Now back at his mother's place, Flynn and Sara kept to themselves. Sara was upstairs, trying on her new clothes while Flynn tried desperately to find a way to get his home back.

It was impossible for Flynn to shut his brain off, especially when something induced a loop of thoughts. Rolling, floating, disseminating in his head like a tornado. It drove him mad. It seemed all the spinning thoughts caused him to whirl about in turn; literally. He hoped the movement would help him somehow, but all it did was make him dizzy. He had to sit down before he fell down.

With a frustrated groan, he tugged at his hair, agonizing over it. If there was one thing he loathed more than overlapping ruminations and ideas, it was the fact that he couldn't figure something out. Flynn was smart; very, very smart. He always knew what to do. Now he couldn't even begin to see a path through the overgrown jungle that was his mind.

There was this horrible pain that wrapped around his skull, making any attempt to conjure up anything impossible. It was getting worse these last five years. Ever since he dropped back into old habits, sticking with his lone adventurer mentality, it freed him up to think. All he did was think, think, think, until he either fell asleep or passed out from overexertion, then started all over again when he came to. No doubt there had been some extra bulk, threatening to max out his temporal lobes.

Right in the middle of a soothing, gentle self scalp massage, Sara walked in. The sound of her steps startled him.

"Sorry," she said, chuckling faintly until she saw just how unhealthy he appeared. "You all right? You don't look so good."

Through the gaps of his fingers, he stared at her with brooding eyes, not even noticing the insanely short checkered crop-top that showed off her navel and mustard-yellow trousers that were hard to overlook. "I may never find it. And that vexes me."

Sara slid into a chair opposite him. "Your Library?" Responding to the nod she received, she added, "Well, look at it this way: no-one else has probably found it either."

As his hands dropped to the table with a thud, Flynn's once thoughtful gaze subtly changed to one of querulous anxiety, though his facial expression remained deadpan. It just reminded him that others were looking for it as well, and that he was running out of time.

"What?" Sara asked with considerable surprise in her voice. "I thought I was being helpful."

"Well, you're not. So please, leave me alone to think."

"Thinking is what's killing you," she let slip without knowing it.

A frown of perplexity and distress came over his face, deepening the lines on his forehead. "What?"

Blank astonishment donned on her countenance once it occurred to her that she said something she shouldn't have. "What what?"

"You said thinking is what's killing me. What did you mean by that?"

Following a shrug of her shoulders, Sara explained it to the best of her ability. "Thinking too much makes you lose sleep, your appetite... people... your mind. Trust me, I know. Borderline personality disorder; I always overthink things and come to the conclusion that people are going to leave me and– Self-destruction and isolation. Don't do this to yourself, mate. You're not doing any favours."

"I have to," Flynn replied in a faint whimper, then put on a defensive front. "Not the self-destruction part, but the isolation. It's your fault I can't come up with a plan. I told you, I work better alone."

"Yeah, that's... really worked for you so far," she sarcastically retorted, then in a more serious way she asked, "What about that inter-dimensional gate thing? I thought that was your plan."

"Yes, but I don't have the faintest idea–"

"Flynn, you're the Librarian. Ideas are your thing. You have a whole arsenal of them at your disposal, so pick one," Sara grabbed a random book and handed it to him. "and start making magic happen."

Flynn gave the cover a hardened stare of confusion. "Edgar Allan Poe?"

"You never know..."

He had to admit, her words were inspiring, but it wasn't that simple. It wasn't as if the answer to his problems would fall onto his lap.

While huffing out an exasperated breath, Flynn stretched until the wooden chair he occupied tilted on its back legs. Unable to keep it balanced, he bumped against a bookcase behind him, causing an avalanche of books. While others dropped to the floor around him, one landed, of all places, on his lap. It was a book on Ancient Egyptians. Staring at its cover spawned a long sought after plan — or at least the start of one.

Clocking the wide enthusiastic grin on Flynn's face, she surmised, "I take it you've found what you were looking for?"

Beyond excited, Flynn shot to his feet and jumped up and down with joy; buoyant, childlike joy. Laughing the entire time. Soon after that, he took Sara's hands in his and leapt with her. "Ha-ha, yes! I've still got it!" Flynn exclaimed, then tightly hugged her. So tight that he was squeezing the air out of her.

Sara wheezed and repeatedly tapped his shoulders, trying to get him to loosen his grasp. "Big man?" she strained to get out. "You're crushing me."

"Oh, sorry," Flynn swiftly let go of her.

Feelings grew stronger, and they weren't ones he should have. Those feelings took over and turned his mind to mush, more than it already was. There was something about her that agreed with him, something almost mysterious. She was basically a female version of him, which helped. It gave him someone who could relate to him, for once. Someone he didn't have to explain himself to.

It took him ten seconds to realise that he hadn't spoken, too engrossed, keeping a rapt gaze fastened on her. With a sharp inhale, Flynn brought himself out of his stupefaction. Words came to him at last. "You said you had something to tell me?"

