Day 1

Mitch groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His head throbbed in time with his heart, and only the steady beep of a machine told him he was safe and alive and at least somewhat whole.

"Hey professor," a deep voice rumbled to his left, and he turned his head slightly to take in Abe's tired form. He was slumped forward in a plastic hospital chair, his elbows resting on his knees as his broad frame folded in a way that made him look smaller than his 6'6" claim.

"Hey," Mitch replied, or at least tried to. It came out a raspy whisper, and he fought to moisten his throat and lips to try again. Abe stood to fetch a glass of water, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, and Mitch wondered what had happened to him. Then, in the span of two heartbeats, it came back.

"Jamie!" He tried to sit up suddenly, but a sharp pain in his chest forced him to check his movement and fight to catch a breath. When the spots cleared from his vision, Abe was next to him with a warm hand on his back and a cool glass of water in the other.

"Easy," he soothed. "Just lie down, Mitch."

Mitch complied automatically, his mind racing to fill in the gaps. The last few seconds of his memory were filled with her - her scent, her taste, her laugh. He remembered the pilot's announcement about strange migratory behavior, then that terrifying weightless moment as the world around them bent and screamed nightmarishly. They had been standing in the rear of the plane, rather than seated and buckled like the rest of the passengers. It was a wonder they were alive.

"I'm alright," Mitch tried to sit up again, this time a bit more slowly. His ribs protested - probably broken, his medical training supplied - but as long as he was careful he could manage. His legs seemed to work, and he carefully swung them over the side of the bed as he threw the covers off.

"I'm alright," he repeated, trying to appease Abe's nervous look. "I just need to make sure Jamie's okay, then I promise I will come back and lie down. Which way to her room?" He looked around for something resembling a robe to preserve his modesty, but none could be found.

"You really should wait for a doctor," Abe tried again.

Mitch fought back a growl of agitation at Abe's persistence and snapped, "I am a doctor." He grabbed his IV pole and crossed to the door in three strides, abandoning the idea of modesty in favor of seeing Jamie as soon as possible. He was sure she'd understand.

"Mitchell." There was something in Abe's tone that made him stop and turn around. The dark skinned man looked more somber than he'd ever seen before, and Mitch's heart refused to accept what his head was finally telling him.

We weren't strapped in. We were five miles above the North Atlantic, traveling over 500 miles per hour.

"Where is she?" Mitch whirled back around, ignoring the lancing pain in his chest that he was sure had nothing to do with broken ribs. He felt Abe move behind him, and when the larger man tried to grip his arm he wrenched it away. "Where is she!"

"They're still searching the wreckage," Abe answered evenly. "Jackson is out there with them looking for her and the cub."

Panic infused his veins, and a thousand questions flew across his tongue until one managed to form. "How long have I been here?"

For the first time, Abe hesitated in his answer. "You have been unconscious for three days. The doctors thought it best to keep you under to let your body heal."

Anger welled up in him, and he lashed out at the only person available. "Three days? I could have been out there helping them look!"

"And you would have hurt yourself worse," Abe reasoned. "The doctors had to re-inflate your lung when you arrived. One of your ribs had punctured it, and you were bleeding internally. You were one of the first flown out because of how badly you were injured."

"Jamie, she...she was right next to me. Standing with me when -" He cursed silently and felt his legs give out from underneath him. Only Abe's strong grip kept him upright long enough for them to hobble back to the bed. Once Mitch was seated, Abe continued.

"They are looking," Abe repeated. "They will find her, Mitch. But you need to rest."

Mitch tried to find strength in those words, but his analytical mind was already supplying the odds of survival. Three days in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic? If she even survived the horrific crash, she was probably just as injured as he was. Abe had said he'd almost died, and he'd received medical treatment almost immediately. If she survived the crash, she hadn't survived the aftermath.

Abe seemed to since the pathologist's melancholic turn. He patted Mitch on the shoulder awkwardly and moved to the door. "I will fetch the doctor to come look you over, then check in with Jackson. Perhaps he has some news." He seemed to want to say more, but then thought better of it. Mitch heard the click of the door as his friend left, the sound echoing in the now too-big room.

Day 5

"Mitch, it's time to go."

