The North American Union

North Region

2049

12:53am

William wearily shut and locked the door to his office.

The NARA shipment was a couple of hours late, and it wasn't even worth anyone's time. Half of the files in the trailer were moldy from exposure and none of them were from the FBI. Mostly IRS audits, DHS investigations, and some internal CIA matters. William sent out an email anyway, ordering the analysts to set aside any documents from the FBI for him to read over. But it didn't look like there was going to be any.

NARA had been gutted and more than half its contents dumped into the Potomac close to thirty years ago. William remembered it. There were video clips of citizens wearing masks to hide their identities, thinking they'd be jailed for vandalism, storming NARA, dragging out every book, file, roll of microfilm, and computer in the building, and gleefully destroying each and every one. There were quick takes of bonfires, axes, chainsaws, and cameras panning over the Potomac as it swelled with data and records, carrying it far away in the current to the Chesapeake Bay.

LAC had fared a little better, but most of what they received was in French and Pre-Confederation. Hardly anyone in the Union could read French. It wasn't taught anywhere except for special classes in private schools. It would take years to get through all those files and most of them would be useless now.

As William started walking towards the elevators, he began to get an eerie feeling; like he wasn't alone. He turned to look down the hallway behind him. Everyone was gone but him. All the offices were dark, but motion sensor lights had cut on down at the end. Had he done that?

He turned back around and continued walking, but he felt all the hairs on his neck stand up. He looked behind him again. In his periphery, he saw a figure next to him. He turned his head quickly, but there was no one there.

William swallowed and reached into his pocket to take the safety off his gun. He didn't like this feeling. It felt like the air around him was electrified; it felt like lightening was about to strike. Was there someone standing at the end of the hall? He stepped closer and realized it was just how the LEDs were reflecting off a filing cabinet.

William turned towards the elevators again and nearly dropped his briefcase when he saw the person standing right in front of him.

"Jesus, William! It's me!" Sam said, the red glow of his eMorley lighting up as he took a drag.

William swore. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were out of town!"

"I was," Sam replied, exhaling. "We got back early."

William stepped over to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. "You didn't have to sneak up on me."

"I didn't," Sam replied. "I came back to get some stuff out of my office. You're here awful late."

The elevator doors opened. William got inside and Sam did, too.

"How was it?" William asked.

"Meh," Sam took another drag and exhaled a plume of bluish vapor. "It's Africa. They're going to have six Presidents now. The sixth was sworn in a couple hours ago."

"Six? Why six?"

The doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby. "It's a culture thing, I guess. They think an extra will help with all the turmoil in the northern part. More land mass. More population density. Six is better than five, I think. Just my personal opinion."

William pulled out his key fob as they walked towards the garage. He turned his car on so it would be warm by the time he got in it. "Six just means more division. More disagreements over national concerns."

Sam shrugged and took another long drag, exhaling through his nostrils as he talked. "Well, they're building more Universities, at least. Kids are leaving Europe to go to school there. No wars, no outbreaks, no starvation. Africa is where humanity began, and that's where it will end, too. You can quote me on that."

William looked at Sam's eMorley disapprovingly. "You should stop doing that in here. People will complain."

Sam shrugged again. "Just Beth. She's not here, is she? I put an air filter in my office, and I keep the door shut just so she'll quit bitching. That should be enough. I've the right to do what I want in my own space."

William set his briefcase down in the backseat. He didn't really need it. Most of what he needed day-to-day was on his phone. But, for some reason, he felt like he should be carrying a briefcase. He'd seen important men carrying them in movies and television shows when he was growing up. It just felt like the thing to do.

"You're driving to the East this late?" Sam asked. "There's a blizzard headed that way."

"I'm not going there," William replied, opening the driver's side door.

"Oh," Sam nodded. "Is she gone for the weekend?"

"No. Kids are home for the weekend."

"Not for the holidays? Don't they get a break? I remember getting a Christmas break."

"Universities don't really do that anymore. You want to come by for a drink?"

"Why not?" Sam went around to the passenger side. "I haven't seen the lovely Madison in a while."

"You still might not see her. I'm sure she's passed out by now."

William got inside the car with Sam, and William drove them to the house he used to share with Madison. William was sure she'd locked him out, but he had a key and passcode for these situations. He owned the house. She couldn't change the locks without him knowing. Usually Eve or Ephraim told him ahead of time. He had a collection of keys and security passcodes in his car and stored in his phone from all the times Madison had tried to keep him from seeing his own children.

As they drove, William debated on whether or not he should ask Sam about Gibson Praise. Sam seemed to know a lot about the leaders of this country, particularly Julian Burns. He and Sam had known Burns long before he became the NRP, and not really in a good way. William was wondering if Sam ever met the new South Regional Secretary. William still wasn't sure what to think about Gibson coming into his office to talk to him. And why in the hell would his mother tell him he was Mary's father? That just didn't make any sense. What exactly did his parents help him with?

The drive to the house wasn't long. When they arrived, William was impressed to see the driveway and front sidewalk had been shoveled. Ephraim must have done it. Something he could use to get more money for whatever it was he did in school. William wasn't stupid. He knew Ephraim and Eve didn't really study much. They were in college. He remembered enough about his own college experience to know that Ephraim and Eve were more worried about drinking games and parties than grades.

William was surprised to see lights on in the windows when he parked. He wasn't sure if that meant his kids were still up or if Madison was.

"A quick drink," William said to Sam.

"Right," Sam replied, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out.

William walked in through the door, a little shocked that it was unlocked, to see Madison sitting in front of the TV. There was a stainless steel mug on the end table next to her. She tried to hide her drinking, but anyone could smell it on her.

She was drunkenly gesturing to the TV to enhance an image and then swiping through the channels. She was all dressed up. Her makeup completely done, nails painted, and her hair in perfect waves around her face. Had she been out this evening? He didn't know if she'd started seeing someone since they'd separated, but he also suspected she did this when she knew he'd be there to make him think just that.

Madison did absolutely nothing all day long. She didn't work in the Council anymore and had very few friends. He supported her and their children with his income. It wasn't something he felt righteous about or brought up in arguments. He felt like he owed this to her; to let her sit around all day, consuming liquor and wine, while he kept the lights on, the cable running, the WiFi secure, and provided any other amenities she needed. But at least she kept the place spotless. Even at her drunkest, everything was always clean and in perfect order.

Well, except for the Christmas tree she'd set up in the corner. She kept the decorations on it, shoved it in a closet after New Year's Day, and dragged it back out after Union Day. Most of the ornaments were falling off or laying on the floor. It wasn't even lit up.

William said hello, but she ignored him. He could tell by the stinging smell around her she was drinking bourbon. Her moods seemed to vary by whatever she chose to drink that evening. Dark liquors made her angry; clear liquors made her pass out quickly. Wine made her giggly and do odd things, like put on her old pageant dresses and walk up and down the hall as if it was a runway. He preferred the Madison that drank bottles of Chardonnay and White Zinfandel until she couldn't see straight. She wasn't as mean then.

