She took his face in her hands, her desperate dark eyes searching his green. Carrie crashed to her knees in front of him, pushing his hair out of his face. "Oscar, Oscar say something! Oscar, please!" Her body shook as she reached out to him, shaking her head as she looked at him, tears filling her eyes as she looked at his hunched form, his arms bound tightly behind his back, his hair mussed and shaggy as the sweat growing on his clammy forehead collected there and plastered his sandy locks to his forehead. "Oscar, talk to me. Say something, do something… Oscar, please!" But he didn't move.

"Carrie…"

It sounded like his voice, a soft call that could have reached her ears even through snowstorms and sandstorms and blizzards that could wreak havoc around her; his voice would always be one that she could recognise, could pick from a crowd. It was almost as if it was ethereal, a voice that belonged to a presence she couldn't describe.

"Carrie…"

"Oscar?" she murmured, looking into the bleak, grey sky above her, her fingers shaking as her hands tightened on his cheeks, her eyes unblinking as they searched for the real Oscar. He wouldn't have left her alone; he wouldn't have just sat there and watched while the world fell to SKUL. He would have done something; he would have risked his life to save them. To save her. He would do anything for anyone… the lost young man sitting in front of her wasn't Oscar Cole. He was a sick doppelganger who couldn't even begin to be like her Oscar.

"Don't, don't let the world fall to SKUL… Carrie…"

Her breath caught in her throat. Oscar was speaking to her, but his mouth wasn't moving. Carrie's fingers clenched around thin air as she searched his face for answers. Suddenly his words seemed to sink in, and she was on her feet and surging towards the despair bomb; she didn't know why she was doing this, as she had probably imagined his voice in the first place, but the urge to do something had been too much for her to resist.

The men surrounding the machine had disbanded, leaving the bomb open to anyone. SKUL clearly thought that MI9 was going to let the world die, that MI9 would accept defeat. But she would be damned if she gave up without a fight, and she would put up a damn good one.

Carrie's fingers slammed the bag down onto the table, moving swiftly as she tore open the bag that Frank had given her. Her heart stopped beating altogether, and somehow still pounded in her ears. Her own reflection shone up at her, the shock on her face reflected in the expression her reflection was pulling; there was nothing in the bag but the mirror that displayed her own face back up at her and she could do nothing about it now. If she went back to Frank for the fourth unit, there would be no time left and she would sacrifice Oscar, Rose, Frank and the world to SKUL.

There was no way in hell she was doing that.

"Frank!" she yelled desperately, lifting her communicator up to her ears as she tore at her hair with her other hand. "Frank, this has got to be a joke! The fourth unit – I haven't got it!"

"Yes, you do, Carrie," came Frank's voice, so resigned and miserable it tore at her chest. Carrie stumbled and righted herself on the bomb, tears prickling in her eyes. "You've had it all along."

"I'm telling you, SKUL must have taken it! I haven't got it!" she tore at her hair harder, sinking to her knees. The frigid despair and the fear in the air was eating at her will to go on and she was desperate and angry that they had left her here to deal with it, that Frank hadn't made sure that the fourth unit was there, that she had managed to lose Rose, Oscar, Frank and her family to the despair bomb.

"Trust me, it's there Carrie. Look."

"Frank it's just a mirror!" She was beyond anything she had ever felt before. Carrie was miserable, desperate, angry and simply frustrated. The world was coming to the end and Frank was playing psychiatrist.

Frank sighed. "You don't understand," he said, weary and depressed. "It's you, Carrie. You're the fourth unit."

"W-what?" she gasped, shaking her head. She must have misheard him. "What?"

"What's the only thing that can stop anger, fear and hate?" Frank asked tiredly, his voice shaking as he fought with the despair that the bomb had brought. "It's your hope; your optimism beats total despair."

Frank hung up, leaving the confused and despairing teenager to tear her hair out as she ran her fingers through it. Carrie couldn't form a coherent thought; now that she knew that she hadn't misheard him in the slightest and Frank wasn't simply doing it without purpose, she knew there was something up. A human couldn't be the fourth unit; there must have been some mistake. Was she supposed to somehow bottle up her hope and plug it into the bomb?

