The question had meant to give him a clue of what she might be about to tell him, and she listened closely to the answer he gave her, committing each word to memory. Her vision started to swim when he started to really describe her, and by the end of it she had to look down at her lap, striped hair falling forward to help try to hide the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

"I'm not your Anna," she told him in a tight voice that cracked around the edges from the strain of trying to hold herself together. "And you're not my swamp rat, but lord I wish you were. I'm just Marie, and I'm not sure how I got here. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm meant to be..." Home? In another universe where she might not even exist? Or worse, where he might not exist?

The very thought made her tense, the memory of holding his lifeless body still so fresh in her mind, and she took a long drink. The beer would hit her extremely empty stomach and either make things easier or much more dangerous. Hard to say which, really.