Deus ex Machina by K. Alexander

Author's notes:

Thank you so much to my partner, for sacrificing me to two other women for many late nights; to blue, for helping my thoughts along; to bee, for being so enthusiastic about my enthusiasm; to dawn brown, for consistent constructive comments and general good conversation, and to whichever spirit put this strange story, completed, in my dreams. I owe you one.

Thanks also to you, for being willing to read something which was at times alarmingly violent and blatantly unrepentant, and which you never had any guarantee of finishing. Even if you may, right now, be grumbling about storylines not all being tied up to your satisfaction (and I'm completely unapologetic about that - firstly, I don't believe in that kind of synchronicity; secondly, I don't want to wrap it up in a bow - there are still aspects left to think about, which I now leave up to you; and thirdly, I'm such a tease, as rightly pointed out by dawn), I hope that I've done it right and made the journey worth as much to you as the destination.

I loved the ride, and I loved having you with me.

1.

The orderly glances up at the number on the door (9, he needs no reminder) as he makes a note on his clipboard. Then, hanging the clipboard on the hook at the back of the trolley, he steps to the side and crouches to pull a tray from below. It is covered with a white cloth, which he pulls off to reveal an unappetizing meal of bland mashed vegetables, a baked potato and a colorless slab of meat. Standing up, the tray grasped securely in both hands, he approaches the door, but does not stand too close. Through the industrial strength Plexiglas he can see the woman within at the other side of the small room, her slick arms defined in harsh relief as she moves precisely through a series of physical exertions. She does not acknowledge his presence, and with a quick breath (which he hopes is disguised by the thickness of the walls and door between them) he approaches and slides open the hatch three quarters down the solid door. He slides the tray through without a problem and shuts the hatch somewhat louder than he intends to. When he straightens up and glances through the porthole she is still in exactly the same place, but her movements have ceased, and her shaved head is tilted at a somehow menacing angle, as if she is listening to his slight motions and analyzing at which point to attack. Taking one step backwards he puts his hands behind him and presses them up against the comforting solidness of the steel trolley.

"Ryan! Lunch!"

She does not respond to his barked words, but he knows that she hears him. He moves backwards to his position on the trolley, aware of his … he would not call it fear, never that - uneasiness? - and pushes it into motion sharply, very glad to step into the solitary small elevator at the end of the short hallway.

When she hears the faint whir of the elevator she clenches her fists briefly before stretching them wide open and shaking her hands loosely. Her neck is a little tight and she rotates it thoroughly, sure to follow up with a roll of glistening shoulders and a systematic stretch of her muscles. Sufficiently warmed down for the moment she turns sharply and stares at the tray sitting on the small ledge. It is expectedly unappetizing, but she is hungry. She has not eaten in a day. They now take it away after a while. They are close to giving up on her. They assume otherwise, but she prefers to eat what she is given. Her physical workouts exhaust her energy at an alarming rate, and when she does not eat they up her meds and sometimes tranquilize her, roll her out somewhere and stick needles into her to provide the necessary nutrients. She does not mind needles - she's had worse - but the tranquilizers leave her numb and nauseous, which makes it impossible to exercise. Which is intolerable. And so, whenever she can, she eats what they give her. But only whenever she can. She steps forward, her tread precise, and stretches out a hand for the tray. She is about to touch its white polystyrene edge when her fingers halt in mid-air and freeze there, motionless. Her green eyes narrow, the hand retracts rapidly to lift and cup the back of her head fiercely. She presses her head hard into her palm and grimaces, her teeth clenched against whatever it is that has invaded the moment. Her other hand lifts and wraps over her eyes, pressing white-knuckled against the banks of her eyebrows. She does not make a sound for a long time. When she throws her head back her green eyes are filled with infinite ferocity. The snarl builds in the pit of her stomach and rises up through her throat coarsely, bursting from her mouth with the intensity of a predator filled with wrath. She drags her fingers jaggedly over her skull in rage, but luckily, after yesterday's event, there are no fingernails left, and she does not draw any more blood. Her hoarse roaring echoes down the hall and back up again, her door the only place for it to enter. Finally she strikes out in aggression, her fist splitting the tray into pieces and spreading bits of pulverized food against the door. The ledge the tray is resting on cracks faintly. She will be punished for that somehow, she is aware of that. Even only when they tranquilize her to remove her from the room when they come in to fix it. Her snarling ends unexpectedly as she slides to the floor and presses her forehead to it.

"No. Stop it! I'm not listening to this anymore…"

The food is everywhere. It'll be needles for her again. Soon.

------ Doctor Walsch nods thoughtfully and steeples her fingers together. "And the new meds? Any more hallucinations?"

The haggard man opposite her shakes his head. "No, doc, no more dancing worms or talking heads, thank the lord. I'm sleeping better too. Is that just me or … ?"

"Of course. One major benefit of being more relaxed and less anxious is a better night's rest." She shoots that quick crooked smile he sometimes dreams about in his direction before she withdraws the pen clipped to her notebook and writes something in the margin. "I'm very happy to hear this, Gerry. If you keep it up you'll be ready to return to a regular way of life very soon."

He shifts forward and perches nervously on the edge of the faded pink wingback chair. "Does that… do you think it would it be possible for me to see Eloise and the kids?"

She raises her eyebrows and taps the top of the pen against the page. "Physically, yes. But Gerry, we've spoken about this. It's not a matter of medication and control, as much as you would like it to be. This involves lawyers and regulations, and Eloise's emotions, too. You can't discount them, Gerry; she's been through an awful state of affairs due to you. These types of situations take years to resolve."

The man smiles wryly, revealing bizarrely even teeth. "Do you have any meds in that cabinet of yours to improve patience?"

"Nope." She flashes that crooked smile again. "If only it were that easy. I'd be a millionaire and there would never be war. Unfortunately that's a trait you're going to have to develop on your own."

"You crush me, doc." He shakes his head solemnly. "And here I believed that you could do anything."

"Mostly." She clips the pen back onto the notebook and rises, pressing her glasses higher onto her nose with a neatly manicured index finger. When he also rises and extends a hand hesitantly she grasps it firmly and presses once before releasing it. "Next week, Gerry. And remember to do the breathing exercises. I know that you think they're impractical, but you do need to give it a chance."

"All right. If you trust them then who am I to argue." He shrugs and reaches for the doorknob. "Next week, doc."

"Goodbye, Gerry."

"Bye." He doesn't open the door fully, but slips around the edge before pushing it closed behind him. With a slight smile Doctor Walsch makes one or two more notes before she tosses the pen on the small desk and steps out of the office herself. Cecily Dawson is perched erectly on her padded computer chair, her brown eyes fixed on her monitor with a fierce scowl as she types noisily. Whenever she strikes the space bar ferociously with her thumb Doctor Walsch winces in sympathy.

"Cecily."

"Doctor Walsch."

"Don't frown so. You'll end up with furrows in your forehead."

"Frowning provides a great deal more gratification than a smooth forehead ever will." Still scowling, Cecily pauses with her sharply angled eyebrows raised, her fingers poised above the keys. Doctor Walsch sees the thumb right over the spacebar, lifted ominously, and suppresses the urge to wince. "If you want me to file Mr. Cook's notes you should put them down."

Shaking her head Doctor Walsch places the notebook precisely on the corner of the teak desk. "You're much too quick for me. Gerry says he believes I can do anything - he's in the right office, but the wrong company."

Cecily appears to agree without saying anything or in fact moving a muscle. She commences typing, starting with the predictable whack of her thumb against the space bar. "I do believe that Doctor Clarke is downstairs in the canteen."

"Good. Thank you." Doctor Walsch reaches for her glasses and slip them off, polishing them with the corner of her shirt by sheer force of habit before she slips them into the breast pocket of her coat. "I really should give you a raise, Cecily."

"Yes, doctor."

"If only I didn't have to keep buying new keyboards." As if on cue doctor Walsch's sentence is punctuated by the smack of Cecily's thumb against the spacebar.

"Yes, doctor." The same sentence - amazing how inflection can change the implication. Grinning to herself the doctor leaves the reception area and walks down the corridor, greeting colleagues briefly as she passes them by. She presses the elevator button once and glances up at the numbers lighting up over the door. Currently the elevator is on the fifth floor. With a sigh doctor Walsch hopes for the best, and is denied it when the elevator doors open on her floor to reveal Nesbitt, the plastic surgeon from five. His bright blue eyes spark when he sees her, and he straightens up unconsciously.

"Well, if it isn't the divine doctor Walsch."

"Nesbitt." She nods curtly at him and steps into the elevator, turning her back on him quite pointedly.

Reaching up he tucks a strand of black hair behind his ear and grins, though it is merely for his own benefit. "Going down for a cup of coffee? How about I buy you one." It is less of a question than a statement, and she grinds her teeth together in mute irritation before turning her head slightly into his direction.

"No, thank you. I'm meeting somebody."

"Oh." He whistles speculatively between his narrow lips. "Professional or personal?"

"None of your business, Jack." Her tone of voice is unexpectedly acid, and even he cannot fail to notice this time. Pursing his lips he appears wounded for a moment.

"Really, doctor Walsch. Won't you ever put that little incident behind you? I did apologize, after all."

"And you didn't mean a word of it." Secretly she blesses the elevator as it opens to reveal the glass-encased security booths and the entrance to the canteen. "If you bother me I'll have one of the guards remove you. Enjoy your day." With that she leaves the elevator, aware that he remains where he is. He is not affected by her comment, but is rather appreciating the view she walks away. She knows this, but there is little she can do. When she passes the glass cubicle she lifts her hand to the massive Indian man who is studying one of the numerous small security screens before him. He lifts his hand in greeting without glancing up. Reaching into her coat pocket with her left hand she withdraws her white access card and swipes it across the sensor, stepping through the turnstile as soon as the muted click sounds. When she rounds the corner she immediately sees Doctor Clarke at a table at the back, oblivious to the charming water feature visible behind him through the tinted glass as he studies a sheet of densely printed paper. She is almost next to him before he looks up and grins, his blond eyebrows jumping.

"Claire. Coffee?"

"Hmm." She leans down and plants a friendly kiss on his ginger-stubble cheek. "No, I'm giving it up." When his eyes shift past her and he bites the inside of his lip intently she knows what he is looking at. "Yeah. I had the dubious fortune of being in the elevator with him for much too long."

His hazel eyes jump back to her. "And you still want to give up coffee? I'd ask for quadruple-caf if I were you."

"They don't make such a thing, Art." She smacks his shoulder lightly. "Yet. But you're right. I can't think of giving up my favorite crutch at such a time." When she goes to the counter to get a cup he smiles to himself.

"Always the same intention, always the same result."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." He pulls the chair to his left away from the table and pats it. "Sit."

Following his instruction she slides the chair closer to the table neatly and opens the plastic lid of her cup, careful not to spill any liquid. "What are you looking at, Art?"

"File from Fairwater." He pushes at the paper with one desultory finger. "I wish I could sort this one out or get rid of it."

"Still the one who speaks to God?"

"Yes." With a shake of his head he picks up his own cup and takes a sip, wrinkling his freckled nose at the coolness of the contents. "Uck. Though, technically, you're wrong. She doesn't speak to Him - He speaks to her."

"Either way I don't envy you." With a glance at the open file she lifts her cup to her mouth and attempts a sip, jerking back as her lip burns. "Damn."

"They make it with boiling water here." He waggles his expressive eyebrows once. "I should've followed your example. Said no. I'm at my wits' end, Claire. It's infuriating. And all of the red tape doesn't help, either. I can understand the measures they take, but it makes things immensely difficult."

Placing the cup on the table she reaches over and touches the back of his large hand lightly with her fingers. "Arthur, why don't you just resign from the case? You wouldn't be the first - what's it been, four years? Five?"

"Seven." There is a moment of silence and he sighs. "I don't know, Claire. I just don't know. There's something about the whole situation that bothers me. It stinks, and I can't tell what of." He leans towards her and props his long forearms on the table. "What would it take to get you to consult on this, Claire?" She begins to shake her head and he seems to anticipate it, reaching over to place his hand on her arm. "Don't say no yet. Just hear me out. I… " he thinks, begins again, "I… " and then throws his hands up in defeat. "Hell. No. I don't have a thing. No enticements, no tempting facts, just a grown man begging like a little girl." When she smiles he raises his eyebrows pathetically. "Come on, Claire, don't make me do something even more dismal. Please."

Though she is smiling at his antics he knows it is not a sign of flagging will. "I'm not interested. If I were… "

"You'd have taken it when they offered. I know." He laces his hands together. "I want your input on it, Claire, and not because you're the best I know, but because I trust your judgment."

She sips from her coffee cup, her blue eyes scrutinizing him warmly over the white rim. When she is finished she pushes it to one side and places her hands palms down on the table in front of her. "But you know my opinion, Art. She's homicidal. The hallucinations are only a manifestation of her subconscious inclinations. I'm not interested in working with that."

"That's your personal opinion." For once he sounds a little piqued. "I'm looking for a professional one. You haven't spoken to her."

"Has she exposed anything at all to you that would point to a different ruling?" He does not answer, but she does not need him to. "She hasn't, has she? Because she doesn't actually speak to you. How could I give any sort of consultation when she doesn't speak, Art?" She shakes her head. "The woman's a killing machine. That she has God talking to her seems a minor issue to me, compared to that."

Though Art smiles he is shaking his head too. "She is a highly trained soldier, Claire. There is a difference. You don't become a captain in the Navy SEALS by being a slavering maniac."

"She certainly got that decoration of hers for behaving like one."

"She got the Medal of Honor for leading an entire platoon of rebels away from her troops and ambushing them by herself, Claire. Whatever the woman's mental state has turned to, that is something to respect. And in any case… " he screws the empty sugar packet into a small wad and throws it at her, "I'm not getting into this argument with you again. You just love to wind me up."

"That I do." She picks up the wad of paper and throws it back, her aim poor. "Why do you want me to consult, Art? You know how I feel about the case."

"Well." Sitting back in his chair he seems suddenly hesitant. "It's not her mental state I want you to examine, Claire. After seven very difficult years I don't think there's anything to be done for that. What I want is… " He sits forward and shoots a nervous glance over her shoulder, drawing a puzzled frown from her. "Claire, I think they may be doing things to her in there that they shouldn't be."

Her scowl deepens. "Like what? What are you saying, Art?"

"I'm not sure." He taps one finger on the table between them. "She has needle tracks. Now I know that when she doesn't eat, they obviously put her on an IV after a while. But there's often more than one puncture wound." He bites his lip. "Look, I know it sounds very James Bond, I'm fully aware of that, and I could be having a moment of complete fantasy. But what if there's something I'm not seeing and I give up when I shouldn't? I don't like the idea of that, Claire. Signing off somebody to an eternally murky life. I suppose that what I'm asking you to do is merely to go there and see whether everything seems legitimate. If you can do that for me, you'd put my mind at rest and make considerably easier any decision that I might have to reach in the near future."

He spreads his hands towards her. "So that's what I'm saying."

Claire heaves a sigh and compresses her lips in thought. "Would they let me consult?"

"Hah. The esteemed doctor Walsch, come to reclaim the offer made first to her."

"The esteemed doctor Walsch, extremely unwilling and able." She grimaces at him. "I'd considered giving up coffee, but I think it would be a very bad idea at this point in time."

"I think you're right." He rises to his feet and forestalls her movement with a wave of his hand. "Sit. I'll get it. I'll get you anything you want."

"Can you bring me some reprieve from this whole business?"

"No. How about a muffin?"

"Next best thing."

------ The small elevator makes a strange clicking noise as it descends. Claire Walsch glances upwards in quiet trepidation, and when she drops her eyes both Vice-Admiral Banks and the short orderly are smiling knowingly at her. Clearing her throat in a somewhat embarrassed manner she shifts the file in her hands and turns to the Vice-Admiral.

"Her cell is the only one down here?"

He nods his silver-gray head. "We do prefer to call it a room, doctor. Captain Ryan isn't a prisoner. She is a very fine soldier, and it is a pity about her condition. We keep her in the most secure area, yes, because as a highly trained SEAL she has several skills at her command that would assist in an easy escape from the more basic rooms. The military obviously does not want any civilians to be harmed by her in any manner, doctor, so we have taken stringent measures to prevent that possibility."

"Does she still show signs of harmful behavior?"

The Vice-Admiral smiles and glances away. "A double-edged question with a double-edged answer, doctor Walsch. Yes, she does exhibit signs of harmful behavior, but wouldn't you, too, if you were being invaded both by the medical profession and by what you imagine to be the voice of God?"

Claire keeps her tone even. "Invaded by the medical profession in which manner?"

"Come now, doctor. Intrusion does not need to be physical to be intrusion nonetheless. She has individuals clamoring to get inside her head at all times of the day, and I imagine that must be very difficult for one as private as she is. Or used to be."

"You knew her personally, Vice-Admiral?"

"I was with her on the mission to Ruwanda in '91."

"Would you say there were ever precursors to the delusions?"

He meets her eyes stonily. "I am not qualified to answer that, doctor."

"Hmm." She holds his gaze without flinching. "Why is it that you are so reluctant to discuss her condition, Vice-Admiral?"

"Because that is all you people see her as!" He snaps his head to one side and attempts to calm his sudden outburst before he continues, his voice as smooth and toneless as before. "She is one of the finest people I have ever known, doctor Walsch. I find it atrocious and reprehensible that this place and that … condition … would strip away all of the good things that she's ever done, and replace them with a case study number."

She considers his observation without comment before she speaks again. "Would I be in any physical danger?"

"No." The soldier has swiftly replaced the previously distressed man. "She has been heavily tranquilized - another incident - so you should be quite safe. Nevertheless we would prefer that you don't actually go into the room."

"I don't see the need to. Thank you."

When the elevator doors slide open the orderly pushes his trolley out sharply, obviously discomfited by their conversation and eager to move on. He stops at the only door and lifts his clipboard from the back of the trolley, making a note before he returns it to the trolley and steps around towards the Plexiglas porthole. He remains a fair distance away from the door and glances through the porthole quickly before returning to his trolley and making a few more notes on the clipboard. When Vice-Admiral Banks approaches the orderly shifts his trolley a little to the left to allow the tall man access to the window. The Vice-Admiral glances through the clear porthole, his gray eyes inscrutable as he turns to doctor Walsch.

"She is all yours, doctor." He walks away, stiff-backed and elegant, to enter the elevator, and when he turns and presses the floor button his eyes meet Claire's. They seem to hold some sort of warning, but she cannot fathom it, and as the doors close she turns to the orderly.

"Do you have keys to open this door?"

"No." He shakes his head in the negative. "The standard rooms upstairs have keys. This one is opened from the security center upstairs. But you really shouldn't go in."

"I'm not planning to. But if I were, hypothetically, would you be able to get somebody to open the door for me?"

"Yes." The answer clearly makes him unhappy. "I'd get them on the radio, and if you had proper clearance and they could see you… " he points to the camera tucked into a corner, "they would open the door for you. But you really shouldn't go in there."

"So you said… " she reads his name tag, ".. Trevor. Thank you. Are you going back up?"

"No. I can't leave you here by yourself."

"All right." She approaches the porthole slowly and glances through it.

If she had not known this room to be the correct one, she would never have connected the person inside with the pres clippings she has been scrutinizing. She recalls the photo of Captain Ryan receiving her decoration, recalls the tall strong frame and healthy bronze face of an extremely attractive woman whose green eyes are compelling beneath her neatly plaited black hair with its high widow's peak. The woman inside the small stark room with its padded white walls is slumped with her back against the wall, her arms obviously bound behind her. Her shaven head hangs between the sharp angles of her shoulders, and her skin is unhealthily translucent against the bleakness around her. The paleness is emphasized by the austere white sleeveless vest and drawstring pants which drape loosely against her spare lean frame. When she shifts marginally and draws up her legs against her chest doctor Walsch catches a glimpse of the muscles in her arms rolling, and realizes that though there appears not to be a spare inch of fat on Ryan, her body is exceptionally finely toned. She turns to Trevor and finds his eyes fixed on her rear. When she clears her throat he glances up without much remorse. With a raised eyebrow she continues.

"Does she do some sort of physical therapy?"

"What - do you mean with the doctors?" He shakes his head. "Not like that, no. But she's constantly working out in there, doing all sorts of exercises, basic and otherwise. Almost obsessively, if you ask me. I don't know what it's all about - maybe it's just the only thing to do in there. It would make me crazy, I can tell you."

Turning away from the talkative orderly, Claire peers through the porthole again. The woman is sitting in the same position, her head drooping towards her chest apathetically. Leaning towards the hatch in the door Claire lifts it slightly and speaks through it as she has been instructed to by Vice-Admiral Banks.

"Good afternoon, Captain Ryan. I am Doctor Claire Walsch." There is no response, and when she crouches down to glance through the hatch the soldier has not moved, not given any sign of acknowledging her presence. Clearing her throat, Claire speaks through the hatch again. "Captain Ryan? May I speak with you?" Once again there is no response, and the figure does not move. Turning her head slightly Claire once again catches the orderly admiring her backside.

"Stop doing that, Trevor." When he lifts his shoulders in a minute shrug she shakes her head. "Can she hear me?"

"No reason why not." He peers through the glass himself. "Maybe she's talking to somebody more important right now."

"Ever seen her do that?"

"Sure." He nods. "She'll be her charming self one moment…" he pulls a face to emphasize his sarcasm, "and the next she's snarling like an animal and smacking her head against things. That's why they decided to pad the walls. They were worried that she'd hurt herself."

"And like this?" She points a thumb in the direction of the door.

"Docile as a lamb. She just sits there until she wakes up - or God does, whichever comes first."

"Her hands are bound?"

"Yes and no. There are handcuffs set into the wall."

Claire raises her eyebrows coolly. "Isn't that a little unethical? Surely they must be uncomfortable. How long will she be cuffed for?"

"They are lined, doc, and they only stay on until you leave. Then we take them off and let her sleep it off." The story sounds slightly rehearsed, but Claire feels less and less interested in consulting for Arthur on this case, and wants to get it over with as soon as possible. Turning away from Trevor she approaches the door again.

"Ryan."

There is no movement from the helpless woman inside the room. Clenching the file in her hand Claire bites her lip for a moment and then speaks to Trevor over her shoulder.

"Ask them to open the door."

"But that's not a … "

"Yes." She cuts him short impatiently. "I know. Everybody keeps saying that. Can you just ask them?"

"Okay." He's hesitant as he lifts the two-way radio clipped to his waist and speaks into it. There is quite a bit of conversation, muted and clipped, before he moves the radio away from his mouth and speaks to Claire. "Please step back a little so that the camera can see you." When she complies he rattles into the two-way radio again before switching it off. "They're opening it for you now."

As if in emphasis the door clicks loudly and shifts back from its lock. They both keep a vigilant eye on the figure inside the room, but there is no change in its incapable position. Stepping closer warily Trevor braces both arms against the bar on the heavy door and pushes it backwards, allowing doctor Walsch access to the room.

"Please stay out of her reach, doctor."

"How far is her reach with her arms tied behind her, Trevor?"

He glares at her reproachfully. "Don't underestimate her, doc. She's trained to do troublesome things. Stay away from her feet."

Smothering a smile Claire nods solemnly and steps into the room. The door remains open behind her; ostensibly so that Trevor can come to her rescue should the patient attempt to kick her into submission. When she is inside the small room she cannot help but feel a moment of claustrophobia - the walls are close and stark. In here it is easy to understand why Captain Ryan would give herself over compulsively to something as draining as physical exercise. Heeding the orderly's warning Claire does not approach the woman, but stays close to the exit, her clipboard held in front of her in what she is very aware is a defensive position.

"Captain Ryan?"

The woman does not respond, though her head drops closer to her chest helplessly and comes to rest on her raised knees. In this position her head pulls away from her arms and her shoulders stand out in lean sinewy relief.

"Ryan?"

Still there is nothing. Frowning, Claire attempts to inspect the figure's physical state from a distance, but it is hard to gauge. She is so thin - they did warn her, the woman does not eat well - and seems so drained at this point that it would be difficult to endeavor any sort of verdict. Clutching her clipboard Claire lowers herself onto the ground and sits down with her back against the wall, as far away as the small room allows her. The movement seems to attract the soldier's attention: the shaven head lifts slightly before fiercely green eyes ringed with long dark lashes and equally dark circles fixes on her intensely. The force of the stare is uncomfortable and Claire falters for a moment before speaking.

"Captain Ryan, my name is doctor Walsch…"

"I know." The voice is hollow and gritty, drifting into hoarseness from disuse or abuse. Claire is still only beginning to scowl, puzzled by the unexpected retort, when the soldier moves. The motion is so unexpected, so controlled and swift that there is no time to respond. Ryan hauls Claire up and wraps one arm around her throat from behind, holding the metal pin which her handcuffs have been attached to, its pointed end still encrusted in cement where she has worked it from the wall, against Claire's throat with the other hand. The doctor's first instinct is to raise her arms and clamp her hands around the forearm pressed so tightly against her throat, but as she shifts the woman behind her yanks her head back. A small sharp gasp escapes Claire's throat involuntarily and she swallows with rising panic.

"Keep you hands down. Tell Trevor to open the door."

The orderly has been keeping an eye on the good doctor as ordered, but has been taken by surprise as much as she was. He has, in fact, already placed his hands on the bar in order to push the door further open, but now that the prisoner orders the very same thing he is not so sure that it is the right thing to do any more. He pauses, and somehow she seems to know. Tightening her arm around the doctor's throat to an uncomfortable degree she prompts her with the metal pin.

"She's going to get hurt, Trevor. Open the door." To illustrate her point she shifts her arm and twists Claire's head slightly, causing an uneven moan to escape from the doctor's throat. "Hear that, Trevor? Open the door."

Helplessly he lifts the two-way radio, which is now jabbering uncontrollably, to his mouth and speaks into it.

"I'm going to kill her, Trevor." In her firm arms the doctor's shuddering breath is barely discernible. After a very short discussion with the security room Trevor hooks the radio back on his belt and grasps the bar, his hands trembling badly. When he pushes the door open Ryan steps out, keeping the doctor between them. Claire's eyes are wide and terrified as she stares at Trevor, but he can do nothing but look at the ground, away from her naked fear.

"Get in."

He complies and Ryan hauls the doctor towards the door, momentarily moving the pin from her throat to push at the door. When the doctor shifts involuntarily the arm around her throat twitches, almost making her gag.

"Don't. I'll break it."

She tries to nod her acquiescence, but the restraining arm makes it impossible. When she reaches up to put her hands on the forearm in an attempt to ease the pressure again, the woman behind her yanks her roughly. "Don't." Pushing the door closed Ryan reapplies the pin to the juncture between Claire's jaw and neck, just below her ear. "Move." She drags the shorter woman towards the elevator, making a point of keeping the doctor's face toward the camera as they move away from it. Though Claire has, long ago, completed a self-defense course, she understands that the woman behind her is overpoweringly strong and exceedingly dangerous, and so she concludes that she has no choice but to comply. She does not think that she can move on her own at this point in any case - it is just the sinewy forearm around her neck that keeps her upright. They move towards the elevator backwards, and when they step into it the soldier marches Claire roughly towards the control box. Her breath is warm on the doctor's ear when she speaks into it.

2.

Captain Lewis is not having a great day. Pompous authority - other than in the military - is not something he deals with well, and when he is told without preamble by doctor Tilley-Clapham that he is to keep his security cameras firmly pointed at some visiting lah-di-dah today, his first instinct is to drive the man's artificially perfect teeth into his artificially square jaw. It is not something he can do, however, and not because of a high moralistic streak (his is mediocre at best) or the physical inability (he has decked men larger than this overstuffed turkey), but simply because he needs the job. Ever since he has taken a bullet in his leg and been honorably discharged, he knows what it means to be a worthless hero. Men shake his hand ardently and declare their pride in his actions, women simper and bat their eyelashes, but nobody wants to have an ageing wounded soldier hanging about. Perhaps it reminds them of their own lack of worth. Either way, his job is the one thing he needs to hang onto with both hands, which means that he cannot afford even to knock one syllable off the honorable doctor's irritating double-barrel surname. And so he has spent the last hour watching the attending lah-di-dah mincing about in her neat little suit, her blue eyes serious as she asks questions which seem to be delivered in a tone barely this side of civil. At least she is something to look at. All of this combines to make the moment when the idiotic orderly doesn't accompany her into the room as ordered, and when the foolish doctor goes in and sits down, rendering herself a nice little parcel, the worst moment of Captain Lewis's day, his week, his year, and perhaps even his life.

"Christ!" He turns around and starts shouting orders. "Wallace, Taylor, Greer, get down there!" The men suit up hurriedly and grasp their weapons, moving out of the doorway and down the hallway in trained unison. He turns to watch on the small screen as Captain Ryan drags the small doctor out of the room and closes the hopelessly petrified orderly inside. She begins to drag the doctor backwards into the elevator, and her eyes fix on the camera. They are luminous and menacing. With another throaty oath Lewis turns around again, wincing as his leg twists uncomfortably beneath him. "Johnston, Smith, to the elevator on this level. Bulley, Simon, one level up. Johnston, check where it's stopping." He watches in exasperation as the men run down the corridors, following them on the monitors as they move quickly towards their destinations. Johnston's broad serious face tilts towards the camera as he glances up at the elevator lights blinking above him. "Stops at two… four… six… roof…"

"Christ!" If a vengeful lightning bolt doesn't kill him today, he'll be surprised. Perhaps he'd appreciate it, after this. "Johnston, Smith, get to two. Bulley, Simon, secure floor four." Lifting his radio he contacts the remaining security guards in the building. "Markham, take as many of your guys as you can and go to the roof. She's going to get out there - escape possibilities are the best from up there. Leave two men to check that she doesn't come back down."

With a grunt he slides out his firearm and checks the clip before he slides it back into its holster. "You stay at the monitor, Jarvis. Keep me informed when you see her." With his slight limp he runs from the security center, down the hallway with its bland cream walls, and turns right just before the boardroom to duck into the emergency staircase. He intends to run out of the front doors and see if he can spot her on the building, and when he exits the staircase on the ground floor he is just in time to see the elevator door open with a lonely little ping. The two remaining security guards are tensed, their weapons drawn and pointed, but the doors open to an empty elevator. The two men lope forward carefully, keeping their weapons up, but when they peer into the small elevator there is nothing beyond the garish striped wallpaper. Just then Lewis's radio bursts into life.

"Captain, Markham here. We've secured the roof. Nothing here. Over."

"Fuck!" Lewis grinds his teeth, and then lifts the radio to his mouth. "Johnston?"

"Johnston here. Nothing. Over."

"FUCK! Bulley? Tell me you have good news."

"Bulley here. Nothing, Captain. We've secured the level and … what?" He obviously moves the radio away from his mouth to speak to somebody in the background.

"Bulley? What's happening?"

The security guard's voice is too muffled to understand, until he brings he radio back up to his mouth in the middle of a discussion. "… you check. Are you sure? Captain… " his attention now back on the radio and urgent, "we've got a broken grid on four, left of office 7b. Looks like she's gone into the vents."

Lewis moves the radio away from his mouth and considers swearing again before he clicks the talk button. "Markham, Wallace, Greer, floor five. Secure the exits, vents, every fucking thing that leads out. Johnston, Smith, Taylor, three. I don't want her going either up or down. Bulley, get Simon in that vent. Now!"

Slotting the radio back into its place on his belt he lopes towards the stairs. "McCarthy, four! Elliot, keep the fort. Let Tilley-Clapham know to get his staff out." One of the security guards runs for the stairs as the other steps around the desk and lifts the phone.

"Doctor, it's Jack Elliot from the foyer. Captain Lewis … no, they haven't found her yet… Captain Lewis wants you to evacuate the staff, doctor." By the wince on his face the response is not a mild one. "I'm sorry, doctor, I'm just following orders. Yes, doctor. All right." He places the phone back on the hook with a disgusted look and sits down in the swivel chair, leaning forward to see the action on the small security screen better as Simon slithers into the damaged vent.

In the elevator something clinks slightly before the hatch on the roof is lifted and set aside quietly. Two bare feet appear in the square open hatch, before Ryan lowers herself quietly onto the carpeted floor. Crouching down in the corner to lessen visibility she presses the "open door" button and waits silently as the doors slide open with a groan. The security guard sitting behind the curved desk is riveted by something on the little screen on the surface of his table, but he does glance up when he hears the sound. She is just out of his field of vision, and with a shrug he leans forward curiously as Bulley and McCarthy flank a marginally open door. He does not hear Ryan when she steps from the carpet onto the cold tiled floor, and he does not catch sight of her moving form as she slinks below the level of his elaborate desk. When a figure appears in front of him he glances up in surprise. "Did doctor Tilley-Cla…" but he gets no further than that. His eyes open wide in shock at the sight of the shirtless shaven-headed woman in front of him, before her hand connects rigidly with his face and sends him sprawling backwards off his chair, already unconscious. Leaning over the desk Ryan studies his fallen body intently before she straightens up and steals back to the elevator. Stretching up she grasps the edges of the hatch and pulls herself up through it. When she appears, the bound and gagged woman in the suit shrinks back from her with a muted sob. Without a word the soldier reaches forward and drags the woman closer by her arms, thrusting her through the hatch roughly before she lowers herself again, landing gracefully next to the crumpled doctor. Tangling her hand in the material that binds Claire's hands together, Ryan yanks her closer and wraps an arm casually around her waist. They approach the security desk and Ryan leads Claire behind it to approach the security guard who is lying on his back, his nose a mess of blood. When Claire begins to keen from behind the gag Ryan shakes her.

"Shut up."

She leans closer and, forcing Claire to kneel with her, searches his pockets. He does not carry a gun, but has an electronic stun gun in his belt. Ryan withdraws it and then discards it with little thought, going instead for the security card clipped to his pocket. Clipping it to the waistband of her linen pants just in case, she lifts Claire to her feet and drags her to the front door, which slides open silently. Glancing left and right Ryan notices the camera above her. With a sharp tug she drags the doctor a few feet down the pavement, to where a small red Renault is parked.

"Yours?"

Tears run down Claire's ashen face as she tremblingly shakes her head in the negative. With a grunt Ryan approaches the door and keeps a hold of Claire with one hand as she pounds the other through the window. Her wrists are bloody and raw where working at the cuffs has chafed them, and now her right hand is a mess of lacerations. Ripping open the door she shoves Claire into the passenger seat and slots in the seatbelt, leaning over her to unlock the drivers' door before she vaults over the bonnet and slides into the drivers' seat. Reaching under the steering wheel she rips out a handful of wires and begins to strip two hurriedly with her teeth. When Claire looks up she notices a reflection against the glass door - security are on their way. As the large front doors slide open quietly the car starts, and Ryan drives away from the shouting guards. When a shot rings out Claire cringes into the corner of her seat, but it thuds harmlessly into the back of the car. Unperturbed, Ryan hurtles towards the barrier, and when the security guard appears with his gun drawn she slides down the seat and presses her foot on the accelerator. He cannot shoot, for he has been told not to harm the hostage, and so he watches with frustration as the red Renault bursts through the barrier and screeches into the road, quickly disappearing around a bend in the country road.

------

"FUCK!" Captain Lewis slams the heel of his hand against his thigh before he turns to the tall man to the right of him. "Did you just shoot, Johnston?"

"Yes, sir." The man lowers his weapon awkwardly.

"Didn't I tell you not to shoot at them? Johnston?"

"Yes sir. You did, sir." The man holsters his pistol. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't do it again. Find out whose car that is. Find out where they're going. Find out where they're likely to go. Find me any damned thing I can use!" Spinning on his heel Captain Lewis goes into the foyer where one of the doctors is attending to the fallen security guard. Glancing at the man's bloodied nose with disdain he shoots a longing look at the elevator before he takes the emergency stairs to one. Instead of turning right towards the security center he turns left, limping along a narrow hallway that ends in a large aluminum door. When he knocks firmly a voice commands him to enter, and with a preliminary grounding of teeth he enters the office and presses the door closed behind him. Turning to face the man behind the massive desk Lewis clasps his hands behind his back and stands rigidly.

"Sit, Lewis." He complies. "Have you found her?" The question is asked in a benign tone of voice, but it does not fool Lewis. When he shakes his head in the negative the doctor explodes. "How the hell does she just walk out of here? As if she's on some Sunday drive? Were your men even awake?"

Lewis grits his teeth before he replies. "This is not exactly a maximum security prison, doctor."

Balthazar Tilley-Clapham slams both hands on the table and leans forward, fixing his eerie pale blue eyes on Lewis. "Isn't that your job, Captain? Isn't security your area of expertise?"

"Yes. But you can't very well expect airtight security when you refuse to implement the measures I request."

"Bars in front of windows are not measures that Fairwater deems necessary, Captain Lewis. Ditto barbed wire and laser goodies. We are an institution, not a prison. Our patients are free to walk out should they choose - well, the majority of them, anyway. We would never get any financial backing if we turned this into an episode of Cell Block H, do you understand me?"

"I understand you. However, under those circumstances, I do not think that…"

"Oh, don't. Don't think." Doctor Tilley-Clapham rests his face in his palms for an exasperated moment. "You just find her. I have a call to make."

When the captain steps out, stiff-limbed and angry, the doctor heaves an aggravated sigh before he lifts up the telephone and dials a number from memory.

"May I speak to General Turner, please? Yes, it's doctor Tilley-Clapham phoning from Fairwater. Thank you… No, I'll hold… All right, thank you." He reaches forward and pokes a perfectly manicured finger into the miniature water feature on the corner of his desk, dabbling with the water half-heartedly. "Ah, George. I've got some bad news, I'm afraid… Of course you know. I should have expected no less… Well, he's the man you recommended, George; you can hardly blame me for that decision… Yes, they're tracking her now. She's got doctor Walsch with her… I could hardly tell that ponce Clarke that I didn't want her to come in, could I? Well, exactly. What's your next move?" He listens impatiently for a few minutes. "All right. It's a damned nuisance if you ask me. Funding isn't worth this rigmarole." He shakes his head at the adamant voice booming loudly on the other side of the line. "Sure, George. Nothing more I can do, so bring her back when you do. I'm just not going to buy any party hats, okay? Yes. Speak to Lewis about that. I have work to do, George, talk to me when you know anything. Goodbye." He slams the phone down, and then lifts it and slams it down again for the sheer satisfaction of it. Lifting the abused handset he peers at it belligerently as he dials another number.

"Garvey?"

"Yes, hello."

"Tilley-Clapham here. About the Ryan case… "

"She was perfectly tranquilized, doctor Clapham." Garvey usually sounds circumspect, but today it's much worse. "Enough to keep a small calf down. I don't know how she's standing."

"Not standing, Garvey, scaling walls and flapping an invisibility cloak. Better check your supplies. There's sure to be a report coming from this." Without saying goodbye Tilley-Clapham slams down the phone again. It shouldn't be his problem. He will continue as usual.

------

It is not long before something in the car begins to beep insistently and high-pitched. With a scowl Ryan leans down and roots around under the dashboard with one hand, managing to stop the sound with the twist of something. She glances in the rearview mirror once, and then sideways at her captive. Claire is crouched in the corner of the seat, as far away as she can shift with the seatbelt around her, her large blue eyes teary and filled with panic. There is a faint red weal on her cheek where she had tried to remove the too-tight gag in the elevator shaft. Impassively Ryan turns her fierce stare to the road, just as the beeping begins again. She leans forward again, but this time her maneuverings appear to have no results, and one long index finger taps thoughtfully on the steering wheel before she suddenly twists the wheel and drives off the road, careening past trees at a furious pace. Claire gasps behind her gag and begins to scrabble for her seatbelt lock, but with her hands tied as they are she has difficulty wrenching her shoulder close enough. Her hands are almost on the lock when the car screeches to a halt, throwing her against the dashboard roughly. Leaping out Ryan runs around the car to open her door. Leaning over the doctor, who is mutedly sobbing, she clicks open the seatbelt lock and lets it snap back before she grasps the doctor's bound hands and draws her from the car physically. Horror has turned Claire's legs to jelly, and she almost falls before the woman hoists her up, seemingly without effort. Half-dragging the smaller woman to the nearest tree Ryan studies the bark before she turns to Claire. When her hand reaches up the blonde winces inadvertently, but the long fingers hook under the torn material and pull the gag inelegantly over her head. When the woman draws the cloth from her mouth and drops it on the ground, she almost vomits from fright and the feeling of fresh air in her lungs. Ryan drops her head back to study the sky, and then turns to Claire. Her forceful green eyes are chillingly intense.

"What year is it?" Her voice is so low that it takes a moment before Claire understands - a moment too long, as Ryan shakes her unceremoniously. "What year?"

"2005." She almost cannot speak, she is so afraid. The soldier stares at her silently before she finally turns away and studies the country around them. Pine trees line the hills and tower above them, and there are no buildings in sight.

"Please…"

The woman turns to look at Claire, her eyes hostile.

"Please, let me go."

Without comment Ryan picks up the gag and starts to walk away from the car briskly, dragging the doctor with her. Claire's breath stutters and she stumbles over her own feet as she tries to keep up.

"If you let me go they'll give you what you want; I'm an important person."

"Hoorah for you." The soldier does not even turn. "I have what I want."

The woman leads her to a small clearing where, coolly, she drops the gag. Then she turns around and leads Claire all the way back. They walk past the car and towards the road. Once or twice Ryan freezes and listens, and when she is certain that there is nothing she leads Claire brusquely across the road. On the other side of the road she makes sure to avoid the long grass, and chooses a gravel entry point instead, turning to head north. Realizing that she will not be discarded now that the soldier is free Claire begins to cry silently. The hand around her wrist tightens, and then Ryan is staring at her with those mad eyes again.

"Please. Please…"

"Run."

------

Simon approaches Lewis as he steps into the foyer again. "Sir. The car belongs to a … " he peers at a notepad in his hand, "mister Chris Langley. Orderly. Stopped at the door today 'cause he was supposed to be in and out."

"Where did they go, Simon?"

"Well, the gate guard saw them turn left, obviously heading towards Fairfield."

"And?"

Wincing at his superior's impatient manner Simon blinks faster. "Johnston and Bulley are in one car, Markham and Smith in the other, heading towards town. We figure she's heading to the first place she can find."

"All right. How far are they from town?"

"At last report, about fifteen minutes. Make that ten now."

Nodding shortly Lewis turns to go back to the security center when Simon's radio croaks into life. The man speaks into it for a few minutes before he approaches the waiting captain. "Sir, Langley neglected to tell us that his car has an immobilizer installed."

Captain Lewis taps his fingers against his thigh. "Would she have been able to bypass it?"

"I doubt it. She's been out of touch with that sort of thing too long."

"Fuck!" For the nth time Lewis spits out a swearword. "Then she's somewhere between us and them, isn't she, Simon? Get on the phone and find out what the range of that immobilizer is, and then tell us where she is. Hurry, man!"

------

It is harder than she had expected to run with her hands tied tightly in front of her. The woman in front of her has a merciless hand wrapped around her one wrist and is forging through the undergrowth with no thought for her hostage's situation. Claire has stopped crying - it is hard to do when you're gasping for breath - and is battling to stay upright; the ground is wildly uneven and her legs are weak from the coldness that has invaded her body. She had already lost her beautiful pair of high-heeled shoes in the elevator; the woman ripped them off and discarded them without a glance. Now she runs in her sheer stockings. The rocks, twigs and seedpods are grazing and bruising her feet, but she cannot very well complain when the woman in front of her has bare feet too, and raw bleeding wrists. Ryan's shirt, which she has used as a bond, is stained crimson where her right hand is thrust up against it on the doctor's arm. Claire has stopped wondering what will happen to her for the moment; she understand what the panic is doing to her, and is trying her hardest to be cogent for when the right opportunity presents itself. Her mind is under control, but her limbs are exhausted from the shock and the strain, and finally her legs give in beneath her and she stumbles to the ground, folding double.

"Please… "

The woman releases her wrist to avoid being dragged down and stops, glaring down at her collapsed shape. "Get up."

"I can't. Please… "

The woman puts her hands on her hips and glances left and right, inspecting the area. "What is the closest town?"

"I think its Fairfield." Claire takes strained breaths, her hands pushing against her thighs to keep her torso upright. "I'm not sure."

"How far?"

"I don't know." At the unconvinced gaze that falls on her she drops her head and attempts to at least begin to breathe smoothly. "I'm not from here."

"In which direction?"

"South. I think." Claire glances up at the woman who is studying something in the distance, and tries to edge away marginally, but almost immediately the cold green eyes return to her.

"Don't."

"Please." She repeats the only important word that she can think of. "Please. I'm of no use to you. Let me go."

"No." It is concise and definite. Ryan glances at the dried blood that covers her hand before she extends it and grasps Claire's wrist again, hauling her up bodily. "Enough rest. Let's go."

"I can't!" Claire pulls back just a little. "I'm too tired. I need to get my breath back. Please, let me rest. Or…" she turns pleading eyes on her captor, "just leave me here. When they find me, you'll be long gone. I won't say anything, I promise. I promise." Her blue eyes fill with helpless tears.

"Sounds like you have your breath back." The woman yanks her wrist, hard, and begins to walk, dragging her along pitilessly. At first Claire considers resisting - she is very afraid, but has calmed her panic to a manageable level - but she does not know what the woman will do to her, or what she is worth to Ryan. Taking deep breaths she follows as fast and as docile as she can. When the right moment presents itself she wants to be ready. They are in the middle of a pine forest, tall trees swaying about them in the slightly dark sky, and pine needles, cones and leaves crackle underneath as two sets of bare feet trample them hastily.

It seems like 15 minutes passes before Claire notices the woman falter between steps. She soon recovers her brisk pace, and walks another twenty feet before she stops completely, causing the doctor to stumble into her. Abstractly Ryan reaches out a hand and rights Claire, and the doctor notes that the soldier's vivid eyes are blinking rapidly. Ryan closes her eyes for a moment, her forehead furrowing, and swallows convulsively, and when she opens them again they seem slightly glazed. The doctor stands perfectly still, feeling the hand around her wrist increase its grip - and then lessen it. She is prepared for action, but is still taken aback when the soldier suddenly crumples to the ground, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as she wraps her arms around her stomach tightly. The pressure around Claire's wrist is abruptly gone, and when the woman begins to throw up violently the doctor takes one last glance at the convulsing body on the ground before she turns around and runs. Her leg muscles and raw feet complain, but she pushes forward without thought, panting sharply against the burning in her chest. When she hears the crashing and cracking of branches behind her she tries to speed up, but she is not much of an athlete. Desperately she twists and turns, attempting to shake off her pursuer, but the tracking sounds draw closer. With the possibility of escape so close, and seemingly about to be dashed, she begins to cry again, and then screams into the sky.

"No! Help me! Somebody! Please!"

3.

"No! Help me! Somebody! Please!"

The only result is that it slows her down, and when two lean arms seize her from behind she collapses to the ground in defeat. "Oh god… just let me go… just let me… "

The arms embrace her tightly as she rails breathlessly, until her tears have slowed down and she's quiet, taking deep lungs full of air to settle her breathing. Then the woman gets up fluidly and takes one arm gently, lifting her to her feet.

"Come on, Walsch. Let's go."

------

At the captain's terse command Markham and Smith continues on to make sure that she has not by some means disabled the immobilizer and gone on to Fairfield. Johnston and Bulley turn back, and are cautioned to begin looking out within a five-minute radius of Fairwater. They almost miss the car-tracks in the grass, and it is only Johnston's fine eye that notices something amiss. Carefully - neither of them looks forward to filling in the compulsory forms when there is damage to the company cars - Bulley drives off the road and into the long grass, swerving between the trees as he listens to Johnston who rattles off commands, his head protruding from the window like a massive basset's. When they approach the back of the stationary red Renault they slow down and stop, casting quick glances about them to ensure that they are alone. A quick once-over ascertains that there is nothing of consequence in the car. Only the access card that Ryan took off Jack Elliot lies on the floor, discarded and useless. Whilst Bulley tries to contact Captain Lewis with his radio, Johnston puts his above-average tracking skills to use and begins to move around, trying to find the direction in which they escaped.

