I don't own Lab Rats. I do own this story. Enjoy.
* * * Chapter 17.2 * * *
"What did you do to your chip?"
She grinned at the voice of her creator—it freaked him out, but she couldn't help but feel excitement at being back in the arms of people who loved her. "What do you mean?" She said it with a smile.
Douglas rolled his eyes and nudged his brother—Donald, but she called him Mr. Davenport. She remembered it all now. Mr. Davenport moved one of his tools over by her neck, and she remained still on the table.
"You shattered it, Bree," Douglas said. "Not to mention completely burned it out. I can't fix this."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "This is probably the first bit of luck I've had in a long time."
"Luck? Bree, your chip is gone."
"Douglas, now they can't track me."
He took a step back and blinked.
"It's all the way up at the surface of her neck," Mr. Davenport said. "And it's broken up into little pieces. How did you manage that, Bree?"
"I fell out of a plane."
"But it shattered from the inside," Douglas said. "That injury isn't a puncture wound. Your chip shattered in your neck and was jolted in such a way that it pierced the skin. I specifically positioned it in your neck so it wouldn't do that. You're lucky to be alive. It should've severed a vein or an artery—" He moved aside to a table, mumbling to himself.
"They must have messed with it when they experimented on me," she muttered.
Mr. Davenport put a hand on her shoulder. "What did they do to you?"
She squirmed under his gaze. She finally felt safe; she didn't want to relive the memories from the previous years, months . . . hours.
"Don't push her, Donnie," Douglas said as he put his stuff away. "Bree, I'm sorry we can't restore your bionics."
"Don't be. Are we done?"
"I guess so."
She hopped up off the table and ran out the door. Not that she wanted to be away from her father and uncle (which one was which, she would never know), but that she wanted to walk away from conversations that purposefully brought up topics she wasn't ready to discuss.
She leaned on the railing of the catwalk overlooking the main living quarters. The base she stood in had once been a simple safe house, but after the beginning of the war it had been converted into an entire underground facility—much better lit than ones she'd been in before.
Her family had fled there after she'd been taken. Others with a thirst for vengeance—or safety—had come along, and approximately two hundred people occupied the rebel outfit, working together to bring down Krane and the 'visionaries while simultaneously trying to survive.
She could see Leo walking with his mother below her. Her eyes followed them as they walked together, two beings who shared such a close bond. She loved it. She hoped she could have that again, despite how much had changed.
Yes, things had been awkward. They still mistrusted her to a degree—why wouldn't they? She could be a spy. They felt better after learning she no longer had bionics, but the tension still hung in the air.
None of that bothered her much. What bothered her the most was the fact that something, someone was missing from the equation. She had two more brothers—she'd deduced that much from what her family had told her. They wouldn't say more; they didn't want to push her. But she wanted to know.
She had two more brothers who weren't there. She remembered them vaguely, but she needed to see them again. She wanted their companionship. Yes, she knew they hadn't gotten along before, but things had changed.
Things always changed.
She leaned back from the railing and waved as Leo came up the stairs. She was happy to have what she did—safety, freedom, love—even if there was a hole in her heart that may never be filled.
Inspiration: "Three Minus Bree" and "Which Father Knows Best?"
And you all thought I was going to do something excessively cruel to them.
Well . . . the story's not over yet, I suppose.
