Syl woke up with incredible guilt.

How could she have done that to him? How could her mind have betrayed her by flashing back to her trauma when she was with Krit, whom she loved... and she'd screamed, and how could he not think he'd done something, that it was his fault? She rolled over to look at him, but the pillow was all that laid beside her. Syl stood up slowly, took her time dressing before padding into the living room. She scanned the room for Krit but he was nowhere in sight. Before she could become too alarmed, the front door opened.

"You're awake," he remarked. "Good. Help me with these." She walked over with a questioning look on her face, taking the heavy box from his hands and putting it on the kitchen counter. There were other boxes, and she helped him cart those in as well.

"What is all this?" she asked once the door had been closed and he was inside. Krit opened the first box; inside lay a beautiful variety of rifles, grenades, explosives, handguns, and even a semi-automatic. Syl's eyebrows lifted. "What's all this for?" she asked, already digging in. Like Zane, she loved weapons, but unlike Zane, it wasn't about how they worked but how they looked, what they could do, that made her enjoy them so much. She used to collect them years before, until Zack had made her stop because it made her look like a very conspicuous teenager. But she'd always had an eye for good weaponry, and the collection Krit had brought was the best.

"A rainy day," he answered her question, smiling at her. She tore her eyes away from the endless possibilities within the box and touched his arm.

"You don't have to buy me back," she said softly. He surprised her by jerking away.

"I'm not." His voice was almost flat. "I'm just getting a few things we don't have, stuff we've both wanted for a while." Syl hadn't heard him talk about weapons once since they'd started living together, he much preferred hand-to-hand combat, but she said nothing, just nodded. She reached out for the semi-automatic, held it in her hands, recognized the strong make and excellent craftsmanship immediately, the weight of it familiar in her hands.

"This is Israeli," she remarked, impressed.

"Your favourite," he agreed, smiling a little. She nodded.

"They make the best," she said. "Must have been expensive." Krit shrugged.

"I had some extra cash lying around."

"What's the rest?" she asked, pulling open the other boxes. Inside was practically everything she'd ever mentioned wanting or needing since they'd begun living together.

"You going somewhere?" she joked, and he gave her a small smile, shaking his head and falling into the sofa. For some reason that little smile scared her. Syl abandoned the weapons for the time being and walked over, dropped down beside him.

"I'm sorry about-" she began in a whisper, but the look in his eyes stopped her.

"Don't," he said, almost angry. "Just don't." He stood up abruptly, left the room. She sat there for a long time, staring at her hands through the tears that were threatening.

"Okay," she whispered to the air.

* * *

Work the next day was busy, so they didn't have much time to talk, and by the time their shift was nearly over Syl had a well-rehearsed speech to give him about what was wrong with her, leaving out most of the select details. She was sure with a little coaxing Krit would accept a sudden memory of psy-ops as a plausible reason for her nervous breakdown two nights before.

"About ready to go?" she asked when he walked over to the bar five minutes before their shift ended; Krit smiled at her.

"I feel like walking, actually," he said. "I'll be home in about an hour or so. But you go ahead. Take the car home." Syl blinked at him, surprised.

"You're going to leave me," she said, amazed by her calm voice. "I know you." Krit's smile faded and he ran a hand through his hair, averted his eyes.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, barely above a whisper. "It's hurting both of us too much." Tears blurred her vision but she forced a nod.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

"Don't," he said, soft but firm. "That's why I didn't want to- I don't want you to think it's your fault..."

"What the hell else am I supposed to think?" she asked bitterly, clenching a fist. "It is my fault."

"I..." He trailed off helplessly and she opened her mouth to say more, but a call from one of the customers cut her off.

"Hey! Can I get some beer down here? And change the channel on the tv!"

"Just a minute!" Syl called angrily over her shoulder. She looked at Krit, tried to think of something to say, something that could make this better. She frowned. "What?" she asked when she saw that he wasn't even looking at her anymore. His eyes were glued to a spot behind her, wide and almost terrified. She turned slowly.