"Captain Lewis, come in."

"Lewis. What have you got for me, Bulley?"

"Car went off the road, on the left coming from Fairwater, veered into the trees. Stationary about 500 feet further, no sign of them. Johnston's checking for tracks now… " he listens to his colleague who calls out from his right, "appears she's heading south-east. Fairfield."

"Check. Let Johnston track, Bulley, but be on the lookout. She's dangerous. I'll get Markham and Smith there. Keep me informed."

"Yes sir."

Johnston shakes his head. "He sends me right off into the lion's mouth and tells you to be careful? What are you, his love-child with Liza Minelli?"

With a grin Bulley smacks his shoulder. "Move it, Johnston. You heard the captain."

The two men track carefully, both surprised by the clearness of the trail that Ryan has left.

"Do you think it could be an ambush?"

"I don't know. I suppose we can expect anything of her, but… by all accounts she's supposed to be doped up. And she's dragging a hostage around with her. I'm sure that luscious doctor isn't exactly willing."

Johnston nods. "Let's move a little slower. But I think you're right."

When they come to a point where there is a small clearing they slow down, but beyond their own sounds and those of the forest there is nothing. Bulley rushes forward to look at the strip of material that has been discarded on the ground while Johnston searches the ground for signs of their passage.

"Well?"

Johnston looks up with a frown decorating his forehead. "Nothing." Then he glances to where they came from. "Aw, crap, Bull, she backtracked."

"Man." Bulley shakes his head. "If I find her I'm personally going to have a lot to say to her. She's ruined my day completely."

------

In deference to Claire's shorter legs and lesser level of fitness Ryan has slowed her steps, but she is still driving the other woman forward mercilessly. Occasionally she stops to stoop slightly and grimace, but she does not make the same mistake twice, and now she keeps a hold of Claire. The doctor has considered hitting her over the head when she is bent double, but she is not sure whether she would be able to knock her out, and she knows that to simply antagonize her would not be wise. She attempts to keep her breath even as they move through the forest. It is approximately half an hour later when they come upon the first house. It is a wooden A-frame, obviously a holiday home; in the back garden, which they are at the edge of, stands a child's swing on a metal frame and a sandpit. At the sight of those things Claire's heart sinks - she does not want this woman anywhere near civilians, but much less so near children. A few feet to their right is a garden shed. Grasping Claire's wrist tightly Ryan sneaks closer and rounds the corner, keeping an eye out for visitors. None are forthcoming. With one hand she presses open the old wooden door and drags her captive inside, waiting until her eyes adjust to the dim light before she acts. Taking a spade off its designated hook on the wall the soldier pulls Claire closer and twists her bonds tightly around the hook. When Claire realizes that she is in front of a small open gap she almost lets her glee show before trying to re-assemble her facial expression into one less shifty. Ryan gives the material around her wrists one more twist before she steps back.

"Call for help and I hurt somebody, doctor. You don't want that."

Dejectedly Claire shakes her head. Ryan nods at her. "You can see out through this gap, so you'll be able to see what I'm doing. If you cause trouble you know what that will be."

With one last look at the woman Ryan sneaks out and closes the door behind her. She has no doubt that the doctor won't endanger other lives. The house's curtains are open, but there is no movement. Sneaking up to the porch Ryan climbs over the rails, stopping for a second to field a bout of nausea before she continues. Dropping to her haunches she presses her back to the wall and creeps up to the white wooden door with the mosquito netting and chances a glance into the house. Apart from a softly blaring radio there is nothing. Executing a tight roll past the door she comes up on the other side and sneaks a look at the other side of the house. There is a small garage, from which the sound of a hammer is coming, combined with a whistled melody. Waiting for a moment Ryan ascertains that whoever is in there is not approaching, before she returns to the door. Grasping the irritating pin that hangs from the handcuff around her wrist, she inserts it into the door's lock, and wraps a hand around it at the point of entry to muffle any noise. Then, without much finesse, she drives the heel of her other hand upwards into the pin. It thrusts into the lock with a muffled thud. Withdrawing the pin Ryan sneaks off the porch and back to the shed, where a quiet and confused Claire is waiting for her. When she untangles the doctor's hands and ties them together again firmly, the blonde woman looks at her questioningly.

"What were you doing?"

"Come on." Without an answer the soldier leads her out of the shed and back into the forest.

It seems to be about fifteen minutes later when once again the soldier's torso begins to spasm, and she clutches her stomach with her free hand. This time, however, she does not throw up - and she does not let the doctor out of her grip. Standing stock still she takes deep breaths and closes her eyes momentarily, before she appears to push it to the back of her mind. "Come on." With a yank on Claire's wrist they move again.

When they come upon the next house, Ryan repeats her previous actions. This time tying Claire to a tree stump, she sneaks closer and investigates. When she is satisfied as to what she has found, she steals to the back door and performs the same ritual with the pin before she returns to the forest and unties Claire.

The doctor is weary by now - it feels as if they have been on the move for more than an hour, and her bare feet are raw in places and smearing blood on the leaves covering the ground. Though it is painful, she does not want to alert the soldier to it, as she realizes that it makes a very clear trail of their journey. If she cannot escape by her own means, she intends to make it as easy as possible for whomever is following them. For a moment she experiences panic as she considers the possibility that nobody is looking for them, and then discards that idea with an attempt at rationality. She has to try and concentrate on the situation at hand, and not give in to terror. Once the moment presents itself, she is determined to talk the woman into releasing her, and for that she needs all her senses about her.

When another house appears between the trees, Claire resolves that this time she will not be quiet. It could mean that somebody else is harmed, but it is the immediate option available to her. She is surprised when, instead of tying her up, Ryan stops and scrutinizes the building from the darkness of the trees before she yanks Claire's arm distantly.

"Let's go."

They approach the house, and the doctor starts to look around wildly. If somebody could just come out right now, she could scream…

Ryan glances at her over her shoulder. "Nobody home."

Claire is furious at herself for hoping, furious at the woman for noticing, furious at the material that binds her wrists. She grits her teeth and glares at the woman walking by her side.

Leading the doctor up the porch steps Ryan approaches the door and tries it, but finds it locked. They leave the porch and walk around the right of the modern house, the soldier trying the windows as they pass them by. None give. When they walk around to the other side Ryan finds a window that is minimally open, and, inserting the pin on her handcuff under it gently, she levers it upwards. With a creaking sound it begins to lift, and she removes the pin to slide one hand under the wooden frame.

"Open it."

At the command Claire unwillingly slides her hands in too, and pushes upwards. Finally the catch slips and the window slides up silently. The doctor is startled when she finds Ryan's large hands wrapping themselves around her sides and lifting her.

"In."

It is a clumsy affair, and though she is already planning to run once she hits the floor, she doesn't expect it to be so literal. With her hands tied she struggles to hold her balance as she lands, and staggers into a small table, stumbling to the floor. A hand wraps itself around her upper arm and levers her upright.

They are in the dining room area of an open-plan lower level. To the left of them is the sitting room, elegant with wingback chairs and a sofa arranged around a fireplace. Stairs lead upwards from behind one of the chairs. In front of them stands a small oak dining room table decorated with a white silk runner. To the right is the kitchen, a neatly set out space with a tall silver fridge on one side and identical double washbasins on the other. The cupboards are dark wood, to match the shining floor.

Ryan approaches the fridge and opens it, studying the contents before she slides open a drawer and pulls out a lovely red apple.

"Here."

She extends it to Claire, who turns her head away.

"No. I don't want it."

"Eat it."

"No. It's stealing."

Casting an unconvinced look in the blonde's direction Ryan shrugs. "Fine." She takes a bite from it, chewing slowly as she peruses the various foodstuffs. When she swallows the first bite she blanches and clenches her jaw tightly together before putting the apple carefully on the counter. Reaching in again she withdraws a blue energy drink, which she also places on the counter before she closes the fridge. The apple, a half-moon white crescent showing in its crimson skin, goes into the dustbin, and then Ryan grasps the bottled drink. Maneuvering Claire towards the stairs she leads her to the second level. From the landing there are three doors - one to the left, which is closed, another directly ahead of them, which appears to be a bathroom, and the third to their right, a bedroom.

A quick glance into the room to the left proves it to be another bedroom, decorated in an ice cream pink. Ryan leads Claire into the bathroom and closes the door behind them. Finding the key in the lock she summarily turns, and then removes it. "Sit down." The doctor takes seat on the edge of the bath and watches as Ryan rifles through the bathroom cabinets beneath the basins. When she turns around she is clasping a small white medical kit. Unlocking the door she grasps Claire's wrist and leads her into the third room, the main bedroom. It is tastefully decorated in earthy shades. Once again finding the key in the door, Ryan locks the door behind them and keeps the key loosely in her hand as she motions for Claire to sit on the large double bed. The soldier tosses the first aid kit onto the bed beside her and studies the room for a moment before she decides to inspect the dressing table. In the second drawer from the top she finds a large costume-jewelry brooch. Unclipping the pin at the back she inserts it into the keyhole of the cuff on her left hand and probes it for a few minutes. When Claire shifts closer to the door Ryan fixes her with that unnerving stare.

"Don't."

With a small click the cuff unclips from her wrist and she begins to work on the right wrist. It takes her a while longer, but finally the cuff, and the pin attached to it, falls to the floor to lie next to its companion. Rubbing her left wrist lightly Ryan returns the brooch to its place before she approaches the bed. Reaching over a cringing Claire she takes the kit and crouches at her feet, extending a hand towards the blonde's leg. When Claire recoils Ryan glances upwards at her, the green eyes bright in the light of the window behind them. "Show me your feet."

Claire has no option but to lift her right foot. Ryan examines the battered sole before she places it back on the mat and returns to the bathroom to retrieve her drink. When she returns she places it beside her on the carpet and holds out the towel, which she has brought with her. "Your foot."

Claire extends her right foot again and the soldier begins, gently, to clean the debris from it. When she has done the same with the other foot she rummages in the first aid kit and brings out an ointment, which she applies to the soles of both feet. Claire is ticklish, and she cannot help but curl her toes as the long fingers circle over her flesh. When Ryan is finished she puts the kit down on the bed and cracks open the drink, taking a long sip. "Keep your feet off the floor," she advises as she turns around and begins to open closet doors. Rapidly Claire pulls closer the kit and begins to search through it for needles, scissors, anything that would be usable as a weapon. When she glances up Ryan is standing in front of a closet full of clothing, and has stepped out of her dirty white drawstring pants. Her posture is proud and erect, and Claire cannot help but notice the fading bruise at the base of her spine and the myriad of scars which decorate her skin. The woman's tall frame is spare and lean, and from the protruding bones of her shoulders and the bumps of her spine it is clear that she has not been eating well.

Ryan pulls a pair of blue cotton panties from the closet and slips them on, then pulls a pair of too-large jeans on over them. Searching around she discovers a leather belt, which she threads through the loops and buckles. Even as tightly as it can be pulled, the jeans still drop low on Ryan's hips. Rifling though the shirts she pulls out a simple black t-shirt and slips it over her shoulders. Then, from another cupboard, she removes a thick black wool jacket, which she tosses on the bed. Claire freezes, but Ryan is not looking in her direction. She is searching the bottom of the closet for a pair of shoes from the neatly packed shoe tray. Taking a pair of white trainers for herself, she picks another pair for Claire, taking a while to come up with socks. Stuffing them inside the shoes, she takes Claire's pair and approaches her, crouching to drop them on the floor at her feet.

"Here. Put them on."

Claire suddenly lunges forward, the small pair of scissors flashing in her hand as she drives it towards Ryan. Catching the motion the soldier ducks to her left, the blades barely passing by her temple as she catches Claire's hand in hers, the bloody fingers closing tightly.

"Let it go."

Driven by fury and the possibility of escape Claire attacks her, screaming loudly as she kicks and rakes her fingers towards the other woman's face. Ryan restrains her without a sound, her larger hands covering Claire's as she forces her backwards on the bed and wraps her legs around the shorter woman's to compel them to stillness. The doctor is restrained by the weight pinning her down. In furious anger she screams into the face above hers, and is watched by emotionless green eyes until her throat is hoarse and the screams have given way to sobs. Once Ryan feels the woman beneath her relax her limbs, she eases off carefully, twisting the scissors out of Claire's hand.

"Don't do that again."

Taking the medical kit, Ryan moves to sit on the other end of the bed, and begins to clean her bloody hands and wrists of dirt. When she can clearly see the damage the cuffs have done to her wrists she locks the other woman in the bedroom and goes into the bathroom to hold her hands beneath the running tap, her expression inscrutable as she watches the rust-colored water drain away. Then she returns to the bedroom. The blonde has curled up on her side and is sobbing softly.

There are still shards of glass in some of the cuts on her right hand, which she removes with the small set of pincers, and then she smoothes antibiotic ointment onto her right hand and both of her wrists. Lining the cuts with gauze she winds the narrow white bandage around her right hand and each wrist and then ties it off neatly, before she packs everything back into the kit and zips it up again. Casting a glance at the woman quietly lying on the bed, she gets her sneakers and slips them on. They are slightly too large, but she does not care; pulling the socks from the other sneakers she sits down at Claire's feet and begins to slip them on. The other woman takes a shuddering breath but does not resist. When Ryan slips the shoes onto her feet, it is clear that they are much too big for her. Returning them to the closet she goes to the other bedroom and roots around in the closet before she returns with a pair of smaller white sneakers, and a blue baseball cap, which is pulled low over her eyes and hides her shaven head. When she slips the new shoes onto Claire's feet they fit perfectly. Tying the laces swiftly she stands up and downs the last of her energy drink, and then she addresses the figure in the bed.

"Get up. We're going."

The blonde sits up and attempts to wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks, her blue eyes angry. "No."

"It's not a request."

"You don't need me with you. I'm slowing you down. Just leave me here." The blonde eyebrows contract. "Please. You can pull out the telephone line, if there is one. I don't even know where I am. Just leave me. It'll be better for you that way."

"No. It will be better for you that way." Ryan eyes Claire before she opens the closet again and turns up a dark green fabric belt. Approaching the woman, who shrinks away from her, the soldier grasps her hands and unties the tatty material around her wrists before she buckles the belt loosely and slips it over Clair's hands, tightening it. With one hand the soldier picks up the first aid kit and tucks it under one arm.

"Get up."

She pulls at the belt, and Claire has no choice but to get to her feet.

4.

Ryan leads Claire downstairs, and into the kitchen, out the back door - which she leaves open - and towards the garage. The small door leading into the structure is closed and locked. Striding around the garage Ryan finds a small high window, and, standing on the tips of her toes, she manages to peer into the room. When she drops down to the ground there is a small smile playing around her mouth. They return to the kitchen where she begins to pull out drawers and search through them, whilst Claire looks on in confusion. Then, in a small drawer partially hidden by the bread bin, she finds and retrieves a set of car keys and two unmarked door keys. Slipping them into the pocket of the baggy jeans she takes another energy drink - and, after some hesitation, another apple - from the fridge, and then leads Claire outside again, taking care to slide down the window they had entered by, and setting the door latch so that it slips closed behind them. When they approach the small locked door Ryan pulls out the two unidentified keys and inserts one into the lock. It turns easily the first time. When she opens the door the inside of the garage is dark, and she runs one hand against the wall to her right searching for a light switch. When she finds and flicks it, the sudden flare of light temporarily blinds them both, and then suddenly they can see the large gray Chevrolet Trailblazer parked in front of them.

Realizing that this is likely to be very bad news for any attempts at escape, Claire at first resists going in, and when Ryan pulls her forward effortlessly she begins to yank her hands back, trying to slip them out of their bonds. With an impatient expression Ryan steps closer and wraps her hand around the doctor's left wrist, pulling her forward ruthlessly. When the smaller woman still throws her weight backwards the soldier leans forward and hoists the thrashing woman onto a sharp shoulder. Approaching the SUV she unlocks it with the remote and opens the passenger door, depositing Claire into the spacious leather seat before she slides her hand down the edge of the door and adjusts something. Claire is already shifting over the handbrake to reach the other door when her own is slammed behind her and Ryan moves around the car to get into the drivers' seat. Engaging the locks she glances upwards at the rearview mirror and tilts it upwards slightly, then leans forward to check the cubbyhole. There is a pair of aviator-style sunglasses in a soft velvet drawstring bag, which she slides out and slips on with a ghost of a smile. When Claire tries to open her door it merely clicks.

"Child lock."

Ryan slips the energy drink into the cup holder under the radio and then tosses the small first-aid kit into the cubbyhole. When Claire's eyes fall on it Ryan turns her head slightly.

"I took a lot of things out. You're welcome to look."

Negligently she tosses the apple onto Claire's lap.

"Eat."

Then, with a roar, the vehicle starts and the garage door slides upwards silently.

It is as Ryan glances over her shoulder to gauge the level of the door that a short sharp breath escapes from her lips. Her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and her hands slowly twist inwards, and when Claire's eyes catch the motion she realizes with alarm that the soldier's hands are trembling lightly. Ryan turns her head slowly to once side and then to the other, tilting it as if her neck is stiff or aching, before she shudders unexpectedly.

"No."

Her hoarse voice delivers the word so softly that the doctor almost misses it.

"Ryan?"

The soldier does not reply, her hands tight around the steering wheel until, finally, she lifts one with an almost indiscernible tremor and lays it carefully against her right temple, shifting it after a while to skim her ear and cup her neck. When she abruptly shifts and leans over, extending her hand towards Claire, the blonde woman cringes and shifts away. It is with a small measure of embarrassment that she watches as Ryan's hand slips open the cubbyhole to extract the first-aid kit. The woman unzips it and rifles through the interior, withdrawing a bottle of aspirin before she closes the kit and tosses it on Claire's lap. Lifting the small bottle she reads the label before she shakes out four and cracks the lid on her energy drink. Whilst she drinks the pills Claire puts the kit back into the cubbyhole and closes it quietly.

She is still quiet when Ryan reverses out of the garage, pressing the button on the remote to close the door as she leaves, and when the soldier glances left and right, gauging direction before she takes the road to the right. They are driving on a small country road, low and narrow between the thinning pines, and the vehicle drives smoothly and softly. Ryan is searching for an on button on the radio with her long fingers when Claire's voice breaks the silence.

"Ryan?"

It surprises the soldier - it is the first time the doctor has used her name directly. She does not remember hearing her name perhaps ten minutes ago. The only thing she remembers of ten minutes ago is something she wishes she could forget. In lieu of an answer she turns her head towards the doctor in an attentive manner. Claire notices, but is silent for another moment before she speaks. When she does, her voice is finally untainted by fear or panic, but rather flat and practical.

"Why can't you let me go? Have I done something to you?"

It is a first time for Claire too - Ryan flashes her a small but authentic smile. With the cap pulled low over her eyes and the large sunglasses above the razor-sharp cheekbones she looks almost like a model in a trendy magazine.

"It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"But then why… "

"You're completely incidental." Ryan turns her gaze back to the road. "That may be hard to accept, but your presence is just consequence. Sorry."

Her voice still sounds as husky as if she has a cold, made more noticeable by what in her case amounts to sudden loquaciousness. Claire studies the road with a blank face. She is considering which approach would be most effective on the hollow-cheeked woman next to her, and decides that if she sums Ryan up correctly it would probably be honor. No one without that trait would sacrifice their life for those of their comrades, as she had done in Somalia - even if Claire finds the concept deplorable.

"Were you … talking to god back there?"

With that hesitant sentence the momentary light-hearted air about the solider slams shut. Ryan shoots a stone-faced glance at her before she turns her attention back to the road.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

There is no answer from the marine. Claire picks at a haggard nail.

"Do you get headaches… afterwards?"

Ryan shoots her another short glance and grasps the bottle, lifting it to her mouth to take a long sip. With a sigh the doctor shifts in her seat.

"Ryan… "

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

The soldier slips the bottle back into the cup holder vehemently. "Don't speak to me like that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"No." Ryan turns her head to stare at the blonde. "Don't speak to me as if you understand what's going on."

Intimidated by the eyes on her, even if they are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, Claire turns her head to study the road. "Don't I?"

"Don't screw with me." The words are a hiss, and she turns back if only to keep any eye on the suddenly intense soldier. "You don't think I know what you think about me? You think I'm some lunatic with homicidal inclinations." Ryan's jaw clamps shut and the small muscles at the sides of her face jump.

Consciously softening her tone, Claire tries to smile. Her lips are trembling. "What makes you think that that's my opinion, Ryan?"

"I know your type." It is so fervent that the doctor begins to think that she may have made a mistake. "You're not the first to have thought that, and you won't be the last. I don't care what you think, doctor Walsch, just do me a favor and stay out of my fucking head. It's a little crowded right now."

The fingers on the steering wheel are white with tension.

Wisely Claire decides to stay still, looking at the scenery as it speeds by on her side. When she glances back after five minutes the jaw is still set, but the hands have relaxed.

"Ryan?"

The woman does not respond, and her jaw muscles clench. Bolstering her courage, Claire speaks again.

"Ryan? I'm sorry. I really don't know anything about you. I have no right to make snap judgments."

"It's what you do, isn't it?"

Claire sighs. "I'm sorry. I made assumptions."

Ryan nods her head slightly.

"You scare me."

At the blunt admission the woman's black eyebrows rise marginally, but she does not turn her head. Claire forges on.

"It's not because I think you're homicidal or dangerous. It's just that I'm not sure that you have a whole lot of control when you have one of those episodes… and I'm worried that you'll hurt me when you do."

Silence.

"I don't want you to hurt me, Ryan. I don't want to be hurt. And I don't think you intentionally want to hurt me, either. Please just let me go before something happens. You'll be gone before they find me."

More silence, and Claire can almost see the war going on behind the sunglasses as the woman debates with herself. Just as the tense knots in the doctor's stomach begin to ease, Ryan glances over at her. "I won't hurt you, doctor. As long as you co-operate." She casts a glance at the rearview mirror before she looks back at Claire, and this time she appears vaguely amused. "Nice try, by the way. Don't do it again."

------ Johnston and Bulley are a fair way into the forest when the radio crackles and Captain Lewis commands them to withdraw. To confirm, Bulley has him repeat the order before he signs off and swears crudely.

"What the fuck are they doing? What was the point of sending us this far?"

Johnston spits into the underbrush disgustedly. "There's something screwy about this shit, Bull. I wonder what Lewis is up to."

They retreat, careful not to disturb the signs they have been tracking, to find Captain Lewis on the side of the road, lighting a cigarette blankly. Markham and Smith have arrived and are leaning against their car, staring into the sky blankly. Bulley approaches Lewis truculently.

"Captain? May I ask you a question?"

"What?" Lewis matches his hostile tone easily.

"What's the point of having us track this far if you just pull us off now?"

The captain shakes out the match and tosses it into the road. "We've all been pulled off, Bulley, so don't give me crap about it. I'm getting enough grief over this fucking thing."

"Captain?"

"I don't know, Bulley. I don't know shit. Don't ask me."

They wait in silence. When a black van drives up silently and pulls in front of the blue Ford they straighten up unconsciously. As a strongly-built man dressed from head to toe in black gets out from the divers' seat the side door slides open and another four similarly attired men step into view. The man who had been driving studies the group of security guards with something like amusement before he approaches Lewis.

"Captain Lewis?" When he speaks he flashes pointy incisors, which give him the air of a predator. Lewis steps forward and extends a hand.

"General Turner?"

"No." The man shakes his hand briefly before he turns around and begins to speak to his men in a low voice. "Alpha, Bravo, we move … " he pauses and turns to Lewis. "Thank you. I have things under control. You may go."

"Don't you want to know which direction she's moving in?" Lewis is affronted, and slightly brash because of it. The man in black shoots him a cool glance.

"We know. That will be all."

With a disgusted shake of his head Captain Lewis cocks his head at his men and gets into the blue Ford. He waits in silence for Simon to close his door before he starts the car and turns around with a roar, hearing back to Fairwater.

The man in black does not wait for them to leave, but gives his commands regardless. When he is sure that all avenues are covered he nods with satisfaction.

"All right. Suit up."

The men slip back into the van. When they appear again they have SC-20K rifles slung onto their backs, and their faces are streaked densely in olive and black. The man in black casts a rapid glance over them and then nods again.

"Remember - she's not a civilian. Our main objective is to bring her in alive, but if she makes it impossible, we attempt to neutralize the threat. It is in our best interests to retrieve the hostage unharmed, but she is not our target." His gaze is impassive. "If she causes complications, eliminate her."

When the men all nod he reaches down to his belt and unclips a small device, which at first glance appears to be an iPod. Pressing a small button at the uppermost left corner he watches in satisfaction as the small screen comes to live. The men wait impassively as he scrolls through the system. When he glances up they straighten up and wait for instructions.

"North."

They turn on their heels and slip into the forest as quietly as he would expect them to. Shooting another glance at the device he slots it back into the space at his belt and pulls out his mobile phone.

------

The four men move silently as invisibly through the forest, stopping occasionally to glance at the chunky black watches strapped to their wrists, or to study the marks in the undergrowth. They are on foot for approximately forty minutes before they catch sight of the A-frame house between the trees. The closest man raises a fist sharply and the others slow down immediately, on guard and alert. They approach the house carefully, tracking the signs that lead towards the shed. Where they disappear around the side to the door the four men stop in the shadows. One of them executes a flurry of gestures and the other all nod before they split into two groups.

Greg McMahon is guiding the lathe firmly over a beautiful piece of wood when a black-sheathed forearm slips around his throat and pulls him back from the equipment. A small stocky man in back with camouflage smeared across his face appears in Greg's field of vision and switches off the loud apparatus. Greg would normally consider himself a brave man, but at this point his body feels alarmingly cold. The small man approaches him, and the weapon strapped to his back seems to loom in Greg's view.

"Are you alone?"

"No. No." Greg gasps the word. "Please - don't hurt me. My wife… my baby…"

"We are not going to hurt you, sir." The small man nods past his left shoulder and the forearm around his neck disappears. "Where are your wife and baby?"

"Inside." Lifting his hand to his throat uncertainly Greg turns to keep the man behind him in his sight. "They're inside. What's … "

The small man interrupts him politely. "We need to know if you've seen anything out of place today."

"Out of place?" Glancing from one man to the other Greg blinks rapidly. "Like what? Oh God. Is my wife in danger?" He moves towards the door but the large man behind him moves to stand in front of it.

"Sir, have you seen anything out of the ordinary today?"

"I don't… I don't know what you mean! Are they okay? Are they all right?" He tries to sidestep the man at the door, who meets him inscrutably at every step. The small man moves closer.

"Calm down, sir. There's no problem. Please stay here with Rico. I'll be back in a minute." He nods at the big man, who steps aside to let him pass. When Greg attempts to walk with him, Rico shakes his head.

"Please keep calm, sir. We are dealing with the situation."

"Situation? What situation? Oh my god…"

The smaller man strides towards the back door, where his associates are studying the door silently. At his arrival they part, and he instantly spots the damaged lock. He nods to the men, who draw their weapons noiselessly and step up against the walls, flanking the door. When he kicks it open the sound of a woman's scream greets them.

They slink around her as she stands trembling in the middle of the room, her whimpering baby pressed tightly against her chest, securing all the rooms before they return. She is frozen to the spot. One of the men notices the phone against the wall and lifts the handset, pulling the long cord as he approaches her and holds it out.

"Phone the local police. You've had a break-in."

The small man retrieves Greg from the garage and leads him into the house, where he immediately wraps his arms around his petrified wife and glares at them balefully.

"What exactly do you want?"

"We're looking for someone."

"Who? Someone dangerous?"

"You're safe. You're alone. Take the phone from your wife and phone the police."

"Why? Who… "

"You've had a break-in." The small man points towards the door. "Report it." All four men slip their weapons back into their holsters and turn to go. At the door Rico turns back.

"Sorry to have alarmed you folks."

They close the door behind them, and by the time Greg dials 911 with trembling fingers they're already deep into the forest.

Crouched in thicket one of the men grins, his teeth white in the darkness of his camouflaged face.

"She's trying to delay us. The woman's got balls."

------

According to the sign the next town, Choteau, is 9 miles away. Ryan glances at the rearview mirror, and when Claire shifts and tries to adjust the bonds around her wrists to prevent the inevitable onset of pins and needles, the sunglasses turn her way momentarily before the woman glances back at the road. Clenching and unclenching her hands Claire bites her lip.

"Ryan, can you please loosen these?"

There is no response.

"Please. My hands are numb. I can't get out anyway."

Smoothly the woman steers the Trailblazer to the side of the road and turns to her captive. When she turns Claire is already offering her hands. With nimble fingers Ryan slips the belt from her wrists before she glances over her shoulder and pulls away from the curb again.

Rubbing one chafed wrist with the other hand Claire stares out at the dense foliage rushing past the vehicle.

"What are you going to do with me?"

Predictably the woman offers no answer. Biting the inside of her lip Claire repeats the question once, and then again. An irritated scowl appears on Ryan's forehead.

"Don't talk to me."

"Why not? What are you going to do with me?" Claire almost smirks. The muscles in Ryan's jaw twitch. Reaching out the doctor picks up the apple, which she has previously discarded in the alcove between the seats, and polishes it against her shirt before she takes a bite. When she has finished chewing loudly she shifts in her seat and looks at the soldier's face.

"Isn't Fairwater a voluntary commitment institution?"

Frowning, Ryan glances sideways at Claire, attempting to gauge her implication. After a moment she turns her eyes back to the road.

"Yes."

The doctor takes another bite of her apple before she speaks again. "Then why the commotion, Ryan? Why not just sign yourself out?"

"Oh." The soldier's tone is dry. "Gosh. Now why didn't I think of that?"

Claire almost laughs, and then recalls her situation. "Why didn't you?"

Ryan glances up at the rearview mirror in a motion that seems more habit than necessity. She is silent for a moment before she speaks. "I tried, doctor. Didn't your files tell you that?"

Claire shakes her head. "No. When was this?"

"2002."

"And what happened?"

The soldier shoots a quick glance at her, almost as if she is debating whether to continue the conversation. When she speaks next her throaty voice is matter-of-fact. "I put in a request for release, which was denied. The next request was denied. The one after that was ignored."

"That can't be right." Claire sits up and frowns. "Who had you committed? Couldn't you contact somebody?"

"I'm not allowed visits. Or phone calls." The sunglasses are a blank shield. "Or rather, I wasn't."

Claire is frowning, fascinated. "Why not?"

"Because I'm a danger to society, doctor Walsch." The woman reaches for her energy drink and drains the last from the bottle.

Shifting, Claire attempts to catch her eye. "Are you, Ryan?"

The soldier glances at her. "Yes, Walsch. I am."

Claire would have liked a protestation of innocence. It would have been easier to cope with - somebody who, at the least, believes in her own mind. The indifferent plain answer chills the blood in her veins. She is in a car on her way to an undisclosed destination with a trained soldier who believes herself highly dangerous.

"Did the Army have you committed?"

"No. I did."

"Why?"

Though Claire's voice is level and interested Ryan shoots a puzzled glance at her to see if she is being mocking. The blue eyes that greet her are free of irony. The soldier frowns. "Why? Because I am channeling the voice of god, doctor. Because I am dangerous." Her eyebrows rise. "Were you not aware of this?"

Claire sits forward, her gaze intense. "You've just released yourself back into society, captain Ryan. How sure are you that you've changed?"

The tall woman's jaw clenches tightly and her fingers grip the steering wheel mercilessly. For a long time there is silence. They approach the outskirts of Choteau. Without turning her head she speaks.

"Have you got any money on you?"

"No. My purse is back at Fairwater."

Removing one hand from the steering wheel Ryan slips it into the pockets of the thick black jacket she is wearing. From the right-hand side pocket she pulls two notes, which she studies quickly before she stuffs them back in her pocket. The ashtray yields a few more coins. At the first gas station on Maine Avenue she pulls over smoothly and slowly, studying the area before she pulls into the parking lot in front of the small dingy shop. Opening the door she climbs out and takes off the jacket. The black t-shirt is tight across her shoulders and chest. Tossing the jacket in the back seat she wraps one arm over the top of the open door, and the other over the headrest of her seat, as she leans closer to Claire.

"I haven't changed at all, doctor. Not a bit. I am going into the bathroom to fill up this bottle with water. If you get out and run I will find you. If you involve anybody else they will get hurt. Do you understand me?" The blonde nods silently, her heart leaping in her throat. Reaching forward Ryan grasps the bottle. "If you stay still and behave the way I want you to, nothing will happen."

Straightening up she closes the door and locks it from the outside, slipping the keys into her pocket. The car door can be opened from inside, but the delay will count in her favor, should it need to. At the bathroom door she stops and turns to stare at the blonde woman, whose eyes are fixed to her unwaveringly.

The bathroom is dirty and smells of urinal cake. Her shoe soles make a sticky sound as she lifts them from the floor. Setting her jaw in disgust she opens the tap and cups water in her hand, smelling it suspiciously before she fills up her empty bottle. She screws the cap back on and is on her way out when abruptly she clamps shut her eyes and grasps blindly, wrapping her bandaged right hand convulsively around the top of the cubicle as her legs threaten to buckle under her.

Claire sits waiting in apprehensive edginess. She has imagined that Ryan will only take a moment, and now the time is ticking by. Her mind keeps whispering, unhelpfully, that if she had left when the soldier entered the bathroom, she would have been long gone. Hovering between her knowledge of what the woman would do if she were to leave and her beliefs of what she would do if Claire were to stay, she calms herself with deep breaths before she clambers over the handbrake and opens the driver's door from the inside. Glancing nervously at the bathroom she turns and begins to walk, as fast as possible, towards the small shop. She can see the spotty young man inside, but he has his back to her and is talking animatedly on his mobile phone, and just as she thinks she may make it after all a hand wraps itself strongly around her upper arm and yanks her back, into the lean hard body behind her. A sob pushes from her throat instinctively. The hand around her arm is merciless.

"You're hurting me," she pleads, but the woman does not ease up.

"Did you not understand what I told you?" The words are a hiss and the hand shakes her lightly. "Do you want to get hurt?"

"No." She is sobbing now.

Marching her back to the Trailblazer Ryan opens the gas cap and slots in the pump, watching the numbers carefully until she is finished. When she has replaced the cap she releases Claire's arm and takes the woman's right hand in her left. "I have to go in and pay. Behave. He's nothing more than a child - you wouldn't want anything to happen to him, would you?"

When Claire nods quickly she leads the way into the shop. The bell above the door dings and the teenager turns to study them as they walk in. The soldier in her apparently trendy oversized jeans does not interest him, but he takes another glance at the pretty blonde in the suit and trainers before he resumes his conversation, turning his back once again. Strolling between the isles Ryan pulls Claire along, studying the shelves.

"Do you want something to eat?"

The doctor does not answer. Quiet for a moment, Ryan takes a packet of beef jerky and a small plastic mint dispenser, stuffing them unceremoniously in her pocket before she noisily opens the fridge and takes a bottle of water and a carbonated caffeine drink. They approach the till but the boy is still talking away. When Ryan slams the bottles on the counter top he jerks and turns to them, a scowl on his face as he speaks to whomever is on the other side of the line.

Pointing to the drinks and then to the gas, Ryan takes out the two notes and tosses them on the counter. He shoots her a particularly filthy look before he stuffs the notes into the till, tossing her change on the wooden countertop carelessly.

"… yeah, sure, but Rachel went, like, to this guy… "

His story suddenly slows down as he spots the bandage on Ryan's hand, now specked with blood and filthy from the grimy surface of the cubicle, as she twists her fingers around the bottles' narrow necks. Waving them at him casually she presses her fingers into Claire's hand and strolls from the shop. When she opens the passenger door and propels the blonde in he is still talking on his phone, but he has turned to them and is watching with some fascination. Ryan slips into the driver's seat and takes off the sunglasses. It is late afternoon and the shadows are beginning to lengthen. Setting the carbonated drink in the cup holder she tosses the bottled water onto Claire's lap and then pulls the jerky and mints out of her pocket, dropping them into the alcove beneath the radio. When they pull away Claire stares back at the brightly lit station longingly. Ryan cracks open the top of her drink and sips at it slowly.

"Drink your water."

Claire does not respond. Shaking her head Ryan replaces the soda and lifts the jerky packet to her mouth, tearing it open with her teeth. Slipping out a piece she offers the pack to Claire's back.

"Jerky?"

Still no reaction. Replacing the packet she bites meditatively on the hard meat, trying not to touch too much of it with the grubby bandage. Once it is firmly in her mouth she clamps down on it like a cigar and begins to press buttons on the radio at random. When a country music station begins to blare suddenly Claire starts. Frowning, Ryan prods the bright blue buttons until the station changes to soft rock on 93.7FM.

In the fading light Claire turns around and examines Ryan quietly. The woman is chewing her jerky musingly, but when she feels the eyes on her she turns her head and meets them.

"What is it?"

The blonde drops her eyes to Ryan's right hand. "Did you hurt somebody in the bathroom?"

Flexing the hand in question Ryan shakes her head. "No."

"Oh." Claire's eyes move back to her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing." The soldier's face is inscrutable beneath the cap.

Reaching for the cubbyhole Claire takes out the first-aid kit and zips it open. "Can I re-bandage that for you?"

With a dubious look in her eyes Ryan glances at the blonde. "You are aware that there's nothing left in there you can use on me."

"No motive, Ryan. It looks filthy."

"It's too dark now."

"Switch on the light."

The soldier steals another glance at the woman in the seat next to her before she reaches up and switches on the overhead light, illuminating them abruptly.

"Walsch, if you try anything… "

"I remember." Claire beckons. "Give me your hand." When Ryan extends her right hand she begins to unwind the bandage dexterously, grimacing at the mucky texture beneath her fingers. Dropping the old bandage in the back she dabs some antiseptic on the grazes before she neatly wraps a new bandage around the hand and wrist, unwinding it until it's finished for lack of scissors. When she has tucked the end in neatly Ryan pulls back her hand and studies the product without comment before she reaches up and switches off the light.

"Thank you."

To her credit the doctor does not pronounce it a pleasure. She replaces the kit and looks out of the window until it is too dark to see before she straightens in her seat and takes a sip of water. When the packet of jerky rustles Ryan suppresses a smile.

"You stole the jerky."

"Sure. Did you want me to hold up the boy for it instead?"

There is silence as Claire chews. Ryan stretches the fingers of her newly bandaged hand contemplatively before she speaks.

"Do you know how far the border is from here?"

Claire shifts to look at the soldier. "Canada?" When Ryan simply nods at her slow question she shakes her head at herself. "Of course Canada. You're not taking a northern detour to Mexico. I really can't say for sure. 200 miles, perhaps?"

"Closer to 100, I think."

Claire is careful not to antagonize the woman, and so speaks as evenly as she can. "When you get to the border, what are you going to do with me?"

"Drive about another 100 miles and then drop you." The woman's hoarse voice is factual. "I've told you before, if you don't do anything stupid you'll be fine."

"All right. What will you do then, if I may ask?"

"You may not."

They drive in silence; Ryan taking occasional sips from the can of soda. The area surrounding the road has flattened out, and it is too dark now to see the mountains, which must be visible to the left. When Claire begins to talk again Ryan is not surprised.

"Were you sick recently?"

"No." In the darkness Ryan frowns. "Why?"

"Your voice. You sound as if you had a cold."

"I didn't."

"Then… "

"No." The interruption is immediate. Sighing, Claire picks at the label on her water bottle.

"Ryan, just tell me. We're going to be in the car for a while."

"You've sure lost your apprehension of me." Ryan's voice is dry. "I don't know if I like it."

"I haven't. I'm still scared of you. But if you're trying to distract me I want to know why."

There is a heavy silence, and just as Claire thinks that she will have no answer the soldier speaks up.

"It's what you sound like when you've screamed for three days nonstop, doctor."

"At Fairwater?"

"No. Before."

"Oh." Claire senses by the tone of the answer that this is not an avenue to pursue right now. She changes tack. "I didn't peg you for a screamer." Immediately her face flushes as she realizes the implications of her words, but when Ryan answers it is with no trace of humor.

"Some things are better tolerated that way."

A smooth soft number from Dido plays on the radio and Claire lets the soothing voice wash over her as she considers the woman next to her. Much of her panic has disappeared, mostly the doing of her persistent nature; the soldier has turned out to be far less hostile than she would have imagined her. If she were to be honest she would have to admit that this is a brilliant case study, and if she believes Ryan in the fact that she will be released without being harmed, the information she can glean from this woman is invaluable.

The only matter to take into account is her approach - she cannot afford to stir animosity in her captor. Quietly she sips at her water and allows more silence to creep in before she draws one foot under her and makes herself comfortable in the corner.

"Ryan? When you were trying to get yourself released from Fairwater, why didn't you ask Vice-Admiral Banks for help?"

It takes the soldier a moment to respond. "What?"

"He seems to hold you in very high regard - I can't imagine that he wouldn't have done what he could."

"Who?"

"Vice-Admiral Banks." Though she is impatient and it shows in her tone, Ryan doesn't appear to notice.

"I think you have the wrong name."

Claire purses her lips and frowns. "No, I'm sure that's right. Victor Banks. He said you were in Rwanda together in '90 or… "

"'91." Ryan says it slowly, drawing out the numbers. "What does he look like, Walsch?"

"About five ten, gray hair, gray eyes, beard… What's the matter, Ryan?"

"Victor Banks?" There is definite confusion in her voice. It startles Claire when she suddenly pulls to the side of the road and stops.

"Ryan?"

When there is no answer she switches on the overhead light to see the other woman leaning on the steering wheel with both arms, her eyes distant. Claire repeats her name a second time, and when the piercing green eyes fix on her the soldier is scowling, a somewhat bewildered expression on her face. Leaning forward Claire carefully reaches out and almost touches her arm.

"Ryan?"

"Why was he there?" The woman stares at Claire, her eyes unmoving as she deliberates. "Did he say what he was doing there?"

"I don't understand. I thought it was a given that the army would be keeping you under observation."

"Yes, they do. But Victor's never been involved in that… We were personal friends… We only served together in Rwanda and in …" her voice hardens, "Somalia. Was he wearing a uniform?"

"Yes. I don't understand what the problem is, Ryan. Maybe he was assigned your case after you went in."

Ryan is speaking precisely. "Vice-Admiral Tom Cooper told me some time last year that Victor retired in 2003." When she starts the Trailblazer again her jaw is set. Pulling back onto the road she switches off the overhead light. "May I have some of your water, please?"

"Sure. Here." Claire passes the bottle over. "What's going on, Ryan?"

"I don't know." Unscrewing the cap the soldier takes a sip from the bottle before she passes it back. "I think I'll take a small detour."

5.

The men in black move stealthily through the trees. When they come upon the second house and find the same situation they are forced to inspect the property before they can continue their tracking. This time the small man is not so amused. They track onwards and when they come upon the third house they check the perimeter before they begin to inspect the building. If they had been less meticulous the newly closed window would have escaped their attention - as it is it takes them a while to note it.

Whilst two men continue onwards to the garage the other two flank the back door as the fifth picks the lock dexterously. Inside, the surfaces are spotless and nothing seems out of place. They secure the downstairs area before moving up the stairs in shadowy sequence, bursting into each room at the top in turn and finding nothing. The man who is in the bathroom studying the sink suddenly speaks.

"Blood in the sink, looks like."

A second man joins him to peer at the porcelain, nodding in agreement. At that moment the third speaks from the bedroom.

"Cuffs on the floor."

They congregate around the two separate cuffs lying on the carpet, the pin still attached to one, and then move downstairs. One of the men has come in from outside.

"Bad news. Looks like there was a vehicle in the garage."

The small man nods and lifts his radio to his mouth. "Alpha, come in."

The radio crackles to life. "Alpha here."

"She's taken a vehicle from a residence."

"Right. Give me your GPS co-ordinates." The small man complies. "Get yourselves to the road, Sierra, I'm picking you up in ten."

"Affirmative."

When the van stops and the door slides open the four men get into the back. Sierra walks around and gets into the passenger seat. Alpha nods in greeting.

"She's messing us around."

"Not for long." Sierra indicates his chin at the road. "Which way is she going?"

Alpha starts the van. "Choteau."

------ The music gradually changes to a smooth nature and Claire finds herself nodding off more than once. Each time as she spirals down she has flashes of being dragged through the woods, her hands tied, and then she startles and sits up in an effort to remain awake. After her head jerks for what feels like the thousandth time Ryan speaks up, her voice low.

"Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired." Stubbornly she clings to watchfulness, though the escape and consequent events have exhausted her, not to mention the myriad of emotions that still swirl inside her.

Ryan gives a soft chuckle. "Every time your head jerks you're ruining the fuel efficiency with added resistance." Her right hand reaches down and feels for the lever at the side of Claire's seat, finding it and reclining the chair. "Relax. Nothing's going to happen. Go to sleep."

And in spite of her fight against it Claire does drop off, falling into a light slumber as they turn right into Pendroy Road. They pass through Conrad, where aside from the streetlights it is dark, and back onto 15 north, crossing the train tracks.

Between Conrad and Shelby Ryan pulls over quietly and studies the sleeping profile next to her for some time. She can tell that Claire is genuinely slumbering from her breathing pattern, and when she has assured herself that the woman will not wake up soon, she too tries to sleep. She has been drinking the caffeinated soda to keep her exhausted and drained body from collapsing, and now, ironically, it is working too well. Instead of sleeping she lays back and stares into the dark sky, wiling away the thoughts and imagines that churn in her mind. She knows that she is definitely being traced, but at this point she also knows that she cannot drive any more without endangering her own life and that of her passenger. Ryan is a lot of things, but she is not negligent or careless.

Thinking of Claire she turns her head, though it is too dark to see much in the blue reflection of the car radio's luminous lights. The woman is more resilient than she had imagined her to be at first, when she was mostly whimpering and begging. In fact the doctor's demeanor has changed from apprehensive and nervous to slightly more self-possessed, and with the conditions as they are, Ryan appreciates the strength that that must take. Under different circumstances they would probably have liked one another, she thinks abstractedly.

When Claire wakes up she stretches as much as the interior of the vehicle will allow her to, realizing as she does that she is actually feeling very rested and refreshed. Her first glance through the windshield shows a breathtaking sight; the sun is rising on the horizon and is still at that bright red phase, touching everything around it with a shimmer of crimson. Her second glance is not as charming: the soldier is raging outside, a fair distance from the Trailblazer as she trudges around jacketless in the cold early morning air. From the motion of her bare head - Claire glances to find the cap lying on the seat beside her - she is talking to herself angrily. Her hands are rigid at her side, and occasionally she raises one to her head and cups the back of her skull with it before she yanks her hand away in apparent fury. Feeling somehow intrusive and suddenly more fearful again at the sight of this person she has been held hostage by, Claire turns away just as Ryan folds double and drops to her knees, heaving up the scant things in her stomach.

The doctor is pondering the possibility of escape, but her door is still locked. To climb over the seats to the back door would prove a critical delay, and to exit from the driver's seat had certainly not worked for her the last time. She weighs up, quickly and competently, the pros and cons of the situation, and decides that it would be more dangerous to attempt to flee - and rile the soldier - than it would be to wait for a better opportunity. Panic drives people to take stupid risks, she knows that better than anybody, and so she calmly takes a mint to remove the fuzzy taste from her mouth before she drinks the last of her water.

