"In here," he answered from the living room. She headed that way, hung in the doorway for a moment and smiled as she saw him settling into the couch, getting ready to read a book.
"Where are Jondy and Tinga?"
"They're out," he said. "Jondy got restless. You know how she is." She nodded, walked over and sat next to him, fidgeting for a moment with her hands. She heaved a sigh and he tossed the book away, smiling gently at her.
"What's wrong?" he asked. They locked eyes and she let her breath out in slight frustration.
"I have to leave," she said. "I can't come back."
"Tinga told me," he said softly. Her brows lifted in surprise.
"She did?" she asked. Zane nodded, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry," she whispered. There was a short silence and then he shrugged.
"There isn't really a choice," he said quietly. "Is there?"
"No," she answered, shaking her head. "Of course not."
"Syl..." Zane reached out, took her hand, stroked her palm for a moment with his thumb, his brow furrowed. She pulled away and his eyes locked with hers. "You could stay," he said softly. She stared at him.
"What?"
"You could stay."
"Zane-" She broke off, bit her lip, managed a smile. "No. I can't."
"Syl..."
"I have to go," she whispered. "We can still talk, Zane. I'll call you. I'll call you a lot." He let his breath out, slow.
"I'm worried about you, Syl."
"I know. I'm going to be okay though. Maybe if I go now I can still work this out." She glanced at him. "Then after a while Krit won't be so angry at us."
"That's what I'm worried about," Zane said. "He's mad at you." He reached for her hand again and she hesitantly allowed him to take it. "You should stay here." She raised her eyes to meet his, gazed at him.
"Hey, Zane?"
"Yeah?" He squeezed her hand.
"There's a big difference between sex and love," she said softly. He blinked, let go of her and leaned back slightly, his eyes hurt.
"I know."
"You sure?"
"Of course," he hissed, annoyed; he glanced at her. "I just..." He let his breath out again in a long sigh. "I don't know." He said again, "I'm worried about you."
"You're not in love with me, Zane," she told him heavily. It took him a long time to nod. "You're not. You're just mixing everything up." She bit her lip. "But you don't have to protect me from Krit. He's not going to hurt me-"
"He already did," he interrupted, and she paused.
"He's not going to do it again," she said firmly. "This is Krit. He didn't mean it, Zane."
"Yeah, you keep saying." He softened. "This all happened for a reason, Syl," he said. "You were running away." She stood up.
"You're right, I was. Because I was stupid and afraid and upset. Not for any other reason." He met her eyes slowly.
"Are you sure?"
"Zane," she said, and sat down beside him again. "Don't worry. I'm going to be okay. Krit's good for me, you said you thought so."
"I did think so," he agreed. "Before he hit you. Before we..." He averted his eyes, didn't finish his sentence; she was glad.
"You're not in love with me," she said again. He sat there for a long time.
"I feel like I am," he told her finally; she was struck by his honesty, but that was Zane's way.
"Well you're not," she said gently. "You just want to look after me. There's a difference." She touched his shoulder. "But that's sweet, Zane. It is." Her smile faded and she glanced away, murmured, "I'm going to miss you, baby brother."
"Syl," he said softly. "You ran away for a reason. We... happened... for a reason. You-" He said nothing for a long time, seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to continue. Finally he added softly, "You crashed that car for a reason, back in Nevada. You're not telling me everything." She stood up, forced a nervous laugh.
"You're saying I crashed the car on purpose?"
"No," Zane said, getting to his own feet. "You said it was because you have shell-shock." She swallowed, shrugged.
"That was a long time ago, Zane," she whispered.
"Tell me about it," he said softly. Again she swallowed, harder this time.
"I... I don't..." She trailed off and he sighed a little.
