Disclaimer: Marvel owns these characters, not me.
Rating: Rated M for strong language, sex and violence.
Summary for this chapter: Anna is finally hooked up to the Machine, but does she finally get what she wants?
Author notes: So I finally managed to rush this one out! Literally hot off the press! This chapter has literally killed me, argh!
First off, jpraner - thanks for all the catching up and all the great reviews you left. It's always a pleasure to read your thoughts, and super helpful to know where I can improve! Which, of course, I'm already getting stuck into. ;) Ana Xpert - I don't know anything about Stranger Things, but you've got my intrigued now! Anyway, hope the update is up to your expectations! :) silent reader - Thanks for checking in! Yes, Anna is cured and repercussions of that will start to play out now... PKS - I just wanted to say thank you for the wonderfully long and detailed review you left a couple of chapters ago. It was such a great read in and off itself. When Anna was thinking about the difference between sex with a man she cares about and one she doesn't, both Remy and Cody were men she cared about. But you were so right when you talked about how Remy moved from one being the former to the latter. I didn't even think of that at the time, but it is so true. Thanks. :) Spasticatt - No worries for the radio silence - I know how it is. It's always great to hear from you when you can review. :) Thanks for your comments on Essex - I just can't help but write him as this Victorian/Edwardian Moriarty-type character. No matter how far in the future he's placed! ;) slightlyxjaded - Yeah, I think Remy pretty much knows he can't talk her out of it, but more than anything I think he just wants her to have what she's wanted for all these years. I get the feeling he feels like he known her for such a short time it isn't for him to dissuade her from her dreams. SassC HiJinx - Heya girl! Nice to hear from you again! Hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and that you like these last few chapters even better! :) bustedflipflop- LOL! Well, I work in London, so if you fancy meeting up, do let me know ;) LEGNA - If you're calling me a bitch, I guess I'm doing something right ;) WhenInRomy - Finally got an update for you! Enjoy! :) Warrior-princess1980 - Thanks! And don't worry, they'll get on a plane fer sure! :D ishandahalf - Well, I dunno about something dire happening to one or both of them... but I will say, as I always say, that they'll get a happy ending. Cos these nerds so deserve to be together. ;) Guest - Welcome back! Hope you're better now and enjoyed catching up! :) Hardkandy - Yeah, it took Anna a helluva long time to figure out her true feelings for Remy... But she got there in the end. Whew! ferretlady - Thanks for the congrats! x I would say that the idea of getting her memories back has become truly integrated into the person that Anna is, and it's something that's hard for her to let go of. Also, making a choice between her past and Remy is not the way she sees it... It's more than just her past she wants. It's her at a fundamental level, and letting that go for a man she's practically just met is a choice she doesn't really want to make - not matter how deep her feelings for him. Hope that makes sense.
OK, onwards and upwards!
-Ludi x
- 52 PICKUP -
Chapter 38
Nathaniel Essex stood at his office window, his jaw ticking agitatedly. His eyes roamed over the winter vista through the green-tinted glass without taking any of it in. His entire life had been built upon order and stark precision. Nothing went beneath his notice. For things to have gone this badly awry indicated some fatal flaw in his chain of logic, and it was like fingernails on a chalkboard to him.
"The girl is resourceful," he muttered, mostly to himself. "More resourceful than I'd given her credit for."
Raven Darkholme spoke up from her seat on the other side of his desk, as cool and self-assured as ever.
"She is Weapon X, Nathaniel. It is what we taught her to be. To turn even the most innocuous of items into a weapon, to turn every drawback into an advantage. Should we even be surprised?"
He whipped round on her with a scowl.
"You seem mightily unconcerned about this, Raven," he observed. She shrugged.
"The building is on lockdown. She won't be able to reach a single exit without a hundred people knowing about it first."
"And can you be so sure?" he quizzed her incisively. "If she is everything you say she is, everything that we made her to be… … What makes you believe she couldn't find a way out?"