When she next glances up the soldier is at the driver's door and slipping into her seat. Her skin is pale and from her exhausted eyes it is clear that she has slept little, if at all. Slipping the cap back onto her shaven head Ryan takes a mint, too, before she drinks the rest of her soda.

"Good morning." Claire does not think she is going to get a reply, as the woman puts on the sunglasses and starts the SUV. When she turns the key again to shut the engine off the doctor glances at her questioningly.

"Would you like to stretch your legs before we go?"

At the unexpected question Claire smiles before she nods. "Yes. Please."

Ryan gets out again and walks around to her side. When she opens the door she leans on it with her forearms. "Will it be necessary to tie your hands?"

"No. It won't." Claire looks into her eyes. "I won't do anything."

"Good. I don't feel like chasing anybody." Closing the door behind the doctor with a trace of chivalry that has Claire raising her eyebrows, Ryan strolls to the front of the vehicle and lifts herself onto the hood, stretching out her legs as she leans back. "Take your time."

Five minutes later they are on the road. A sign passes them by, indicating that they have 8 miles to go before they reach Shelby. Feeling rather revitalized Claire changes the radio station to a more upbeat one before she speaks over the music to the soldier.

"Ryan? Why are you getting sick so much? Is there something wrong?"

The woman shakes her head. "No. It's the tranquilizers they shot me full of, the day before you came. It's fine. They're just working themselves out of my system."

"Ryan, this morning when… "

"Don't." The soldier shoots her a cool look. "It's not something I want to discuss."

"All right. I'm sorry." Claire is feeling bold today, knowing that she is so much more refreshed and alert than the woman beside her. "Will you tell me how you got your medal?"

Frowning, Ryan checks her rearview mirror. "I would have imagined that my file has that information in it."

Claire nods. "It does - the articles from the newspapers and magazines. But none of it is very specific. I'd like a first-hand account."

"I don't think you would." Ryan slows down as they enter the town's perimeters.

"I would like to know." The doctor hazards a try. "And I think you want to tell me."

"Psychology will get you in trouble, doctor Walsch."

Between Maple and Third Avenue Ryan pulls into a parking space and takes the coins out of the ashtray, slipping them into her oversized pocket. "I'll tell you later. Right now I need to make a call." Getting out of the SUV she walks around to Claire's side and opens the door. "Come on." When Claire gets out of the vehicle Ryan grips her arm lightly. There is a bruise from the previous episode, and she struggles not to twist her still sensitive arm from the woman's grasp.

"There are a lot of people about, Walsch. Please don't draw attention to yourself."

"I'm sorry. My arm hurts. From last night."

The soldier glances down, her sunglasses a solid shield. "I'm sorry." Stepping around to the other side she grasps Claire's left arm instead. They walk together, the two of them, to the old phone booth standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and Ryan leads Claire in first. Closing the door behind them she slots in the coins and dials a number from memory. When she speaks her voice is pitched slightly higher.

"Hello, may I speak to LuAnn in administrative? … Oh? She's not? … All right, is Tracy available? … Thank you very much, I'll hold." She waits for a minute and then presses down on the level to end the call before she dials again. This time when she speaks her voice is light, with a singsong quality to it. "Hello, can you put me through to the records department, please? Thank you… Hello, whom am I speaking with? Anna? … Hi, Anna, it's Tracy from admin in Baker, how are you? … Great, great - listen, I have a problem here; postal keeps returning one of yours' mail with an RTS on it… yeah, it's Vice-Admiral V. Banks… Victor… that's right, the scoundrel… well, I did try Edna, but she's not in the office… all right… " She waits patiently for a moment. "Okay, so that's … 67 River Street, Fort Benton… Is that right? … I sure do hope so… Okay, I owe you a box of chocolates, Anna … you too… take care."

She puts down the telephone to find Claire staring at her in amazement.

"What? Let's go."

The soldier slips open the door and grips Claire's arm, a little lighter this time, but when the doctor moves in the direction of the Trailblazer Ryan leads her down the street instead. She scouts the shops lining the sidewalk and when she sees a coffee shop she pulls Claire in behind her. The gawky waiter enthusiastically approaches them with menus, but Ryan waves them away. "Two cups of filter coffee, please. Do you have a bathroom?"

The waiter points out a swinging door in the corner and the soldier leads Claire through them to the ladies' bathroom beyond. As Ryan released her arm the blonde looks around at her.

"How did you know I needed the bathroom?"

"God told me." At Claire's start the woman shakes her head. "Joke. Now you know why I don't make them. What size bra do you wear?"

"What?" The doctor is not sure that she has heard right. "Excuse me?"

"What size bra do you wear?" Ryan asks it again, casually.

"34C. Why?"

The soldier reclines against the washbasin. "While you're in there, take it off."

"Excuse me?" Now Claire is sure that the woman must be mad. Raising her eyebrows Ryan motions her into the toilet a touch impatiently.

"Go on."

Ryan has just come out of the second cubicle when Claire's voice drifts across the division. "Were you joking about the bra?"

"No." Ryan washes her left hand and adjusts the bandage with the other. "Hurry up. Do you need some help?"

"No!" By her tone of voice Ryan can tell she's irritated, and when she steps out of the cubicle her frown confirms it. Handing over the white lacy bra she folds her arms defensively. "What do you want with it?"

Without answering Ryan lifts the bra and studies the structure for a moment before she raises it to her mouth and begins to gnaw at a seam with her incisors. Then, with a triumphant expression, she pushes the underwire out and straightens it with her hands. Slipping the wire into an inner pocket of her jacket she holds the bra out to Claire.

"Do you want it back?"

"What for?" Claire is glowering. "It's useless like that."

"Okay." Extending one hand Ryan pulls Claire closer, taking her hand instead of her arm. "Come on, let's go drink coffee." As they exit the bathroom and Ryan is slipping the bra into her pocket a stern woman in a monochrome color-coordinated suit walks past, and her forehead furrows in disapproval when she spots the item in Ryan's hand. With a slight smile the soldier leans into Claire conspiratorially. "You must be thirsty now, baby." Her voice is extra husky and the woman's mouth purses into a displeased button as she hurries away from them. When Ryan looks over at Claire the doctor's eyebrows are raised.

"You buy me coffee, you take my bra, and now you call me baby? It's going to take a lot more than that, soldier."

For just a moment they appear to be no more than friends having coffee in a small town on a blue July day. When they sit down Ryan slips off her sunglasses and over her cup of coffee her green eyes are dark and tired. Claire takes a sip from her own steaming cup.

"Why don't you get yourself something to eat? Have you got enough money?"

Ryan cocks her head. "Nope."

"Have you even got enough money for this coffee?"

"Yes."

They drink slowly and then Ryan slips her sunglasses back on and takes Claire by the upper arm. "Please." The blonde lifts her arm slightly. "It's a little uncomfortable. I'd prefer it if you took my hand. If you don't mind."

"All right." Ryan wraps her fingers around Claire's. "Let's go."

They wander down the street slowly and the doctor begins to wonder whether they are in fact just sightseeing, when Ryan pulls her into a side street. Walking a little closer to the cars parked at the side of the road the soldier peeks into each of them surreptitiously before stopping at a white four-door Mazda. Pulling the blonde closer she positions her against the door. "Stand right there." Then she slips the wire from her pocket and maneuvers it into the rubber that flanks the window, shifting it a few times before she lifts it firmly, the door lock mirroring her motion on the inside. Opening the door she leans down and takes the bag that is lying on the passenger's side on the floor. A quick look inside confirms the presence of a purse, and a shuffle through that produces a few notes that she removes and stuffs into her pocket.

"Okay."

She walks Claire back to Main Street and leads her into a small convenience store, where she takes a basket into which she puts a few bottles of water, four pre-prepared sandwiches and a small bottle of aspirin. "Is there anything you need?" When Claire shakes her head she takes the items to checkout and pays, lifting the paper bag easily under one arm.

When they are back in the Trailblazer Claire digs into the packet. "May I have a sandwich? I'm starved."

The soldier nods her acquiescence and pulls out of the parking space, slipping into the first gas station to fill the SUV up as much as she can afford. When finally they turn right and drive over the train tracks Claire frowns over her sandwich. "I'm not that great with direction, but aren't we heading the wrong way?"

"I'm not going to the border just yet." Ryan glances over her left shoulder as she takes a slip-off to the right. When they leave the town a sign announces that Chester is 48 miles away. Chewing reflectively Claire sits up and turns off the radio.

"You were going to tell me about the medal."

The soldier is quiet.

"Come on, Ryan. Surely it's not a state secret or anything? Please? I'm interested."

With a sigh Ryan lifts the aspirin bottle to shake two into her hand. She accepts the water Claire offers to her with a ghost of a smile and swallows the pills. "What do you know about the war in Somalia in the 90s?"

"Very little."

"Okay." The soldier gives a small resigned shake of her head. "There's been a lot of problems in the country since the late 80s. When President Said Barre fled the country in '91 due to government instability and armed opposition, he basically left six clans who fought themselves into a famine. They were each trying to occupy the harbors and ports in order to secure the control of food, and then use that to buy and feed more soldiers for their tribes. In '92 the US stepped in and took that decision out of their hands, deciding to regulate the distribution of food, and so prevent the famine from growing worse than it already was. In theory it was a good idea, but," she shakes her head, "theory isn't always practical. In this case it started a national war. The clans began to attack UN compounds, Pakistani soldiers brought in to control the situation, and then, eventually, on October 3rd, there was the major battle with our US troops. Too many died that day." She takes a long sip from the water bottle, her face blank. "They killed four journalists on the 12th of July, and on the 15th of July we were sent in to extract a UN convoy. We were going to pick them up between Merca and Baraawe, southwest of Mogadishu. From the beginning things went completely wrong. A large group of tribesmen appeared from nowhere and pinned the convoy with gunfire, and we were close to the beach, having to stay low without cover, not able to get back to the ship." Her jaw muscles jump. "I crawled down the beach, covered by my guys, and lured the rebels away."

"How?" Claire's eyes are fixed on Ryan's face and she cannot help but notice the strain in the other woman's bearing.

"If I tell you, you won't ever be able not to know."

The doctor frowns at the oddness of the sentence. "I'd like to know."

When Ryan continues her voice is low. "I ran until I found a village, forced a woman to tell me whether they were a part of the Habar Gidir clan, and then I went so loud with the weapons I had that the tribesmen couldn't miss it."

"And what happened?"

"Most of them fell back and came for me. Their village was more important to them than an envoy."

Claire sits forward, absorbed if not in the story, then in the involvement of the woman beside her. "And then?"

"And then they captured me, Walsch. My platoon escaped with the envoys and I was shipped off to a nearby town."

"Did they keep you as a prisoner of war?"

Ryan is suddenly hard and remote. "They tortured me for two weeks, until a group of Pakistani soldiers found me completely by accident. I don't know why they didn't kill me. I would have if I had been them."

"Why?"

"Walsch, you didn't hear what I was telling you. In that little village - I must have killed about 30 people with hand grenades and mines. They were all women and children, Walsch, every single one of them completely defenseless. I killed them as a means to an end."

Putting her hands to her mouth Claire blinks faster against the horror of the words. Ryan continues, but again her voice is softer.

"If that had been my village and family I wouldn't just have done the things they did to me." She turns her head. "And that was the first thing the voice in my head told me to do, doctor. Auspicious beginning. I got a medal for that. No questions, no details, just a handshake from the President and a pretty Medal of Honor. So please do excuse me for not being overly enthusiastic about telling the story."

Claire sits with her hands pressed against her mouth, her blue eyes filled with tears as she stares silently at the soldier behind the steering wheel. Glancing towards her Ryan chuckles mirthlessly. "I told you you wouldn't be able to unhear it. Sorry." She shakes another two aspirin into her hand and swallows them down, then switches on the radio. This time when country music comes up she leaves it on.

It takes Claire a while to gather herself. She is intensely conflicted between her sudden sharp fear of what the woman beside her is capable of, and her compassion for the effect it has clearly had on Ryan. When she has some grip on her emotions she turns to the silent soldier.

"Do you regret what happened, Ryan?"

"At the time I did what I thought I had to do." The soldier turns her head to stare out of her window. "And regret isn't really the right word." Pulling off the road she stops and takes off the jacket and glasses, then opens her door. "I need to take a break."

Claire speaks before the soldier can walk away. "Ryan, please open my door?"

In silence the soldier complies, and then turns her back on the blonde as she searches for a flat piece of ground. Taking a deep breath she closes her eyes and begins a slow precise series of stretches, almost like yoga, and even in her oversized jeans and trainers she manages to look as lithe and graceful as a panther. Curiously Claire climbs onto the bonnet of the car and sits watching her as she unhurriedly stretches her long body. And now suddenly the doctor understands why she worked out so much, which demons are chasing her so that she feels the need to block them out with movement.

Once Ryan is done she returns to the car, the trace of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth as she sees Claire stretched out against the windshield. "Come on."

They get back into the SUV and the blonde studies Ryan critically. "You look like shit, soldier."

"Don't worry," Ryan jokes without a smile, "I look better than I feel."

Again Claire extends her hand, and this time she touches the other woman's bandaged wrist lightly, carefully. "You need to get some rest, Ryan."

"And then?" The woman turns her mirrored glance towards her captive. "Will you wait quietly and make sure that nobody bothers me until I wake up?" She starts the vehicle. "Are you actually thinking about going AWOL on me, doctor Walsch?" Her tone is mock-surprised.

The blonde shakes her head without smiling. "I'm not thinking about running away, no. I'm trying to help somebody who seems to need it."

Letting the car idle the soldier turns in her seat and slips on her sunglasses, purposely putting distance between them as she looks at her passenger. "A few things, doctor…"

"Call me Claire."

The woman continues as if she does not hear the interruption. "I am not your patient. I am not in need of help. And I am not somebody you want to be on a first-name basis with." Claire begins to speak but the soldier shakes her head and continues. "Listen to me. You shouldn't be thinking about my mental or physical state at all - you shouldn't be going anywhere near my psyche. You should be thinking about escaping. In a situation of captivity all you should be thinking about is survival and escape. Do you understand?"

When Claire nods dumbly Ryan shifts back in her seat and pulls back onto the road. Her voice is businesslike as she continues. "I am not your friend. Don't let me fool you into thinking that I am. You may be able to tell me why I hurt, but right now I'm telling you how not to get hurt. That's more important for you. Remember it."

They drive in silence, the soldier serious and Claire pensive. She tries to inject lightheartedness into her voice when she speaks again. "If you want me to escape so badly, why don't you just let me go?"

"I want you to escape for you. For me, it's important that you don't. There's a significant difference."

Leaning down Claire takes out half of a sandwich and passes it over to Ryan, who takes it with a dubious look.

"BLT. You have to eat something."

"It's not for lack of trying." With a small grimace Ryan takes a bit and chews warily. Claire watches her until she's sure that the woman won't discard the food before she cocks her head.

"Ryan? Did you ever tell your commanding officer about the voices afterwards?"

"Voice." Ryan raises an eyebrow. "There's only the one, thank god." She purses her lips dryly at her unintended humorousness. "Or not, as the case may be. I did tell him, of course. With the SEALS there're no private issues when it comes to missions. He has to know what is going on to be able to trust me with the lives of my men. I'm not an individual there, I'm one part of an instrument."

"What happened then?"

A faint smile curls around Ryan's lips. "Were you not here when I was talking to you earlier, doc?"

"Oh yes. I heard you. But short of climbing through the window and throwing myself into the highway at 70mph I can't exactly escape right at this moment." Claire raises her eyebrows innocently. "Think of it as a familiar action to sooth me enough so that I have a clear head for the escaping and surviving bit. Therapy." When Ryan shoots a quick glance at her she shakes her head, wide-eyed. "Oh, no, therapy for me, not for you. You don't need any help."

The soldier laughs, and it is the first genuine laugh Claire has heard from her, a pleasant low-timbre chuckle that sounds if it should be vibrating. "You're a smart-ass."

"I have a doctorate. So what happened then?"

"Persistent." Ryan smiles slightly. "Actually, nothing much. I had a psych evaluation, and a few quiet months, and then I went back into the fray."

"So they took you off duty for a while?"

"Not as such." The smile fades. "It was three weeks after I got back from Somalia. I wasn't physically able to serve for some time in any case."

Claire thinks about asking, wonders how to do it tactfully, and then decides just to go ahead. "Ryan, can I ask? What they did to you?"

"Everything they could think of." Ryan is quiet. "It's another of those things I can't untell you, doctor. Don't invite the nightmares in."

Claire ponders, noting from the corner of her eye that Ryan has finished her sandwich. "Don't you think it strange that they would put you back on duty with an issue like the one you have? Surely you would have been considered hazardous to the safety of your peers?"

"I have an excellent record. I was told by Vice-Admiral Cooper that that was why they contemplated it at all."

"Vice-Admiral Cooper. The same Cooper who… "

"Supervises my situation. Yes."

"Hmm." Tapping a finger on her thigh Claire ponders. "Not to offend you, Ryan, but I think they were irresponsible to send you back out like that."

"None taken. I was a little surprised myself."

"When did you decide on Fairwater? And why?"

"You know, it isn't too late for you to crawl out of the window and throw yourself on the highway." Ryan clears her throat. "Late '95. We were on a mission in the middle of the jungle in Vietnam, and the voice just wouldn't stop. I was less than useless, couldn't concentrate at all, had incredible headaches, so finally I fell back. After that I think we all realized that it was turning into a problem."

"And before that?" Claire sits up, her forehead in a frown. "Wasn't it a problem then?"

"Not really." Ryan glances sideways with a wry smile. "I know, it sounds crazy," self-deprecatingly she adds, "fancy that. Before that it was actually not so bad, believe it or not. I did hear it sporadically when I was in battle, but then it was almost like a separate part of my subconscious, advising me to do things that I probably would have decided on myself."

"You know… "Claire begins gently, her eyes serious as she looks at the soldier, "that's the popular opinion on auditory hallucinations, that they're your subconscious guiding you. Commenting, as it were, on your life and view of yourself."

"I was told that, early on."

"By Art? I mean, doctor Clarke?"

"No. His predecessor. Doctor Cox, I think it was." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "He told me I had to accept that I seemed to be guiding myself into activities of my choice, subconsciously. That to evolve it into a different person, so to speak, was taking the strain of that off my mind."

Claire nods. "That's what many doctors say in so many words."

"It's kind of ironic - that I'm told the only way to get past it is to accept that it was my own will."

"Ryan… "

"Do you understand that if I acknowledge that, then I'm saying that it's a part of me, the part that kills children? And women?" Ryan shakes her head abruptly. "No. If I admit to that then I might as well give this voice in my head a gun and point it at my temple. I don't want to be helped if I'm the kind of person who has that ingrained in them. I don't want medicines to suppress it, to sanitize it, to hide it away. I do not want to be alive like that. Can you understand that?"

"Okay. Hold on." Claire lays a gentle hand on Ryan's forearm. "It's only one of the theories. Not necessarily the right one, if there is one."

"But all of them start with me having killed unarmed people because of a voice in my head." Bitterness seeps into the hoarse voice. "I don't really care what the current theory is, doctor Walsch. What I care about is getting far enough away."

"You'll never get away from it if you don't confront it." The words are strong, but Claire's voice is soft and kind. Ryan glances at her, and then away. "Are there specific times when it's more prevalent? When you're under stress or unhappy, maybe?"

"I've heard all these question before." Ryan sighs, though she is calm again. "No, no, and no. It comes and goes."

"What does the voice tell you?"

Ryan chuckles, though it is completely without joy. "Do you believe in god?"

"In an abstract way, yes, I do."

"Then you might not want to hear what the big man has to say."

Claire takes a sip of her water. "Are you feeling okay? Sandwich staying where it should?"

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Touch of nausea. Fine."

"Okay." Replacing the bottle Claire twists in the seat so that she is facing the soldier. "What does the voice … god say?"

"You are unrelenting. Should have been a SEAL." Ryan clears her throat again. "Different things, but most of them unpleasant. In battle it was more geared towards how to approach certain situations."

"And at Fairwater?"

"That I had to kill to escape - doctors, guards, orderlies, no matter, whomever passed me by. Sometimes recaps, like running commentary, about previous things I had done."

Claire nods. "And now? Outside?"

"I'm only outside physically, doctor." The soldier's shoulders set themselves squarely. "I've heard a lot of things. Right at the beginning… " A small pause as she appears to be thinking about something, "right at the beginning it told me to kill you. That you were dragging me down." Claire can feel the blood drain from her face, and by the expression on her own, Ryan probably sees it as she glances over. "Sorry. If you believe it's my subconscious knocking on my skull, I've just freaked you out."

Biting her lip Claire takes one or two settling breaths. "It was true. I was dragging you down."

"Yes. Sure. Because I was dragging you along. It was my own choice." Ryan looks at the radio. "Can we listen to something besides me now?"

"Wait." Claire puts out her hand. "What else?"

The soldier sighs and shakes her head. "What else? You don't want to hear it, doctor. You really don't. You don't need to know that the person you're sitting next to is being told to blow up schools or churches or gun down civilians on a regular basis. To do atrocious things to people. To you. Is that enough information?" She clenches the steering wheel.

"Ryan, what… "

Suddenly the soldier wraps her hand around Claire's and holds it tightly. "Claire. Please. Stop. I have no control over what happens inside my head. Let me have some over what's outside it."

"All right." Claire places her other hand over the bandaged one and rests it there until the woman pulls it away. Then she reaches over and switches on the radio. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I didn't mean to push you so far. I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking too much."

"That's just silly. There's no such thing." Claire grins a little to show she is teasing, and also in an attempt to lift the dark mood.

They spend most of the drive in relative silence, each deep in their own thoughts. What Ryan is thinking about Claire can only guess, though with what the soldier has told her today she does not have to work very hard at it. Her own thoughts feel a little more convoluted. She knows that she is growing closer to her captor than is wise, that she is investing injudicious emotion in the woman's situation, that having pushed Ryan so far in an attempt to get her to atone and release her captive she is slipping beyond the bounds of therapy. The soldier is right - when she should be thinking about her own survival she is wondering how Ryan made it with the burden she is carrying. It has not even been two days, and it feels like a lifetime. Talk about Stockholm Syndrome. She chuckles wryly to herself and is treated to a skew look by the woman next to her.

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiles at the raised eyebrows. "Nothing much. Thinking about a lot of things."

They pass through Chester and onto 80 towards Fort Benton. It is not long afterwards that Ryan suddenly swings the SUV off the road and steps on the brakes roughly. Thrown forward hard against her seatbelt Claire puts out her hands to shield herself, pressing them against the leather when they come to a halt.

"What… "

She turns to see Ryan crumpling forward against the steering wheel, her face contorted beyond the sunglasses. With a low groan the soldier begins to fumble for the button on her seatbelt, her bandaged right hand sluggish and clumsy.

"Ryan?" Claire lays a tentative hand on the woman's back, and then reaches over and unclips her seatbelt for her. Unexpectedly released from her confines the soldier rocks her shoulder against the door once before she manages to get the door open and fall out.

"Ryan?" Unclipping her own seatbelt awkwardly Claire cranes her neck and sees the woman appear in front of the SUV, her eyes clamped tightly shut and her teeth bared in a grimace. She is stumbling forward and as the doctor watches her legs give in beneath her and she goes down hard. She curls up and lies still for a moment before she struggles to all fours, her back arching as she throws up yet again. Quietly Claire climbs over the handbrake and out of the vehicle, casting one more glance at the convulsing figure before she begins to run in the opposite direction. When she hears the vehicle start behind her she veers off into the country, struggling through the growth underfoot and falling more than once, snagged by an errant vine or branch. As before she can hear footsteps following her, but this time she doesn't have a sense of panic, only of inevitability. When the footsteps are almost right behind her she slows down, causing the soldier to careen into her and wrap her arms around her in an attempt to stay upright. Ryan's body is warm.

"You should just have taken the car. Are you going to fight?"

"No." Claire turns and begins to trudge back to the vehicle. Ryan walks beside her in silence, her hand loose around the blonde's wrist. When they arrive at the car she leads Claire towards the open drivers' door.

"You have to drive for a while."

It is unexpected, the manner in which the doctor suddenly leans back against her hand.

"No. I don't drive."

"You don't? Or you won't?" By the silence Ryan can verify the answer. Leading Claire back to the passenger's side she lets her get in and closes the door before she slips into her own seat and pops two aspirin in her mouth. The blonde's face is rigid, and they drive for about five miles before she relaxes and speaks.

"You can't go on like this."

The soldier glances at her. "Why won't you drive?"

Ignoring the comment much as Ryan has hers, Claire lays a hand on the woman's forearm. "You're warm. Are you getting ill?"

"Tell me why you don't drive."

"This can't still be the tranquilizer, can it?"

"Why not, Claire?"

"For God's sake!" It is the first time the blonde raises her voice. "Just leave it, will you?"

6.

"What, don't like your own medicine?" The soldier smiles slightly. "We're talking about this later." When the doctor turns her head to stare out of the window Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Later."

The radio fills the silence and when Claire finally looks back the soldier is quiet, her eyes somewhere in the distance. Without the large sunglasses, which she seems to have lost where they stopped, it is hard not to notice how haggard she looks. Her green eyes are glassy and darkly ringed, and there is a faintly waxy sheen to her pale skin. The bandage on her hand is dirty and seeping blood, probably from the fall, and there is a grimy abrasion on the right side of her forehead. Sighing, Claire slips the first-aid kit from the cubbyhole and takes out a pad of gauze, which she moistens with water before she shifts to the edge of her seat and begins to clean the ground from the scuff. Apart from an initial start at the touch against her scraped skin the soldier is quiet. Claire makes sure that the still bleeding area is clean before she dabs antiseptic liquid on another pad and presses it against the area, holding it there.

"I'm sorry, it must sting."

Ryan does not answer. The blonde presses the pad to the wound, lifting it every now and then, and when she is satisfied with the decrease of blood she wads up the gauze and discards it.

"Give me your hand." The soldier complies silently. Dexterously Claire unwraps the bandage and dabs the bleeding cuts with a piece of gauze. Covering them she wraps her smaller hand over Ryan's to hold them in place. Heat seeps from the other woman.

"How do you feel, Ryan?"

"Hm." The lean woman raises her eyebrows. "Fantastic."

Claire frowns. "Be serious."

"I haven't slept in a while, I haven't been able to keep anything down for days, and I'm bleeding sporadically." The soldier shoots her passenger a sardonic look. "But apart from that I'm great."

Claire frowns. "Surely the drugs should have worked themselves out by now?"

"I'd imagine so." Ryan shrugs. "It's fine."

"You're not. You can't function like this."

"All the better for you." Ryan purses her lips. "Wait until I fall over and then run."

Lifting the gauze Claire checks the bleeding, then wads up the stained pad and discards it too. "I'm serious, Ryan."

The soldier frowns. "So am I. You shouldn't be so concerned about me."

"You're driving. If something happens to you while you're behind the wheel I could get hurt too."

"Hmm. You could have prevented that by driving, Claire."

"We're not starting this." The blonde folds her arms.

With a slight smile Ryan flexes her hand and looks at the abraded surface. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"You're welcome."

When they approach the outskirts of Fort Benton and swing into St Charles Street, Ryan pulls over to ask a pedestrian for directions. Claire waits and wills the man to look in her direction as he speaks to the soldier, but his eyes remain fixed on the magnetic green eyes until they pull away. They turn left in 14th Street and then right into River Street. Ryan is looking to her left.

"Look for number 67."

Claire turns her head to the right and peers at the dilapidated mailbox they have just passed. "That's … 32 or 38, I can't tell. What are you going to do when you find him?"

"I'm going to have a conversation with him. He's an old friend, after all. 49, 51, 53…"

"It'll be on your side, then." In silence Claire watches the river as the sunlight sparkles off it, only glancing back when they pull into a driveway. Getting out Ryan looks around casually before she walks around and lets Claire out. "Come on." They walk to the front door and Ryan rings the doorbell once, then twice, with no response from inside. Walking the doctor around the back Ryan checks the back door, and then takes her cap off, gripping it in her hand so that the fabric protects her knuckles. With a firm blow she shatters the window and reaches inside to open the latch. Claire hopes that there will be an alarm, but after the breaking glass there is silence. They enter the house and find themselves in a small basic kitchen, the counters spotless and the shelves packed neatly. Pulling Claire towards the fridge Ryan opens the door and peers inside.

"Are you hungry? Some leftover mushroom pasta, looks like."

Claire folds her arms. "Are you going to steal his food?"

"He's a friend, doctor." Taking out the bowl Ryan lifts off the plastic wrap and sniffs tentatively. "Smells good. He won't mind." She presses the food into Claire's hand and begins to rifle through the drawers, finding a fork which she sticks into the pasta. "Here."

Claire looks at the food dubiously and then back to Ryan, who is checking the remaining drawers at random. Finally she lifts the fork to her mouth and eats the speared macaroni. It is surprisingly good. With an appreciative hum she chews. Turning around, Ryan looks at her.

"Good?"

"Mm." She nods and eats another mouthful. With a faint smile Ryan puts a hand on her back and propels her into the hallway, a narrow affair which leads straight to the front door and is laid with gorgeous mahogany floorboards. On the left there are three doors, two leading to small compact bedrooms and the one on the right a clean blue bathroom. On the right one doorway leads into a small study, its walls lined with bookshelves, and the second doorway leads to a sizeable dining room with bay windows which look out over the street and the river on the other side. From the other side of the dining room a door leads to a family room with two leather sofas and a wall unit to match the floor. Pulling out a dining room chair Ryan motions for Claire to sit, and then wanders around studying the surroundings with what the doctor assumes to be approval. Moving towards the hallway the lean woman turns to her captive.

"I'm going to be just down the hall. Don't try anything."

"Now I shouldn't be thinking of escaping?" Claire frowns exaggeratedly. "Would you like to draw up a schedule for me?"

With a raised eyebrow Ryan disappears around the corner. At first the blonde considers trying her luck, but she is not in the best position to do so. There is no escape route from either the dining room or sitting room - both have impressive burglar guards on the windows - so to leave she would have to go down the hallway, and that is where Ryan currently is. With a sigh she eats another bite of pasta. When the Vice-Admiral comes home there will be more distraction - and perhaps a better chance.

------

Vice-Admiral Victor Banks parks behind the SUV and gets out, his arched eyebrows raised. He glances at his front door, and then walks around the gray vehicle to peer inside it, not seeing much of interest. Walking around his house quietly he examines the broken pane on his back door and lays a hand over the gun in the holster under his arm as he opens the door stealthily and steps over the shards of glass lying underfoot. The kitchen seems untouched, and he walks down the hallway quietly, easily stepping over the noisy floorboards as he glances right, into his study, then left, into his bedroom, then left, into the bathroom. A scraping sound in the dining room attracts his attention and he presses his back against the wall, stepping closer noiselessly. Dropping to his haunches he slides the pistol from its holster and prepares himself, chancing a glance into the room.

Captain Ryan is sitting on the window seat, her long legs clad in ridiculously baggy jeans and pulled in under her in a position which seems casual, but which he knows is optimal for abrupt movement. Her one hand is draped over her knee and bouncing up and down slowly, and her face is turned towards the street under a blue baseball cap.

Doctor Claire Walsch is sitting on a dining room chair, spooning the last of last night-s pasta into her mouth. She is exactly as she was when he last saw her - but her neat gray suit slightly the worse for wear now, and a pair of incongruous pink trainers on her small feet instead of the heels which she wore… was it only yesterday morning? He is considering his next course of action when Ryan turns her head and fixes her intimidating green eyes on him unexpectedly.

"Are you going to sit down at some stage, Victor?"

Shaking his head in amused annoyance he slides the pistol back into the holster, aware of her eyes on his hands as he does so, and gets to his feet. "Doctor." Extending a hand he shakes Claire's gently, looking her over surreptitiously for injuries or marks, none of which he can see except for a faint red weal on her cheek. She smiles slightly.

"Vice-Admiral Banks. Thank you for the late lunch."

"It is my pleasure." Turning to Ryan he salutes sharply. "Captain."

"Oh please." She waves away the ceremony. "None of that. How are you, Victor?"

"I'm fine, Ryan. I'd ask how you are but you look like death warmed up and overcooked."

"Thanks. You always were a charmer." She takes a quick look out of the window again. "Victor, are we going to have a problem with a security company?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I've already told them it was a false alarm. Been expecting you, Ryan." Pulling out a chair he sits down next to Claire, shooting her a smile.

"Hold on." Ryan gets to her feet and approaches him. "I'd like you to take out that pistol and pass it to me." Claire holds her breath, hoping that he'll take action, but instead he slips the gun out of its holster and places it on the table in front of him. Reaching over Ryan picks it up and checks the magazine before she slips the safety on and puts the gun behind the pillow of her seat, sitting down again. "Thank you. If you expected me, then you know why I'm here, Victor."

"Yes. You want to know what I was doing at Fairwater." He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. "That was a mistake, I knew it before it even happened. You always were too sharp for your own good. But who knew that you'd… " Glancing sideways at Claire he lays his fingers on her arm lightly. "Are you alright, Doctor Walsch?"

"I am, thank you, Vice-Admiral Banks."

"I haven't done anything to her. Yet." Ryan's voice is sharply sardonic. "Talk, Victor, I don't have the rest of the year."

He puts his hands on the table as if to push away from it and then pauses to look at Ryan. "Would you mind if I got myself a whiskey?"

"No." She waves him up. "If that's what you need. But no funny business, Vic."

He smiles grimly. "They warned me that you might stop by, Ryan, and they're all on alert for one call from me. If I wanted funny business I could have set the whole army on you the moment I saw the car in my driveway."

"And why didn't you?"

"Because I'm a fucking bastard and this what I deserve." He turns to Claire. "Please excuse my language, doctor. Would you like a drink?"

She glances at Ryan, unsure for a moment, and the soldier shrugs.

"If you want one, have one. It won't make a difference tonight."

When Claire nods the gray-haired man turns to Ryan and then shakes his head. "No, of course not for you."

"No." She watches as he moves into the sitting room and slides out a tray at the bottom of the wall unit, taking two glasses and a bottle of scotch which he places on the dining room table. When he returns from the kitchen he has a tray of ice blocks, which he neatly cracks into the glasses before he pours a stiff tot into each and passes one glass to Claire.

"Prost." Lifting his glass he takes a healthy sip before he rests his hand on the edge of the table and looks over at Ryan. "What do you remember about the week before you went into Somalia? The briefings and medicals and preparations?"

She sits forward, her dark eyebrows pulled together in frustrated perplexity. "What? I remember all of it. What are you asking, Victor?"

"Is there anything unusual that you recollect? About the medicals, specifically?"

Now she sits on the edge of the seat, her hands splayed tensely against her knees. "Where is this going?"

"Think back, Ryan."

With her eyes unwaveringly on his she ponders for a moment before she shakes her head. "No, Victor. Nothing out of the ordinary… " yet even as she says it he can see the memory surfacing. Silently she scrutinizes him, her face impassive. "During the medical exam I blacked out."

He rolls his glass slowly in his hand. "Did they tell you that?"

She stands up suddenly. "I lost consciousness and woke up a day later. They didn't need to tell me."

"What did the doc say it was?" He is not looking at her anymore, but is studying the blocks of ice in his drink impassively. Claire's eyes are fixed on the Vice-Admiral, her face curious as she sips at the scotch.

"Some sort of light seizure." She folds her arms belligerently. "Why don't you just say what you have to say, Victor? Don't make me ask."

With a sigh he puts his glass down on the table and then meets her eyes. "A faction of the US Army's been working on some sort of secret project for the last eleven or twelve years. I don't know what exactly it entails… " Catching her dark look he shrugs quickly. "Honestly, I'm not privy to that information. I can't tell you more than I know. From what I can tell I think it's some sort of nerve gas that they're engineering to create super-soldiers - I can't even tell you precisely what it is that it's supposed to do. As far as I know it was supposed to have altered brain chemistry for a certain effect." He lifts the glass to his mouth and this time drains it before he looks back at Ryan. "I'm sorry. I want to tell you more about it but I just don't know anything. The security clearance on this thing is minimal."

"Hmm." She approaches him and stands so close to him that he has to look up at her. "How is it that you even know about this project… but you don't know details? Surely if you're important enough to know about it at all you wouldn't be in the dark? And if you're not important enough to be told anything, why do you know of its existence in the first place?" She shakes her head. "I don't know where your story is going, Victor, but already I don't like it. Persuade me that you're telling the truth."

Moving slowly so as not to agitate her he pours himself another tot, this time filling half the glass, and then shifts the bottle towards Claire, who is still sipping at hers. "Just before we went to Somalia - I was a Lieutenant Commander, then - I was approached by Vice-Admiral Mike Collins on behalf of General George Turner. They were working on this project - they called it DEX, or DAX, so something like that - and they needed a test subject in the field."

Ryan interrupts him testily. "They… what? Wanted to inject you with something?"

His hand motions to her to calm down. "Wait. They didn't tell me what they would have to do, Ryan, it was too sensitive an issue. All they said was that they needed a subject to test their project on. According to them it would help me in the field in some way which they weren't prepared to discuss without my agreeing to the test and signing an indemnity form." He sips at the drink. "I did consider it for a moment there - the chance to make history only comes along once in a lifetime, and then I was still an arrogant man - but when I asked about side-effects they were a little imprecise. Mentioned that it would be interfering with natural brain functions and that it hadn't been tested accurately yet."

"What then?"

"Well," he smiles slightly, "history was tempting, but Ingrid more so. I couldn't choose something like that knowing that I had no idea what would happen, with her raising Clancy alone at home and none the wiser. I turned them down."

Ryan is motionless. "Connect the dots for me, Banks."

He sighs, and it is the sigh of a man who is about to do what he truly doesn't want to. "Before I say anything else, I want you to know that they made me sign a gag order, Ryan. I had no choice there." He casts a longing look at the bottle of scotch, and then sits back squarely and fixes his gaze firmly on Ryan. "After they'd made me sign it, they asked who I thought would be the best candidate for something like that. I … I told them it was you." Claire inhales sharply, but Ryan is motionless. "I told them you would be the best option, because you were so dedicated, and such a damned good soldier. I mean, I was just an ordinary navy grunt, but you, you were bona fide special ops." He taps the table with one finger. "But then I also told them that you almost certainly wouldn't be interested, that you wouldn't like the thought of losing control like that."

"What happened then, Victor?" Ryan's hoarse voice is low and muted.

He shakes his head and drops it. "I don't know exactly what happened then, Ryan…"

"There's a lot of not knowing going around."

"Look," his gray eyes are filled with something she can't place, "I'm sorry, I really want to tell you everything, but there are parts I truly don't know. All I know is that before Somalia suddenly you're gone for a day; they feed me a story about a seizure of some sort - in a soldier who's considered exceptionally hardy - and after you come out at Baraawe two weeks later you disappear again. They said it was because of the… " He glances at Claire, "torture… but something wasn't right. I knew that. For how many months you're in solitary confinement, and then they put you right back into Vietnam. And then you go into Fairwater, saying that you're hearing voices, and in '97 they offer me a cushy desk job and a raise, reminding me with a nudge-nudge wink-wink of the agreement I signed… "

"They fucked with my brain and you didn't think to tell me?!" Ryan is as livid as he has ever seen her, her green eyes spitting fire as she roars at him. Beside him he sees Claire flinch from the corner of his eye.

"I couldn't! You know what it means to sign something like that, Ryan! I break that agreement and depending on the importance of the issue I either find all my limbs broken or I come home to find Ingrid raped and killed and the house burnt to a crisp… " He is pleading, and he knows it. "Don't you think it killed me? To know that what was wrong with you had probably been done to you by your own people? That I had been the one to indirectly elect you? Jesus, Ryan, I thought they'd get your permission first! Until Fairwater I thought that you knew!"

"How sure are you all of it wasn't just co-incidence?" It is the first time Claire speaks, wide-eyed but measured, and they are both startled by the sound of her voice. Victor pours himself another glass of scotch, this time not bothering to stop until he reaches the top, and takes a long drink before he speaks. His voice is almost as hoarse as Ryan's now.

"It's not, doctor Walsch. If it were they wouldn't have been sedating Ryan to check her levels every few weeks. If it were they wouldn't have been flying in army specialists instead of using the residents at Fairwater. If it were," he takes another sip, "they wouldn't have gotten me in to keep the issue official. She's not officially in the US Navy anymore, doctor. She's a liability and they've acknowledged that by sending her to Fairwater. Why, then, do you think the army's still sniffing around? Why do you think they were keeping her there? They've done something, doctor Walsch, and they're watching. Waiting to see what hatches."

In fury Ryan lifts her foot and kicks wrathfully at one of the dining room chairs, splintering its back and collapsing it beneath her expert force. Her face is pure white, and her eyes are on fire. "Christ! They did that to me? YOU did that to me?!" Helpless with rage she rips the cap from her head and throws it across the room. "I thought it was me… and all the time… fuck!"

"Ryan, calm down." Claire's voice is conciliatory as she stands up, but when the soldier turns those smoldering eyes on her she almost recoils.

"Sit down, Walsch." It is a command, given in a hiss by a livid and dangerous woman. Frowning, Claire squares her shoulders.

"Don't order me."

"SIT DOWN!" This time she obeys, afraid of what the soldier will do if she doesn't. It is clear that Ryan is beyond control. Clenching her hands at her sides the lean woman clenches and unclenches her teeth as she glares at Victor. "Don't you understand what this means? If it were just my own mind I could take something for it if I choose to, pretend it doesn't exist under the fog of medication… now I know it's something far more ugly and this probably isn't the worst of it! And there's nothing I can do about it!" Reaching out she snatches his glass and hurls it against the wall, where it shatters into a million pieces. The blonde cringes back in her seat but Victor sits there passively, his face resigned as he looks at Ryan. She lifts her fist and presses it tightly to her mouth, then fixes her stare on Victor. "Who knows more about this thing? Turner?"

"Yes, Turner, but… " He stops her as she moves for the gun, "you'll never make it that far, Ryan. Wait. One of the specialists who comes in regularly, Mark Grossman, I'll get you his number and address. He's in Helena. He'll talk to you, I'm sure. Wait, will you?" As she throws herself on the seat, her limbs trembling, he gets up. When her gaze falls on him he lifts his hands. "No funny business, Ryan. I'm getting his address from the study."

Ryan glares at him hotly. "If I find out you know more than you let on… I'll come back for you, Victor. I promise you that."

"I know." He nods silently and walks into the hallway, his head sagging as she slips the gun into her pocket and follows him into the study. Unlocking a drawer he pulls a plain brown folder from it, through which he begins to rifle. When the phone suddenly starts to ring he casts a quick glance at it but Ryan prods him roughly in the back.

"Ignore it."

Following her command he shuffles through the documents and retrieves a sheet of paper with a series of addresses printed on it. Passing it over he points at the correct entry, just as the ringing phone gives up and the answering machine kicks in.

"You have reached the home of Victor Banks. I am not currently in, but please leave a concise message and your contact details, and I will get back to you as soon as possible."… beep…

"Vic, are you there? Pick up, it's Turner… " Victor's eyes widen and he turns to speak to Ryan, but she lifts one hand grimly to keep him quiet as she listens to the rest of it. "Okay, obviously you're not home yet, but I had to share some absolutely exhilarating news with you - that last analysis came back 20% improved." Ryan's face is pale and infuriated as she glares at Victor. "Brilliant, don't you think? Pity the margin wasn't this good with Ryan, but then, as you said, you have to break an egg or two… I think the machine's going to cut me off - give me a call when you do get in - you have my number."

beep

Victor Banks can feel his body freezing as Ryan's ominous green eyes remain motionlessly focused on him. "I didn't…" he begins, but the words die in his throat as she steps closer, her face almost against his.

"You fucking bastard. You fucking coward! You sold me out!"

"No, it wasn't like that… " He tries to step away, but the desk is against his back. "It's not what you think… "

Wrapping her hands in his collar she pulls him closer, hissing in his ear. "Tell me they set you up, Victor."

"They did!" He pulls back, his eyes pleading.

Her hands yank him forward again. "Tell me I'm a friend and you would never sell me out, Victor."

"I wouldn't!" His voice is breathless. "I wouldn't!"

When she drags him forward her strength is startling, and he stumbles over his own feet, barely held up by his quivering legs. She pushes him out ahead of her and sharply wraps an arm around his throat, pressing her forearm to his windpipe. The other hand grasps his wrist and turns it upwards behind his back painfully.

Claire is in the hallway, torn between getting out of the front door and going to Victor's assistance - she has heard most of the discussion and knows that the soldier is likely to now be completely out of control - but when Ryan appears with him locked in her grip Claire's shoulders slump.

"Get in the bedroom." It's a short barked order and the blonde complies, her wide eyes locked on Victor's panicked gray ones as the door closes between them and Ryan turns the key. Claire glances around helplessly at the posters of sportsmen, the dressing table in the corner, the too-small window, before she sinks down onto the bed, holding her breath as she listens to the sounds from next door. Ryan's voice is loud and strident, roaring over Victor's more muffled and beseeching pitch, and when suddenly there is a loud thump she closes her eyes and a shocked gasp escapes her mouth.

To her relief Victor's voice starts again, still muffled but louder, and then his pitch rises and rises until a shot sounds out and silence takes over.

At the sound Claire jerks and a sob escapes her lips involuntarily. Covering her mouth with both hands she looks at the closet door wildly as if she can see through it to what's happening behind it. There is shuffling in the room and then another thump, and Claire is still staring at the closet when the door opens unexpectedly and she shrinks back against the wall behind her.

The soldier gazes in, her face set and ashen, a smear of copper beneath her mouth. "Go to sleep." She slams the door closed behind her and turns the key again, leaving the doctor curled up and sobbing on the bed until exhaustion and helplessness sends her into a dreamless sleep.

7.

When Claire wakes up, for a moment she is confused and blank, her eyes taking in the unfamiliar stars stuck on the unfamiliar ceiling above her. She is about to smile at the sweetness of it when realization rolls in and her eyes fill with tears. She takes several haggard breaths and rolls over to sit upright, still dazed when the door opens and Ryan walks in. The soldier has obviously showered, by the clean fresh smell which wafts in with her, and in a pair of camouflage pants - which fit much better than the jeans had - and a clean black t-shirt she looks almost presentable, discounting the fact that her skin is unnaturally pale and her intense green eyes, ringed in black, burn from her face in something akin to insanity. When she speaks her voice, more hoarse than usual due to the previous evenings shouting, is level and without inflection.

"Here." She holds out a steaming cup of coffee, strong and sweet-smelling, and waits until the doctor takes it with trembling fingers before she steps back. "Do you want to take a shower?" When Claire nods she walks out into the hallway and waits. Sipping at her slightly quaking cup the blonde gets up and joins her, trying not to look at her face as Ryan leads her into the bathroom. There is a baby blue terrycloth towel folded on the toilet, and inclining her head towards it the soldier closes the door behind her, leaving the shaking and nervous doctor to step under the warm soothing water.

When she is finished and opens the door uncertainly, the towel wrapped securely around her body, the soldier is waiting, leaning against the wall. Taking her captive back into the bedroom she points at the jeans, long-sleeved shirt and light jacket laying on the bed, leaving the room once again to let Claire get dressed, and when she returns she has a small black bag clenched in her hand.

"Come on."

They walk towards the kitchen and when they pass Victor's bedroom Claire tries to glance in, but the door is closed. Ryan's hand on her arm yanks her into the kitchen, and as the soldier passes her two pieces of toast with cheese on a small plate she glares at the lean woman.

"Did you have to?" It's a disgusted hiss.

Raising her eyebrows Ryan stares at her coolly. "Did I have to what?"

"You know! Did you have to kill him?"

"He's a bastard." The words are vehement. "He betrayed me."