"You can tell me," he said. "I'm your brother. I love you, remember?" He grinned at her but her eyes filled with tears that she tried unsuccessfully to blink away. He walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder. "What is it?" he murmured. She took a deep breath, turned around, her lower lip trembling. Zane's eyes softened and he folded her into his arms; she clung to him, cried into his shoulder. "Tell me," he whispered. "You're scaring me now, Syl. Please tell me." After a long time she pulled back and walked away from him, sat down on the sofa again. She felt his eyes on her and glanced up, motioned for him to sit next to her.
Finally she whispered, "Remember the other day you said to Jondy that no one ever promised that this world would be fair?" Her sudden question, her voice slow and tiny, surprised him, and he blinked in confusion but nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
"Maybe you were right, but we were promised it would be better, Zane." Her voice was quiet and she reached her arms up, hugged herself. "Brin, Lexy, Dar... they all said it would be better. It wasn't for me though." She squeezed her shoulders and felt his eyes on her as he listened patiently. "Not for long," she continued, then swallowed, added, "When I first got out, I was pretty quickly put in foster care like most of us. My foster home was amazing and I loved it. But I wasn't there for long, and I got moved to another, and then another." Her hand twitched as her thoughts turned to her last foster home, and she held it tightly with the other one, searching for the strength to speak the words she didn't want to.
"Syl," Zane said softly, and she felt his hand on her hair. It made her skin crawl and she jerked away, trying not to cry out.
"No," she bit out, squeezing her eyes shut. "No, don't touch me, please."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, stricken, withdrawing his hand.
"It's okay. I just- if I'm going to get this out I have do it." She looked at him and he swallowed hard, then nodded, his eyes wide and deep with concern.
"The last foster home I was ever in was okay," she whispered. "It wasn't bad at all. But my foster father had a brother who used to look after me and their son Jared sometimes if they were out. He was a bit younger than me. Ten. I would look out for him, you know?" She smiled a little. "He reminded me of Krit." Her smiled faded as she forced herself to continue. "This guy, my foster uncle... John. He was about forty, maybe a bit younger. He used to look after us sometimes. Sometimes it was just me, because Jared would go with his parents places where they never brought me." She looked at her hands. "I was just the foster kid, so I didn't matter so much... So John... I used to go to his place sometimes. Once when I was twelve... I..." She breathed out a long sigh and gathered herself, tried to get the shake out of her voice. "I was over there for the weekend and..." Suddenly she couldn't go on; the words froze in her mouth. Her hands started trembling; after a long silence Zane's arm crept around her shoulder and squeezed. She looked up at him and he brushed the tears from her cheeks.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice soft. She swallowed, shrugged away from him, hugged her legs up close to her chest. Zane smoothed the hair away from her face cautiously, his dark eyes full of concern as he gazed at her.
"Do you need tryptophan?" he asked after a long silence. She glanced at him.
"What?"
"You're shaking, Syl," he said gently. More tears slipped down her cheeks and she tried to calm herself, clenching and unclenching her fists. After a while she could breathe normally again and she let out a shuddering sigh.
"You don't have to," he said gently, worry etched into his features. "You don't have to tell me."
"I was twelve," she whispered. "Twelve years old. I didn't- I couldn't fight back. I don't know why. I was a soldier. But I didn't know what to do with..." She trailed off, forced herself to continue. "I didn't know what to do with that kind of threat. Manticore didn't even tell us anything like that existed." She stopped again.
"I don't understand, Syl," he said softly when she didn't continue. She blinked against her tears, took a steadying breath.
"He liked little kids, Zane," she whispered, her voice barely even there. "Liked them the way most men like women." Tears spilled over again as she heard his sharp intake of breath. "Twelve years old," she sobbed, and hugged her legs, started rocking back and forth. "I was only twelve years old."
"No," he breathed, and she heard his voice catch, saw him drag his hands slowly through his hair. "No." Then he gathered himself and reached out for her, pulling her close to him, cradling her in his arms and letting her cry against his chest. "How-" he began, stopped, started again. "How did- What-" Again he had to stop, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, squeezed her close. "It doesn't matter," he whispered. "It doesn't matter."