She was still calm, her countenance one of thinly veiled amusement.
"Do you begin to doubt yourself, Nathaniel?" The question riled him and he was about to deliver a scathing answer; but she spoke first, saying with confidence: "She won't leave here without LeBeau. If she has one weakness, he is it."
"But she has no idea where he is," he pointed out sardonically.
"Precisely. She'll waste useless minutes, possibly hours, trying to find him. Which leaves us ample time to locate her."
Essex sat back down at his desk slowly, considering her statement.
"I see," he spoke presently. "You're suggesting that you simply let her find LeBeau – and that we lie in wait for her to appear."
Raven's smile was thin.
"Exactly."
Essex regarded her a few moments. It was a long time since they had been partners in any sense of the word – yet Raven was the only one who had remained loyal over the long, gruelling years, who had kept in contact and offered her services, despite their now vastly different business interests. He trusted her in a way he didn't trust most. She was the only one of his experiments, of the one percent, that had never failed.
"Tell me, Raven," he asked at last. "What is your honest opinion? Weapon Zero has turned out to be far less… pliable than she once was. What do you propose should be the answer to this little conundrum?"
Raven leaned back in her seat, crossed her legs casually.
"Sometimes I think you forget, Nathaniel, that Weapon Zero has been living in the world for the better part of a decade now. She's no longer a child. She is a woman who has been allowed to indulge her passions. Moreover," she added in a silkier tone, "she is a woman who craves them. You see this as a weakness. But what it actually is is a potential form of control."
Essex scowled distastefully at the words. He had no sympathy for passion – its flavour was completely alien to him.
"Meaning?" he prompted her begrudgingly.
"Simple," she replied. "Give her what she wants. Give her LeBeau. Bind them together, let her weave them the shared history she so desires. That way, if you control one, you control the other. Control both and you have the kind of 'army' you've always dreamed of."
She finished; and Essex stroked his chin, mulling over her words thoughtfully.
"There's a truth in what you say," he mused. "Each has their own weaknesses, but together, there is the possibility that one may compensate for the flaws of the other… and of course, any unit is stronger than its constituent parts." He sighed, finding the puzzle wearisome. "It is a great pity that we lost sight of her. I should have preferred to have her as she once was. Simple perfection, Raven. It is so galling to see it spoiled."
He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
"Shall I post guards outside LeBeau's room?" Raven asked him.
"No," he replied decidedly. "I'm due to pay him a visit. We will go down together, you and I. If Weapon Zero appears, I should think you would want to deal with her personally."
"Either that," Raven remarked wryly, getting to her feet, "or you don't trust anyone else to deal with her effectively."
"That too," he agreed laconically. "Well – shall we go?"
-oOo-
They made the journey down to the basement in silence, and it was only when they had almost reached LeBeau's room that Raven came to a sudden halt.
Essex turned to face her expectantly. It was obvious from her expression that she had received a communication on her transceiver, and was listening intently to it. When it was over she lifted her eyes to his.
"What?" he asked her.
"Weapon Zero's been sighted on the first floor," she informed him. "And several operatives are down. I should see to this, Nathaniel."
Essex's lips tightened. Weapon Zero, it seemed, was rapidly becoming far more trouble than she was worth.
"Go," he ordered her. "Make sure she isn't hurt."
Raven, ever the loyal soldier, nodded, turned, and left at a swift clip.
Essex looked back over at LeBeau's door and hesitated. For the first time he began to question his investment in Weapon Zero. Was it the case that she was now too damaged to be repaired? Was she an experiment better left abandoned?
But no – perhaps Raven was right. Perhaps there was a way to salvage her. It was unfortunate, and not a little galling to his innate sense of perfectionism, that she was now so flawed, but… there would be others like her. In time.
He walked over to LeBeau's door, absently felt for the firearm in his pocket, and scanned his keycard.
The door snapped open, and when he'd got over the threshold the first thing he clocked was that LeBeau was nowhere in sight.
