Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.
"When there is pain, there are no words. All pain is the same." -Toni Morrison
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting-
-"Sympathy" by Paul Laurence Dunbar
2001
When the police came to inform my mother of my father's death, I saw something disappear from her eyes forever. She didn't make a big scene, didn't scream or curse God or beg for it all to be a mistake. She went about the normal routines of everyday living and people admired her stoicism. But I could see the difference. The sorrow radiated from her, only it was the opposite of a glow.
I thought about it for years, how grief could transform someone the way radiation corrupted cells. It was the one pain even Familiars were susceptible to. You'd think that would have brought us closer, but in the end it created a rift between me and my mother that neither one of us saw until it was too wide to span.
My mother wasn't the same person since my father died. Neither of us was.
2022
"Joshua was shot."
I don't remember what happened after I heard those words. It was like I slipped into a gray fog. There was a loud keening sound and, even fainter, voices whose words I couldn't make out. Gradually the fog cleared and I found myself sitting on the floor, my head bowed with exhaustion and grief. My throat was raw and my face wet. Someone was behind me; there was a hard chest against my back and a pair of strong arms around me, hands gripping my wrists so I couldn't move. I saw with a dazed kind of puzzlement that there was blood caked under the nails of my right hand.
There were people crouched in front of me and standing around, their faces all worried and a little scared, all staring at me. And I wondered why they were looking at me like that; why Max was kneeling in front of me looking like she was fighting tears. Then suddenly it all came flooding back, the news that Joshua was gone. He was dead, and all I wanted was to go back to that gray place. My eyes blurred and sharp-edged sobs tore through my abused throat.
Max took my face in her hands and forced me to look at her. "Listen, Skye. Listen to me," her dark eyes and stern tone pierced my fog of grief, "Joshua is not dead. He was shot, but he's at the hospital right now getting taken care of. He's still alive."
I blinked stupidly, the meaning of her words slow to sink in. "H-he's... He's not dead?"
Max shook her head. "No."
More tears, this time from relief. Joshua... I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if he'd died. It was my fault. I knew the Conclave was watching me and I sent an obvious Transgenic to get my things from the hotel. What was I thinking! The guilt was almost worse than the grief. I drew away from Max's comforting hand on my shoulder. It was too much for me to deal with now. "Please," my voice rasped, "leave me alone."
Max looked up at whoever was behind me and nodded. The strong arms helped me to my feet and let go of my wrists. My arms hung limp at my sides. I didn't look up from my scuffed sneakers as whoever it was put an arm around my shoulders and gently coaxed me out of the control center and up the stairs leading to my room, pausing for a second to take something Dix handed over.
I was like a zombie, numbly following the other's lead. When we got to my bare little room I was made to sit on the edge of the bed. That was when I finally raised my eyes and, even through the numbness, felt a little shock at discovering it was Mole who was with me. He cleared the papers I'd worked on off the table and dragged it over along with the chair, setting the table between us and seating himself across from me. He placed the object Dix had given him on the table; a rectangular box with a red cross painted on. He opened the lid and held his hand out to me. "Lemme see your arm."
Confused, I rested my arm on the table and gasped at what I saw. The sleeve was already pulled up and the caduceus symbol was covered in deep scratches, some of them still seeping blood. Now that I noticed it, I felt the wounds begin to throb. "W-what...?"
"You started tearing into it the second Max gave you the bad news," Mole explained, taking hold of my wrist. He eyed the gouges clinically. "Better clean that off."
"It's fine." I tried to pull my arm away, but the lizard-man's grip tightened. His eye ridges drew together in a stern frown.
"You'll get an infection," he stated, "And in TC that'd be even nastier than outside the wall."
"I don't get infections." I shouldn't have to tell him this, I thought with vague annoyance. He saw me swallow poison like it was nothing.
"Should at least take a Tylenol-"
"No!" I snapped, my frayed emotions getting the better of me, "My immune system doesn't know the difference between poisons and drugs. Nothing affects me, get it? I'm not like you!"
Mole stared at me, probably too startled by my outburst to get mad. I turned my head aside and stared at the off-white wall. "I'm not like anyone," I mumbled, suddenly exhausted, "Just...just go away."
The room was completely still for a long moment. When Mole did move, it wasn't to leave. He was still holding my wrist and with his other hand he dug out an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and used it to clean away the blood. I hissed at the sting, but didn't try to stop him; I couldn't muster the energy. I just stared dully at the wall while he pressed a gauze pad to my scratches and wound bandage tape around my arm. If I'd been more myself, I would have been surprised at his gentleness.
As he wrapped up my arm, he remarked, "Thought you Breeder Cult guys didn't feel pain."
"I'm special," I said bitterly.
Mole didn't say anything to that. Instead, he started to tell me something else; something I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from him, "When Manticore burned down, I almost didn't make it out. Most of my unit didn't. It wasn't the heat that got to us, it was the smoke. We were falling down right and left, choking to death. Getting trampled and shot at by the guards. I wound up on the floor with a bullet in my leg, wheezing like an asthmatic, and I remember thinking 'This is it.' After all the shit I survived, all those skirmishes and high-risk ops they sent me on, this is how I go out, taken down by the assholes I was made to fight for."