"Zane." His name was all she could get past the sobs escaping her lips. She clung to him and let him hold her and rock her like a child. Finally he had to get up to find her some tryptophan, but he returned almost immediately and handed her a glass of milk, whispering soft words and rubbing a hand soothingly over her back as she swallowed the pills.
"Syl," he whispered when her shaking subsided, reaching for her again and folding her into his arms. "Does anyone else know?" She pulled back and brushed at her tears, but more just followed.
"Only two people did," she forced out as she cried. "Brin and Zack."
"Oh God," he breathed, closing his eyes briefly and pulling her close again. "Oh God, Syl. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She sobbed harder, collapsed against him.
"I'm so alone," she whispered. "God, Zane, I feel so alone."
"You're not," he whispered back, tightening his arms around her. He slipped a hand through her hair, rubbed her back. "I don't know what to do," he admitted when her sobs only got louder. She managed a smile and hugged him tighter.
"It's okay," she murmured. "I'm not going to break." She pulled back and gazed at him; he looked very close to devastated.
"I understand now, Syl," he whispered. "I understand why you're..." He swallowed. "I get it. Everything."
"I'm so sorry I dumped this on you, Zane," she said, pulling back from him slightly. "Especially now, when I have to leave..." He sat up straighter.
"I forgot about that," he said, then forced a smile. "But don't be sorry." They sat in silence for a long time.
"It's never going to stop," she whispered finally. "It's just never going to go away." Zane looked at her as she cried softly, said nothing for several moments.
"This guy..." He paused. "He's dead, isn't he?" She met his eyes. "Zack killed him, right?"
"It was a long time ago, it doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me." There was a short silence.
"No," she said. "No, Zack didn't kill him."
"Why not?" he asked, his voice full of disbelief. Syl stood up and walked across the room. She shrugged uncomfortably.
"Because I was having a nervous breakdown at the time, okay?" she said, her voice tense and guarded.
"But he never went back? That's not like Zack."
"He was busy," she said shortly. She heard his long exhale of breath behind her and he stood up.
"Syl, what is it?" he asked softly. "What else?" She turned around slowly.
"There is nothing else," she said, staring him down. She wasn't going to tell him anything else; he'd heard more than enough. Brin didn't even know about the rest, about the baby. And she was going to be leaving Zane in less than twenty-four hours. She couldn't dump that on him; she didn't want to.
"Syl," he said. She shrugged away from his hand, walked past him toward the kitchen and started looking for something to eat. He followed her and pulled a chair over, watched her.
"There's nothing else," she said when his gaze became piercing. She turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest, waited for his response. When none came she glanced at the floor, kicked at an imaginary spot of dust. When she looked at him again his eyes were soft with support.
"Okay," he said, and she knew he hadn't accepted her statement, but that just made her feel better, because it meant he wasn't going to ask again. Relieved tears slipped down her cheeks and she sat next to him, cried softly. Zane's hand reached out and touched hers gingerly, curling his fingers around her own. They sat in comfortable silence for a long time before Zane spoke again.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. Her tears kept falling but she managed a nod.
"I'll be okay," she said. He nodded, and there was another brief silence.
"You want to blow something up?" he asked then, grinning. Syl stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, smiling through her tears. She nudged at him.
"You've always been a bit too into exploding things," she said wryly, and he shrugged, laughed back at her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
"Just let me know if you want to," he said, winking at her. She grinned and punched his stomach gently, sighed.
"Okay," she said softly. Zane's smile faded slightly and his eyes became serious.
"You'll call," he said. "You're right, it'll be okay."
"I'll miss you so much," she whispered.
"I know."
"With Brin and Zack gone..." She trailed off and he took her hand, squeezed.
"I know, Syl."
"I have to go," she said, not sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself. He nodded and she stifled a sigh, stood up. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning," she said softly. Again he nodded.
