And on top of that, it was so damn logical that Gabe couldn't turn it down.

Whatever this feeling was, wherever it came from, and however he had come to be capable of feeling it, Gabe felt whole -- truly whole -- right this moment, and he didn't ever want it to end. But when it did, Gabe was not sad. Because Sol was with him. She wasn't going anywhere. And he could return any time he chose.

The day was more or less wasted. They'd learned nothing, and they only had enough time to get back to their motel room before sundown. There was nothing more to accomplish today. They'd rolled the dice and come up snake eyes.

Still, Gabe had seen the chopper. He wasn't sure why he considered that an accomplishment. All they'd achieved was to nearly get caught. And yet, he did think of it as one. He'd seen it with his own two eyes again. It wasn't just some distant memory. It was real. The mangled rotars were real, the shattered windscreen was real, the chair leaning against its side . . . all real.

So they trudged through the snow, trading off with the jacket every half hour or so. Gabe let Sol let him have the first turn. She wanted him to have it, and Gabe was far too tired to argue any further.

They reached the road, and traveled north, away from the city. Still, they stayed on the side of the road that would take them toward it; they wanted to get close in a car, not on foot. On foot there was the risk of being spotted.

Eventually a car picked them up. Sol had decided that what be most effective would be for Gabe to bundle himself up in the jacket and stay a short ways off, out of sight of the road, and for her to signal for cars. A fifteen year old girl without a jacket, she explained, would have much better chances than Gabe did, with or without one.

She was right -- the first car that passed stopped for her. She signalled to Gabe, and they got in. The driver, a middle-aged man who hadn't shaved in a few days, looked a bit annoyed at Gabe's presence, but didn't kick them out. However, when they asked him to let them out a mile from the city, he didn't argue, or even look back.

She took advantage of his unconscious state to remove the jacket and hang it up. She didn't care how tired she was. She wanted a bath.

The hot water was painful at first, but she left it on anyway, the heat slowly soaking into her joints while the cleaner worked on her clothes. When she finally got out, her muscles felt loose and warm instead of weak and cold, and that was a tremendous improvement. She dried, redressed in everything but her shoes and walked slowly back out into the room.

Gabe was exactly where he'd fallen, still completely dressed.

She grinned a little and sat down on the end of the bed, unfastening his boots and tugging them from his feet. He didn't even shift. She managed to extricate the blanket and spread it over him. The motion reminded her of exactly how little additional strain her muscles were willing to tolerate.

With shaky steps, she moved to the other side of the bed and sat down stiffly. Her eyes fell to the phone, and she sighed and looked at it uncertainly.

She'd promised her father she would call if they needed help. They had one full day left before they had to turn themselves in for debriefing and return to Command School, and she had no idea where they were going next. They'd made it to the chopper, but the IF had set a trap. They'd been expected. That much was made obvious by their conspicuous lack of bullet wounds. They'd been expected, but they hadn't been caught. There was no way they could make it back to the chopper again, and really no reason to.

They were after him. He could hear them. Trudging after him through the snow, following his tracks, the sound of their boots carrying through the cold air much further than visibility. Gabe was trying to run, but he was cold and tired, and his arm hurt, and they were dead, they were all dead . . .

And in his dream he could see them following. They kept changing. Sometimes they were kids from Battle School. Kat. Jax. Riya. Sometimes they were the adults, Graff and Anderson. But the one in the lead never changed. That was always Gabe's father, trudging forward, eyes narrowed as he followed Gabe's tracks.

It was cold. So very cold. Like he'd felt today, cold all the way through to the bone, like he was frozen inside. He didn't know how he kept running. Every moment he was sure that he was going to fall down dead the very next. Except he never did. He just kept moving.

But they were gaining. Getting closer, and yet they never seemed to reach him. It was like there was an infinite amount of "closer" for them to get.

And then there were flames on the horizon. Not the little weak fires that had been there in real life, but great burning columns rising up out of the heap of twisted metal. Gabe kept moving toward them, kept going, even though he was still sure that any moment now the cold would kill him or his pursuers would catch him.

The wreck did not stay a constant distance away, however; indeed, he seemed to get there much sooner than should have been possible, given his distance from it when he'd first spotted it. The heat of the flames was searing, but they did not hurt him, nor did they truly warm him -- he was freezing and burning at the same time, and yet his body was untouched.

He climbed the wreck, for there was no snow drift in his dream. He dropped right down inside, and the flames were gone. All Gabe could see were the bodies. There was no pilot; Gabe had never cared about the pilot. Only these two, still strapped to their chairs. The smaller body was shredded by little pieces of metal, and the larger one was missing the left half of its neck. The faces of both were still clearly visible, however. They were not his mother and sister. They were both Sol. The little one was the way she had looked when he had first met her, that first day in Battle School -- six years old and a sweet and innocent little girl. The older one was Sol as she looked now, grown up, hardened, but still that same person he'd met so long ago. They were watchin him. Not that they were moving; they were dead. But both of their pairs of eyes were pointed right at where he was standing, right that moment. You survived, their eyes seemed to say. You survived and we did not. What right did you have to survive, Gabe? What right do you have to be breathing right now?

Then it was as if the ground gave out, right beneath him, and he was falling. It was dark all around him -- the only reason he knew that he was falling at all was the sensation of weightlessness. He fell forever. There was no time in this place. But at some point he landed, hard, in the middle of a softly-lighted circle. As if there were some bulb hanging above his head, with only a limited range to its glow. Gabe pushed himself to his feet.

He was surrounded. A ring of people enclosed him. Gabe knew every single face. Eric was the first one he saw, his body broken and bleeding, and yet still standing. Mai Zhiyuan was there also, with the look on her face that she'd had when Gabe stood over her with her pendant in his hand, with the power to save her life, he'd just stood there. Next was Naomi, in her flash suit, with her arm bent at a bad angle. Kat, the way she'd looked when he'd slipped down out of the vent and brought that metal pole down on her head. Gabe could see them all. Every person he'd ever hurt who couldn't fight back. They were all there, standing in a ring around him, slowly closing in.

"I'm sorry," Gabe whispered, softly, pleadingly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not like that anymore, I'm not, I . . ." His voice trailed off with uncertainty. Was he changed? Was he different now?

Gabe didn't truly believe it. He'd not had reason to kill in a long time, but that wasn't the same thing as being different. He was still a murderer at heart. He was still a killer inside.

And then a single syllable escaped his throat. Just a whisper, really. Barely even audible.

"Sol."

But everything changed then. The light above went out, the accusing faces dissapeared. Then light slowly returned, but from a new source now, but higher and fainter. Moonlight. Gabe was standing in a forest, and Sol was hugging him, and before he had time to process any of this she turned up her face and kissed him. Just a friendly kiss.

Gabe woke up with the taste of her lips still on his, and with Sol snuggled up beside him. He smiled, faintly, and closed his eyes again. He let himself do nothing at all for a good half hour, until the sun was visible against the shades. Then it was time to get up, and Gabe did, if grudginly. He tried not to disturb Sol as he got to his feet. He had no plan for this morning, and until he did there was no reason to wake her. She had saved their lives yesterday -- the very least he could do was let her have her rest.

Her head felt thick, and her joints ached, but the heat on her muscles had helped before she went to bed, and her general physical status was much improved. She stretched and fell back on one of the pillows as she picked up the other one and surveyed the possibility of throwing it.

She was trying to focus, trying to be serious, but her elation at having survived - uncaptured, relatively uninjured, and together - after having achieved their objective - however fruitless that might have proved - left her somewhat giddy. Coupled with the bouyant feeling of a good night's rest in clean clothes, she was feeling downright playful. She lost the internal battle and launched the pillow towards Gabe, who was looking at her with what almost appeared to be amusement.

So they ate there, at a small booth in the back. Gabe took the seat that was facing the door, with his back to the wall, and never once turned his head so that the door left his field of vision.

Gabe could not remember ever eating eggs before. He ordered an omlet, only because the name seemed to stand out for some reason. It was alright; nothing to shout about. What surprised Gabe was the bacon. Gabe had ingested several different types of meat in his lifetime, but this . . . this was something new to him.

Perhaps it was the danger of the previous day that was making him feel freer than usual this morning. Perhaps he had found a little more appreciation for life in those frozen fields.

Gabe finished eating before Sol was even half-finished with her plate, and downed the glass of orange juice. Orange juice he'd had before, once, but he didn't remember enjoying it so much as he did now.

She knew what she wanted as soon as she smelled the syrup outside the door. French toast. She was relieved to find it was still offered. She'd been gone a long time. She had changed, her family had changed...but French toast was eternal. Powdered sugar. Whipped cream. She was going to be sick when she finished, she was certain, if she finished. But she enjoyed every bite.

She was poking half-heartedly at her eggs, trying to take a break from the overwhelming *sweet*, something they'd never had much of at BattleSchool, when Gabe drained his orange juice and spoke. "You did good yesterday. That was a really smart thing you did, and we're still alive because of it. I just thought I should tell you that."

Counting herself lucky that she'd had nothing in her mouth to choke on, Sol blinked at him and then smiled a little. "Well...you got us away from the bunker. I guess it was my turn." Her smile faded. She couldn't remember leaving the bunker, couldn't remember losing her jacket, and that blankness bothered her.

So he ate the french toast. It was soft and mushy and entirely too sweet, but Gabe was not one to be terribly picky about what he ate. The calories would do him good.

He still finished before Sol was done with her eggs, and so Gabe asked for another glass of orange juice. When the waiter left, Gabe spoke in a slightly lowered voice.

Getting caught wasn't really a worry. If they got the information they needed, it wouldn't matter if they were caught. That would simply save them the trouble of turning themselves in. But Gabe wanted to be sure, or at least moderately sure, that they would get that information.

His doubt was this: the IF knew all about them both. If Sol truly was capable of hacking their system -- if the possibility of it were even conceivable -- then they simply would not store it anywhere accessible via net access. The data probably wouldn't be stored electronically at all. No, if Gabe were the one in charge, and if his orders stated that he could not destroy the data -- for Gabe had to assume that that was true, or all this would be for nought -- then Gabe would store the data in hardcopy form. Somewhere safe, but not necessarily high-security. That was important -- the smartest place to hide anything was in plain sight. If Gabe were in charge, he would put it somewhere that wasn't just secure, but also a place where he and Sol would have no reason to look.

The problem with all that, of course, was that there were a million places to stash a file folder in this city, and frankly, if Gabe were in charge he wouldn't have even kept it in the city at all. There was absolutely no reason to.

Gabe sighed. To have come so far, and still have achieved so very little . . .

Sol came out also, and Gabe handed her his jacket. He'd worn it on the way here, and so now was as good a time to trade as any. They'd have to get Sol another coat -- some more pickpocketing would probably be necessary. Unless, of course, no course of action was viable; in that case, then there was no reason to do anything but go back to the motel room and try the hack Sol said she couldn't do. If they were going to be caught anyway, they'd might as well try.

As they walked back toward the motel, Gabe felt very disappointed in himself. He'd run away from his father's home in Vermont and traveled almost five thousand miles, just to see a wrecked chopper. He'd seen the damn chopper before; that wasn't why he was here. He was here to see things he hadn't seen the first time through.

They had lost. They'd been beaten.

Gabe almost didn't notice the watchers when he and Sol arrived in the parking lot of the motel. There were five in cars, and two others standing -- one by the vending machine and one leaning against the wall of the front office casually. They weren't necessarily suspicious. Not a single one looked at Gabe or Sol. Gabe almost didn't notice at all.

Except that Gabe recognized them. Every one of them. They were all wearing faces that Gabe remembered from the photograph on Gabe's father's desk, back when Gabe's family had still been together. The photograph that still hung on the wall of his father's apartment. His father's former unit.

Gabe touched Sol's elbow, lightly, as he altered his course so that they would walk past the parking lot, instead of into it. "Play it smooth," he whispered softly.

It had taken her a long time to learn to accept orders without question. She still had trouble with it, if she didn't think it was a good idea, but from Gabe? She never even hesitated. Of course, the fact that the cars around them started to make loud metallic thunks didn't hurt either. The same stuttered "s" sound she remembered from that night in the forest when her father had found them repeated itself a dozen times in half as many seconds as they ducked behind the far building of the motel and started to run in earnest.

Their boots were loud on the concrete, and at the first opportunity Sol tugged Gabe off the pavement and onto the grass as they rounded a corner. The gunshots they were dodging paused for a moment as the men chasing them had to look before they spotted them. It was only a temporary respite, and the next second Sol felt a sting as a bullet grazed her arm. If it had been more serious, or if she'd been less intent on getting away from the rest of them, she might have cried out, but she just ducked behind the next obstruction Gabe found for them.

A parking garage, this time, nicely packed with cars and people walking in and out of a nearby shopping center. Incredibly, the shots didn't stop, and the silencers didn't help much as the bullets hit concrete and ricocheted loudly. No one seemed to realize what was going on, though they did earn a few strange looks from passersby for running full out through a crowded parking garage.

A car screeched to a halt in front of them, and they vaulted the hood as bulletholes appeared in the metal behind them. A man directly to the left of Gabe was hit high in the shoulder, and people began to understand, screaming and running and falling to the floor at odd points. Sol barely noticed.

Out of the garage and into the alley behind the shopping center. Gabe hopped the fence and she followed as the men behind them continued the chase. They were surprisingly agile for their age group, and their stamina was remarkable, but there was only room for one thought in Sol's head, besides the need to escape.

Twice before in his life Gabe had been shot at. Once had been about a week before, when Sol's father had put a slug in the tree just over Gabe's shoulder. After that, it had been very difficult for Gabe to make himself empathize with the man. The other time had been ten years ago, and because of it Gabe's mother and sister were dead. Gabe was not fond of guns. He was especially against guns being pointed at him. When said guns were discharged in his direction, repeatedly, Gabe got angry.

It had been a long, long time since Gabe had been angry. He'd been annoyed when Sol's father had been holding him at gunpoint. However, he had known that the man would not harm him. No matter how much the man feared Gabe, and what he meant to the man's daughter, that man had not been a true threat. Gabe had been severely vexed when, eight years before, Kat had assaulted Sol in the garden. His ally -- it seemed like such a cold term now, but that was what Sol had been to him, at the time -- had been attacked, and Gabe considered that an act of war. Even then, though, he had not been truly angry. In all their eight years, Sol had never once seen Gabe angry.

She was about to.

Rage and adrenaline were driving him. They poured like fire through his veins, making his stride longer, his lungs fuller, his heart beat faster and his legs pump harder. They put very violent thoughts in Gabe's mind, and he found himself wishing that he had not given his jacket to Sol. The hammer was tucked inside, hidden between the inner lining and the insulating stuffing with its handle sticking up through the hole Gabe had cut. But part of Gabe was glad he did not have that hammer. He had never once killed. Never. Gabe feared that, in his heart, he was a murderer. Fear was one thing; Gabe preferred to leave it as a fear. If he had that hammer with him, he knew that it would not be a sneaking suspicion. Gabe would use it, and use it lethally. And he did not want to do that. Death had undone his life. He would not be one more killer in this world. He was better than they were.

He was better than his father.

The library lay ahead, and Gabe pushed himself even harder. Sol was having a difficult time keeping up -- her legs were not as long as his, and he doubted that the same rage was burning within her. Gabe's anger was giving him strength. The cost was control. Right now Gabe was not going to bargain.

Gabe was up the four front steps in a single stride, practically dragging Sol along behind him. He kicked through the door, and looked around wildly. The red fire alarm caught his attention. He planted another kick against the plasitc covering, and then pulled the lever. An alarm sounded overhead.

They charged forward, and began weaving through the maze of shelves. Gabe found what he was looking for -- the stairs down to the lower level. They descended down into the shadows. Here the stacks ran from floor to ceiling, and the lighting was sparse. Perfect.

They slowed now, so that their movements would not give them away, and began to wander the labyrinth. Gabe paid close attention to their path. He wanted to be able to find their way back.

When they were deep enough into the stacks, Gabe spoke. His voice was low, barely even a whisper, but in the dusty silence of this place Gabe feared that their pursuers might hear them from the stairs. "We have to escape," he said. It was stating the obvious, of course, but Gabe was too busy planning inside his mind to notice. "These men are ex-SOTF. They will not make mistakes. Two will guard the stairwell, and the other five are going to fan out and find us. They will all be armed. We must evade their search and make it back to the stairwell, and take out the two men there. Take the hammer out of your coat. You're going to have to use it, Sol. Can you use it? Will you be able to?"

Gabe did not hear her answer. There was the creak of very old wood, and then a lound bang, like the clap of thunder. Then more groaning, and more bangs, one after another, until finally, they stopped, and there was complete and total silence.

Shelves. They were knocking over shelves.

He took her hand, and she let him, but as they paused again she withdrew it gently. It might upset her balance, and she needed her balance more than she needed emotional comfort. Her emotion was gone for the moment, locked away until she could safely let it free again. For now she was only prey who was prepared to do anything to get out of the net.

Her hand fastened around the hammer handle as she withdrew it slowly. There was only soft material in the jacket, nothing to make noise, but she withdrew it slowly anyway. The heft felt different, more solid than it had when she held it while they'd taken turns keeping watch over the last few days. She had a hammer, and they had guns, but that didn't bother her much.

A long time ago, her father had put her to bed with a story from his own college days. He'd taken a survival course, and the final exam was to be dropped with whatever supplies they chose to take to survive. She asked him why he hadn't taken a gun, and he'd grinned at her. "My professor told me not to. I asked him why, and he told me that guns gave you the wrong impression of what you really were. When you have a gun, you feel strong, invincible. You look for a reason to use it. A simpler tool reminds you of what you really are - one animal trying to survive without any of the advantages nature gives the "lesser beasts". A man with a knife is more dangerous than a man with a gun, because he knows he has less going for him. Remember that."

She did. She understood. Fear made her step lighter, quickened her senses, improved her balance, and when she crept forward, it was with eyes wide and focused on the far bookcase, nearest the door, her lips parted slightly for maximum air intake with no noise. She didn't hear Gabe behind her, but she could feel him there anyway, like an extension of herself. He would do what had to be done.

The bookcases were remarkably easy to clear as she moved forward with the stealth of a rabbit. It was such a simple game, slipping to the next case, waiting, breathing, listening, slipping again. Not easy - never easy. But simple. She took point, and together she and Gabe slipped past the human panthers without a sound to note their passing.

They approached the stairway, and Sol could see the nearest man, now. He wasn't looking at them. He was looking decidedly away from them. Sol selected a nice, compact book from the nearest shelf, sliding it away silently from its companions, hefting it and throwing it with all the accuracy of desparation. It landed in the far back corner, the point farthest away from them, and he turned the rest of the way, his partner with him.

Sol didn't hesitate. She sprang from her position and pounced on the farther man as Gabe took the one nearest. The hammer made a dull noise as it hit the man's skull, and he crumpled as Gabe broke the other one's nose and knocked him unconscious with a punch and a boot to the face. She could hear the others scrambling towards them, but she took the time to pick up the gun from her target's body and hand the hammer to Gabe before they sprinted up the stairs.

She paused in the doorway as they erupted from the half-toppled bookcases, and she drew a bead and fired as easily as she had with flash guns in the BattleRoom. Point and click. Only the click was followed by a slight recoil and a stuttered "s", and the man fell backwards with a stunned expression as the bullet took him in the stomach.

Gabe broke her hold on his arm when she kicked the cop in the stomach, and dashed toward the nearest alleyway. He could hardly process what was happening. She . . . she was turning herself in. She was turning him in. All those miles they'd traveled together, all the danger, all the cold, and now she was giving up.

Well to hell with that. This wasn't Sol's fight, and he would not begrudge her for wanting out once the bullets started flying. But damned if Gabe was going to let her take him down too. He had things to accomplish before he went back. And he would succeed.

Or die trying.

Still, he could hardly believe it. He'd thought . . . he'd thought that Sol was with him. He'd thought that she had his back, no matter what. And now . . .

And now . . .

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt the bite of a tranq dart piercing the skin of his shoulder. His back was numb almost instantly, and Gabe stumbled and tripped on the curb, landing on his face and hands and rolling a good two meters. The numb feeling was spreading fast, but Gabe struggled to his feet to face the oncoming police.

The first cop was decked, kicked in the knee, and head-butted before he crumpled to the ground with a pathetic moan. Gabe swung at the second cop also, but the poison in his system was working on him hard and he was sluggish. The cop was able to get out of the way with enough time to spare to land his night stick across Gabe's shoulders. Gabe brought his fist up into the man's gut, but he was too weakened to do any real damage and by that time two more officers were there. The blows rained down, and Gabe was beaten to the asphalt before he could resist any further.

The world was getting blurry as Gabe was dragged across the street and tossed bodily into the back of the squad car. He did not remember being handcuffed, and yet found his wrists secured firmly behind him. He noticed, dimly, that his eyes had fallen shut, and reopened them.

Even before his vision cleared, he could sense her there in the back seat with him. He stared blearily at her, and for the first time in his life, Gabe knew the pain fo betrayal.

Betrayal.

He thought she'd betrayed them, turning them in. He knew her well enough to know that had been her intent. She'd seen him bolt, seen the officer with the tranq gun shoot him from a distance. Every blow he'd suffered she had witnessed and winced for, but whatever these officers were going to do to them now, they wouldn't die. They had been outmanned, outgunned and outmaneuvered. They weren't equipped to deal with a large group of trained ex-SOTF soldiers. They only had a day left, and no good leads. 20 hours of possible search time wasn't worth their lives.

But he hadn't understood that, apparently. That didn't make any sense to her. Gabe was always the more logical, the more cautious of them both. He saw the farthest. How could he have thought that he would have a better chance of eventual success by choosing to face the remaining gunmen on his own and risk almost certain death? Gabe had been through that horrible crash. He had direct experience with mortality. He couldn't think he was invincible. It didn't make any sense at all.

Still, what was done was done, and she wouldn't have changed anything, regardless of what he thought of her now. Gabe was safe, she was safe, and whatever punishment the law chose to inflict on them for the relatively minor attack on the police officer wasn't going to be death, and that was what mattered. If Gabe hated her now, it wouldn't...it...

...hated her?

She blinked, but the tears came anyway, tears for herself, for Gabe, for the men she'd just wounded, quite possibly fatally. The squad car jerked away, but she hardly noticed. Gabe was unconscious, and she didn't care what the police officers thought. Her thoughts lost their coherency and she leaned back and closed her eyes and cried silently on the way to the station.

They were taken from the car upon arrival. She didn't resist, and Gabe was still unconscious. After a cursory inspection, the police officers glowered at them and tossed them into a cell, dropping Gabe unceremoniously onto the metal shelf that passed for a bed. Their boots retreated on the tile and they were alone.

He was in a cell. Standard local lockup, three walls cinderblock and one barred. There were two more cots -- one per wall. Sol was sitting on the one opposite mis, watching him.

It was one thing to see a glance and interpret it. It was quite another to have her overwhelming suspicion confirmed. The certain fear that he had considered her turning them in as an unforgivable betrayal became hardened fact, if the imagined loss of his affection had been painful, the confirmation was enough to give her physical pain. Her heart took that pain and distilled it into fury. She had nothing left to lose, and he would damn well understand before that shield came back up and shut her out forever.

"And now you don't. How convenient it must be, to turn on and off so fucking easily. I never did get the hang of that. I know this may come as a shock to you, Gabriel, but those people were SHOOTING at us. They were trying to KILL us. That doesn't matter to you? That's right. They were trying to kill ME, but you don't have to care about that. You can turn it off. How did you know they were SOTF, Gabe? Are these old friends of yours just something else you neglected to mention to me? They were trying to kill YOU, Gabe. They were just shooting at me for fun."

He paused, and pushed himself up into a sitting postion. "You had no right, Sol. You had no goddamn right to choose for me. If you weren't willing to take the risk that's fine -- it's not your fight and I will never ask you to risk your life for me or my interests. But you have no right to decide for me if I can risk my own.

"You never did, but you've had it anyway, haven't you, you ungrateful bastard?! But you wouldn't understand that. Let me try to spell this out for you. Seven well-armed ex-SOTF men against two BattleSchool brats with a hammer in fucking OPEN GROUND with hundreds of innocent bystanders waiting to catch our bullets, matched with twenty possible hours of search time left on NO FUCKING leads and no clue where to go next, and coupled with the high probability that we were going to die before we got to use a fraction of that time! You die and your little search for the meaning of life is over anyway. Did you just miss that little quirk?"

She matched his glare with one of her own, logical anger finally being overtaken by the emotional fury that was struggling to get loose and attack.

He stood, with great effort, and shuffled over to the bars that closed them into their cell. The metal was cold against his forehead, and his hands wrapped themselves around a pair of vertical bars.

He was right there. If they hadn't known he was after it before, they did now...but surely they'd known as soon as he'd been spotted in the bunker.

I don't want to stand on my own, he thought.

He turned slowly, saw Sol curled up with her face hidden. It hurt him. No matter what pain he was feeling right now, no matter what betrayal, it still hurt him to see her like that. For a moment his pain was forgotten. Hers was waht mattered to him.

She'd saved his life, the only way she'd known how. No matter the consequences, no matter what it did to them, what it did to . . . to them, she had done what she felt needed to be done. She'd made his life a higher priority than his trust. There was honor in that. Very noble and very tragic honor.

The answers he sought might have been lost to him forever now. But would he have found them? Would he have found anything? How far would Gabe have gotten, if Sol had not been here to help him? How much further could he have gone, on his own?

You are my true friend, Sol. You are a better friend than I deserve. You'd sacrifice so much, all for me. You deserve better.

Perhaps he should have simply turned away and kept looking angry. They could have proceeded onto Command School, and went their separate ways, and perhaps Sol would have found a real friend. Someone that could truly make her happy. Someone more deserving of such nobility than . . . Gabe.

But he didn't. Because he was selfish and couldn't imagine what he would do without her. Instead he took the three steps so her cot, sat down beside her. Before she had a chance to glance up he enfolded her with his arms, and let his chin rest atop her head. His eyes shut.

Her emotions tangled. He was...still angry at her? It wouldn't come clear, and she didn't care. He was hugging her, he didn't hate her, and that's what mattered. After knowing so surely that he never wanted anything more to do with her, this pardon was too much for her to handle. She began to understand why Gabe hadn't made a habit of hugging her or telling her he cared for her. It was too much all at once, after so long a hiatus.

The negative emotion passed relatively quickly, but relief kept her tears flowing for a few minutes more. It was easier for her to see Gabe's viewpoint now, and guilt tugged at her, but not enough to make her regret her actions, and she hugged him tighter. She was no longer able to imagine a future without him in it, and now she didn't have to, and that was enough to dry her tears as she pulled back to blink the last of them out of her eyes and meet his gaze.

And what difference will it make, anyway? I will know myself then. But if that is the end-all be-all of my existence, then what good is that? What good is knowlegde of what I am, if at the very moment I receive it, I cease to be?

No, Gabe had been wrong. That information was a means to an end. It was useful; it was worth pursuing. But not dying for. To understand his life was not worth death.

He looked down at the top of her head. Just like in his dream, the texture of her lips was still there on his, just the ghost of a sensation, but it lingered nonetheless. That time hadn't felt like just a friendly kiss. It had felt like a whole lot more.

Perhaps the poisons were still in his system. Perhaps he was delirious. Gabe didn't give a damn. He brought a hand to Sol's face, and lifted her chin, gently. His thumb passed across a tear-streaked cheek. He could not erase those tears. They could not be unwept. But they could be mended. Gabe wanted to mend them, for all time. She thought that he'd leave her because of this. As if he could. He wanted to mend them so that there would never again be any doubt.

Gabe leaned down, and kissed her back. He had never kissed anyone before. He was not graceful, was not at all deft. But emotion and instinct were his teachers, and he was a quick learner.

When the kiss broke he could think of nothing more to say. He stared into her eyes, waiting. Waiting for acceptance or rejection.

His touch on her chin, slowly turning her face to meet his, made her sigh. The intense look in his eyes when she met them made her own widen in surprise. The edge of his thumb stroked her cheek, brushing a tear away as he moved closer.

No...he wouldn't...

His lips touched hers, and her eyes fell shut. Despite her internal disbelief, it seemed he would. Sol felt a blush creep into her cheeks, but she didn't care. It was rough at first, but he quickly gentled it, and it was over before she had a chance to react, and her eyes remained closed for a moment or two after he pulled away.

When she opened them, his were still within inches of her own as he regarded her closely, and she dropped her own shyly for a moment. What a place, what a time, her mind managed, but it cut out again quickly. She dragged her gaze back up to his, a hesitant smile appearing as the awed shock in her eyes began to mellow.

Speaking wasn't an option. She didn't know what to say, and doubted there was anything to be said that could express what she felt. Instead, she placed her hands on his upper arms and kissed him back, with perhaps more enthusiasm than skill. She had no idea what had brought this progression of events about, but it felt right and she didn't care. If it was going to end, if he was going to retreat again, she'd take what she could before he escaped.

A slow, methodical clapping made her freeze, and she opened her eyes and pulled away abruptly to stare at their newly acquired audience. A woman in her late thirties or early forties, dressed for the weather in expensive-looking clothes, her long dark hair bound into an attractive knot at the base of her neck, stood just outside in the cell hallway. There was something familiar about her, and Sol wasn't sure what it was, but it made her feel cold inside. There was a smirk on her face, and an expression that held a mixture of sarcasm, fiery pride, amazement and love.

...love?

"Very well done, Sol," said the woman with a smirk, her voice lightly accented. "But does he fetch?"

Realization settled over her, and her left hand tightened into Gabe's shirt material at the shoulder as the right fell weakly into her lap. Her father had been correct after all.

What Gabe was thinking, just before it ended, was that he should have kissed Sol a long time ago. Eight years they had known each other. Gabe was closer to her than he had ever been to anyone in his life. And yet, Gabe had waited eight years. He'd wasted so much time already. No more. They'd almost died twice in as many days. Tomorrow they might be shot on the way to the space port. Their shuttle could blow up on the launch pad. There could be a hull breach once they reached orbit, and they could be sucked out into space. They lived dangerous lives; not so dangerous as the past few days, perhaps, but dangerous nonetheless. There was no more time to waste.

At the sound of clapping Sol broke off her kiss immediately. Gabe turned his head to look at the woman standing there, and thought for a moment she looked familiar. It was only after several moments that Gabe realized what it was that looked familiar about her.

She looked like Sol.

The girl had grown up well. No make-up, and her clothes looked travelworn, but that was to be expected, considering her circumstances for the past week, and she was fit, and pretty enough. She was pleased to see so much of herself in Rebecca, on several different levels. The girl obviously had no compunction about manipulating her little friend to get what she wanted, and that made her just as proud as the clear stamp of her own blood on the girl's features.

Teresa had been well into her twenties before she was able to manufacture such displays of emotion at will. Despite her father's interference, Sol had grown up to exceed both her parents.

The girl looked up as she spoke, and a little of her satisfaction withered. This wasn't the irritated look she should have received from a child of hers upon interrupting her game. The expression on her features was more suited to a deer in the headlights of some vehicle, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Was it possible that Rebecca had been sincere for the length of this argument? Her smile turned into a distasteful frown. Such a vulgar display of heartfelt emotion. Her father's daughter after all.

However, she hadn't spent a great deal of money and effort to track her down simply to frown at her, and the girl's slow response was beginning to irritate. At last the stare went away, replaced by...nothing. Teresa's frown deepened. Jubal had always done that when they argued or fought, and it did not please her to see him reflected so sharply in this girl with her face. "Well, nothing to say, mi hija? I've come to get you out." She turned to regard the boy who was with her. "Both of you."

Gabe stood. Without even meaning to, he put himself between Sol and this woman. Not that he could forsee any physical danger -- the woman did not look particularly threatening, and besides, the wall of metal bars between them might impede any intended assault. But then, it didn't necessarily have to be logical. This woman had appeared, and Sol had withdrawn inward, the way she did when she was trying very hard not to feel whatever emotions happened to be going on inside her. Anything that caused Sol to do that could not be good. So Gabe faced the woman, and tried to determine a course of action.

She was Sol's mother. That much was obvious. The resemblance, paired with the word hija, clinched it. And it was quite clear that Sol was not happy to see her mother.

Gabe could relate.

She claimed that she was here to free them. Gabe had his doubts. Perhaps that was her intent, or perhaps not, but it was a sure thing that the IF had been notified and would be here shortly. The local PD would have been ordered to make sure Gabe and Sol remained right where they were. This woman might be here to bail them out, but the simple fact of the matter was that the IF had legal guardianship of both of them, and if the IF ordered that they be kept behind bars, then in this cell they'd stay, until the IF came for them.

The last time she'd seen her mother's face had been in the Mind Game. The computer had placed it on the White Queen - for shock value, she was certain. It couldn't have been attempting to draw a parallel. If the computer had been interested in doing that, then it would have put Gabe's sister on the White Queen.

Her mother deserved nothing but black.

Gabe interrupted her line of sight, and broke the spell, and she blinked twice and breathed in. Her mother had said she was here to let them go, but how was that possible? The IF had legal custody until they were eighteen, and then they kicked into an eight-year contract. They could turn it down then, of course...but they would lose all their accreditation and be shipped home to Earth. Eighteen-year-old vagabonds with no educational background didn't fare too well in the tight Earthside economy.

To break the IF custody agreement before that was unheard of...and she had no ties to Gabe. What the hell was she trying to pull? Sol's eyes narrowed and she moved to the side to bring her mother into full view again as Gabe spoke.

"We're just fine," Gabe said. "Thanks anyway."

She rested a hand on the small of his back. This wasn't his mother. He wasn't overwhelmed, and his immediate defense heartened her and she stared at her mother coldly from behind the blank mask. This woman had left her when she was four, left her father and her infant brother to fend for themselves. Her father had tried to explain objectively, but Sol knew the truth anyway.

"Are you sure?" asked her mother in that sweet, silky voice that made Sol want to hit her. "The IF is on their way, and from what I understand, they aren't too pleased with you. Something about trespassing and attacking IF personnel...?" Teresa's eyebrows went up as her tone acquired a hint of mocking questioning before her little smile returned as she focused on Gabe more squarely. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, young man?"

