Hello everyone!
Before we begin I just wanted to thank all of those that read, reviewed, and followed my story. The response so far has been humbling, and I am so glad you are all enjoying it.
For any potential new readers, all reviews and questions are welcome!
Also, I realize I have been forgetting to add disclaimers so here it is:
I don't own any copyrighted character depicted in this story, they are the property of their creators.
"Have you ever thought about death, Mr. Wilde?"
"No, I suppose I haven't."
"And why is that, do you think?"
Nick pondered the question for a moment.
"I think there is a saying about that, 'The mammalian condition is to deny the possibility that they will ever die.' Or something like that."
The examiner, a striped skunk, cocked his eyebrow.
"Very pithy, but you didn't answer the question."
Nick sighed, and leaned back in the hard metal chair. This was getting old. He had been in this room for three hours now, and the whole time this skunk had been asking him questions like this. Nick had done his best, he really had, but now this inane interrogation was getting on his nerves.
"Look, Doc, I don't think about death. What's ta think about? You're either alive, or you're dead." He replied, gesturing with his paws to emphasis the last two points.
The skunk hmmed at him and wrote something down in his note pad, just like he had done for all the other questions he had asked. There must have been at least 200 at this point, probably more. If Nick had realized that applying for this position would entail something like this he would have reconsidered.
"Doc?"
The skunk stopped writing and looked up at him.
"How many more questions do we have?"
The skunk furrowed his brow and replied, "We talked about this already Mr. Wilde. I thought we agreed you would stop asking me that question."
He wasn't wrong, after about an hour and a half Nick had started asking that question every 10 minutes on the dot. And every time the skunk would answer in the same way, 'Oh, just a few more.' It had become a game of sorts for a short while. Nick trying to derail the skunk's attention as far as possible. After the 5th time though the skunk had stopped him and told him to stop asking the question. Nick smiled inwardly at the thought. He wasn't sure if he had won his little game or not, but it sure felt like it.
Nick gave the skunk a sly grin. "Of course we did Doc, but that was an hour ago-" More notes, Nick noticed, "- and I think it's time to renegotiate."
The skunk looked at Nick wearily, and Nick decided that he was indeed winning this little game.
"Consider it renegotiated: Stop asking me that question."
"Can I ask you other questions?"
"Yes of course."
"Alright, why am I being asked all these questions?"
"Because you are here interviewing for what you called-" The skunked flipped back through his notebook to find the exact quote, "-the 'Spook' position."
Nick rolled his eyes. This was how most of his questions were answered: in the most vague manner possible.
"Now, how about we continue?"
"Fine, fine, get on with it." Nick waved his paw dismissively.
"How about we talk about your military service? What motivated you to join the Army?"
This was different. So far the skunk hadn't asked him a single personal question besides his name and age at the beginning of the interview. Personal questions like this made him uncomfortable. His upbringing was abnormal, to put it diplomatically. His past had too much pain, too much loss, and too much disappointment. He had long learned to compartmentalize his life experiences. And his childhood had been traumatizing. Losing both parents by 12, homeless for the next three years, picked up by the foster system and traded around until he was 18. If he never had to think about it, it couldn't hurt him again. He had joined the Army to escape all that, to redefine himself, but he wasn't about to share that with the Skunk across from him.
"Oh, you know. The same reason anyone else does." Nick deflected the question, just like he would any personal question. One of the important parts of compartmentalizing was that things never came out of their boxes.
"Did it have to do with the death of your mother?".
The question blindsided him, and Nick's facade fell away for the first time.
How did they know?
The skunk looked at Nick expectantly
Nick was suddenly on the defensive and he looked away from the skunk, determined not to make eye contact. He wasn't prepared to answer this; he had never spoken about his mother's death since the accident, not with anyone. Well, that was true, one person knew what had happened, but that was it. He kicked himself for letting his guard down so easily. The skunk must have realized he touched a nerve, and Nick was overcome with an intense feeling of dread. The bastard had found a chink in his armor and was now going to exploit it.
"No." It was all he could manage, and he still refused to look at the skunk.
The skunk frowned.
