Rae lay in bed that night, in one of the dormitories in the compound, half-propped up against the back of her bed, alone. This was the only time when she was willing to take the wedding ring out from the protection of her shirt, in the privacy of her own room. She held it up to the light, the murky brown of the tarnish pulling at her heart strings.
He was here, and he was safe, and that was all that mattered. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of seeing him again; she'd missed him so much since her wandering, looking for Site-17, had begun.
She rubbed at the tarnish, wishing it would come off, wishing that he were lying next to her. She had to keep hoping. She had to tell herself that now she had found him, that it wouldn't be long before she was back with him and that they would make it out. Rae had spent many a restless night lying awake, fearful for her husband, not knowing what was to come next for him, comforted only by the fact that the tarnish remained light. She wished he knew that she was there, that she was looking for him. She wished he knew that everything was going to be okay, but any inkling of change in his behavior could mean being caught, being found out and taken farther from her husband.
She dreaded to think just what her plans could mean for him, if something went wrong. From what Craig had told her,Tracy had made a bid for freedom two months ago, before she'd arrived on the compound. He'd told her how they'd taken extra security to fortify his containment ring and ensure that he wouldn't escape again. She'd been given an idea of what would happen if he were to make another failed attempt; the consequences could possibly be much more severe than having his 'approved reading list' terminated. She knew the foundation had sufficient means of hurting him. Craig had told her of the stores kept to subdue each creature. Any scientist working in his division could easily take any number of substances and torment him with them. The man had already warned her of the iron burs he'd sustained; it hurt her heart to know that he'd been abused, beaten into submission. She wanted to help him. She entertained the idea of going to him then, at that very moment, when the cell halls were empty and everyone asleep, but the fear of putting him in ganger froze her from the inside out.
Too often she'd succumbed to her thoughts, her own dreadful fancies and theories, to the point where her emotions raged for hours. She'd pull the covers tighter around her shoulders and begin to tremble, drawing her knees to her chest and feeling the tears spill forth. It was too much, and she fought not to let herself fall into that routine.
She sniffled, having subdued the tears before the hold clawing at her chest could get the better of her, lifting the ring on its chain from its resting place on her chest and looking it over in the soft lamplight.
The inside of her ring was engraved, as was his. It was in Old Fairy, and she had memorized the phrase, her language skills still a little spotty. But she knew what it said. It was half of the phrase, his ring protecting the other half. She ran her finger across the small symbols on the inside of the ring; 'And Will Always Find You.'
She knew it was true. Just as she and Tracy had found each other, time and again, she knew they would find each other this time.
He dreaded another test run. It was nothing too dangerous, not as of yet at least, but the materials that they used on him wore him out, and having lived off of cream and sugar for the last year, he didn't exactly have much energy to spare for their experimentation. They often had to leave him alone for days at a time, allowing him to regain his strength and occasionally offering him more substantial sustenance, some dense bread or meat if he was particularly slow to recover.
That was the thing about fairies – they were able to survive on so little. Little sleep, little food, little hope, true, but it was enough to get him by. There was always that one ray of hope, that his ring was still bright silver, never tarnished or rusted, and that Rae was alright.
He had lost weight since his stay in The Facility, and with his already slight frame, some of the scientists had become concerned, worrying that if they didn't ease up and let him rest, they might lose their only specimen.
If that ring ever rusted, they might anyway. That was what kept him going, was the thought that she was still okay, she was safe at home and Mab forbid he never went back, she would be taken care of. She'd have a home, she'd have a job, she'd have his family to help her without him. Another part of him knew that she would not feel at home in Fairy Land without him. He prayed that she would adjust, or go home to her family, to her own kind, and live happily there.
He missed her terribly. Even the worst situations could be made better knowing that he had her to go home to at the end of the day, to hold in his arms and have her tell him everything would be okay, but he didn't even have that. Here, he had nothing. Even his dignity was being siphoned from him, day by day, as he was subjected to their poking and prodding.