"When Zack comes back, things will be better," he said in a quiet voice. He was saying what she'd been telling herself since this whole thing started, but when she heard the words out loud they didn't sound as comforting as she'd hoped. But she'd be back again, once things settled, once Krit came to his senses and calmed down. Then everything would be okay.
"Call when you get home," Tinga said, smiling a little, almost sheepish.
"So I don't worry."
"I will," Syl promised, reaching her arms out and hugging her close. Tinga squeezed her back tightly, waited several moments before letting go.
"Take care of yourself," she said softly. She nodded and then Tinga took over hugging Krit from Jondy and Syl waited for her little sister to walk over. When she did her blue eyes were full of sadness and resignation.
"Sorry about..." Jondy trailed off and shrugged. "Well, you know."
"Me too," Syl said honestly. She opened her arms, folded her into an embrace. "Call us when you're ready to go the next step at finding Zack." Jondy pulled back, nodded.
"I still expect him to walk through one of our doors or call us up anytime." She swallowed. "I really miss him." Then she cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Hey, so you bartend huh?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe you could apprentice me sometime," Jondy said, smiling. "Our guy won't let me behind the bar."
"You're still... doing that?"
"What, dancing? Yeah."
"Why?" Syl frowned. "You've got lots of money, Jondy, we all do."
"It's not about that," she said. "I like it."
"I don't."
"Yeah, well, neither did Zack." Her voice became sad. "But only because he thought someone would see my barcode." She smiled and tugged at her hair. "It's covered, though."
"That's not what I'm worried about."
"I'm nineteen years old, Syl. I can do what I want. And I like dancing." She narrowed her eyes stubbornly and Syl sighed.
"Fine," she said, hugging Jondy again. "I'll see you later, huh?"
"Sure," she agreed. "I'll see you." She started to turn away.
"Hey, Jondy?" Syl called; her sister paused. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah. I love you too." Her eyes slid to Krit and he smiled at her, said goodbye; she nodded and walked away with Tinga. Then Zane was standing in front of Syl, a sad smile on his lips. He reached out and hugged her close.
"I love you, Zane," she whispered, holding him tightly. He freed himself from her arms and stepped back. She felt Krit's eyes on her back and frowned.
"I'll talk to you later, Syl."
"Yeah," she said softly. "Later." She watched Zane's eyes meet Krit's but he averted his gaze when Krit turned and climbed into the truck. Syl felt guilt stab through her as she saw how much that upset Zane, and she stifled a sigh.
"Bye, Krit," Zane said, his voice barely above a whisper. Syl shook her head sadly, turned and got into the truck. The engine started, but the vehicle didn't move. Krit looked at Zane from the driver's seat and nothing was said for a long time.
"Bye, Zane," he said finally, the tone of his voice unreadable even to Syl. Zane looked momentarily surprised, then overly relieved, and then he opened his mouth to say more. Krit pulled the truck out of the driveway so fast that the tires screeched and they left black marks where they turned onto the street. Before Zane's form rushed out of view Syl was just able to catch the look in his eyes, like he was a puppy who'd just been kicked.
When she got back to their apartment in Pueblo, Syl learned that Krit was
definitely done with gloom and tears; he was ready to start living again. Syl
wasn't. He was also angry at her, but obviously trying not to be; she didn't
know why, it wasn't as if she blamed him. Everything that had happened was still
her fault, that hadn't changed, but she didn't know how to fix it, or even where
she could start.
For the first few days they didn't even know how to act around each other, making small talk that you would with someone you'd just met, not a person you'd known since before you could remember. Syl slept in her own room, didn't talk to him during their uncomfortable dinners, never smiled at work. Everything was different; with each passing day Krit became more and more angry, more and more upset, and more and more stressed at trying to keep all that in and put on a face of control. He kept trying to live like they had before everything had happened, as though they could just revert back to the way things had been before she'd run away, but it was impossible. The girl she'd been before she'd left only a short time ago seemed like a stranger to Syl now, someone she couldn't hope to connect with, let alone be again.
