The Incredible Xena

Author's Notes: : Another old fic I found on my hard drive and fixed up. I'm really sorry to say I don't remember where the story was supposed to go after this, so it's probably going to stay a one-shot.

My name is Rachel and I should be dead. In fact, any history book you pick up - and believe me, there's tons - will tell you I'm dead. The news says I'm dead. The government says I'm dead. Even my own mother thinks I'm dead. But I'm not. It's a long story and I still don't know all of it. Then again, I never had any of the answers before, so why should I have them now?

I guess I should start at the beginning. When I came back to consciousness.

Everything was kind of a blur. I couldn't see then, not really. My eyes hadn't been working in a few years, so it was going to take them a while to get used to this sight thing. Still, I had a vague awareness of two things: a pair of hands holding me down and that I was lying on my back.

And no, I'm sorry, this isn't that kind of story. And any chance of it turning into that kind of story was kind on killed by what happened next.

Pain. The mind numbing, feels like your body is frying but it isn't, oh god why I am still alive to feel this kind of pain. I screamed. Loud. I think the pain was what made me realize I was alive. Oh, god, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything I could ever remember. Worse than that polar bear paw through my gut. But the pain was the least of my problems. No, my biggest problem was that I needed to get control, and fast.

I tried to sit up, but the hands forced me back onto my back. "Rachel, no!"
Rachel, I remember thinking. That's my name. Rachel. I'm Rachel.
I screamed again as another wave of pain shot through me. Then I heard it - the voice - for the first time.
Welcome home, it rasped. Rachel.

"There's a voice in my head," I said. Or tried to. It came out more like "Gezza woyze ig myded."

"What?" The person holding me down asked, shaking me a little. But I didn't respond, because I was busy having a conversation with my disembodied voice buddy.

What's going on? I wondered.
You died, Rachel. Lovely, beautiful Rachel, the voice told me.
Oh yeah, I thought, I did. I remember. Tom killed me.
Yes, he did. Or rather, his yeerk did. Ran his paw clean through you. I imagine it hurt.
I felt my mouth twitch into a grin. Understatement of the year.

That was the cue for another wave of pain to sweep my body and a scream of agony to leave my throat.

This is giving impalement a run for its money, though. Which reminds me, hey, I've got some questions. What's going on? Why can I feel that? Why can I think? Why am I...
Living? The voice swelled with pride. Because I told you to.
You what?
I ordered your sweet stinking corpse to live again. You see, dearest Rachel, I need a host.

"Yeerk," I hissed. "Get out of me, you filthy slug! You piece of shit, get out!"

The voice started laughing. A calm ripple of amusement that chilled my bones.

Oh Rachel, I'm no yeerk, It said.
Then what are you? I asked it. Who are you?
Guess, it ordered me.
Crayak.
Oh! So close, but so far, so... sorry, babe, but no cigar. Rachel, my dear, you can call me The One.

After that, I guess I passed out. Maybe my body couldn't take the pain. All I know is that I was waking up again. I still couldn't see, at least not much. Everything around me was gray and blurred.

But I could hear.

"Her eyes are twitching," somebody said. A boy, I think. No, no, my mind told me. That was a guy. Just one with kind of a high-pitched voice.
"Really? I thought they were doing jumping jacks." A different voice. Lower than the first.
"Shut up and check her pulse," muttered a third voice. The lowest yet. And tired, I thought. Very tired.

I felt a hand grab my wrist. It was one of the hands that pushed me down, I was sure of it.
"Still beating," said the low-but-not-lowest voice. He was relieved.

Relieved, I realized, to know I wasn't dead.

The memory, the whole memory, came back to me now. The cold snow, the stench of blood in the air. The paw going clean through my stomach. Pain, unimaginable pain. Their faces on the screen. Shocked, sad, crying. His face. Human now, just for me.

"I love you."

The hand dropped my wrist. My arm fell to the floor, but I guess I'd gone numb from the pain, because I didn't feel it.

"What'd she say?" High-Pitch asked, his voice blending in with Lowest's, addressing the guy holding me, I guess. "Tobias?"