They'd taken everything from him, but his ring was returned, and the rest he could more or less do without. His pin, his cellular, his watch – all had been removed before he'd regained consciousness on the first night. He tried not to think about what else they'd done to him while he was under. His back burned when he moved the wrong way, and he'd found a very thin, very well-concealed incision scar on his chest, running down his sternum. He hadn't said anything about it, having little doubt that they'd taken the opportunity to examine his body more thoroughly. The thought was enough to make him sick, though he was reassured that the feeling would pass after a few days, once he became accustomed to the ring he was contained by. He knew his nausea had nothing to do with the ring of salt.
The color left his face and his fingers, gripping the edges of the cot, and he began to tremble. He was due for a personnel visit and no one had stopped by his cell. After so long, after knowing what to expect from these people, he found it absolutely terrifying when they broke their routine. The door opened; Craig was there, which calmed his fears a little at first. He was possibly the only man in the entire compound that understood that Tracy wasn't a common animal, and whom at least tried to treat him with some respect. At least having Craig there was a relief, but it was the other white clad figure, standing just outside his cell, who unnerved him so. It was obviously a woman, her straight brown hair falling at her shoulders and her frame very familiar. Only Craig entered the room, and Tracy didn't move, merely content to stare back at her for a few seconds from his place on the cot.
It was Rae, it had to be her. He couldn't be imagining it, and he fought the urge to rush to her. She remained as stoic as if she were observing mindless fish in a tank, looking him up and down, scrutinizing him, summing him up as if she truly were there to contain and research him. Her gaze fell on his hand, his ring finger and the silver band that decorated it. His own eyes flickered to her hand, searching for the glint of metal that would undoubtedly send a wave of relief through him. Left hand, ring finger…
It was bare. His heart sank, confused and shocked when he saw that her wedding band was gone. He wanted to cry out to her, ask her where it had gone, why wasn't she wearing it, but he kept to himself, unsure. Perhaps so long of being confined on his own, of the sleepless nights and the endless worry, were finally getting to him.
His thoughts were cut short as the concrete door swung closed, stealing the woman from his sight.
If it was her, he clung to the idea that her wedding ring had been taken by the staff, just as his had. He clung to the idea that she'd get it back soon, that he'd be able to see the connection again, the physical reminder that no matter how awful things seemed in this cinder block hell, that she was still there for him. He clung to the idea that it was her, at all.
The worker carried a small Tupperware with a clear gel inside. Tracy had stopped reacting violently when someone entered the cell, and looked up curiously as the man crossed the containment ring, holding the Tupperware out to him.
"What's this?" he asked, hauling himself to his feet and taking the container, removing the lid and dipping a finger into the petroleum-jelly-like substance. It was a little thicker than petroleum jelly, and smelled strongly of mint. He rubbed his fingers together, spreading the sticky gel. He'd seen stuff like this before, but never on The Human Plane – only back home.
He jerked a thumb back towards the door, where his colleague waited. "New girl made it for you; It's for the—"
"For the iron burns. Yeah," he finished thoughtfully, replacing the lid. Where the gunk touched his skin, he felt a sudden, soothing cool, and he couldn't help but let a smile creep onto his lips. It was a comfort, to have something, a household remedy, so familiar to him. It was the first reminder of home in over a year, and the strong smell, the cooling touch of the jelly, took the tension from his shoulder as he set the small container on his cot, spreading what was left of the stuff on his fingers onto his open palm, where the salt and iron burn from months and months ago still stood out on his skin, feeling a pleasant cool spread through his hand. He looked up at Craig, who had his hands in his coat pockets, grinning. "This 'new girl'… how'd she…?"
The man shrugged. "She's had some work in Wicca and Alchemy – or at least that's what it said on her application. Studied fairy lore for ten years. Turns out we know a lot more about you than we thought." He chuckled.