"Hi, Madison," Sam smiled, sitting down.

She ignored him, too.

William went to find the liquor cabinet. Sometimes Madison just kept it in her bedroom, but he found it outside the kitchen. "What do you want?" William asked Sam.

"I don't care. Whatever you're having," Sam replied. He smiled at Madison and tried talking to her again. "How have you been? Are you still trying to get your real estate license?"

Madison cut her eyes over to him. "No."

"Hey, Dad!" Eve called, bouncing down the stairs.

She was dressed like any leisurely college girl with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun. It still startled him to see her this grown up.

"I missed you soooo much!" She flung her arms around him, and he hugged her back.

"Hi, sweetheart." He tried to gauge from her tone how much she was going to ask for. At least a couple thousand.

She followed him into the living room as he handed Sam his drink, and he took a seat at the far end of the couch, Madison looking over at him with pure hatred.

Eve leaned over the back of the couch. "So, how was your day? Why were you working so late?" She pretended to be concerned. She didn't really know what kind of job he had. He could hear her thoughts, about how she thought this would help her get more out of him. It's a blessing and a curse to know what your children are thinking, but they'd also learned how to hide some of their thoughts from him.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked.

She scoffed. "I'm not little anymore, daddy! I'm nineteen!"

"I know, but it's like after one in the morning."

"I was working on some stuff." She smiled. She and Esther had their mother's smile.

"Homework?"

"Yeah." She was lying, of course.

"Where's your brother?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, and pulled out her phone. "So, the Miss North Region pageant is in May."

"Oh yeah?" William sipped his drink, waiting for it.

"Yep." Eve tapped on her phone. "I've got a really good talent set up, too. Guess what it is?"

William sighed. "How much?"

"Don't you want to hear what it is?" Eve pouted.

"How much?"

"I'm going to sing and play the piano. Ephraim taught me a little bit. I'm thinking something from Phantom of the Opera."

"How much?"

"Don't you care about what I'm going to do? You are going to come this time, right? I'm sure I'll win this year. The other girls are kind of trashy."

"How much?"

Eve frowned. "Entry fee is about a thousand, but I need to get new dresses and order the music."

William rubbed the sides of his head. "So, more like two thousand?"

Ephraim came down the stairs and into the living room, sitting down next to him, and blocking Eve. "Hey, dad, can I talk to you for a second?"

"I'm talking to him right now!" Eve smacked her brother on the shoulder. "You can bother him later."

"Hold on a minute," William replied to Ephraim, then looked at Eve. "Right? Two thousand?"

Ephraim turned to look at Eve, too. "Seriously? Quit being so greedy!"

"I need new dresses!" Eve exclaimed.

Ephraim turned to his father. "She's playing you. She doesn't need that much. She just wants more so she can pay the court fees for that douche she's blowing."

"Oh, God," William groaned. He really didn't need to know that.

Eve drew back with outrage. "Asshole! Daddy, he just wants money to fix the headlights on the car he ran into a fence when he was driving all high!"

"Shut your mouth! I wasn't high!"

"Get a drug test, then! If you're so innocent, pee in a cup!"

William gulped down all the whiskey in his glass.

"I did! It came back negative!" Ephraim stood up. "Quit lying about everything!"

"How am I lying?" Eve countered. "You drove into a damn fence and busted the lights!"

"I didn't do it! Brad took the keys and rode off in it!"

"You're such a liar!"

Madison handed her mug to Eve, interrupting them.

"Bourbon?" Eve asked.

"Whiskey," Madison slurred, making another round of swipes through all 4,000 channels on the TV.

"She's lying!" Ephraim said. "Dad, I swear! I didn't do shit!"

"Watch your mouth," William mumbled, but Ephraim didn't hear him.

Eve slammed the mug down on the table next to Madison, liquor spilling out of it. "Daddy, he's lying! He's going to make you pay for the headlights, but it was his fault!"

"Bullshit! You weren't even there!" Ephraim came around the couch to stand in front of her. "How about I tell dad about your boyfriend? The thirty year old with five kids!"

"He's not thirty, he's twenty-nine!" Eve shrieked.

Madison gulped down some whiskey, and William gestured for her to pass some over to him.

"I can't believe how much you lie!" Ephraim shouted. "You forget I can hear all of it right here." He jabbed Eve's forehead with his finger.

"Don't touch me!" Eve smacked his hand away, making him stumble back and drop his phone.

"Oh, you'd better pray that didn't break!" Ephraim picked it up. "You see that!" He pointed to the screen. "There's a crack in it now! You're buying me a new phone!"

"You did that when you drove your car through a fence!"

"Dad, she broke my phone!"

"I did not!"

"Oh, yeah? Let's see how you like it!" Ephraim looked at Eve's phone, flicking his eyes, causing it to fly out of her hand and smash into the wall behind her.

"Oh, you asshole!" Eve screamed, turning around to look. "Daddy, did you see that? He smashed up my phone!"

William put his head in his hands, feeling the beginning stages of a massive headache throb just behind his eyes.

"You deserve it!" Ephraim shouted, his hands balling into fists. "You're nothing but a lying slut!"

William wasn't looking, so he didn't really know who threw the first punch, but they were soon on top of each other, punching, slapping, and screaming. They'd started fighting like this when they were about thirteen or fourteen. If Esther were here, she'd be getting in between them to make them stop or running off to get away from them. He'd thought it would pass. Apparently not.

Madison turned towards him, a gorgeous smile on her face. "Happy to be home?" She said mockingly. "Dear?"

William gave her a look, a warning not to start with him right now. He got up and dragged Ephraim off his sister; he was pulling her hair while she thrashed at him with her hands, trying to scratch him.

"Enough!" He bellowed so loud the panes of glass in the window shook.

Eve and Ephraim stopped fighting, looking at him with wide eyes. He hadn't yelled at them like that in a long time.

William turned to his son. "You're buying your own damn headlights and your sister a new phone!"

"But –" Ephraim began.

"I don't want to hear it!" William shouted and turned to Eve. "You're paying your own fees and getting your brother a new phone, too!"

"But, daddy, how am I – "

He cut her off, too. "Get a job! Both of you get a damn job and pay for it all yourselves! I'm not a bank!"

Both of them looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

"Apologize to each other!" William commanded.

Eve crossed her arms and turned away, Ephraim doing the same.

"Did, uh…did you, um, get some new furniture, Madison?" Sam asked quietly, looking around.

Madison glared at him.

"This chair's comfy," Sam mumbled.

"Go upstairs and go to bed!" William shouted at his children.

They both got up, and he heard the stomping all the way up the stairs, down the hall, and the doors to their rooms slam.

