"Who the hell is this?" Daryl demanded.

Rather than answering, Flynn glanced down at his body. That he was all but naked finally hit him. "Probably should have put some clothes on first," he whispered to her.

Sara laughed, tucking in a defeated sigh. "This is Flynn Carsen."

Clara gestured to him. "Were you two–?"

"No!" she drawled, affronted.

"Thank God. He's old enough to be your father," Daryl folded his arms.

"Forty-one!" Flynn snapped, also irked.

Sara rose an eyebrow, now immensely intrigued. "Really?"

Flustered and straining for the right phrasing as to not piss him off further, he stammered his words, "Wh-wha-what does it matter anyway? She's old enough to make her own decisions."

Her eyebrow shot up again, this time out of chagrin. "Thank you, for that."

"What is he doing here?" Daryl asked, emphasising each word.

"I... don't know. Yet. I don't even think he knows."

"I do!" he exclaimed, his pride severely hurt. He then began pacing and speaking quicker than a cartoon squirrel hopped up on caffeine. "You said it yourself, dimension skid. Only I'm not in another dimension, I'm just out of place. The wrong place. Very wrong. The right place..." Flynn stopped and stared out a large window, and slowed down considerably as grief for his lost library and artefacts struck him. "Is somewhere. Out there," He wheeled around and kept his focus solely on Sara. "And I need your help," he said to her, as much as he hated to admit it. Flynn breezed past her, headed to her room.

"Now?"

"Yes, now," he replied, voice muffled from being farther away. "Come."

"What am I, your dog?" She left her parents in a state of stupefaction.

They exchanged confused and lost gazes, unsure what to make of anything. On the other hand, they were at least grateful for their daughter's distraction.

"What are we doing in here?" Sara watched as Flynn pulled on his mud-brown trousers and dress shoes, and slipped into his tan button up shirt, grey waistcoat and chocolate brown blazer, the usual odd cravat seemingly missing.

"I'm just getting dressed before we head out. People tend to frown upon nakedness in public. Indecency and all that."

"We're going out? Now?"

"No, later. I figured we go after the next new moon," he rejoined. "What is it with you? Don't you understand the immediacy of the situation?"

"No, I got that."

Flynn pulled on his blazer, straightening it out. "Good," He waited long enough for her to put on some platform trainers, then took her tiny hand in his, nearly enveloping it, effortlessly taking her to the front door. "We need a car."

"One with a stereo and USB port."

"Yes, fine, whatever," he tersely responded, waving his hands in dismissal.

"I know a rental place," she said while grabbing her drawstring bag.

"Good a plan as any."

"It's fifteen miles on foot in the other direction," Sara jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

He shrugged. "Your point?"

For a moment, all she could do was stare blankly. As the penny dropped, she knew she should have worn different shoes. She groaned like an irate teenager and stomped out the front door.

Flynn provided her parents, who were still bewildered and ignored up until that point, a thin-lipped smile. "Don't mind us. You're obviously busy," He nodded to the bags of groceries that had yet to be unpacked, and upon noticing a familiar rumble in his stomach, quickly snatched the package of puffy Cheetos sticking out and left them gawping once more.

As he hustled down the stairs, he called out, "Wait up!"

She halted and clocked the bag of cheese covered poofs, then regarded him with slight wariness. "Really?"

"I was hungry."

"Suppose you didn't grab a cold Capri-Sun while you were at it?"

Flynn whipped out the chilled juice pack from his pocket and handed it to her with a grin.

She let out a grateful moan while tearing the plastic off the tiny, yellow straw with her teeth and spat it out, eager for the taste of sugary fruit punch.

"Good for something," he said.

As he went on ahead, she didn't. Rather, she stared back at the town house she called home for the last four years, without conviction and with terror coursing through her body. She hadn't been out of the house in months, other than shopping.

Flynn caught sight of her frozen on the spot. "What's wrong?"

She could only muster the energy to turn her head half-way, deep blue eyes still rapt on the building. "Nothing," she lied.

"You can stay if you want."

"No!" After clearing her throat, she calmly reiterated, "No. I don't want to go back to that."

He outstretched his arm, letting her take his powdered cheese covered hand, to which she chuckled at. He wiped the dust off on his otherwise spotless blazer and tried again.

Regardless, she giggled, simply because she thought he was adorable. Sara took his offer, smiling up at him like an idiot in love while they strolled along. "We'll frolic through the city then, shall we?" she retorted, hiding her affection.

"I just didn't want you getting lost. Cities can be dangerous," A helicopter whizzed by in that moment. "Case in point."

"And what are you gonna do about it, Mister No-magic?"

"I can still pack a punch."

She snorted loudly, nearly choking on her juice.

"What?"

She coughed and strained to speak. "You didn't do Jack back there."

"Your mother was in the room. What was I supposed to do?"

"You know as well as I that he deserves one," She bobbled her head, contemplating. "Or five."

With a heavy heart, he nodded in agreement. "Yeah... I do."

"But enough of that. We're on an adventure."

"Yes," Flynn glanced down at the pavement, then at her big, loud shoes. "How can you walk in those?"

She looked at what he was staring at. "What, these? Months of practice," she said, locking eyes with him.

"You can't run in those."

"We doing much running?"

He was The Librarian; of course running was involved. If there was one thing Flynn was good at, it was that. It was in the job description. Running from danger or running to something. Through the woods or in the streets. Running in time zones, in the end of days, in changing fortunes, in modern day theatre, in the past. Even if the thing in front of him was invisible to him, he just had to keep going to get to it.

"Not too late to change them," he said.

Sara stared at her feet, then behind her. Maybe he's right, she thought. But there was no going back. If she did now, there was no leaving. She'd rather be gone forever. Her old life, gone. Sara shook her head a second time. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "You're starting to sound like my mum."

"Funny, I didn't get concern from her. Just... unconcern."

"Yeah, well," Sara sloughed off the past and present and continued on. "It hurts, but I got used to it after a few years."

"You shouldn't have. Had you been my daughter, I would have treated you like royalty."

Sara's face lit up slightly. No-one had ever said something as sweet as that to her, let alone treated her that way. Royalty? Not even her so-called friends treated her with that much respect. Ordinarily, if it had been someone she wasn't acquainted with, she would be scowling at them. Instead, she was grinning.

With a titter she said, "That would make you king, then."

Honestly, Flynn liked the sound of that. King Carsen. A king of loneliness and wishful thinking, more like. A king who only cares about his own well-being, a king who tended to runaway from his problems, a king who had no sense of how anyone else felt about him.

Flynn brushed at his nose, smirking as he took in the ridiculous notion, then rolled his eyes as he realized how silly it sounded. He turned to Sara. "Let's just go."

Sara nodded, quiet as always as they walked away together, her hand once again clasped with his.

Neither of them knew what lay ahead, what would come next, but in their minds, they were certain they were headed home. For her, a new, better home; for Flynn, the home he lost.