Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - This is set at the end of Season 1 Episode 7 - The Demon Hand. Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 4 - Allison From Palmdale. The timeline is all screwed up because of the writers. My take on it is explained throughout the story - just go with it.


He watched her dance, fluidly, gracefully, the music seeping into his ears, into his soul…but it was not Cameron he saw there. The way she moved, that particular dance…for a moment he did not see a metal, but rather he saw her, and he remembered things he had tried so hard in the last few weeks to forget.

Music was out of place here - you never heard the real stuff anymore, and he hadn't heard anyone singing or humming in….weeks? Months? Years? But there it was, echoing down from the end of a long deserted tunnel and he followed it, captivated. He stepped softer the closer he came, until he peered around the edge and, in a decent sized open space he saw it - a girl, as thin and dirty and ragged as the rest of them, trilling out music in a high, clear voice as she danced. Ballet, he recognized. Even though she wore faded and ripped jeans and a much patched sweater, rather than a leotard and tights, even though her feet were bare instead of clad in slippers. Still, he recognized it as ballet, recognized her as beautiful.

He did not know how long he stood there, as she dipped and swirled, limbs sweeping about gracefully, but her song gradually changed, became up tempo and she spun with a violent frenzy, leaping and twirling until finally her song choked off in a sob and she crumpled to the ground.

Before Derek could think, could hesitate, could stop himself, he strode forward and sank down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She cried out, throwing her arms up to protect her face.

"Hey, shh, it's ok. I won't hurt you."

Trembling, she slowly lowered her arms, staring at him with impossibly wide brown eyes.

"I…I didn't think anyone knew about this part of the tunnel."

"They don't. I was wandering about, got close and heard you singing."

"How…how long were you there?"

"A while."

She inched away from him, roughly wiping away the tears.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Allison. Allison Young."

"I'm Derek Reese. Are you ok?"

She nodded, and he could see tears welling up in her eyes again.

"It's been sixteen years today," she whispered.

"What?"

"Since the bombs fell. Sixteen years. And it still tears me up every time. Every anniversary. Every time I remember all of those that I lost. I never got over it. I don't think I ever will get over it. Sixteen years we've been living like rats in tunnels and eating garbage."

"How old were you, then?"he asked.

"Eight."

"Same age as my brother."

"Everyone died. My father, my mother, my sister. Everyone but me. I hid in the basement until the noise stopped and I wandered outside. There were things everywhere…the machines. And people were screaming and crying and there was so much blood… Someone grabbed me and drug me here. And here I've been ever since. Trying to fight. Trying to stay alive. I come here to escape, to dance. It helps me to remember, and to forget." She shook her head and bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I've been rambling. I should go."

"Will you come back here?"

She studied him a moment then nodded. "It's mine."

"Could I come back?"

"Yes," and with that she was gone.


Derek and Kyle climbed down into the tunnels from a week long raid and sank to the ground in an alcove. Kyle began to snore nearly as soon as his eyes closed, but every time Derek closed his eyes all he saw was the mangled bodies of the people that they could not save. Sighing, he rose to his feet and began wandering about aimlessly, he found himself treading away from the hubbub of the main tunnels, found himself wandering to her.

Allison was curled in the corner, her hair and shirt caked in blood and dirt and he wondered if she had been on the same raid. They sent out so many…it was impossible to see everyone, to know everyone. They had lived in the same tunnel for years and had never met. He stepped forward and called out a greeting; her head snapped up and she struggled to her feet, swaying dangerously, and stood at attention, snapping a quick salute.

"At ease," he murmured, striding forward as she sank to the ground. He knelt beside her, noticing that the blood was fresh, and his fingers deftly probed her scalp, searching for the wound. "You were on the raid?" he asked as she weakly attempted to push her hands away.

"Yes," she whispered, hissing as his fingers found the deep laceration on her scalp.

"Why didn't you go to the medic?"

"There were people worse off than me."

He sighed, reaching into his jacket, pulling out a small kit and extracting a needle and thread.

"No," she gasped, pushing him away. "No needles."

"Yes, you need stitches."

"No," she hissed, attempting to move away, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Yes, soldier, now that's an order."

With defeat in her eyes she let him stitch her up, trembling slightly, her breath coming in rapid gasps. She whimpered slightly every now and again, and, when he was finished her whole body sagged in relief.

"Is that your only injury?"