Even Tracy couldn't help but let a weak laugh past his lips, which surprised Craig, and he spoke up. "Do you think you could bring her in here?" he asked. Never did he want to meet new scientists; more often than not, new scientists meant new procedure and experiments. But this woman, who had so kindly mixed him the salve for the burns and pains he'd endured in the last year, he wanted to thank her. A small, guilty voice in the back of his head told him that that was not the reason he wanted to see her. The reason was completely self-serving. He just wanted a better look at her, to tell if it really was Rae or not.
The man gave a groan, and Tracy's smile fell. "Sorry, buddy. Libby's not cleared for Euclids. Not your type, at least. Trust me, she's more than eager for you two to meet. To her, you're just plenty of research. In the mean time, that's got clearance to be here, so you don't have to worry about it being confiscated."
The fairy sighed again and sat down, his visitor following suit. That was all he needed to hear. Libby. It wasn't her. He hadn't gotten a very good look at her, but he was sure, now, that he was just too desperate. He wanted so badly to see his wife that he'd been imagining things. Craig shifted guiltily, bringing him from his thoughts. "If you could tell her one thing, what would it be? Your wife, I mean."
Tracy heaved a sigh; he didn't want to thing about this right now, he didn't want to think about how utterly far away she was. "I don't know, mate," he said lamely. Truth was, there was so much that he wished he could say to her, and he tried so, so hard not to think about it. While the thought of her, safe at home, is what kept him going, the idea that she was alone and scared for him tore through his chest, leaving an icy dread behind, and he fought that off every minute of the day. This was the last thing he wanted to think about.
"C'mon, just think. What would you tell her?" he pushed, leaning forward away from the wall. This was the least destructive way to facilitate some degree of communication between the two, but it wouldn't work if he didn't cooperate.
Tracy leaned his head back against the rail of the cot. "I'd tell her I love her," he said gently, and Craig could hear his voice crack. "I'd tell her to – to go home." He forced the words out, feeling sick at hearing himself say it out loud. "Back to her family, in Mesa. She's… she's a human, and she doesn't belong in Fairy Land… alone. I'd tell her to start over."
The tone of his words sent a chill down the man's spine, and for a moment, he had difficulty finding his own voice. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Given up, have you?"
Tracy lifted his head, looking coolly at the worker, who could see that the fairy, after months of confinement, of being treated as a common prisoner and lab rat – the fairy that was the first creature in the history of the foundation to make an intelligent attempt at escape – had finally been broken. "What else is there to do?" he said.
Craig stood, crossing the circle and hauling Tracy to his feet. "Hang in there, buddy." He said, clasping his friend's hand firmly in his own. "There's got to be something better on the horizon." He said, turning and striding quickly from the room.
He stood there, still confined to the circle, staring down at his open palm, at the small slip of slick paper that he'd left behind. It was old and worn, but preserved, the fold lines carefully gone over, so as not to create new creases. His spindly fingers unfolded the paper slowly. There was a single line written, taking up the space from one end of the sheet to the next, scrawled in a familiar cursive. The man's breath hitched as he looked down at it, reading the text over and over:
"Knocking 'em dead. –Tracy"
His mind and heart raced – how had Craig gotten a hold of this? He began to call out, concentrating all the energy left in his body, trying to be heard through the thick concrete, but thought better of it, clamping his jaw shut and clutching the paper close to his chest.
Tracy was never one to bring attention to himself, but now it was so important that he remain unremarkable, to behave and not make it seem to the other scientists as if anything were amiss. He ventured a glance at his ring, his heart rate slowing when he saw the perfect silver surface. He swallowed thickly. However Craig had gotten the note he'd left Rae all those years ago, she was safe; she wasn't in any danger, and he took solace in this fact, trusting their connection, and stuck the folded paper into his shirt, a small pocket just inside his lapel. He settled back into the cot, sitting up and resting his elbows at his knees.