The second thing he clocked was a crack to the skull, his face smacking the floor and then – nothing more.
-oOo-
When he next awoke the pain in his head was so acute it was almost blinding.
He groaned, shifted, and he realised, only by degrees, that he had somehow been incapacitated. It was no surprise, under the circumstances, for him to find that he had been shackled to the bed with the exact same bonds that had held down LeBeau not long before.
"S'gotta be a bitch," he heard LeBeau comment from somewhere nearby, "t' get a taste of your own shitty med'cine."
The tone was smug enough that it would've raised his ire any other time, but now it was merely a distraction, nothing else. His vision cleared and the first thing he saw was her. Weapon Zero, standing at the end of the bed, looking down on him.
He was, on reflection, hardly surprised.
"Weapon Zero," he greeted her wryly – he noticed, with a slight, painful turn of the head, that LeBeau was standing off silently in the right-most corner, his pistol in his hand. He turned his gaze back to her, added ruefully: "You are an extremely clever woman."
She showed no evidence of pleasure at what was obviously supposed to be a compliment, answering in a deadpan: "I don't think 'clever' is the word you're looking for. And my name is Anna," she corrected him as a pointed afterthought.
"On the contrary," he replied, wincing only slightly at the pain in his head, "I would argue that you are exceedingly clever. You have, after all, succeeded in capturing your captor. I am not entirely sure how, as yet… But your continued resourcefulness, cunning and courage… They have consistently impressed me. As to your name… Well, that belonged to the old you. She doesn't exist anymore."
She shook her head imperceptibly. Her gaze was almost fierce.
"She does exist," she said. "In backup. On the Machine."
Essex sneered. It was only at that very moment that he realised exactly what it was she really desired.
"Ahhhh. At last I see. I understand what really motivates Weapon Zero. A misguided compulsion to reclaim Anna Marie Raven." His eyes narrowed disdainfully. "I would advise you to put aside your quest, Weapon Zero. Your compulsion is a foolish one, and ultimately self-destructive."
"Really?" She was unmoved. "How so?"
He sighed as if the reason was patently self-evident.
"No one has ever tried to reintegrate more than a decade's worth of memories into a subject wholesale. And formidable though your powers may be, I highly doubt even you would be able to withstand such an onslaught."
Truth or not, she wasn't buying it. She leaned in towards him, her eyes like gimlets, stating, "But you gave me the gene therapy. You cured me, made me stronger. My mind isn't broken like it once was. You gave me the ability to work with the Machine without limits – you knew it would've killed me otherwise."
"Pfft!" he spat angrily. "I cured you so you could work on the Machine on a controlled basis. Not so you could kill yourself by literally downloading millions of yottabytes into your mind in a single session! You'd be far better served letting go of this asinine fantasy of yours! You have the power to make your own history! Do it! Give yourself the past that you deserve!"
He thought he'd made some headway with her when she leaned back on her heels with an audible exhalation, as though it were a possibility she hadn't even contemplated before.
"But it wouldn't be mine," she voiced at last in a small voice. "I wouldn't be me anymore."
It never failed to surprise and irritate him, how willing so many people were to hold themselves back, by moral, philosophical, existential arguments that were, to his mind, an utter waste of time and brainpower.
"Past or no past, real or make believe, what does it matter?" he uttered in a harassed tone. "You still are, you still exist, you're still real. What's in your head is just neurotransmitters firing. What they tell us isn't as important as their sum and total – the person they come together to create. A person is judged by their outer actions, not by their inner life."
He said the words with the confidence of someone who knew he was correct, who had never thought otherwise; yet she looked him in the eye with all the calmness of her own conviction and said: "You're wrong."
She turned away and paced the floor thoughtfully. He chanced a look over at LeBeau, but he was watching on with an impassiveness that gave away little. Whatever his intentions were, they were hidden – for now.
"I need you to start the Machine again," Weapon Zero was saying. "You have the codes; you know how to work it. You can restore the backup and reintegrate my memories back into my mind."
