Author's Note: Hey, all… For now, this story is just a one-shot, but it might end up as a story, I don't know, we'll see how the summer goes

Author's Note: Hey, all… For now, this story is just a one-shot, but it might end up as a story, I don't know, we'll see how the summer goes. For now, I'm suspending posting "Deliverance" because I'm not posting consistently, and I don't want to do that to people who enjoy my writing.

This is PG-13 for language. It's during and post "AJBAC" (aka the season finale) so MAJOR spoilers up ahead (but, then again, if you don't know, why are you reading this?) Reviews are very much welcome.

Prologue: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

It's called an apex.

It's the place you hit right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Somewhere, in between my drug-fogged dreams and hazy consciousness, I figure out that it was the moment he kissed me.

That was the apex.

Then it went downhill.

~

Struggling… Always struggling. A few steps uphill before my foot slips and I come crashing down again. Only it feels different; the darkness I'm struggling against is real, it's tangible. My world is black, not pure ink-blotched, but static-blank, images imprinting themselves behind my eyelids in ever greater detail.

My mind struggles to swim out of the black.

Slowly, the room resolves to gray outlines and one blotch of the lightest gray seems like it should be sunlight to me.

Something is wrong, though, I am looking at this room through narrowed eyes, and I can barely make out a thing. No matter how I concentrate, nothing will come into focus.

I lift a hand to wipe my eyes—try to, anyway, all I manage to do is twitch a finger. For all intents and purposes, I am weak as a kitten. Frustrated, I begin to yank at the restraints, managing only to lift my hands a little.

"Careful, you'll pull a stitch."

My foggy brain barely registers the voice, but somehow, the words sink in. She's right, too, there's a vague pain in my entire torso—like someone took me apart and put me back together again, only not as carefully—but there is a specific pain, right above my heart.

If I wasn't so drugged, that might seem poetic.

"Where am I?" I manage to mutter, squinting around the room. It seems as thought I should be able to recognize this woman. Have I seen her somewhere before? Maybe one of Kendra's friends… She looks kind of like one of Logan's relatives, now that my vision is clearing. She has the same perfect, arrogant posture; the same eerily flawless face.

Logan!

Oh, God, the gun…

"I think you know." She says, sounding so patronizing, it's almost affectionate.

The gun… There was something about the gun—

Shit.

The little bitch shot me! She shot me and—

Oooh… Logan… Cradling me in his arms, the look in his eyes like someone had brought his entire world down around him. Had brought his entire world, the world that had been so good to him until lately, until I showed up, down to hell. Down to—

Manticore. It's almost a relief, to finally figure it out, though it's only been a moment or two, just to know my brain isn't damaged, I'm in Manticore. Then I realize that the relief must have been a symptom of shock, because suddenly I'm sucked into a feeling, one that isn't leaving me any air to breathe.

"You won't win—" I force out of my abused lungs, "I'll never be one of them again." I hope I'm telling the truth.

I'll come back to you, Logan, honey, as long as I'm yours, there's no room for them…

On my thick tongue, another question is forming, but my fuzzy mind can't find a way to phrase it. I can't ask who they have, maybe they don't know I had anyone with me, and I can't give them up. The chance is slim, but I want to keep as many cards in my hand as possible.

The woman, the form of her, her fuzzy outline, leans over me, slips something cold and unforgiving against my chest, right above the stitches. It feels so odd, to have something there, with my extraordinary senses, I can feel every stitch as she presses down lightly.

Bu-bump… Bu-bump…

It's a thick sound in my ears.

"Listen to that—" she tells me, turning her head every so slightly, as if she's savoring it, "That's strong, isn't it? That is the heart of a soldier." The way she says it makes me want her someplace very far away from me. "A leader." Like Syberia. "A martyr." RIGHT NOW.

"Turn it off." I order, trying to regain what little power I have. There is something so wrong here. The gaping whole in my chest, the gun, the gun…

I could have killed myself.

BU-BUMP…

"He was quite a man, your brother Zack." No. You can't be serious… But it's starting to make sense. The heart pumping in my chest… I remember now, the exact sound of the valves in my heart closing for the last time. "He must've loved you very much…" It was a liquid sound; a cloying sound. "…To make this sacrifice."

No.

Bu-bump…

No, no, no…

Bu-bump…

No, no, no, no…

Why did you say that? If you hadn't said that, I could have denied it, could have had some hope—

"Turn it off!" Did I just plead? Was that a whimper? It was supposed to be a command. This will never work if I don't take control from the get go…

Bu-bump… Bu-bump…

"But, isn't it comforting to know that a part of him lives on in you?" A part of him? Only a single part of my big brother? I want all of him… Besides, he wasn't very good at using his heart in the first place, why would I want it? "And that you've both come home to us?" Why would I want it? "To me?"

Bu-bump…

I look at her, terrified out of my mind, but I can't figure out why.