"Syl," Krit said one night after they'd been home from work for an hour. Two weeks had been filled with awkward silences and averted eyes. He sat next to her on the sofa, closer than they'd been in weeks, and she glanced up almost warily from the book she was reading.
"What?"
"Look at this," he said, passing her a newspaper. She took it and saw a number of circled advertisements, all for apartments. "There are too many bad memories here," he explained quietly. "I thought we could start over in a new place." They locked eyes. "Things might be better." Syl scanned what he'd circled, saw that they were all one-bedrooms, wished that didn't make her nauseous. She put the paper down and stood up.
"It's not the apartment, Krit," she said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass, filling it with water. He followed and stood against the counter a few feet away. She turned back and met his dark eyes hesitantly. "It's us." She dropped her eyes, her voice. "It's me."
"I want things to be better," he said softly. "But it's hard when you won't even try."
"I am trying," she whispered. He gazed at her for a long time.
"Not enough," he said finally, walking over to her. She let him take her hand, let him reach up and stroke his fingers down her cheek. Her face was almost completely healed now, with only the hint of damage around her left eye that would soon be gone too. She wouldn't scar; she never had, not even when a doctor's knife had freed a tiny baby from her womb.
"I am trying," she repeated as he gazed at her. He let go of her hand and ran his own through his hair. "It's late," she said. "I should get to sleep." She started to turn away but his hand reached for her wrist and stopped her.
"Not in the other room," he said softly. She said nothing for a long time.
"I can't, okay?" she whispered. "I just can't."
"I miss you, Syl," he murmured gently. She shook her head, pulled her hand away and started for her bedroom. "Is it about Zane?" he asked softly, halting her.
"God, Krit," she hissed, not turning back. "No, it's not about Zane. It's about me, okay?" She walked down the hallway, into her room, and shut the door, undressing and falling into bed. She hugged herself, wondering if they would ever be able to go back to the way things were before.
Their grief processes were too different. While he wanted to be busy, talk, live, hold each other, Syl wanted to cut herself off from everything and everyone for the simple reason that if you weren't close to someone, they couldn't hurt you, and she'd had more pain than she could stand now. She closed her eyes against her tears so they wouldn't fall and tried to get some sleep.
Syl emerged from the bathroom, her wet hair clinging to her scalp,
eyes tired and hollow. When he saw her Zack stood up from the motel-room chair.
"Are you okay?" he asked cautiously. She nodded, mute, still trying to take everything in, still trying to make herself believe that this wasn't some wonderful dream, that Zack really was here, that he really had saved her tonight.
"I'm going to shower now too, okay?" he asked. Again she nodded, and watched him run a hand stressfully through his blond hair before he nodded and left the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Syl turned toward her bed, felt sudden pain that she was now so used to lance through her body. She climbed fully-clothed under the blankets and hugged her legs up to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. After a few minutes of lying there in the quiet room, the pain washing over her in waves, teeth gritted, fighting the shakes that were slowly taking over her body, she heard the bathroom door open again. His footsteps approached her bed and then he was standing beside her, leaning down so he could meet her dark eyes. He held up one of the towels she'd used to dry herself after her own shower; the white fabric was stained dark red with blood.
"Syl," he said quietly. The blanket was pulled tightly around her shaking shoulders; she could feel her teeth chattering. She looked at him but she wasn't really seeing him, didn't really believe he was there. "Syl," she heard again, and then she felt his hand touch her shoulder. A small cry ripped from her throat and her whole body stiffened as the contact sent fear and revulsion through her body, then guilt because she loved Zack, so why, why? Immediately he removed his hand, alarmed, and stood there for a moment, obviously uncertain as to what he should do.
"What?" she whispered, finally finding her voice. Then she added, "It's cold in here."
"Are you bleeding?" he asked softly. She gazed at him.
"Yes," she said in a small voice. "It usually goes away in a few days." She watched Zack's eyes widen, watched him swallow hard.
"Get up," he said gently. "I'm taking you to a hospital."
"What about Lydecker?" she asked, averting her eyes from his, the name already striking fear through her heart.
"We have to go," he said, firm but gentle. "Come on, stand up." Reluctantly she pushed the blankets back and sat up, but her body stabbed with sudden pain and she pitched forward, crying out, gritting her teeth. Luckily his arms were there, supporting her, stopping her from falling.
"It hurts," she whispered against him, her whole body shaking. "I'm cold, Zack."
"You're having a seizure," he said, leaning her back gently against the headboard. He hurried over to the bag containing his things and searched for his bottle of tryptophan, then found it and poured half a dozen pills into her hand, which she downed immediately. After what seemed like forever her body's painful convulsions slowed, and finally she gave one last violent shake before she rested back against the headboard, completely exhausted, the pain just as strong. She managed a weak smile.
"Stress brings them on," she explained. Zack nodded.
"I know."
"I'll be okay."
"You're bleeding," he reminded her. "We have to get to a hospital." A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she closed her eyes briefly.
"I don't want to move," she whispered. "I don't think I can." Zack reached over and grabbed the hotel room key and the keys to his motorcycle, got his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. He took her hand and slipped an arm around her, helping her to her feet as gently as possible. She stumbled, biting down hard on her lip to stop tears as the movement jarred her, but they slowly made their way out to his bike and climbed on. Syl winced as she was put in the worst position she could possibly have in this condition, but she didn't complain. Zack waited for her to wrap her arms around his waist and then revved the engine, driving as quickly but gently as was possible on a motorcycle toward the nearest hospital.
Syl's eyes snapped open; for a moment she didn't why she'd woken up,
since the dream hadn't been too upsetting, just a memory of the night Zack had
saved her from her foster uncle. Then she felt the subtle trembling of her body;
her blankets were twisted, she was cold, and pain ebbed from the shakes that
were gradually getting worse. She threw the bedspread off and got to her feet
unsteadily, using the wall for support as she made her way to the kitchen. She
found the tryptophan and swallowed a few, pouring herself some milk; she had to
wait several minutes before she was able to keep the glass steady enough to
drink.
When she could walk without falling over she started back toward her bedroom, her hands and shoulders shaking, gritting her teeth against the pain and so they wouldn't chatter. She paused outside her bedroom door and gazed at Krit's for a long time, made out the steady breathing of sleep through the darkness of their quiet apartment. She made a split decision and walked to his door, opened it. She saw him sleeping, facing away from her, looking small in the bed meant for two. She bit her lip, clenched her fists to try and force her shaking away, and padded over to the bed, slipping in between the sheets next to him, careful not to wake him up. She pulled the blankets around her shoulders and closed her eyes. A moment later she felt a soft hand against her cheek and she jumped.
"Sorry," Krit said softly, smiling at her. She managed a small smile back as he brushed the hair off her face.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he said back. "You okay?" He rubbed her trembling shoulder and she nodded as she felt the seizure subsiding. After a moment her body gave a few more violent shakes and then stopped. Krit smiled gently at her, dropped his hand. They gazed at each other for a long time as Syl got comfortable in the warm bed. Then Krit leaned over, kissed her. She let him for a few moments before pulling back.
"I just want to sleep," she said softly. He paused, his eyes hurt, but nodded slowly and laid back in bed away from her slightly.
"Sure," he said quietly. Her lower lip trembled.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why I can't-"
"It's okay Syl," he said, reaching for her again and pulling her close.
"I really love you," she whispered, afraid he didn't know it. He pulled back a little and smiled, his eyes sad.
"I know," he told her. "I love you, too." She rolled onto her back, out of his arms, and stared at the ceiling through the darkness.
"You were right the other day, at Zane's," she whispered after a long time. She felt his eyes on her but he didn't say anything. She glanced at him. "I just don't think it's enough anymore, Krit."