Jackson's voice was sad and filled with a guilt mirrored by Mitch's own heart. The pathologist turned from the ocean to face his friend. It had been five days since he'd woken in the hospital, and the doctor had only been able to keep him contained for another twelve hours before he demanded to join the search party.

Mitch had grumbled and snarked and snapped at everyone involved in the recovery effort. He had nearly been escorted from the premises on a number of occasions, most recently when the head of operations had finally called off the search. Mitch had railed against the decision, yelling and very nearly grabbing the man in desperation before Abe had restrained him. The larger man had taken him to the beach that sat about a hundred yards away from the command tent, only releasing Mitch when he agreed not to turn around and make good on his threats.

It was here where Jackson found him, staring out into the frigid waters that had taken something so precious from him.

"Mitch?"

"Yeah," he turned and limped to the rented sedan that sat just above the grassline. He adjusted the shoulder strap of the beaten up rucksack that had been recovered from the wreckage. Mitch had recognized it immediately as the one Jamie had kept the cub in. It had been Jackson's first, he recalled, but now it held the ruins of Jamie's notebooks, journals, and scant few personal items she'd managed to scrounge just before they'd been hustled onto the plane and out of Africa. Upon seeing it among the pile of bags in the recovery tent, Mitch had grabbed it and refused to let it go or clean it out.

He climbed into the back of the sedan slowly, letting out a slow breath as his ribs protested the motion. Once settled, he pulled Jamie's rucksack onto his lap and turned his eyes back toward the water.

Lost at sea. It had a certain poetry to it that Mitch was sure Jamie would appreciate. As Abe drove away from the coastline, Mitch felt the sting of tears that he refused to let fall. He feared if he started crying he would never stop, not now that she had reminded him what it was like to really feel - to care. She had saved him; he'd told her as much in that hospital in Zambia. But in the end he'd been unable to save her, and that failure would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Day 15

Mitch felt the cold wind bite against his ears and nose as he walked through the seemingly endless maze of grass and stone. He'd only been here once before, but he managed to find the small headstone after just a few wrong turns. He knelt down and separated the two small bundles of wildflowers in his hands, placing one just above Nancy Campbell's name. The breeze fluttered through the petals, threatening to blow the simple gesture away, but the flowers stayed on the marble block. Just a few feet away, a freshly dug earth marked the spot where an identical stone had just been placed. Mitch stood and shuffled toward it, his eyes taking in the name of his friend written in block letters. Two dates bracketed her life, all of which was contained within the single dashed character. It seemed so inadequate.

Mitch laid the second bundle of flowers at the base of Jamie's marker. It couldn't be called her grave, since her body had never been recovered, but her family had held a small service that Mitch had very nearly skipped. Only Abe's strong arm and Jackson and Chloe's persistent pleading had pulled him out of the hotel they currently called home. The three of them had returned to the east coast already, leaving Mitch alone with his tumbling thoughts.

"You know, when I said no one should die without words being said, I wasn't expecting you to go and be the one who needed words." His tone was harsh and hollow, and he swallowed past a rising lump in his throat as his naturally acerbic nature gave way to the side of him that hadn't seen the light of day in a long time.

"I wish I could tell you in person how sorry I am," he began, his words light and faltering at first. It had been a long time since he'd confronted his own emotions with anything more than disdain. "It's all my fault, you know. You wouldn't even have been on the team if it wasn't for me. They approached me and I made a deal; it was me they wanted and I couldn't just leave you in Baton Rouge all sad and helpless. I don't know why. I've never had a problem being heartless before. You just...I don't know, I guess you were the first person in a long time to see past the gruff exterior and still kind of enjoy the gruff interior."

Mitch knew he was hard to get along with - he had been since he was a boy. No one wanted to invite him to their birthday parties, and even his own family often had difficulty finding an activity that brought a smile to his face. His father stopped trying to make him tryout for sports, and his mother stopped pushing girls at him after he made the neighbor's daughter cry.

But Jamie hadn't run from his grouchiness. She had weathered the storm and wormed her way past his carefully constructed defenses. It was a misstep on his part to allow her through, and now he would pay the price for that mistake for the rest of his life.

