Disclaimer: I do not own these characters except by right of conquest.

Rating: Rated M for strong language, sex and violence.

Author notes:

Hardkandy: Thanks for the fantastic review, my dear! I'm so glad you're enjoying things so far. From here on in things start to get really intense, so hopefully the status quo will be mixed up a bit. Things will start to change for Anna... And for Remy too come to think of it, so ... expect the unexpected! ;) jpraner: Well, Essex will get more action in this than in previous fics, although I guess that depends what you mean by 'action'. ;) Yeah, the sterility thing - I wasn't sure whether to keep it, but it seemed right, so I did. Your science-magic should be able to reverse it though, right? I mean, this is 2038 (or thereabouts) ;) ferretlady: OMG, your review made me smile so much! :) Soooooo glad you're enjoying it so much! I hope you weren't TOO frustrated by the wait - and I hope this chapter makes it all worthwhile! :) ishandahalf: Well done for you picking up that Anna wanted to start up the Machine again! I changed that... that was an artifact from a previous iteration of this fic. DOH! Anyways... Thanks as always for the in-depth review. You're totally right on the conflict of interests in getting that Machine started. Having it running again would not be a good thing... for most of us. Essex doesn't see it that way though ;) PKS: Thanks for the loving! :) Hope this chapter continues to enthrall! ;) bustedflipflop: Ummm... there will be naked times again. I promise. ;) Ana Xpert: Yeah, Essex completely screwed over Anna. But she will end up happy. I can promise that too. :) slightlyxjaded: With their protagonist powers, they shall surely survive this crash, and with time shall overcome all adversity! :D ferosa: Hi Ferosa, did you get my PM's? I never received the ones you sent me about HoC - I don't know whether that's because there's something wrong with the server. Can you send me the question in a review? If it's not private of course! sweetsonu: Glad you're loving it, my dear! And yes, the news about Anna not being able to have babies is sad, but... maybe it can be reversed. :) Thanks for reviewing! x Spasticatt: Aw, thanks for taking the time to review, hon. It's always great to hear from you, whatever the weather. Hope you're doing okay, and ... I love your new avvie! ^-^ RRL24: Yes, Rems is FINALLY beginning to understand what Anna's been through... and that changes a lot. Somehow ;) Guest: Thanks, my friend! More twists in this chapter! Hope you enjoy! :)

And as usual more thanks to my homegirls LEGNA and Warrior-princess1980 - you rock!

Enjoy!

-Ludi x

- 52 PICKUP -

Chapter 25

Cody is dead.

She can't change that now.

She staggers round a corner, dragging her bloody leg behind her. Essex's flunkies can't be far behind.

She's crying. Tears are pouring down her face – she can't remember the last time she cried, but she's doing it now, and it's a horrible distraction.

He's dead, girl. Can't change that now.

Can't outrun Essex either.

She comes to a halt and catches her breath. She could give in, let them take her. Go back to the life she once knew. A life of murder and espionage and cold regimen, where memories are inconsequential and aren't needed. Perhaps that's why Essex always wanted her so much, when it came down to it. Because she had no baggage. No childhood hang-ups to be saddled with, no moral centre to be grounded in. She had been a blank slate, and he could've written whatever he wanted on her.

She's not a blank slate anymore. Cody's written all over her, he's made her into a person.

But he's dead now. And she has to save herself.

She takes the detonator out of her pocket and looks up at the pretty little trap she's set around the room, a failsafe just in case… … There are no 'in cases' now. She pulls this trigger and the whole place will be obliterated, Cody's body along with it. That makes her… sad. But she wants to live now. She wants to live for his sake.

She stumbles over to the grille in the floor and heaves at it.

Will Essex believe she's dead? This place will be destroyed so thoroughly they probably wouldn't find a body anyway, but… He knows the kinds of subterfuge she can stage. They're exactly the kind of thing he made her for, after all.

She doesn't care. This is her last chance. Her last chance to lead a real life. She can hide from Essex. Steal so many identities he'll never find her, even if he believes she's still alive. It's a small price to pay. She's done with Anna Raven. She can be whoever she wants to be, anyone.

She jumps down into the drain and pulls the grille laboriously back over her. Her body is pulsing with pain but she ignores it. She splashes through the grime and filth and counts to five.

She hits the button.

The world explodes behind her and she's lifted to her feet on a blast of super-heated air. She wakes perhaps thirty seconds later, face-down in the water, and it feels like she's been reborn.

She gets to her feet and runs.

Goodbye, Cody Robbins.

Rest in peace, Anna Raven.

-oOo-

She surfaced from the water and onto a craggy, pebbly beach that made her back hurt like hell.

She was dimly aware that Remy had dragged her there, and she was grateful that he had, otherwise she wasn't sure she would have had the drive to actually save herself. He was nearby, somewhere. She could hear him panting like he'd run a marathon, coughing and spluttering and swearing a few choice oaths to himself.

She rolled slightly onto her side and began to vomit water violently.

When she'd hacked it all up she saw him staggering up beside her, felt his hand on her back.

"You okay?" he rasped. She couldn't speak. She nodded.

"Y'wanna know somethin'?" he asked, completely unsolicited. "This," and he held out the knife he'd been fighting with only a few moments before, "has to be one o' de best presents I ever got."

He let out a bark of a laugh and collapsed onto his back beside her.

"Jesus, Cajun," she managed to croak at him accusatorily between coughs, "you must've really fuckin' pissed Yashida off when you stole his mem-chip."

He was still laughing like he couldn't believe either of them were still alive.

"Yeah, well… I may've stolen some other stuff from him besides that mem-chip," he confessed unapologetically. "I may also have seduced his daughter."

She threw him a look that said really?, and he laughed again.

"And here I was," she muttered belligerently, "thinking I was the one with the death wish."

She spat out more grit and sea water before falling onto her back beside him.

For a long time there was nothing but the rain and the waves and the sound of them breathing.

"I should actually be dead," she murmured.

But for some reason she felt so alive. So, so alive. It wasn't just the rain and the waves and the sound of them breathing. But they were definitely a part of it.

"Naw," he bantered back with a smile in his voice. "Not after taking the world's most accurate pot-shot."

She rolled over then, braced her arms either side of him, and pressed her lips against his.

About a split second in and something that had started out wet and damp and cold had turned into something warm and fiery and passionate.

It was only when his hand slid in under the back of her jacket and tugged at the hem of her shirt that she pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss.

He was looking up at her with this small, inscrutable little smile on his face, the same cocksure smirk that wasn't supposed to impress her. She realised that his hand was right there under her shirt, his thumb absently caressing the small of her back.

"Convinced y' not dead yet, chere?" he murmured.

She bit her lip and smiled mischievously.

"We should go on dates like this more often."

His grin was sly.

"What, you didn't like dinner at the Princesse?"

"I liked it enough. I liked what came after a whole lot better."

She pulled back more fully but didn't quite have the heart to back away from him completely. His hand was still there on her bare skin and it felt good.

"You're pretty damn good with a knife," she told him decidedly, after a moment. "I like watchin' you in action."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering whether to turn this into innuendo or not.

"I was gonna say th' same 'bout you," he quipped back. "Until you crashed the fuckin' boat."

She laughed.

"I just saved your sorry ass."

"And I just saved yours."

She eyed up his mouth like she wanted to kiss it again.

Fuck it, she was sorely tempted.

"We make a good team," she finally replied, as if she'd only just realised it. "Don't we, Cajun."

He was silent, but there was a tacit agreement in his eyes that she thought both of them weren't quite ready to admit to – an insinuation of partnership that was a little too overwhelming for them to safely contemplate.

She backed away then, got to her feet. She checked her breast pocket for the mem-chip, made sure there'd been no seepage into its case. What she was really doing was trying to distract herself from the fact that the heat of his handprint was still there on her back as if he was still right there touching her.

"Remy," she said, as he staggered to his feet beside her.

"Yeah?"

"I really… really… wanna go home."

-oOo-

Even if he'd had plans for the flight back to the US, he was too exhausted to act on them and so was she. Besides, things had changed during the trip to Muir, and his mood was in an entirely different place. While Anna slept he opened up his phone and stared down at the emails there.

He'd managed to forward most of them to his burner account before Moira and Anna had made their entrance. He'd spent the entire plane trip reading them over, glad that Anna hadn't been awake to ask any difficult questions.

He frowned down at the one that was currently open on his screen. He must've read it about five times already.

Dear Ms. Frost,

I understand your misgivings. The subject is indeed an adult, which does not give us the advantage of malleability that our previous non-adult subjects afforded us. However – let me be blunt. Subject Omega came to me in a severely deteriorated state. His experiences with the bleed effect were an almost constant affliction that he could get little relief from. However, within two weeks of the implant having been made, he was almost fully recovered – quite unprecedented, I think you'll agree. His neuroplasticity is almost on a par with the levels we encountered with Subject Zero, which, as I'm sure you're aware, is no mean feat. He displays great potential. If Weapon X could be restarted, we would stand our best chance of succeeding with him.

As to the other concerns you mention – I hardly think you need to worry. His loyalty can be bought. I have taken the liberty of securing a deal with him, the fulfilment of which, however, requires that the project be restarted. He will get what he wants – but only if the codes are retrieved and Trask's mistakes righted.

I would ask you again whether you are amenable to rejoining the project. If I remember correctly, our goals were very much in concert throughout the length of the original project. Due to unfortunate circumstance, we failed then. We should not let petty differences allow us to fail now.

Yours faithfully,

Nathaniel Essex.

He blanked his phone and stared out the window. The sun was setting – the silvery clouds were alive with rich hues of pink and orange and purple. He thought about all the things he knew now without knowing what any of it meant. He stared into the clouds and after a while he slept.

He awoke just as the plane was beginning to descend over Newark, and he gently nudged his still sleeping companion into wakefulness.

"Anna," he murmured softly. "Time t' wake up."

She breathed in deeply, sharply, before giving a languid stretch.

"There already?" She looked mildly surprised. "I thought I just closed my eyes…"

"Yeah, you did," he grinned. "For several hours."

She looked a little perturbed at that, but said nothing.

It wouldn't have mattered so much if she hadn't promptly fallen back asleep as soon as they'd got into the taxi back to her apartment. At that point he'd had to wonder whether her brain wasn't just catching up on all the rest it should've been getting once she'd woken up from her coma, and he felt guilty for dragging her out to Scotland. Things hadn't exactly been easy on her during their 'trip', and he seriously hoped that the run-in with Moira's security and Yashida's assassin – not to mention a near-drowning – hadn't done any lasting damage to her.

He glanced over at her, fast asleep with her cheek propped up against the doorframe.

He felt… sad. Unsettled. Full to the brim – unbearably so. There were so many things about her he knew now that changed everything, in ways he couldn't even begin to pinpoint. He'd known she'd been damaged by her time in Weapon X, but only now had he come to comprehend the level of abuse she had suffered at the hands of Essex, at the hands of the programme. To him, Essex had been a saviour, an unlikely guardian angel who'd given him back his life. To her… what had he been to her? A jailor, a torturer… and yet the only father she'd ever known.

He propped his left elbow against the window ledge and watched the world go past.

He'd lived his life. It hadn't always been bad – in fact there were times when it had been really damn good. He'd had his family, his childhood. He'd had Belle. And what had she had? Lost memories and 5 years as someone else's property, being trained to be a weapon. The only humanity she'd ever managed to find since had been taken away from her. He'd always thought her so strong, so invulnerable, that he'd never appreciated what her inner life must be – a hell.

All the shit he'd gone through paled in comparison to it.