"And why would I do that?" he asked sardonically.
She halted on the spot and glared at him.
"We both want the same thing. We both want the Machine up and running and functional."
"Quite right," he conceded the point. "I do not, however, want my prize subject – the only person who can effectively use the Machine – to be a gibbering mess who's as good as dead."
"That won't happen," she said, with such self-assuredness that he was almost impressed.
"That is not a fact, nor is it a probability," he answered stolidly. "And as a scientist, I refuse to work without either."
It was a robust defence, from a man who'd spent his life either justifying or refuting hypotheses – or so he thought. But Weapon Zero merely crossed her arms, set her jaw, and lifted her shoulders, saying: "Fine."
She shared a glance with LeBeau – an oddly communicative look, considering he'd said nothing the past few minutes. Still his former protégé said not a word, simply emerging from his corner, walking up to the bed – and stopping only to press the barrel of the gun against his temple.
"Wait," Essex gasped despite himself. "What are you doing?"
LeBeau's gaze was impassive.
"Murderin' you," was all he said.
"But you need me!" he insisted.
"Non. We'd prefer to have your expertise, o' course… But we got other options. Like, for example, stealin' back your mem-chip, facin' with it and memorisin' your part of the code… Then restartin' the Machine ourselves. More time and more work… But doable."
He almost pressed the trigger.
"You fools!" Essex spluttered desperately, indignantly. "You don't know how to use the Machine! You'll destroy it! You'd stand even less of a chance of successfully reintegrating your memories at all… …"
"I don't have a lot of choice left," Weapon Zero replied quietly, seriously.
There was a silence during which he looked wildly between the two of them.
"You're bluffing," he finally surmised. "You can't possibly be willing to risk so much."
"Can't I?" A small, solemn smile crossed her lips. "All my life I've only ever had two things to strive for – the truth, or oblivion. I'm not afraid of either. Nothing I have in this life right now has meaning; and the things I did have that I cared about were taken away from me. I have nothing else to live for except this."
"Not even him?" he asked her; and her eyes glinted, briefly.
"Not even him."
The timbre of her voice told him it wasn't a lie. He looked towards LeBeau.
"If she gets out the other side of this," he warned him, "she'll be different. She won't be the same."
And there it was again – that insufferable, cocksure smile that had never failed to secretly rile him.
"Sure. But that's the risk I'm willin' t'take."
It was something he would never understand – this thing between the two of them, haphazard and irrational and selfish yet utterly altruistic as it was. He resented its power over them, a sway he could never hope to replicate himself.
"All right," he agreed belligerently. "I'll start the Machine. I'll restore the backup, if I can. But you'll only end up regretting this. There's absolutely no guarantee it will work."
She regarded him with a look that was so level and uncompromising that he was instantly reminded of Raven.
"I've lived my entire life without guarantees," she told him. "All I've ever done is take risks, flirt with death, barely get away with my life. This'll be just another thing."
She turned calmly and picked up the guard's cap lying on a side table. He watched her put it on with the kind of sinking feeling he imagined Frankenstein must have felt when he'd first understood what he'd done when he'd made his wayward monster.
"I should've left you," he murmured. "I should've left you to rot."
And she looked over at him with this cold, cold smile that almost made him shudder.
"Yeah," she agreed. "You should've."
-oOo-
The hallways were uncharacteristically quiet, considering the activity they'd recently witnessed in the wake of Anna's escape.
Remy absently stroked the trigger of Essex's pistol as they walked in single file down the lonely corridors towards the Machine. Essex was taking the lead, while Anna took the rear – he, perhaps fittingly, was piggy-in-the-middle. There was an ominous truth echoing stubbornly in his mind – she'll be different, she won't be the same. He knew it, of course – had for a while now – but the closer it came, the more real it became, and the more troubled it left him. He'd asked himself more than once why he was doing this, and the answer was always the same – because it was what she wanted. Because he couldn't abandon her. Because he needed to be there for her. But altruism had never been a quality of his, and the greater truth haunted him – that this was nothing more than self-preservation. Because he cared about her more than he'd cared about anything in a long time, and if he was going to lose her, it was going to be under his own terms – he'd stick with her to the bitter end. He'd walked away once. He couldn't face doing that again, whatever the cost he ended up having to pay.