"Yeah, I uhm..." However, the longer Sara scrutinised him, the more she found that what she sensed in him before was gone. Was it wishful thinking or was she wrong? She couldn't tell. Being so stressed and distraught, her abilities were most likely unreliable. This worried her. She was never wrong. Except for that one time she thought she was sick with Norovirus and needlessly panicked for two days straight.

Sara looked at him with such bewilderment, eyes narrowed. In a voice coming as a low murmur, she said, "I don't know."

"Was it urgent?"

At the time it was, but since it wound up being a false positive, there would be no point in telling him now. Guess it was just gas, she thought. "Not really, no. I just wanted to thank you."

"What for?"

"For this," Sara waved her arms outwardly at her surroundings. "This is the happiest I've been in a long, long time. And I have you to thank."

"Thank yourself, for deciding to come with me."

"Well, yeah, but... You saved me."

Flynn's cheeks turned scarlet, then pathetically, he tried to cover it by lowering his head. Nervously, he chuckled. "Well, I don't know about that."

"No, you did. I was unhappy there. I'm not even sure they ever wanted me."

"I'm sure they must have, or you wouldn't be here."

Sara let out a scoff. "Yeah," she muttered. "Probably kept me so they have someone else to torment with their lies and excuses. 'I figured you'd come back,' they said without a bloody trace of–!" With a deep breath, she calmed her emotions. "I once took off for five, maybe six hours. I only came back because my friend–" Another mirthless chortle issued from her lungs, followed by a sniffle. "Ex-friend... saw me at the waterfront dropped me off. Thinkin' back, I should've hid. Never come back. But then I never would have met you, so, silver lining, eh?"

"Yeah," Flynn softly replied. Anything louder and he would've started crying with her.

"But enough about me and my self-pity. We should get to work."

"We?"

"Yes, we," Sara tilted her head to get a better view of the book. "What do you think this will tell us?"

"Ah, well pharaohs used pyramids as passageways to the afterlife," he explained. "We just need to find the sarcophagus — the right sarcophagus — and go we'll from there."

"Oh, is that all?" Sara sardonically responded.

As he cocked his head, he levelled a smirk with a hint of indignation shining in his eyes. "Must you always be caustic?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, and added, "Have you known me to be anything else?"

Just then, a white envelope came sliding underneath the door, snagging their attention.

"The hell?" Sara plucked it up and studied it carefully, only for Flynn to rip it from her grasp. "Oy!"

Avoiding her scowl, he tore into the envelope and sniffed at the folded papers within like a bloodhound, making Sara roll her eyes, another thing he chose to ignore. "Jenkins..."

Sara stood on her tiptoes beside Flynn and leaned over to get a better view. "What is it?"

"Notes, which are on–" A bewildered frown creased his brow. He turned to her, his expression still the same. Eventually and flatly, he said, "– The Monolith of Mut."

"Huh. That is lucky, that."

Too lucky, he thought. All of this is. Could it be that simple?

In all of his hard concentration, Flynn didn't notice the strange, sudden light-headed feeling until it forced him to stumble. He couldn't understand why it came on. It scared him. He grabbed on to the edge of the table for stability, as well as an attempt to ground himself. However, it hardly helped. Before long, Flynn collapsed to the floor, hitting the hardwood with a considerable thud.

"Oh, crap," Sara quietly moaned as she eased herself to his level. "Flynn? Flynn, are you all right?" Of course, she knew he wasn't, but she wanted to ask anyway.

A frown of pain lined his otherwise handsome features, a groan accompanying it. Flynn opened his eyes slowly and stared at her through bleary vision. "Hello," he said, voice slightly hushed.

"Hey," Sara hesitated to smile, yet at the same time did her best not to appear frightened. It would only make matters worse, she knew it. "What happened?"

"I think I forgot to breathe."

"That's... not good," While she checked him over, she noticed the dark patches under his eyes. The pallor of his skin made it impossible to miss. "When was the last time you've slept?" Sara asked. "Or ate anything?"

"Can't," he tersely replied. "Too cime tonsuming–"

Sara gave him a quick raise of her eyebrow, inwardly wondering if he had whacked his head on the way down.

"– But I–!" Flynn continued, his voice raspy, and shot up on to his haunches, which he soon found he would regret. "Sat up too fast. Oof!" It wasn't long after that that he flopped backwards against Sara's front.

"Okay," she drawled in a murmur and helped him get more comfortable. "It's okay, I've got ya. Just keep breathing, alright? Keep breathing."

"I can't stop now," Flynn whimpered, both exhausted and tense. "I need to–"

"No, you don't need to do anything other than rest."

"That is not something I need right now. With these notes I'm close!"

"Close to what? Losing it?" Sara sardonically responded. "Because I would have to agree. Flynn, trust me. Don't push yourself, especially now. Okay?"

Flynn grabbed the notes, pointed at them and stammered, "But it–"

"No," she snapped. "Rest — now, Carsen."

That was the first time he had ever heard her use his surname. Taking it as a sign of seriousness, he agreed with her. "All right then. You are the Queen after all."

Once again, she scoffed. "Really wish you'd stop calling me that."