"Why didn't you save me Nick?"
The strange question made Nick instantly look up and across the table, but the skunk was no longer there. Instead, in his place, the fox saw his mother.
"Nick, why didn't you save me?" she asked impassively.
"What are you talking ab-?"
"You could have pulled me from the car Nick."
He stared at his mother in shock and she stared right back. Save her? Save her from what?
He looked around the car, trying to decipher her meaning. They were driving home down the road along the river on the way back from a parent teacher conference, a particularly unpleasant parent teacher conference in fact. His mother still looked at him, not a single hint of emotion crossing her visage. He returned her gaze, completely at a loss for what she wanted.
"I thought you loved me Nick."
What?
His brow furrowed in confusion and he replied,
"I do love you moth-!"
And then it happened. A truck appeared around the bend in their lane, coming right for them. There was nothing Mrs. Wilde could do, no time for anything.
No!
He felt no pain however, even as the airbag slammed into his face, and bits of shattered glass pierced his skin, he felt nothing. Nevertheless he had to watch as his mother died. Again.
Again?
He looked around, this wasn't real. His mother was long dead, drowned with the car more than 15 years ago. Nick was rocked by a terrible realization: His mother knew. She knew he had failed her. He had tried so hard. He had given it everything he could, but his lungs had been on fire, and his vision had dimmed, and his every sense had screamed at him to swim for the surface. And he had listened. Listened to his instincts trying to save him, and they had, but those same instincts ensured that his mother never got out of that car.
Something in him fought back. It screamed and raged. It had not been his fault, there was nothing more he could have done. He had almost died in the attempt. She wouldn't have wanted him to die on her account, she would have wanted him to live. Live and be happy. She would have given her life a thousand times over for that.
Everything stopped.
The horrible scene in front of him melted away into blackness, and the war of emotions raging inside of him melted away too.
It was over, and somehow, he felt a modicum of peace.
He realized he was dying. The thought improved his mood. At least all this would be done with.
Somehow he had survived the explosion, a miracle really, the bomb had been so massive. But now his luck had run out, the cold water of the Vespa was swallowing him up and there was nothing he could do. It had taken his mother, and now it would take him. This is what it must be like when your brain shuts down before death, though wasn't this supposed to be comforting or something? What he experienced had been anything but. What the hell brain? You had one job… He seemed to remember that this was all supposed to be painless too, but that certainly wasn't the case. His whole body felt as if it was broken. Just breathing sent shockwaves of pain arching across his body. This was all bullshit. He had been lied to about death, and he wasn't happy. He decided that after he died the first thing he would haunt the editor of whatever magazine he had read that in. He couldn't remember which it was, immense physical trauma has a way of making one forget things after all, but he was sure that once it was all done with his mind would return to its normal clarity. He remembered, then, that he didn't believe that there was anything after death. He chuckled inwardly in spite of his predicament. Oh well, more's the pity. That damn editor was lucky this time, but if Nick somehow miraculously survived he swore he would write a very strongly worded letter to that magazine. Death sucks, and he thought the world should know.
Then, without warning of any sort, an explosion of pain ripped across his shoulder and back. Dammit, if he was going to die, couldn't his body take pity on him and get it over with? There was something buzzing in his ear, something he hadn't noticed before, and he wanted to swat at it. But he couldn't move, he was too weak, and he resigned himself having to listen to it. The buzzing suddenly took shape.
"Hey!"
The word seemed to float into his consciousness. It puzzled him. Was there some sort of significance to the word 'Hey'? None that he could think of, but it had sounded beautiful. Oh god, the hallucinations were beginning again. Trying for round two, eh, brain? Couldn't we just forget about this? Or maybe this time around we could pick a nice memory, like one with Liliya...
"Hey, you gotta wake up!"
Fuck you, no I don't. I am dying, I don't have to do anything. He tried to place the voice, but nothing came to him. His subconscious was trying to tell him something he decided, but what?
Suddenly he felt himself being turned onto his side. What was going on? Someone was there he realized, calling to him.
"You're gonna be ok."
That voice… it washed over him like the warm ocean, pushing away everything else.