"You're making a mistake, LeBeau," Essex spoke up gravely in front of him, "if you think that this will prove to be anything but a disappointment to you."
Remy remained silent, keeping the gun trained on Essex's back as they made their sedate journey onward.
"She will be changed," Essex continued in an undertone. "She will be different. You'll get nothing out of this."
"This ain't about me," Remy half-lied; and Essex laughed as if he could see right through him.
"Of course not." He paused, musing on his own thoughts a moment before adding, "We only ever act to serve ourselves. In the small likelihood that she survives this intact, you may be a stranger to her… and her to you. Worse still, you may be nothing more than a thing she no longer wants. A man like you should be running right now."
Maybe he should have been. Maybe he should have been trying to talk her out of this, this woman he still barely knew and who owed him nothing, much less the weight of her own past. He was here because his back was against an emotional wall.
"Sometimes," he answered, mostly to himself, "all we want is to be there to say goodbye."
They were finally there.
They came to a standstill outside the hulking metal doors, and Essex passed an expectant look over at Anna, who was as stony-faced as ever, the barrel of her gun still firmly trained on him.
"Disable the neural scanner," she ordered him quietly. If she felt any trepidation about what lay within those doors, it didn't show in her voice. Essex's expression hardened; but he turned to the control panel and did as he was told. The scintillating green mesh barring the doorway instantly flickered out.
"Open it," she ordered again in a monotone; but Essex had already anticipated her, and the doors slowly rumbled open.
They stepped inside.
The Machine was still there, huge and hideous, its wire tendrils seeming to drip from the ceiling and round the central column in a sinister embrace. The doors clunked shut behind them, and Essex was already moving towards the free-standing console as if this was a reunion that he had long anticipated. It was a moment before Remy realised that Anna hadn't joined them, and he looked over his shoulder to see her still standing in the doorway, staring up at this relic from her forgotten past with undisguised wonder. Slowly she began to walk towards the Machine – whatever her thoughts were, he couldn't begin to guess at them.
He drew his attention back to Essex with an effort, only to find that the gaze of his erstwhile boss had also been firmly fixed on her.
"Quite the reunion, huh?" he commented with thin humour, to which Essex merely shot him a withering glance. Anna had already turned and was coming back towards them, her pokerface once more reinstated.
"Hook me up," she commanded.
Two guns may have been trained on him, but it seemed to Remy that there was at least a part of Essex that actually wanted this, because he walked over to the Machine without any protest or sign of hesitation. Perhaps it was a sense of nostalgia that drove him, his own grandiose mental picture of this reunion playing out with an unwitting reverence. Remy watched on with an increasing sense that he was merely a spectator in this, a ritual that the two of them had performed many times before and they were now re-enacting with unconscious perfection. As Essex adjusted the seat for her, as Anna took her place, Remy was hit with the horrible sensation that these two shared an unseen bond that was as unmistakable as it was toxic. The ease with which they both fell back into their roles was a testament to that unsettling fact.
When Anna was finally hooked up to the Machine Essex got up and walked back over to the console, passing Remy the blank kind of stare that an actor might give to a member of his audience.
Remy exhaled a silent breath and went on over to Anna. Her visor was raised and her gaze was calm as he approached. He knelt down beside her and looked into her eyes. For a long while neither said a thing.
"Thanks," she said at last. "For being here. For staying."
He shook his head slightly.
"No thanks. Bein' here is what I want."
Her smile was thin, flickering briefly before dying out.
"Remember what to do," she told him, "if it doesn't work."
He glanced at the floor, nodded vaguely. Neither of them could say it, only think it. A bullet in the brain would be the kindest thing he could do to her if it didn't work.
