you?"

He nods as his younger self begins slowly walking towards the middle one, arm outstretched.  "This is a memory."

I raise a brow to question him, but he quickly reaches for me.  Before I can back away, his fingertips touch my temple.

I gasp as pain and grief overwhelm me to the point where I can't even stand on my feet.  I fall to my knees the same time that younger Michael falls to his.  Flashes of his memories of Ms. Mead flash through my mind as his sorrow drowns out all my other thoughts.

The memories eventually stop and I force myself to sit up.  I wipe the tears that I didn't even know were there from my eyes while I try to calm myself.  

I try desperately to dissociate myself; once I block out the empathy, the pain will go away too.  However, it seems to not be working as I feel my heart breaking with Michael's.

Michael slowly kneels by my side.  "Is this enough for you?" he asks.

"God, that was a lot," I mutter, trying to compose myself.

We look up to watch Cordelia Goode approaching younger Michael.  Michael tenses up from beside me upon seeing her.  I can't hear what she's saying, but whatever she says upsets younger Michael as he falls to the ground yet again.

"She was telling me that I had failed," Michael explains shortly.  "Now she's trying to get me to be good."

"Are you serious?  She's trying to get you to be good right after she killed Ms. Mead and told you that you failed?" I shake my head.  "No wonder you caused the apocalypse; she used the worst possible tactic to try to win you over."

He sighs as he looks down.

"Wait a minute," I mutter as I turn to him, an idea forming.  "You know, this whole apocalypse idea seems to just be your whole revenge at the witches.  That's why you're refusing to let the witches go; you only caused the apocalypse to kill them."

"That's not true," he denies.  "I started the apocalypse because I'm the Antichrist and that's my duty."

"But the reason why you really caused the apocalypse was because you thought it would kill the witches."  I slowly reach down and take his hand.  "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you still would've caused the apocalypse had you killed all the witches."

He looks away, refusing to meet my face.  I take his chin in my hands and force him to meet my eyes.  This is my first time to see him truly vulnerable, so I'm sure as hell using it to push my agenda.

"Michael, you didn't actually want to be this way.  You got caught up in this idea of killing the witches, and your father used it to manipulate you into starting the apocalypse for him."

A tear forms in his eye and he looks towards his younger self who is now threatening Cordelia.  "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?" he says desperately.  "I caused the apocalypse; there's no undoing that.  I may as well finish what I started or die trying."

I shake my head.  "Michael, is that what you really want to do?  You have options.  Just think about it; the witches have some reason that they decided to wait to confront you until after the apocalypse.  Do you think they would allow you to cause the apocalypse if they didn't know how to undo it?"

"What are you saying?" he asks.

"I'm saying that I think the witches are planning on doing something to undo the apocalypse, such as altering the timeline.  How, I have no clue.  My point is, Michael,  I think you can fix this.  You can help the witches and undo the mess that your father has made.  You still have some good in you, surely you can see that this is the right thing to do."

I motion to Michael's younger self.  "Do you think he actually wanted to cause the apocalypse?  He just wanted to make Ms. Mead happy, who was vicariously living her dreams of the apocalypse through him.  Let's face it: almost everybody in your life has used you in one way or another."

"And you aren't using me?" he questions.

"If I had anything to use you for, I would've done it long ago," I roll my eyes jokingly.

He smiles smally, a troubled look in his eyes as he looks between me and his younger self.  I slowly stroke his jaw to try to comfort him.  He turns all his attention to me as he places his hand over mine.  "Valentina," he says quietly.  "I can't."

I let my hand drop, not bothering to mask my disappointment.  "Michael..."

He stands up, making it clear that his decision will not be reversed.  I quickly transmutate in front of him, crossing my arms.  "Why?"

"This needs to be done.  It's what Ms. Mead would want, as well as my father."

I take his face in my hand.  "But what do you want?"

I can see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes.  "It doesn't matter what I want," he sighs.  "I just want to make them happy."

"Michael, you can't make Ms. Mead happy.  She's dead, and her soul will never find out what you did or didn't do.  And your father can suck ass.  You shouldn't care what he thinks.  Besides, he's obviously wrong sometimes; he chose me to be your ally, and that wasn't the wisest decision."

He chuckles lightly and blinks a few tears from his eyes.  I lightly brush his hair out of his face as I wipe away his tears.  He leans into my hand, and for the first time ever, I see him happy to be in my presence.