"What the hell?" the same customer yelled. "Hey," he called to her. "There's something wrong with the tv. It's the same thing on every channel!" Syl ignored him, too busy trying to get her mind around what she was seeing, wondering if she was hallucinating, if she'd gone crazy. She forced herself to tune in to the television.

"...a message for those known as X5," it said in a garbly, computer-altered voice. Krit's hand slipped over her shoulder and squeezed until she was sure she'd have a bruise, angry and black, but she didn't care. Barcodes were scrolling across the screen. Jondy's, Tinga's... what was the voice saying? Compromised? Syl froze as the next two barcodes scrolled across the screen: Krit's and Zane's.

"I repeat," the message continued. "Your locations have been compromised. You know what to do. This message will repeat every hour on the hour until each of you has checked in." It started to go back to the beginning again, and then everything happened in slow motion.

"Hey, lady!" the noisy customer yelled. "What the hell is wrong with this television? Are you going to just stand there or do I have to call your boss, huh?"

"Come on, Syl," Krit said, clamping his hand around hers tightly, as though Lydecker might walk in this second, as though he might just burst in right now and try to pull her away. They hurried past the shouted protests of customers and the questioning looks of the other staff members and ran flat-out for their SUV once they were outside.

"Where are we going?" Krit asked, starting the engine. Syl tried to think.

"Go north," she said. "Right through Wyoming, they'll never think of that. We'll stop somewhere once it's safe." Krit nodded, pulled the car out and tore down the street. Syl searched for her cell phone and found it, held it in her hands for a few moments. She turned slowly to him.

"Does this mean Zack..." She trailed off and Krit swallowed.

"I don't know," he said, then cursed, slammed his hands against the steering wheel, drove faster.

"Krit," she said gently, buckling her seatbelt. "Don't speed. We don't want to look conspicuous." He slowed instantly and sat back in the seat.

"How could they know?" he whispered. "How was I compromised?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, watching him check the rear-view mirror every few seconds to see if they were being followed. Syl flipped her cell phone open and dialled the contact number, waited for Zack's message to play.

"It's Syl," she said. "Krit and I are on the move. We're heading up north. I'll check in again later when we stop. Call me, Zack." She left her number, hung up, and took a deep breath that didn't calm her at all.


Krit halted the car on an open stretch of highway about ten kilometres from Cheyenne. Syl glanced behind them, fear in her heart, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary as she scanned the roadside treeline and the other cars.

"Why are we-" She stopped abruptly. "Oh no," she whispered as she saw Krit's hands trembling. "No, not now." Krit didn't get seizures as often as she did, but when he did get them they were bad, and they came on fast and hard. No wonder he'd stopped the car so suddenly. Syl turned into the backseat but there was nothing; they had nothing with them because they hadn't gone back to the house. Lydecker could have already been there. They'd just jumped in the car and drove. Oh God...

"Syl," Krit whispered, gritting his teeth as the shakes quickly got stronger, unable to stop a small grunt of pain from escaping his lips. Before long he wouldn't be able to sit up, and just a little longer would mean he'd have to really work at staying conscious. Syl pulled the glove compartment open, searched through the drawer that pulled out of the passenger's seat. She found it, a small bottle they'd decided to start keeping in the car for emergencies almost a year ago. There was one pill inside. One. She held it up.

"That's all there is." Krit took it, but she knew it would do almost nothing. He needed at least half a dozen. Syl slid out of the car, hurried around to the driver's side and opened the door, catching his near-dead weight as he almost fell onto the street. "Help me, Krit," she whispered, shoving him toward the other seat. "Please, please." He grabbed the steering wheel, used it as leverage to get over into the passenger side, then collapsed from exhaustion against the window. Syl took off her jacket and laid it over him, started the engine and tore back onto the freeway. She could be in the city in twenty minutes, and then it would take another five at least to find somewhere to steal the pills. About ten to get them, assuming she didn't get caught. Syl glanced at Krit, his eyes closed, the convulsions wracking his body; she wouldn't get caught. Under normal circumstances in this situation, Syl would go to a hospital; it would be worth the risk, and they could just get the medication and leave before anyone starting asking too many questions.

