Jim woke up with a jerk, and found his bedsprings still bouncing from the great leap which the aforementioned jerk had taken into it. "Blair! What are you doing in my bed?"

He glanced at the alarm clock, or tried to, but his vision was fuzzy. "What time is it?" Blair mumbled unintelligibly but at great length into the pillow he had buried his face in, and Jim shook his shoulder, torn between wanting to yank him up for a proper explanation and concern at the clear terror emanating from the curled up, tense body. "What’s wrong, Chief? Chief?"

"The floor!" wailed Blair.

"What about the floor?" Jim asked, blinking in an attempt to clear the fuzziness from his vision. It didn’t work, but he did get an impression of...yawning emptiness?

"It’s not there! We’re living on the third floor, and your room is up another floor, which means there should be three floors between us and the ground, but there’s nothing! And I don’t know how I got up here but the stairs are gone too!"

Now that it had been pointed out to him, the great space in which the bed floated, three storeys above the ground, was clear to him. He carefully edged towards the center of the bed, where Blair had burrowed into the depths of the blanket and tried not to look at anything, patted Blair’s back soothingly. What the bleep was going on?

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