"C'mon, wake up."
It was full of worry. But for whom? For him, he realized. And for some reason the thought surprised him. No one worried about him. He had spent his life making that true, and yet here there was someone worried for him.
"Don't die…"
The voice was perfect, like honey, like the harmony of angels. It consumed his every thought, everything that had come before was unimportant, he just needed to hear the voice again.
"Please…"
He suddenly saw a tiny flash in the darkness. Like a single star in the night sky, and as he stared at that tiny star, it seemed to flicker and flash like a candle.
"I won't let you die."
The voice was full of determination now, and the star shone brighter. He reached out to it, perhaps if he could just touch it… Everything began to brighten, the tiny light now on fire with sun like brilliance. The light wrapped around him and he felt the cold was sliding off of him with each beat of his heart.
"Everything is going to be ok, I promise!"
He was suddenly on the precipice of true consciousness. Someone had just spoken to him, trying to assure him that he would make it. That voice… it's the same one. I must... He suddenly had a goal. Even if it was the last thing he would ever do he would open his eyes to see the owner of that voice. He knew if he could he would be looking into the face of divinity, for what else but a god could speak in such dulcet tones?
It pushed him over the edge, his faculties slowly returned to him. So did the pain of course, seemingly worse than before, but it didn't matter. He had but to do one thing and he could slip back into his stupor once and for all. He focused everything he had on it, and the effort caused him to exhale a rattling breath.
"Oh my god, oh my god!"
He felt small bits of wet hitting his face, and he suddenly realized the saccharine voice above him was full of tears. No, don't cry for me, he thought, I am nothing. Just another fox. Gods don't cry for foxes.
He had it, he could do it. He was going to open his eyes. Every last ounce of concentration he had left was needed, but it was worth it. His eyes opened, just a slit, but his world was getting brighter. He was almost there.
He did it.
The blurry figure about him inhaled sharply.
Suddenly, she was in focus, kneeling over him, face full of tears and worry. She was…
A bunny.
He felt cheated. His savior was a bunny. Just a goddamn bunny. Humiliation swept through him. He was at what was probably his lowest point, his most vulnerable. And he found himself sharing it with a bunny. This just wouldn't do, he had to get out of here, to get far away from this damn rabbit. He tried to move, but the effort exhausted him the the pain stole the breath from his lungs.
"No, no, don't move, I am gonna get you out of here." She soothed.
"I'll call 211!"
NO!
His mind screamed. No, that could not happen. With a suddenly clarity he knew that even in his current state he now had a major advantage over Koslov, and more importantly the MSS. Just as he had missed all of Koslov's bombs, so too would they miss him. He was dead, and they wouldn't be looking for a dead man. You never find what you aren't looking for. If he ended up in a hospital word would eventually reach Koslov, and he would be back to square one, or worse. He would not let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
Energy filled his body. He must stop her.
"I'll call them right now."
"No!" He forced the sound out of his mouth. It was barely a whisper, but the bunny had clearly heard him, and she stared at him wide eyed.
"W- what?"
He found hearing her distracting. Her voice still mesmerized him. God what a beautiful sound… He caught himself and shook the thought from his head. Stay focused.
"Don't call them." Again he forced his voice to cooperate.
"But…"
"If you call them I'll die."
She blinked at him, confused. Then her face was filled with exasperation.
"What are you talking about? They will help you!"
She looked down at him, face unreadable for a moment, and Nick got the distinct feeling that she was about the realize she was arguing with the dying.
There it was.
"No, I- they are going to help you. I can't let you die."
He grabbed her wrist as she brought the phone back up, and Nick blinked at his sudden strength.
"Please don't. I- I can't go to a hospital." He ground out. "Promise me you won't call them."
"I-"
Her face showed her intense confliction, then it passed. The battle was over. She closed her eyes momentarily, sighed, and lowered her phone.
"Fine, but I am not going to let you die. I have to get you out of here."
It had been so easy.
He looked up into her eyes, a striking violet he realized, even in his condition, and he felt a grin creep across his lips.
Yes, this would work out perfectly. Now he just had to live.