But not now. Not with Lydecker after them. It was risky to even go near a city, but they had to.

When Syl entered Cheyenne Krit's whole body was convulsing violently, he was unconscious, and he'd broken into a cold sweat. She looked at him and suddenly she realized she didn't know if he was going to make it. She was at least twenty-five minutes away from having the pills in her hand, and that was if she remembered this city well enough to find the hospital. She hadn't exactly spent a lot of time in Wyoming after the escape, what with Zack having considered the entire state and most surrounding areas off-limits when they were kids.

Syl suddenly swerved the car, tires squealing, into the parking lot of a small corner grocery store. She jumped out barely before the SUV had hit a complete stop and ran in, sprinting so fast to the freezer section that she knocked over several displays.

"Hey!" the clerk yelled as Syl gathered a few milk cartons and made her way to the till. She dropped the milk onto the counter, reached into her coat and drew out a few hundred dollars, tossed it at him.

"Sorry about the mess," she said as she grabbed the cartons again, heading for the door. "Keep the change." The man brightened significantly as he looked at the money.

"Have a nice day!" he called after her. She ignored him, running to her car and climbing in, noticing with a sinking heart that Krit already looked much worse.

"We don't have time to get you tryptophan," she murmured to his unconscious face, pulling him into a sitting position, cradling him in her arms as his body shook and shuddered. "But we've got lots of milk." She opened his mouth, hoping that this would work because if it didn't there would be no time left for anything else. Gingerly, she let a small amount of milk pass through his lips, and then she rubbed his throat, willing him to swallow. It took a moment, but he did. Syl breathed a shaky sigh of relief and repeated the process. Again he swallowed, but this time he coughed; she tensed, fear pulling at her heart, but the milk stayed down. Then he stopped breathing.

"Oh God." Before she could even get through the first part of CPR, he suddenly inhaled, loudly, dissolving into more coughs. His breath continued coming, but it was much weaker, laboured. Syl tried not to panic, knowing his airway was closing from the seizure, and she had to get at least half this milk into him before that happened. "Hang on," she whispered, struggling another mouthful down his throat. "Please, please hang on."

After forty minutes and one and a half cartons of milk, Krit's eyes opened, dazed and exhausted. He coughed, his body still trembling but getting better now instead of worse. It took him a few moments to find her eyes, but he did, looked at her. He glanced at the carton in her hands and managed a tiny smile.

"More please," he whispered. Syl laughed, threw her arms around his neck, cried with relief. Krit reached up weakly to squeeze her shoulder and managed, after a few tries, to sit up. He took the milk carton from her and tipped it, taking huge gulps until it was empty. Finally he let it drop into the back seat and shivered once or twice again, hands trembling, before his body pitched once more and then slowly stopped shaking. Krit settled into his seat, exhausted, and Syl wished they could find somewhere to go and just crash, because as soon as the adrenaline of fear left her body she was absolutely ready to fall into bed and sleep soundly for a week.

"We have to keep moving," she said, starting the car again. Krit nodded, closed his eyes for a long time, opened them.

"Watch the rear view mirror," he whispered.

"I know."

"If you see anyone following us-"

"Krit, I know." She softened, reached over to run a hand through his dark hair. "Sleep now."

"Sorry," he whispered. "I worry about you."

"I worry about you too, baby brother," she murmured. He gazed at her for a moment; he didn't look surprised, even though she hadn't called him that in almost two years and most would have thought it a very odd thing to say now. Krit let out a small sigh, closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes.