Title: A New Flame

Timeframe: Late Season Three, after Remnants.

Author: Edes

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me

A/N: I LIED. This is not the last chapter. I had intended it to be; I was just going have a short epilogue. But I starting getting all these ideas for the epilogue, (Sydney makes a cameo!) and it became a chapter on its own. Which is coming soon…

Thanks to my faithful reviewers and new guests as well. You guys keep me going!

Part 8: Taking chances

Will

Will cursed as Sark's blonde head disappeared below the window. Oh, no you don't. He ran to the sill and fired down into the night. The moon had set and Sark dropped quickly, swallowed up almost immediately by darkness. Will kept on firing, but he knew that it was to assuage his anger as much as anything. He was an untrained shot; he would have had to get lucky to hit Sark as he reached the ground and sprinted away. It seemed like he wasn't going to get lucky, this time. Seconds later a black SUV skidded into view. Will watched by the glow of the headlights as a door was flung open, and Sark leapt in. The vehicle spun away. He was gone. And that leaves…

Will hesitated, guilt gnawing him from the inside out. He didn't want to turn around. He knew what he would see: Leah crumpled on the other side of the room, bleeding from his bullet.

It was all you could do. Leah had grabbed a gun, and Will had no idea if it was to shoot at him or Sark. He hadn't waited to find out. Sark had used the diversion to escape with the Rambaldi brush. Now…now Leah might be dead.

Leah, whose small hands had stroked away his sorrow. Leah, who was an unwilling enemy, courtesy of Irina Derevko and her past patriotic zeal. Leah, who knew all the loyalty and pain in Will's soul, for she shared it.

Will heard a shuffling behind him. Leah, who was not dead, apparently.

He wheeled abruptly. She was standing with obvious pain. She had picked up the gun again, but she was holding it in her left hand. Will saw with a twinge of remorse that her right arm was covered in blood from a bullet wound to her shoulder. It hung, useless, at her side.

"Leah." Will's voice was grim. He had shot her once. His gun was raised to do it again, if he had to. Please let there be another way.

"Stay away from me." Leah clenched her teeth. Her gun rose slowly to the level of his chest.

"Put the gun down, Leah. I just want to talk." He didn't know if he meant it. He walked forward anyway.

"Stay. Away. You heard him. I'm dangerous." She backed up until she was against the wall. Her voice was pained, confused, but she had a hard glint of determination in her eyes. It reminded him of Sydney.

Will paused. OK, we're going to do this the hard way. Their guns stayed locked on each other. "Leah, there's something I have to tell you. It's not hopeless."

"How can you say that, Will? You have no idea what it feels like to have someone else inside of you. She could say anything, and I would do it." Leah readjusted her gun, to remind him it was there. "She could make me kill you."

"You're wrong. I know exactly what it feels like."

A lunatic laugh escaped her. "Fuck you."

"God damn it, Leah! Francie wasn't just a "friend" of mine. We were dating when Allison replaced her. When we—when we first made love, it was Allison, not Francie."

Will spit out the words. They were seeped in bitterness. "And when I slept, Allison…did things to me. Like Irina did to you. She changed the way I thought, what I could remember. She made me share Sydney's secrets."

Leah flinched at this new information, as if in sympathy, but she was undeterred. "Then they can do anything, Will. Don't you see? This is who I am, now. Everything else is temporary. I can't choose what to keep for myself anymore."

"No. That's not true. You can go back—you can change this. The CIA has people that can help you fight it. They cured me."

"You call this 'cured'? They might have fixed your mind, Will, but where are we? In case you don't remember, you're a long way from LA. Or didn't you tell them you wanted your life back, too?"

Will forced himself to remain calm. "You have to try. You have to try, Leah!"

Something in his voice finally reached her. She still held the gun, but it was wavering. "I can't do it! She won't let me! I can't go back!"

"Yes, you can."

"I can't! It's too late." But she lowered the gun, as if in exhaustion. Tears flowed down her face. Her voice was thick with sobs. "I won't ever be right again, Will. I can't make it right."

She slid down the wall slowly, as if each joint in her body was breaking one by one.

"Yes, you can. Yes, you can." He took a step toward her as she crumpled. He pulled her to him before she hit the ground. "You can, Leah," he breathed into her ear.

"I was just a little kid." Her voice was small, broken.

"I know…shh…I know." He held her as she cried.

Leah

It took them two months to break Irina's conditioning. Two months of seclusion at a remote CIA ward perched on a cliff above the Oregon coast. Two months of hypnotic regression, of opening the gateways and triggers in her mind. It wasn't exactly a science, and, in her darkest moments, Leah wondered what the difference was between Laura's programming and that of the CIA.

I have to believe that there is a difference. Otherwise, I have nothing to live for.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Will visited every morning, displaying a faithfulness that would have broken her heart—I don't deserve this—if it hadn't made her so happy. It pained her that he couldn't stay the night, but she knew the reason. They didn't have to tell her he was too vulnerable as he slept. That realization spurred her on through the endless probing questions, the sterile laboratories, the experimental sedatives, and the irritating pseudo-science. When this is done, he won't have to leave.

Her morning walks with Will were her one respite. They walked among the tide pools, talking quietly of their futures. Leah liked to watch the slow undulation of the pastel anemones; she found their steady rhythm soothing. Will admired the stalwart starfish, clinging to the exposed rocks, awaiting the return of the sea.

They rarely mentioned the pain they had shared. Lives upended by the world of espionage. Chosen careers cut short. Lovers lost to suicide or treachery. Minds that bore the stamp of foreign encroachment.

Instead, they would make love, spread out on a blanket that he brought. They were always careful, always tender with each other. Will babied her shoulder. It was still bandaged, but returning quickly to full rotation. Their kisses tasted like the ocean.

The sea lingered on her lips each day, long after he had left.

End of Part 8

A/N Please hit the review button if you get this far. I love hearing from y'all!

Next (and last, I promise) chapter coming soon…