"Remy—" she began, but he raised his eyes to hers and cut in over her quickly, saying, "When this is over, Anna, we'll be even, right? I'll've paid my debt to you and we start over. No more lies, no more betrayals, no more fake names and pistol whippings and dumb heists… Well, maybe we'll keep the heists… For fun… For old time's sake…"
And this time her smile was warm.
"Sure," she agreed. "As long as we keep all the best parts…"
The Machine suddenly whined into life, the LED's lighting up around her and casting harsh shadows over her face.
"It worked," Essex announced pointlessly from the console. "The codes worked."
Whatever it was between them, it was drawing to a close. He wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid that if he did he might not be able to see this through. He put his hand over hers instead, just as he'd done the night he'd sat by her bed and she'd lain in her coma; but this time her fingers curled around his, held them tight. If either of them doubted their chosen paths they said not a word. It was too late to regret. She was finally getting what she had always wanted, and he… …
He was learning what it was to care again, to be human. Empty years spent saying fuck you to the world had imploded in his face.
"The system's ready to restore backup," Essex called over peremptorily.
Remy sighed and managed his same old, cocksure smile.
"Bye, Anna," he said.
"Bye, Remy," she whispered. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed his. Somehow they let go and he finally got to his feet. He stood there a moment and then pulled down the visor.
He turned away trying not to think that that was the last time, and walked back over to Essex.
"She's ready," he said.
Essex made no reply, simply tapping a few keys before finally hitting Enter.
Anna's response was as instantaneous as it was visceral. A violent jolt spasmed through her, her body going rigid. The reaction was so sudden and unexpected that Remy couldn't help but take in a sharp, painful breath.
"Is this normal?" he asked, unable to hide his anxiety.
"I don't know," Essex replied. "No one's ever done this before."
It was clear from his tone that he shared Remy's anxiety, and yet there was something more in his voice – the wonder, excitement even, that every scientist must surely experience when embarking on new and uncharted waters. It was so far from Remy's own sentiments at that moment that he grimaced, fighting back the sudden sourness in his mouth, the overpowering urge to end this here and now.
"Whatever's happening," Essex was muttering under his breath, "it's working."
Was it?
Remy darted a look at the old style loading bar on the screen, just as it was climbing from 1 to 2%. The processing power of Trask's prize invention was formidably fast – but not nearly fast enough under the circumstances. Familiar tremors were now coursing through Anna's body, yet she was otherwise unresponsive. Remy grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He had to trust that Essex wanted her as hurt as little as he did, that he at least had some idea of what he was doing.
Did he?
He glanced back over at Essex, seeing the tautness around his mouth and realising that what he was seeing was doubt.
"You don't think this'll work," Remy spoke quietly, "do you?"
Essex half looked at him, turning his gaze away just as quickly.
"What gave you the impression I might think otherwise?" he answered harshly.
"The way you hooked her up to that thing. The way you looked at her. You thought it might work. You remembered how she was when she last did this. A little girl who never said a word or shed a tear. Who was always so fucking brave and who always came through the other side." He took in a breath, his eyes fixed on Anna's small, shuddering form, unable to tear his eyes from her. "That's what you were thinkin'," he finished. But Essex's poise only stiffened as he replied coldly:
"Sentimentality doesn't suit you, LeBeau. You'd best stick to the thuggery and the subterfuge." He sneered. "You admire her for what you perceive is her bravery in the face of adversity. But what you're actually seeing is the cold strength of loss, of rage."
"Which you gave to her," Remy bit back between his teeth; to which Essex simply chuckled mockingly.
"No, LeBeau. You are wrong. That rage was in her from the very beginning. Why else do you think I chose her out of all those potential candidates? Because I sensed that same cold rage burning inside her, the one that still burns inside her now. The one that used to burn inside you." He cast a shrewd sidelong glance in Remy's direction. "You lost it when you found something to replace the loss inside you. A pity she didn't find the same in you – depending on your point of view, that is."