He'd spent one night with her. A single night that he'd classified under 'awesome sex', an experience he would've been more than happy to repeat. But now… now that he knew what he knew… he wished he'd done things differently somehow. Said things differently. Approached her differently. He couldn't say how or why it felt important, but it did. He felt like just another man who'd taken advantage of her.

Outside the roads were becoming familiar and he realised they were nearing her apartment. He glanced back over at her. She was still fast asleep.

"Anna," he called lightly – she didn't stir. "Anna," he said again.

She was silent, her chest rising and falling softly. A white lock of hair had fallen across her cheek, and he couldn't help himself. He leaned over and gently brushed it aside, tucking it back behind her ear. She looked so peaceful, so completely at rest that he almost didn't want to wake her.

"Hey Anna," he said softly, stroking behind her ear with his thumb. "Wake up, chere."

She still didn't wake immediately, although her eyelids began to flicker, and after a moment or so she opened her eyes sleepily.

"Hey," he greeted her, still not quite able to move his hand away. Her gaze fixed on his and she gave him a smile that was totally spontaneous.

"Hi," she murmured. "We back yet?"

"Pretty much just arrivin'. You just slept through virtually the whole trip."

"Hmmm."

Anything more she would've said was curtailed by the taxi juddering to a halt, and he took the moment to finally back away from her.

"Glad to see you're okay," he continued neutrally as he got out his wallet and paid the cabbie. "I was gettin' kinda worried you were gonna slip into a coma again or somethin'." He got out the car and began to unload their luggage. A moment later she was there, lending him a hand. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. He decided it couldn't be a bad thing to double check.

"I'm fine," she said, and she sounded like it so he didn't push her any further. Together they headed up the path to the elevators.

"So," she asked him quietly as she called one down, "did you find what you were looking for? Did Moira have any intel on you?"

He hesitated briefly. He wasn't sure he was ready to divulge any secrets just yet, although he was beginning to think – disconcertingly so – that he might trust her with them.

"No. Not really." He glanced over at her as the elevator came down. "What about you? She give you any clues?"

She didn't look at him – just stared at the doors as they slid open.

"She gave me the truth," she began slowly, "about what happened that day. But probably not all of it."

She didn't elaborate but walked into the lift, and he followed close behind. As soon as the doors had closed she turned to face him, standing so close he could feel her body heat, her eyes fixing his with an earnest stare.

"Remy," she murmured, pausing only to reach up and curl her fingers into the lapels of his jacket. "I hope you're not thinking of sleeping in the guest room tonight."

It was the first time she'd really, unequivocally, come out and said she wanted him, and for about half a second he was surprised.

"Not if you don't want me to, chere," he answered softly, and just as seriously.

Her gaze dropped for a second; her right hand absently slipped under the opening of his jacket and over his breast.

"No. I don't want you to," she spoke after a moment. Her eyes wandered back to his and she almost whispered, "I think you know where I want you."

His heart was beating painfully fast – he knew she could feel it, that it was giving him away. Slowly he removed her hand from his chest, raised it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, right where the faded scars were, never taking his eyes from hers. He was pretty sure sleeping with her a second time would constitute some cardinal sin in all the rule books their business possessed, but… screw it. He'd make a hundred exceptions for her if she wanted it. As far as he was concerned, rule books were made to be broken, and particularly for a woman like her.

His response made her happy; she took her hand back with a smile, and the elevator doors swished open over her shoulder. He followed her out of the lift, chancing himself the intimacy of coming in close behind her and pressing a kiss behind her ear. And no sooner had he done that than she had gone rigid, coming to a halt like she'd been shot.

He straightened, confused to see her just standing there like a hunted, cornered rabbit, staring at her own front door. He only had to follow her gaze to see almost immediately what she'd seen.

The lock on her door was busted, hanging slightly off-kilter.

He heard her swear, and in a trice she was moving again, pushing open the door with a shove of her hand – it swung open at her touch and hit the wall with a bang.

"No no no no!" he heard her groan aloud, and the next moment she'd run in. He stood a second, dumbfounded, before finally following her as the lights flickered on above. He halted at the threshold when he saw what lay within.