"And it changes things to kill him? That's the only solution you seem to have!" The doctor shakes her head.

"You definitely won't understand." With a bitter expression Ryan presses the remaining piece of toast into Claire's hand and then puts the plate in the sink. "Your brain is not at all like mine. Courtesy of him." Grasping Claire's wrist she propels her out of the house and towards the SUV.

It is silent in the vehicle as Ryan turns right and then right again, crossing the river and taking them out of Fort Benton. Claire stares at the reflection of the early morning light off the water, and then at the landscape passing them by. When she finally turns her head to look at Ryan her eyes are brimming with tears.

"You knew him. You knew his daughter. Now you're going to be the reason she wakes up today without a father?"

The soldier's jaw clamps tightly. "She'll be fine."

"You think?" Claire raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Why, Ryan? Because good troops never cry? Because for you life just goes on?" She laughs sharply, bites back the sound and shakes her head.

"Because Victor's not dead."

There is a second of silence before Claire comprehends the words. "What? You shot him! I heard you!"

Ryan shakes her head abruptly. "You heard a shot. When they find him he'll have been unconscious for a few hours and he'll be sporting a good selection of bruises, but he'll be alive."

"But why?"

"I think he was set up. He knows more than he's telling but less than they're implying." Her eyebrows draw together. "I may be messed up, confused, my brain fried - but he was a friend and I couldn't do that."

With a sigh somewhere between hysteria and relief Claire puts her face in her hands. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Christ, Ryan… "

"I couldn't tell you earlier because the house was bugged." Ryan adjusts the rearview mirror slightly. "Someone's watching."

------

"… I think the machine's going to cut me off - give me a call when you do get in - you have my number."

Colonel George Turner puts down the phone quietly and smiles to himself before he picks up the handset and dials again. The man who answers on the other side has a deep smooth voice.

"Yes."

"Mahoney, this is Colonel Turner. The call is made."

"Good." Turner can hear the satisfaction in the other man's voice. "We're listening."

"Shouldn't be long." Turner rings off without greeting.

Mahoney - or as he prefers to be known, Sierra - sits in front of the surveillance equipment for about twenty minutes before the sound of a shot rings out in his earphones. With a grim smile he picks up the satellite phone and dials.

"Turner."

"It's done. She's dealt with Banks."

"Good." There is the shuffling of papers on Turner's side. "Tomorrow, Grossman. Get some sleep."

"We want to be waiting."

"If you're dull you're useless to me, Mahoney. Get rest. We know where she's going."

"Fine." Sierra disengages and puts down the phone.

------

Apart from the muted music that drifts from the radio, it is quiet in the Trailblazer, both women thoughtful and far away. They have been driving for almost forty minutes before Claire speaks for the first time.

"Banks said some shocking things last night. Do you want to discuss it?"

"Typical therapist. I hear the worst news ever, and you want to chat." Though her words are short her tone is nearly humorous. Ignoring the obvious evasion Claire continues.

"I'd like to know how you're taking it, Ryan."

"As it comes, doctor. In my stride. I don't have that many options." She cocks her head. "So I'm some sort of sci-fi monster now. At least I know it's not just how I am hereditarily."

"Well, that's an admirable point of view." Claire shakes her head. "I'm not sure if I were in your position I'd be able to do the same."

"It's not noble. There's just not much more I can do." In Belt Ryan stops at a gas station and fills up the SUV, pulling some notes from a brown leather wallet she retrieves from the black bag. They leave the town behind and Ryan glances around when she sees from the corner of her eye that Claire is for some reason smiling at her.

"What?"

"You stole his wallet?"

"He's alive. That's good enough."

"I don't think your problem is the voice in your head, Ryan. I think you're a covert kleptomaniac."

The soldier almost smiles, and when she speaks her voice is overly grave. "You've caught me out, doctor Walsch. You're not actually a hostage. I just took you because I thought you looked so damned good." Shaking her head at herself she grimaces. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"Hey, I don't have a problem with being told I look good. Even if it is in a joke." Brushing off Ryan's awkwardness she shrugs. "It's okay."

"You do look good. I wasn't kidding about that." Embarrassed once again Ryan clears her throat. "Hey, doc, want to ask me a personal and intrusive question? How about it?"

Claire laughs heartily. "The only time you ever offered that." Sitting forward she turns down the radio. "Ryan? You're not as bad a person as you think you are."

Her jaw muscles clenching, Ryan glances out her window. "I believe you. Millions wouldn't ..."

"Hey." Tapping lightly on her wrist Claire waits until the soldier looks at her. "It's not your fault. What happened, happened to you. You're dealing with it a lot better than most people would have. It's just a pity about the stealing."

Shaking her head Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Where's that invasive question I'm waiting for? Can we move on to that now?"

"Hmm." The doctor purses her lips, smiling slightly. "All right. Okay. Next topic. Why exactly do you think the voice is god?"

"Dear lord." Rolling her eyes Ryan lets out a loud breath. "You play rough."

"You told me I could. Well?" Claire folds her arms expectantly.

"All right. It told me so." She shrugs. "I may not fully believe in it when I say it, but most of the times it's a hell of a lot easier to think that I'm being contacted by a divinity than that my own psyche's telling me that it wants to be god. Okay?"

"Okay." Claire nods. "So it basically put up its hand and said "Hi, I'm God"?"

"Something like that."

"Oh."

"So how much crazier am I now?" Smirking at herself Ryan pulls a face before she glances at Claire, summarily serious. "Now it's my turn to ask something."

"You didn't mention small print on that offer." The blonde turns her head and stares out of the window, sighing when a warm hand touches her knee gently.

"Claire. Come on. Tell me. In a few days you'll walk away and never see me again."

The doctor starts to speak, her voice measured and low as if she's had to tell the story more than once. "It was two years ago. I was working late at the office, and when I got outside one of my colleagues was just coming through the front gate. He just… " her voice breaks a little and Ryan waits quietly for her to compose herself, "sorry. He grabbed me and dragged me into a consultation room and raped me. Afterwards he made me drive him home in my car, and he actually made me kiss him goodnight and tell him how much I'd enjoyed the evening." She clears her throat roughly. "After that… it's irrational, but I don't like driving much now."

"It's not irrational. But you know that. What happened after that?"

Claire looks out of the window again. "Nothing."

"No case against him?"

"No. He was a senior partner, I'd just started out." She smiles grimly. "If you think rape was a problem, you should try and imagine what he would have done to me professionally. I'm a coward."

"You're not, at all. It probably seemed like he would be violating you all over again if you stood up to him."

"Huh." Claire's blue eyes take in the soldier's face. "Did you read my case notes?"

Ryan smiles slightly. "Speaking of which, did you ever see anybody for it?"

"No. I didn't deal with it well."

"And now?"

The question lies between them for a while before Claire responds. "He left four years ago - rumors about sexual harassment - and I'm still there. I'm fine. Surviving."

"That's not always good enough."

"I don't drive. I'm not good with … intimacy. I don't deal well with violence. But I get up every morning and I feel stronger and I try to make a difference. That seems good enough to me."

"You shouldn't have to settle for good enough." Ryan points a finger at the back seat. "Please pass me the bag?"

Glad to be released from the conversation Claire reaches for the bag and puts it on Ryan's lap, watching as the woman scrabbles around in it with one hand and pulls out two energy bars, one of which she passes to the doctor. They're tasty, apple and cinnamon, and the two women eat in silent companionship before Ryan glances down at the bottle of water still sitting in the cup holder.

"There any water left in that?"

"Sure." Claire frowns as Ryan begins to run her hand through the space next to her seat and then under her feet. "What are you looking for?"

"Aspirin. Do you know what I did with the bottle?"

Opening the cubbyhole Claire takes out the small white bottle and pops off the lid. "How many?"

"Three."

She shakes out three in her hand and holds them out, examining the soldier's pale face as she slips them into her mouth and washes them down with tepid water.

"What's wrong?"

"Bit of a headache."

"For three aspirin it must be more than a bit, Ryan."

The lean woman glances towards her. "Weren't we talking about you?"

"We're not anymore. Have you eaten this morning?"

"Yes. An energy bar." The soldier says it in a way that makes it clear that she expects the line of conversation to end. Claire frowns, never that good at doing the expected.

"Ryan, do you have a … problem with pills?"

A low chuckle fills the car. "Not only a kleptomaniac but now an addict, too?"

"Seriously, if there's a problem you can tell me."

The chuckle abruptly makes way for a sigh as Ryan looks over at the blonde. "No. There is no problem." At the upraised eyebrows she shakes her head in exasperation. "I've been having more headaches lately. I'm not sure whether it's the meds, or what."

"Did you have them when you were at Fairwater?"

"A few times. But the incidents were spread out over a period of time. Now it's a constant bombardment."

"You don't think," Claire begins tentatively, "that it's to do with not eating or sleeping properly? Exhaustion does take its toll."

"No. I've been tired and hungry before."

"Okay." While Claire is thinking Ryan glances over at her once, and then twice.

"Doctor, did you just accuse me of something so that I would have to discuss it to defend myself?"

"Maybe." The doctor shrugs her shoulders. "I'm full of surprises."

"Wow. You're sneaky."

"Some would call it that. Some would call me cunningly gifted." Abandoning the light tone she cocks her head. "You must be exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"Did you ever take a bullet?"

At the incongruous question Ryan glances over, her green eyes puzzled and her eyebrows raised. "What? Where did that come from?"

Claire shrugs. "I'm interested."

"That's for sure." The soldier shakes her head and looks at Claire again before she taps her fingers against the steering wheel. "Okay. Well, we were in the Congo in '90. I got a bullet in my chest." She reaches up with her left hand and rubs reflectively at the concave area just under her collarbone before she continues. "Then there was the Ivory Coast, late '91. A rebel put one right in my thigh. That was a bad one - hit an artery. If the medevac helicopter hadn't arrived when it did… " Her lips curve just a little. "Africa hasn't been kind to me. Maybe I should take that as a sign and stay away"

Claire smiles too, a little, before she speaks. "It must have helped in those situations that your pain threshold is so high?"

"Well… " Ryan hesitates, "no, not really. Nobody in my squad would have fussed over minor things, but a bullet hurts, whichever way you look at it. It's not like in the movies where you take one in the leg and still drag yourself forward shooting baddies. Falling down and bleeding to death would probably be a much less heroic scene, but it's a lot more accurate. Even getting clipped by one hurts like shit. Besides, being a special ops soldier doesn't mean you can simply keep going until you die. We're more focused and better prepared for pain, but we do still hurt like other people."

"Right." Claire nods. "So right now, for instance, not having slept for a long time, and not having eaten for a while, and I think being slightly sick, you're feeling like a normal person would under those circumstances? Which would be not very fine at all?"

The dark eyebrows lift in a sharp arch and Ryan purses her lips as she glares over at the blonde. "Sneaky. And twice in one day?"

"Gifted." Claire shrugs. "All I'm trying to point out is that you are a 'normal person', Ryan. You can in fact admit it when you hurt. Talking about things doesn't do any damage."

"It doesn't do any good either, Walsch. If I tell you I'm tired, what does that change? I'll still be tired afterwards."

"It'll change my awareness of the fact. And it might allow me to do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Like offer to drive, if I could…"

"But you won't, so it's a moot point." If Claire didn't know better she'd swear Ryan was gloating. "Why would you want to help me anyway, Claire? You're a hostage."

"I know. I remember." The blue eyes are wry. "I'd help you because you're not as bad a person as you think you are."

"We've had this conversation, and I'm not going… " Even before her words finish abruptly Claire can tell by the way her eyes glass over and her pupils dilate that something is wrong.

"Pull over! Pull over, Ryan!"

The blonde grabs the steering wheel and turns it in the unresponsive hands. They skid off the road and come to a sudden screeching stop as the soldier simply slams down her foot. The force of it throws them both forward against their seatbelts and Claire is winded and slightly dazed as she turns her head to look anxiously at Ryan. The lean woman's eyes are tightly closed and she's arched in her seat, her head thrown back. When a muffled growl escapes from between her clenched teeth Claire fumbles for the seatbelts and undoes Ryan's. She waits for her to get out of the vehicle, but the woman's body is stretched tautly and her muscles strain against her shirt as she tenses against the backrest of the seat. Gritting her own teeth the blonde leans over her to reach for the door handle, but as she pulls it to open the door Ryan's hand wraps around her wrist. The soldier's hand is shaking wildly and she stares down at it with seemingly uncomprehending eyes before she almost pushes it away from her and stumbles out of the SUV, falling to her knees on the ground. Claire considers getting out and running, she considers - briefly - the option of getting behind the wheel and driving off, she even considers hitting the soldier with something, but as she runs through the thoughts mechanically she already knows that at this moment she's in too deep to do any of those things. Instead she climbs over the handbrake and into the driver's seat, shooting the steering wheel a quick glance before she slips out of the vehicle and approaches the prone figure carefully.

"Ryan?"

At the sound of her name the soldier heaves a ragged sigh and struggles to her feet, almost collapsing again as she rises, and pushing herself off the ground with her hands obstinately. When she stands she is weaving slightly, her jaw tightly clenched as she walks away from the doctor, around the Trailblazer. Uncertainly Claire follows her, watching her faltering movements with alarm.

"Ryan?"

The soldier pauses, a few feet from the car, and Claire leans against the passenger door as she feels her legs trembling slightly. Turning around Ryan fixes her green eyes on the blonde woman, intense and fierce. When she moves forward the action is not nearly as certain as always, but she is still fast, and when her left hand shoots up and wraps around Claire's throat the doctor lets out a slight yelp and wraps both hands around Ryan's wrist.

"Ryan. Please. Don't."

The grip is ferocious and unrelenting. It is not that which scares Claire, however, but the blazing violence in the eyes that are fixed on her face unwaveringly. For a moment Ryan's mouth purses, a sneer appears on her lips, and then unexpectedly she tears her hand away, ripping it from Claire's hands roughly and pulling the doctor away from the car in the process.

"Move!" It's a roared command and Claire darts backwards, her hands now at her own throat protectively. She is not yet looking back when the sharp sound of imploding glass blasts behind her, and when she turns, dazed, it is to see Ryan laying into the passenger seat window with her right fist, breaking every last bit of glass before she moves onto her left hand and the backseat window. When both windows are completely shattered with not a shard remaining in the frame she moves on to the door, beating her fists against it until her movements begin to slow down. It looks garish - the gray of the SUV decorated with smears and spatters of blood. Finally she places both hands flat on the side of the Trailblazer and leans on it for a moment. Claire wants to place a hand on her back, but the angle of her shoulders is sharp and tense, and so the doctor stays back quietly.

With an almost inaudible sigh Ryan presses herself from the car and reaches inside to unlock the passenger door, opening it from the outside. Claire is not sure what she intends to do until she sees the soldier begin to scoop the broken glass off the passenger seat with her bloody hands. Rushing forward she lays a hand on Ryan's shoulder and pulls her back forcefully.

"Ryan, no. Stop."

The lean shoulder shrugs her hand off, but the motions still, and the woman turns around.

"What?" Her voice is thick.

"You're hurting yourself. Stop."

"You can't sit in the seat like this. Glass." She reaches forward again and Claire pulls her back again.

"Wait." Slipping off the jacket Claire wads it up into a ball and begins to brush the glass and blood off the leather seat, only stopping when it's moderately clean. "See? That's fine." When she glances down at the woman's hands the blood is pouring from them and dripping onto the ground freely. With a wince Claire remembers the first-aid kit and its lack of bandages. She is about to speak when Ryan addresses her gently.

"Did I hurt you, Claire?"

"No, you didn't, Ryan. I'm fine." The soldier lifts her hands to Claire's face and she flinches, realizing too late what Ryan will interpret the motion to be. When the woman drops her hands and looks away Claire steps closer and lays a hand carefully on her arm. "Ryan?"

"It's okay."

"Yes, it is, actually. I'm not scared, Ryan, it's just … look at your hands. I don't want to be covered with blood."

"Oh." Lifting her hands to her eyes Ryan studies them without comment. Claire almost chokes - at this level she can properly see the damage; the white of the bone showing through the flesh over the knuckles in several places, the deep cuts and the blood now running down Ryan's arms in streams.

"Oh god. Ryan…"

"Don't faint, Claire."

"No." Taking a deep breath she puts a hand on Ryan's waist and pushes her lightly towards the passenger seat. "Please, sit down." The seat is relatively clean and Ryan perches on the edge quietly. Taking the still bandaged wrists in her hands cautiously Claire examines the battered hands grimly; alarmed by the rate at which Ryan appears to be losing blood. "This is a bit of a mess, soldier. You still have glass in your hands, you've probably taken out anything I could use for that in the kit, and we used up all of the bandages yesterday. Any good ideas?"

"Check at the foot of the back seat. I took Victor's kit this morning."

Exhaling in relief Claire shakes her head at Ryan. "Sheer luck is on your side."

"I think what you mean is I'm gifted."

With a raised eyebrow Claire opens the back door, careful not to cut herself on the glass, and pulls out the bigger first-aid kit, shaking it to dispense of the small pieces of glass resting on it before she zips it open. A pair of clumsy tweezers lies at the bottom and she discards the kit on the floor at the passenger's side, reaching for the full bottle of mineral water lying in the alcove between the seats. Twisting off the cap she takes Ryan's left wrist and pulls it closer, pouring water over it to clear away some of the blood, and wishing that she hadn't done it when she can see most of the damage. It is a messy situation, trying to pry the small shards from the lacerated flesh while the blood keeps welling up and obscuring her vision. When she is more or less finished with the left hand she takes out a small yellow bottle of anti-septic liquid and looks up at Ryan.

"This is definitely going to hurt."

"I know."

The soldier closes her eyes and Claire begins to pour the liquid over the hand. When she looks up again Ryan is motionless, but her face is drained of blood. Taking out some gauze Claire packs it onto the wounds as well as she can, and then wraps it tightly with bandage.

"This isn't going to work for very long. You need stitches here, Ryan."

The woman doesn't answer, but when she glances up Ryan meets her gaze and nods mutely. Biting her lip Claire begins to clean up the right hand, tears involuntarily dropping from her eyes as she surveys the injuries. She wipes them away angrily, but not before one or two fall onto Ryan's hand. She is still hoping that the soldier won't notice, what with the warm blood coating her skin, when Ryan speaks.

"Are you crying, Claire?"

"A bit." She busies herself cleaning the bloody hand.

"A bit like my 'bit of a headache'?"

"No, a real bit. Though that would have served you right." Claire sniffles and almost smiles when she hears the soft guffaw. "So. Are you feeling a bit sore right now?"

"No." The blonde is about to object when Ryan continues. "I hurt like shit."

Smiling to herself at the comment Claire looks up. "You're saying it hurts? Good."

"Sadist?"

"No, I didn't mean… oh, you know exactly what I meant. Stop being a nuisance." She lifts the anti-septic. "I'm sorry - it's that time."

With a slight nod Ryan closes her eyes again and Claire begins to pour the liquid over the open bleeding wounds. She looks up as she does so and catches Ryan unaware for a moment - the soldier has tilted her head back against the headrest and her pale face is furrowed and sad. Biting her lip Claire shifts her eyes back to the hand and finishes cleaning and wrapping it up. When she straightens up it is noticeable to her that Ryan has not shifted her head or opened her eyes yet.

"Ryan?"

"Hmm?" The soldier opens her green eyes languidly. "Are we ready to go?" Lifting her head from the rest she sits up, and it doesn't escape Claire's notice that she suddenly blinks a little faster.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be driving."

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to be walking, either." The lean woman lifts a heavily bandaged hand to her face and wipes at her eyes vaguely, then shifts her hand away to wriggle her fairly unresponsive fingers. When her green eyes meet Claire's over the limb she is serious. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"

"No. You've never hurt me."

"I have. I hurt your arm at the gas station in Choteau."

"It's a bruise. It goes away." Claire shrugs. "And besides, if you take my hand instead of my arm it won't happen again."

"I wanted to get to know you first, not just kidnap you and start holding hands. I'm not that kind of girl." There is a slight grin on Ryan's tired face, one with a wicked undertone that looks like it belongs with her.

"Oh. So what kind of a girl are you, exactly?" There is an indefinable challenge in Claire's tone. Glancing up at her Ryan pauses for a moment and the grin disappears before she replies.

"You should know. I've told you everything about me."

"No, you haven't."

"Come on, Walsch." Ryan leans her head back tiredly. "You've had me talking since we've gotten into the SUV."

"You've given me all of the facts, that's for sure." Leaning against the vehicle Claire crosses her arms. "It's what you're good at. I can tell. You mention all of the essentials and leave out the personal stuff, and nobody notices because you're telling them exactly what they want to hear."

"I answered the questions you asked me." Shaking her head Ryan moves to get out of the passenger seat. "In any case, we need to get going." She frowns in surprise when the blonde pushes her back strongly.

"No. I was serious. You can't drive like this, Ryan. You're tired, you're losing blood, and god knows what's hammering in that head of yours." She inclines her head and rolls her eyes at the unintentional pun. "Sorry. You know what I mean."

"I was serious too, Walsch. I'm certainly not going to get very far walking right now."

"I'm going to drive."

Raising her eyebrows Ryan sits up. "Excuse me?"

"I can drive. I can. I just need to … work on it." She walks around the SUV and gets into the drivers' seat, noticing that Ryan slips off the child-lock before closing her door. The soldier is looking at her with her green eyes soft for the first time.

"I don't want you to do this, Claire. If I just rest a little I'll be fine."

"I need to do this some time, right?" Though she tries very hard to keep her tone humorous her voice trembles. Grasping the steering wheel tightly she grits her teeth. Fingers lightly cover hers and rub gently.

"Ease up on the grip, Chuck Norris. You're going to break something."

"Okay. Okay." She wills her hands to reduce the pressure.

"Turn the key."

When she does she begins to cry, at first soft sobs and then louder, until tears are streaming down her face and her chest is heaving. She can feel Ryan's fingers in her hair, caressing her head lightly, and as she gasps for air she glances over through her tears to see the green eyes fixed on her quietly. Leaning forward she hides her face against her arms on the steering wheel and cries like she hasn't in a long time. When, finally, her tears diminish and a strange sort of tired calmness seeps into her, she feels the warm hand resting soothingly on her back. Wiping her face with both hands she sits upright and gives an awkward little laugh.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" The soldier offers her heavily bandaged hand. "Want to blow your nose?"

With a snorted laugh Claire raises her eyebrows. "No. But thanks for being so thoughtful." When she realizes that the vehicle's engine is still running she looks over at Ryan briefly to find inscrutable green eyes fixed on the horizon.

"So, are we going to do this?"

"Yes. Yes, we are." With a careful glance over her shoulder and trembling hands Claire steers the car back onto the road, gratified when she feels a hand lightly pat her leg in congratulations before the soldier cradles it cautiously in her lap. When Claire sneaks a look at Ryan the soldier has her eyes closed, her face colorless and exhausted. Frowning, the blonde reaches out with her right hand and touches the other woman's knee softly.

"Ryan?"

"Hmm?"

"I know I said that you needed to sleep, but I'm a little worried about you, so I don't think it'd be the best idea right now. Okay?"

"All right." Ryan curls her fingers a little against the bandage as she stares at her hands.

"Maybe we can talk a bit?"

The soldier chuckles dryly. "It's an excuse. I know it is."

"Maybe. I'm sneaky that way." Claire glances sideways with a smile. "I promise I won't play rough this time."

"Pity, I kind of like that." There's a ghost of a grin around her lips. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that."

"Somehow I think you do." Grinning at the surprised expression she shrugs. "I tell you what. You can talk about anything. I'll listen." When the soldier begins to protest she interrupts. "I need the distraction, Ryan. Okay?"

Noting the tight grip Ryan nods. "Okay. Anything?"

Claire nods. "Anything."

Turning her head Ryan stares out of the window, her eyes far away. "You said that I hide behind facts, that I tell people the basic truth and don't let them in any further. You're the same, Claire. Except you hide behind other people's truth and pain so that you don't have to face your own. You like to listen to others because that means you don't have to say anything, and even when you do, it's not about you. You've worked so hard to keep people at arms' length, to not let anybody close enough to hurt you, that you're not used to being looked at. Or looked after. You're in such need of concern that you fall apart at the first sign of it, even if it comes from somebody you should be running away from."

She glances back to see tears trailing down the blonde's cheeks. Lifting a hand she lightly wipes them with the back of her index finger. "Claire? Am I wrong?"

"No. Of course you're not." The blonde turns teary blue eyes on her. "You seem to know exactly what's going on inside me. I find it a little disconcerting. What's inside isn't always pretty."

"What a pair we make." Ryan smiles slightly. "Desperately in need of interior decorating."

With a chuckle Claire shakes her head. "Yeah. Next topic. And Ryan?" She looks at the soldier with a touch of sadness in her eyes. "Don't talk about me this time, okay? Something else."

"All right." Ryan nods and turns her head to look out of the window again. "Something else." Her voice is soft. "I can't take this thing anymore, Claire. One more time and it's going to kill me."

They don't speak much after Ryan's surprisingly frank statement. Claire makes sure that the soldier doesn't fall asleep, glancing over now and then to see the woman's head turned away as she looks out of the window at the passing landscape. The doctor has her panic down to a mild discomfort, and to distract herself she ponders about why she will not let Ryan go to sleep. After all, should the woman fall asleep and stay that way, she could drive into the nearest town and simply go right to the police station. She also ponders the things Ryan said about her. The SEAL doesn't pull her punches, she thinks wryly, but she has a clear insight which, if Claire thinks about it too long, becomes a little daunting. Idly she changes her direction of thought, wondering why, if they are being watched as Ryan says, nobody is pursuing them. Or finding them.

In Neihart she pulls off into the parking lot of a small shopping center with a pharmacy and 'mom and pop' grocery store. Reaching back she takes the wallet out of the black bag, ignoring the cold feel of metal as she extracts her hand.

"I'll be right back."

"Claire." She turns to face the soldier. "Please leave the keys. If you walk away I need to drive."

"I'm not going anywhere." The blonde tosses the keys on the driver's seat. "Here. I'll be right back."

Inside the grocery store she stands for a moment and considers seriously whether she should phone the police. She is berating herself so much that the rotund guy in the stripy apron stacking cereal approaches her politely.

"Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, fine, thank you. I'm looking for … " she casts around for an item, blank for the moment, "soda."

"That would be in the fridge at the back." Shooting an odd look at the stationery shelf where she is standing, and then at her, he turns and goes back to stacking boxes. Emitting a nervous little chuckle she gets the soda, and one or two other things, and then exits. She can feel the green eyes fixed on her as she goes into the pharmacy, and when she comes out Ryan's eyes are closed. Getting into the SUV she puts the bag with the groceries in it on the floor at Ryan's feet, and then she scrabbles in the pharmacy-branded brown paper bag for a moment.

"Let me see your hands, Ryan."

The soldier holds them out to her without protest and she begins to unwrap the bandages, wincing as she realizes that they are soaked with blood almost to the outer layer already. Taking out a small pack of anti-bacterial wipes she tries to clean them off as well as possible, disheartened by the speed with which the blood seeps out. Then, as gently as she can, she tries to pull the edges of the larger gashes together and close them with small butterfly plasters. It takes a while, and it doesn't seem to help much, but she feels as if at least she's tried. Covering the battered hands with new gauze pads she wraps them tightly and tucks the edges in at the wrist.

"Don't move them too much, okay? I don't think the plasters will hold."

"All right. Thanks." Ryan is thanking her for more than the poor first-aid, and she smiles as she starts the SUV.

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"White Sulphur Springs."

------

On the way Claire puts on the radio and chats to Ryan about everything and nothing, trying to keep her awake and alert even though the soldier assures her more than once that she is fine. Though she is doing most of the talking, she does garner some interesting facts from the woman's short replies, like that Ryan plays classical guitar and that she used to present martial arts and self-defense classes at the local gym. Her own conversation is light and touches on her family and upbringing, and though the soldier seems inattentive and vague she is sure that Ryan is hearing every word and paying close attention.

As they drive into White Sulphur Springs Ryan sits forward and pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket, unfolding it to read a section with a concentrated frown. At the first telephone booth she asks Claire to pull over and gets out, not even bothering to lock the door. The doctor watches her as she struggles to get a coin from her pocket with her damaged hands and slips it into the slot, speaking for barely a minute before she hangs up and gets back into the car. She gives Claire directions and they pass through the CBD, turning into a street opposite a meadow. There is a large white structure on their left and Ryan instructs Claire to pull into the parking lot, opening her door as the SUV stops and reaching into the bag momentarily.

"We're going in here."

"All right." Claire gets out and locks the door, then joins Ryan as they approach the building. A sign on the gabled roof says "The White House Center", and it appears to be a long strip of medical specialist rooms. Ryan passes the first and the second, and then walks into the third door. Casting a glance at the bronze plate (A. Chavez / P. D. Wentworth) she enters. Ryan is standing at a small reception area in the empty basic waiting room, speaking to the receptionist quietly. When Claire approaches she hears the last part of the blonde overly made-up woman behind the desk.

"… afraid we do have a policy with regards to walk-ins, you know."

"I understand that." Ryan's voice is calm and Claire can't figure out how the woman can be looking straight at the soldier's ashen face and not ease up. "But I do have to see doctor Chavez immediately. It's an emergency."

"I appreciate that, but I can't just… "

Interrupting smoothly and forcefully Claire steps forward. "Excuse me, and you are?"

Flustered, the receptionist blinks furiously. "Miss Rhoda van…"

"All right, Rhoda. We are accordingly aware of your policy… " and as she speaks she reaches for Ryan's left hand and begins to unwind it, "but the fact is that we do have a medical emergency... " when she has the lacerated hand unwrapped she casually drops the bloody bandage on Rhoda's table, ignoring the woman's sudden shift backwards, and pulls Ryan closer. Without needing prompting the soldier carelessly drapes her gruesome limb over the edge of the desk, "… and we would really appreciate your assistance on this."

With her eyes fixed on the ugly gaping cuts over the knuckles Rhoda gets up so fast that her chair skids backwards. Trying to maintain some sort of dignity she pulls down the front of her jacket gravely before she nods. "All right. I'll tell doctor Chavez you're here." When she appears around a corner on the right to an unseen door Ryan turns her head and studies Claire with a small grin.

"You're wicked, doctor Walsch. That was first-rate."

Claire smiles and shrugs cockily. "I'm used to snotty admin staff. What now?"

"Now we wait."

8.

It is five minutes before Rhoda reappears, and to Ryan's skilled observation it seems as though her lipstick is a slightly different shade. Sitting down at the desk she fluffs her hair before she sticks a pencil under the gory bandage and discards it in her bin pointedly.

"Doctor Chavez will see you now."

"Thank you." Getting up they step around the corner and approach the open door. When Ryan walks in and the large swarthy man behind the desk sees her face he rises quickly, his eyes wide, but before he can say anything Ryan catapults over the desk and smashes her fist right into his face. His head snaps backwards, forcing him back onto his chair, and even as he raises his hands to his face to cradle it his black eyes are wily above them. Ryan checks to see that the door is closed before she sits down in the seat next to Claire, her tone conversational.

"Hello, doctor. I didn't recognize the name, but I do recognize the face. Were you expecting me?"

"No." He carefully prods his jaw, rolling it around slowly before he lowers his hands. Before they can touch his desk Ryan's right hand is up, Victor's pistol pointed at his face.

"Don't."

"I wasn't going to do anything." He sneers at her. "I would be stupid to hide a gun in here."

"I couldn't presume to guess at the level of your stupidity, but just in case … " she gets up to stand behind him, "open the drawers. Let's check together."

He pulls open each drawer and she runs a quick hand through them, assuring herself of the contents before she slips back into her seat.

"So. Chavez. Let's have a quick talk."

"You really can't make me." He tilts his chin up arrogantly. "What, are you going to shoot me? That'll help."

"I can do worse things than that." Smiling unpleasantly Ryan cocks her head at him. "But I forget. You know about that."

"What?" With narrowed eyes he sits forward and stares at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what experience I have with getting information out of people, Chavez. I heard you making comments on that once or twice. A subject you seem to like."

"Impossible. You were always unconscious when I came in."

"Sometimes." Her smile is ferocious. "If I were you I'd rethink the dosages on somebody like me. But let's not split hairs. You know I'll do whatever I have to, to get what I want. Make it easy on yourself."

The man's deep-set black eyes are vicious as he looks at her. "I hope they kill you slowly when they find you."

"I'll be sure to write and let you know." She glances around the room. "Get your suturing equipment. You may as well be useful while you talk."

"What a set of balls you have, letting me near you with a sharp object right after you threaten to torture me." He doesn't move from his seat. Getting up Ryan walks around the table and sits down on the edge of it.

"Are you left- or right-handed, doctor?"

"Right. What's the… " He jerks back as she suddenly reaches forward and grasps his left hand with hers. "No, don't, wait… "

"Oh. You still want it?" Dropping it in his lap she gets up. "Get your kit, Chavez. I'm waiting."

He shuffles around like an overgrown sulky child, his lower lip pouting slightly as he gathers what he needs. Taking Claire by the arm firmly Ryan moves her from her chair.

"Sit here."

When the swarthy doctor sits down Ryan pulls the other chair closer to him and grasps the pistol in her left hand, pointing it straight at his face. With a resentful glare he begins to unwrap the bandage around her right hand, taking off the plasters and grinning slightly as he spies the extent of the damage. When he reaches for the syringe she shakes her head.

"No. I have no idea what you've put in that. Leave it."

"It's local anesthetic, but suit yourself. I'll enjoy this."

Claire sits in his chair as he works, and she can see from his vigorous motions and Ryan's unflinching face that he is as rough as he can possibly be. While he is cleaning up the gashes she prods his forehead with the barrel of the gun.

"Tell me about DEX."

"I don't appreciate that gun in my face."

"I don't appreciate your face in my gun. Tell me about DEX."

He picks up the curved needle. "Who told you about that?"

Losing her temper she snatches the needle from his hand and drives it into his thigh. "I don't want to play games with you, asshole. No questions. You just answer what I ask." Smacking away his hand as he tries to reach for the protruding object she glares into his dark eyes. "Okay?"

"Okay! Okay!" He bares his teeth, his eyes filling with tears from the pain. "I get it."

"Good. Now get another one of these. I don't want your blood near me." She waits until he is back with a clean needle. "DEX."

When he drives the hook into her flesh he looks up, expecting to see a flinch, but her face is expressionless. With a sneer he begins to suture the first wound. "DEX05, actually. No idea what it stands for, something electronic and boring." He scrapes the needle against the open bone on her knuckle. "Sorry. I don't know the whys or whens, all I know is what I was supposed to go in and do ..."

"Start by telling me what DEX is."

"In layman's terms, a miniature electronic transmitter and receiver, meant to send electronic signals interpretable by a neural system."

If Ryan is startled by his answer she doesn't show it, but Claire frowns and sits forward on her seat, her blue eyes confused. The soldier clenches her jaw as the doctor roughly finished the first wound and starts on the second, jabbing the needle into her bone almost immediately. When she speaks her voice is level.

"What were you doing at Fairwater?"

"I came in to test your neural responses periodically. We weren't sure where the problem was ..."

"What problem?"

He looks up, his eyes sadistic. "You, mainly. I told them it'd be faster to just eliminate you altogether, but no."

"Let's keep the personal comments to a minimum - your opinion is irrelevant."

"Whatever. There seemed to be a problem with the signal, or your reception of it. Scrambled messages and violent behavior under unacceptable circumstances, and some of the functions seemed to be interfering with your nervous system. Those kinds of things."

"Who was in charge of this?"

"The project?" He gives her a cocky glance. "Yeah, that's what you are- a project. The main guy was General George Turner."

He jabs the needle into her hand too deep and this time she smacks his jaw with the barrel of the gun. "Don't keep doing that."

"Sorry." Jerking his head away he continues his work. When Ryan looks at Claire the blonde doctor is sitting on the edge of the seat, her eyes puzzled as she leans over the table. Shrugging slightly Ryan prods him again.

"Was this an US army project?"

"No. Separate faction." He begins on the third gash. "Not sure how much the army had to do with it."

"What was the function of the DEX?"

"I told you that already."

"Practical application."

"In your case, receiving commands in the field, tactical advice, tracking, that kind of thing."

"Tracking?" For the first time her voice is louder than usual. Chavez looks up.

"Yeah. Tracking. Following your movements. Tracing your location. That's the part that seems to be screwing with your nervous system."

"Where is this thing now?"

"What thing?" He finishes suturing the last big gash and clips off the thread. "DEX? You want to know where DEX is now?" She sits back as he begins to laugh rudely. "That's rich! You… "

Suddenly Ryan shifts closer to him, right up against him, and though Claire can't see her hands between the two of them she can see Chavez's face as his laughter cuts off mid-stream and his dark eyes widen and begin to bug out. Ryan's face is so close to his that he can see the dark rings around her bright irises before she leans in and hisses in his ear.

"It took them an electronic current and many very long needles to even come close to breaking my spirit. It took me one little needle to break your silence, and it will take me one twist of the wrist to break the rest of you. Do you want to do this like civilized people, or would you like some practical experience for your next conversation?"

He nods quickly and anxiously, and Ryan shifts against him once more, her motion eliciting a slight moan from him before she sits back and lifts her left hand, the pistol now securely in the other.

"I got blood on your shirt. Sorry. You were telling me about DEX."

Morosely he takes the needle and begins to sew up the gashes in her left hand. "DEX. It's in your head."

"What?" She jerks upright and he stabs the needle deep into the muscle by accident, but she doesn't seem to notice. Pulling it out, he takes a deep breath and begins again.

"It's a miniature electronic disk planted in your head. Behind your ear on the right side."

She lifts her hand slowly as if to touch her head, then, realizing that she still has the gun clasped in it, she lowers it slowly again. "Who put it there? When?"

"Turner, at that Somalia affair."

"Who sends the commands?"

"I don't know that." Chaves starts on the second laceration. "When we were there working on you Turner was in control of that, too."

"How do they come through?"

He grins at her. "You know that, Ryan. A signal that goes directly to your inner ear. Or as you would call it, the voice of God."

Her hand is clenching around the hilt of the gun. "How deep is this thing?"

"About half an inch, maybe a little less."

When Ryan turns her head to look at Claire the anguish in the green eyes is devastating. She gets up and approaches the soldier, her face concerned, but Ryan shakes her head. "Please go and make sure that Rhoda's still as blank as usual." As the blonde walks out Ryan catches the black glance Chavez shoots her. "Hey. I call it like I see it. I would have said something worse if there hadn't been a lady in the room."

"A lady, huh?" He begins the next suturing with a vicious jab to her hand.

"Yeah. You probably don't know what they look like. As far as I can see you prefer the smutty kind."

"Last I heard you did, too." He smirks. "Quite the legend."

Claire, coming in on the last exchange, raises her eyebrows and leans against the table behind Ryan. The soldier doesn't appear to notice her.

"Can you take it out?"

"I'm assuming you mean DEX." He finishes the last of the sutures and takes a critical look at her hand. "That should do. Just don't move them too much - you'll tear it. Or actually, do. It'll hurt and I'll like the thought of that. Yeah, I could probably take it out, but it would be better if that were done in … "

"Fine. Let's do it." She waves him out of the seat with the gun. "Give me something to wrap my hands with, and then you get together what you need."

He tosses a roll of sterile bandage on the table and Claire picks them up, approaching Ryan. "Sit down." Her voice is soft. When the soldier complies she begins to unroll the white bandage expertly around her hands, tying them off tightly and maneuvering the large hands gently to make sure that they're bandaged tightly enough. "That should be fine. Be careful with them, please."

"Thanks." Ryan flexes them in turn before she leans closer and speaks, her breath warm against Claire's cheek. "Do you know how to shoot?"

"I do." At the woman's piercing stare she nods firmly. "I really do. I took some lessons… "

The rest of the sentence is unsaid but Ryan understands her. Nodding, the soldier holds out the gun handle first. When Claire grasps it uncertainly she wraps her hands around the blonde's grip, her eyes intense. "If he's going to be cutting into my head I can't keep an eye on him. I'm giving you the gun, Claire, and I want you to keep him in line until he's taken that thing out of my head. Please." Her hoarse voice is beseeching. "If you want to shoot me afterwards, then go ahead, but just let him get that thing out first. Please."

"All right." When Claire nods Ryan gets up and watches the doctor with her vivid eyes until he pulls his instrument tray closer and indicates the bed. Sitting down on it she wraps her hand in his shirt and pulls him closer.

"I've told her to shoot you if you do anything you shouldn't. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"And no injections." Unwrapping her hand from his shirt she rolls over onto her stomach. "Get going."

Claire moves so that his body isn't blocking her view, but grimaces as she begins to comprehend what he will be doing. He wipes the area just under her right ear thoroughly before he grasps the scalpel. "Don't jerk." When he begins to cut into her she is motionless. Behind him Claire closes her eyes for a moment against the sight of the blood welling up, and then moves again so that his body is once again blocking her view. When he glances backwards at her she lifts the barrel and cocks her head. With a grin he continues, speaking to her as he does so.

"You're probably less of a lady than she thinks."

"Get it over with. I don't want to chat."

"You know, of course," and he glances at her again, "that if you keep the gun on me without incentive you're an accessory to the crime?"

"You're an ass. That's what I call incentive."

"He's right." The sound of Ryan's voice startles them both. "Walsch, if you don't shoot him when he misbehaves I'll do very bad things to you. Understood?"

"Perfectly. You heard her. Finish."

Chavez snorts roughly. "If you talk while I'm cutting I'm going to hit things I shouldn't." Taking a pair of flat-nosed silver tweezers he presses them into the deep incisions he's made. "Lie still." To her credit she does, her body unmoving as he shifts the instrument around, searching. Pulling out the foreign object he drops it in the metal kidney bowl and begins to clean up the copiously bleeding head wound. There is silence in the room as he puts stitches in the flesh and dabs it with a brown liquid before he sticks on a square plaster.

"There. Done."

She lies motionlessly face down on the bed. Turning around he looks at Claire, his mouth in a half-grin.

"You're not going to shoot me. She's not your friend."

"Neither are you. Shut up." She lifts the gun higher, her eyes sharp above it.

"Come on. She's a ruthless person. You understand that."

Behind him she can see Ryan lifting herself into a sitting position, her eyes closed as she takes a few deep breaths.

"Get back. I warn you."

"Just give me the gun and we'll call the police. It'll be better for her, too."

When she suddenly moves to the side he turns with her, surprised, and then goes sprawling as Ryan places her foot in the small of his back and kicks him forward onto the floor. Standing over him she raises her eyebrows.

"Thanks for the help, Chavez. Do you run a cash practice?"

He nods and she prods at his side with her foot, motioning him towards his desk. Sitting down in the seat opposite from him she motions Claire into the chair next to her and takes the gun, lowering it until it's pointing at him under the lip of the table.

"You know what I've got in my sights now, Chavez, and that's one thing you won't want to part with, right? Tell Rhonda to bring you the money."

"But… " The sound of a gun cocking is always good motivation. Lifting the intercom phone he speaks into it sullenly, and when Rhonda comes in and discreetly slips an envelope into his hand he doesn't return her bright smile. After she leaves he slides the envelope over. "Take it. Just take it and go. I don't want to see you again."

"Aw, thanks, Tony." She slips the envelope into her pocket and rises, pulling Claire up with her. "See us to the door?" With a scowl he gets up and as he walks around the table Ryan's foot meets his jaw in a roundhouse kick which snaps his head back. With a little roll of his eyes he collapses in a heap, unconscious. Shoving the gun back into her waistband under her shirt Ryan pulls at Claire's sleeve. "Come on." She stops to pick up the bloody little chip lying in the kidney dish and stuff it in her pocket before they exit. When they pass the reception desk where Rhonda is filing her nails, Claire stops.

"Rhonda, doctor Chavez said he's on the phone. To his wife, I think, but he said he doesn't want to be disturbed for about ten minutes?" As the receptionist's face clouds over and she begins to type peevishly they walk out towards the car.

"That was mean. I loved it." Ryan waits at the passenger door, and with an amused little smile Claire unlocks the driver's door and gets in, starting the car before she shifts sideways to look at Ryan.

"Where to now?"

"I want to see Turner."

"Not like this, Ryan." Claire shakes her head resolutely. "You're in no condition to do anything, never mind face Doctor Frankenstein. I'm going to find a hotel or something, okay?"

"Okay." Ryan leans her head back gingerly as Claire drives back into town, stopping to ask for directions once before they find the White Springs Hotel in a small side street. It is not exactly the Ritz, but the lobby is clean and there are few people about. Taking the black bag out of the back seat Claire slings it over her shoulder and gets out, watching the soldier carefully as she moves. In the lobby they approach the check-in desk and the pillbox-hatted man standing behind it, looking slightly bored.

"Welcome to the White Springs. How may I help you?"

"I'd like an en-suite room for the night, please."

"Fine." He clicks on his keyboard. "Preference for floor, beds?"

Claire is watching Ryan pulling the envelope out of her pocket, her hand slightly unsteady, and misses his question. "Whatever." Taking the cash she notes his eyes straying to the bandage around Ryan's hand and the plaster on the back of her head. Leaning forward she presents him with her best smile and a good view of her cleavage. "She still hasn't given my bra back, you know."

Choking slightly he lifts the key and squeaks out the room number before he turns around and disappears quite effectively. Hearing a muffled chuckle behind her, Claire shrugs nonchalantly. They are on the third floor, and when she opens the door they are greeted by the sight of a basic but clean room, with a large double bed in the middle of it. Closing the door behind them she puts the bag on the chair and presses Ryan down onto the bed, kneeling to untie her shoes. The soldier watches her in silence. When Claire is finished she motions for Ryan to stand up and, to the woman's bemusement, undoes her pants.

"Claire, I'm flattered, but I'm a bit tired… "

"Oh hush, will you." Pulling the pants down she has Ryan step out of them before she folds them up and places them neatly on the chair. "Get into bed."

The soldier does so without comment. Her face is as white as the pillow case it is resting on. Going into the bathroom Claire gets a glass of water and shakes four aspirin from the bottle in the bag, passing them to the reclining woman. "Here."

"Thanks." Ryan swallows them and puts the half-full glass on the bedside table, her eyes closing for a moment against her will. When she pries them open Claire shakes her head.

"Close your eyes. Relax. Nothing's going to happen. Go to sleep." Unconsciously she repeats the soldier's earlier words to her.

Ryan closes her eyes. "Claire? In case you're gone when I wake up, I just want to say now that I'm sorry. And thank you."

"Shush." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Claire smiles down at her. "Go to sleep. I'll see you later."

When the green eyes close she waits until the woman's breath evens out. Leaning forward she places a hand lightly on Ryan's forehead and finds it still too warm. With a sigh she stares down at the angular face, the semi-circle of dark lashes resting on the hollow cheeks, the straight nose with the slight bump halfway down (broken at some stage?) and the lips which, even in sleep, look solemn and serious. She does not understand herself. She does not understand the compulsion to stay right here when she should be running as fast and far away as she can.

------ Ryan opens her eyes, rolling over and groaning slightly at the pain the motion awakes in her head. It is dark in the room, the curtains closed, and the only source of light is her bedside lamp. When her eyes fall on it inadvertently the brightness shoots daggers into her skull. Reaching up towards her forehead with her hand she frowns at the bandages and the low-grade burning sensation which courses through the limbs persistently.

"Damn."

Cursing the uninvited aches and pains she shifts the blanket off her and sits upright, immediately shifting back to a horizontal position when her head begins to pound to an unbearable degree. Swallowing down the rising bile she peers around her. Apart from her, the room is empty.

What did you expect? She was here against her will.

The thoughts come unbidden and Ryan actually smiles. For a long time she has tried to avoid such internal dialogue, however impossible. And now, here it is, and she knows it's her own thoughts and nothing else. The content is not that great, but the concept is spectacular.

Ryan lies quietly for another few minutes before she moves again. This time the pain is not as bad, and she swings her feet off the bed and sits for a while before she gets up. Her limbs are alarmingly shaky, but she braces herself and walks the short distance to the bathroom. She wants to take a shower, but with her hands wrapped and the dressing on her head she is not sure whether she will manage. Instead she uses the toilet and returns to sit on the bed, reaching for her pants. She is bending down, her head pounding, to slip her feet into the pant legs, when the door opens. Alarmed she shoots up and almost falls down with the sudden change of blood flow.

Claire Walsch is standing in the door, her expression concerned.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Promptly Ryan sits down again, abandoning the pants as she props her forearms on her knees and leans forward, closing her eyes.

"I thought you'd gone."

"I told you I wouldn't. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Looking up Ryan catches her raised eyebrows and amends. "I feel like a tank drove over me. And then reversed to shoot me. But otherwise, perfect." She turns her head to look at the bags in Claire's hands. "What have you got there?"

"I hope you don't mind. I got you a shirt and a pair of jeans, and the same for me. And some socks. Oh, and… " she smiles a little, "I replaced my bra." Tossing the bags on the bed she takes out the items and shows them to Ryan. The denim is plain and seems to be her size, the shirt is a green v-neck with a white dragon design over the arm, and lastly Claire takes out a green baseball cap. "Since you lost the other one. I hope they're all the right size."

"They look fine. Thank you." Ryan eyes the jeans and light-blue collared golf shirt Claire has bought for herself. "Nice shirt. The color will look great on you." Lifting an eyebrow she purses her lips. "Where's the bra?"

To her satisfaction a faint blush appears on Claire's cheeks. "I'm wearing it. It was an emergency."

"I paid for it and I don't get to see it. Unreasonable."

"You didn't pay for it." Claire is smug, and quietly amused by the soldier's unusual playfulness. "Anthony Chavez paid for it. Would you like for me to go and show him?"

"No. I really wouldn't."

"I thought as much. Here's something I think you might like." She holds out a toothbrush and toothpaste, which Ryan grasps gratefully.

"Thanks, that's a great idea." The soldier considers getting up, surprised when she feels a hand wrap under her arm and pull her up. Shooting the blonde a grateful nod she moves into the bathroom and brushes her teeth, savoring the experience. While she is busy Claire steps around her and opens the bathtub's hot tap, waiting for her to finish and go back to bed before she too brushes her teeth. Then she retrieves her clean clothes.

"I'm going to take a quick bath if you don't mind. There's some coffee and a bagel in that bag on the floor for you, if you're interested."

"Okay. Thanks." While the doctor splashes around next-door Ryan holds the cup carefully in her stiffened and slightly swollen hands and savors the strong taste, ignoring the bagel in spite of the hunger pangs its scent wakes. When the coffee is finished she discards the cup and attempts a few slow stretches, impatient with the stiffness of her body and the pounding in her head that impairs her steadiness. She is standing perfectly still, her eyes closed, when Claire emerges from the bathroom along with a cloud of steam and a whiff of fresh clean aroma. In the process of toweling her hair she stops.

"Ryan?"

"I'm fine." Straightening up Ryan sits down on the bed. Claire bends over forward and towels her hair vigorously, and in that moment the soldier cannot help but notice the movements of her curvy body. Berating herself mentally she looks away as the blonde straightens up and flips her shoulder-length hair back, combing through it with her fingers.

"I've run you a bath as well."

"Oh." Ryan looks down at her hands. "I'm not sure how I'm going to manage that, Claire. I think I'd probably better skip it."

Claire's eyes follow hers to her bandaged hands and she bites her bottom lip. "Mm. Would you let me help you?"

Ryan frowns. "I'm not an invalid."

"Don't start that again." The tone is so terse than the soldier looks up in astonishment. "I'm offering my help. It doesn't diminish you in any way to accept it."

There is silence for a moment and then Ryan nods. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm just not that used to needing help." Getting up she walks into the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bath, looking up at Claire. "Can you help me take off my shirt, please?"

"Sure." The soldier lifts her arms and Claire reaches down, pulling the black shirt over her head carefully.

Glancing down at her panties Ryan arches an eyebrow. "I believe I can handle those." She gets up and hooks her thumbs into the sides, managing to pull them down as Claire tactfully turns around, but when she wants to get into the bath she realizes that she can't support herself on the edge with her hands, and her balance is less than ideal.

"Claire?"

"Yeah?" The blonde replies with her back still turned.

"Can you lend me a hand here?" Claire wraps a hand around her arm and helps her into the bath with the other hand lightly on her side. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Reaching for the soap Claire begins to lather up a sponge. "I'm sorry; it's going to have to be a sponge bath for you today. I don't think you're going to have much luck holding anything yourself."

"With a sponge bath, who needs luck?" She drops her head forward as Claire begins to wash her shoulders and back.

The blonde uses long strokes to cover the tapering back, studying the prominent muscles and bones beneath it as she passes over them. The woman's build is athletic, her physique probably inclined to leanness even without the recent lack of food. The shoulders are square and strong, and her arms well-defined. When she passes the sponge forward over Ryan's chest she falters for a moment.

"Do you want to… ?"

"No. Go ahead."

She sits back slightly to allow Claire easier access, draping her hands over the sides of the tub as the blonde awkwardly lathers soap over her breasts and then washes it off, moving with some relief to her stomach.

"Time to get up?"

"Yeah." Claire lends a hand to get her to her feet, blushing slightly as she runs the sponge over Ryan's buttocks and her trim muscled thighs. It is as she is lathering Ryan's hip that the woman takes the sponge out of her hands clumsily.

"I should probably take it from here."

"Yeah. Probably. I'm going to drink my coffee. Call me when you need me."

After she has finished Ryan lies in the bath for a while, relaxing. Though she will say nothing to spare the blonde further discomfort, she has actually enjoyed the attention a little too much. Writing it off to the fact that she hasn't been touched kindly in many years, she gets out of the bath on her own steam. The towel, however, proves tricky. When she calls Claire's name the blonde head pops in almost immediately.

"I hate to ask, but… "

Claire looks at the towel grasped awkwardly in one hand and takes it from her. "Of course." She dries the soldier's body efficiently. When Ryan's nipples stiffen involuntarily under her hands she feels herself blush hotly as she summarily moves to dry her shoulders and back. The fading bruise is still blooming at the base of Ryan's spine, and Claire trails a finger over it softly before she can stop herself.

"How did this happen?"

Ryan arches a little, away from the touch. "One of the orderlies kicked me."

"What?" Claire is outraged. "That's unacceptable!"

"To be fair," Ryan says idly, "I did whack him in the head."

"Why?"

"He was being rude. I hate that." She shivers and steps into the room. "It's a little chilly, isn't it? Can you help me with…?" Indicating her clothes.

To her surprise Claire shakes her head. "No. I think you need to get back into bed for a while."

"What's the time?"

"It's just after seven pm."

"I slept too long." She runs a hand over her head. "They'll be coming for me, you realize that." Her gaze is direct and Claire returns it.

"I realize that. But if they come for you in this state there's nothing you'll be able to do anyway, Ryan. Get a little more sleep. Tomorrow you can go on as usual."

"Things stopped being as usual for me a very long time ago." With wry eyes Ryan moves to the bed and climbs under the covers. Peeking in the bag Claire takes out the bagel and holds it up, her eyes reproachful.

"You should be eating. All the rest in the world won't help on an empty stomach."

"Not right now. I want to ask you something."

Raising her eyes at the serious tone of voice Claire walks around and sits on the other side of the bed, crossing her legs as she pulls a piece off the bagel and puts it into her mouth. The soldier rolls around to look at her, waiting until she's finished chewing before she speaks.

"Why are you still here, Claire?"

The blonde's fingers still on the delicacy and she stares at the covers in front of her blindly. "Did you really want me to go?"

Ryan sits up, pulling the blanket higher irritably as it shifts down to reveal her bare torso. "You know that's not the issue here. Let's not play games."

Heaving a sigh Claire looks away, a laconic smile on her lips as she absentmindedly plucks a piece off the pastry. Popping it into her mouth she chews it reflectively and then returns her gaze to Ryan. Her eyes are far away and, if the soldier is not mistaken, slightly confused. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot, do you realize? Don't be sorry, Claire, just tell me what's going on."

"I don't know." Her expression is open and honest. "I don't know, Ryan. I know I should have run when I had the chance. I know I should have pointed the gun at you when I had the chance. I know all of those things, but why I didn't… that part I don't know."

"I thought that therapists knew everything about this kind of thing." She smiles slightly to show that she is teasing. "Okay. I'm not going to make you go, Claire, but in the interest of honesty I have to tell you that my motives for keeping you around are less than stellar."

"Wow." The blonde raises her eyebrows. "That certainly is honest."

Ryan shrugs. "I'm not much of a liar. As long as I have you with me, whoever is tracking me should be just that little more cautious. They probably won't want to risk hurting a civilian." She fixes her fierce eyes on Claire. "I want you to understand that. I enjoy your company, and I think you are a strong and lovely person, but apart from that - you are also a means to an end."

"All right." The blonde picks at the pastry, then, realizing what she is doing, she stops moving her fingers. "I accept that you have your reasons for wanting me around, however detrimental to me they may be. I'm not going to blame you for my own choices. I just need a little bit of time to know why I made them."

Ryan slides down and puts her head on the pillow, studying the ceiling. "Time may be the one thing I can't offer. Things are going to be happening soon."

"I realize that, too." Stretching out on the bed Claire curls up on her side, propping her head in her hand as she looks at Ryan. "Can I take my chances? Just for this moment?"

"If that's what you want." She stops speaking as Claire breaks off a piece of bagel and stuffs it into her mouth unceremoniously, and chews with an eyebrow raised until she can swallow. "Hey! What was that for?"

Smiling innocently the doctor breaks off another piece. "Open your mouth." When the soldier obeys she eyes her white teeth. "Don't bite me." She slots the piece into Ryan's waiting mouth, suddenly hyper-conscious of her fingers brushing against the woman's lips, and pulls her hand away quickly, putting the rest of the bagel on the side table simply so that she can turn her face away for a while.

When she looks back Ryan is watching her silently. "You need some sleep too."

"I don't think… No, I'm fine."

"I'm the only one allowed to say that, Claire. Come on. Get in." Her eyes soften. "Don't be nervous. I won't touch you, I promise." For emphasis she pokes her bandaged hands out of the blanket and wiggles her fingers stiffly. Smiling slightly at the silly motion Claire shakes her head.

"I'm not scared of you, Ryan. That's not it. I… " She breaks off helplessly, and when she looks up her eyes are full of tears. Unmindful of her naked body Ryan sits up and reaches over, pulling the blonde to her with surprisingly gentle arms. At first Claire stiffens, and then her body sags as she presses her face into the hollow at Ryan's shoulder. It is warm and silky, and then wet as her tears begin to coat it. When she sniffs and tries to pull back the soldier's arms tighten around her and fingertips stroke her back gently.

"Stop fighting, Claire." She begins to rock her tenderly in her arms. "You've been in pain for a horribly long time. Let it go. I'll catch you."

It is only the second time she really cries, and it should embarrass her, this sobbing on the shoulder of a woman she's only met three days ago under appalling circumstances, but somehow the arms around her and the slow heartbeat under her ear comfort her in a way she can't describe. She sobs until she gradually regains control over her breathing and then she pulls back, slowly becoming aware of the warm body against hers and the way in which her arms are wrapped around Ryan's bare shoulders. Loosening her grip the soldier lets her go. To her mortification her eyes slip down to Ryan's breasts, and when her face begins to flush the other woman lays a finger under her chin and lifts her face.

"Don't be embarrassed. There's no harm in letting somebody help you once in a while."

Smiling dimly at the repetition of her own words she nods, deciding to leave the soldier under a mistaken impression about her blushing rather than mortify herself even more by revealing the real reason. "Okay. Can we go to sleep now?"

Ryan smiles that almost-smile of hers. "Okay." She is caught off-guard when Claire reaches down and pulls her shirt over her head without warning. "Sorry." Her eyes are twinkling as she turns her head away. "That is a nice bra, by the way."

Blowing her a raspberry the blonde slips out of her jeans, wondering whether she should keep her underwear on before she discards it with a shrug and slips under the covers. The soldier is on her side, turned towards the bed table, and somehow Claire thinks that she's lying exactly that way because it leaves a vast amount of space on her side, making sure that they won't touch. Curling up she puts her left hand under her pillow, pulling her right arm close to her chest. When Ryan puts off the bedside lamp she starts. "Um… "

"What's wrong?"

"Would you mind if I touch you, Ryan?"

"What?" When the blonde reaches out with her right hand and just barely touches her fingertips against Ryan's shoulder blade, the soldier hums in her throat. "That's fine."

In the darkness Claire smiles sadly. "It took two weeks to break you, a needle to break Doctor Chavez, and just a few words to break me."

"Someone like you should never have been broken in the first place." The muscles under Claire's fingertips shift as Ryan settles. "Go to sleep now."

9.

Sierra pulls up in Vice-Admiral Victor Banks' driveway, dialing a number from memory as Alpha and the other two men slip into the back to suit up.

"Turner."

"We're at Banks' house, about to clean up." He motions sharply with two fingers and the other men move stealthily around the back of the house. "I'll keep you updated."

"Fine." The phone clicks. Drawing his own pistol with its long fitted silencer he glances around, checking for bystanders before he gets out of the van. The street is empty. When he reaches the back door one of the men has already put his hand though the broken windowpane and opened the kitchen door quietly. They spread out, their backs pressed against the walls as they steal down the corridor. At the first door Alpha breaks in.

"He's in here."

His voice is muffled and low. They secure the rest of the house carefully before they return to the first bedroom where Alpha is waiting. Inside, Victor Banks is lying on his side on the bed, the right side of his face completely covered in blood. His hands and feet are tied tightly. Studying him expressionlessly Sierra approaches, but when he reaches out his hand to the pulse point in the man's neck, Banks opens one gray blood-encrusted eye and peers up at him warily. Even the normally calm Alpha almost steps back before he composes himself. Clearing his throat arduously Banks speaks, his voice gravelly.

"You took your time."

"Vice-Admiral Banks." Sierra nods before he turns to Alpha and speaks to him in a low voice. Then he takes the phone from his pocket and steps into the hallway, hitting the redial button. When the man on the other side answers he speaks curtly.

"Banks is still alive…. No. Just blunt force trauma to the head… Done."

He steps up to the tall man in black at the doorway. "Tango. Sweep the study." Then he returns to the bedroom where Banks is lying. The Vice-Admiral is frowning, repeating his request that Alpha untie him in a perturbed tone of voice, when Sierra draws his pistol and shoots him in the head.

------ About two hours later the men are on their way to Great Falls. Alpha is driving and Sierra takes the moment to slip the small flat device out of the pouch at his waist and switch it on. He studies the movement on the screen without expression before he hits redial on his mobile phone.

"Turner."

"She's off-course on 89 just past Belt, going south."

"Hmm." The General ponders for a moment. Interesting. Banks gave her something other than what they had anticipated him to. "Stay on course to Helena. She'll be there soon - you be there first."

"Isn't there one of your guys in Neihart or White Sulphur?"

"Anthony Chavez." Colonel Turner has never liked him much. "It's not important. By the time you get there she's on her way to Helena and then you're behind. Move your ass, Mahoney."

"Fine."

"And Mahoney, don't keep flipping that fucking thing on and off. If she's driving it could cause a problem, and I don't want her to go anywhere just yet. Understood?"

"Understood." Sierra kills the call. In silent disapproval of Turner's attitude he leaves the signal on for a little longer than necessary, and when he finally flicks the level off he is smiling. Or at least, he is on the inside.

The drive takes them over three hours - Alpha is a meticulous driver and does not rush, considering that they are already ahead of the prey. In Helena they fuel up and hang around, frustrated by the lack of activity and their inability to relax. When the sun begins to set they book into a grubby motel on the outskirts of the city. Tango, easily bored, suggests that they go to the bar for a game of pool. It is still early and they make their way to the dark dusky room, perching on the uncomfortable red vinyl seats as Tango checks out cues and racks the balls. The barman eyes them sullenly. He imagined it to be his lucky day, four big men who look like they can each put away a barrel of beer coming in, and then they order soft drinks. Soft drinks. For god's sake. He spits on the floor and wonders if they're gay.

While Alpha breaks forcefully and Tango looks on with interest, Sierra keeps an eye on the device that he has since placed on the counter. In the course of two hours he switches it on seven times, his eyes focused, and just before half past ten he stands up and beckons the other three men. He does not speak within hearing distance of the barman who is glaring at them for reasons beyond his comprehension or interest, but starts walking towards their rooms, knowing they will all be beside him without prompting.

"We're leaving for White Sulphur Springs."

"All right." It's Alpha, the tractable one. "Didn't Turner tell us to stay in Helena?"

"Yes. The target hasn't moved for six hours, maybe more. Either there's a problem, in which case we need to be there now, or she's staying the night, in which case I want to be tight on her tail when she leaves. I'm not sure Turner has as much of a handle on this situation as he thinks he does."

"If she's coming to Helena eventually why don't we just wait for her here?" When Bravo speaks it always takes them by surprise.

"Because I don't lay bets on eventually. She's not stupid. Something's happening and we're not in on it. Yet." Sierra shoots Bravo a sarcastic glance. "What's the problem? Missing your beauty sleep?"

"No."

"Good, because you're driving. Alpha goes like an old lady. Let's pack it up and get on the road."

------ It is dark when Ryan wakes up abruptly and inexplicably. Something has caught her attention, and she is not sure what - and that is her least favorite scenario. She lies perfectly still and listens, alert to the sounds around her, from the irritating muffled dripping in the bathroom to the slight hitch in Claire's breath as she shifts in her sleep. There is something just beyond her awareness, niggling at her.

Carefully she rolls over, annoyed to find remnants of her headache still hanging around, and slips from under the blanket, putting her feet softly on the carpet. Keeping still she closes her eyes and holds her breath for a few seconds, and then exhales slowly. The threat is not immediate, but she is not about to take any chances. She rises, stretching her spine gracefully in the process, before she edges around the bed, placing her feet carefully and precisely. At the foot of it she stands still, turning her head towards the bathroom door. Nothing. She turns her head to her right, towards where she knows the window and the chair are. Moving to the window she slides a finger between the curtains and peers out. It is a dark night, pitch black with no moon, and she can barely make out anything in the alley below. No movement there. When she turns back she stops in front of the chair and frowns. Reaching out, she rifles through the clothing by touch alone, singling out her cargo pants and sliding her fingers into the pockets. She scowls as she pulls out the sticky DEX chip, hot to the touch, and lifts it up to her left ear. It is not her imagination at all - the electronic device appears to be humming at a low frequency.

And then it stops.

------

Claire is in the middle of a dream when a hand touches her shoulder.

"Claire…"

"No!" She sits bolt upright, her breath catching in her throat, and finds Ryan crouched at the side of the bed, her eyes alert.

"Shh. I'm sorry. You wouldn't wake up." The soldier rises, and Claire notes that she's fully clothed. "You have to get dressed."

"What?" Involuntarily she yawns and wipes her eyes. "What's the time?"

"About a quarter to one." Ryan tosses her clothes onto the bed. "Now, Claire."

Still slightly drowsy the doctor gets out of bed before realizing that she is completely naked. Flushing hotly she shoots a quick glance towards the soldier, but Ryan is shoving things into the black bag, her back towards the blonde. Hastily Claire begins to dress.

"What's happening, Ryan?"

The soldier surveys the floor for any forgotten articles before she answers. "The thing… DEX… I think it's been sending out signals throughout the night. We're being tracked. We need to get out of here."

Sitting down Claire slips her feet into the trainers and ties the laces. "If you think they've been tracking you all this time, then what's the difference now?"

"It's the middle of the night and it's gone off twice in an hour. Something feels wrong."

"Where is it now? DEX, I mean."

Ryan pats her pocket.

"Why don't you just dispose of it?"

"I want them to think I still have it." Ryan is impatient. "We have to go."

She opens the hotel door and steps up to the glass window across the hall, glancing down almost cursorily at the parking lot before her posture stiffens. Turning around she motions Claire, who has just come out of the room, back inside. The blonde frowns as she stops in the middle of the room.

"What… ?"

Pressing the bag into her hands Ryan opens the curtains at the window and glances outside before she finds the latch and slides open the window with difficulty, her hands burning with the strain. Striding to the door she closes and locks it before she steps up to Claire and sticks her hand into the bag, pulling out the pistol.

"Fire escape." Her other hand propels the blonde forward. Claire is beginning to feel a slight sensation of dread rising in her throat. Grasping the bag tightly she climbs out of the window onto the metal grid and looks down. It is so dark outside that she has trouble seeing the steps that lead to the level below. Behind her the metal rings out as Ryan swivels her legs out and puts her feet down.

"Get to the ground floor, Claire."

Numbly the doctor begins to climb the stairs down, placing her feet carefully on the narrow metal rungs. She is already on the first floor when she realizes that Ryan is not behind her. Glancing upwards she tries to make out the soldier's form on the platform above her.

"Don't stop moving. Go!"

The command is hissed, and as she is about to comply all hell breaks loose. A gunshot sounds from above, and is echoed by another. The crash of breaking glass rings out, and after that the uncanny stillness of the night hangs in the air eerie and thick.

10.

Pressing herself to the wall Claire stares upwards in shock, trying to see anything, and she almost screams when Ryan's lean body suddenly appears in front of her.

The soldier wraps an arm around Claire and presses her taller body close, shielding the blonde as she lifts her right hand and fires upwards. When an answering shot whistles by from behind she holds her breath, waiting until silence settles again before she swings around, propelling Claire towards the steps as she presses her back against the wall.

"Move."

Her hoarse voice is barely more than a murmur. Inching along the metal surface Claire approaches the staircase, and is about to put her foot on the first step when too many things happen simultaneously.

A shot from behind her is immediately answered by a shot from above, and in the same moment as the sound rings out and she begins to flinch, Ryan's arm wraps around her waist from behind. The soldier pulls her down onto the steel grate roughly and crouches over her, breath hissing from her throat as she cranes her neck to look upwards.

When she is satisfied with whatever it is she has been watching for she gets to her feet quickly, lifting Claire clumsily with her by hooking an arm around her waist. Trying to assist Claire wraps a hand around Ryan's shoulder, yanking it down in instant recoil when she feels the sticky wet mass on the soldier's shirt. With a sharp gulp she slides her hand up again, only to have it intercepted and removed smoothly by Ryan's hand.

"Ryan? You hurt?"

She can just make out the soldier's head shaking as she hisses at her. "Fine. Get moving." Pushing her forward firmly Ryan turns and moves back to the wall, pressing her back against it again. "Go!"

She stands at the top of the stairs, glancing down, the murmur of their unknown assailants above them, and without further thought turns back and throws herself against Ryan's body. This time when her hand makes contact with the woman's lean shoulder there is a definite flinch from Ryan.

"Damn it, Claire, go!"

Shoving her hand into Ryan's pocket Claire wraps her fingers around the small electronic chip and then takes off silently down the stairs. Ryan is left slamming her head against the wall behind her in furious frustration. "Fuck! Claire…!" Glancing upwards she tries to gauge the movements. Then, with gritted teeth, she slides the pistol into her waistband. Turning around she wraps both hands over the railing behind her and lifts her legs quietly over he the barrier. When she is standing on the edge of the landing she turns and steps off, dangling her legs down as far as her blazing hands will allow before she lets go and drops to the ground. The distance is further than she has judged and the landing jars her bones. Rolling adroitly she crouches low and scans the alley to her left and right. On the left side the faint pool of a streetlight illuminates the abandoned street sixty feet away, and on the right side the alley ends in a locked service entrance, decorated by large rubbish bins and stacked empty crates. Wondering with unease which direction Claire has chosen she turns to the right and lopes silently towards the crates, stepping between two and pressing her back to the rough whitewashed wall behind her. She slips out the pistol and lifts it, aiming it towards the staircase where she can now just make out the dark figures coming down silently. There are four of them and they move in a way she knows means nothing good. Keeping still she fixes her sight on the first man. He stops at the foot of the stairs and turns his head to murmur something to the man behind him, then pulls something out of his belt and studies it for a moment before they all take off in the direction of the street.

Ryan keeps the pistol up, her eyes focused, in case it is a trap. She is still frozen in the same position when a black van, driving at an unsuitable speed, shoots past the alley in the street below. From the sound of the engine she can tell that it is moving quickly away from her. Exhaling roughly Ryan slides down the wall to her haunches, growling in irritation at the pain the movement causes in her shoulder. For a moment she just sits, silent, before she rises to her feet and slips the pistol into the back of her waistband. Still moving soundlessly, placing her feet precisely, she approaches the base of the staircase and glances up.

It is as she glances back down that she spots Claire's golden head like a flash under the spot of a streetlight. The doctor comes running from the left side of the street, her eyes darting left and right before she enters the alleyway. When she sees Ryan at the stairs she stops and bends double, supporting her hands on her knees. The soldier rushes forward, her fingertips brushing the woman's back and sides.

"Claire? Are you hurt?"

She is still speaking in a hiss, but it comes out louder than intended and sounds overwhelming after the silence. The doctor nods her upside down head quickly.

"Fine. No breath." She gasps for air a few times before her breathing settles down and she can straighten up. "You okay, Ryan?"

"We need to get going before the police pitches up. C'mon." Wrapping a hand around Claire's elbow she leads her back into the street. They turn right and corner the building, entering the dark parking area where the Trailblazer is parked. Claire scrabbles around in the bag and pulls out the keys.

"Who's driving?"

"You are." Ryan waits patiently for Claire to get in and unlock the passenger door. Before she gets in she slips the pistol from her waistband and puts it into the cubbyhole. They pull out of the parking area and at the street Claire turns left, driving past the alley again. The very next street has a gas station on the corner, and Ryan instructs Claire to pull in. They fill up the SUV and then leave White Sulphur Springs, Claire driving cautiously until she is on the highway moving east towards Harlowton. When the soldier is sure that they are not being followed she sits back against the seat, her breath leaving her in a loud whoosh. "So. What happened?"

Claire smiles a little shakily in the darkness. "Luck was on my side. You wouldn't believe it."

"Give it a shot." The doctor groans at the pun. "Sorry."

Claire's voice is somewhere between amused and nervous as she recalls her actions. "Well, I went into the street, and then from there I ran to the gas station. It was the only place with its lights still on. There were two guys in a Taurus filling up, so I knocked on the window and asked one of them for directions to Helena. While he was talking I dropped the … DEX into his car."

Ryan shifts incredulously in her seat. "And then?"

"And then he made an unpleasant comment and I told him that if he saw my husband coming up on his tailgate tonight he'd better be sure to step on the gas." She shrugs. "And then I hid around the corner until the guys left and the van went by."

In the darkness the soldier shakes her head as she opens the cubbyhole and begins to root through it. "You've got a quick mind, doctor. And phenomenal luck. What if there hadn't been anybody at the station?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought that far. Or at all, actually, up until that point. What are you looking for?" Claire turns her head and peers at Ryan in the darkness. "Were you hurt?"

"Yes." Her candid answer catches the blonde off-guard, and she has no time to respond before the soldier continues. "You were brave, Claire. But if you ever do something like that again I'll shoot you myself." When the doctor doesn't answer Ryan puts a hand on her arm. "Don't think that I don't appreciate it. But I can look after myself, and if something happens to you because you're trying to help me, I wouldn't deal well with that. Okay?"

"Okay." Claire's voice is slightly petulant.

"It's not good enough, Claire. I don't want you to protect me. We could both get hurt that way. Do you understand? And say yes as if you mean it."

"YES." The doctor's voice is strident, but when she speaks again her tone is softer. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was trying to help because you were hurt."

"Thank you." In the darkness Ryan shifts slightly. "Are you wearing a belt?"

"I hate questions that start like that coming from you. No. Why?"

Ryan lifts the black bag onto her lap and searches through the contents. Not finding what she's looking for she puts it back on the floor at her feet.

"Claire, pull over for a moment."

The doctor complies and is surprised when Ryan asks for the keys and gets out, opening the hatch at the back of the SUV. When she gets back into the vehicle and passes back the keys she's holding something bundled in her hand.

"What's that?"

For an answer Ryan switches on the inside light. In her hand is a short length of nylon towing rope, which she hands over to Claire. As the doctor takes the rope uncomprehendingly her eyes fall on Ryan's left arm, covered in blood, and she inhales sharply. Lifting the arm towards her without expression Ryan nods towards her own upper arm.

"I need a tourniquet." When Claire raises wide worried eyes to her she cocks her head impatiently. "Come on." With her instruction the blonde ties the rope around her arm, looping it under the armpit and over the shoulder several times. It is poor and looks extremely uncomfortable. When she is finished Claire studies Ryan's face anxiously.

"Is it going to help?"

"Tough place." The soldier starts to shrug and then stops the motion, reaching up to switch off the inside light instead. "I need you to find a hospital in Harlowton."

Claire feels gooseflesh running down her back at this atypical acknowledgment of pain. Her voice is quavering slightly when she speaks. "White Sulphur Springs is closer. I'm going to turn around."

"No. When they realize they've been duped that'll be their starting point."

"I understand that, but I'd rather you didn't bleed to death!"

Hearing the fright in Claire's voice Ryan moves to pat her leg, wincing as she tries to move her left arm. "Claire. Don't panic. Just keep driving. I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, and I doubt you've ever been fine! You wouldn't know it if it bit you in the ass!" Claire is vehement, but at least she keeps the SUV pointed eastwards. Gritting her teeth Ryan shifts her left hand over and touches the blonde's thigh.

"Let's go, Walsch."

Silently the doctor starts the vehicle and pulls onto the road again. Ryan puts on the radio and then pulls the bag closer again, rifling through it until she finds her other shirt. Wadding it up she wedges it under the tourniquet, at the top of her bicep just under the collarbone. The painful pressure makes her swallow once convulsively before she slides her right hand down the side of the seat, and then, uncomfortably, on the left side. Finding the lever she pulls it and pushes her seat backwards so that she is reclining slightly.

"Claire?"

The doctor doesn't answer.

"Claire?"

"Are you going to die?"

"No." She doesn't even try to sit up. "I'm not that easy to get rid of. After the apocalypse it'll be just me and the cockroaches left, okay?" The blonde doesn't respond to her ribbing. Sighing, she tries again. "Look, I'm strong…"

Claire interrupts. "I hate to break it to you, Ryan, but I don't even know how you're still standing. In the last three days, when you haven't been throwing up and popping pain pills you've been bleeding."

"Sure. And I can tell you I'm getting bloody tired of losing bodily fluids." The soldier sniffs quite indignantly and Claire cannot help but laugh a little and shake her head. "Okay, so physically I'm not at my best, doc, but mentally I'm way up there. Trust me."

"I do." With a slight sigh Claire shakes her head. "I really don't know why."

"I don't, either, Claire. I don't know why you're not leaving." The soldier is quiet for a moment. "What's going on?"

"Million-dollar question, that. Can I phone a friend?" Shrugging, the doctor bites her bottom lip in an unusual show of uncertainty. "You abducted me against my will, used me as a hostage to escape from an institution, and dragged me around the countryside against my will. What's not to stay for?"

Ryan emits a husky chuckle. "I don't get you, doc."

"Join the queue." Claire taps her finger against the steering wheel for a minute before she speaks again. "Ryan? There's something I don't understand? Why did Victor Banks say DEX was a gas?"

"He really didn't know." Ryan's mouth curves into a smile in the darkness. "He was telling the truth."

"So you hit him in the head for nothing? He won't be very happy with you, I'm sure."

"He'll be fine. He'll understand. Besides, it was a twofold gesture. If they found him intact after I left with the information they'd know he gave it me of his own free will. His dignity's important to him. I tried to let him keep some."

"Nice of you."

"That's me. Nice to the core."

They drive in silence for more than half an hour, and it is Ryan who speaks just after they pass the sign letting them know that Harlowton is 22 miles ahead. "Claire? You need to start talking to me." Her normally hoarse voice is fainter than usual.

Scowling anxiously Claire reaches out with her right hand and touches Ryan's thigh in the darkness. "What's going on?"

"I'm fading a little. Don't worry - just give me something to pay attention to."

"Okay." Trying to push down the rising panic Claire casts around for something to talk about. "I don't have much to tell you in the way of a personal life. Honestly. I'm the most boring person I know." The slight chuckle from the darkness to her right gratifies her. "I work fourteen-hour days at the office, go home, eat a pre-prepared dinner and go to bed. No pets, no parties, no wild wicked habits."

"Pity."

"Hah. You sound fine to me." She pats the leg under her hand slightly. "Over weekends I go to the movies, museums, that sort of thing."

"You weren't joking. You are boring." The soldier's voice is light. "Family?"

"My parents are divorced. My mother's is a therapist too - she lives with an absolute ass in Washington. Dad's got a girlfriend a little older than I am and runs a bait shop in Florida. He's made a career of his midlife crisis."

"Sounds lovely."

"All-American. I have a sister in Sacramento. Andy's an archeologist - she's just finished her doctorate too."

"Impressive. Do you get along?"

"Like a house on fire. We're very close. She's older by two years, but we were always mistaken for twins."

"So she's beautiful too." There's a second of silence. "Ignore me. I'm not well. Hallucinating. Rambling."

"That's what it takes to tell me I'm beautiful? Thanks a lot." Ryan can tell from Claire's voice that she's smiling. "I spoke to her when you were sleeping at the hotel."

"She must be scared for you."

"I told her I was okay and she knows I wouldn't lie to her." Claire dismisses the topic. "How are you feeling?"

"Pale."

Accidentally the blonde brushes against Ryan's left hand, and immediately wishes she hadn't. Under the bandage her fingers are congealed with blood and her skin is icy cold.

"Ryan? It's not too far now. Hold on, okay?" She pushes the speedometer up a little more. "Don't go anywhere. Ryan?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I dismissed your case so glibly. I misjudged the situation - and you. I couldn't see past what I thought was right."

"Come on, Walsch." Under Claire's hand the soldier's muscles twitch. "Who would have believed the voice in my head was real? Nobody could have predicted this."

"I know. But I should have listened to you better. A lot of what you needed was for somebody not to treat you like a freak. I should have been that person. I should have known better."

"Are you staying because of guilt, Claire?"

"No. I just… " She shakes her head at herself. "I wonder what keeps you going. You're such an incredibly strong person. You've been beaten and hurt and broken down, and on the outside you're busted, but on the inside you're still fighting like none of that matters."

"That sounds like you, Claire."

"No, it sounds like the exact opposite of me. I'm busted on the inside and working on the surface."

"Not true. You're fine too. You just need to take your life back."

"How do I do that, Ryan?" In the blackness of night her grief is palpable. "Where do I begin? I've spent a long time telling myself that I don't need more than I have."

"It's not about what we need, Claire. If we went with need we could probably survive on the minimum, yes, but it's about wanting and having. If you don't want, and you don't move forward to grasp what you want, you'll stay in the same place forever. You have to want more than just getting by. You have to think you deserve better."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Don't doubt that."

"How can you be sure?" Claire withdraws her hand from Ryan's arm. "You don't know me."

"You can tell a lot by the way people handle themselves in stressful situations. You're a strong person."

"I don't feel that way." Claire changes the conversation adeptly. "What is it, Ryan? That pushes you on, I mean?"

The soldier shifts a little in her seat. "I have to move forward. Back isn't an option. Stopping isn't an option."

They enter the outskirts of Harlowton and Claire begins to look around for signboards, breathing a sigh of relief when she spots the telltale cross. Following the signs she glances quickly over at Ryan, the soldier half-illuminated by the street lights. "Hey, I found it."

There is no reply. Frowning, her heart jumping a little, she repeats herself. Still the soldier remains quiet, and when she peers at the woman's face it is unresponsive. Putting out a hand she shakes Ryan's knee.

"Ryan?"

Never has she known silence to be so overwhelming. Blood rushes through her with the force of a waterfall. Finding the hospital she turns into the parking lot and stops right in front of the sliding doors, jumping out and rushing into the reception, up to the large handsome woman behind the desk.

"Help me! My friend, she's been shot…" and almost immediately two orderlies appear with a gurney and rush outside, opening the passenger door. A tall blonde coolly beautiful doctor in a white coat strides out of side room and joins them at the desk.

"What is your friend's name?"

"Ryan." She is so afraid that she's struggling to get the words out, and the nurse puts a comforting hand on her arm.

"Calm down, honey. She'll be fine. Is that a first name?"

"No. But that's what she goes by."

"Where is the wound?"

"Her upper arm… she made a tourniquet…"

The doctor leaves her with the reassuring nurse and joins the orderlies outside who are now expertly moving Ryan from the car to the gurney. Her lean body is limp and under the fluorescent lights her face looks pure white. When they wheel her in the doctor is walking next to Ryan, her fingers clamped around the soldier's wrist as she speaks to her commandingly. "Ryan? Can you hear me? Come on, open your eyes."

Claire wants to follow them down the corridor but the nurse holds her back kindly. "Hold on, sweetheart. The doctor will be able to do her job better if you stay here with me until she calls you in. Okay?"

"Okay." Claire nods. Tears shoot into her blue eyes and she wipes at them with irritation. Studying her with soft brown eyes the large woman steps around the desk and grasps her upper arm softly, urging her towards the scruffy brown sofa against the wall. The pressure around her arm reminds her absurdly of Ryan, and a slight sob escapes before she frowns and swallows. Sitting her down on the sofa the nurse goes to the coffee machine and gets her a dark sweet cup of coffee. When she doesn't immediately take it, the woman puts it in her hands and wraps her own large warm hands around Claire's.

"Drink, honey."

And so Claire does. The liquid is hot and much too sweet for her taste, but it gives her a moment to gather her thoughts. Watching her carefully the nurse - Danni Delaney, her name tag says - gets up and fetches a clipboard and a pen, returning to sit down cater-corner to Claire on the edge of the sofa.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Claire. Claire Walsch."

"Okay, Claire, can I ask you some questions?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounds shaky, even to her own ears. Danni notices and pats her leg maternally.

"Hold on, honey. When I'm finished with the questions I'll go and check on your friend. Can you give me her full name?"

"Ryan." Claire realizes that she has said that part already and casts around for a memory of the first name written on the file that Art gave her what feels like months ago. "Leah. Leah Ryan."

"All right." Danni scribbles on her form. "Social security number?"

With one hand Claire wipes at her face tiredly. "I don't know that."

"Don't worry, honey, that's fine. Do you have an address for her, or somebody we can call?"

"No. No, I don't." Claire's jaw muscles clench. "I don't know who to call…"

Sensing her distress Danni puts down the clipboard and takes the coffee cup from Claire, putting it on the carpet before she holds Claire's smaller hand between hers. "Hey, Claire, you're doing fine. All right? Right now she's in with Doctor Jensen, and I promise you there's nobody better than her. Your friend will be perfectly fine."

Danni is surprised when her last words bring an unexpected smile to the beautiful blonde's face. Claire nods slightly. "Yeah. She's always fine."

"That's the spirit." Picking up her clipboard again Danni poises her pen above the paper. "Can you tell me about the shooting?"

"I wasn't there when it happened." The pause before she says it, and her quick delivery, give it away immediately as a lie. The nurse looks at her curiously before she moves on to the next point. Claire gives her as much information as she can, reverting to her own details for lack of any other option, before Danni returns to the desk.

The blonde woman gets up and walks around restlessly, picking up magazines and discarding them in the same motion. She puts her hands in her pocket and shifts them around, then pulls them out and pats them against her thighs rhythmically. When Danni offers her a tablet to help calm her down she refuses at first, and then accepts in pure frustration. As it kicks in she can finally sit down and breathe, her reactions dulled by the medication. She is still sitting on the couch quietly, her insides knotted and churning, when Doctor Jensen comes down the hallway and stops at the desk, talking in a low tone to Danni before she approaches Claire.

"Miss Walsch?"

The blonde shoots up from the sofa. "Yes."

"Miss Ryan has been moved to the ICU. The gunshot wound caused a fair amount of muscle and tissue damage, but she's lucky - if it had been two inches up it would have shattered her shoulder, and it missed the main arteries by very little. She lost a great deal of blood, so we've had to do a blood transfusion." She pushes a lock of blonde hair elegantly behind one ear. "It is an uncomplicated wound, Miss Walsch, and your friend is in no immediate danger. We're going to keep her in the ICU for observation overnight and if she's stable tomorrow we'll move her to a ward. After three days we revise the injury and take it from there." There is a moment of contemplative silence before she speaks again. "I've also re-stitched her right hand, and cleaned the sutured wound on her head. Can you tell me what caused those injuries?"

"She took on a window knuckles first." Claire shrugs tiredly. "As I told Miss Delaney I wasn't there when the shooting happened."

"All right." Doctor Jensen nods, unconvinced. "I'll be keeping an eye on Miss Ryan today, and I'll be sure to let you know if anything changes. Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No. I'm not… we're not from here."

"Okay. I think you need to get some rest. I'm going to ask Danni to take you to one of the residents' rooms. Try to sleep. Everything's under control." The doctor returns to the desk and speaks to the nurse again, and when she disappears around the corner Danni leads Claire to a small bare room with a narrow bed against the wall. Claire does not imagine that she will ever be able to sleep, knowing that Ryan is alone and in pain somewhere in the hospital, but she has barely put her head down on the pillow when she drifts off into a solid and dream-filled sleep.

When a hand touches her shoulder tentatively four hours later she jerks awake and shoots up. "Ryan?"

It's Danni Delaney with another sweet cup of coffee. "Here. I'm sorry to wake you, but Miss Ryan's awake. Doctor Jensen thought you'd want to see her."

"Yes, please." She swings her legs off the bed and sips at the dark beverage, almost wincing at the tang of the sugar in her throat, before she stands up and follows the tall nurse down the corridor. They pass a few open wards and then enter the ICU. Ryan is the only occupant, her relaxed face pale against the pillows. Her eyes are closed, and Claire takes a moment to glance at her heavily bandaged upper arm and shoulder visible under the sleeveless white hospital gown. When her gaze shifts away from the injury Ryan's green eyes are open and focused on her.

"Hello, Walsch."

A ghost of a smile twists around her lips. With an answering smile Claire steps closer. "Hello, soldier." With a hesitant forefinger she almost touches the bandage. "How does your shoulder feel?"

"It's okay."

Claire bites her lip, but she doesn't quite manage to repress the tears which well up in her eyes. Looking up at her Ryan frowns.

"Hey - don't. What's the matter? I'm fine!"

"I know." The blonde turns away to hide her embarrassment. "I know. You scared me, that's all."

"Claire." When the blonde's back remains turned she tries again. "Claire? Please come here. Or at least stand on my other side so I can pull you closer."

A slight chuckle escapes the doctor as she sniffles and walks around the bed to stand at Ryan's right. Reaching out her hand, the soldier shifts her arm a little irritably to settle the IV before she grasps Claire's wrist and pulls her towards the bed. "I'm all right. Okay? As hardy as a tank. Did you get some sleep?"

"Yeah. Divine Danni Delaney put me up in one of the residents' rooms."

"Who?"

"Danni. The lovely nurse at reception."

"Oh. I missed her somehow. I think I may have been busy bleeding copiously at the time." Ryan squeezes Claire's hand lightly before she lets it go. "Are you okay?"

"I thought you were dead, Ryan." Claire's bottom lip trembles. "Other than that? Peachy."

Without any outward sign of discomfort the lean woman sits up, the ugly hospital gown crinkling as she shifts. With a frown she peels off the white sticking plaster and pulls the IV needle out of her arm. Reaching out she takes Claire by the hand and pulls her into an awkward one-armed hug. Even as the doctor's arms wrap cautiously around Ryan waist and the blonde head rests against the side of her face Claire incoherently protests. "No. You shouldn't have done that. And I'm going to hurt you."

"Shhh." Ryan's hand rubs comfortingly over Claire's back and then slips up to cup the back of her neck soothingly. "I'm so sorry that I did this to you, Claire."

"What?" With the movement of Claire's mouth her lips brush lightly against Ryan's neck.

"That I caused all this upset in your life. It was a selfish choice I had to make."

"I don't care about that right now, Ryan. I just care that you're all right, and here, and with me." Claire's left hand rubs at the lean back unconsciously, stopping to caress the skin when her fingers inadvertently slip into the opening at the back of the gown. At the light touch Ryan shivers and pulls back slightly.

"Claire…"

When Claire turns her head their eyes are inches apart, their faces so close that the warmth of the blonde's breath washes against Ryan's cheek. The soldier opens her mouth to speak and without forethought Claire leans closer and captures Ryan's lips with her own. It is gentle and faltering. Groaning very softly against Claire's mouth Ryan sinks into the sensation, closing her eyes as the blonde's soft lips brush over hers. Only when Claire's hand slips up to cup the back of her head just behind the bandage, do her senses return. Pulling back from the blonde's warm inviting mouth she ends the kiss. Claire moves forward to recapture her lips, but she shifts her head away.

"Wait, Claire."

It is almost her undoing when the blonde woman does pull back. Her blue eyes are wide and her pupils dilated, a faint blush covers her cheeks, and heavy breaths escape her slightly open mouth hastily. Ryan has to stop herself from simply sliding her fingers back into the now somewhat mussed hair and pulling her back down for another kiss. Clearing her suddenly scratchy throat she takes a slightly shaky breath.

"We shouldn't be…"

Claire begins to speak at almost the same time. "I shouldn't have… "

They both stop speaking and Ryan's green eyes fix on Claire's blue ones. The silence hangs in the air before Ryan starts again. "Highly stressful or emotionally draining situations drive people to do things they wouldn't normally do."

The blue eyes search her face and dart towards her lips in raptness. "Is this something you wouldn't normally do, Ryan?"

"Probably not." Claire's hungry eyes and parted moist lips are wreaking havoc on her already assaulted senses. "But I was talking about you. You're probably in a slight state of shock…"

The blonde's fingers begin to caress the bare skin at the edge of the hospital gown again, and when nails drag gently over the surface of her back Ryan jolts and arches away, biting her lower lip against the dulled pain in her shoulder. "Claire…"

"I'm feeling a lot of things right now, Ryan, but I don't think shock is one of them. At least not the way you mean it." Lifting her right hand she rests it on the soldier's hollow cheek. "Tell me you don't want me. Or shut up and let me kiss you."

Lost for words Ryan studies Claire's beautiful face in silence before she suddenly wraps her bandaged right hand in the blonde hair and pulls the doctor towards her. Their mouths meet in an impatient clash and this time it is electric rather than soothing. Claire feels her stomach drop as if she is on a rollercoaster ride as Ryan's lips devour hers fervently, and when the soldier demands entrance to her mouth she complies with a groan. Ryan's large hand is splayed against the back of her head, her fingers tangled in Claire's blonde head as she pulls her closer urgently. When their tongues meet demandingly the doctor has to move her hand from Ryan's back to the bed, supporting her as her knees threaten to crumple under her and a warm throbbing begins to build between her thighs.

The lean woman's torso trembles slightly with the strain, but she does not notice. It feels as if the breath is being drawn from her inch by inch, as if she is being sucked down deep into Claire, as if her insides are being emptied with every stroke of the blonde's tongue against her own. Finally her body's current limitations announce themselves so loudly that she cannot ignore them any more. Gasping both at the sensation of falling and the fire spreading in her arm and shoulder she pulls away and slumps back on the bed, her breath irregular. Left in mid-air Claire keeps her eyes shut as her chest heaves arduously. When she has regained some sense of control she glances down at the pale woman, her eyes drawn to the kiss-bruised lips.

"Are you all right?"

Her voice is thick and liquid with desire. Closing her eyes briefly Ryan nods. "I'm fine." And then frowns slightly and closes her eyes again. "Actually… I don't know."

Laughing quietly at the unusual indecisiveness Claire lays a warm hand on the soldier's arm. "Is your arm hurting?"

"That too."

The blue eyes fix intensely on her mouth. "What else?"

"I think I'm drowning."

A muscle jumps in Ryan's neck and without warning Claire lowers her blonde head to the point and presses her lips against it softly. With a muffled groan Ryan pushes against her shoulder until she lifts her head and glances at the soldier stormily.

"You need to stop." Ryan's voice is husky and rough. "I can't take much more of this now."

"I… " Claire swallows and looks down at the soldier's arm abstractedly. "I probably need to get Danni or Doctor Jensen to put that IV line back in." Without a backwards glance she walks away.

Sierra perches at the bottom of the staircase studying the blip on the small monitor, as Alpha, Bravo and Tango flank him with their assault rifles drawn, eyes cautious and alert. She's running down the street when she should be down with the tracking device flicked on for such a long time, but she's been doing things she shouldn't have been able to from the very beginning of this mission. Lifting his hand Sierra motions to the other three men and they take off soundlessly towards the street, ignoring the dark black alley behind them. Taking care to avoid the pools of light created by the high street lamps, they slink along the side of the next building towards the signal. Suddenly Sierra freezes and lifts the device to his eyes, studying the movement with some incredulity.

"Fuck!"

He turns on his heel and begins to run back in the direction of the alley. Without question the other men sling their rifles around their shoulders and follow. They run past the alley and round the hotel, hurtling past the small abandoned security booth and coming to a halt at the black van. He clambers into the front seat as Tango joins him and the other two men pile into the back and slam closed the sliding door. As he's grating the gears in odd frustration he snaps over his shoulder.

"She's in a moving vehicle."

He spins the wheels slightly as he pulls away. They tear down the street, past the dark alley, and Sierra barely glances to the right as they pass a gas station on the next corner.

"Probably went from there."

Their quarry is moving at quite a speed, but Sierra pushes down the gas pedal. He has made his first mistake in coming to White Sulphur Springs when he should have stayed put in Helena, and if he loses her now it will be his second - and most likely his last. Colonel Turner isn't partial to personal failure.

Beside him Tango sits quietly, watching the road with his sharp eyes. It is he who is first to spot the red taillights in front of them.

The car is a black one - low and semi-sporty, the cheapskate's version. It's moving at quite a speed and doesn't look like it's going to slow down any time soon. As Sierra approaches the taillights the car seems to speed up and pull further away. With a gritted curse Sierra ups his speed and closes in on them. When he draws level to them on the left Tango leans over and tries to peer into the window, but the darkness of the night and the tinting of the black car's windows make it impossible.

Without further preamble Sierra swings the van to the right and straight into the path of the black car. The driver slams on brakes audibly, but in order not to hit the van, has to twist the steering wheel wildly, and ends up careening into the bushes at the edge of the road with a horrible crunching sound.

Sierra brings the van to a halt a couple of hundred feet down the road and reverses sharply to stop at the site of the accident. The car's nose is crumpled beyond repair, and a dazed man with a gash across his forehead is climbing from the shattered driver's window. When he sees the van stop and the four men climb out he recoils, but his legs are still inside the cabin so that he falls straight over backwards. As he is lying on the ground looking up at the few stars he can see on this abnormally dark night, the silhouette of a man bending over him blocks them out.

"Where is she?"

"I swear, man! I didn't know she was married! She wasn't wearing a wedding ring or nothing!"

Sierra frowns at what appears to be ranting from the injured man. He peers back at Tango, who has pulled out the passenger, another male - unconscious - and is now searching the wrecked car along with the other two men. Finally he looks back to the man lying at his feet.

"Who?"

"The girl! She asked for directions. Never said she was married. I didn't mean anything by it, man!"

"Shut up."

Ignoring the whimpering man Sierra turns to watch as Tango, Bravo and Alpha efficiently check the interior of the vehicle. When Bravo lifts his head and murmurs something the shorter man is there immediately.

"What?"

In answer Bravo holds up the small tracking device that is supposed to be lodged inside Ryan's head. Taking it between two fingers Sierra holds it, almost trembling as he considers crushing it in rage. The other men watch him, waiting for a command, but are unprepared when Mahoney finally loses his temper.

"FUCK!"

It drifts out sharply over the quiet night. Even as Danni Delaney slips the needle back in, causing minimal discomfort, she is glancing at the pale lean woman with a measure of concern. Ryan's eyes are closed and her breathing is hitching slightly, and little does the tall woman know that the cause is a painfully delicious flashback of Claire Walsch's lips coaxing her into oblivion. When Danni has finished sticking down the new strip of plaster she touches Ryan's right shoulder sympathetically.

"You look like you're in a bit of pain - do you need something?"

That I do.

"No thank you. I'm fine." Ryan half-smiles her thanks and as Danni leaves the room she closes her eyes again, falling straight into a delicious memory which changes somewhere in the middle to a delicious dream.

At Danni's suggestion Claire takes a shower in the residents' bathroom, standing under the spray of water in a daze for a long time before she shakes herself awake and begins to scrub her body vigorously, if trying not to linger too long on certain parts. She has no idea what has just happened to her - that heady intoxicating rush and loss of control have not been woken in her since… before then; and she cannot even remember when last there was the slickness between her legs that she is now washing away gingerly. Resisting the urge to slip down her fingers and ease the throbbing she takes a few deep breaths and closes the hot water tap, almost yelping as the torrent of water suddenly becomes freezing. Lust cooled sufficiently, she lathers herself up fast and finishes her shower, stepping out to dry her body. When she walks out into the hall Doctor Jensen is just passing by and stops to talk.

"Was that good?"

It is a completely innocent question but it brings a flush to Claire's cheeks. "Yes, it was. Thank you."

"It's a pleasure." Doctor Jensen turns to answer the quick question of a nurse and makes a note on the man's clipboard before she turns back. "We do have some extra space where you can sleep tonight, and tomorrow Nurse Delaney will help you with a list of hotels and inns in the area where you may be able to get a room temporarily."

"Thank you very much, doctor. We've really appreciated the thoughtfulness of everyone at this hospital. And I must say that nurse Delaney is a definite asset to any institution."

"That she is." Doctor Jensen smiles her ridiculously attractive cover-girl smile and brushes her hair back with one hand. "If you need dinner tonight … she'll be able to suggest a few options."

For a moment Claire thinks that Doctor Jensen is about to ask her to dinner, and when it doesn't materialize she is absurdly relieved. "Thank you very much. I'll be sure to check with her."

It is still early in the afternoon and Claire makes a quick call to Andy, assuring her that she's fine before she hangs up. She wants to call Art and let him know where she is, but she understands him well enough to know that he will be too concerned not to take action, and right now the last thing she needs - they need - is the extra attention. Instead she hangs around the waiting room for an hour, and pretends to read the magazines when inside she is wondering why she has to physically hold herself back from visiting Ryan. Why she feels the need to hold herself back at all.

Danni Delaney's suggestion is pizza from a small place called Quattro, which gets her nod because apparently their crusts are fantastic. Phoning through an order for a 'four seasons', Claire retrieves the wallet from the black bag in the Trailblazer and rifles through it, giving the delivery boy with the roving eyes a sturdy tip and a gracious smile. The smell wafting from the box is divine, and as she approaches Ryan's bed her stomach is twisting for more than one reason. Doctor Jensen is at the soldier's side, her hands slender and quick as she examines the stitched wound on Ryan's arm. Apparently she is satisfied with the progress, and it is as she is rewrapping the arm firmly that the soldier looks past her at Claire.

"What have you got there?"

"Pizza. Four seasons. Can I tempt you with a slice?" She holds the box up a little awkwardly.

At the word Ryan's insides heave and she swallows inconspicuously. "No. Thanks."

With a frown Claire addresses Doctor Jensen. "Shouldn't she be eating something?"

"Yes." The doctor fixes the bandage and straightens up, her cool blue eyes serious. "She should. But the meds may be making her a tad nauseous. By tomorrow, definitely. You're much too thin - you need to watch yourself or you'll end up in here again. Okay?" The last parts are aimed at the soldier, who nods. "Good. Take it easy." She leaves the ICU, and Claire, who is standing a good ten feet away from Ryan's bed.

When the doctor turns the corner the soldier gazes at Claire with tired eyes. "Is there a reason why you're standing in the next county, Walsch?" One eyebrow lifts slightly. "Do you regret what happened earlier?"

"No." Claire holds her gaze. "I don't."

"Then come a little closer, please."

"I…. " The doctor looks down at the box in her hand, and when she lifts her head again her cheeks are slightly flushed but her expression is candid. "I'm afraid that if I do… they might have to pry me off you with a crowbar." Ryan laughs - a real actual low husky laugh - in surprise. The rare sound surprises Claire in return, and even as its timbre sends an unwanted shiver down her spine she laughs back. "You asked."

"I did." The vivid green eyes close for a moment. Pushing down her strange primal response to the soldier Claire steps closer, concerned.

"You look exhausted."

"I'm tired." Ryan glances at her, eyes crinkling a little at the blonde's sudden proximity. "Eat your pizza; it's going to get cold."

Pulling closer a chair Claire sits down and pulls out a slice of pizza, closing her eyes at the first taste. The crust is as good as Danni Delaney said it would be, and she chews with satisfaction, licking her lips before the next bite.

"That good?" The sight of the blonde closing her eyes and licking her lips causes a sharp twist in Ryan's gut, a response she writes off as casually as she can to pure lust.

"Mmm."

The throaty response causes another twist, this time slightly lower, and Ryan doesn't speak again, aware that her voice will betray her. She watches as the blonde demolishes four slices in what must surely be a record time, and when Claire puts her fingers in her mouth one by one and sucks off the greasy film Ryan closes her eyes, willing the surge of desire to go away. When she opens them again Claire's cornflower-blue eyes are examining her face, though it doesn't escape her notice that the blonde is still sitting on the chair.

"You okay? Relatively speaking, I mean?"

"Yeah." There's still a slightly rough edge to her voice and she clears it. "I think I'm on my way out."

"I'm keeping you up." Gathering the pizza box Claire stands. "I'll let you get some sleep."

"No goodnight kiss?"

Incredulously the doctor stares at Ryan, but her face is inscrutable. Frowning slightly Claire places the pizza box on the chair and approaches Ryan, a foolish desire to call the dark woman's bluff rushing through her veins. She intends for it to be a light uncomplicated kiss, but as she leans closer and their lips touch the intensity between them flares up and her breath leaves her chest with an audible sigh. Ryan caresses her lips gently with a warm mouth before she pulls back. Straightening up Claire attempts to ignore the flush that is spreading across her cheeks.

"I hope you sleep well tonight."

"I'm sure I will." Ryan closes her eyes and a small smile curves around her lips. "Good night, Walsch."

------

Claire is unsure of the exact time when the commotion outside wakes her. Groggily she turns over in the small cot and stretches her back, starting when the door bursts open and Danni Delaney steps into the room, her tall frame filling the doorway. Behind her Claire can see Doctor Jensen rushing down the hall, twisting to avoid colliding with an orderly moving quickly in the opposite direction.

"Miss Walsch…"

Claire shoots up, anxiety unfurling across her face. "What's happening, Danni?"

The statuesque nurse puts her hands on her hips in a helpless gesture. "Actually we were hoping you could tell us that. Your friend… "

With widening eyes the blonde gets to her feet quickly. "Ryan? What… ?"

Danni nods. "Miss Ryan appears to have discharged herself some time during the night."

"Are you sure she left of her own will?" As soon as the question leaves her mouth Claire curses her own carelessness, but after a brief speculative look at her Danni answers.

"Very much so." The nurse reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "She left you a note." Holding it out she lets Claire take it with uncertain fingers. "You have any idea where she went? She should really still be in hospital."

"I don't know. She could be anywhere." Claire unfolds the piece of paper, not noticing when Danni leaves the room. The handwriting is sprawling and elegant.

Claire

I don't want you in the middle of this. My reasons for keeping you around aren't enough anymore. I'm sorry that I hurt you.

Phone Andy. Go home. Buy a car. Drive it! Get a life. You deserve it.

It's not about surviving.

It's about thriving.

Ryan

"Damn." Claire crumples the paper between her fingers and clenches it in her fist in frustration. "That louse kissed me goodbye."

11.

She does phone Andy. Her sister is at first alarmed when she hears her voice, and then, elated when Claire has to ask her to help with an airline ticket home. In fact, she is ready to come and fetch Claire herself, and the doctor has to refuse four times before she capitulates sulkily.

Next, Claire considers whether she should phone the police to report that she is not a hostage anymore. She does not want to get Ryan into any trouble, but she is not sure what the consequences could be. She is also not sure of the jurisdiction of the situation, and so, after a moment's deliberation, she phones doctor Tilley-Clapham at the Fairwater Institute. His secretary puts her through and when he answers his tone is short.

"Tilley-Clapham here."

"Doctor Tilley-Clapham, this is doctor Claire Walsch."

There is a definite stunned silence at the other end before he speaks again. "Doctor Walsch! Are you all right?"

The concern is polite and cursory at best. "I'm fine, thank you. Captain Ryan … discarded me early this morning in Harlowton."

"Oh. Good. That's good to know. Can Fairwater arrange a flight back here for you?"

"No, thank you. My sister has already arranged something for me. I would, however, appreciate it if you could have my handbag and coat sent to my house."

"Not a problem." He is hearty, and it is fake. "Do you have any idea where Ryan may have gone?"

"No." Her reply is curt.

"Well, all right. It is good to hear that you're safe, and if Fairwater can do anything at all to make up for the inconvenience of what has happened we will gladly do so. Of course our security department will have to get into contact with you regarding Captain Ryan sooner rather than later."

"That's fine. You have my contact details." How like him to describe it as an 'inconvenience'. "Actually, there's one thing you can do, doctor. Can you arrange for a vehicle to take me to the airport in Helena?"

"Sure thing." He takes down her details, also jotting down the description of the SUV at her insistence, and then rings off with another hearty insincerity.

------ When the taxi stops in front of the hospital she says a heartfelt thank you and goodbye to nurse Danni Delaney and Doctor Jensen, whose cover girl looks are by now slightly toned down by the lines of exhaustion creeping in on her face. The drive to Helena is without incident - the driver is a quiet thoughtful man who has no need for conversation, a fact she registers with gratitude - and she picks up her ticket from Horizon Air, boarding immediately.

It does not escape Claire's notice that, wherever she goes, she is looking out anxiously for a shaved head and a lean graceful body, and when she is finally sitting in her aisle seat she is glad to close her eyes for a while and try to block out the myriad of thoughts rushing senselessly through her head. The air hostess hovers, concerned about her tired manner and obvious exhaustion, offering her extra cups of coffee which she accepts without protestation.

By the time the airplane lands in Seattle her almost-empty stomach is nervous and unsettled from the overdose of caffeine. She stands at the carousel for a full minute before realizing that she has no luggage, and when she steps out of the arrival area it is another long moment before she comprehends that the mirror image approaching her is not, in fact, a mirror. Andy opens her arms and wraps them around Claire, pulling her closer firmly.

"Jesus, Claire, I'm so happy to see you." She twists her head to plant an earnest kiss on her sister's cheek. "I was so worried. Are you all right?" Holding onto Claire's hands she steps back and looks her up and down. "You look worn out."

"Yeah, it's been quite a ride." The blonde shoots a skew fond glance at her sister. "Didn't I tell you not to come?"

"I think so. I wasn't listening." Andy places her warm palm on Claire's cheek fondly. "I wouldn't let you get home all alone, C. I've been worried sick. By the way, " she raises her eyebrows dryly, "I figured you wouldn't let mom and dad know yet, so I've called them. They've been frantic, sis - they send their love."

"I would've called them. Later." Claire grudgingly smiles when Andy rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah. Thanks for doing that."

"Not a problem." Andy pulls her closer and wraps an arm around her waist, beginning to lead her to the central terminal. Her hand pats at Claire's waist experimentally. "Have you lost weight, C?" When Claire shrugs she rubs her side. "You haven't got the weight to lose, sis. I'll have to fatten you up while I'm here."

"How long are you staying for, And?"

"For however much time you need me. As long as it's not more than two weeks." Andy smiles, and Claire does too, and a man passing in the opposite direction almost falls over a chair as he looks back at them. They are on their way out towards the parking garage when two men in Navy service dress blues appear from a side door and approach them with intent.

"Hmm. Sexy." Andy nudges Claire, but the doctor simply watches them without comment. They stop in front of the sisters; one man so tall that they have to lean their heads back to look up at him, the other average height and pleasantly handsome.

"Doctor Claire Walsch?" It amuses Claire that the two men look between her and her sister as they say this, obviously unsure of the sudden duality of their quarry. She stubbornly considers the option of staying quiet and letting them figure it out for themselves before exhaustion kicks in and quells her sense of humor.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

They both fix their eyes on her. The taller one speaks. "We need to speak with you regarding the recent incident involving Leah Ryan."

Andy steps closer to her protectively, and she reaches out a hand to pat her sister's arm in reassurance. "That would be fine, officer. Lead the way."

The shorter man flashes a smooth smile at Andy. "We would like to speak with Miss Walsch alone, ma'am, if you wouldn't mind."

"It's doctor Walsch, and yes, I do mind. My sister's not going anywhere without me."

The two officers glance at Claire, but she stares at them reservedly until the taller man capitulates with grace. "All right. Please step this way." They lead the two women through a side door and into a corridor with a maze of doors. Opening one reveals a small conference room. Civilly the men pull out chairs and seat the sisters before they take places on opposite sides of the table.

"My name is Captain Justin Leary, and this is my colleague, Captain Francis Mitchell." It is the shorter man who is speaking. "We are here to speak to you on behalf of General George Turner, who is dealing with the Ryan situation."

At the mention of the name Claire is surprised that she manages to keep the flicker of recognition from her face. "What can I help you with, captain Leary?"

"We would like to ask you a few questions regarding your experience with miss Ryan."

"Captain Ryan." She ignores his slight twitch at her correction. "Go ahead, captain."

The taller man interjects smoothly at this point. "Would you mind if we taped this conversation?" He slides a small Dictaphone out of his pocket and places it in the centre of the table, raising his eyes at her enquiringly. When she shakes her head in the negative he presses the record button and states all of their names as well as the date, time and location, before he nods to captain Leary to continue. The shorter man smiles a handsome smile at her.

"Doctor Walsch, please state for the record that you have given your consent for this conversation to be recorded."

"I have."

"Can you tell us on which day you were abducted from the Fairwater institute by Captain Leah Ryan?"

"It was the… " she pauses for a moment, "excuse me. I'm a little tired. It was the morning of the 13th of June. 2005."

"Can you please give us an indication of the subsequent events?"

Claire runs them through the happenings as factually as she can, her voice even and calm and her manner detached. Even while she is pondering the wisdom of her actions she omits the fact that she knows about DEX, choosing instead to say that she was excluded from certain conversations such as the one at Vice-admiral Victor Banks' house. When she reaches the section about the White Springs Hotel and the shooting she instinctively minimizes her part in the escape. The two men listen without comment until she is finished, and then captain Mitchell speaks.

"Why didn't you escape at the hotel, doctor Walsch? You must have had ample opportunity?"

"I was being shot at by your men, captain." She shoots him a fixed and forceful glance. "Come to think of it… why was I being shot at, Captain? Was my safety not a priority?"

"Of course it was. Our soldiers are highly trained. If they were in fact shooting in your direction they would have taken precautions not to hit you."

"They were in fact shooting in my direction, captain. I've just told you that. And how exactly does one take precautions not to hit the hostage in the dark?"

"They didn't hit you."

"Captain Ryan showed more concern for my welfare than your men did, Captain Mitchell." She is clasping Andy's hand so tightly that her sister has to tap hers lightly before she loosens her grip sheepishly. "Be that as it may. Any other questions?"

"Why did you not abandon Captain Ryan at the hospital, doctor Walsch?"

"Because at that point in time Captain Ryan presented no threat to me any longer and I was concerned about her welfare."

Captain Leary sits forward. "Why?"

"Why not?" She looks at him quizzically. "She had been injured, captain. It took nothing from me to show concern."

"Fine." Captain Mitchell knits his big fingers together in apparent frustration. "Did Captain Ryan at any point discuss any matters of national security with you?"

"She'd been locked up for eight or nine years, captain Mitchell." Claire allows a measure of amusement to creep onto her face. "How much exactly did she know?"

"Just a yes or no will do, doctor."

"No. Unless you consider throwing up a matter of national security."

The tall man ignores her quip. "Do you know where she went, doctor Walsch?"

"No." When both Captain Mitchell and Captain Leary watch her unblinkingly she shrugs her shoulders, suddenly irritable. "What? Do you want to see the map she left me with her current location circled in red?"

Captain Justin Leary raises his eyebrows stoically. "Doctor Walsch, there is no need to be sarcastic."

"Excuse me." Andy slips into the conversation gracefully. "Captain Leary, my sister has been through an awful ordeal, which, may I remind you, was brought on due to the laxness of security on the part of, amongst others, your institution. She is tired and needs some rest, and quite honestly you are treating her as if she is the criminal here. If you have any further pressing questions to ask I suggest that you ask them now, so that I may take her home." Standing up she puts a hand on Claire's shoulder. "And may I suggest that you work some sort of apology into it?"

An inscrutable look passes between Captains Leary and Mitchell before Justin Leary stands up, his face expressionless. "Doctor Walsch, I would like to apologize on behalf of General George Turner and the US Army for the trial you have been through. We will do everything in our power to have the perpetrator brought to justice and the situation rectified."

Claire nods. "Is that all?"

Francis Mitchell rises too. Standing up Claire leans back against Andy momentarily. "Thank you, gentlemen. And goodbye."

They are led towards the central terminal and can almost feel the men's eyes on them as they make their way to the National Rentals counter. Leaning on the hardboard surface Claire bumps Andy lightly with her hip. "Thanks, And. I don't know why you didn't become a lawyer."

"It would have been an unfavorable idea for someone who wants to work with dead things." Andy passes over her credit card and scribbled her elaborate signature at the bottom of the form the smiling attendant passes her before she turns abruptly and pulls Claire in for another tight hug. When she speaks Claire can hear the tears in her voice. "I'm so glad you're okay, Claire. I'm just so glad."

Claire stays in the comforting embrace until Andy sniffs once and steps back, taking the car keys from the counter nonchalantly. Her eyes don't meet Claire's. "Let's go."

In the parking garage they find the National sign and get into the green Chevrolet Aveo waiting for them. Andy is an assertive driver, and she steers them safely through Seattle on the I-5 Express Lane, veering off towards the left just before Lake Union. Maintaining a one-sided conversation she occasionally glances towards Claire, who is sitting quietly staring out of the window, and when she touches her sister's leg once tentatively the blonde glances back with distant eyes.

They stop in front of the pretty brownstone building on 31st Avenue West and inside Claire knocks on the caretaker's door. After intensive questioning of her health and mental state he unlocks her door and gives the extra keys to her for safekeeping until hers are returned to her.

It is a surreal experience for her to be standing on her own doorstep, looking in at the small dining room and kitchen as if she hasn't seen them in years, when it's only been a week and her life has been irrevocably changed. Waving Andy forward into the spare room she makes coffee and doesn't realize that she is crying until her sister's arms wrap around her from behind and Andy's small frame is pressed against hers solidly. Claire stands quietly and lets the tears run down her cheeks unhindered, and when control returns she inhales tentatively a few times before giving Andy's arms a loving pat and stepping out of them. Her sister's eyes are concerned as she takes her cup of coffee from Claire.

"C? Let's talk about it?"

It is with a sense of amazement that Claire realizes exactly how long ago Andy last saw her cry. After that night she has never opened herself to anybody, including her sister, and this makes Andy even more worried about Claire's state. Smiling a small but genuine smile Claire picks up her cup and nods.

"I'd like that."

They move into the living room with its gorgeous view of the park, and Claire sinks down into one of the brown distressed leather sofas and pulls her legs in under her, sipping from her cup inattentively. There is a moment of silence before she suddenly notes Andy's blue eyes on her, and the worry hidden in them. Smiling, she cocks her head.

"I'm okay, And."

"Is it true?"

Stopping the urge to answer immediately, she pauses and ponders. It is a set routine between them, the slow honest asking and answering, and she knows better than to reply without thinking it through. Andy would know. An image of Ryan's fierce green eyes flashes into her mind. "Yes. It's true."

Andy knows not to push her sister. She keeps quiet, watching the play of emotions on Claire's face, until the blonde speaks again.

"She was different than I expected."

"Did she do anything to you?"

"Yes." Claire can see the anger washing through her sister suddenly, and waves it down. "Whoa, Andrea. Wait. It's not what you think."

"Don't make me have to ask you, Claire!" In spite of the frustration in her sister's voice, or perhaps slightly because of it, Claire grins a little, and even though Andy's still angry her lips twitch slightly at the sight. "Come on. Talk."

"Everyone's wondering whether she hurt me, And. Whether she touched me or anything." She smiles at her sister. "She did touch me - but in a way that I never expected."

"Was she crazy?" Coming from Andy it is a straightforward question, no sensationalism or opinion.

"Not even close. " Claire begins to tell her then, about the abduction and the flight and the events that ensued. The difference, though, between the story that Andy has heard at the airport in the conference room and the one that she hears now cannot be more pronounced. Her sister is not taking care at this moment to keep the emotions from her face or her voice, not the facts which she withheld from the Navy officials. She relays the facts about DEX with a breathless intensity that draws her sister into the story effortlessly, and keeps her listening perched at the edge of her seat with a stunned expression. Even at the end she considers leaving off the part where she kissed Ryan, but she understands that Andy will know there's more and cannot keep it from her. When she finally finishes speaking her sister sits back and scowls, an expression born more of compassion than confusion.

"When you walked in here … I could see that something had opened in you." Andy's voice is quiet. "You've been pulling back for such a long time. I hated not being able to reach you."

Claire smiles. "You would have liked her. She has this way of looking right through you, past the barriers you put up, without judging what she sees. I was so vulnerable and emotionally exposed, Andy, and she was so very gentle." She puts down the cup. "Now, looking back, I don't know why I did what I did. Ryan wrote it off to my charged emotional condition - ever gracious - but that wasn't it. She has a strength inside her that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced. Being with her I felt safe - absurd considering that I was in physical danger most of the time, due to her!" She chuckles at herself, causing Andy to laugh softly. "She had some sort of peace - and I wanted a part of that, too."

Andy nods thoughtfully and turns her next words over in her mouth before she speaks them. "I don't understand any of it, C, but seeing you like this, so animated… I don't think I need to. I do think it's a pity that it was her who brought that out in you." Claire considers protesting, but brushes the thought aside impatiently almost immediately, trusting Andy not to disappoint her. And of course her sister doesn't. "Not because she's dangerous, or a fugitive, or even a woman, Claire - simply because she won't be around to build on that with you. You've found a sensation worth holding onto and you can't." Smiling at her sister over the rim of the cup Andy takes a sip of her cooling coffee, and Claire waits silently until she speaks again. "I'm sorry, sis. That's the only thing I can say. I've always wanted the best for you."

"Aw, Andy." Claire gets up and crawls onto the couch next to her sister, laying her head in Andy's lap and looking up at the ceiling. "That was the best thing for me. She woke something in me, and even if she can't be around to see that, I can't make it go back to sleep again."

"The gift that keeps on giving?"

Claire smiles at Andy's dry quip. "Yeah. Something like that." Rolling over she wraps her arms around herself. "Jesus. I'm so tired."

"Then sleep, little sister." Andy begins to stroke her hands soothingly through her sister's disheveled hair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

------ With her sister at her side two weeks just fly by, and when Claire sees her off at Sea-Tac on the 5th of July Andy can't help but marvel at the change in Claire. Her usually edgy personality has eased up somewhat, and she looks younger and happier as she strolls through the airport arm in arm with Andy, both of them drawing appreciative glances.

They say an emotional goodbye and Claire makes Andy promise that she will visit again soon. When Claire watches the airplane lift off she blinks away a tear and smiles to herself before she drives back to her apartment.

She has not been to work yet - the institute knows of the incident with Ryan and feels that Claire needs some time off to gather her thoughts and recover. When first they called her to suggest a month's holiday she balked against the idea immediately. It was only Professor Caitlyn Stevens' firm tone and refusal to budge that finally saw her taking some of the days she'd been hoarding since her first year there. And she has to admit that it is doing her a world of good. She has been seeing a therapist, a gentle older woman who lives in her suburb and makes her feel at ease. They have not yet begun to discuss Ryan, but are working through her rape slowly and surely. Most days Claire feels like a completely new person.

She has not yet managed to stop looking for Ryan wherever she goes. Her eyes automatically search out the lean, the tall, the shaven-headed, and once she even rushes forward to grasp at the shoulder of one of those, only to find a startled young man staring at her with large brown eyes.

Art has been around to visit her, and if she did not understand that he was utterly sincere she would laugh at his suddenly soft tentative manner and hesitancy. He imagines rough things to have happened to her, and even her assurances have not settled his unease. It is, perhaps, made worse by the change in her attitude, which he seems to consider an unnaturally bright reaction to her ordeal. In his solicitousness Claire has begun to notice a faint indication of personal interest in her, beyond the close friendly relationship they have always had, and she tries hard not to engender in him any ideas of reciprocation from her side.

When a month has gone by she returns to work, and is almost sent home again summarily, as she manages within the first two hours to kick plastic surgeon Jack Nesbitt securely in the privates in the elevator. A disciplinary hearing is called, he is threatening to sue, and Claire is considering another kick, when Nesbitt's own secretary stands up and informs the board quite explicitly of his tendency towards sexual harassment. This snowballs and by the end of the day there are almost twenty women on record saying that the man has approached them all at work with equally odious suggestions. Though Claire is not off the hook for grievous bodily harm quite yet, she is assured by the board that no further action will be taken on their part, and when Nesbitt sulkily withdraws his threat of litigation after the security videotape of the elevator reveals what exactly prompted her foot to find its way towards his crotch, she is greeted with grins by all of the woman in the building as she returns to work.

------

It is two months since she returned from Harlowton, half past six on a Thursday evening, when her doorbell rings. Busy in the kitchen, she tosses the dishcloth over her shoulder and approaches the door with a frown, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Her eyes widen.

Through the slightly distorted lens she sees Leah Ryan standing in her hallway.

Clearing her throat in astonishment she runs a hand through her blonde hair, recently cut, before she grasps the door handle and opens the door. Ryan has been studying something down the hall, and when her head turns at the sound their gazes meet and the sight of those vividly green eyes staring into hers almost has her trembling.

"Walsch." The voice is as gritty and hoarse as she remembers it. "You look good."

"You too." And it is the truth. Ryan's dark hair has grown out to a ragged short style with a modish sharp widow's peak. Though her skin is still pale, it is now the natural shade of a light-skinned person rather than illness, and beneath the tight black t-shirt Claire can see that her frame is still lean, but slightly more solid. She is wearing a pair of jeans, the denim faded over her thighs, and a pair of black boots, and she looks gorgeous.

They look at each other quietly for a moment, the silence sitting quite easily between them, and then Claire smiles. "Well, come in, soldier."

Ryan walks past to stand just inside the dining room. She looks around, taking in the kitchen and the part of the living room that she can see, the lovely view of the park. "I imagined your place would look like this."

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please." Ryan moves to the kitchen counter and watches Claire as she bustles around, her hands shaking almost unnoticeably as she pours in the filter coffee. When the blonde glances up, the green eyes meet hers inscrutably. Taking the coffee cup she hands it over, acutely aware of their fingers brushing together when Ryan takes the cup from her.

"Thanks." She remains standing as she takes a sip of the hot beverage. "That's good."

"Why don't we sit down here?" Claire moves to the doorway of the living room, and when Ryan approaches she suddenly finds herself unwilling to move. The soldier stops next to her and studies her face thoroughly before she raises a hand and drags her palm over Claire's cheek slowly, her fingertips caressing the skin briefly before she pulls away.

"You had flour on your face."

"Oh." Breathless, forced out of her suddenly straining chest. Their eyes meet in a fiercely intense collision, and Claire finds herself parting her lips slightly in an effort to catch her abruptly short breath. Ryan's eyes fall to her mouth and the soldier rapidly steps back, breaking the moment.

"What are you here for?" It could sound terse, but the soldier sees beyond the brevity, almost-smiles (those curved lips that Claire sometimes sees in her dreams) and shrugs.

"I'm not entirely sure."

Claire shakes her head. "I don't believe you. You always know what you want."

"Tough rep to maintain." Ryan still stays standing just inside the door, even when Claire moves back to sink into her favorite chair. "I want to know how you are, to start with."

"And then?"

"First things first." Ryan arches her black eyebrows. "How are you, Claire?"

The doctor cannot help but smile at the exaggeratedly solicitous tone. "I'm fine, Ryan - in fact, better than fine. I'm great." She notes the soldier's eyes flickering around the room. "You're safe here. Sit down."

Ryan remains standing. "How's your sister?"

"Andy's good. She came to fetch me from the airport, and stayed with me for a while. It was really nice to have her around for that amount of time. Made me realize that I don't see enough of her."

"She must be upset about what happened to you."

"Some of it." Claire smiles. "She knows me better than anybody else. She can see I'm okay, though."

"You gone back to work?"

"Yep." In quick strokes Claire tells Ryan about the Nesbitt affair. She realizes as she is doing so that she's telling Ryan more in a desire to see her smile than to impart the information. Ryan's response is as close to a smile as she ever gets, though the enjoyment in her eyes is real.

"Good. You stood up for yourself." She drains her cup and glances around for a place to put it, settling on the small table next to the couch. "Have you been driving?"

"I have, yes. No car yet, I haven't decided on what I'd like, but I will soon. In the meantime I'm driving Art's car when he lets me."

"Art? Oh, Arthur Clarke?"

"Yes. He's a very good friend." She doesn't understand why she feels the need to clarify that. Ryan nods thoughtfully.

"Right. You should get yourself a red car, low-slung. That would suit you."

"Why?" If she were in complete control she wouldn't ask - it's the type of statement that you don't pick a fight with unless you're ready to take the consequences.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Because it would match your charm." Brushing off whatever else it is she is tempted to say she shrugs. "You look very good, Claire. Healthy. Happy."

"I am." The blonde frowns slightly. "So what's happening with the DEX thing, Ryan?"

The soldier looks at her inscrutably. "I can't tell you that, Claire. It's not something you can know."

"Okay." Though she attempts to be nonchalant the upset shows and Ryan steps closer, almost extending a hand before she thinks better of it.

"It's truly dangerous. I don't want you involved any more."

"I understand. How are you getting around without being caught? Did you drive all the way here?"

Ryan smiles and slips a passport out of her back pocket. When she flips it open she only holds it out long enough so that Claire can only identify her picture (albeit with long lustrous hair) and the name Isabella Carmen before she closes it and slips it back into her pocket. "I know people I really shouldn't."

Claire grins. "I should have known. Isabella - do you speak Spanish?"

"Yes. My mother was Spanish. I grew up in Mexico."

"When did she pass away?"

"A long time ago." Ryan leans against the doorframe a little.

"Sit down, please?" For emphasis Claire pats the couch next to her chair. With amused eyes Ryan pushes herself away from the door and sits down on the edge of the couch, but even then her bearing is erect and stiff-backed. She sits as if she is at attention, Claire muses. "How is your shoulder?"

"It's fine." Catching the grin Ryan cocks her head. "All right, a bit stiff now and then, but mostly fine." As if to demonstrate she rolls it around, thought it doesn't escape Claire's notice that the movement isn't quite as loose as it should be yet.

"And your hands?"

"All healed." Ryan lifts a square hand towards Claire, and without thinking the blonde grasps it in her own and draws it nearer to inspect the limb. There are faint white scars visible in places, but the skin is neatly healed. It is when the hand in her own twitches slightly that she begins to feel the heat of Ryan's hand seeping into her flesh. Studying it wordlessly she covers every inch of skin, from the long tapered fingers to the narrow bony wrist, memorizing all of the scars and marks, and when she looks up it is to find the green eyes fixed on her with a muted hunger burning in them. Taking a slow breath she raises the hand to her lips and places a blazing kiss on the pale skin, feeling the fingers shift slightly against her hand as she does so. She lowers the hand but does not let it go.

"What else?"

Her voice is low and throaty, and she does not care. Ryan watches her greedily. "What?"

"What else did you come here for, Ryan?"

The soldier's eyes don't shift from hers, and her rough voice is hoarse when she speaks.

"For you."

At the words Claire swallows convulsively. She wants to be levelheaded, she wants to be clear, but the energy from the woman is washing over her mercilessly and the memory of their kiss is setting her mind on fire. Has been doing so night after night. Withdrawing her hand Ryan moves forward, kneeling in front of Claire as she cups her cheek with hot fingers.

"You can tell me to go right now, and I will."

"I don't want you to go." Claire does not remember saying the words, but even as she imagines she thinks them Ryan's green eyes flash.

"Claire." The soldier's voice is ragged. "I can't promise you anything. I don't have anything. All I want is to see if this … attraction between us is real."

"I don't want promises. I want you." Claire closes her eyes against the fingertips stroking her face so softly. "Just for tonight. I don't care about tomorrow. I want you."

When the soldier's lips brush against her own she opens her mouth in a silent sigh and leans closer. Ryan caresses her mouth at a slow languid pace, nipping at her bottom lip and then drawing it into her own mouth gently. Her tongue passes over it lightly and Claire moans against her mouth, beginning to return her kiss with rising passion. Their mouths clash and withdraw. Reaching back Claire wraps a hand around Ryan's neck and pulls her closer, forcing their lips together fiercely, and with a groan the soldier wraps her hands in Claire's hair. Their tongues collide and stroke, thrust and tease, and when Ryan drops her head and begins to drop burning kisses on Claire's neck, the doctor gasps, trying to recover her breath. Her attempt is brought to a short sharp halt by the intensity of sensations flooding through her as the soldier briefly sinks her teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder before she kisses the abused spot fiercely. Her hands slip from Claire's hair to her knees and she parts them firmly, moving forward between them to press her lean torso against Claire's. Her hands slide up the blonde's thigh to cup her buttocks as she moves her mouth to the other side and begins to caress the sensitive skin just under Claire's ear. When the soldier's hands pull her forward and her throbbing center presses against Ryan's stomach she wraps her arms around the lean strong shoulders and arches her back helplessly.

"Ryan… "

It comes out very soft and breathless, but the soldier is listening. Her mouth stills momentarily at its amazing motion. "What?"

"I…"

When she pauses Ryan sits back immediately, her hands slipping from Claire's buttocks to her knees. "If you want to stop, I will." The flush on her face and the breathy quality of her voice belies the statement, but Claire doesn't doubt her. Shifting her hands from the woman's solid back Claire caresses her shoulders and neck with feather light touches.

"No, I don't want to stop. It's just… I'm not good with intimacy. I told you."

"You seem to be doing fine to me." Taking a deep breath Ryan sits back on her haunches. "What can I do?"

"I don't know. I'm just worried that I might not be able to … " Claire looks down. A hand under her chin lifts her head and Ryan looks into her eyes frankly.

"You're in control, Claire. Set the pace. Take the lead. I'll do whatever you ask me to."

The blonde smiles a little shakily. "Okay." Leaning into the hand on her face she licks her bottom lip. "Kiss me?"

"That I can." Ryan leans forward and the kiss begins again, slowly and tentatively. The soldier's soft lips brush against hers in rhythmic strokes, and it is finally Claire who pulls Ryan closer and deepens the contact. Splaying one hand against the back of Ryan's head she pulls the soldier as close as she can, and the other hand slips over the lean woman's shoulder and down her back. When Claire parts her legs and drags Ryan closer to her she stills for a moment, feeling the heat of her groin pressed once again to the soldier's stomach. Ryan's mouth slows its movement as she waits for the blonde to make a decision, and when Claire's hips tilt forward to press against her she groans into the other woman's mouth and slides her hands slowly up Claire's legs, skimming her thighs and buttocks to rest her fingers loosely on her curved hips.

The blonde is kissing her ferociously now, the initial hesitation lost to the wild intensity between them, and Ryan can feel the muscles in her straining thighs flutter as she struggles not to press forward into Claire's slowly thrusting hips. The feeling of the blonde's rocking motions against her body, combined with the overwhelming force of the kiss and the fingernails trailing over her shoulders roughly is sending shivers down her spine and rendering her completely light-headed. So much so, in fact, that it takes her a moment to realize when Claire abruptly shifts her mouth from the soldier's and leans in to kiss a hot trail down Ryan's neck. Arching towards the mouth the dark woman wants to gasp, but she doesn't seem to have the air in her lungs, and she can only close her eyes as Claire's right hand begins to caress the opposite side of her neck. Her hands tighten convulsively around Claire's hips, and it is with real effort that she loosens her grip and shifts her hands around a little helplessly. The blonde's lips trail down her neck, alternating between gentleness and fierce passion, and the throbbing left both in their trail and in other parts of her body leaves Ryan weak.

As Claire pulls a little at the v-neck of Ryan's shirt to find access to the swell of her collarbones she marvels at the feeling of the soldier's smooth skin beneath her hands. Her hips are still rocking rhythmically against Ryan's torso and she has given up trying to control them; the wet aching warmth that is spreading in her groin drives her forward pitilessly.

A part of her mind is telling her to slow down, to see this for what it is - lust, pure and definite - and to pull back, not to succumb. This is the part of her mind that she is pushing backwards without further thought to make way for breathtakingly raw passion while she slips a hand under Ryan's shirt and drags her nails over the soldier's side. When Ryan moans throatily, the vibrations purring against her mouth - she can feel the dark woman fighting to keep herself under control - she pulls back to stare into the feverish green eyes hungrily.

Without warning she suddenly stands, hoisting Ryan up with her by her black shirt. The soldier rises to her feet, her breath short and jagged, and when Claire completes the motion by pulling her shirt over her head she lifts her arms silently to let the blonde peel the material from her body.

Flinging the shirt carelessly into a corner Claire moves forward with a predatory motion that sends a shiver through Ryan's body. In a sure action she places both hands on Ryan's tight stomach, feeling the muscles tremble underneath, and runs them upwards strongly, her fingers kneading gently as they cover Ryan's high small breasts. Gritting her teeth the soldier wraps her hands around Claire's waist, and involuntarily they slip under the blonde's shirt and begins to caress her skin impatiently. Claire seems not to notice this as she runs her hands ardently over the body she has been dreaming about, her fingers and palms and nails everywhere at once. When she briefly brushes over Ryan's belt buckle the soldier stiffens, and when her fingers return to fumble clumsily at it the soldier takes a deep ragged breath. Stepping back Claire undoes the belt impatiently before she unsnaps the top button, and then pulls Ryan closer again. Her left hand slips upward to draw teasing nails over the soldier's tight rigid nipple as her right caresses Ryan's stomach, slowly slipping into the waistband of her underwear to drag through the soft silky hair.

When her hand slips down lower, Ryan's back arches and she leans against Claire, her knees abruptly inadequate. The blonde runs trembling yet urgent fingers into the warm soaking folds, her breath straining against Ryan's neck as she strokes the soft wet skin. The soldier's shoulders twitch when Claire's fingers tentatively explore the entrance of her sex, and when they carelessly flick over the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex she releases a guttural groan.

A feral smile crosses Claire's mouth at the throaty sound. Leaning forward she tilts her head and captures the soldier's earlobe between her teeth, nipping at it sharply before she begins to caress the skin beneath it warmly with her mouth. The rhythm of her fingers is relentless, dragging through the slick folds slowly and torturously to culminate every stroke with a firm caress of the clit, and when Claire finally follows it by slipping her fingers into Ryan the soldier almost falls. Wrapping her hands around Claire's hips tightly for support she tries to spread her thighs, her motion constricted by the jeans still hanging around her waist.

Claire is marveling at the softness, the heat of the flesh under her fingers. When she captures the sensitive bud between two fingers and squeezes it gently an unintelligible word escapes Ryan's throat, and when she enters the other woman her back arches helplessly, gooseflesh dotting her torso unexpectedly. Feeling desire speed through her Claire begins to thrust her fingers strongly into Ryan, her heel dragging roughly over the lean woman's clit with every stroke, and when she realizes that her motion is being constrained by the taut fabric of the soldier's underwear she growls and withdraws her hand, forcing a sharp exhalation from Ryan. Reaching down impatiently Claire pushes down the jeans and underwear to Ryan's feet, not bothering to undo the boots before she moves the soldier backwards a few awkward steps to press her against the wall.

Her hand finds its way back between the lean thighs and this time Ryan can lean back against the cool plaster and tilt her hips forward. As the blonde enters her and begins to thrust again she reaches out with an unsteady hand to clasp the top of the dresser against the wall closest to her. The brush of the heel against her swollen and sensitive flesh is urging her upwards rapidly, and as her body explodes powerfully and she tightens around the fingers inside her convulsively, her green eyes lock onto the blue ones watching her liquidly with fierce intensity.

As Ryan's body begins to arch and her muscles start to tighten uncontrollably Claire keeps thrusting, desperate to feel the connection between them until the soldier's hand on her wrist cautions her to withdraw. Leaning forward she rests her palms against Ryan's heaving ribs and her forehead in the hollow of her neck, smiling slightly as she feels the lean woman's hands caress her back bonelessly. Finally Ryan takes a more controlled breath.

"God." Her voice is husky.

"No, Claire's still fine."

Leaning her head back against the wall Ryan shoots the blonde a smoldering look.

"Is Claire?"

Blood rushes to her cheeks - and other parts of her anatomy. Studying the flush with suppressed amusement Ryan moves to pull up her jeans, leaving the belt unbuckled. When she reaches out and runs a slow hand across Claire's side the blonde exhales somewhat raggedly.

"Can we go to the bedroom, Claire?"

When she nods Ryan lets her lead to the main bedroom and the soft bed standing against the wall. Kneeling down the soldier unties her boots as quickly as possible and discards them along with her socks and jeans, leaving her in only her black panties. When she stands Claire cannot stop her eyes from roaming over the sensual expanses of pale skin and the long lean legs. Now, after the blinding haze of hunger for the soldier has settled down somewhat, she can see the star-shaped scar that decorates Ryan's upper bicep. When the lean woman walks towards her slowly she reaches out a hand and touches the raised skin carefully.

"It still hurts?"

Humming a low insufficient answer in her throat Ryan takes the hand trailing along her shoulder and pulls Claire closer, until there is barely a foot of space between them. Placing her other hand lightly on the doctor's side she looks down into the blue eyes.

"I'd like to kiss you. May I?"

The words are so simple. Nodding, Claire closes her eyes and tilts her head, slipping her arms around the lean shoulders as Ryan's warm mouth descends on hers. The kiss is less raw this time, more sensual, and even as she feels the soldier's hands slip under her shirt to brush over her lower back she runs her right hand up and twines her fingers in the short shaggy black hair. Ryan's mouth is firm yet gentle, her tongue asking for entrance before it explores her lips with a feather light stroke. Sinking into the sensation Claire lowers her hands and journeys them across the bare back, tracing the still slightly protruding bones and scars that feel like velvet under her fingertips. The soldier's hands begin to mimic her trail, caressing her back in sure swirls and touches, slipping up over the bra strap and under it. When Ryan pulls back her mouth Claire almost mewls in protest. The soldier's green eyes are heavy-lidded and quiet.

"Will you take off your shirt?"

The blonde's hands are trembling when she begins to undo the buttons, and once or twice she fumbles and has to try again, but the soldier does not move her hands from their resting place on Claire's lower back. It is only when Claire shyly opens the shirt and slips it from her shoulders that Ryan steps back a little. Her expression is filled with desire as she studies Claire's pale torso, her firm round breasts barely covered by the neat white lace bra. Reaching out Ryan extends a forefinger and trails it over Claire's lips, down the side of her neck, into the dip at the base of her throat, over the clear line of the collarbone, down the swell of her chest… Where the bra strap meets the cup she pauses for a moment before she traces the outline of the bra, dipping in ever so slightly, so that her finger passes barely half an inch above the rapidly hardening nipple. When Claire's back arches slightly the ghost of a smile creeps around her mouth.

"And this, too."

Claire reaches back with both hands to undo the clasp and the motion pushes her breasts forward sharply. Ryan's finger continues its trail down into her cleavage and up the other breast, but when the blonde lifts her hands and slips the straps from her shoulder to let the bra fall to the ground, the soldier lowers her hand to Claire's hip and pulls her closer. She gazes at the blonde's breasts in clear appreciation before she closes the gap between them, pressing her bare torso against Claire's smoothly as she runs her hands over the naked back offered to her. Claire's rigid nipples press against the underside of her breasts as the blonde arches into her. Kissing Claire's face and neck teasingly she begins to run her fingertips down Claire's side, each time brushing closer to the side of her breasts. When the blonde exhales shakily and lifts her arms to wrap them around Ryan's neck again, the soldier smiles a little and brushes her thumbs lightly over the side of the pale full breast so readily accessible, repeating the motion when it brings forth a soft gasp. As she repeats the motion a third time Claire moves out of her arms, her breathing strained. Reaching down she takes Ryan's hands in hers and places them on her breasts.

"Please. Touch me."

Ryan's hands are firm and tender, sensual as they stroke, and teasing as they nip and knead at the pale flesh. The soldier runs her thumbs lightly around the hard pink nipples until Claire is twisting uncomfortably, her body aching, and then Ryan abruptly leans forward and wraps her lips around the nub, teasing it further with her hot tongue. The blonde parts her lips and gasps, straining forward in an attempt to prolong the contact, and when the soldier's lips move to the other breast she wraps her hands in Ryan's hand and moans softly. Leaning back the soldier watches her unashamedly wanting expression hungrily before she slips a finger into the waistband of Claire's pants and pulls slightly.

"Off?"

In answer the blonde unsnaps the waistband without objection and pulls down the pants, stepping out of them and immediately into the soldier's arms again, her breasts pushing against Ryan's chest. The solider lazily runs her hands down Claire's side, over her ribs and fleetingly against the sides of her breasts, then strokes downwards again, back over her sides and down to her soft hips. Hooking her thumbs in the sides of the white lace panties she leans in for another kiss, this one searing and breathless, her hands splayed across the blonde's narrow hips, and when Claire presses herself against the lean body the soldier pulls her in closer, caressing the flesh under the material steadily.

Wrapping her hands around Ryan's shoulders Claire pulls her backwards to the bed, stumbling a little in her hurriedness and sighing in relief against the soldier's mouth when she feels the edge of the mattress pressing at the back of her knees. Pulling back, Ryan looks at the bed over her shoulder, and then at Claire, and when she moves out of the soldier's grasp to sit on the edge Ryan follows, propping one knee on the bed. Leaning forward she supports herself on her hands either side of Claire's hips and tilts her head for a kiss, surprised when the blonde slips both hands into her hair and pulls her closer sharply. Claire's mouth is insistent and demanding, and it is finally she who pulls Ryan down on top of her, sliding a hand down to the soldier's hip to hold it against hers. Growling, Ryan runs a hand down her side, dragging her fingertips over the smooth skin of her thigh before she slips her leg between Claire's. Her lean thigh shifts against the blonde's wet centre and the curvy body beneath hers jerks a little as the doctor arches her back with a low groan. Supporting herself on her hands above Claire Ryan leans down and captures her lips relentlessly, her hips undulating rhythmically and her thigh brushing against Claire's hot aching center insistently.

This time it is Claire's hands that shift helplessly along the bare heat of Ryan's spine, her back arching and her thighs clenching with every lazy thrust of the soldier's hips. Yearning is building inside her, tumbling low inside her stomach and throbbing between her legs, and the slow skilled motion of the body stretched out on hers and the thigh between hers is mingling with the inexplicable desire Ryan awakens in her. She lifts her hips a little in an attempt to feel more of Ryan's lean muscled thigh on the sensitive parts begging for it, and smoothly the soldier halts the delicious motion.

"Is this all right?"

The low voice sends a chill down her spine and involuntarily her body shudders. Licking her lips, she closes her eyes against the sudden lightheadedness and when she opens them her words are concise and unambiguous.

"Please. Take me."

And Ryan does.

------ It has stopped raining outside. The moon is bright and insistent, its beam focused through the window on the glistening bare bodies stretched out on the bed with an indolent lack of restraint. The lean woman has one hand propped behind her dark head. Her other hand is tangled in, and lazily kneading through, the blonde hair of the head resting on her torso just below her small breasts. The curvy blonde woman is lying on her back, her right arm stretched out along the lean leg so that her hand is curled around the knee, with her own leg draped off the side of the mattress casually. Occasionally she turns her head to kiss the breast closest to her offhandedly, a motion that causes a half-smile on the dark woman's face every time.

"That was fantastic."

Claire grins a little at the purred words. "It was better than that, Ryan. It was phenomenal."

"Phenomenon. Something exceptional. A singularity." The soldier nods once. "Yes."

Turning her head Claire shoots her lover a mock surprised look before she lightly nips at the underside of the firm breast. "Sex turn you into a dictionary?"

Ryan pushes the blonde head away from her breast with a short stifled grumble. "Stop that. You'll kill me. I need to catch my breath." Rubbing at the now stiffening nipple in a careless motion that causes the blonde to catch her own bottom lip between her teeth hungrily, Ryan continues. "I'm pondering the aptness of the word. You do something quite … foreign… to me."

"Should I patent it?" Rolling over, Claire eyes the flat stomach pensively before she begins to plant kisses along the defined ridge in the centre of it. The soldier groans and closes her eyes, slipping her fingers back into the blonde hair.

"No. Definitely not. People with less stamina than me would just explode."

"That's everybody." Halting the kisses Claire rests her chin on the hard stomach beneath her and raises her eyebrows devilishly. "It's lust, Ryan. Welcome to pure unfettered raw lust. I hope you have a lovely stay." She runs her hand teasingly up Ryan's leg. "Combined with a strong dose of emotional connection brought on by a forcibly vulnerable situation. It's a classic reaction to incredible stress, Ryan - simple adrenaline, amongst other things."

"You're sexy when you're talking shop." The soldier reaches out to caress the smooth shoulder blade with a light touch. "So that's what this electricity is? Adrenaline and lust?"

"Just my opinion."

"I can live with that."

"Sounds like you have your breath back. Good." Pushing herself up the blonde straddles the dark woman and leans forward, her shoulder-length hair brushing over the pale skin under her as she plants a hot kiss on a corner of the square jaw. The soldier's hands splay over Claire's thighs and then shift upwards to caress her small curved hips and smooth back.

"You're gorgeous."

In answer Claire shifts a little and begins to move her hips and her hands in a rhythmic action, and after that there is only the sound of adrenaline and lust, the movement of naked body on naked body, and the beam of moonlight that is gradually diffused by the rain.

------ When Claire wakes up it is raining lightly and she is alone. Everything is saturated with the recall of Ryan. Her muscles ache, her white sheets are disheveled and crumpled, her pillows are perfumed with the dark woman's scent. There is a long lean dent in the flat sheet next to her. When she stretches her naked body drowsily, for a moment she imagines that she can still feel the woman's fingers deep inside her. Ryan is everywhere, and Ryan is nowhere. Ryan is gone.

------ The next time she wakes she rolls over lazily, an appreciative grin on her face at the slightly uncomfortable sensations in certain areas, and pulls open the bedside table drawer to take out a remote. The pressing of one button slides open a rectangular panel in the wall to reveal a small LCD television, and another button switches on the streamlined gadget. Tousling her already mussed blonde hair with one hand she switches from a cooking channel to a nature show, and then yawns as she flips through a few more. The cartoon channel earns a skew amused grin, but she passes that by too, opting for the serious face of the CNN anchorman as he grimly intones something about Iraq. Even the grainy unsteady material flashing across the screen doesn't dampen her mood, and she is reveling in the languid state of her body when her eye catches something familiar on the screen. It is the face of Vice-Admiral Victor Banks. With a start she scrambles for the remote, almost knocking it off the bed before she manages to turn up the volume.

"… two months ago in Fort Benton. The assailant was a personal friend of Vice-Admiral Banks'. Local police believe that there was a scuffle after which Banks was shot at close range by her with his own pistol."

The picture behind the anchorman changes, and now it is Ryan looking out from the screen, her green eyes menacing and cold in the exceptionally bad grainy photo.

"Captain Leah Ryan is extremely dangerous and believed armed. She was last seen in the vicinity of Harlowton, Montana. Authorities caution the public not to approach or attempt to apprehend her, but rather to contact the local police, or General George Turner's office at the number shown on the screen."

The remote falls with a dull thud from Claire Walsch's boneless fingers.

12.

"Good afternoon, General George Turner's office. Anthony speaking."

"Good afternoon, Anthony - is there any chance that I could speak to General Turner?"

Pause. "I'm afraid not, ma'am. General Turner is not in at the moment. What is this in connection with?"

Silence as she thinks. "Anthony, this is Claire Walsch, and I desperately need to speak to General Turner with regards to the Ryan incident."

His modulated tone tells her that he recognizes her name. "Doctor Walsch, General Turner is not in the office at the moment, but if you should wish to leave your number I will make sure that he is informed of your call immediately."

She recites her number, twice for safety's sake even though Anthony sounds more than competent, and rings off with a silent internal sigh.

It is ten minutes later when her phone rings.

"Claire Walsch."

"Doctor Walsch, this is General George Turner. You wish to speak to me about Captain Leah Ryan."

"I do. Thank you for returning my call so promptly."

"Not at all." His voice is gruff, brusque, and to the point, even though he is clearly making an effort to be civil. "What is it you have to tell me?"

"General, I would like to talk to you about the death of Vice-Admiral Victor Banks."

"I see." He is silent for a moment. "Doctor Walsch, have you seen Leah Ryan recently?"

She has never been good at lying. "Yes."

"All right." There's no trace of surprise, and for the briefest moment Claire wonders if it's something these military types are taught. "I'll be at Naval Station Everett in three days, doctor Walsch. Please speak to Anthony for directions."

------

Traffic is heavy on Monday morning, and though Claire has the radio turned to her favorite station her thoughts are a million miles away. She is anxious, and somehow she is embarrassed that she feels that way.

Early this morning she has called Art Clarke to let him know in as casual a manner as possible where she is going, even though the call created confused questions which she could not answer. Art is not sure how to behave around her lately. It is fairly obvious that almost losing her has awoken him to new realizations. Claire tries to be understanding, but his suddenly tentative behavior and muted fussing drives her insane. She misses her funny relaxed friend, and yet, beyond being kind, there is nothing she can do to bring him back.

The DEX situation hovers in the back of her mind too. She has tried to imagine what Ryan will be doing next, what the possible subsequent course of action could be, but there appears to be nothing, no feasible plan or idea. It does not help that when her thoughts move into that direction they automatically shift to linger on the soldier, either. On the one hand Ryan has influenced her - more by example than instruction - in the manner she leads her life so fearlessly. On the other, though, she is supremely aware of how little she knows of Ryan. Of how the sudden emotional turmoil has thrown her together with somebody whose life is shrouded in ambiguity.

Nevertheless, now, when she thinks about Ryan, her obvious doubts are being nudged aside by the smoldering memory of the naked soldier with her head thrown back. It is a deliciously illicit thought, and one she intends to hold onto as long as she can.

------

General George Turner is a squat wide man, not fat so much as solid. His heavy brow and bushy grey scowl give him the air of an aggressive bull, an image that is further enhanced by the manner in which he holds his elbows away from his body. He is lacking in people skills, which Claire notes when he ushers her into his temporary office abruptly.

"I've appropriated an office for our meeting. Sit."

He indicates an old stiff-backed chair in front of the basic desk and Claire complies, churlishly wanting to resist because of his tone but having no real reason to do so. Instead of sitting down on the other chair he perches on the edge of the table, simultaneously looming over her and invading her personal space. She has no real doubts that this is the precise intent of his stance.

"So. Ryan. You have something to tell me."

"I do." Claire has been in the company of far worse, and she is not being flustered by this man. "Last night on the news I saw mention of Victor Banks' death. It seems that Ryan is the suspected killer."

"Yes."

"It can't be. I was with her at that time. She implicitly told me that he was still alive after we left his house."

Turner folds his beefy forearms. "Did you, in fact, see for yourself that Vice-Admiral Banks was alive when you left?"

Claire's first impulse is outrage, but even as she attempts to temper her anger she is already acknowledging the truth of Turner's question. Taking a deep settling breath she bites down hard before she replies. "No. I did not."

"So then all you have is the word of a woman notorious for her unstable temper?"

"Yes." Claire frowns. "Why is this item only in the news now, General?"

A tight smile crosses his wide lips, lifting the incongruously beautiful dip of his cupid's bow slightly. "That, doctor, is the right question." He unfolds his arms and wraps his hands around the edge of the table top beneath him. "Your affirmation of Ryan's innocence, though noble, is completely useless, because Victor Banks died this week."

"What?" Claire blinks up at him in confusion, her mind addled even though she understands somewhere deep down that this must be the simplest explanation. "This week?"

"Yes. Otherwise the news item would have been broadcast earlier, as you yourself said."

Her forehead Is furrowed. "And you think that Ryan had something to do with it?"

"Not something. Everything. We found the weapon, and her fingerprints on it."

"For God's sake! He was a friend of hers!" She shakes her head. "You can't believe that?"

"I can, and I do." Pushing himself up from the wooden surface he struts around to the other side of the desk and sinks into the old leather chair. "What you believe is your business. Now, tell me about when you last saw Ryan."

"I…" Claire struggles to get her thoughts organized. She does not want to share any part of Ryan with this man. "Captain Ryan came to see me last night. She wanted to make sure that I was alright."

"And?"

"And nothing. It was purely a social call. She was concerned about my wellbeing."

By the lift of his heavy eyebrows she can tell that he thinks she is lying. "Your hostage taker arrived at your door to ask how you were. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes." Claire's blue eyes are defiant.

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth. What you believe is your business."

For a moment it looks as if he is considering bodily harm. His jaws grind together and he narrows his eyes before apparently attempting to regain his temper. "And that is what you came all this way to tell me, doctor Walsch?"

"No. I didn't come all this way to tell you that. I never, in fact, indicated any fervor to discuss this with you. What I came all this way to do, General," she shifts forward and fixes him with a straight stare, "is to tell you that I do not believe Captain Leah Ryan was capable of killing Vice-Admiral Banks. That I know she did not kill him when she had the chance to. And that I think you're stringing her up for reasons of your own."

"And what would those be?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, General, but you picked the wrong victim."

"Very well." He sits back and glares at her. "You are welcome to your opinion. In the grand scheme of things it changes nothing. I do have one more question for you, however." Reaching down he pulls open a drawer and withdraws a large manila envelope. Opening the flap he slides out several large photos and shifts them around deftly so that they are spread out on the table and facing Claire.

"Do you know this woman?"

His thick finger is pointing towards a woman present in all of the photos. Judging by the shade of her skin and the mass of black hair cascading down her back in loose beautiful curls, she appears to be a Latino. Warm brown eyes shine out of an exceptionally attractive face as she laughs in sincere pleasure at something being said by her attentive companion.

Who turns out to be Ryan.

The photos are recent, considering the length of the soldier's hair. A sudden silence wells up in Claire as she looks from one photo to the next. Two dark heads, equally attractive, together in intimate relaxed conspiracy. The woman laughing at something Ryan is saying, her head thrown back in abandon. Ryan reaching forward to touch her hand, green eyes serious as she leans closer. Ryan, looking to the left and seeming to spot the photographer, her brows drawing together. And then, finally, Ryan, turning her back on the photographer. Blocking her companion from the lens with what appears to be a kiss. Claire's stomach clenches awkwardly. Too close. Too comfortable.

The blonde shuffles the photos around mindlessly before she responds.

"No. I don't know her."

"Are you sure?"

Claire takes a last look at the gorgeous face laughing up at Ryan. "Yes. That's not a face you forget. Who is she? Where were the pictures taken?"

"I don't know - which is why I asked you." Ignoring the last question he reaches forward to gathers the photos and slides them back into the envelope, this time not bothering to put it in the drawer. When he stands and offers his hand it's almost offensive. "Thank you for coming in, doctor Walsch."

There is not much more Claire can do. Rising, she shakes his hot large hand with distaste. Before she leaves the office she turns. "General, you may not care, but I'm telling you for the last time that the woman I know is not capable of the thing you're saying she's done."

"Then perhaps you don't know her as well as you think, doctor. Good day."

She is angry as she leaves. Angry at General Turner for what he's about to do, for the truth of the blow he's just struck, angry at the rest of the world for not doing anything, angry at Ryan for kissing a gorgeous woman, and angry at herself for being angry about that.

After all, the soldier does not belong to her.

But the ease of it rankles, the companionship in their eyes, the casual touches, and though she knows she has asked for - and by definition deserved - no more than the heat and the fire and the intensity between them, she still feels betrayed.

She is berating herself so severely and deeply that she does not notice the tall man until he has walked several steps with her. Slowing down she glances up in annoyed uncertainty at his handsome face.

"Yes?"

"Are you doctor Claire Walsch?" He is polite, but with an edge of something she can't place.

"Yes." Irritation makes her edgy. "What is it now?"

"I need to speak with you."

"What about? Who are you?"

He looks down at her bleakly. "I'm Leah Ryan's husband."

------ He is over six feet tall, lean, blonde, and square-jawed, and he is married to Ryan. Shaking her head Claire reaches up to cup a suddenly aching temple.

"Excuse me?"

"Christopher Melville." He extends a hand which she shakes somewhat blindly. "You look a little pale, doctor Walsch. Shall we sit down somewhere?"

When she nods he takes her arm in an old-fashioned manner and leads her across the road, to a bench flanking the beautiful old fountain in the middle of the paved plaza. When she sits he perches next to her, his body nearly humming with energy.

"Do you have any idea where Ryan is?"

"No." She rubs her head again and studies him from under a frown. "I didn't… Ryan never said she was married. She doesn't have your name."

"She preferred her own. And she's not exactly free with information, that woman." He shrugs. "You wouldn't have had any cause to know." When he suddenly shifts forward and grasps her hand in his she almost recoils. "Please, doctor Walsch. If you know anything, you need to tell me. Ryan needs my help. She's in very deep trouble this time."

"This time?" Claire pulls her hand from his, watches him warily.

"She's always been a time bomb, my wife." A wry little smile crosses his lips. "It's just a question of degrees."

"Why would you say that?" Her tone is pure professional now - and yet the crinkling of his eyes as he quickly glances at her, and then away, makes her think that he is aware exactly why she would ask. He fiddles with the gold ring on his thumb thoughtfully before he replies.

"She has been experiencing psychotic episodes for the last ten years. It is not exactly public knowledge, but… "

"I know this."

Claire's abrupt answer startles him, but she can't tell whether it's the briefness or the content. Biting the inside of his lip he looks at her warily. "You know? Oh. Of course you do. You consulted in her case. I'm sorry. I'm not thinking clearly right now - the stress of the situation…"

"Naturally." It's what she says, but somehow his demeanor strikes her more as primed than anxious. It's in his taut limbs, the alertness of his eyes, and the apologetic smile that slips through too often. She doesn't call him on it, but she knows that if she watches closely enough she will see the moment when he slips. It's a game she plays every day. "You think there's something wrong with her?"

"Don't you?" He frowns.

"No. I think that her behavior has been completely out of her control. It's not something she should be held accountable for personally."

He picks up on the vague therapeutic direction of her words as she has intended him to, and cocks his head with a half-smile. "Of course you'd say that. You think there's good in every person, right? If you just dig deep enough?" Raising his eyebrows he folds his arms. "When I met her she was already like that, doctor. She's always been like that. Volatile. It's a word every single person who knows her would use. Be careful."

His last words are a gauntlet thrown at her feet. She wants to be as cool and collected as always, but the day is not even halfway gone yet and her thoughts are in a desperate mess. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I'm saying. Her fire can be enthralling, but it's also completely unrestrained. Take my advice, doctor. Don't get caught staring at the flames."

The man is playing some game with her, one that she cannot even begin to understand yet. Taking a calming breath she raises an enquiring eyebrow. "What exactly is it you need from me?"

He smiles grimly, a tacit understanding of the dynamic between them. "I want to know if you can tell me anything about my wife's present whereabouts."

"No, I can't. I'm sorry. Were she to contact me I would inform her of your interest."

"I'm sure you would." With a nod he stands, towering over her and blocking out the sun. His head is just a silhouette as he stares down at her. "Call me, doctor Walsch." The card appears out of nowhere. "It's in your - and her - best interest." Turning, he walks away. Claire watches him until he rounds the corner before she looks down at the card in her hand with a scowl.

Christopher Melville

Consultant

The numbers follow, but nothing more. Turning the card over, she glances at the blank back and then slips it into a pocket with a dark mumble.

"Can this day just end right now?"

A startled pigeon flies off, and with an internal apology the blonde doctor gets up tiredly and walks to her car, her stride much heavier than it had been earlier that morning. This time she is perversely pleased with the traffic. It gives her time, and a reason, to be sorry for herself, and time to think about Ryan and this morning's bizarre events. She does not trust General Turner, not one iota, but he is saying things she cannot discount. She trusts Christopher Melville even less, and yet she can't discount his words either, not until she knows what the truth really is. Or if the truth even exists in this case. Facts seem to shift every minute, reassemble every time she speaks to somebody new, and she can't turn anywhere for a definitive version. Ryan is the one constant she wants to believe in, for selfish reasons, and yet the soldier is the only one who's being persistently brought into question.

Claire fights with herself all the way home. She knows what she should do. She should step away, disengage… remove herself from the situation for the sake of her safety and sanity. She also knows herself well enough to know that this is the last thing she's going to do. If Ryan were to walk back into her life tomorrow, she'd still find her breath catching and her gut burning with this primal response the other woman draws out of her. It's the one place where her control seems to have no hold - and no place.

When she walks into her apartment she throws the car keys on the small table to the right and immediately picks up the phone. She dials a number from memory and twirls the old-fashioned cord around her finger as she waits.

"Andrea Walsch speaking."

"Andy, it's Claire."

"Claire? Is something wrong?"

"No. Yes. Can I come visit you for a bit?"

"Sure. What's the matter, sis?"

Claire heaves a sigh, though she tries to muffle it so as not to alarm her sister further. "Nothing and everything. I need a break. The world isn't the way it should be."

She can almost hear her sister's smile at the weighty last sentence. "Okay, C, tell me when you're getting here."

"I haven't made plans yet. I'll phone the airlines now and get back to you."

"All right." Andy's voice is soft. "Take care of yourself, C. I'll speak to you later."

"'Kay." Claire puts the phone down and almost drops it when it suddenly begins to ring in her hand. Shaking her head at her own edginess she lifts it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Claire." There's only one voice as throaty as that. "Are you all right?"

She means to say I'm fine, thank you, or coping, thank you, but exasperation makes it impossible. "What the hell is going on?"

"What did Turner want?"

"How did you know I went to see him?"

"I wouldn't allow him to hurt you, Claire. What did he want from you?"

"To know why you were here. And whether I knew the woman you were sitting with on the photos he has." She has to fight the wholly human desire to be snippy about it, make some sort of sarcastic comment, and though she succeeds Ryan catches a hint of it in the change of her tone.

"She's a friend."

"I could see that." On the verge of losing her temper Claire decides to steer the conversation into a different direction. "And I met your husband."

The moment when you're waiting for someone to speak, and hoping fervently that they'll say exactly what you want them to, can feel as if it's stretching out over a million years. Tortuous years, because even that supreme willing of the truth to be what you want it to be doesn't drown out the loudness of the disturbing possibilities you're facing.

"Chris?" Ryan definitely isn't saying what Claire would like her to. "What's he doing there?"

"Trying to find you and keep you out of trouble, apparently." Claire closes her eyes and drops her head back against the wall in weariness. "I would have loved for you to tell me that wasn't the truth, Ryan."

"I don't lie, Claire."

The blonde's already frayed temper snaps. "Don't give me that shit about omission, Ryan. Don't. It's as bad as lying, okay?"

"I'm sorry. We're estranged. I don't think about him much." It's so infuriatingly matter-of-fact. "Don't let him close to you, Claire. He's not a friend. He's dangerous."

"He says that about you. Turner says that about you. Is it true?" She's just so tired right now.

"I said that about myself too, Claire. Remember? It's not a lie. But I wouldn't hurt you. They don't have the same compunction. And I can't stay near enough to protect you, because my presence will trigger the exact opposite." Her edge of frustration is well masked, but still perceptible. "I need you to look after yourself."

"Ryan." The blonde's voice is flat. "Why did you call?"

"To make sure you're all right. Are you?"

"No. There are too many things… " she clears her throat, "I'm thinking about going away for a little while."

"That's a good idea, Claire. You should do that. I don't want you involved in any of this."

"It's too late for that now, don't you think?" Shaking off her anger Claire tries to soften her voice. "What's next?"

"There is no next for you. I'm sorry that I mixed you up with this." The soldier's voice is warm. "But there are things I'm not sorry for, and I hope that you're not, either, Claire."

The doctor bites her lip. "Captain Ryan, are you kissing me goodbye again?"

The chuckle is low and vibrant, and still sends a shiver down her spine. "Probably. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

When the phone is put down on the other side she replaces the receiver with exaggerated care and slides down against the wall, closing her eyes. Sitting there she ponders whether she wants to cry or scream, and when she's ascertained that it's a good measure of both she sobs out a laugh at herself.

There are so many warring emotions - anger, frustration, uncertainty, melancholy - that she stays on the floor for a while, breathing deeply to settle her thoughts. Then, rising, she lifts the telephone and calls Andy again.

"Andrea Walsch spea… Claire?"

"Yeah, Andy, it's me again." Her voice is dispirited, but steady. "I don't think I'm going to come down there anymore."

"Why not? What's going on? What's the matter?"

Her sister sounds like she's on the verge of a breakdown herself, and with a wry grin Claire tries to calm her down. "Whoa, Andrea. Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired of running away."

"If there's something to run away from you'd damn well better be running, sis." Decisively. "If you're not going to come here then I'll come to you."

"No. No, Andy, it's not necessary. Really. Everything's fine. I've just had a bad day."

"You sure?" Her sister's voice, so similar to hers, is faintly suspicious. Imagining the wary look which goes with it Claire grins again, a little more cheerful this time.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Don't send the coast guard. Okay?"

There's a small silence on the other end before Andy speaks. "Okay. Claire? Phone me tonight."

"I will." With a smile Claire rings off. Her mood is always improved by talking to Andy, who's so like her, inside as well as out, that she rarely needs to explain herself.

------ The blonde is determinedly on her way to the car when a stranger approaches her from behind.

"Excuse me? Doctor Walsch?"

Turning around she glances at him, her gaze darkening when she spots the white military uniform. In the shadows of the setting sun, all that she can see is that he is a swarthy, heavily built but smallish man, and that he seems to be smiling agreeably.

"Can I help you?"

She is already beyond irritated and it's more of a verbal assault than a question, but beyond blinking mildly he doesn't actually respond to the belligerence.

"I'm from General George Turner's office."

His voice is a striking low deep rumble. The polite smile grates her for no reason. "Can I see some identification?"

He pulls out the necessary credentials and passes them over, watching with curiously serene hooded eyes as she checks them thoroughly.

Officer Seth Eric Mahoney.

Everything seems to be in order, and she passes back his identification with a pained sigh. "Hasn't the Army hassled us enough?"

"I wouldn't know, ma'am." He cocks his head. "General Turner's asked me to show you some photographs for possible identification."

He's already approaching her, fast, with something in his hand, and she begins to speak, "I don't think that's… " before his calloused hand shoots out and clamps something firmly over her face. Even as she struggles - and fails - to push his solid body away, she's terrifyingly aware of the fog of chloroform strangling her and dragging her into the darkness.

13.

When next she comes to her senses she wishes that she hadn't woken up at all. Her head is throbbing. The blindfold around her eyes is not improving the feeling of dizziness at all, and the gag is doing the same for the vague nausea rising in her throat. As far as she can tell she's sitting on some type of hard chair, her arms tied behind her and her feet either lame or somehow fixed to the legs. Trying not to alert anyone who might be watching to her conscious state, she shifts her hands ever so slightly, testing the bonds. A tentative and negligible shift of her legs brings her to the same conclusion - she is completely incapacitated. Breathing as slowly as her rapidly panicking state will allow her to, she rushes through the options in her mind, trying to think of a course of action that will release her from her current situation. If there is anything she is not thinking of it now - panic is scattering her thoughts. The bonds around her wrists are uncomfortably tight. When she shifts again to ease the numb sensation, whoever is in the room with her takes notice.

"Back with us?"

She does not respond. There is a gritty chuckle. "I don't understand how you could doubt that we'd find out it was you who dropped the transmitter into that car, Claire. Did you really think we wouldn't know?"

She tries to ease the disorientation by turning her head in his direction. When next he speaks he's moved, as if he considers it a game.

"If you took the bug you obviously knew what was going on. You weren't forced by Ryan to do what you did. Am I right?"

She turns her head again, in his direction. This time he stands still.

"Of course I'm right. She's a mighty persuasive woman, though I don't personally comprehend why. I don't get that. I also don't understand why you thought you'd walk away after that. You're so smart, Claire, to make such a stupid mistake. I'm a General. I have ears everywhere. I hear everything."

Suddenly his voice is much closer… much too close, and much too intimate. "Unlike you. You apparently don't hear anything. Everybody's told you to stay away, and still you can't. I don't know whether it's stubbornness or determination. Either way, you fucked up nicely, and you're about to pay the price."

His breath is warm on her cheek.

"How much do you really know, Claire?"

A short barked laugh.

"I suppose I should remove the gag. There was one who vomited from the chloroform and choked." His finger probes the material and then pauses. "You'd better be quiet. Do you hear me? No funny stuff."

The blonde shakes her head rapidly and he pulls down the gag. Taking a quick sharp breath she immediately lets out a piercing scream, muffled almost instantly by his large hand clamping down over her mouth tightly. He waits until she is straining against his hand for breath before he pulls back his hand and hits her, hard. The blow rocks her back in the chair and the shock drives the air from her lungs in a painful contraction. For a moment she lets her head hang to one side, wincing against the unfamiliar jagged spreading ache in her skull. When she looks up again she can already feel her eye swelling, and the warmth of blood on her upper and lower lip.

George Turner watches with mild satisfaction as a crimson line snakes from the blonde woman's nostril, joining the one welling up from the split on her lower lip. The set of her head is amusing him somewhat - that arrogant stance that makes it clear she may be down, but she's not beaten. He doesn't actually appreciate that attitude much, and he waits until she's cocked her head directly in his direction before he hits her again. This time her head snaps back and it takes significantly longer before she lifts it to look in his direction again.

"Bastard."

It's a little muffled through the blood, but he hears it nonetheless. With a gruff laugh he steps back.

"I wouldn't insult me, doctor. I have a very short temper."

"What do you want?" Her voice is thick.

"From you? Nothing. You just sit here and look good until Ryan turns up, and after that I'm afraid the future gets bleak."

"You're trying to lure her in with me? She's smarter than that. Won't work."

"I wouldn't be so sure." There is a palpable smugness in his voice. "I don't know the details - and I'm not much interested to, either - but I hear she had a nice visit." At the blank look on her face he snorts. "Hey, you fuck who you want to. I don't really care. I hope it was good, though, because it'll probably be your last." He pauses. "Though not hers, I'd have to assume, judging by those photos you saw."

Though her face doesn't move he imagines that he can see the swift flinch traveling over the attractive features. It makes him chuckle.

"Such a fickle woman, captain Ryan. I think you're quite pretty, myself."

She licks her lip then, tentatively against the sudden burn of the open wound, and clears her throat before she speaks.

"What happened with DEX?"

"Hm." He grunts. "Is this the part where I tell you everything and then you're rescued by your hero to repeat the sordid tale? It's not one of those movies, doctor, so don't get your hopes up."

"What happened with DEX?" She repeats herself. "What went wrong?"

"You think there needs to be something wrong for Leah Ryan to go off her head? Hah." He barks out a laugh. "Maybe you know something I don't." It's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "She was the biggest mistake I ever made. It was in Somalia, '92, when she got captured. We still don't know who the soldiers were - they weren't indigenous, that much we know. They tortured her for two weeks; stuff she wouldn't even tell us when we got her out… but one of the things she did talk about was being subjected to high voltage shock regularly. We checked the implant when we brought her back, but with all of the physical damage and her brittle state of mind it was impossible to be sure." The last four words are spat out as if he's trying to convince himself, too. "She seemed fine when she asked to be sent back into the field. We did extensive psychological tests, ran the transmitter, and couldn't find any problems. We even checked again, after she started to disintegrate. The only thing we can assume now is that whoever caught her patched into her implant somehow, and started to mess with our commands and transmit their own after laying low for a while. Nobody in Somalia has that kind of technology, so the 'who' part's still a mystery, and will probably remain that way. "

"Couldn't you track the commands?"

"We tried. Whoever was on the other side was well hidden. We were circumvented more than once. Makes you wonder which side the shit was coming from." He strides away, still amused by the way her blindfolded head follows him, as if she can somehow escape with the knowledge of his presence. "Anyway, it's over now. We couldn't reverse the threat so we're removing it."

"Why was Ryan your biggest mistake?"

He looks at her calculatingly. "If we hadn't checked you ourselves I would be wondering whether you were wearing a wire right now."

"I'm not. I just want to know."

"I know you're not. I was thorough." He enjoys the slight twitch of her lips at that before he continues. "She was a mistake. We wanted Banks, who was effective, focused … and pliable. When he suggested Leah Ryan I thought that her fortitude would be a positive asset. It wasn't. At first she went along with everything, but then she began to resist, fighting for control. You can make the suggestions subliminally, but there's nothing that can force her to follow them, and that's where we went wrong. She was willful. When she decided to go into Fairwater we tried to talk her out of it, but she had a mind of her own. So to speak."

"Why exactly would you want to keep her out of the institution if she was beginning to show signs of mental instability?" Even drained and in pain she manages to sound as if she's got a critical eyebrow lifted.

"So she bombed a couple of civilians, felt like she wanted to do things she shouldn't have… as long as my team kept quiet and the Navy didn't suspect, that sounded like a whole bunch of the soldiers, doctor. She would have been invaluable to the project if she hadn't been quite so hardheaded."

"Did you help her escape?"

He turns his back on her impatiently. "We're finished talking."

"Did you help her escape?"

She hears the stomp of the footsteps as they approach swiftly, but can do nothing to avoid the hand that connects with her face yet again. Agony blooms behind her eyes and it is all that she can do not to just let her head drop forward onto her chest, helpless in the onslaught of pain. Another warm gush of liquid over her lips, and this time she wonders whether her nose might not be broken, judging by the hot pain radiating from it. She keeps her mouth shut as the footsteps recede, only letting a small muffled groan escape once he sounds far enough away. Her head is pounding, and the copper taste in her mouth is making her gag. He moves about at the edges of her fuzzy periphery, and she is only vaguely aware of his position until a phone rings somewhere to his left.

George Turner picks up the mobile phone. "Hello?"

"I've got something you want. I'll trade you." It's a man's voice, light and even-toned. Turner frowns darkly.

"How did you get this number?"

"That's not important."

"I'll have you traced. You know that."

"By the time you find me I'll be gone. Just give me what I want, General. It's not much. And the recompense for you will be worth it."

Turner sniffs disdainfully. "What do you have that I want?"

"It's not what, but rather who." The man gives a smug chuckle. "Let me give you my terms. The Army has treated me abysmally. What I want is reinstatement and clearance of my record. Easy enough, right? You can do that."

"I can do that, yes, but why in the world would I want to?"

"Because I have the one person who'll help you hook Captain Leah Ryan."

Unseen to the blonde woman General Turner rolls his eyes at what he considers to be ridiculous theatrics. "Oh for fuck's sake, don't make a soap opera out of it; just get it off your fucking chest!"

"Tut. Impatience." The man sighs. "Okay." When next he speaks the handset is slightly away from his mouth. "Say something, honey." There's a small moment of silence before he speaks again. "Come on, now. Don't be like that." A muffled and unidentifiable sound before he speaks again. "Fine, then. A little encouragement never hurt anybody." There are sounds of a struggle, the sharp curse of a man, a woman's exhalation of pain... and then, finally, she shouts.

"Stop it! Don't touch me!"

Startled, George Turner yanks the phone away from his ear and stares at it, his face stunned.

The voice on the other side belongs to Claire Walsch.

14.

In the ensuing silence from George Turner's side the man speaks again. "I trust that you understand the importance of this deal to you now?" He sounds smug.

George Turner stares at the blindfolded blonde woman tied to the chair for a speechless moment. His jaw muscles clench before he lifts up the phone, his eyes not leaving her. "You're trying to trick me, and I'm not falling for it."

Now the silence is on the other side. Perhaps the man expected the confrontation to be unambiguous and quickly concluded, but when he speaks again his voice seems just a little less self-satisfied and a little more uncertain.

"She's right here. How can it be a trick?"

"The problem with your story," Turner has to remind himself to be calm, "is that I have Doctor Claire Walsch sitting right here in front of me."

"Come on!" The man's voice has risen another few decibels. "You can't bluff when I'm holding all the cards, Turner! Stop fucking with me!"

As hard as he tries, George Turner can't ignore the stark truthfulness flickering in the man's voice. If he isn't an exceptional conman then he must think he's telling the truth. Lowering the handset with a hand that's suddenly developed a minor tremble Turner strides up to the blonde and rips off the blindfold roughly. She blinks against the sudden light, her one eye already swollen almost shut. It is a second before she focuses on him. There is a measure of defiance in her eyes. With a growl Turner lifts his hand to strike, and then thinks better of it. If he hits her now she'll be out, no good to him.

"What the fuck is going on! Who are you?!"

She licks the split side of her mouth carefully before she grins slightly. "You know me. I'm Claire Walsh."

"Fuck!" Things feel like they are rapidly spinning out of control, and it's a sensation he entirely abhors. He hits her, then, and watches in fury as her head drops limply to her chest before he lifts the phone to his ear again.

"Did you hear that?"

"Are you fucking with me?" The man's voice is strident now, but the doubt in it is also clear. George Turner barks out a rough laugh.

"Whatever's going on, we've just both been fucked. So take your deal and shove it, asshole." With a snarl he disconnects and then howls towards the door.

"Mahoney!"

Sierra appears almost immediately, his eyes flickering nearly imperceptibly to the limp figure of the woman in the chair before he inclines his head at Turner. The General's face is red and he's grinding his teeth involuntarily.

"Sir?"

"Go to Walsch's apartment. Now. Check if there's anybody there. If so, take the man out of the picture and bring the woman to me. If there's nobody, check the place for clues."

"There a problem?"

"I've just had a call from some guy claiming he's got Doctor Claire Walsch, and wanting a trade. I have a notion that it's Christopher Melville." He notices Sierra's eyes flickering to the woman again. "I know. It doesn't make sense. But I heard her, Mahoney. Something's fucked, and I want to know what it is. Immediately."

Sierra's face doesn't shift from its impassive mask. "Done. I'll have to take Alpha with me, sir."

"Do it." George is rudely curt with impatience. "I don't care. Right now it helps fuck-all to have this woman here - if I don't know who she is then I don't know where Ryan's going to turn up. Be on your guard."

"Sir." Sierra turns and leaves as swiftly as he entered.

With a grunt Turner approaches the prone woman and wraps his fingers in her hair, lifting the bloody face to peer at it wrathfully. Impossible! This is Claire Walsch! He waits for her to open her eyes, itching to do more damage out of pure frustration, but her face remains slack, the blood now running freely over the right side of her face from the widened split over her eyebrow. With a curse he releases her head and turns, kicking out at the table. Completely overbalanced, he staggers forward and catches his hand painfully against the desk.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

------

Christopher Melville drops the phone in helpless shock and turns to stare at the woman trussed up on his sofa. Her face is still red from his grip on it, and there is a bleeding gash just under the eye where he accidentally scratched her with his ring. Even so, her blue eyes are glaring at him with the same kind of intensity they had when he first kidnapped her at her own house.

"What's going on?"

His glowering query brings about a slight grin on her face. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

At the sarcastic reply he bites his lip in fury before he slams a fist against the wall. "What the hell is going on?! Who are you?"

She smiles unkindly. "I'm Claire Walsch. Isn't that who you'd like me to be?"

"Shut the hell up!" Jumping up he strides towards her. When the flat of his hand meets her face she turns with the impact and then looks back at him impassively.

His face draws up into an unattractive glower. "Tell me!"

"I have nothing to tell you."

"Who are you?"

"Claire Walsch."

This time he hits her with his fist. It connects with her jaw and sends her backwards onto the couch. A fine trickle of blood runs down her mouth where she's bitten her lip, and he doesn't even notice when it begins to drip onto the dull blue fabric of his couch, leaving a small but spreading black stain. Eyeing the unconscious woman balefully he flexes his hand fretfully before he starts to pace up and down in the small room.

------ George Turner is still grinding his teeth furiously when the phone rings. Caller unknown.

"Mahoney?"

"I hear you're looking for me." Gritty, hoarse, coupled with an air of amusement.

"Ryan." And now the plan has to go ahead, regardless of the bizarre hitch. "Did you also hear that I have something you want?"

"Actually, the way I heard it… you're not sure whether what you have is what I want at all." The low laugh that follows it enrages him. "Who do you have, Turner?"

He spits it out, his hatred for Leah Ryan palpable. "Doctor Claire Walsch."

"Are you sure?" She's so deliberately sugary and it's driving him up the wall.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ryan. Get here or I hurt her."

"If she's not Claire then I wouldn't really care, General. Sorry."

"Fuck you!" He feels like he's going to die of a heart attack right now.

"No thanks." She's maddeningly conversational. "Hey, let me talk to her, George. Maybe it'll help your case if I can hear that it's really Claire."

"You don't get requests, Ryan!"

"Suit yourself. It's the only way I might co-operate."

"You're a fucking bitch. I regret ever getting involved with you."

"It's your own fault, George. You started this. Don't get righteous on my ass now. Put her on."

Turner eyes the collapsed figure in the chair wrathfully. "She's not up to talking to you." Even as he says it the blonde begins to stir, a low moan slipping from her throat.

Whether Ryan hears it or not he can't tell, but his remark doesn't please her. "You'd better not have hurt her, Turner." A smile begins to twitch at the corner of his mouth at this statement of apparent concern, but the rest of the words wipe it stubbornly from his face. "You think I care because I fucked her? C'mon, Turner. Don't you know what I'm like by now? I wouldn't give a shit - but it wouldn't be in your best interest right now, either. I'd be careful if I were you."

With a snarl Turner stalks towards the blonde, noting her slight cringe away from him with satisfaction before he pushes the phone roughly against her ear. "Tell your friend Ryan that you're Claire Walsch."

Dazedly she stares up at him as she speaks into the receiver. "Ryan?"

Her voice is slightly slurred and strained, and it breaks Ryan's heart. The soldier speaks quickly. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter who you are … "

"I'm… "

"No!" Ryan interrupts fiercely. "Don't say anything. Him knowing which one you are makes one of you worthless in his game. Be brave, Walsch. I'll come for you soon."

She barely finishes the sentence before Turner's back on the phone. "So? It's Claire Walsch, Ryan."

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you."

"It's her. I'm looking straight at her."

"So is Christopher Melville."

"He's bluffing."

"He's not a good con artist, George. I know him." She chuckled. "It seems you've got a problem."

George Turner takes a few deep breaths before he speaks again. "Here's the fucking thing, Ryan. If you don't pitch up in an hour, I'll shoot this bitch regardless of whether she's Walsch or not. Okay? Fuck this little game of yours. I'm not playing."

"Okay." The soldier sounds imperturbable. "Do what you feel like, George. I might be further away than an hour anyway. Just remember that whether she's Claire or not, she's the only chance you have. Blow it, and the next time you see me it'll be at my discretion down the barrel of a gun. Oh, how much fun we'll have! See you, pal."

The click in his ear mobilizes the squat bullish man. With a roar he begins to pound the wooden desk, not stopping until he is out of breath and his fists are grazed and bleeding. Then, with a curse, he dials another number.

"Sir."

"Mahoney, tell me you found them."

"No, sir. We did find signs of a struggle. Smith at ComCorp's just tracked Melville. He's not far from here - we're on our way. Location should be coming up on your handheld about now."

Pulling open the top drawer of the desk George Turner clamps the phone between shoulder and ear to check his encoded mail, and indeed, the very first from the top is from Alistair Smith at ComCorp - a detailed address in a suburb not far from Walsch's.

"Okay. Mahoney? Don't hurt that woman."

"Sir. And Melville?"

"He's a rat. Throw him down a hole like one."

He slams down the phone and glares at nothing for a while before he stalks to the window and slides it up, resting his hands on the sill while he takes in deep calming breaths.

When the fresh air flows over her the blonde doctor opens her eyes blearily and takes stock of her surroundings for the first time. She is in a small room which looks like a government office - all faded white walls and starkness. Beyond a square heating system in the corner to her right and the desk in front of her there is no other furniture. By the simple fact that she cannot see the door she assumes that it is behind her. The sturdy general is standing at the window, his broad back to her as he takes greedy gulps of air. There are half-moon sweat marks under his arm-pits, dark against his olive-green shirt.

Her right eye is swelling shut, and there is an insistent throbbing at the back of her head. When she tries to move her mouth she starts at the sting of her obviously split lower lip as the wound breaks open again. A salty drop of blood makes its way onto her tongue. She watches the man for a while, groggily, as he leans against the window frame, and then blinks a few times to try and focus her weak awareness. There's no point!, her mind is telling her tiredly, you're hurt and weak and possibly drugged, and there's no way you're going to escape this big evil man of your own volition. Nevertheless she pushes her alertness to the furthest point it will go - which is not that far at all - and studies her surroundings with exaggerated concentration, willing to memory every small detail for the negligible possibility that it may mean something at some stage. She pushes to the back the sound of the voice in her head screaming You're going to die here, wondering with a sense of the absurd whether this is anything like the voice Ryan experienced. It may be whatever's floating about in her bloodstream, or it may be the surreal incident she finds herself in, but it almost feels as if time's slowing down and the air's turning static. As she blinks, twice, to rid herself of the awkward feeling, she hears something crackle roughly. At first she imagines it to be another of her apparent audial hallucinations, but then the big man at the window turns and reaches to take a two-way radio from somewhere off the desk.

"Marshall?"

The man known as Tango is barely audible over the crackle of static. "General Turner… problem with … Bravo's ... not sure what … over."

"Marshall? Marshall!" Turner barks into the radio vainly.

"Can't… gunshots… have to stand down… "

"Marshall!" Turner slams down the radio, producing a loud squeal of feedback. Glaring at the electronic device angrily the big man rattles off a string of curses. "Fucking Ryan - it's a fucking trap! So obvious!" With another few choice expletives he unclips his holster and slides out his pistol to check the clip. "Thinks I'm just going to march in there? I know better, you bitch - I'm coming for you."