Sam stood up and went over to Eve's phone, picking it up. "Just the battery fell out," he said. "I might be able to fix it."

Madison stood up, drunkenly swaying from side to side. "You don't want to be here," she said, her words all running together. "You'd rather be all cuddled up with your whore sister."

William grit his teeth. "Don't call her that."

"Eve?" Sam said, looking at her phone case with her name scrawled all over it in sparkly letters. "That's Eve?" He pointed to the stairs.

William forgot he was even here, but Sam had seen this all before. Worse, actually. "Yeah."

"I thought she was older," Sam said, looking puzzled.

"No, they're triplets. They're the same age." William went to retrieve Sam's coat. "I'll drive you to the train station."

"No, that's okay," Sam held up his hands. "I like the cold air." He set down Eve's phone and got into his coat. "I'll see you Monday. Good luck." He patted William on the shoulder before he walked out.

William looked over at Madison, still swaying as she stood there, giving him the most hateful look he'd ever seen.

"Just say it," she growled. "You'd rather be with her."

He would. But he wasn't about to say that to her right now. "Come on. You should go to bed, too."

"I'm not going anywhere with you! I want a divorce!"

William sighed. "We already did that. I left. All you have to do is sign - "

"I'm not signing anything!"

"Then don't," William looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed for a reason he couldn't explain. "Things will just stay like this."

She came over to him, stumbling a little as she walked. "I'm leaving you," she said. He could hardly understand her. "I'm leaving you, and I'm taking the children with me!"

He carefully took her by the arm. "Come on. I'll help you get into bed."

She tried to pull her arm away, but not hard enough. He helped her all the way up the stairs and into her room. A room they used to share. He took the mug from her so she'd quit sloshing whiskey everywhere. She said all the things to him she always did; as if she completely forgot in her intoxicated state that she'd said them before and how those arguments had led to this.

He helped her take off her shoes and clothes as tears starting spilling down her cheeks leaving a black line of watery eyeliner and mascara dripping from her chin. He couldn't understand what she was saying, but he was sure it was about how terrible he was and how much she hated him.

He pulled her to her feet so he could help her get her nightgown on. He got a tissue and gently wiped the black tears from her cheeks. She looked at him as he did so, her eyes searching his.

"Why did you marry me?" She said it clearly, as if she were completely sober. She'd asked him this before, usually in a rage, in the middle of a fight.

He didn't answer.

"You didn't love me at all, did you?" Her voice was still as clear as ever.

He tossed the tissue in the trashcan, sat her down on the bed, and got on his knees in front of her. "I did. I still do."

She clumsily put a hand against his cheek. He didn't know how long they sat there like that, staring at each other, words just on the tip of his tongue, words he wished he could say and believe were true.

"You need help," he whispered. "Please let me take you somewhere. They can give you something for the detox. I can -"

She grunted at him and turned away, laying down in her bed. He sighed and helped her get under the covers. He turned off the lamp and went to leave the room.

"Stay," she said.

He stopped and thought about it for a second. He took of his shoes and got into the bed beside her, laying on top of the covers. She turned on her side, her back facing him, and he curled up behind her, putting one arm around her.

He lay there with her until her breath slowed to the rhythm of sleep. He thought about what she'd asked him, a question she'd asked him many times and he never answered: why did he marry her?

Laying there behind her, in the early morning hours of that cold, dark night, he answered her question:

"I just wanted to forget."


The North American Union

East Region

2049

4:13pm

Emily looked out of the window of the car.

She thought she might see a flash of the sickly green siding of her mother's house just a couple of kilometers away through the bare trees. They were coming down a mountain, winding around ridges, and the curves made Emily a little queasy.

"Can you slow down a little bit?" She said to Marcus.

He lightly pressed the brakes. "Sorry. It's not like this where you live."

It would have been faster by train. There was a lot of traffic on the roads this time of year, even though the efficiency and cost of the railway system was preferable over a vehicle. At the time of the transition, there were 400 million cars on the road in North America. It was only about a quarter of that number now. The NAU purposely put a large chunk of tax money into building and maintaining the railway system and very little into highways to encourage people to drive less. Even hybrid and electric car owners were giving them up to use the railway. It was just a better way to travel.

Emily and Marcus chose to drive because getting here by car meant less walking in the cold, dreary evening. This place, where the majority of the Old Republicans lived, was the dark, unattended armpit of the Union. Emily didn't know why most of them lived here or how they'd ended up along these mountains and ridges to begin with. They lived in houses, trailers, and cabins nestled in hollows, up steep roads, and in rural, forgotten parts of the East Region. Their houses were a century old or more, with equally ancient plumbing and wiring that, if faulty, took Union contractors weeks or months to properly fix. Even then, Old Republicans had to pay for any repairs out of their pension.

But Emily's mother was very resourceful. She fixed everything herself. She could fix leaking pipes, re-wire outlets, and patched leaks on her roof all the time. She had a generator she shared with her neighbors if the solar power, coming from cells perched on a mountain ridge, went out. It happened quite a bit. Emily had seen her mother with a tool belt, walking off to help one of her neighbors fix a pipe or dig up a septic tank. She didn't hesitate at all to descend into cellars or wiggle through crawl spaces. She never seemed afraid of the unknown. At least there was some community; at least they were still willing to help each other with those things.

Emily watched the depressing landscape go by and felt herself sinking into despair with it. It was always so cloudy here, especially this time of year; snow and ice storms keeping people stranded in their homes. She observed the leafless birches, maples, and oaks, their branches coming up from the mountain sides like dry, scraggly hair on a giant's head. Once they passed by the New River, she knew they were halfway there. The New River used be the only river on the whole continent that flowed in the wrong direction – north. Now, for some unexplainable reason, the Colorado and Mississippi Rivers had also changed direction, flowing north, too.

The presents they brought for her shifted in the backseat, as they took another winding curve, descending into the hollow. Usually, Emily and her mother exchanged Christmas gifts in January. They always did it late, because Emily was usually on-call. She'd put in her request to be taken off the list in October just so she could have this time with her mother uninterrupted.

Especially since she and Marcus were going to tell her they were getting married.

Marcus' hands gripped the steering wheel from nerves as they got closer. Emily put her hand over his, trying to calm him down. He was afraid her mother would be upset, but why would she be? She liked Marcus. Emily didn't see any reason at all why her mother would be upset about them. Her mother would probably be relieved that Emily was having a more…normal and appropriate relationship.

Emily was feeling a little apprehensive herself, though. Not about her and Marcus but about what Esther had told her.

Emily hadn't recognized her at first with all those piercings in her face and the pink in her hair. Emily hadn't seen the girl in a long time. She'd always been very nice to Mary, and Emily hoped Mary would be a good influence.

But Esther never let anyone influence her.

"Help me!" Esther had cried, then came right inside the house like she was being chased.