Carrie paced back and forth, dropping her communicator onto the ground, scuffing her shoes in the bleak grey dirt as she did so. How could she be the fourth unit?

And, as she peered back into the bag, into her distraught reflection shining back at her from the mirror, she understood. "It's me… my brain… Right – when you think, the brain creates electron impulses, so… right – think positive, think positive!" Carrie lunged back for the bomb, her fingers closing around the main wires that stood, as black and bleak as the grey, new world that was around her. She wouldn't stop until her last breath had been taken, and that last breath would be taken attempting to save Oscar and the others. That was all that mattered. "I need to channel my energy through the bomb."

"That girl!" came a familiar voice, an angry yell that tore through the silence. "Stop her!"

She looked up, a smirk marring her face, her fingers tightening unconsciously around the wires. "It's called hope, mister," she said smartly, sarcastically. Carrie would fight until she had no more fight left, even if it meant her own life. "And you're about to get a face full."

Carrie threw her arms out wide, her mind expanding within her head. A feeling alien to the human race sprung through her body; it was wonderful, like she was running, floating on clouds, like Christmas or her birthday had come months earlier than they should, like she had someone to celebrate with, someone to live for. She closed her eyes as a heat enveloped her, shrouding her in a blinding light that slid her body from the Earth and onto cloud nine.

And then her body was thrown sideways, her hands dropping the cords, the blackness beating away the bright light and swarming her like an army of ants would a picnic.

Oscar looked up at her, unable to speak though his mind was begging her to. He could hear her familiar voice, ringing desperately in his ears as she pleaded with him to speak to her, to just let her listen to his voice, and yet he was unable to give her that simple wish. There was nothing he could do either way; there was no point in living. A part of him wanted to spring into action and help her like he always did, to give her the hand that she needed, but another part of him, an alien part of him that wanted her gone to leave him alone, was winning the internal battle he fought. But he couldn't lose Carrie, not this time.

Her warm, shaking fingers left his face as she searched through the skies for something, someone. Oscar's eyes bore into hers, half-lidded with exhaustion from fighting a losing battle, and yet he could see nothing but pleading, desperation, love and… fear?

And then she was up and running, away from him, away from what he thought they had.

Moments later, he could hear her distraught conversation, the little grunts of emotion that always escaped her lips in times of trouble. A miniscule, fond smile tugged at his features as he listened intently, but he wasn't able to make out exact words.

His world vibrated for a moment as a bright yellow light tore through the air, breaking through the greyscale and providing light and love and warmth for the world. Oscar's heart leapt into his throat and he laughed a pure sound of relief that filled the air. Carrie could accomplish anything she wanted, even if it meant saving the world. He leapt to his feet, shaking off the loose ropes he had been picking behind his back before the bomb had exploded and the colour that had now returned vanished.

Rose leapt up beside him as he bent down to untie Stark, who was terrible under pressure; he, however, had other plans about the whole thing. "Forget about me, get the Grand Master!"

He and Rose nodded, darting around the crate and searching the area, their eyes drinking in every detail. Oscar's sharp eyes caught Carrie's limp form flying through the air, smacking into the ground with an undeniable 'slap!' that filled the air cleanly.

"Carrie!" the two tortured screams that rang through the air were undeniable. He lunged forward towards her.

"Er, the Grand Master! Get him!" Stark growled, shaking his head wildly.

"But Carrie!" insisted Rose, shaking her head just as adamantly, worry plastering her features, her eyes consistently darting between Stark and Carrie; Oscar, however, couldn't look away from Carrie's form, sprawled on the ground just yards away from him, prone and vulnerable to pain.

Stark snarled, sneering, "You have no choice, agents!"

"Yes we do," he snapped immediately.

Oscar and Rose sprinted across the tarmac, each footstep desperate and haphazard; he could hear the SKUL agents running away, their pounding footsteps ringing in his ears, but he could not register anything but her prone form on the grass. He instantly drew his spy-pod, lying it down against her heaving chest, his other hand cupping her cheek as he desperately searched her face, her eyes closed and fluttering.