"I'm gonna miss you, Jamie. I'd like to say that you shouldn't worry, that I'll take up your mantle and continue the fight against Reiden. But we all know how useless I am in a fight. It's in better hands with Jackson and Chloe." He thought about them now, each eager to return to Washington and start searching for another leopard to replace the one lost in the crash. Mitch didn't know what he was going to do now, but he knew it would probably involve drinking through his cash stores.

"I'd like to say I'll visit, but things are getting worse. Containment in a lot of city zoos have failed, and pets are pretty much wild animals now. Getting back to Washington is going to be interesting." He felt his eyes stinging and blamed the cold wind, but as his vision blurred he couldn't deny the ache in his chest. "Damn it, Jamie...why did you get up? Why did you come to find me in the back of that stupid plane? It should be me that's…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word, unable to bear hearing it aloud. Saying it would make it real, indelible, and a small piece of him still held onto the slightest hope that she was still alive. But it had been two weeks, and even the ghost of Jamie's eternal optimism wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

He felt a warm tear splash onto his arm, and he swiped at his eyes angrily. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this. You turned me into someone who gives a damn, and then you just left me alone." He turned to walk away, but a gust of wind buffeted him back and he let out a huff of humorless laughter.

"You always have to have the last word, huh?" He knelt down and ran his fingers along the cold marble, adjusting the flowers one last time. "Goodbye, Jamie."

Day 25

"Is this what you're doing now?" Jackson's voice sounded harsh and cold, and Mitch turned from his fourth (or was it fifth?) shot of whiskey to toast the younger man.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" he threw his head back and gulped the fiery liquid in one swallow, hardly tasting it. Jackson slid onto the stool next to his, waving off the bartender (Darryl? David?) as he offered a drink silently.

"Mitch, we need you. Chloe and I, we can't do this on our own."

"What good am I?" Mitch countered snidely. "We have no mother cell, no leopard -"

"We're working on it," Jackson interrupted, pitching his voice low. Mitch scowled as he remembered why they had to whisper.

"Working on what? We were silenced and shut down, all to protect a company who is likely responsible for the end of the world." He tapped the rim of his shot glass to indicate he needed another. The bartender nodded and reached under the bar.

"Chloe and I have been made part of this international team, and they're still searching for a viable animal. One that hasn't been tainted by Reiden." Jackson stopped talking as Dalton (that was his name!) poured another shot into the glass. Once the bartender was gone, he continued. "There's still room on the team for you, Mitch."

Mitch ignored the invitation and switched topics. "What about Abe? Where is he in all this mess?" Last he'd heard, the African man had cut himself off from everyone, including Jackson, and signed on with some sort of leather-clad, gun-toting Uber service.

Jackson sighed, letting weight sag slightly on the stool. "Abe is...he said he needed time and space to get his head and heart back in harmony. Jamie's death hit him hard."

Mitch snorted into his whiskey and slammed the shot back. The effects had long since impaired his ability to walk a straight line, but he could still feel that ache in the center of his chest whenever he thought about her. He signaled Dalton for another.

"Well, how about this: when you and your government buddies find another leopard - and if and when you manage to convince Reiden to give up another mother cell - then you give me a call. You know where to find me." He toasted Jackson with his newly filled glass, throwing back his seventh just as easily as water.

Jackson frowned, but seemed to realize that he would get nothing more from the scientist today. He stood and turned to walk away, pausing only to offer one more quiet piece of advice. "She wouldn't want this for you."

"Yeah, well, she's gone," Mitch growled, forcing back a wave of dizziness as he stood to find the bathroom. "So we'll never really know, will we?" He stalked away from Jackson without so much as a goodbye. The rolling in his stomach had escalated into full blown nausea, and he was pretty sure Dalton would throw him out for hurling on his floor. As he bent over the filthy toilet in the men's room, he tried to tell himself that the tears on his face were a result of the violent retching that was emptying his stomach rather than the hollow pain in his heart.

He almost managed to convince himself.