"What are you doing here?" Emily had said, fearfully looking outside, and half expecting someone with a gun to come rushing up on the porch.

"You have to help me! You have to believe me! Mary saw things, too, right? Did they float around like ghosts? Did their eyes turn black?" Esther was babbling on and on, grabbing Emily's arms, as Emily tried to sit her down and calm her.

"Esther, slow down! I don't know what you're talking about."

"I swear I saw him! I don't have altitude sickness! I saw him! And there was this electric feeling like static and he came on the plane before everyone else and I talked to him and I didn't want to show him the lounge because he was being annoying and I really just wanted to kick him off but –"

"What's going on?" Marcus came out of the bedroom.

Esther looked over at him. "Who are you?"

Emily looked at Marcus, too. "Can you give us a minute?"

Marcus glanced outside. "Should I go out there?"

Emily wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway. Marcus put on his boots, got his gun, and went out the door.

"Who is that?" Esther asked again. "Where's dad?"

"He's at your mother's house. Your brother and sister are home."

"Of course. Another withdrawal from the National Bank of Dad," she said bitterly. "Who is that man?" Esther pointed to the door.

Emily could feel her face flushing. "A, um…a friend."

Esther raised an eyebrow. "A friend?"

Emily ignored Esther's look and went into the kitchen. "I'll make some coffee."

"Do you have anything stronger?"

"Stronger than coffee?"

"Vodka? Absinthe? Rum, maybe?" Esther came into the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

"We don't drink," Emily replied, filling the coffee pot with water.

"We?"

Emily ignored Esther's shrewd smile. "I have coffee or tea. Which one?"

"Coffee, I guess."

Esther was quiet for a minute as Emily made some and took two mugs from the cabinet.

"Does Mary know?" Esther asked.

"No," Emily filled the mugs and brought them to the table. "I want to tell her face-to-face, okay? Please keep it a secret for now."

Marcus came back inside just then. "I didn't see anything." He announced.

Esther just stared at him. Emily felt embarrassed, and she didn't even know why.

Marcus stood there for a second. "I'll just, um…," he pointed to the bedroom. "I'll, uh…," he quickly walked off.

Esther smiled again and gave Emily a wink. "Not bad."

Emily sighed. "Tell me again. Slower this time."

Esther told her everything. What the man looked like, every detail, the odd feeling he gave her, and how no one had seen him except her. It made Emily nervous. She'd had the exact same feeling inside the Memorial, except she hadn't seen anyone like Esther described.

"Didn't Mary see something like that before?" Esther asked. She was getting jittery from the coffee. "Did Mary see men like that when she was little?"

"No, not like that. And they went away. She never saw them again."

Esther finished her third cup of coffee, her hands shaking. "But you believe me, right?"

Emily nodded.

"Is it because…," Esther paused there for a few seconds, like she didn't really want to ask. "Is it because of…what we are?"

"I don't know."

Esther looked at Emily, running her eyes around her face. "But you're different. Mary is, too."

"Yes." Emily sat back in the chair. If Esther asked her to explain it, Emily wouldn't know how to. She knew of only one person that could.

Esther ended up staying the night and sleeping until the early afternoon. Emily drove her back to her apartment, promising she'd find out from her mother what that man was, and making sure Esther wouldn't mention Marcus to anyone yet. Emily wanted to tell her mother and daughter herself.

Emily had two things to ask her mother about now. She didn't want to discuss both those things with her mother. This was supposed to be a happy visit. So, Emily was trying to decide which was more important: Gibson Praise or a floating man with black eyes.

When they pulled into the driveway finally, Marcus kept the car running. "I think I should go up to that store we passed. Get her some food. They get a lot of snow here, and she might not be able to get out for a few days."

"She has plenty of food," Emily replied, turning off the ignition. "She's always prepared. Why is this bothering you so much? I've never seen you like this."

Marcus looked over at her. He was a Lieutenant in the South Guard, a position he got by being fearless, honorable, and pragmatic. That wasn't what she saw sitting next to her. He was genuinely afraid.

"If you're having second thoughts," Emily began. "About us, then -"

"No, that's not it." He interrupted. "That's not it at all." He took her hand in his, looking intensely into her eyes. "I love you more than anything in this world. I'd give my life up for you. For Mary, too."

Emily felt her face flush. He'd said this to her before. A warm memory flashed in her mind of a night they'd spent together, a night she never wanted to end, a night when everything between them changed.

"But you're Dana Scully's daughter," he said. "Dana Scully. And I'm Walter Skinner's son. Doesn't something about this, about you and me, seem...seem like," he searched for the right words.

"Like what?"

"Purposeful?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's like we…it's like we're completing…something. I don't know how to else to say it."

Emily didn't really know how to say it either, but she understood him now. At times, it felt like what was between them started long before they were born. Long before they'd ever laid eyes on each other; something that began and was left unresolved.

"It's just important to me that she's happy for us," Marcus said. "Really and truly happy. Not just because of who we came from, but for who we are now. Does that make sense?"

Emily looked into his eyes; eyes filled with worry rather than their default grumpiness. She took both of his hands in hers; hands that held her, touched her, calmed her, and gently caressed her when they made love. She leaned over to kiss him, then pulled away to look into his eyes again.

"Perfect sense," she replied.


The North American Union

West Region

2050

12:01am

"Five…four…three…two…one! Happy New Year!"

The ball, lit up so bright it could probably be seen from the ISS, blazed 2050 from the broadcast in the Center. The famous ball-drop in Times Square ended after Hurricane Sally. Half of the legendary city was still flooded. It was all one giant block of ice this time of year.

Mary turned to Leonard. "Happy New Year."

He turned to her and kissed her deeply. "Happy New Year. And all the happiest years of our lives together."

Mary cuddled up to him, sighing happily that he was here, and thinking that this would be the year they would become parents. She tried to remember what she was doing this time last year. She'd probably already been in bed, no one to spend New Year's Eve with, and not wanting to think about it.

"Happy New Year!" The SRP said, putting one arm around Mary and holding up her glass of champagne with the other.

Mary frowned at her and fought the urge to push her away. "Happy New Year."

Mary looked around the room at the weirdest New Year's gathering she'd ever been to, even though she hadn't been to that many. She watched Nathan and Linda clink their glasses together out on the patio, barely taking their eyes away from the beach. Sasha was probably running up and down it, trying to catch herself a meal.

She saw Gibson sitting in the corner, slouching down in his chair, looking depressed. Nurse Owens was beside him, a big smile on her face as she sipped her champagne. Mary's eyes settled on the SRP, sitting on the other side of her. She thought about how much she'd like to throw her out into the ocean.

Mary turned to see if Samantha was still in her bed. Mary had bought her a bed meant for large dogs as her Christmas present, but Samantha's girth burst out of the sides when she coiled up inside it. She raised her head for a second, then set it back down to sleep.