"H-her heartbeat," he murmured to Rose, his eyes never leaving Carrie's face. "It's getting weaker."

"The positive energy must've been too much!" Rose whimpered, shaking her head as she patted Carrie's cheeks. "Oscar do something!"

"I'm trying!"

But he could do nothing. Carrie's heart rate was dropping tragically, her eyelids ceasing. And then the dreaded tone sounded through the air, the single, unwavering note that could be the death of him… or the death of Carrie Stewart.

"C-Carrie," he stumbled backwards, his feet moving over the grass, his heart breaking; the note didn't stop, wouldn't stop, and the note made him sick. She couldn't be gone. Not when MI9 needed her most, not when Rose needed her most… not when he needed her most. As he searched her face for any sign of life that could contradict the misery rising within him, he could see the peaceful smile resting on her lips and he knew she was happy wherever she was.

"That's why she wasn't affected by the bomb," he cleared his throat, his hands shaking at his sides. "If she hadn't always looked on the bright side of things we'd all be…"

But his eyes darted back down towards his spy-pod, still resting on her chest. Her heartbeat had begun to pick up again, starting slowly but swiftly rising. A hope he had never known before rose within him as he crashed back down to his knees beside her. "Come on, come on… yes! You're better than this, you're funnier than this – smarter than this!" his voice was higher pitched than usual, desperation ringing with every tone. She had to be okay.

"F-funnier," she croaked, her eyelids fluttering open. At first he wasn't sure whether or not it was a crude joke in his mind, just to make the pain worse. "S-smarter…" But Carrie had latched onto his hand, pushing herself up into a sitting position with a small sound of pain. "But don't forget better looking. I mean, look at the face." A smirk had lifted her lips just as the happiness rose within him and tightened his grip on her hand.

"Can't you take anything seriously?" he teased, and then, without hesitation, threw his arms around his best friend. He savoured her warm embrace, a grin lifting his lips as he thought of her. Carrie was here with him, alive and well, and holding his hand in a death grip that not even the claws of hell could tear apart; she was safe and nothing was going to change.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she nestled into his side, Rose on one shoulder, Oscar clutching her close. She was home.

"We can't thank you enough, Carrie," said Frank, shaking his head as she leaned back in his tight embrace. Carrie was sure he had missed her just as much when she had died and come back again. "You have singlehandedly saved the world today and I can't do anything that could make it up to you." Oscar and Rose's grips on her hands were brought to the forefront of her mind; they had refused to let go no matter what happened, had flanked her protectively on the way through the school, despite her rolling her eyes; she could understand how they were feeling, as she herself would do the same had it been either of them, but it was a little bit of an overreaction.

"Yes, you can," she said firmly. "It wasn't to get the glory or anything like that. I wasn't doing it to look good in MI9 or anything like that, either. It was because you three were sitting there, and you looked and sounded so broken and miserable and I had to do something about it – it wasn't for personal gain in the slightest, it was for you. And it wasn't singlehanded, because if you hadn't helped I wouldn't have known that I was the fourth unit."

Frank seemed to blink rapidly for a moment before squeezing his hold around her again, a smile lifting his face. "That's the Carrie we know and love. Now get going with the three of you. You have the rest of the week off to get over the guilt you're all feeling." At their awed looks, Frank grinned and chuckled. "You didn't think I didn't know my own agents? Get off with you, now."

Carrie, with one hand firmly and tightly in Oscar's grip and the other held roughly in Rose's sweaty and warm hand, couldn't stop smiling. "Oh, Frank. That week won't be needed. I think we've gotten over ourselves just by being together."

And it was true.

A/N: This is the first instalment in the Carrie/Oscar one-shot series. I will be writing these for inspiration whenever I get writer's block, which is a lot lately, so look forward to many updates in the future. I know that not many people on here seem to like M.I. High, which is a loss in my opinion since my little nephew got me into the program despite my age nearing twenty, and I decided to do this so that I could be special and unique.

Love,

Marlene