"Shit."

The entire place had been trashed, was in complete disarray. There wasn't a single piece of furniture that hadn't been overturned, a single glass that hadn't been smashed, a single drawer that hadn't been emptied of its contents and flung haphazardly on the floor.

Anna was in the middle of it all, her hands moving agitatedly at her sides, like she didn't know what to do with them.

"No no no, this isn't happening, this isn't real, this isn't happening!" she cried in a barely articulate screech.

He shut the front door slowly behind him, said "Anna…", but she barely appeared to hear him. A look of abject horror slowly crossed her face and in a whirl of movement she'd swung round and was marching into her bedroom; he could only follow with his heart caught in his throat.

The bedroom was in an even worse mess, but she ignored it all; she went straight for the wardrobe, flung open the doors and kicked open the hidden panel.

She sank to her knees and that was when he heard a low wail of a moan emanate from her mouth.

He'd heard the sound only once before, and he recognised it immediately in her.

It was the sound Belle had made when they'd told her that she'd lost their baby.

"Anna…" he breathed, his heart in his mouth, hardly able to bear the horrible moan she was making. He crossed the room and stopped to look over her shoulder. He saw what she had seen. The secret compartment in her wardrobe was empty.

"They took them," she howled disconsolately. "They took them all. All my chips. All my records. All my memories. My entire life. Everything. They've taken it all…"

Her body crumpled and suddenly she was a shuddering, whimpering, sobbing heap on the floor.

He sucked in a shaky breath. He'd never seen her like this. He'd never seen anyone like this, not since Belle. It was horrible, terrible to witness – to realise that he was seeing the near-complete destruction of another human being.

That was when he knelt down and put his arms round her, held her close, rocking her gently. Her arms went round him and she clung to him as if he was her final lifeline.

"They've taken them," she wept plaintively into his shoulder. "They've taken all my memories… All my past… They'll 'face with them… They'll know everything about me… All my thoughts… All my feelings… All the things that scare me… All the things I kept safe just in case I needed to be reminded of who I really am…"

She broke down into pitiful sobs and he held her closer, putting his face in her hair, whispering, "Shhhh…"

"They'll know me now," she continued as if reciting a lament. "They'll know everything about me. More than anyone, ever. Why didn't I move them someplace else? Why didn't I get Raven to protect them? Why did I go to Muir, why didn't I think this would happen?!"

He swallowed on a sour surge of guilt. Somehow he felt exactly what she was trying to work out in her own head, what she as trying to imply. That it was his fault. That he'd helped lead her into something foolhardy and reckless, distracted her, drawn her away from the safety net she'd so assiduously woven for herself.

"Shhhh, Anna," he murmured again.

She said nothing, just sobbed quietly, quieter and quieter until everything had gone out of her.

He stroked her hair, her tearstained cheeks, feeling his stomach churn with a hideous beauty. He could only compute one thing. That it hurt to see her like this. That all the feelings he possessed made it torture for him to see her in such pain.

Gently he lifted her into his arms and she didn't protest. He laid her out on her bed and sat down beside her. Almost immediately she rolled onto her side and curled up into a foetal position. She was shaking slightly and he put his hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly.

He didn't know what he was doing. Everything was a blur, a pinpoint vortex of feeling.

"We'll sort it out, chere," he heard himself say. "We'll get it all back. I promise."

She made no reply, and he thought she was completely out of it, which he was glad of because it was a better place for her to be in than the mess she'd been in a few short minutes ago.

Silence slowly enveloped the room and he lay flat on his back beside her.

He stared up at the ceiling and tried to switch off, and for some reason the only thing he kept hearing was the sound of Belle screaming.

-oOo-

He awoke later to darkness, to the silver shadow of moonlight casting its eerie glow through the window.

When he turned to look at Anna she was still on her side, in exactly the same position she'd been in when he'd laid her there. It was only from the soft, deep, evenness of her breathing that he could tell she was asleep.