My imagination brought the scene to vivid life: the smoke-filled hallway, the flickering flames, gunfire and panicked screams, Mole dragging himself through the blood and smoke, then collapsing, waiting to die.
"Then something weird came out of the smoke," he continued, his tone almost matter-of-fact, "I couldn't see it too clearly, but it grabbed me by the arm and dragged my ass outta there. Out of the building and I dunno how many meters through that rough terrain outside. We wound up crammed inside some abandoned animal's den and that's when I got my first look at her."
"Cat," I realized aloud.
Mole nodded. "I still don't know why she saved me outta all the others. Why she bothered saving anyone at all. We stayed in that hidey-hole till the next night, then kept moving. I remember seeing the rendezvous signal flashing up in the sky, but after what those bastards tried to do I wasn't about to obey orders anymore. Cat wound up carrying most of the load, including me, thanks to my leg. We pretty much avoided any signs of humans until we were hungry enough to get desperate. Even then we stuck to raiding isolated little farms. Still managed to get shot at once or twice, mainly when Cat figured out she liked chickens."
The corner of his mouth twitched in remembered amusement before his expression turned somber. "She was so jumpy. The world was just too big for her."
"How did you end up in Seattle?" I heard myself ask.
Mole sighed. "I still listened in on people once in a while. I heard about Terminal City, how all those biochemicals got loose and the humans abandoned the whole thing. I figured if there was anyplace we could go to avoid humans, it'd be there. And neither one of us was any good at outdoor life." He smirked. "Should've known some humans were too stupid to keep away from this place. We wound up living in the sewers. I would've moved on, but Cat liked it down there. She felt safe. Plus she wasn't picky about what she ate. More than a few of those homeless guys wound up losing their stray doggy friends thanks to her. I told her she could at least cook the things..." he trailed off and his silence made me turn my head to look at him. For just a second his mask had slipped and I saw the grief in his eyes, grief I could understand all too well.
"We made a home for ourselves in one of the chambers we found," he continued, his voice a little quieter, "Cat had her own bed, but half the time I'd wake up and find her curled up beside me. Got so I had trouble sleeping if she wasn't with me. She wasn't so clingy anymore by then. Sometimes I wouldn't see her all day. She'd be off exploring the tunnels or hunting down some stray. But she always came back once night fell. Except one time she didn't."
Even though I knew where this was going—or maybe because of it—I felt fresh tears sting my eyes as Mole told me how he spent the entire night searching the sewers for Cat. I could practically see him stumbling through the dark underground maze, calling out for her hopelessly. Then morning came, the first rays of daylight peeking through the mouths of the rain gutters, and that was when he found her. What was left of her. The killer had left her where she'd fallen and the rats took advantage of an easy meal. Mole probably killed a dozen of them in his rage. When there were no more scavengers in his reach, he sat in the wet filth and stared at his friend's remains. He didn't cry or scream or curse, he just sat there the entire day. Then when evening fell, he picked up Cat's body and brought her to the surface.
"I'm not sure which is worse," he muttered, staring down at the scarred tabletop, "Never finding the bastard who did it, or wondering if I could've saved if if I'd been there."
"You couldn't have known that would happen," I said.
Mole smiled without humor and shook his head. "I shouldn't have let her go off alone like that. No place is ever safe when humans are around." He looked at me and his eyes were filled with bleak sorrow. "They call us killing machines, but they've been killing each other off way longer than we've been around. They figured out how to create new life, and what to they do with that genetic know-how? They use it to make meaner, faster, tougher soldiers to fight their fucking wars. They bred us and branded us like cattle, and when they couldn't control us anymore they hunted us like animals and left our bodies for the rats. And they call us monsters," he snorted bitterly, "And people wonder why I hate 'em so much."
I swallowed a lump in my throat and looked at my bandaged arm, at the symbol hidden underneath. "Bred and branded," I echoed.
Our eyes met and something passed between us. An understanding that didn't need to be spoken. Sometimes friendships form from knowing the same pain.
A knock at the door shattered the moment, then Luke slipped in. "Just got a call from the hospital. Joshua's outta surgery," he said.
I tensed. "Is he okay?" I braced myself for the worst.
But Luke smiled and I knew even before he told me, "He's gonna be fine."
I understood why Max put off telling me about Joshua getting shot. It was one of those coldly logical reasons that every good leader hated themselves for making, even though they had to; she didn't tell me because I was the only one who could translate the runes for her. And she couldn't afford to have me distracted by this new disaster. As I said, I understood her reasons. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to hold it against her.
"I'm not translating another sentence," I stated bluntly, "until you let me see him."
Max was sympathetic, even though she shook her head. "We talked about this. You can't leave Terminal City."
"So I am a prisoner."