Sol was about to interject some of her bitterness when those nearly black eyes turned to her. "And as for you," her mother continued. "Running away from your father? A bit out of character for you, little one, but not unexpected. Everyone with any sense does it eventually." Sol actually flinched, and her mother painted on a gently understanding expression, her voice just a little too ironic to pass for sincere. "Don't feel bad, hija. I knew you wouldn't stay with him when you returned. You're too much your own woman, just like I was, and your father doesn't care much for that."

Stunned into furious silence once again, Sol just glared at this stranger she'd once shared a body with and quietly began to hate her a little more. This woman didn't know her, didn't know her father, and sure as hell didn't know Gabe. Her overwhelming rage finally loosened her tongue. "Just going to turn us loose, are you?" she asked softly. "No conditions? No qualifications? I'm disappointed in you, mother." The smirk fell from Teresa's lips and rose to her own as she saw some of her own anger flicker into those dark eyes.

The flicker was only momentary, though, and Teresa reached out and took several printouts from her leather satchel and turned back to Gabe.

"Your walking papers are pretty straightforward, but I extend an invitation to my home, of course. Your father has expressed an interest in seeing you as well, but I leave that to your discretion." She turned back to Sol. "Yours are a little more...conditional, I'm afraid. I have secured permission to take custody of one of my children, and that gives you the option to discontinue your IF education, if you wish. I'm prepared to pay off the breach of contract." Sol was already shaking her head, but Teresa pressed on. "You are free to refuse, and I will take custody of Alec instead."

That brought her to attention. Alec...? She hadn't seen Alec since he was six weeks old, and Alec surely didn't remember her at all. Would her mother really do as she threatened, remove a twelve year old boy from the only home he'd known just to spite her?

The sinking sensation in her stomach told her she might indeed.

He knew next to nothing about matters of law, but it sounded like this woman had secured legal right to one of her children, and was making Sol choose which. For rather obvious reasons, Sol seemed to have no love for this woman. That was what made Gabe more than a little afraid. If he knew Sol, she would rather go herself that inflict this woman upon her poor brother.

Except . . .

This couldn't be happening. Not now. After ignoring his feelings for so very long, after stamping them down and smothering them out and pretending they hadn't existed in the first place, now he finally let himself realize what he felt for Sol and this happened.

He'd been right. All these years, he'd been right. The moment he let himself love, that love would be taken away from him.

That rage inside him still left over from their run-in with his father's associates came bubbling up inside him again. No. Not this time. That crash had killed everyone he loved, and turned him into a machine, cold, unfeeling. Gabe would not allow that to happen again. This woman was not going to take Sol away from him. He was not goign to go back to the way he had once been. The last remnants of that machine had died today when Gabe kissed Sol, and he didn't want to go back, ever. He couldn't let this happen.

"No," Gabe said, his eyes burning. "No, bullshit, you're not buying anyone off the IF. Just the shuttle ride to take us to Battle School in the first place cost more money than you'll ever see in one place. The IF wouldn't go to all this troble to just sell us off."

Gabe's conviction was flagging, however. A thought had occured to him. It was possible that the IF had in fact counted them as damaged goods, and didn't want them anymore.

Gabe half-turned, speaking to Sol but still looking at the woman on the other side of the bars. "Don't listen to her, Sol. If the IF's willing to sell us then it means we're already out of the program and we're not going back into space either way. So if she really has any claim to your brother, the if she takes him she had better hop a shuttle to the moon, because there isn't anywhere on Earth she could ggo where we couldn't track her down and get him back. She's lying, Sol. She doesn't have any claim to your brother at all. She's just using that to get you to agree. Don't do it, Sol. Please. I . . ."

Tell her, you coward. God damn it, tell her.

She met Gabe's eyes, read the emotion there, and returned it as much as she could through the blank look he'd given to her, before turning back to her mother, slowly approaching the bars. Teresa must have seen something in her face, because she gave ground a step, as if forgetting the jail cell wall between them. It took her only a moment to recover herself, though, and her chilly, sarcastic smile was back in place when Sol came to a stop, her face millimeters from the cold metal as she slid her hand through.

Somewhere far away in the station, a door opened, the creak announcing a rather long pause as multiple booted feet entered at a reasonable walk.

"Give them to me," she said in a low voice, almost completely devoid of emotion. "I'm certain you brought a pen."

Her mother's smile widened and she regarded her daughter with a pitying glance. "Ah, Sol...this is for the best, mi hija. You will see. A soldier's life is not for such as us, and now your friend will be safe as well." It was amazing the amount of warmth the woman could collapse into such a short speech, and as Sol took the papers and looked them over carefully, she wondered if she really meant what she said.

The papers were exactly as her mother had depicted them. Teresa had gained the promise of custody of one of her two children. IFC knew what judge would allow this woman legal guardianship of a minor, but if there was one out there, Teresa would find it. And had. It wasn't that unbelievable; her mother surely had monetary assets that exceeded her father's. The award was conditional, of course, as everything in her mother's world must be. She had been required to produce proof of sterilization; she'd had her two children, after all.

No more children to abandon, she thought as she put her pen to the paper.