Mary had hoped the sight of a python would keep the SRP away, and Mary had begrudgingly told Samantha she couldn't eat the SRP.

But not at first.

Mary had smiled pleasantly at the SRP from the doorway as she stood out front, swearing more than Mary had ever heard anyone swear before.

"Where did you get a goddamned python?!" The SRP screamed. "I've fought and fought to kill them, and here you have one as a pet? What's the matter with you?!"

"You should probably stay away then," Mary said casually. "This is her home now, and I'm not giving her up."

The SRP swore at her again, then swore at Gibson. "How can you let her keep a python in there? She's pregnant! She can't have a python around newborns!"

Gibson shrugged. "It's a good python." He seemed amused at the SRP's reaction, too. He gave Mary a quick smile, and she smiled back. "She won't hurt you. Mary told her not to."

"Told her? She just told a python not to hurt anyone?"

"Yup."

The SRP stared at him, and then looked back at Mary. "You're playing a joke on me, aren't you?"

Mary looked at Samantha. "Samantha, this is the South Region President, Marita Covarrubias. Go say hello."

Samantha slithered out of the doorway towards the SRP.

"No, no, no, no!" She jumped behind Gibson, using him as a barrier. "Get out your gun!"

"I told you, she won't hurt you." He winked at Mary, and she winked back.

It was a mean thing to do, but Mary couldn't resist. Mary didn't want her to be here, but she was back. Invading and nosing her way into everything again. The SRP had arrived a few days before Christmas and promptly went off with Gibson to search for Dominique. She wasn't at St. Elizabeth's. They found her at a Methodist hospital so far north it was almost in the North Region.

Dominique was in a coma, and her room was barricaded by West Guard. They wouldn't let Gibson and the SRP in to see her, no matter how much the SRP threatened to tell Hosteen about it. Gibson told Mary all of this in little pieces of conversation when he could get away from his assistants and come to the beach house. He tried to keep them busy so they didn't follow him everywhere, but he said the girl, Ava-something, was always bothering him, wanting something to do. He'd given her a mindless project that he told Mary would keep her busy for a while.

Mary had some flowers sent to Dominique's room, but she didn't say who they were from. She wasn't sure who or what her friend was anymore. Thinking about it just made her cry. Everything made her cry now. Even seeing the SRP's reaction to Samantha had made Mary laugh until she was in tears.

Samantha moved around Gibson to the SRP, and she pulled Gibson around in a circle trying to stay behind him.

"You would seriously throw me in front of a python?" He said.

"You said it was a good python!"

"But if it wasn't, and a python was going to attack you, you'd put me right in front of it, wouldn't you?"

"Shut up! I'm the President!"

Gibson moved away from her, and Samantha went towards her, raising her head up to look at her.

The SRP stood there, frozen in fear. "Give me your gun!" Her voice was shaking. "God damn you! Give me your gun!"

"Nope." Gibson crossed his arms.

Mary couldn't stop laughing. She hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. Eventually, she went outside and got the SRP to pet Samantha, to see that she was harmless. But the SRP didn't appreciate Mary laughing at her. Or Gibson either.

It had really been a mean thing to do to her. The SRP's nerves were already in shreds from Kersh, and the attack on Hosteen was making her crazy.

Mary was prepared for her to fuss at her for being alone on the beach where Dominique almost shot her. But she didn't. Mary was pleasantly surprised that Gibson had kept this word; he hadn't told her at all.

The SRP left the beach house that day, demanding Gibson come to the Presidential Hotel so they could talk. They had a lot to talk about. There was too much going on now; too many things to figure out and keep track of.

He hung back for a few minutes. The house was mostly quiet. Nurse Owens was taking a nap, and Linda was sleeping on the couch while Nathan kept watch on the patio. They took turns. Hybrids still needed sleep.

"You didn't tell her," Mary said to him. "Why?"

"Because you didn't want me to."

He looked at her for a long moment; the way he had once before, in a way that made her almost blush.

"I want you trust me," he said quietly. "And you don't."

Mary opened her mouth to reply.

"You don't," he said again. "I can hear it."

Mary did blush then. Because he was right. "How did you explain Nathan and Linda?"

"I said it was a precaution. Hosteen put them here just in case."

Mary nodded. She'd wondered why the SRP didn't seem too concerned about them.

"And it's better for her, anyway. She's under a lot of stress," he sighed. "South Council is going to accept."

Mary felt a knot form in her stomach. "Oh, God..."

"Try not to let it worry you. I know it's nearly impossible, but West and North haven't decided anything yet."

"He's going to win, Gibson," Mary shook her head, a feeling like defeat swelling up inside her. "I'll be the first person he comes after. I tried to kill him."

"But you didn't. He should be grateful you let him go. He wouldn't be here now."

"My grandmother wouldn't be in danger now."

"Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? He's far away from here. He's not coming here any time soon. The Presidents will meet with him in the Center first."

Mary really wanted to sit down, but Linda was laying on the couch. She sat in one of the armchairs and Gibson sat beside her.

"You ran off the other day when I mentioned Sarah Clinton. You know she was talking about me and why, don't you?"

Gibson didn't answer. He looked down at his feet.

"You said you wanted me to trust you."

"I do," he looked over at her. He held Mary's gaze for so long, she almost thought...she couldn't really even explain what she thought. Why does he look at her that way?

"I do want you to trust me," he said, looking away from her. "But there are some things I can't tell you about. Maybe I can later. But I can't right now."

"What is she?" Mary asked.

"Who?"

"Sarah. What is she? Which kind is she?"

"She isn't."

Mary looked down at her hands. "Well, if you have to hide things from me, then fine. I don't know why, but…okay. Can you answer one thing for me, though?

"What?"

"Is someone going to take our children away?"

He didn't flinch. His expression didn't change. "No."

Mary waited to see if he would look away or shift uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't.

Relief flooded through her just then. She hadn't realized how much she'd been afraid of that. That someone, Sarah Clinton or anyone else, wanted to take her children from her. Mary felt like she and Leonard could protect them, but they had to keep each other safe, too. It was hard enough being away from him for any length of time before. It was even worse now with this new threat hanging over their heads.

The feeling of relief consumed her so much, a few tears leaked out of her eyes. "Nathan and Linda told me there's a bad kind. Or a misled kind. They don't want me and Leonard to have children. I don't know who they are or how they found out about me and him to begin with. They can do whatever they want to me, but I can't let them hurt Albert or Melissa. Or him. I don't know what I'd do without him."

Gibson was quiet, looking at her.

Mary stood up to go find a tissue. "He asked me to disappear with him. To go somewhere else with him. Maybe we should. If that's the only way all of us can be safe."

Gibson stood up and came over to her. "Is that what you really want?"

"I don't know," Mary wiped her eyes. Every little thing seemed to make her cry now. "I feel like I'd be abandoning people. My mother. My grandmother. Simon's grandmother. I don't want to leave them behind to deal with a problem that's all my fault."