Day 47

His head pounded as the knock echoed through his empty apartment. He hadn't bothered furnishing it with anything more than a threadbare sofa and a couple of secondhand end table. A foot high coffee table sat some distance from the sofa, dragged away from any wayward toes that might stumble into it in the middle of the night. The single bedroom had been packed with all of his belongings from L.A., shipped to him on the government's dime before he'd told them in no uncertain terms that he wanted nothing to do with their little team. Blackout curtains were pulled across the window, so he had no idea what time it was. The insistent knocking came again, and Mitch groaned as he sat up blearily.

Chloe stood on the other side of the door with a paper bag and two coffees. Her eyebrows lifted in appraisal as he leaned against the door jamb.

"Mitch?"

"You were expecting someone else?" he snarked, unable to stop the impulse even hungover and exhausted. Chloe frowned and glanced over his shoulder. Mitch's gentlemanly instincts made him step back from the door and sweep a hand in invitation. Chloe stepped in quickly, and he didn't miss the wrinkling of her nose as the smell of his stale apartment hit her nostrils.

Mitch shut the door and turned to his unexpected guest. "Not that I don't love early morning, uninvited visitors, but what brings you by?"

Chloe ignored his brashness and shook her head. "It's almost noon," she shot back, "And I brought breakfast," she held up the bag between them in offering. Mitch grunted in response and walked past her back into the living room. He cleared the pillow and blanket from the couch and gestured for her to sit as he pulled the coffee table closer.

"Uh," he glanced at the kitchen and rubbed his hand across his face, "I have water or orange juice?" He also had a twelve pack of beer to take the edge off of his hangovers, but he thought it best not to bring that up to Chloe. She looked stressed enough as it was; there was no need to add him to her list of worries.

"Juice, please," she answered, and he retreated to the kitchen to grab their drinks as she began unpacking the items in her bag. The glasses in the cupboard were clean, but he wiped them out anyway before pouring them each a healthy portion of orange juice. He set one in front of her before moving around the low table to sit beside her.

"How have you been?" she began with stilted pleasantries, her tone even and light. Jackson must have warned her about his prickly behavior, he thought.

"Oh, just peachy," he returned with false cheer. He accepted the bagel she offered, slathered in cream cheese and still a bit warm from the oven. "I was thinking about joining the local gym, you know, get some cardio in. Never know when you need to run from hungry animals."

"Mitch," she began, but he tensed and shook his head at her tone.

"Don't," he warned. "I don't need you to lecture me; my own subconscious is doing that enough for the both of us. So if you came here just to give me a pep talk, or a sermon, then save it." She didn't flinch away from his harsh tone, but she did purse her lips and narrow her eyes.

"Fine," she snapped, standing in a graceful move that he envied. It had been a long time since he could get up from that sofa without stumbling or swaying. "I stopped by to see how you were doing, to maybe talk about...everything." A flash of grief crossed her sharp features, and he felt a twinge of sympathy. Sometimes he forgot that Jamie was their friend too. "But if this is how you treat people who care about you, then perhaps I shouldn't bother."

His first instinct was to let her go; it's what the old Mitch would have done. He didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it made it real, and he didn't want it to be real. But in one of the last conversations he'd ever had with Jamie, he'd told her that she had saved him, changed him. If he went back to his old ways, to shutting the world out, then it would be like she never existed in the first place. He owed her more than that, at least.

"Wait," he stood and followed Chloe to the door, stopping in the space between the living room and the foyer when she turned around. "I…" He fumbled for the right words, floundering for any sort of purchase in the turbulent waves of the emotions that suddenly welled up. Chloe seemed to sense his struggle, and her face softened in understanding.

"It's alright," she told him, taking a few steps closer. "It's okay to miss her. But you can't keep doing this to yourself."

He could, but that's not what she wanted to hear. Instead he stayed silent, letting her natural inclination to fix whatever was wrong take over.

"Can we sit down?" she asked, and he almost had to physically bite his cheek to keep from pointing out that she had been the one to interrupt their breakfast in the first place. He turned and led the way back to the couch, settling down next to her quietly. They both munched on their breakfast for a moment, until finally Chloe had to fill the silence.

"They're bringing in an international team of scientists to help with the cure," she said. "Jackson says all we need is you, but Amelia disagrees."