"No," she said firmly, "It's for your own safety. If the Familiars see you step out that gate, we might not be able to protect you-"
"Then send a guard out with me," I interrupted, my voice rising with my frustration, "Send fifty guards! But I have to see that Joshua's alright."
"We told you he's fine," Max insisted, "He'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. I promise to let you know the second he get's back."
I was about ready to start screaming at that point when a heavy hand on my shoulder held me back. I glanced behind and to my right to find Mole towering over me. I expected him to drag me back to my room, but he surprised everyone by saying to Max, "Sneak her out through the tunnel."
"What tunnel?" I turned back to Max, who threw Mole a look that wasn't at all happy.
"The tunnel's not an option, Mole. You know that."
"What tunnel?" I repeated a little louder.
"C'mon, Max," Mole coaxed, "What if it was Logan laid up in the hospital? Would you wanna wait to see him?"
Max sighed, biting her lip as she debated with herself. I waited tensely for her decision. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. I just hope I'm not gonna regret this."
Minutes later Alec and my two original guards escorted me through an underground tunnel which led straight to the building where Logan lived, outside the TC wall. Aside from the gate, it was the only other way in or out of Terminal City and only a handful of people knew it even existed. I realized the risk they were taking in trusting me with this knowledge and made a silent promise never to abuse it.
Logan met us on the other side. He tossed Alec a set of keys. "You can take my car. It's nondescript enough nobody will give it a second look."
"Thanks," Alec replied. I gave Logan a grateful smile, he nodded and smiled back.
Aside from taking the backdoor out of TC, I also took the precaution of hiding myself under a baggy set of borrowed clothes with my hair tied up in a bun and stuffed under a baseball cap. Thankfully, it was raining outside, which gave me the excuse of also pulling up the hood on my jacket. Me, the guards, and Alec jogged over to Logan's car and piled in. I fidgeted in the backseat as we passed through each checkpoint and traffic delay, sitting up when the impersonal gray shape of the hospital building came into view.
"Welcome to Harbor Lights," Alec said drily, steering the car into an available parking space and killing the engine.
I all but jumped out of the car and fought the urge to run ahead of the others. The doors swished open and cold, antiseptic smelling air assaulted us. Alec walked over to the front desk and asked the nurse stationed there for Joshua's room number. I tried not to fidget while I waited. The two guards leaned against the wall to either side of me, looking relaxed and calm. I wondered if that was part of their old training or if they really were that unconcerned.
Alec stepped away from the desk and gestured for us to follow. I hurried after him, the guards right behind me. We followed a corridor down a couple of turns and stopped in front of a nondescript door with the number 211 on it. Alec knocked once, then opened the door. I took a breath before entering, preparing myself for the sight of Joshua unconscious and hooked up to tubes and machines that breathed for him. But the only machine was the heart monitor beeping away, the only tube leading to a standard i.v. bag, and Joshua was awake and sitting up in the hospital bed. There was a mostly empty meal tray in front of him, the only thing left a cup of green Jell-O that Joshua was eying in fascinated disgust. He looked up at our arrival and the second his eyes caught sight of me his whole face lit up. I lost what little self control I had and ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face against his shoulder. I was dimly aware of retreating footsteps and the sound of the door closing as the others left the room.
"You came to visit!" Joshua cried in delight. His arms went around me in a reassuringly strong hug.
"I'm sorry," I choked, my voice muffled against his hospital gown, "I almost got you killed."
"It's not your fault, Skye," he said, gently rubbing my back.
"You were shot because of me."
"I was shot because someone pointed a gun at me," his simple logic brought a laugh out of me, in spite of my guilt. I straightened and wiped my tears on my sleeves. Joshua smiled and pointed at a nearby cabinet. "Didn't lose your camera and album. Nurses put them in there with Joshua's clothes."
His thoughtfulness almost made me cry again. I was such an emotional wreck. I looked him over. "Where were you hit?"
"Here," he pointed at a spot high on his right side, "Lotta bandages. Lotta stitches. Won't even be a scar after I heal." He grinned.
I placed my hand over the spot and felt the padding of the bandages under the gown. I looked into Joshua's blue eyes. He smiled and pulled off my cap, letting my hair spill out. He set the cap on the nightstand and ran his fingers through my loose hair. I touched the side of his face, stroking the hair of his sideburn. Joshua abruptly shifted his body, wincing a little in pain.
"What're you doing?" I asked.
Joshua patted the narrow space on the bed he'd made beside him in obvious invitation. I hesitated, glanced at the shut door, then shed my jacket and tossed it over a chair. I squeezed myself in the narrow hospital bed beside Joshua, lying on my side with my head pillowed against his chest and my arm draped over him. I could hear the comforting beat of his heart pumping in time to the heart monitor's beeps. Joshua slowly ran his hand down my arm until he encountered the bandage hidden by my sleeve. I felt him tense a little. "What happened?"
"Nothing important," I told him, then I kissed the crook of his neck and murmured, "Skye loves Joshua."
I heard the smile in his voice when he responded, "Joshua loves Skye."