Gibson looked at her closely, his voice even and calm. "If that's ever something you wanted to do, you and him, then I'll help you."

Mary looked up at him.

"I'll make sure no one finds you and him. Or any of your children."

Mary began to feel the way she did that night out in the hallway, when he told her she wasn't a mistake. That she wasn't shameful.

For some reason, that prompted more tears.

Gibson came closer to her and put his arms around her, pulling her over to him. She hesitated for only a second before she let him hug her and she hugged him back. She really needed a hug right now, and she was surprised at how she felt in that moment. She was surprised at how being in his arms like that almost made her want to stay there.

"Please trust me," he whispered to her. "I'll do anything to help you. Anything to keep you safe."

She heard something in his voice she'd never heard before. She could tell he meant what he was saying; that he really would do anything to keep her safe. She really wanted to trust him, and she knew he could hear how much she wanted to in her thoughts.

Mary pulled away from him, and wiped her eyes again. "Okay," she nodded. "Okay, I will."


Gibson slumped down in the chair, watching Mary and Hosteen, barely noticing the numbers glow on the TV screen.

2050.

He never thought he'd live this long, and if he did, he'd be wrinkled and grey-haired by now. But here he was, alive and frozen in time. A survivor. A political leader.

Also, the loneliest he'd ever been in his life.

He could tell Mary didn't want the SRP sitting next to her or for her to be there at all. She'd kind of invited herself. He did, too, really. There wasn't any place else he wanted to be, and if he wanted to be here he was going to have to see it: Mary Scully and Leonard Hosteen completely and madly in love with each other.

"Happy New Year, Glissen!" Nurse Owens giggled at him.

He wondered how much champagne she'd had.

"Happy New Year," he muttered.

He looked at his glass of champagne and wished he had a whole bottle. He really wanted to be drunk right now.

After this, he was going back to the Presidential Hotel with the SRP to argue. It could potentially be their worst one ever. She'd been avoiding him since she'd arrived, spending hours talking to Hosteen in closed meetings, presumably about Kersh, and wouldn't let the topic of Sarah and Brittany Clinton come up. They were going to talk about it tonight, however. Whether she liked it or not.

From what she had discussed with him, it sounded like the West Council wasn't going to accept Kersh. They never accepted anyone that wasn't Tribal Party. The other three Councils and everyone in the country expected it. But Kersh's promises to clean up the Atlantic Ocean could change things. Hosteen nor Covarrubias knew for sure just yet.

Gibson watched Mary with Hosteen, their arms around each other, talking quietly, making plans. Planning for the family they were going to have, one that would begin this very year.

At least Gibson knew what it was like to have Mary in his arms now.

Every time he thought about that day, and he thought about it a lot, his heart ached so much. It ached for her. He hadn't planned to hug her. He just did it. It was an impulse. A weakness, too. Yet another instance of when his feelings clouded his judgement.

He'd been worried when he hugged her that he was going to say it. It was right there; the words crowding into his mouth, ready to slip out. Everything about her, every amazing thing about her, from saving pythons from death and doing everything she could to protect her children, caused a wave of emotions that threatened to drown him. And then feeling his arms around her and hers around him, the scent of her, the warmth of her, he really thought he was going to tell her. He really thought he wouldn't be able to hold it inside him anymore.

But he knew if he did, it wouldn't change anything. He would have just embarrassed himself.

Allowing himself have that little moment with her, to be as close as they were, as friendly and comforting as she perceived it to be, made this situation much worse for him. At least she trusted him now. He had that. He'd rather have her trust than nothing at all.

Gibson glanced over at Samantha coiled up in her bed. The merry-making didn't seem to be disturbing her sleep. He and Mary also had laughing at the SRP together. He smiled a little and looked over at Mary, hoping to catch her eye.

But only one person in this world caught her eye.

Gibson got up and went out onto the patio. Nathan and Linda looked over at him, giving him a nod. He nodded back and went to stand on the other side away from them. He wanted to be alone, but not completely alone. He couldn't really see the waves until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but he could hear them. It was serene. A sound that calmed him a little.

He had Mary's trust, even though he'd lied to her a little bit.

Someone did want to take her children away, but he wasn't going to let them. Once he found a safe place for them, either with Dana Scully or Monica Reyes, because Scully would likely move to the West, he would tell Mary about all of it. Everything he knew he would tell her. For now, however, he had to keep that to himself.

Gibson took out his phone and wondered if he should send Scully a Happy New Year text. She was all alone right now. How did she feel about watching all these years pass by right in front of her? How did she feel about looking like she did in the year 2050? And without Mulder?

He put his phone back in his pocket and allowed himself to indulge in the thoughts about what he wanted to happen after he hugged Mary. It was a fantasy that played out in his mind each night before he fell asleep. A fantasy in which Leonard Hosteen didn't exist, and Gibson was who she wanted.

He became so lost in it, he didn't see Linda when she came over to him and stood beside him.

"Happy New Year," she said with indifference.

Gibson said the same. He thought Linda would say something else, but she thoroughly scanned the coastline instead.

She turned to him after a few minutes. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"What does?" Gibson gave her a quizzical look.

"Loving someone you can't have. It sucks."

Gibson knew his face was starting to turn red, but it was too dark outside for her to see it.

Linda gave him a weak smile. "I was there. I was laying on the couch."

Gibson turned away, uncomfortable. He took a long drink from his glass of champagne.

Linda didn't say anything else.

"I'm going back inside," he mumbled.

She turned to him again. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you."

"Well…"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that's noticed, if that makes you feel any better."

Gibson didn't go inside. He stood there and took another drink. Should he go in and find an unopened bottle? Or a couple of them?

"There isn't much you can do about it," Linda continued. She wasn't really looking at him. She kept her eyes on the beach. "You can take my word for it, too. I'm ninety-three. I know everything now."

Gibson listened, not wanting to say anything. He really didn't think it was that obvious, and on any other day it wouldn't have been. But that day, he temporarily lost control.

"Girls always want the guy that will do anything for them, you know?" Linda adjusted the gun strapped around her. "A man that will worship the ground she walks on, sweep her off her feet, all those clichés."

Gibson looked at his glass. It was almost empty now.

"It's always right in front of her face, and she either won't or can't see it." Linda paused. "Guys are like that, too. They want something from a woman, it's always in front of them, and they never see it."

Gibson turned to look at her.

"I've been exactly where you are. Many times. It happens to everyone at some point." She paused again. "I think there's only one thing that helps."

"What?" He asked quietly.

She gave him a tiny smile. "Alcohol."

He smiled back, raised his glass, and drank the rest of the champagne.

"Seriously, though," she turned to look at him now. "It has to be him. I know you don't want to hear that, but it has to be. They're the same. Two lost fishes in a giant sea that found each other." She smiled at him kindly. "Doesn't mean you won't find yours."

