He would have been lying if he said that he wasn't surprised to see her again. In all honesty, he'd thought that their last good goodbye, had truly been their last goodbye. Apparently not.

Here she was, wounded and scarred, standing on his doorstep, in exactly the same state that he'd found her in. Her face spoke more than she did. She wanted help, she needed help, and it had to be from him.

But why should he? After all that she'd put him through, all the pain and the torment, and the betrayal. How could she ask him for help? How did she even think that she could?

It made him think back to when they'd first met. Or at the very least, the first time he'd seen her. You see, she'd been unconscious when he'd found her, and it tends to be very hard to meet people when you're not even awake, or barely alive.

He'd been walking his dog through Central Park when he'd seen her. The place was magnificent at that time of year. The deciduous trees might've been bare, but the pines were crusted with silver. The grass was snoozing under a protective coating of ice, and there was no chance of Harley going berserk over some squirrels, for they were all in a peaceful slumber. It was dark, and quiet, and somewhat lonely, but that was the way that Richard liked it.

The pair had strolled past one on the park's many artificial lakes, when he spotted her. An injured young woman lying spread-eagled in the snow. His very own raggedy Christmas Angel cast in a shade of pure white.

He'd ran to her, and panicked when he felt such a low pulse. He'd taken no notice of the steaming pile of metal that lay several feet away from her, or the blood-stained trail that went from there to her comatosed form. He had just seen someone who needed his help.

Now, normally he was someone who always followed the rules, and carried out instructions without hesitation. But there had been something in his gut telling him to carry her to his home, instead of ringing an ambulance, and waiting with her in the cold.

She didn't wake the entire journey, and only awoke when Harley decided to slobber all over her face. She'd started, and moved in a way that looked as if she wanted to run, but had stopped with a groan of pain. Richard had watched as she noticed her injuries, and then he began to work. Luckily, he knew first aid, and he'd once been in training to become a doctor. Until he'd realised that as good as he was with stitches and broken bones, he wasn't very good with people.

She'd had a dislocated shoulder and a large gash down the front of her calf, so they were easily looked after. Now all that was left was actually dealing with the situation. He had worried then, and had begun to voice his thoughts that maybe he should bring her to the hospital to get checked, but she'd panicked. She went on to explain that other than her outward appearance, and her bone structure, there wasn't much the same between them biologically.

Which had confused him, admittedly. Until it slowly clicked in his mind. Which led to him waking up on his sitting room floor in a state of shock. Harley had curled up on his chest, and she was just staring down at him, wearing that infuriating smirk that he would come to love.

Other than saying that she was, in fact, an alien, she never said much else to do with it. But suddenly he found himself with a house guest. She wasn't the worst house guest, but she was certainly the weirdest. For example, she'd been fascinated by the television, and would curl up directly in front of it for hours upon hourse, tracing the flickering colours with her finger tips.

Judging by her mode of transport, her planet was very technologically advanced, but they didn't tend to use it for recreational pleasure. Her reaction had been much the same when it came to microwaves and toasters and he'd had to rescue her from escalators more than once. But other than that, she was completely at home on Earth.

Now, he realised how weird it had been . There he was, living with an alien female, and instead of trying to find out about life in the universe, or some amazing life-saving devices her planet might have, he was taking her to Starbucks for wrongly-labelled hot cups of coffee, and going to the National History Museum, and watching her marvel at the dinosaurs and laugh at the Neandarthals.

She'd been with him almost a year, and in that time, they'd attended the majority of the annual events Central Park had to offer. She'd thought it was just for convenience, it being so nearby, but he knew it was because, if he was anything, he was sentimental. He had been sentimental when he'd stayed in his parent's house after they'd died and when he'd left the spare room where she'd slept untouched, after she'd left.

She'd first kissed when they'd gone to Shakespeare in the Park. After Biology, English Lit had been his favourite subject in high school, and he'd always had a soft spot for Old Bill. He should've seen it as an omen, really. Because Billy Shakespeare had had a thing for tragedies and comedies, and in the end, Richard's life was either but tragically comic or comically tragic.

It was deep in the Autumn, when the sunset-coloured leaves flew through the sky, and the air began to develop a bite to it, when she left. He'd walked upstairs, to tell her that he'd made blueberry pancakes, because they were her favourites, when he found her bed empty.

The outside world was anything but. The skies screamed with news helicopters and the ground below shook with fright and tension. The moment he'd turned on the news report, he'd recognised the blonde curls and the green eyes and the smirk. But nothing else. His Christmas Angel had been replaced with a demon.

She'd managed to gain control over the majority of the technology throughout the city, and was busy shooting at anyone who came too close with a strange laser gun. The television screen flickered frequently between Angela Fitzpatrick, the news reporter, and Aeyla's face, that was far from beautiful when it was twisted with malice.

The news report said that the army and the police combined were no match for her, and that if the public had any information, it was vitally needed.

He had been torn. Weeks before, when he'd accidentally tickled her across the back of the neck, she'd jumped. When Richard had frowned at her in confusion, Aeyla had explained that the only way to knock out a member of her race was a blow to the back of the neck. If he rang in, and told them how to stop her, this chaos would be over. But he'd betray her in the process. "So what," he decided, "She did it first."

And she had. Richard saw that this had been her plan all along. Through him, she learned about the human race, and their weaknesses and strengths. He'd been nothing but a pawn in her game. All those memories they had together, of when she'd nearly leapt out the window the first time she pulled apart a Christmas cracker, or when he'd had to restrain her from jumping into the tiger enclosure at the Zoo, meant nothing now. So Richard gave the information in. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart.

Then he had driven to the police barricade nearest to her. He'd shut his eyes as they'd shot a large pellet at her neck, knocking her out cold. She'd gained consciousness as they carried her past him. And she knew what he had done. He could see it in her face. Her eyes, filled with injust hurt and pain, said it all. That was their goodbye. It was cruel, but so was life.

Which was why he was bewildered by her reappearance. She could barely stand upright, and around her wrist was a broken, rusty handcuff. It was obvious she had escaped but he didn't understand how, or why. And she needed his help. For what, he didn't know. But how could he trust her? How could she trust him? She had used him for her own schemes, and he had sold her out for the greater good. He supposed they were on equal footing now. Both in the wrong as much as the other.

There was just one question left in his mind: Would he help the world, or help himself?