Mitch huffed and finished his bagel in one enormous bite. He chewed for a moment, then spoke around it. "I already gave them all of my notes," he said. "They can do it without me."

"As soon as we locate another leopard," she ignored his breach of etiquette in favor of keeping the conversation going.

"Yeah?" Mitch drained his orange juice and sat back against the flat cushions. "How is that going?"

"Slowly," she laughed, though it lacked any real humor. "Coordinating with so many governments takes time." He scowled in response, and this time her laugh was a little brighter. "Don't worry, we'll get it sorted out. Jackson has the same opinion as you."

Mitch let that stand for a moment, then continued with the small talk. If he could keep her occupied, then maybe she wouldn't try to tear open the wound in his heart that was slowly healing. "Have you heard from Abe?"

"No," Chloe shook her head sadly. "He won't return Jackson's calls, and when I knocked on his door he didn't answer."

"So I was the next best thing?" His jab was light-hearted, more like the Mitch she had known, and she smiled.

"You men and your poor egos," she teased. "I visited Abe last week." He sensed the shift in mood as she fell quiet again, and this time Mitch had no quick distraction or chit chat to redirect her. "I won't ask how you've been again; obviously you're still grieving. But have you talked to anyone about it?"

Mitch barked a hollow laugh. "Talk to who?" he asked. "We can't talk about it, remember?"

"You can talk to us!" she returned hotly. "You weren't the only person to lose a friend, Mitch. I cared for her, too."

"And who have you talked to?" The snark was back, a shield against the force of his emotions. "Jackson?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she spoke crisply and evenly, a sure sign she was agitated with him. "We miss her, but we've moved on with our lives. This," she gestured around the dismal apartment, her eyes shadowed with sadness, "this isn't living, Mitch. It's surviving."

"Yeah, well, it's all I've got right now. Thanks for breakfast." He could feel the whirlwind inside of him building, and he needed her to leave before it overwhelmed him completely. She stood when he did, but she didn't leave. Instead, she fixed him with a sad stare and reached for his hand. Her fingers were cool in his own, and for half a second his mind replaced her hand with another's. Jamie had grabbed his hand just like this when they'd been cornered by the leopards in the hospital. At the time, he'd marveled at her ability to make him feel good in the face of certain death.

"Apres la pluie, le beau temps," she spoke softly, and though his French was almost non-existent he understood the meaning behind her words. It gets better.

She left him standing in his living room with two empty glasses, his heart echoing his loneliness as she closed the door behind her.

Day 58

Two months. Two months had passed without her, and every day it was harder and harder to get out of bed. Of course, it didn't help that he was plagued with nightmares almost constantly unless he drank himself into unconsciousness. But after the last time, waking up on his bathroom floor with no memory of how he'd made it home, much less when he'd started drinking the day before, he promised himself to back off a bit. Jackson's words about Jamie's wishes came back to him in a sobering moment.

He'd spent the day catching up on the news, then reading any and all new literature regarding the animal crisis. Reiden had done a bang up job covering up the fact that they were responsible for the end of the world as they had known it. In fact, their PR department deserved some sort of award for not only dodging that messy bullet, but actually spinning the story that Reiden Global was spearheading the whole cure campaign. It soured Mitch's stomach, already so delicate from the previous day's binge, but he held down the sandwich and orange juice he'd eaten for brunch.

He flipped through the various channels, hoping to see something - anything - about the crash. It was foolish, he knew; US news outlets didn't report on the two month anniversary of a plane crash off the coast of Canada. But he still couldn't help feel that today meant something, that it shouldn't pass without note just to disappear into the calendar as just another day.

His phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at it in askance. When it buzzed again a few moments later, he picked it up and read the two texts from Chloe.

Just checking in. Call if you need anything.

Remember, surviving is not living.

He tossed it back onto the table, satisfied when it skittered across the wooden surface and tumbled to the carpet below. He stared after it for a moment, daring it to buzz again. When it didn't, he huffed and stood. His laptop stayed open on the table, halfway down the page he'd been surfing just moments ago.

He guessed a shower wasn't completely out of the question today.

Day 65

She approached from the main cabin, a knowing smile stretched across her face. He finished the last of the bottle and set it on the small cabinet set into the side of the plane.