The paper seemed to burn against his skin, and he itched to take it out, to hold it in his hands. Even if he had written it, it was still hers, and he cherished that, after being away from her for so long. True, there had been longer stretches of time they'd been separated. Tracy dreaded to recall what she'd told him about the three years of ugly heartbreak, where she'd been plunged into amnesia; fear gripped him to think of her falling victim to the same bout of horrible emotions, and he sought comfort in the fact that she had healed, that she knew he loved her and that he would never willingly leave her like this. He knew that these would protect her, but he also knew that fear and grief and loneliness were the worst causes, the most powerful pains, and could do any number of things to her.
He sighed, lying back into the have been a magical being, but in no way did he have the ability to see what was to come. He, like most fairies, had the ability to augment his appearance, to render himself invisible for a short period of certain that he would not be able to manage such feats, not now. After nearly a year, he simply hadn't the strength.
Many days of late,Tracy did not even have the strength to fight the pairs of scientists who occasionally came to take blood, draining him of life and the little bit of magic that still flowed through his veins.
It was a small reprieve, that he now had the supply of salve; at the very least, it relieved the pain caused by the routine checks and tests when he applied it to his various injuries. If it were made correctly, it might even put some magic back into his system, though he doubted it would. Not many humans knew how to make it – the fact that this woman, who ever she was, had managed to even give it the pain-numbing effects it was supposed to have was remarkable, and he commended her for her studies, her skill, and her kindness. It may not have seemed like much to her at the time, but he knew that the jelly was going to come in useful, especially for the injuries he's sustained around the time of his escape attempt.
He would survive – at a little over a year, he'd learned that the staff did not want to see him dead. He was their only fairy. Their only means of study, and to lose him would mean taking a loss. He became confident that they would let him live, even if it meant being worked within an inch of death. He could manage, he could survive, he could keep going. He had to, for her.
He hoped Craig was right.
Something better needed to be on the horizon.
He'd been doing this for far too long, and he was all but ready to give up, to submit to the foundation completely and accept whatever they were going to do with him. This small slip of paper was hope, for him. As the day wore on, he found himself more and more aware of the slip of paper in his lapel.
No one came to do any tests that day. It was the second Thursday in the month, which meant that he was permitted to rest, to recover from the last few weeks of them taking from him. Craig had been a visitor, not a researcher. Still, he was lonely, consumed by confused feelings involving the slip.
He sighed and lay back, holding the paper up to the light to read. The sheet was glossed, but relatively thin, and held up to the constant fluorescent light, he saw a dark blotch on the back, something he hadn't noticed this morning, when Craig had handed it to him. He frowned and turned it over in his hands. It was small, compressed handwriting in black ink. His breath caught instantly and he choked back laughter. He was certain this hadn't been there before – he knew he didn't write it – and he told himself that he recognized the handwriting. It was Rae's. He bolted to a sitting position in his cot, swinging his legs over the side. It was one word: Tonight.
It made his heart race. 'Tonight' what? He looked down at his ring; if there was ever a time to understand his wife, it would have been then, but he was afraid to jump to any conclusions. He wanted to cal out, to call for her or Craig, but he knew it would be useless.
'Tonight.' What about tonight? He thought hard, staring down at the distraught, unable to grasps what Rae wanted from him.
He couldn't help but think that Rae was close. He wanted her to be, he wanted there to be hope. He couldn't explain how Craig had gotten a hold of the paper, because he had himself convinced that his hope was just that – hope. He hoped that she was coming for him (at the same time hoping she stayed far away.) He hoped that she was safe, that they would be back together again. He hoped he hadn't been mistaken earlier, when that woman had stood, waiting for Craig—
Little things all began to click into place. Rae was playing with fire. She was, indeed, here. She was the girl, Libby, who he'd seen standing outside his cell earlier. She was the one who had made the salve – Of course she was! He was the one who had taught her that recipe! The thought filled him with a terrible excitement. His stomach did nervous somersaults inside of him; he didn't want her to be there, in this hell, this dangerous facility where, if anyone learned she was conspiring to save him—
He stared down at the slip. Tonight.
They were leaving tonight.
They were leaving now.