He got up slowly, soundlessly, and pulled the curtains shut. Then he left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

The lounge looked worse under electric light, and he busied himself for a few aimless minutes putting her things back in order. He finally found her laptop under the overturned sofa. He was pretty certain Creed and his old unit had done a thorough job of scraping it for everything they could get; when he opened it up it was still on the lock screen, which told him there was still some juice in it, which also told him that they hadn't broken into her apartment that long ago.

He chewed on his lip and went over to the desk. He set the laptop on the charging pad, righted the upturned chair, and sat down. He hacked into her account within a minute of running his lockpick. A few more minutes of digging and he'd found the crawler programme on the log files. It had already finished scraping her hard drive hours ago.

Remy frowned. The damage had already been done, and there was zero point in worrying about it.

Instead he opened up a browser and typed in 'Emma Frost'. Then he got up and made himself a coffee.

Hours passed in silence, but for the sound of the keyboard clacking. For an hour or so he fell asleep in his chair and when he awoke it was still dark. He yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. When he drank the rest of his coffee it was cold.

Remy sat for a long moment and considered his options.

When he crept back into the bedroom he found Anna exactly as he had left her, and for a moment he wondered whether she'd gone into some sort of fugue state, or back into a coma.

Slowly, stealthily, he tiptoed over to the bed and knelt down on it beside her, lowering his body weight onto the mattress carefully so as not to wake her. He put his hand on her shoulder and nudged her gently onto her back.

She was asleep.

He could tell from the slight parting of her lips, the gentle flickering of her eyelids. She was dreaming, and he wondered what lay on the other side of those eyelids, what her mind unravelled in the lonely, questing hours of sleep.

His gaze traced her face intently for what felt like a long time. There was something about her, and he still couldn't put his finger on it. Softness and strength in hidden places. Vulnerability and mettle. Ugliness and beauty.

He wanted to touch her so fucking bad it hurt.

He broke his gaze unwillingly, letting it wander from her face down to her breast. Softly he reached out and peeled back the front of her jacket. Her chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing and just as he was about to make his move she shifted ever so slightly, making a small, soft sound in the back of her throat.

Remy froze, his eyes fixed on her face again.

In a trice she was deeply asleep again and he paused a moment to remember to breathe, to gather himself. When he reached out once more she was perfectly still and silent. He slipped his fingers into the inner pocket of her jacket and carefully teased out the small, plastic case in there. When it was in his hand he backed away just as slowly and methodically as he'd approached her, inch by painful inch until he was standing at the bedside beside her.

He opened up the box and took out Moira MacTaggert's mem-chip.

When he walked over to the interfacer and started it up, it seemed so noisy in the quiet that he was afraid it would wake her, but it didn't. He sat in the recliner, took the visor, and inserted the chip. He remembered what she'd said to him not so long ago.

You have no idea what interfacing with a mem-chip will do to you. I know I have a problem, and I was made to deal with it. You weren't. Bottom line. I can handle it. You can't.

The corner of his mouth jerked into a wry, sad smile.

Sorry, chere. Truth is, dis ain't my first time. And it prob'ly ain't gon' be my last.

He lowered the visor over his head and what welcomed him was her custom loading screen. For a few blissful seconds he was back by the Mississippi on a summer's day, his feet in the water and the sun on his face. It was such a visceral and accurate mirage of his past that for a moment he was swept up in the simple joy of reliving the memory of it, memories of his childhood, of his family, of Belle… …

And then it was over.

He regained himself with an effort, surprised that she had chosen such an obviously personal standby programme, when the importance of switching off completely from one's own thoughts, memories and experiences had been impressed upon him so strongly during all his training.

What is this, chere? he wondered to himself as the sunlit waters faded and the menu screen finally loaded. Is it to remind you who you are before you go in?

There was only one option open to him and that was the mnemonic replay function – the only memory recorded there was the one he was looking for and so he selected it, and then he thought no longer as the darkness swallowed him up and dragged him under.

-oOo-