"Hi," he greeted, and she returned it as she stopped next to him. He held up his tiny treasures with a lazy smile. "I was just pilfering some of these adorable little bottles that haven't grown up yet. Would you like one?" He'd already had a couple, and he could hear how his words lilted with inebriation. Her smile softened into sadness, and she leaned against the counter.

"You know," she said, "if you weren't quite so shit-faced, you might have had the reflexes to hang on to me."

"What?" He stopped with the small plastic bottle halfway to his lips. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to accept his offer, salute their success, and then surprise him with a fantastic kiss. Instead, she was staring at him accusingly.

"Or you could have stayed up there," she jammed a thumb over her shoulder toward the seats. "Then we both would be been buckled."

He reached for her, knowing what was coming. The plane shuddered once and he tried to grab her hand. His fingers passed through her arm, and the sound of rending metal cut through the silence as the plane was torn apart. But instead of being ripped from their place in the back of the plane, they stayed standing and still. Over her shoulder Mitch could see the terrified faces of the passengers as they were thrown about the cabin violently, their faces contorted in fear and pain.

He watched in horror as her auburn hair shimmered and her flushed face paled. Her cheeks hollowed and her eyes became sunken and lifeless as her clothes and hair became soaked with seawater. He realized what was happening, and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Jamie, no!" He tried to reach for her again, but he couldn't move.

Her mouth opened, and a wet gagging noise erupted from her throat as water poured down her chin. When she spoke, her voice was haunting and rasping. "You should have done more. Your fault. Yours."

"I'm sorry!" he shouted, trying once again to reach her as she choked on something he couldn't see. He was helpless as she drowned in front of him, her lips turning blue as she lifted an accusing finger. "I'm sorry!"

Mitch jerked awake with a scream caught in his throat. His clothes were soaked in sweat, and his heart pounded as he fought to regain control of his trembling limbs. A glance at the clock told him it was too early to get up, but he swung his feet to the carpet anyway. He tried to stand, but his legs weren't up the task of holding his weight and he sank back down onto the damp cushions.

"I'm sorry." The harsh whisper sounded like a gunshot in the quiet apartment, and the sob that followed it tore open the wound that he thought he'd cauterized. His emotions burst to the surface, aided by the horrific images from his nightmare, and he wept into his hands.

Day 87

"Mitch Morgan, totally awesome scientist." He honestly didn't feel like talking to anyone anymore, but he'd promised Chloe that he'd always answer when she called. In return, she'd promised to keep her pestering phone calls to twice a week. It was her voice he expected on the other end, her elegant accent demanding in that motherly tone for him to get up and come help them.

"Mitch?" It wasn't Chloe. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he fought to regain his breath. "Mitch, can you hear me? It's me." The memory of haunting dreams sounded warning bells in his head, and he eyed the empty shot glass in front of him. How many had he had today? Seven? Eight? Either way, it wasn't enough to cause hallucinations. Still, the ghost persisted. "It's Jamie."

"No it isn't," he kept his voice even and detached, afraid that he'd finally snapped. "Jamie's dead." It was the first time he'd said it aloud, made it real, and it was to deny the impossible thing he'd been praying for these last three months. His analytical mind raced for answers, coming up with only one possible solution. Someone was playing a cruel joke on him. "Uh, wh-who...who is this? You don't even...you don't even sound like her." In truth it was a brilliant mimic, a perfect match for the Jamie that visited him in his dreams, it was shattering his heart all over again.

The voice let out a wet chuckle, and when she spoke again he could hear the quiver of tears. "Okay, are you gonna stop being an ass for a second and listen to me? It is me, I am alive, and...and I'm really glad you are, too."

Mitch felt the world spin, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol running through his system. Only Jamie - the real Jamie - would call him so blatantly on his bullshit. She was alive. At least he hoped so. God, he hoped so.

He felt tears stinging his eyes, and he looked down in an effort to regain control. If he started bawling now, Dalton would never let him hear the end of it. Still he couldn't help the tremble in his voice as he spoke with the first smile he'd cracked in months. '"It really is you."

Nothing was said for a few seconds, and as the silence stretched so did his smile. She was alive. He listened to the sound of her breathing, a sound he was so sure he'd never hear again. Inhale. Exhale. And as her breath hitched he felt his own emotions bubble to the surface.

"It's really good to hear your voice," she admitted, and he wondered if she had just said it to hear it again. He couldn't blame her. They had believed her dead for three months, but at least they had known the others had survived. She was god knew where, probably all on her own. She'd had no idea if he'd survived, if he'd even pick up the phone when she called. She'd called him anyway.

His cheeks were damp with tears, and he discreetly wiped a few away as he returned the sentiment. "It's really good to hear yours, too." He hated the ache he heard in his own voice, unable as he now was to control his emotions.

She laughed then, a soft sound that was music in his ears. Another silence settled between them, but it wasn't awkward. They were connected across countless miles by their phones, and Mitch was willing to run his battery out to keep it.

"I still have it," she said suddenly. "I have the leopard. I have the cure."

In the second time in as many minutes he felt a wave of relief wash through him. He closed his eyes this time, trying to picture in what scenario Jamie could have possibly survived a plane crash and recovered their only hope of survival.

His free hand came up to massage his forehead - an old habit of his to get his brain kickstarted again. "Okay, uh…" He had never been a man of faith, always preferring logic and science to the intangible. But even he couldn't deny this was nothing short of a miracle. "You still have it." They both laughed this time, short puffs of air that held more than just humor. Mitch heard the relief in her own sigh, and suddenly the phone connection wasn't enough. "Where are you?"

"Canada," she answered quickly, obviously mirroring his need to finally see her. "New Brunswick. About twelve miles south of Caraquet if I'm reading the map correctly."

"How did you end up -?"

"A fisherman found me floating in the Atlantic," she spoke softly. "I don't remember a lot about it, really. He brought me back to his home and nursed me back to health."

"He?" Mitch winced at the jealous note in his voice, and when she spoke he heard the answering smile in hers.

"Yes, he. I was freezing to death in the Atlantic; I didn't really have an option on rescuers." She'd meant it to be teasing, but Mitch's guilt-ridden conscious only heard accusation.

"We looked, Jamie. We looked until they told us it was hopeless, and then we looked some more." Memories of the search came back to him easily, bringing with them a new wave of guilt and despair. He shook off the feeling after a few seconds, aided by the sound of her voice.

"Mitch, I know you did. I didn't mean..." She took a shuddering breath, and he could hear she was fighting more tears. "Just get here fast, okay? I'm really tired of eating fish." That got a laugh out of him, and he promised to call the others just as soon as they hung up.

"We'll be there soon, okay? Jamie…" he swallowed over the words he wanted to say, opting instead for, "stay safe."

"You, too." The line disconnected, but he held the phone to his ear for a few more seconds trying to soak in the last of her sweet presence.

"You alright?" Dalton's concerned voice startled him, and Mitch looked up at the man who had become something like a friend.

"Yeah," Mitch croaked, clearing his throat pointedly. "Yeah. Never better."

Day 89

They were so close; so close to finally ending nightmare that had become his life the last three months. But the mutation and fate had intertwined once again to screw up his carefully laid plans.

"We found a body." For the span of a single heartbeat he feared they were too late. The fence had been smashed through, and Mitch's heart hammered as they'd landed and scoured the area. Those four words very nearly knocked him over, then the man rushed on in that clipped military efficiency. "Male. No sign of the leopard." And just like that he could breathe again.

Until the chopper lifted off without her in it, and his chest constricted once more. Wolves and bears prowled the area, and as they flew away with the cure and the leopard, Mitch couldn't help but think they'd all just left Jamie to die.

He slammed his hand down on the back of the seat in front of him, well aware of the eyes of his friends on him. To his right, Abe sat silent and still. Just moments ago Mitch had spat the most vicious phrase he could ever remembering uttering in his almost 40 years. And it was true; at least it had been three minutes ago. He hated Abe for what he'd done, for making them leave Jamie trapped and alone. The rational part of his brain knew the leopard was top priority for the team, but the cub (not so little anymore) and the cure were secondary to his own need to see her.

The comm headset crackled to life as the leader of the SEAL team relayed their new orders. "We're being directed to a new lab. I sent a sitrep to Command; they're on standby to send another team when they become available."

Mitch clenched his jaw tight, biting back the acidic retort that sat in his throat. Standby. That's all Jamie was to them, an afterthought. They had the leopard, the cure. None of them cared if Jamie lived or died. People were dying all over the world; what was one more?

The rest of the day went by in a blur. He barely felt anything at all when the cure they'd all risked everything for became obsolete. The mutation had gone beyond what they had initially seen, rendering all of their work completely moot. His mood soured further, poisoned by the uselessness that crept over him. It had all been for nothing.

And Jamie was still missing.

With one last disgusted scowl, he stalked out of the lab. It had been a mistake, he thought, hoping for anything. His feet took him out of the facility and into the open air. The compound was swarming with military folks from every branch, along with government agents, intelligence operatives, and hundreds of civilians who hadn't been evacuated to safe zones yet.

"Dr. Morgan," a young man in BDU's tried to stop him, but Mitch paid him no mind. His thoughts were erratic and angry, and the string of curses that escaped him made the few people in front of him give way in alarm. He wandered around the complex aimlessly, the burning ache in his chest growing with each step. He meant it. He was done with them and their cure. His sole focus from this moment on was to find Jamie, and he knew exactly the person to help him do it.

Eleanor made a deal, pulling him back into the fray with the conniving manipulation that all politicians seemed to possess. But he didn't care. She'd given him her word that they would not stop sending teams until they found Jamie. It was the best she could do at the moment, and Mitch's rational brain seemed to finally take over once more. He agreed to her terms, and accepted her heartfelt apology at the way things had gone down during the initial mission. Her contrite words made him rethink his own actions, and another regret heaped itself on top of his already teetering pile.

Word came in on their way back from Patagonia. A SEAL team had returned to the fisherman's house to find a single word written in stones on the roof. Caraquet. Eleanor had gotten on the phones immediately, and she'd found a Jane Doe in ICU at the Enfant-Jesus Hospital. Her description matched Jamie's, down to the genie tattoo on her shoulder, and Mitch felt Abe's hand steady him as he swayed with relief.

After a quick conversation with their pilot, they were on their way back to New Brunswick. Mitch felt the plane turn ever so slightly, and the weight on his chest lifted with the movement. He sank down into a lounge chair as the adrenaline from the last few hours finally wore off. Exhaustion crept up on him, and before he knew it he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Day 1

He was sitting in a hard plastic chair when her eyes opened. He didn't notice at first, engrossed as he was with her medical chart, but when she turned her head toward him he dropped the file onto the foot of the bed and stood.

"Hey," he smiled down at her too-thin face, chapped and weathered from the cold. A policeman had found her a few miles outside of town curled up on the side of the road. He'd thought her dead at first, a victim of the sub-zero temperatures sweeping through the area. But she'd been alive - just barely - and he'd rushed her to the hospital. When Mitch had arrived the doctors were unsure if she would ever wake up. She'd gotten better over the last few days, but she still had a ways to go before she could be considered healthy.

"Hey yourself," she rasped, wincing as her throat burned from disuse. Mitch reached for a cup of lukewarm water left for him by the nurse a few hours ago.

"Here," he grabbed the remote for the bed and angled it a little higher so she could take a small sip. She tried to take a larger swallow but Mitch pulled it away. "Not so fast, Jamie. You're still recovering." He set the cup on the low table next to the bed, trading the smooth plastic for her small hand. She squeezed his fingers in return, her hold on him weak but steady. She was going to be fine.

"God, Jamie, you scared the hell out of me." He leaned forward then, slipping his free hand behind her shoulders and pulling her frame against his. The feel of her in his arms went a long way toward healing the ache in his chest, though a new anguish washed over him as he felt how frail she was. She had already been slight, and months of injury and illness had ravaged what little fat stores she'd had. He could count her ribs as he rubbed her back slowly, and her arms were trembling as they wrapped around his waist.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and for a few moments they just sat there holding each other. All of the words Mitch had come up with over the last 90 days faltered in his throat, and finally he decided not to say anything. Not now, anyway. For now he would concentrate on getting her healthy and getting her home. The rest could wait.