The insinuation was enough to tighten Remy's grip on his gun – but he swallowed his anger and instead gave an icy little smile that clearly communicated his contempt.
"You got t' me a li'l too late, Milbury," he retorted. "Fuck me over from childhood and then wipe all my memories and turn me into a super soldier… Sure. I'd be fuckin' pissed too."
Essex's reply was to almost spit with disdain.
"What amazes me is that despite all the many opportunities Empharma has given you, you still remain stubbornly small-minded. If only you'd—"
Whatever he would've said was left unfinished, interrupted by a sudden sound from Anna's direction, something that sounded between a gasp and a gurgle, her body convulsing violently. Without so much as a thought Remy was marching across the room, dropping to his knees before her and realising that he didn't know what the hell to do.
"Anna," he breathed her name, placing his hands over hers and hoping in vain that it would ease the terrible tremors zigzagging through her. "Anna!"
She gave no answer, her convulsions so fierce that he didn't think she could do so even if she'd wanted to. He wasn't even sure if he was supposed to move or touch her at that point, but he was past caring – he placed his hands on her shoulders, pressed his fingers into them, and shook her as hard as he dared.
"C'mon, Anna," he heard himself mutter urgently. "C'mon, please. You gotta get through this. There's no way in hell I'm lettin' you die on me now… …"
No sooner had he said the words than the tremors stopped and she slumped, slack and unmoving, against the chair. A thin runnel of blood began to trickle slowly from her left nostril.
He let go of her and got to his feet.
"Turn the Machine off," he ordered.
"No," Essex replied, coolly, calmly.
It was a long, long time since Remy had actually gone and lost it, but he nearly did then. All he could hear was the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as he stormed right back over to Essex, brandishing the pistol in his hand, screaming, "Shut the fuckin' thing off!"
It was the first time he'd seen real fear on Essex's face, and frankly at that moment in time he was prepared to kill, and he knew that fact showed on his face. And yet – to his immense surprise – Essex stood his ground.
"No!" he shouted.
There was something in his voice – desperation and conviction – that honed Remy's anger to a cold, blue flame. The gun was now perfectly still in his fist, the aim straight and true.
"If she dies, I swear t' God—"
"Shut the thing off and she will!"
He laughed wildly. He didn't believe it.
"Fine. If you won't turn it off I'll put a bullet in this fuckin' thing and—"
He didn't bother finishing the sentence. He swung his aim over to the console, and just as he was firing into it Essex lunged for the firearm, only succeeding in knocking off Remy's aim. The bullet ricocheted noisily off a wall and hit the floor.
"Stop it you fool!" Essex raged blindly, gripping onto Remy's wrist so tight it almost hurt. "You turn it off mid-process and she doesn't stand a chance! She'll end up like the Trask girl!"
Remy stared at him blankly, and Essex continued irately: "Her mind will be an unstructured chaos. Bits of untethered data floating unanchored in her mind. Unformed memories driving her to madness. Let the process finish. It's the only chance she has left!"
If there was one thing that could communicate the truth to him, it was the fierce sincerity he saw in Essex's face at that moment. Remy dropped his arm, a numbness sweeping over his senses; Essex, finally satisfied that Remy had been pacified, swept back round to the console.
"It's at 86%. There's not much longer left to go."
Remy was silent. There was nothing left to say, and so he walked back towards Anna because she was the only reason he was here after all. Her body was still, slack – but he could tell from the rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing, and that at least was something to be thankful for. He got on his haunches beside her and wiped the blood from her nose with a touch of his sleeve. He was as helpless as he had been the night of Belle's death, the same helplessness that he'd tried for so long to mask without success, that had brought him here and into a collision course with her.
"We're at 90%," he heard Essex announce behind him; and then, "91%... 92%...", but the words were like meaningless echoes in his ears, the countdown to what seemed like nothing more than another indefinite stay of execution. All he could do was wait for the trapdoor to fall out from under him.