"Who are you anyway?" I want to ask; I know it should be important to me, but it somehow isn't. I can't bring myself to care. Even though I can now see the room in sharp detail-- hear soldiers training outside and the distant sounds of heavy breaths and increased heart rates-- it seems very far away.

Everything seems far away…

Bu-bump…

When she leaves the room, she closes the door behind her carefully, with a soft click that echoes through the room.

Bu-bump…

You can't be serious.

Come on.

Zack? He would never… He was too hard-headed… To stubborn, to determined. He would never willingly sacrifice himself when he knew others needed—

Bu-bump…

"Turn it off." I protest to the empty room. My voice is hoarse, I must have been asleep awhile, I notice dispassionately. I wonder if Logan misses me…

"Turn it off!" I try to shout, but I'm still so weak.

Bu-bump…

That sound infuriates me more then anything else I've ever known. I want to stand up, get out of this chair, and smash that monitor to pieces until that goddamn heart stops beating. Until my goddamned heart stops beating…

Bu-bump…

I blink away tears.

Bu-bump…

My heart's already stopped beating… It's Zack's that I'm listening to…

Bu-bump…

Only, it's not his anymore…

Tears begin to streak down my temples, soaking my ears. It's an uncomfortable feeling, so I reach up one hand to wipe them away. After all, they might have cameras in the room and, as Zack would know, they'll exploit any weakness.

Bu-bump…

My hands strain against the restraints.

Strain… restraints… Oh. Hah hah. I never realized that before. How clever.

Bu-bump…

I try to scream, but it ends up as a soft cry.

"Why did you do it, Zack?" I ask the empty room. There's light in here, and now I can see everything well enough to follow a single mote of dust dancing in and out of the brightness flowing through the window, "Why? They need you, Zack." My ears are soaked, and I can feel my hair under me begin to collect moisture. "What did I ever do for you?"

A ragged sob escapes me, then a gasp as fire rages up my ribcage. I stop crying completely, stop thinking, as I suddenly realize physically what this has done to me. I can feel acutely where they cracked my ribs for CPR. That is a train of sullen fire smoldering in two lines running parallel to each other from my breasts down to my stomach. Where they cut me open, it is sheer agony merely to breathe for a few moments. Right above my heart there is liquid pooling, I look down at what is leaking through the bed sheets. I must have torn a stitch or two while I sobbed. Oh…

Bu-bump…

I can feel my heart beating in this fragile cage, because I can feel the abused muscles they had to manipulate to take one heart out and put another in.

"I can't even cry for you, is that it?" I whisper hoarsely. Then, some part of me regains control and I realize I should stop thinking aloud.

They won't let me cry for you, Zack, so what am I going to do? You can't rescue me anymore… You made sure of that. So what I am going to do? What can I possibly do now? How can I be back here? How? I want to leave…

I close my eyes against the stringent daylight and imagine…

Logan.

It's so simple, so effortless to recall the exact lines of his face. I can't think of Zack, that hurts too much, I could be tempted to cry again, I won't do that for them. I won't let them have that victory over you, Zack, I promise. I'll save my tears for you for where they won't be scrutinized, where they can't be used against your own heart.

But I can think of Logan, fantasize about him rescuing me…

Bu-bump…

This is agony--Zack

No, Logan. Logan, rescuing me… With Krit and Syl by his side, blasting this place to bits, while Brin helps.

Yes, with Brin with us all the way…

They'll come and rescue me—Lydecker can help, too—

Don't you EVER—

Bu-bump…

--Look at me that way AGAIN!

No… He'll stay in the truck. Syl and Krit and Brin—Jondy too. She can come back from Mexico, tanned as a native, she'll break down the door, but Logan will get to me first… and he'll take me into his arms and he'll whisper things in my ear as he undoes the restraints and pulls me into his arms and carries me out on his own two feet…

BU-BUMP.

Shut it off. Oh, lord, God, please, someone, anyone, shut this horrific thing off.

Zack… Zack, Zack, Zack… I wouldn't even know who to call to tell about your death. Did you have a girlfriend? Even against all your advice, did you? A fling? A cat? A hamster? A foster parent who liked to think you'd someday drop a line?

Who am I supposed to tell, Zack?

Here in this sterile, perfect white hell, who am I supposed to inform?

Who is going to grieve with me, Zack?

Who is going to cry for me because I

Refuse

To rip

One

Precious

Stitch?

A technician comes in, a generically attractive young thing clothed all in white. I can't tell the gender, because the head is shaved and the lab coat covers any curves someone that young might have.

Zack…

"Time to go to sleep…" The technician whispers, sounding like haven't even entered their teens.

The technician turns a little knob on the bag above me. I feel something entering my arm, with the pain in my chest, and the drugs, I never even realized I had this damn needle sticking into me the whole time.

I look into its eyes.

Well ain't

life

A

Bitch…

~finis~