"No, I was wrong," he said finally, his voice soft. "It's enough, Syl. It is."
"No," she said, shaking her head, causing a few tears to slip down her cheeks. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Not for me. I told you I was screwed up, Krit. I tried to warn you."
"So let me help you," he said, his voice almost urgent. A hand touched her cheek, swept her tears away, his fingers soft and light against her face. "Let me help you figure out your screwed-up life."
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't." His hand fell away and he let his breath out in a frustrated sigh before he reached under the blankets and entwined their fingers.
"What do you want, Syl?" he asked in a very quiet voice. She closed her eyes against her tears, turned into his shoulder. His hands slipped around her and pulled her close as she cried softly.
"I want things to be the way they were before," she whispered through her sobs. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder and stroked a hand over her back.
"They will be," he said. "Things are going to get better now that we're-"
"No," she cut him off, her voice shaking. "No, before. Before all of this. I want things to be the way they were when we were kids."
"Come on," he murmured. "You don't mean that."
"Yes I do."
"Nothing about this world is worse than what they did to us there." He sounded so sure of himself that it amazed her how wrong he was.
"No," she sobbed. "No."
"Syl," he said. "Look at me." She looked and his dark eyes were full of concern and love and confusion all at once. "Don't you remember what they did to you? Psy-ops? The training, the yelling? We wouldn't even have names if we hadn't thought of them ourselves. We were little children with machine guns, Syl. How can you say anything is worse than that?"
"Because at least we were safe there. At least we knew everything that was going to happen all the time and we were prepared for everything."
"I wasn't prepared to see Eva's head snap back," he whispered. "I wasn't ready for her blood against the wall."
"Don't," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, twisting away. "Please, please don't."
"Syl," he said, his voice equally soft. "Nothing is worse than Manticore."
"You don't understand!"
"Then tell me!"
"No one told us the truth about what it was like out here, Krit. No one told us about all the things that could happen to us, about all the things people could do to us." His eyes were all questions but she didn't want to go on. She leaned into him again, sobbing. "We never should have left. Oh God, oh God, we never should have left, Krit, why did he make us leave?"
"Syl," he whispered, holding her close. He sounded scared. "Shshsh. What happened to you?"
"No," she exclaimed, tensing up, starting to pull away. "No no no no no."
"Okay, it's okay," he whispered, rubbing a hand over her back and tightening his arms around her. She turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed.
"I can't," she cried. "I can't, I can't. I screw up everything, Krit, everything."
"No, Syl."
"Yes!" she sobbed. "Yes yes yes."
"Shshsh," he soothed her, pulling her closer, rocking her slightly in his arms. Slowly her tears faded to low hiccuping sobs. "Syl, what is it?" he asked after a long time, quiet. "You don't really mean you want to go back there, you can't."
"That's not what I'm saying," she hissed. "There's a difference between wishing we'd never left and wanting to go back, Krit." She wiped angrily at her tears. "I don't want to go back there. I hated it, I hated Lydecker, everything you said. I hated all of it." She closed her eyes and more tears slipped down her cheeks. "I just want all of us back together again." There was a long silence.
"Syl," he whispered finally. "I want to help you but I don't-" He broke off, paused, sighed. "Just... what do you want?"
"I told you what I wanted," she said quietly.
"I can't turn back time for you, Syl, and I wouldn't want to." His voice was soft. She felt a small smile against her hair. "If we hadn't left I never would have found you."
"What?" She pulled back and stared at him. "You lost me for six years. If we'd stayed in Manticore that never would have happened."
"No, I mean the real you." He smiled tenderly at her. "Syl, not 701. This- us." He squeezed her hand. "They never would have let us have this at Manticore."
"Stop it," she hissed, pulling her hand away from him. The sudden pain in his eyes hurt her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then started to slip out of bed. His hand clamped down on her shoulder, hard.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to get out of here."