93… 94… 95…
The countdown continued, time dilating, inevitability drawing inexorably closer…
96… 97… 98…
And he put his hand in hers, held it tight…
99…
Her hand so warm, so still…
100…
He didn't even wait for the Machine to be turned off – he began to untie the restraints at her wrists and ankles just as Essex declared superfluously: "It's done."
She was already freed of her bonds, and Remy lifted the visor – she literally fell into his arms, and he cradled her gently, looking earnestly into her face for any sign of consciousness. Her eyes were only partly opened and unfocused, showing no comprehension that he was there.
Essex's footsteps were slapping the floor behind him, his voice exclaiming breathlessly: "Is she all right? Is she conscious?"
He didn't, couldn't answer. He wasn't sure. He shifted her into a more comfortable position, resting her against his shoulder, and slowly got to his feet.
"We should get her to the med bay," Essex was saying. "Her brainwaves need to be monitored… If there's anything left… …"
Anything left… This was what he had left.
He pivoted on his foot; and it was almost worth it to see Essex's face when he realised Remy was pointing the gun right at his chest – he took an involuntary step back.
"No," he said softly. "We're leavin'. She's spent a lifetime in this place, with you. Even when you were apart. She's done now. I'm takin' her away."
He started to back away towards the door, the gun still pointed at Essex. Anna made no movement, no sound at all, her body like a deadweight against his shoulder.
"You idiot, LeBeau!" he seethed. "Take her away from here and you're taking her away from the only chance she could have to recover!"
"She's stronger than you give her credit for," he said, hoping that he was speaking the truth. "She doesn't need you. Not anymore."
He'd got halfway to the doors already, when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of them clanking open behind him. His heartbeat picked up a notch, and he chanced a brief glance over his shoulder, ready to fight to the death if he had to.
It was Raven.
And her own gun was pointed right at him.
"Ah, at last!" Essex exclaimed explosively. "Where have you been, Raven?"
It was almost as if she hadn't heard the question. Her full attention was on Remy, her gaze blazing with a steely flame.
"Is she alive?" she demanded of him. Almost on cue he felt Anna stir against him slightly, a simple movement that he'd never been so thankful for.
"Yeah," he answered.
Something flashed in Raven's eyes, a flicker of relief. Slowly, deliberately, she moved the barrel of her pistol from Remy to Essex.
For a split second there was confusion, then surprise, then the discontent of realisation – he had been fooled.
"You planned this," he murmured. "From the beginning."
"Not quite," Raven answered dispassionately. "But then I suppose it depends on when 'the beginning' was." She darted a look at Remy, then back at Essex. "Well? What are you doing standing there, LeBeau? Get her out of here."
His loyalties had been tested one too many times for more of this type of game. Still, he obeyed – he had no choice. He slipped the gun back into the waist of his pants and carried Anna over towards the door as fast as he could, noticing, with a rush of relief, that she was actually taking some of her own weight. Yet, despite everything he knew about her, he was amazed at her tenacity.
"Why, Raven?" Essex was asking with unexpected softness.
"Because," she answered just as softly, "I learned to care for her." She backed up after Remy, her aim holding firm. There was only the tiniest hint of regret on her face. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I loved you. But I learned to love her too. And she was the only one of you who loved me back."
She stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, hitting the control panel on the wall. The last image Remy had of Essex was him standing there, small and alone, by the Machine, before the doors snapped shut, blocking him from view.
Raven fired a round into the control panel, effectively sealing the enemy inside.
"Still here, LeBeau?" she shot at him scornfully when she turned and still saw him standing there. "You know that there are other ways out of that room. Destroying that locking mechanism will only buy us a few minutes. We need to leave. I know a quick way."
There were so many things he wanted to ask her, questions that neither time nor his remaining distrust of her would allow.
"Raven—" he began as she swept past him; but she didn't even stop to listen.
"Not now, LeBeau. There'll be time for your questions later. For now… let's concentrate on getting Anna out."
-oOo-