Let the flames begin


What a rush!

Zane could barely contain his grin, a fierce joy filling him. This was – it was flying. The blood pounding in his ears, the roar of the engine, the whistling wind racing past him, the bounce of an unexpected air current – it made him want to laugh with glee, to scream with exultation.

It was everything he'd imagined, but better than he'd imagined. It was like riding a motorcycle, mixed with the coolest roller coaster in the world. Knowing that the ground was a deadly distance below him, and that one false move would be fatal, just gave it that extra bit of spice.

Jo would…No.

Before the thought even had a chance to fully form, Zane pushed it away.

That was then.

This was now.

But he'd reached the rocket launching ground: time to circle in for a landing. Spiraling down, he brought the SkyCruiser to a perfect stop in front of the structure set up to shelter the Rocket-Daze broadcasters. And hey, that hot blonde from aerospace was right there. Nice.

Pulling off his helmet, he shouted over the roar of the engine, "Hey, ya' want to go for a spin?" He didn't have an extra helmet, but if she said yes, he'd suggest another time, maybe after the rocket launch.

"Donovan! Cut the engine."

Damn.

Evil Jo was here.

This break-up – if such it could be called – sucked big-time.

It was inevitable that their break-up would be the worst of his life. She'd meant more: witness the engagement ring.

But after recovering from the effects of the RSS, he'd tried to convince himself that maybe they would have broken up in the old timeline, too. After all, he'd proposed; she hadn't said yes; maybe their relationship had run its course.

Maybe they would have been over even without the time travel.

It wasn't a happy thought. In fact, he pretty much hated it. But it was a way to live with what had happened.

Except – that in a nice, normal break-up – they would have split up their friends. They would have split up their social calendar. For six months, minimum, they would have danced the barely conscious dance of avoidance, where when one came into a room, the other left; where when one went to an event, the other sent regrets.

Instead, he knew that they should be doing that dance, and she didn't have a clue. And she had no hesitation about giving him a hard time.

Yeah, it just sucked.

"Explain," Mansfield barked.

Zane looked at Fargo.

"I clearly told you no joy rides," Fargo blustered.

What an ass.

"You're only allowed to ride the SkyCruiser from GD to here and back," he continued.

Exactly what Zane had done. So what the hell was the big deal? But calling Fargo out for being a hypocrite in front of Mansfield probably fell well within the range of what the others would deem dangerous so Zane swallowed his irritation, and said, as smarmily as he could, "Yes, sir. Wouldn't want to disobey you or the Enforcer." He threw in a tiny salute to Jo, knowing it would piss her off.

"Why are you allowing Donovan to operate a $150 million dollar prototype?" Mansfield's fury seemed a little over the top. Awesome, that probably meant that he was another person who held a grudge against the this-timeline-Zane.

"Dr. Donovan is the only person who can fly it," Fargo muttered.

"And I did design the thing," Zane added helpfully.

"You are a felon," Mansfield snapped. "Here on qualified parole, with a history of strikingly poor judgment."

Yeah, no kidding. Zane tried to keep his smile in place. He had no idea what his alter-ego had been thinking, but at this point, if he had to pick a single person in this universe to hate, it would have been the this-timeline version of himself. Why had the guy been such an idiot? It was like he wanted to make life difficult.

"He takes this responsibility very seriously," Fargo assured Mansfield. "Don't you?" He glared at Zane.

Zane wanted to kill him. What an asshole! Fargo dropped out of the other timeline into the cushiest job on the planet. Why did he have to decide to make Zane's life hell? He couldn't find something better to do? But…

"Abso-fricking-lutely," Zane grinned. Might as well go along.

Beep, beep. Jo looked at her phone and said, "Larry's ready at Mission Control."

"Perfect," Fargo said, with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Right on schedule. General, Jo will show you to the VIP seating area."

"Fine," muttered Mansfield, still glaring at Zane.

Zane kept his smile firmly in place, but behind it was a glare.

Jo, staring directly at him, as if she could order him to behave via mind control, said, "Sir, please, right this way," as she ushered Mansfield away.

Behave? Yeah, as if.


"Birds," snapped Jo.

"What?" Fargo was oblivious.

The rockets were launched, the general was happy, everything ought to be fine, but what the hell was happening with those birds? It was like a scene out of a Hitchcock movie as a flock of blackbirds dive-bombed the flat ground at the top of the hill.

And then…

"Oh, crap." Fargo saw it, too.

The SkyCruiser was swaying its way through the sky, weaving back and forth like a towel on a clothesline on a windy day, until – boom! It hit a non-descript black sedan in a mass of fire, exploding as Zane spiraled over it, crashing to the ground in a cloud of smoke.

"Zane!" Jo raced forward.

Into the smoke, the debris. "Zane…Zane…Zane…" She was saying his name, over and over again, but that didn't have anything to do with him, it didn't mean anything, it wasn't personal and then – there he was – and she was helping him up and taking off his helmet and –

"Whoa! Did you see that? It was awesome!"

God damn him. It was like he existed to make her life miserable.


What a shame
We all became such fragile, broken things
A memory remains just a tiny spark
I give it all my oxygen
To let the flames begin
So let the flames begin

-Paramore