Gibson nodded and took out his phone. He had a text message, but he didn't open it.

"Where's yours?" Gibson asked. "Your fish."

"Dead. I've been a widow for seventeen years now."

"He wasn't like you?"

"No," Linda turned to look inside. "From what I understand, it was like that with her grandparents." She nodded at Mary. "I know how her grandmother feels. To have to keep on living without the person you love; that was meant for you, made for you, and you for them."

Gibson was embarrassed to feel his eyes tearing up. He turned back to face the ocean and thought about what Linda said. He stood very still, breathing in the air of this New Year, air that tasted salty but clean, air that felt nice against his skin. He looked out at the Pacific and thought about Linda's allegory. About being lost in a giant sea, looking for a companion, a counterpart, and what it must feel like to find it.

Gibson wanted Mary to be that person. He wanted to be that person for her. But that position was taken.

He looked down at his phone again, thinking he should send Scully a text. It was three in the morning over there now. Maybe she'd see it when she woke up.

Gibson saw the unread text again. When he opened it, he didn't recognize the number. At first he thought it was Byers sending him something snarky to start off the year. He opened the message.

I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year. I hope you have the best year ever! – A

A? Then he realized who it was: Ava. He had Ava's and Liam's numbers stored in his phone, but she apparently wasn't sending this through her government-issued one.

Gibson took a few seconds to think about a reply, and sent it before he went back inside.

Thank you. I hope so for you, too.


The North American Union

West Region

2050

2:44am

Ava stood outside of the door and listened to President Covarrubias and Gibson Praise.

She'd stayed down in the lobby of the Presidential Hotel waiting for them to come back. All of Covarrubias' aids and Liam were down in the ballroom getting drunk or they'd gone to bed. Ava dutifully had only one beer when the ball dropped, then posted herself in the lobby. This probably wasn't necessary, but she felt like as long as he was awake and about, she should be, too.

When Covarrubias and Gibson did come back, they blew right past her, in the middle of a shouting match, completely unconcerned with drawing attention to themselves.

"I have always been honest with you!" Covarrubias shouted. "I've never lied to you! Not once!"

"I didn't say that!" Gibson shouted back. "But you're keeping things from me! Important things! Why do you get to decide what I should know and when?"

Ava got up and followed them, checking to make sure no one else was around. A bass thumped from inside the ballroom, the New Year's Eve celebration still raging strong.

"You've never questioned me before now!" Covarrubias stopped and pointed at him. "Something's changed. And I know it isn't on my end!"

Ava opened her mouth to say something, to let them know she was there.

"Everything's changed!" Gibson yelled. "And we're responsible for it! You put this on me! I didn't ask you for it! I deserve to know everything you know! All of it!"

"Excuse me," Ava said meekly. "Madam President?"

Covarrubias didn't hear her. "That's what's changed! All this entitlement you have now!" She opened her arms wide as if to show how much. "And you know what? You have none! Zero!"

"You said you wanted me to be your friend? To promise to stay by your side when everything goes to Hell? You remember that? How can you expect that from me when you give me nothing?!"

Ava flinched at the volume of Gibson's voice. It seemed to shake the walls. She stepped back a little bit. She had no idea what they were fighting about, but to be this angry with each other…it had to be something personal and not political.

Ava had heard about rumors about them arguing before she was sworn in. She'd also heard other rumors about them.

Covarrubias stood there looking at him, the anger seeming to drain out of her as she slouched her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her. "I don't want us to be like this, Gibson." Her voice was quieter. "Let's go upstairs. I want to fix this." She took a step towards him. "Okay?"

Ava was beginning to think those other rumors were true. She wouldn't be surprised. Marita Covarrubias was simply stunning, scars or no scars. Ava looked her over, wearing a simple black dress, a decorative belt around her waist, her blonde hair pulled back in a French twist. She was a beautiful woman. Probably used to be a model. Gibson didn't look half-bad either. She especially liked his eyes and those broad shoulders. For a second, she imagined gripping onto them as he positioned himself on top of her. She felt her heart begin to race.

The rage drained out of Gibson, too. He looked down at his feet. "Okay. Let's fix it."

Ava quickly cleared her throat.

They turned to look at her.

"Madam President," Ava said. "Mr. Secretary, sir. I just wanted to make sure someone was here when you got back. In case either of you needed anything. It seems everyone else is…occupied." She gestured to the ballroom.

They continued to stare at her.

"But, um…I guess if there's nothing you need, I'll head to up my room."

"Thanks," Gibson gave her a tired smile. "Thanks for waiting up, but we're fine."

Ava quickly shuffled past them, pleased by his smile, to the elevators, but she didn't go to her room. She waited until she heard them come up on the floor, too, and go into the SRP's suite.

She'd been outside the door ever since, trying to hear what they were saying and if they were really "fixing" anything.

She wasn't supposed to be doing this. Not just for the obvious reasons, but she'd been told not to conduct her surveillance in this manner. It was supposed to be passive, surface-level. She was supposed to just report what she'd actually seen and heard. That was it. No digging.

But Ava wanted to dig just a little bit. Otherwise, she'd get very bored with all this.

Ava didn't actually know the person she was working with. Or working for, rather. She'd never met them. In fact, she'd never heard their voice before. She had no idea if they were male or female. All communication with them came through text messages and always from a different number. Or no number at all.

They'd warned Ava if she tried to look up the number, trace it, or call it back, she'd regret it.

So, Ava did it anyway.

Then very much regretted it.

She had to buy a new phone because her old one had been bombarded with viruses and malware, completely shutting it down. Whoever this person was, they were not playing around. Ava thought at first it might not be a person at all. Intelligence used AIs to interact with criminals over the Internet. Ava thought this was an AI created to recruit and instruct people like her. When Ava asked, the response she got was: Call me that from now on.

So, "AI" wasn't an AI, but she didn't really care who it actually was. For a while she thought it was Gibson's predecessor, James Byers. But he'd resigned because he had brain cancer. There was no reason for him to want to screw around with this Administration. Also, this individual didn't seem paranoid or crazy like he was. Not the type to chase people with chainsaws and look at pornography all the time. AI seemed very calm, organized, and even polite on some occasions.

AI also told her to be aware of what she was thinking when she was around Gibson Praise. She thought that meant he was a hybrid. She wasn't one herself, but she had friends that were. AI informed her that Gibson's ability was limited, but she should make sure she never thought about any of this whenever she was around him. When she asked AI if he was a hybrid, she never got an answer. She guessed Gibson had to be some kind of hybrid or have one of them in his ancestry somewhere.

Ava would do whatever AI asked her to. Her retirement fund was growing and her debts were disappearing. And, for some reason, she was drawn to things like this. The urge to do so seemed to be in her blood.

"What are you doing?"