He stalks towards the blonde, but this time passes her with only a cursory glance. There is a moment of silence before she hears the door latch open and then close. Silence. Gritting her teeth she tries to shift her burning arms to feel out the strength of the knot. She expects his threatening voice or swinging hand to accost her at any moment, but beyond the thundering of the blood rushing through her head, there is nothing. When she tries to pry apart her hands her shoulders feel as if they're on fire, and when she persists with dogged stubbornness her head begins to pound and nausea flashes through her in retaliation against the physical strain. Frustration makes her push too hard, and finally a sharp shooting pain explodes through her stressed right shoulder. Smothering the involuntary moan she tries again to force her bonds, abandoning the effort with a sob when her limb protests violently. Dropping her head forward onto her chest she tries to keep back the hot tears of frustration which are threatening to spill over. It is in that moment of stern self-control that she notices a muted sound completely out of place.

Click.

Lifting her head she looks around as well as her constraints and injuries will allow her to. Everything seems as it should be, and she is just about to start questioning her own sanity when the window slides open in front of her, seemingly of its own volition. Her breath escapes in a stutter as she gawks at it, unwilling to believe her tired eyes, and when a head suddenly pops up on the other side she jerks back in dread.

Captain Leah Ryan's vivid green eyes meet hers for a shocked moment, the dark woman taking in her battered condition, before the soldier throws an arm over the window sill and hoists herself into the room. When she hits the floor she rolls behind the desk, out of the blonde's sight for a moment, and rapidly assesses the situation before she rises to her full height. Her tread is light and sure when she approaches the doctor, and her expression is concerned.

"Walsch."

Low, fond and gritty. Kneeling behind the woman Ryan begins to undo the knots with great care, sliding a knife out of a holster on her thigh to saw through the rope where she cannot make headway. When finally she can release the blonde's hands she touches the bruised wrists gently, sadly with her hands before she helps the woman to her feet carefully. The sudden change of position causes a wave of vertigo to rush through the blonde and she tips backwards, gratified to find the solid frame of the soldier supporting her firmly. Wrapping one arm around Walsch's shoulders Ryan leads her towards the door - and then suddenly stops.

"Wait."

Her head cocks to one side and she listens carefully for a moment before she scowls.

"Damn it. There's a problem." Her voice is a whisper. Turning around she leads the blonde around the desk, peering at the space under it before she helps Walsch onto the floor and motions her into the cubicle. "I'm sorry. Keep in there - you'll be at least slightly hidden. If anything happens, someone will come for you very soon." Ryan's green eyes take in the bloody smears on the bruised face with a flash of melancholy before she touches the blonde's cheek lightly. "You're safe with me, all right? Stay down."

Leaning back against the wooden surface with both a measure of relief that Ryan is finally there, and anxiety about what's about to happen next, the blonde closes her eyes wearily.

------

Muttering to himself darkly George Turner returns to the office. He had gone to the south wing instead of the front doors, knowing he would be able to peer down at the front gate from one of the abandoned offices' windows without being seen. Both posts had been abandoned, with no sign of either Marshall or Pitt, and he had watched for a quiet moment, mistrusting the silence, before he suddenly comprehended that the threat may have been to a completely different area.

Now he creeps back up the corridor, his pistol raised threateningly, as he listens carefully for any sound out of the ordinary.

It is a building still considered under construction, bought and paid for by the consortium which does not use his name anywhere in its documentation. The mass of open pipes and exposed wiring makes it tricky to maneuver, unless you are well-versed with the area, and Turner is. If the consortium knows why he insists on being a silent partner, and what he uses the premises for in exchange for his quite notable influence, they do not say.

Stepping over a gap in the floor he gazes down for a moment - and that is enough time for Leah Ryan to catapult down from the break in the air-conditioning vent and careen into him forcibly. The impact onto the solid concrete floor winds them both, but the out of shape Turner more so, and while he is still scrabbling to his feet Ryan leaps forward, driving her shoulder into his midriff. The air leaves his chest with an audible "whoof" but with years of assault training under his belt he manages to hold onto his weapon even as he folds double and catapults over backwards with her lean body landing on top of his. She reaches forward for the pistol, wrapping her hands around his and pushing the weapon away from them, using his temporarily winded state, but George Turner is a big and strong man. With an out-of-breath grunt he yanks his hands up, pulling her off-balance and forward. When she feels herself being pulled closer she suddenly lets go of his hands, leaving the natural impetus of his brutal motion to pull the pistol away from her as she propels herself forward and slams her head squarely into his nose.

"Aaargh! Motherfucker!"

Bringing one hand down to cup his excruciatingly shattered nose he jerks his right hand over his body, using the impetus to roll over and shove her off him roughly. Wanting to take advantage of his condition she leaps forward to grab the pistol, and almost finds herself at the butt-end. Ducking his clumsy blow she grips his thick wrist with both of her hands and snaps it down, intending to loosen the weapon from his increasingly weak grip, but with both hands occupied she is unable to stop the bloody hand which shifts from the nose into a fist and heads directly for her jaw. Pulling her head back as fast as she can she avoids some of the power of the blow by rolling with it, but nevertheless his strength is immense, and the bulk behind it adds force that has her seeing stars. Blinking quickly to clear her head she rapidly steps to the side and lets go of his hands, once again using his own vicious momentum against him. Wrapping her hand around his upper arm she tugs him forward as he stumbles, tangling her leg with his to bring him to the ground forcefully. Twisting as he falls, he wraps his feet around her ankle and pulls her feet from under her.

Both soldiers go sprawling on the concrete. When Ryan hits the ground she is already catapulting forward for the gun, but this time Turner is prepared. Reaching out he grabs her unexpectedly by the collar of her hooded sweatshirt and drags her closer, and as she puts out both hands to keep from collapsing on top of him the butt of the pistol strikes her, with a dull thud, right above her left ear. Instantly her eyes roll upwards and her body goes limp, a problematic circumstance for him as her frame is surprisingly heavy with all its muscle mass, and is now pinning him down. With a grunt he wipes at the bloody trail under his nose before he pushes at her brusquely, the gun clasped in his hand making it slightly difficult. Finally he manages to roll her off to one side, and he is wholly unprepared when the roll simply continues into a smooth rise to her feet. Turner is still lifting the pistol when she leaps into the air and hoists herself into a gap in the ceiling - and promptly disappears.

"Fuck!" With a gruff howl he starts to shoot into the sheeting, but beyond his own litany of cursing there is no sound. Moving astonishingly lightly for his bulk he moves around, listening for any signs of action above with his gun drawn. Nothing. The sharp overwhelming throbbing of his broken nose is making concentration more difficult. Pressing at his forehead tentatively with his left hand he creeps towards the office door, taking care not to make any sound himself. When he opens the door and sees the empty chair with the loosened ropes strewn around it he bites back the urge to let loose another curse and closes the door softly again.

After all, the blonde has served her purpose. Afterwards he'll have her tracked down and eliminated.

He is wondering whether the sheeting will be strong enough to hold him when Ryan's voice drifts down from somewhere above him.

"So, General, can I ask you something?"

In pure reflex he lets off a shot upwards, gritting his teeth in impotent fury when the sound only produces a low chuckle from her.

"Come out here, Ryan! Fight like a man!"

"You want to shoot me. Why would I?" The edge of amusement in her voice is intolerable to Turner. Deliberately softening his voice he forces out a laugh.

"If you don't attack me I'll return the favor."

This time it's an actual laugh, one filled with genuine mirth that he can't imagine he's ever heard from her. "You don't say. Okay. Just let me get down from here… " He's still waiting like an idiot, looking towards the scuffling noise, when a whole heap of sawdust comes falling from the partially finished roof and drifts down onto him, settling on his shoulders like a massive load of dandruff. An amount of the fine particles gets into his eyes and he has to stop himself from rubbing furiously.

"Bitch!"

She laughs again, a little softer this time, and he cannot tell where she is, whether she's moved, or if she's about to jump down onto him again. "I'm not coming down from here to let you shoot me, General. If you want me you'll have to catch me."

"I could. I could also phone Mahoney and tell him to kill the other blonde woman."

"And then you'll have one dead blonde and a soldier in the rafters. Yippee for you. Get a partridge and a pear tree and you can start a barber shop quartet."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He notices his right hand beginning to tremble and steadies it impatiently with the other. As if she can see him the woman sniggers.

"From you? I'm the one who's been messed with, chased around the country, shot at… The question is what the fuck do you want from me, General?"

"I wanted you to take care of the situation! I wanted you to ki …" He bites back the next words and glares at the roof, defying her to give away her position.

"You wanted me to kill… who?"

"Come down here!"

"Kill who, Turner?"

Roaring in anger he fires another shot into the roof at random. This time silence follows, until he thinks that he may have hit her, and then, in the quietness, she clicks her tongue at him. "Tut. You're wasting bullets."

He feels as if he is about to explode in fury when footsteps sound on the steps further down the hall. He is aware that there is supposed to be nobody in this structure, and is harboring no illusion that this will be either Marshall or Pitt come to assist him. Things have gone horribly wrong for General Turner today, and he is not about to tempt fate. With a quick glance upwards he lopes back towards the office door, yanking it open and barging in.

George Turner is not a coward. He has faced many threats, weathered many dangerous situations, and is still alive to tell the tale. However, he is also not stupid, and the Deus situation is a festering boil that has been threatening to burst open for many years now. If he could have eliminated Ryan as he had wanted to, and the blonde doctor to boot, things would have been easier to cover up for a man of his rank, but now that godforsaken soldier is running amok in his hiding place, and the doctor's gone who knows where. Eventually it is inevitable that facts about the unauthorized project will leak, and then it is only a matter of time before he is charged, and his associates tracked down. And if the government doesn't crucify him, the few associates who are bound to escape exposure will.

There are only a few outs, and at this moment the one that General Turner takes is the open window. He rushes towards it, sliding it up, and is about to take his next action when the slightest of movements attracts his attention. With a frown he turns, slowly, and when his eyes fall on the blonde doctor hidden beneath the desk, visible now from this side and curled into a fearful ball, his wide mouth stretches into a harsh grin. As the door erupts he lifts his firearm and aims it in her direction, the helpless blonde filling his field of vision right now. A body catapults over the desk and then Ryan is between them, her chest blocking his view as she plants herself squarely, point blank between Turner and the desk.

"No!" It's Walsch, her voice terrified, and then the gunshot rings out.

------ To Walsch's blue eyes everything slows down, from the sound of her own heartbeat stretching into one dull booming thud inside her chest to the agonizingly slow movement as Ryan's back arches and she buckles forward towards the broad form of the man standing in front of her.

The blonde wants to scream, can feel the thick pressure building up in her lungs as she opens her mouth, and whilst even the dust particles seem to be hanging by threads in the air around her, her mind is spinning at an impossible speed, howling NO! as she tries to propel herself towards the falling woman.

Turner's hands appear at the sides of Ryan's body, reaching out at the same time as the soldier extends her arms towards him for a grim embrace, and for a long moment the disembodied limbs seeming to protrude from her sides causes an absurd Kali-like image for Walsch, watching from behind in abject horror. The two figures meld into one as Ryan folds up like a burning paper doll, gradually collapsing onto the ground, her arms wrapped around George Turner.

15.

When finally she can move her numb body, Walsch's trembling fingers reach forward to close convulsively over the hood of the fallen woman's sweatshirt. She starts in shock and fear when a pair of warm hands wrap over them from behind and gently pulls her into a warm embrace. Trying to push back she stares up blindly at the beautiful face of the Spanish woman who is holding her ever so tenderly. "Ryan?"

"It's okay, chica. She's okay."

"But he … Sophia… "

Suddenly Ryan's arms unwrap from the burly body under her and she pushes herself up, turning around to shoot a glance at Walsch, her green eyes soft. "Sophie shot him, Walsch - he didn't shoot me. Look. I'm fine. Okay?"

A guttural sob threatens to erupt from the blonde's throat and she bites it back, swallowing until her voice is under her control again. "Okay." She continues to watch with big blue eyes as Ryan turns her back and begins with first aid, not shifting her focus away from the soldier even as Ruiz's one hand slips up to check the damage to her face surreptitiously and fleetingly.

Leaning forward Ryan applies as much pressure as possible to the copiously bleeding wound. The man beneath her hands is groaning softly, his hands clenching convulsively, and when they brush over her leg he opens his eyes dimly.

"Ryan…"

His voice is low and breathy. Looking over her shoulder the soldier meets the dark eyes of Ruiz. "¿Ya viene la ambulancia?"

"Si - ¿va a lograrlo?"

"No lo sé. Depende de que tan rápido lleguen."

"Deberías dejar morir al maldito..."

"I'm better than him, Sophie." Leaning closer to the man's paling face Ryan speaks loudly. "Turner. Talk to me."

"… have nothing to say to you… " He closes his eyes petulantly.

With an irritated sigh Ryan lifts one of her hands. "Turner, if I lift the other one you bleed to death like a pig. Don't fuck with me, okay?"

The smile that flickers over his bullish features is almost admiring. "So stubborn all the time. That's your problem."

"No, my problem is you." She replaces her hand. "Tell me. Tell me how I was going to take care of the situation."

"We set it up so you could escape…" He groans a little at a wave of pain before he continues. "Wanted you to eliminate the people who knew about DEX… set up a thread for you from Banks' house. Didn't count on him cracking. We had his daughter, you know. And you - so fucking stubborn - you just had to go a different way…" He closes his eyes. "You were just one big fucking mistake."

Fighting the temptation to let him bleed to death Ryan watches him darkly as he lies there on the floor taking shallow breaths. "How did you know I'd escape?"

"We pushed." Two brutal and simple words. Gathering his strength he shoots her a crooked smile. "We provoked you, we hurt you, we tormented you until you snapped. You've been thinking it was all Somalia, haven't you? It wasn't, Ryan. Not all of it. Sometimes that voice was your own people. We made you, Ryan… to be what you are."

Ryan's face contorts and she bites down hard, grinding her teeth for a moment before she glowers at him fiercely. "You failed."

"Do you think so?" He exhales raggedly. "DEX, no DEX - you are what you are. You'll never be free of it."

Gritting her teeth Ryan glares down at him. "Sophie, please can you take over here?"

As she moves away he grins weakly at her. "I'm not the only involved in this, Ryan. There are people you know. Trust."

She freezes, her face unmoving. "Who?"

"I'm not telling… you'll find out eventually…"

Ryan's mouth sets itself into a thin straight line. "Sophie… "

"I'm here."

When Ruiz has her hands securely over the wound Ryan turns her back on him and crouches at Walsch's side, unwilling to touch the blonde with her bloody hands.

"Walsch?"

At the sound of her name, said so softly, the blonde shifts forward into Ryan's arms with a moan. The soldier places her arms carefully around the blonde's back. "How badly did the bastard hurt you?"

"He hit me around a bit." She chokes back a sob. "Ryan, I'm… "

"Andy. I know."

Andy Walsch looks up at her with tearful big blue eyes so identical to her sister's. "You know? And you almost got shot for me?"

The soldier answers her with a very slight lift of her eyebrows. "I don't want anything to happen to you, either." She pauses for a moment and when she speaks again her voice is a little distant. "You're safe with me. I'm not what they say I am. I'm really not."

Recognizing the slightly distressed undertone Andy runs her hands up Ryan's arms soothingly. "You're not, Ryan. Anyone can see that. Claire…" and then her eyes widen. "Claire!"

"Calm down, Andy. Sophie has it under control. If you can wait here for the ambulance with her … "

"No!" The blonde struggles to her feet. "I'm not letting you go without me. I want to see my sister!"

Standing up herself Ryan glances at the trembling woman before she leans down to speak to Sophie. "Can you get someone to take over from you? Si Andy está allá, quiero que también estés tú. Parece que ella está al borde del colapso. Okay?"

"Sì." Summoning one of her men with the two-way radio at her waist, Sophie waits until he arrives and is in control of Turner's wound before she gets to her feet. "Let's go."

------ Sierra stands on the balcony, his irritation level rising quietly and inexorably as he calls Turner for the millionth time. When the phone rings and rings he turns away from the picturesque scenery and swears softly to himself.

"What's happening?" It's Alpha, standing alertly at the sliding door, his eyes never leaving the tied up figure on the couch.

"Still no answer. Something's very wrong."

"Just don't get any fucking bright ideas, okay?" The tall man slips his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulls out a blue packet of cigarettes, sliding one out and slipping it into his mouth. "The last time you decided something was wrong we lost the woman and Turner handed my ass to me on a plate."

"Thanks for reminding me about that." Sierra stares at Alpha, his dark eyes biting, until the other man turns away from his gaze with a shake of the head. His nostrils flaring at the initial smell of sulphur drifting from the match, Sierra steps inside and approaches the still form lying on the couch.

"Hey."

His low voice is neutral, and there is no response. Reaching out he presses two fingers against the pulse point in her neck, monitoring the steady heartbeat for a moment before he withdraws his hand. Melville had obviously hit her once or twice, judging by the dried blood and the dark bruise coloring her cheek, and she is still out, even an hour after they found the man and returned the favor before they left him in one of his back rooms.

Checking on the knots around her wrist quickly and proficiently, he makes sure that she will be unable to move before he rises to check the front door again. He is just returning to the living room when Alpha steps in through the sliding door, his face rigid.

"Company. Two Caucasian males, armed; one African male, armed, other side of the street, west."

"Movement?"

"None."

Sierra steps out onto the balcony offhandedly and sweeps the area indifferently with his eyes before he strolls back into the room and closes the glass door behind him. Alpha is already on a chair, his SC-20K on his knees as he checks the sliding mechanism. He glances up as Sierra passes him, moving towards his own weapon. The shorter man reaches out for his rifle as he presses the redial button and waits for Turner to answer, which never happens. Slipping the phone into his pocket Sierra sits down and begins to check his firearm. The woman on the couch stirs, a low sigh escaping her throat, but beyond a mild glance in her direction Sierra does not respond. When both men are prepared Alpha takes up his station at the side of the glass door, his body still as he keeps quiet watch on activities beyond the balcony. Sierra stands loosely against the wall just inside the lounge, his rifle competently in both hands, and they do not have to wait long.

A knock sounds at the door, hollow in the silence. Motioning to Alpha to stay at his post Sierra approaches the door on the balls of his feet, his expression watchful. Another knock sounds, loudly, and then a woman's voice.

"Come on, Melville, I know you're there." Frowning, Sierra stays quiet. "You've got the wrong woman, you know. Don't be an ass. She means nothing to him." Sierra glances back at Alpha, but the other man has his back towards the room, his posture solid. "Turner's been found out, Melville. You have nothing to gain from this. Open up."

This time when Sierra glances back, Alpha is shooting the door a brief puzzled glance before he turns his back again. There is a moment of silence before the woman speaks again.

"It's Ryan. Let me in."

At the mention of her name both of the men inside the apartment freeze. Scowling, Sierra shares a perplexed look with Alpha, and then steals towards the door to peer through the peephole.

Whoever she is, she isn't Leah Ryan. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders in unruly curls and her slanted eyes are dark and still. As Sierra watches she bites the inside of her bottom lip in quiet frustration and appears to look straight at him. Leaning back, Sierra peers through the living room's doorway and shakes his head in the negative to Alpha, who nods once before he moves out of Sierra's sight, back to the balcony.

He is standing alertly inside the sliding door just at the border of the concrete surface, his hands wrapped around the weapon, when a rustling attracts his attention. It seems to be coming from directly below the balcony to the right. With a frown he approaches and stops just short of the edge, aware that it may be a trap, and lifts his weapon, aiming it expertly as he sets one foot in front of the other carefully. Drawing in a smooth breath he steps closer … and almost fires off a startled shot as one of the armed soldiers he spotted earlier bursts from the bushes below, running at a low lope towards an unmarked black van. Glancing upwards the soldier spots Alpha and drops down instantly, rolling behind a small shrub. With a puzzled - and slightly amused - grin, Alpha carefully combs the area for signs of marksmen before he steps closer to the edge to keep the amateurish soldier in view.

The smile is still on his face when Leah Ryan explodes up from absolutely nowhere and grabs the back of his head, yanking it forward so that the bridge of his nose meets the iron railing with a dull crunch. As his eyes roll back in his head she catapults over the rail to wrap a hand in the fabric of his uniform and lower him quietly to the ground, his weapon now clasped in her free hand. Crouched low she checks his pulse before she approaches the door stealthily, the weapon at the ready, to find a smallish stocky soldier standing silently in the living room with a groggy Claire Walsch tightly against him and the barrel of his rifle pointed directly at the unsteady blonde head.

He cocks his head in the direction of the door. "She's not you."

"And you're not Christopher." Lifting one hand in a show of submission she leans down to put the rifle on the ground, though they're both aware that this apparent compliance means nothing significant to either of them. He watches her impassively until she straightens up again.

"You killed him?" From the direction of his eyes she knows that he's talking about the man outside on the balcony. Apparently Turner's wellbeing isn't all that high on his list.

"No." A shake of her head emphasizes it. "Broken nose. Maybe a slight concussion." Her green eyes flicker to the bloodied blonde in his arms, and a flash of horrifying anger blazes through them before she pushes down her emotions. "You hit her?"

"No. It was before we came." He watches her carefully.

"Where is he?"

Sierra cocks his head in the direction of one of the closed doors off the living room. "He was a weasel."

Their eyes remain connected, watching warily for any undue movement. They are both aware that this is a situation fraught with jeopardy. Ryan speaks first.

"You know that Turner's gone down?"

"So she said." His head twitches ever so slightly in the direction of the door. Ryan nods.

"She's right. Are you one of his?" When he doesn't answer, his dark eyes inscrutably on hers, she half-smiles. "Okay. She's telling the truth. How much do you know about what he was doing?" Still he doesn't answer. The lean soldier shrugs. "Smart move. If I knew I'd have to kill you." Her eyes slip to the woman in his arms again. "You hear you have the wrong one?"

"Is that right?"

She nods. As quick as lightning he pushes Claire forward, towards her, and in the same instance swings his gun around. Thrusting out an arm Ryan grabs the blonde's arm roughly and yanks her to the side as she jabs at the barrel of the rifle, pushing it upwards with the heel of her hand. The flash of heat on her flesh as it discharges goes unnoticed as Ryan catapults forward into the sturdy muscular man, her shoulder driving into his chest. Even as his hands are scrabbling for supremacy on the weapon he lifts a booted foot and drives it into her shin, the force only slightly diminished by her rapid checking move. She clenches her teeth against the sharp pain and drives an elbow into his stomach harshly, flinching as his own elbow meets the side of her jaw briefly even while the breath is forced from him in a painful gasp. Taking advantage of his assault she wraps her other hand back around the weapon and uses her greater grip to lever it over towards her. Realizing her intention Sierra quickly fixes his grip on the rifle too. They remain locked, and to his surprise the taller soldier holds her ground, the muscles in her lean forearms bulging as she keeps the weapon forced towards the ceiling. Her teeth gritted against the exertion, she addresses him in a growl.

"Do you really want to be involved in this?"

He tries to shift his grip, abandoning the attempt when his maneuvering seems not to have any effect. "I'm a soldier. You of all people should understand that."

There is movement behind him and Ryan shakes her head in warning at the rising blonde before she bares her teeth to him in a fierce grimace. "Look where obeisance got me. You think you want to walk this road?"

"I don't choose my road." He kicks out in an attempt to connect with her already bruised shin, but she blocks adeptly and delivers a quick stinging blow to the bridge of his foot.

"If you don't choose your road, you'd better be mighty sure the one who does won't deliver you to the wolves. You think Turner gives a shit about you?" She sets herself against the renewed force of his thrust, pushing in so close that her torso is pressed against his. "Grow balls, man. You're alone in this. Make your own decision."

He pushes forward against her, using his barrel chest to drive her backwards, and is almost tripped over his own feet when she twists around and lets him push past her. Their hands drop lower and she slams the heel of her hand into his fingers, forcing the barrel away from her. Surging forward she drives a knee upwards into his groin, and even the glancing contact as he tries to twist away causes an exploding pain in his gut. Grunting, he tries to hold on, but the force of the second blow drives him to his knees. Clutching his privates he steels himself against another blow, and when it doesn't come he glances upwards in puzzlement. Ryan is standing in front of him, her face stark as she holds the rifle loosely.

"Don't let him use you like he's done with me. You're not a part of this war. I'm going to go into that room to check on Melville. If you're not here when I come back I'd most likely not remember your face. Do you understand me?"

He nods dumbly, cautiously. Walking around him the lean woman extends a hand to the trembling blonde and pulls her into a one-armed hug, tender and intimate, before she leads her towards the door, limping slightly, and opens it. Her last glance over the blonde's shoulder to Sierra is one of unexpected kinship, before she disappears from his view forever.

------

Melville is already dead. He did not suffer; Ryan can see that - from the angle of his broken neck it happened expertly and very quickly. Shielding Claire from the sight she says a silent prayer for his soul, hoping that it helps at all, and then leads the blonde back into the empty living room. The two soldiers are gone. When she feels Claire's knees threatening to buckle she lays the rifle on the couch and wraps her other arm around the blonde, holding her close. Though Claire is not crying her breathing is irregular.

"Andy?"

"Your sister's okay, Walsch, just a bit battered. She's outside with the paramedics and anxious to check on you." The dark woman drops a soft kiss on the blonde head, and then leans back to check the split lip and bloodied cheek with gentle fingers, apologizing with a murmur when her actions bring a wince to the other woman's face. "You?"

"I'm fine." Claire's blue eyes take in the dried trail of blood running down Ryan's face and tears start to well up. With a shake of her head the soldier pulls the blonde close again, trying to convey the depth of her suddenly rising emotion in one such a simple gesture. They stand for a long time, and to her mortification the soldier doesn't notice the Spanish woman standing in the open door of the apartment until Ruiz clears her throat pointedly.

"Is this a bad time?" She looks Ryan over concernedly with her slanted eyes. "¿Estas bien?"

Claire starts in Ryan's arms, twisting around to look at the dark woman, and when she glances back at the soldier her face is questioning and heartbreakingly defenseless. Ignoring the dark woman Ryan shakes her head once. "It's not what you think, Claire. This is my cousin, Sophia Ruiz. She's with a government agency."

Claire's eyes take in the immaculately dressed and gorgeous woman. "FBI?"

"No." Ryan shakes her head again, and in her green eyes Claire can clearly see that she won't pursue the subject. A frown creeps across the doctor's face.

"You were kissing your cousin?"

"Mm. She won't let me hear the end of it either." Ryan's voice is dry and Ruiz's eyebrow is lifted in an ironic way which makes her resemble the soldier very closely. "I was trying to make her connection to me a little more ambiguous. She's not easy to find but Turner would have had the means, had he suspected anything other than what he did. He thought he knew me well enough to make assumptions. He didn't."

"So you kissed her." Now Claire's tone is dry too.

A muffled chuckle escapes Sophie's throat. "I feel the same way about that." Her dark eyes switch to Ryan. "¿Es ella?"

Ryan raises an eyebrow and stares at the dark woman intensely for a long time before she finally nods. "Si, prima, es ella."

Her cousin smiles, and it is such a beautiful smile, all sparkle and dimples, that Claire cannot help but smile with her even though she has no idea what has just been said. Ruiz approaches the blonde and takes her gently by the arm, levering her from Ryan's firm hold.

"Come, chica, your sister is going insane with worry." She leads Claire towards the door. "And you're in shock. You need to see the paramedics." Shooting Ryan a quick look over her shoulder Ruiz adds. "You too, prima - unless you want to go out the way you came in."

Ryan grimaces. "If I never see a drainpipe in my life again it'll be too soon."

------ The kind older doctor is putting careful stitches in the gash on Andy's cheek as Claire looks on, holding her sister's hand tightly. Occasionally Andy squeezes Claire's hand, though neither is sure whether it serves to reassure Claire or to remind her to lighten her grip.

Ryan is perched on a bed in the corner in a serious quiet discussion with Sophia Ruiz, her face still and her eyes intermittently shifting over her cousin's shoulder to the two blondes sitting two beds over. The soldier did not want to come to the hospital, writing off any injuries as minor, but was persuaded by Ruiz's terse argument that the Walsch sisters needed attention. She has already been checked out by a doctor, and apart from him it is only she and Ruiz who knows that she has retained a slight concussion from the blow to her head. Externally the only sign of discomfort is the ice-pack she's pressing gingerly against her badly bruised shin. Ryan leans in close to say something and then shoots that almost-smile across the Spanish woman's shoulder, gratified to see Claire's eyes crinkle in her direction before the blonde turns back to her sister.

Ruiz smiles. "You've got it bad, Ryan."

The solder snorts. "Don't read anything into it. It's just lust, Ruiz. Adrenaline and … whatever else. The result of stress."

Her cousin lifts an arched eyebrow. "If that buzz between the two of you is just a result of stress - then I'd better have a hysterectomy before my line of work makes me repopulate the entire earth."

"You're funny. Not to me, but to a lot of other people. Probably." Ryan shifts the ice-pack a little and yawns. "What a day."

Sophie Ruiz is about to say something when her mobile phone rings. Ignoring Ryan's green eyes twinkling at the blaring tones of "The Animaniacs", the Spanish woman flips open her mobile.

"Sì." She listens for a while, her face losing its dynamic expression rapidly to become impassive. "Sì. Sì. Is he badly hurt?" Ryan leans closer, her eyebrows drawing together as she watches Ruiz. The woman turns her back towards Ryan and listens for a little while more before she closes her phone and turns to the soldier. Even though she takes care to keep her features smooth, Ryan has known her long enough to notice the almost invisible signs of strain in the set of her full lips. Likewise, Ruiz has known Ryan long enough to pick up the underlying distress when the soldier speaks quickly.

"What? Sophie?"

"It's Turner." As she speaks she steps closer to Ryan. "Somehow he's gone missing between the building site and the hospital. Ortega found the ambulance driver wandering around two blocks down - he'd been hit in the head with something. Can't remember a thing." Her dark eyes take in the grim set of Ryan's jaw as the lean woman moves the ice-pack away from her shin, putting it down on the bed, and in an ostensibly affable gesture she places her right hand lightly on Ryan's right shoulder. "There was an agent in the back of the ambulance with him. That man is now hurt - or he's in on it. Either way, this goes… "

"… deeper than I thought it had." Ryan finishes the sentence and shifts to slip off the bed, glancing down in frustration at the hand against her shoulder which has now turned to a firm resistance and is pushing her back. "Sophie, let me go. I have to be there."

"No." The same touch of steel in Ryan's voice is now in Ruiz's. The Spanish woman cocks her head and indicates the two blonde women behind her, one of which is now glancing over towards the obviously agitated soldier. "That is where you have to be, prima. With her. I don't think Turner will take the chance of turning up anywhere soon, but if he does, and it's in her area again, will you be able to live with that?"

The dark woman's jaw shifts tensely and she locks eyes with her cousin turbulently. "That's why I have to go, Sophie. I have to find him. She can't be a part of this."

"What you're saying is that you don't want her to be a part of you, prima." Ruiz speaks softly but her words are potent. "She already is. You always want to be the one who goes first. I know you, prima. You're trying to save her by running away so that she won't have to." Laying a gentle hand on Ryan's face she cups the strong jaw affectionately. "Why not give her a chance to decide for herself? She's a tough one, and she's stood with you this far. She must actually like your grumpy ass."

Yanking her head from Sophie's hand Ryan turns her head away. "She doesn't know what I'm like. And besides, it's not about that. Turner… "

"… is my business now. And she'll never know if you don't give her the opportunity." Seeing Ryan's eyes shift past her for a moment Ruiz steps back. "Don't undervalue your worth, prima. I don't like when you do that to somebody I love." With that she turns and shares a radiant smile with a surprised Claire, who has just stepped up behind her. "I have to go. Under better circumstances it would have been delightful to meet you, doctor Walsch. I think we'll see each other again soon. Please take care of my cousin. She doesn't do too well herself."

"Thank you so much for everything, agent Ruiz." Instead of taking the proffered hand Claire leans forward and places a kind kiss on the Spanish woman's cheek. Cocking her eyebrow jauntily Ruiz grins at her still glowering cousin.

"Adiós, prima. ¡cuídate."

When the woman walks towards Andy to greet her Ryan frowns. "I should be going with her."

Claire's face is carefully neutral. "If that's where you want to be, you have to go."

Sighing, Ryan turns her head to look at the blonde with those bright green eyes before she smiles just a little and reaches out a hand to tuck a strand of the light hair back behind Claire's ear. "It's where I think I should be, but that's definitely not where I want to be." Her thumb brushes gently over the doctor's rounded bottom lip, avoiding the discolored cut. "How's Andy?"

Closing her eyes against the feather-light touch Claire turns her head to follow the motion of Ryan's finger before she answers. "He hit her so many times. They're all superficial wounds, but she'll hurt for a while. I wish she hadn't decided to surprise me."

She can see the muscles in Ryan's jaw jump as the soldier grits her teeth and glances away. "I should have killed him when I had the chance. He was a sickening man."

"You have more integrity than that." Laying a soft hand on Ryan's forearm Claire strokes the smooth corded skin soothingly. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Melville?"

A corner of Ryan's mouth twitches upwards into a small melancholy smile. "Ah, Christopher." Wrapping her hand over Claire's she holds it still for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him, Claire. I should have, I just never… I didn't… Anyway, I apologize." She is quiet after the atypical display of hesitation, and it is only when Claire's hand shifts under her own that she continues softly. "I married Christopher in the late eighties when I was still with the army. It was pure subterfuge - I was attracted to women, and the army didn't … encourage that behaviour." A quick bitter smirk crosses her face. "No, let me be clearer, actually. I don't want to gloss over it. My behavior was atrocious, nothing to be supported. I used and abused women as I felt like it, without a scrap of decency. I screwed around, I lied, I cheated, I damaged. It only lasted until I became involved with a superior officer's wife, and when the consequences of that hit me… well, the option to marry Christopher, a friend and colleague of mine at the time, was the easiest compromise. Or so I thought." She shakes her head. "I never stopped to wonder why the powers that be would want him to look respectable too. We were married in name for about a year, but it felt like forever. Christopher likes… liked to hit. I hit back, of course, cocky little thing that I was then, but when it got really bad and I went to his commanding officer, my complaint was blocked from above. He beat the crap out of me that year, and everybody looked in the opposite direction. I suppose I deserved it for my sins. In any case, when they found out that he liked women too, but just a tad too young to be legal, his sins finally became bigger than mine and he was shipped off to a very small, very strict base in the northwest, and I was delicately reminded to keep my behavior in check."

Claire watches her intently. "I hate to think what you mean when you say 'delicately'."

"Hmm." Ryan nods. "The methods were always … resourceful. But I took the point. I maintained a certain image, taking great care to keep my personal life personal. When I went into Fairwater Christopher was still at his little base, keeping his nose clean, but somewhere in the middle, Ruiz told me, he completely lost it and raped a captain's daughter. He has… had nothing but the army. His attempt to blackmail Turner with you was a completely delusional last-ditch effort."

When the soldier stops talking and looks down at their connected hands Claire watches her silently for a long while before she speaks. "Did you really think you deserved what happened to you?"

"I hurt people. I didn't ever expect any mercy."

"It's not about just surviving. It's about thriving." Leaning forward Claire kisses her lightly before she steps back. "Can we go home now?"

------ The greying man frowns at the ringing phone and slams down his pen, motioning for an aide to close the door before he lifts the handset.

"What?"

"It's me." The male voice on the other side is breathy and fainter than usual. "There's been a breach."

The grey man pokes the pink file on the desk in front of him with a desultory finger. "Yes, I know. I hear everything, do you forget?"

"Whatever." Even his physical distress isn't tempering his rudeness. "Reparative measures need to be taken."

"Already done. Will you be all right?" It's a cursory question without much concern, and that fact is clear.

"Sure. That bitch Ryan… " Turner clears his throat and winces at the agony flaring through his chest with the motion. "I'm keeping it low key for a while, until I'm on my feet again. Then I'm going after her myself."

"You will do no such thing, General." The man's voice is smooth and soothing, a real asset to his career. "Leave it alone. You've messed up time and time again with regards to that woman. We'll be watching her closely, and if she makes any move to follow up we'll take action. In the meantime the US Army will sincerely - and truthfully - apologize for your … rogue faction's action and offer some sort of remuneration for her extreme distress, and you won't be anywhere to be found. Technically this thing is dead. Do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear." Turner clears his throat again. "That all?"

"Yes." The man reaches up and straightens his tie. "Send my regards to the Senator."

Conclusion

Exhausted, Claire lets a slightly limping Ryan lead her into the bedroom and settle her on the double bed. "Your leg okay?"

"I'm fine." Ryan quirks an eyebrow at the blonde's expression. "Seriously. You look worse."

"Luckily I don't look half as bad as I feel." Smiling slightly Claire leans back on her arms, watching as Ryan slips off her shoes and puts them to one side before she lifts the blonde's legs onto the bed, gently forcing her onto her back.

"You need some sleep, Walsch."

Ryan is about to turn and go when Claire's hand wraps around hers. The doctor's blue eyes beckon her back. "Ryan, can you sit down here with me for a moment?"

"Sure." She perches on the edge of the bed carefully, her eyes shrouded. "What's up?"

"What's going to happen next?"

"With Turner?"

"With us."

"Us." Ryan looks at Claire steadily. "I didn't realize there was an 'us' yet, Claire."

Raising an eyebrow the blonde cocks her head. "Well, there you are, and here I am, and together we're an 'us'." There's a shadow of an ache in her eyes. "I thought you didn't play games, Ryan."

The soldier tears her gaze away to stare at the door blindly. "I don't. But I also don't make promises I can't keep. That could hurt."

Withdrawing her hand quietly Claire shakes her head. "This is awfully close to hurting already, Ryan. I'm usually pretty good at reading people. Was I wrong with you? Can you tell me that you don't care?"

"We've just gotten back from the hospital, Claire." Ryan stands up and stretches her neck. "Can we discuss this at another time?"

The blonde stands her ground. "Was it lust? Was that all it was?"

With a sharp breath Ryan turns around and the fire in her eyes burns right through Claire. "I don't know, Claire. I don't know. I've never had anything more!"

"And you don't even want to stay to find out?" A slightly skew smile flickers over Claire's features. "Do you think you've changed at all?"

"If you have to ask me that then obviously I may not have!" Ryan snaps before she drops her head and rubs her temple. "What do you want from me? I told you once that I couldn't offer you anything, Claire."

The only sign of the blonde's distress is the slight quickening of her blinking lashes. Pushing herself up, she stares into the other woman's eyes evenly. "I want to know whether you're going to be around when I wake up, Ryan. It's an easy out."

The soldier meets her gaze for a long moment, her face blank, before she turns away. "No, I don't think I will be." Her bearing is as straight and proud as always. "I'm sorry, Claire. I don't think I can be what you want me to be."

"Okay." The sound of the blonde swallowing painfully almost drives the soldier to her knees, to turn around and take the woman in her arms. Clenching her hands into fists she forces herself to stand still. When Claire speaks next her voice is throaty and on the verge of tearful. "It's not the answer that I wanted, but if I ask I suppose I do have to be contented with the truth. Can't change that. You really don't lie, do you?" She shifts, pulling the cover up over her body. "I can't have you this close and not have any of you after this. I'm going to go to sleep, Ryan. When I wake up you either need to be all here, or you need to be all gone. Okay?"

"Okay." It's a whisper.

"Okay." Claire swallows. "Thank you for everything, soldier. There are parts I regret - but parts that I never ever will. Take care of yourself. Tell your cousin I'm sorry." She turns around, in part to shield her teary eyes, and wraps her arms around the pillow under her aching head with an abrupt finality.

With one last glance at the blonde head Ryan turns and walks out. In the living room she stops and stares out sightlessly through the open sliding door for a long time before she approaches.

"Shouldn't you be in bed too?"

"I can't sleep."

"I didn't realize that you smoked."

Andy takes a deep drag and exhales slowly, the pleasure only marginally spoiled by the ache of her face. "I quit a few times already, and very successfully, may I add - but if any time's a good one to start again, it's now."

"Those things'll kill you."

"So will everybody else, apparently." Andy draws on the cigarette again, wincing at the pain in her lip and cheek. "So. You walking out on my sister?"

Ryan casts a wry sideways glance at her before she walks up to the railing and drapes her forearms over it. "Yeah."

"Don't be a bastard."

The comment is so casual that it pushes a slight cheerless chuckle from Ryan's throat. Turning around she leans against the rail, her long legs stretched forward a little as she looks at Andy. "I'm trying not to hurt her any more than I already have, Andy. As her sister you should be able to understand - and welcome - that."

The blonde puffs a wobbly smoke ring into the air and then rolls her eyes dramatically. "As far as I remember you were the one saving all of us, Ryan, flying into windows like friggin' batman. If it weren't for you things could have been much worse."

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't have been there at all."

"And yet there we were!" Andy flicks the cigarette sharply over the railing and gets up angrily. "It happened, Ryan - you can't take it back, no matter how much you may want to. But if it weren't for you, Claire wouldn't ever have met you, and now you want to take away the one positive thing she found in all of this? What kind of fucked up logic is that?!"

"I'm going to hurt her." It's so soft that Andy almost can't hear her. Ryan stares down at her feet. "You think that it all stops with the end of Turner, Andy, but it doesn't. Not for me." She glances over. "You won't understand."

"No, I really won't if you don't even bother trying to tell me!"

The soldier sighs. "When I was chasing Turner these last few months, tracking him down and setting him up for the fall, it was the sole focus point of my life, Andy. I was fighting a battle to survive. I thought that once I'd taken him down things would be resolved miraculously. That suddenly my entire history would prove to be hinged on this, that I could sit back and say 'let's start again, this wasn't my fault'. But my life has always been like this, Andy. People told Claire that - they told her that I was wild, that I was bad, and other things beyond that. She chooses to see the good in me, but that element is a bigger part of me. I want to be different. I want these last few months to have changed me into something better than I was before … but wanting is no guarantee. Deep inside I'm not worth it to her. With or without Dex I still am somebody who did what I did. It's written in my history and that's something I can't erase. For the want of a better cliché," Ryan grins miserably, "she makes me want to be a better woman - but I don't think I have that in me. I don't want to hang your sister's hopes on a maybe, Andy. I've been strong enough to save her from everything but me, and I don't want to fail her at the last turn. She deserves so much better."

"Yes, she does." Extending a hand Andy wraps it around Ryan's face and twists it upwards, a little startled to see tears in the bright green eyes. "For everything Claire's been through in her life she deserves exactly what she wants, and that happens to be you." When the soldier opens her mouth to speak Andy shakes her head. "Listen to me. And I mean really listen." Her blue eyes are fierce. "This is just how it is. Your life is a river, Ryan, and you are the leaf that drifts down it towards whatever may be coming your way. In front of you may be waterfalls, or rocks, or the most peaceful waters you've ever seen, but you'll not know until you get there. Behind you is the wake you're leaving in the water. It is attached to you, a history of your passage through, and yet, brilliantly, it's not what propels you forward. It has absolutely no relevance to where you are drifting right now, beyond a transient memory of your past, a reminder of where you drifted previously to reach the here. What you were once, Ryan, is not the driving force behind what you are now. Assigning blame for your weaknesses to your past is a means followed by people who can't take responsibility for the present, and somehow I can't see you as somebody like that. You know who you are at this very moment, Ryan. You're someone strong and solid and devoted, being loved by someone wonderful who wants you for you. Take that with both hands. Don't keep glancing back."

The soldier looks at her helplessly, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "How do I do that? How do I know that I won't fall back?"

Andy grasps both of her hands and presses them gently. "You do that by keeping something extraordinary ahead of you that you can keep your gaze fixed on."

Lifting her hand to wipe at the tear spilling down her cheek Ryan half-chuckles at the realization that she's using Andy's fingers, before she speaks again. "Do you really think I can do that, Andy?"

The blonde leans forward and pulls the soldier into a tight embrace. "I've seen you do a lot more, batman. I think you can do absolutely anything you set your mind to."

Ryan rests her forehead on the shorter woman's shoulder in an awkward stance and just breathes, letting the unknown and the fear wash over her until the clamoring in her head dies down. Then, straightening up, she presses her cheek to Andy's in an uncommon expression of affection. "I hope to have you in my life."

The blonde's skin shifts against hers in a grin. "I'm immune to your charms, Captain Ryan. Or so I'll keep telling myself." Stepping back out of Ryan's arms she nudges her lightly with one hand. "You know what you have to do."

A nod. "Yes." Ryan turns away and then freezes before she turns back to lock silently curious eyes on Andy. "You called her Sophia … before I said her name."

There is a moment when Andy looks as if she is going to deny it before she cocks her head, her blue eyes cautious. The soldier raises a dark eyebrow.

"Care to explain?" The slightest glimmer of amusement plays at the edge of her features. "Don't leave out the co-incidence of arriving at just the right time. Sounds like a good part."

Straightening up Andy takes another cigarette out of the box and slips it between her slightly swollen lips. Taking a deep drag she winces slightly before she exhales. There's a slight smile on her face.

"I'm sure that if you think back a little you'll realize that you're mistaken, Captain Ryan."

Ryan nods slowly. "Now that you mention it I'm sure I will."

They share one last look of unspoken complicity before the soldier turns away.

Returning to the bedroom Ryan just looks at the figure in the bed, back turned towards her, the blonde hair she knows from experience to be so silky and the neck's she's seen bent in such an intimate arch, before she steps closer.

"Claire?"

The blonde turns around, a painful flash of hope surging through her blue eyes before she manages to shutter them. "I thought you were gone already."

"So did I." The soldier meets her gaze and for the first time Ryan's face is naked and raw. "I have to tell you something. I told you that I would never lie, but I realize now that I have."

Claire's eyes close in sadness. "Don't."

"I lied when I told myself I could walk away from you, Claire. I lied when I told myself I was doing it for you. I lied when I assured myself I'd make it intact." Ryan studies the blue eyes opening in surprise, the red rings around them, the cut over the eyebrow and the gash bisecting the bottom lip, and her own mouth spreads into a melancholy smile. "The demons inside didn't come from some chip, Claire, they came from me. All this time I thought I was fighting some injustice, to save the world, and what I was actually doing was just trying to save my sanity. All this time I thought the worst hurt could be the bullet in my shoulder, the glass in my hands, the pain in my head, and it turned out to be the fight against letting go of my darkness. If I could have held onto that chip I could explain away my whole history. I could say this is what I am, and this is what you get, and this is the way it will be."

The soldier shakes her head.

"But if I hold onto that excuse as tightly as I need to, I don't have a hand left to hold onto you."

Claire's fingers twist in the cover restlessly. "Which are you going to let go?"

"Well," Ryan cocks her head, "I figure that if you still want to, I'd like to let you be the force that pulls me forward instead of having the old demons push me. The view would sure be better." A self-deprecating grin flits over her face. "Not the most romantic bid ever. I'm sorry."

Sitting up the blonde swings her legs off the bed and looks up at the lean woman, standing so uncertainly before her. "Have you ever heard the Chinese saying 'If you've saved someone's life, you're responsible for them forever'? Well, when those soldiers were shooting at us from above and you stepped in front of me and shielded me, Ryan, that's when this stopped being your choice."

Smiling a little, Ryan shakes her head. "You think I saved you, but you're wrong. It's the other way around. When I asked you to stop reaching out to me… and you didn't. When all the signs pointed to crazy and you wouldn't let go. You saved me, Claire."

Raising an eyebrow Claire purses her lips. "So I suppose this means, for all intents and purposes, that we'll have to be responsible for each other for a very long time. Hmmm. Okay. Can you shut up and kiss me now? Would that be fine?"

Leah Ryan's face radiates into a complete, sparkling, whole-hearted smile as she opens her arms. "More than just fine, Walsch. It would be a start."

FIN