"Yes," she whispered. Derek sat close to her and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened, then relaxed, and slowly leaned in to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She dozed off and he sat there for hours, watching her sleep. Hours later her eyes fluttered open and she gasped, pushing away from him - he let her go, withdrawing his arm.

"What…"

"Shh, it's ok." Her hand flew to her head and her eyes widened. She then made as if she would stand to attention again, but Derek grabbed her wrist. "Don't."

"But I asked about you. You are…"

"I know who I am, and you are hurt. Come here."

She settled back down, this time curling up and pillowing the uninjured side of her head on his thigh. He gently stroked her hair, and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.


He didn't see her for weeks after that - didn't have time to see her. Missions came fast, one after the other, but she was always present in his mind, somewhere, lurking in the back, underneath everything else. Finally, he decided to go back. She kept a different schedule than him, was in another unit entirely.

He was very close before he heard the singing, it was quieter, sadder, full of grief, as was the dance that accompanied it - slow, full of aching, bent movements. He stood there, in full view of the doorway and watched her until her eyes opened and she glimpsed him. The girl's mouth slammed shut, but she made no move to stiffen, to salute. Derek's eyes remained locked on hers, and underneath everything the one emotion that shone through so brightly was hope.

Derek moved toward her, and this time she didn't flinch away, but instead reached out to him. He pulled her chin up and kissed her, intently, hungrily, tangling one hand in her long hair while the other slid down her back. Fingers pulled at the hem of the bloodstained sweater she still wore until they found her bare skin. His tongue ran along the edge of her lip and she opened her mouth to him, pressing herself tightly to his body and uttering a small moan. Derek backed them up until she hit a wall and grabbed her hands, stretching them above her head. He trailed his fingertips down her arms, along her sides, until he clutched the bottom of her sweater between them and slowly tugged it upward. He broke the kiss and locked his eyes with hers - the expression there was unreadable and the man stopped, loosening his grasp on her clothing.

"Don't," she whispered, hands still above her head, eyes pleading now, and he tugged the sweater off and tossed it to the floor. A long sleeve shirt was next, and then a tank top until she was standing before him in just a bra and pants. He tugged his own shirt off over his head, dropping it to the ground, and kissed her once more, wrapping his arms around her and taking them both to the ground to lie on the pile of clothes and the makeshift bed she had made for herself. He lay beside her, and trailed his hand along her skin, tracing the scars and bruises there.

"Do you want this?"

"Do you?" she countered, curling closer to him, trailing her fingertips along his abdomen until they played at the waistband of his pants.

"I do," he replied simply.

She trailed her fingertips along his face, leaning in and kissing him softly, hair spilling over and hiding them like a curtain. Derek stiffened suddenly, pulling back and rising up on one elbow.

"What is it?" Allison asked, but then her face hardened and he knew she had heard it too.

She grabbed her sweater and tugged it on, not bothering with the other shirts, as Derek pulled his own over his head.

"I wondered how you heard anything out here," Derek muttered as they ran toward the door.

"Sound carries," she replied simply.

The farther down the tunnel they went the louder the barking of the dogs became, the more shouts and screams reached their ear, and, finally, they spilled out into the chaos. People were running frantically, some clutching crying children. Soldiers were sprinting past him carrying all manners of weapons and then Kyle was there, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. Derek turned back once to see her being swept away in the other direction and then they were firing on the two metals that had somehow gotten in and removing their chips and the soldiers were climbing up and out to scan the perimeter and make sure there were no more and the chaos was deafening and pushed her out of his mind.

Hours later the soldiers came back, half of their number gone, obliterated by the metals and the HK's and only God knew what else. Derek went back to the tunnel again and again, he asked after her, but it was no use - she was gone. He never saw Allison Young again.


Derek Reese blinked his eyes back into focus, watching her as she continued to dance and his face crumpled as he tried desperately not to cry. They could have taken anyone, impersonated anyone, but they took her. John could have sent someone else back, anyone else, but he chose her. Derek hated them all for it, every last one of them. Her dance ended and she looked up at him, much as Allison had before, but there was no expression in her brown eyes and he longed to gouge them out. Longed to tear her down and rip her apart piece by piece. To make her give him Allison back, but she could not, so he did not. He forced himself to turn and walk away, images of a dirty young woman with hope in her eyes dancing behind his retinas.