Ava startled at the sound of Liam's voice. He came down the hall quietly, looking at her curiously. "That's a secure room." He pointed to the symbol on the door.

Ava flipped around her badge. "And we're cleared for it." She pointed to the list of security level symbols they were approved for on the back.

He looked at her critically. "So? It doesn't mean we can be nosy."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm just making sure they're not fighting or I'm here if they need anything."

"Where are all her people at?" He looked around the hallway.

Ava shrugged. "Partying their asses off. I thought that's where you were?"

"Yeah, but I get kind of annoyed with drunk people. I can only take so much."

"Don't talk so loud." Ava put her ear to the door again. "I can't tell if they're fighting."

Liam grinned. "Or they're making up after a fight."

Ava tried to look disgusted, but she smiled, too.

Liam leaned back on the wall across from the door and whispered, "I can understand her, though. She's pretty, but like classy pretty. Like Grace Kelly pretty. Him, though?"

Ava was still smiling. She looked over at Liam and shrugged.

"Oh my God, really?" Liam shook his head. "Didn't you see all that stuff about him playing chess?" He nodded to the door. "If they are like that, she probably has to fake it."

Ava smiled again and kept her thoughts about that to herself.

She was still surprised at the kind of person Gibson was, and that he looked far better in person than in the images she'd seen and spent hours analyzing. Maybe he just wasn't all that photogenic. She was expecting a shy, awkward nerd, looking down at her cleavage all the time like he'd never seen a set of boobs before. She thought this task was going to be easy working for someone like that.

She'd looked through all the images of him, at his body language, and noticed the obvious discomfort he felt around people and the media. She also noticed that when he did wear glasses, they were fake. They were not prescription lenses. There didn't seem to be a reason for when he wore them or when he didn't. But they changed his appearance slightly, making him resemble the kid in the video clips. He didn't have a solid handshake either, and he changed it with each person he greeted. She noticed everything. She was good at noticing things; good at reading people, seeing the tiniest of details, listening for tone and implications in people's voices, and brilliant at hiding that she'd seen or heard anything at all.

Before she took her oath and arrived in the West, Ava had assessed Regional Secretary Praise to be massively insecure, introverted, and uncertain about social situations. Observing what he did, who he spoke to, who called him, messaged him, and all the other things she'd been told to look out for were going to be easy.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

She really hoped Gibson and the SRP didn't actually sleep together. Ava didn't want any competition for his attention. Because she was going to get it. All his attention. She was good at that, too. She'd often wondered where or how she'd gotten that ability: to quietly and almost effortlessly pull a man away from another woman. It was a gift she had. Maybe it was genetic.

Meanwhile, she was still trying to figure out Gibson's phone. He'd just handed it to her. She'd been prepared for him to be guarding it, like government officials should be, and she'd have to do something to make him accidentally drop it or leave it somewhere.

But nope. He just handed it to her.

Ava didn't see anything too out of the ordinary when she was deleting all the notifications and removing him from the email lists. Surface-level. That was all she was supposed to do. But, whoops, Ava's finger mistakenly opened up his list of contacts.

She took several screen shots to send to AI. His contact list was arranged alphabetically, like anyone's, but it was a little odd.

It seemed like he put in only the first names of some people and only the last names of others. Marita. Dominique. Jessinda. As He Stands. Byers. Clinton. Some she recognized and some she didn't. It also struck her that he chose to put Regional Secretary's Clinton, Alvarez, and As He Stands information in differently. Everyone by last name except for Alvarez.

Maybe he didn't know how to spell it? Why just her first name?

As she scrolled through she began to realize it was based on how close he was to that person. He'd put President Covarrubias in with her first name. Not her full name or her title. That made her wonder how close he was to Jessinda Alvarez. And Dominique. Ava knew now she was the South Guard that attacked President Hosteen. Why just her first name, too? How close was he to her?

When she got to the end she noticed two contacts with simple entries. Just one letter for each: M and S. Their phone numbers were encoded. All the government people had encoded numbers, which meant they never displayed anywhere on the phone; the phone had it "memorized." It was a good technique for security and privacy.

But…who were M and S? Government, too, maybe?

Ava knew that finding that out was far beyond surface-level, but she was going to. Gibson would tell her himself. She estimated that by spring time she would be the one locked up for hours in a room with him, and they wouldn't be fighting. This was a method that AI didn't actually encourage, but they also didn't discourage it either.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the text he'd sent her earlier. It would be the best year ever, and she was going to spend it with him.


The North American Union

West Region

2050

4:45am

Dominique lay still on the hospital bed. A digital pump beside her monitored the breathing tube in her nose and the mix of drugs and electrolytes coursing through her bloodstream. The metal disk in her throat was lit up, activated by the medical equipment as it fed information about her vitals to the pump.

Her heart rate on the monitor ticked upwards as her body shuddered. It twitched again as a black, viscous liquid began to spill out of her ears, nose, and eyes. It pooled onto the floor, the separate drips combining into one large, black puddle.

The puddle moved towards the corner of the room, towards the man standing there with a long, black beard and glowing blue white eyes. The puddle stopped at his feet, seeped into his shoes, then into his skin until it was all gone.

He stood by Dominique for a minute, assessing the equipment. He looked at each one, shutting it down, and watched the disk in her throat go out. He carefully removed the needle from her arm, and pulled the tube as gently as he could out of her nose.

He picked her up in his arms and stood by the door until he heard the thud of the bodies of the two West Guards just outside it collapse onto the floor. He stared at the door until it opened, and slowly stepped over the Guards, making sure not to knock Dominique's head against the door frame.

As he walked down the hallway of the hospital, nurses and other staff he passed by lost consciousness and fell to the floor. He was glad it wasn't too many this time of morning. They would wake up later and remember nothing.

He continued until he was outside of the Seventh United Methodist Hospital, walking across the brightly lit parking lot to another man waiting by his car.

Jemaine As He Stands quickly walked over to the bearded man as he passed Dominique's body over to him.

As He Stands looked down at her. Her breath was shallow and she felt a little feverish, but she was safe now. He would keep her safe. He would never take another moment with her for granted.

"If you break a promise with me," the bearded man said. "Then you break a promise with all of us."

As He Stands was worried that she felt lighter. He didn't know how long it had been since she'd actually had any real food in her.

"What will she remember?" As He Stands asked. "Will she remember all of it?"

"She might. Maybe not all at once."

"How long before she wakes up?"

"A couple days maybe. Keep her hydrated and warm. She'll be completely healed within a month."

As He Stands nodded at the man, and turned to his car.

"Our lives are short," the man said. "But our memories are long. And if I know your face, we all know it. Understand?"

As He Stands turned to look back. "I understand."

He carefully lay Dominique across the backseat and put a blanket over her. When he got in the driver's seat, he saw the bearded man had disappeared.

He cut on the engine and drove away.