"No," he said, his voice firm and desperate all at once. "Stay here."
"You can't make me," she bit out, trying to get away from him, but his grip just tightened. She met his eyes, her own flashing with anger. "You're hurting me, Krit." His hand left her shoulder and she stood up, but he quickly got to his own feet and placed himself between her and the door.
"Don't go."
"I have to," she whispered.
"Don't run away again," he said, and then his voice dropped. "Please." He sounded so vulnerable, so alone, and it broke her heart. She reached for his hand.
"I have to," she said again. "I tried to warn you about me, Krit. I told you not to fall in love with me." Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"You did all of this!" her younger, dream-self had sobbed during her
last nightmare. "This is all your fault! You're supposed to be a soldier. Why
the hell didn't you fight? Why didn't you save them? Why didn't you save me?
... You destroy everything you touch!" And it was true.
Syl pulled away from him and he just stood there, staring at her.
"I screw up everything," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I know it's not fair but the sooner I leave the better it'll be for you."
"Do you really believe that?" he asked in a tiny voice. She paused because he honestly sounded like he didn't know the answer, and slowly she raised her eyes to his.
"Yes. It's true."
"No it's not, Syl," he said softly. "You make my life better."
"Don't be sappy," she whispered, turning away from him. "Not now."
"I don't care if it's sappy," he said firmly, grabbing her hand. "It's the truth and when the hell else am I supposed to say it if you leave?" She looked at him again. "Why don't you let me decide what's best for me, Syl? Stop trying to protect me."
"I'm supposed-" she began automatically, then broke off, blinked. Krit stared at her for a moment.
"You don't have to," he said gently. "I'm not a child anymore." He tried to pull her into his arms but she resisted. "I don't need you to look after me, Syl, I need you to be with me."
"You don't understand the way I am," she whispered sadly. "I wreck things, Krit. I wreck people."
"Who have you wrecked?"
"I wreck everything!" she yelled, tears threatening again. "Everything. Us, Caleb, Brin. When we were kids... Bram... I killed him... oh God, I wreck everything, I screw everything up... Why?" she whispered. "Why does it always have to be this way?" She dissolved into sobs.
"Syl," he whispered, reaching for her. She let him pull her close, let him rub a hand soft over her back. "Brin wasn't your fault. We all ignored what was going on. And Bram was an accident, you know that. They tried to get you to believe it was your fault, but it wasn't." He backed her up to sit them on their bed as she cried into his shoulder, and ran a hand gently and slowly through her hair. "God Syl, and Caleb?" Krit pulled back and forced her to look at him. She forced her sobs back as she met his desperate eyes. "You miscarried," he said gently, a small shake in his voice. "That's nobody's fault, it just happens sometimes." Her tears fell harder.
"No!" she sobbed, trying to pull away; he held on to her shoulders more tightly. "I let him, I let him hit me!"
"Shshsh," he whispered, his voice pained; he wasn't letting her go. She fought him for a moment but then couldn't anymore, and collapsed into his arms, crying. "Syl," he breathed, rubbing her back, his voice pained. "And you haven't wrecked us." Slowly she quieted and forced herself to meet his eyes, full of pain and tenderness. "You can't," he said softly, a small, cautious smile playing on his lips. "You can't ever wreck us." She closed her eyes, leaned forward again to cry against him.
"I'm so sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry about Zane." Krit stiffened slightly but then he forced himself to relax, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
"I know," he breathed, then let out a soft sigh. "I shouldn't have made you stop seeing him."
"It's okay," she whispered through her tears. "I probably would have said the
same thing, if you'd..." She trailed off, both because she knew he never would
have and because she was lying; she hated anything that kept them apart, had
always loathed that part of Zack's rules when they'd lived together. Even Jondy,
who she detested most of the time, who grated on her nerves and clashed with her
personality, she didn't ever want to lose. She seriously thought she might go
insane if she ever lost a member of her family again.