After a few seconds, it becomes clear that a new energy is brewing between us, one that we've never experienced before.  It's one of sorrow, yet also of peace and tranquility.  Going with my instinct, I slowly lean forward and press my lips to his.  He willingly accepts, the kiss comforting him through his situation.

This kiss is entirely different from our first kiss: it's calm, gentle, and serene.  Instead of kissing out of anger and frustration towards each other, we're doing so out of vulnerability and the need to feel comforted.  Michael melts into the kiss, taking my face in his hands.

I slowly pull away and look into Michael's eyes.  "Michael, please..."

"Valentina, I want to, trust me," he sighs, the remorse clear in his eyes.  "I just can't."

"That's bullshit," I snap, my mood changing within seconds.  With my words, the tranquil mood drops, turning instead to one of frustration.  I look at him through the tears that I didn't even know were forming.  "You can, and you know it."

He sighs as he raises an arm and the scene around us fades away.  

Venable's office reappears around us as I continue to give Michael a piece of my mind.  "You're scared," I state.

"Scared?" he questions, his voice sounding angry despite the tears that are in his eyes.

At this point, emotion is purely fueling both of our actions.  I never say anything without thinking, but now I just find the words spilling from my mouth without a second thought.  "You're scared to defy your fate.  You're scared of disappointing your father.  You're scared of admitting that you may have been wrong.  You're scared that it's too late to back out now.  But most of all, you're scared to face the fact that the witches are going to defeat you and there is nothing you can do to stop it!" I spit.

My words hit him like venom, and I can tell they cut deep.  He steps back, the hurt clear in his eyes.

I back down and compose myself.  "Prove me wrong," I state, lowering my voice so I don't come off as intensely.  "Defy your fate right now.  Leave this room, find Mallory, and remove the identity spell from her."

He slowly steps forward and reaches for my hand.  I allow him to take it.  "Valentina, you know I can't do that," he whispers.

"Why?"

He pauses, trying to come up with a reason besides the obvious one.

"Because you're scared," I answer for him.

He looks down, knowing I'm right.

"Not to worry," I sigh.  "I'll go do it for you."  I turn and begin to pull away from him, but he quickly tightens his grip on my hand and pulls me back to him.

"Please don't," he pleads through his eyes.

"Do it yourself then," I challenge.

He shakes his head.  "Listen, I'm going to come up with a plan."

"You've been saying that for the past week!  Guess what, we only have one week left.  If you don't even have an inkling of a plan yet, we're fucked."

He sighs.  "Look, I'm working on it."

"That's not good enough.  I'm proposing a plan where all parties are happy and your only chance of getting killed is if the witches choose not to trust you.  In your 'plan,' you're basically guaranteed to get yourself killed unless by some miracle you pull it off.  Even if you do manage to pull it off, what do you do once the witches are dead?  Go to the Sanctuary alone, possibly take me with you if you somehow haven't killed me by then?"

He chuckles.  "That is exactly my plan.  Let's just say that I decide to tolerate you and take you to the Sanctuary with me.  We can live out the rest of our days there, happily ever after." 

"Happily ever after?" I quote condescendingly. "In no world are the two of us even capable of living harmoniously for the rest of our lives." I reach for the file sitting on Michael's desk.  "Tell me, why are you even doing these interviews?  You aren't actually taking anybody, are you?"

He shrugs.  "I was hoping to find somebody to keep me company in the new world.  It seems that the only person my father has deemed worthy is you, and not even I understand why."

"Hey, I find myself very entertaining," I say sarcastically, pretending to be offended.

He chuckles as he leans back.  "I suppose you keep me on my toes."

I raise a brow.  "You know what, I'll just take that as a compliment since that's the closest I'm going to get."

He smiles to himself for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought.  "You know, you would be one hell of a partner if we could ever get on the same page," he chuckles.

I shrug.  "With both of our inabilities to compromise, it looks like that's not going to be happening anytime soon. Fairytale ending gone - sorry."

He sighs as I walk towards the door.  "Valentina," he speaks up as I reach the door.  I pause in the doorway and turn toward him.

"Yeah?" I ask, waiting for him to say whatever's on his mind.

"I..." he trails off.  He seems slightly troubled, like he's questioning whether or not he should say what he's thinking.

"Spit it out," I roll my eyes.

He sighs.  "It's nothing.  Have a good night."

I send him a skeptical glance, but I choose not to press him.  After I've closed his door, I let out a sigh and lean against it.  What the hell was he going to say to me?