A/N: For disclaimers please see chapter 1. Also, the country of 'Ephar' is mine and purely fictional, and is not based on any real country or political situation at all.

Chapter IV – 4AM

It was 4AM when Special Agent Ron Butterfield beheld them from the adjoining room door. It had been carelessly left open. The beauty of the scene quashed any shock of the revelation; a dimmed corner light splashed a warm glow over their bodies, contrasted against the white of the bedclothes that covered them up to their waists. He took a step back and knocked as he half closed the door behind him. Simon stirred from his light, but peaceful sleep. He caught a glimpse of a familiarly tall figure in a suit. Peeling CJ from him delicately and covering her lovingly with the warm sheets, he dressed quickly and went into the next room to face his superior.

The men faced one another in the dim glow of a standard lamp. The shadows on their faces exaggerated features, yet Ron's expression was as plain as ever, Simon's however betrayed his worried thoughts.

"Donovan." The greeting was by the book, if this was going to be an interrogation, Simon wasn't going quietly:

"If it's about us, then you can go to hell," he hissed motioning to the bed in the next room. Simon felt his face reddening, it was unlike him to show this, and Ron wished he could back off, he wished he could keep his words to himself.

"Agent Donovan, please: I didn't come here at 4am to question your integrity. What goes on between you and Ms. Cregg is quite frankly not my concern."

"Sorry sir." He allowed himself a sigh, but didn't relax "What is it?"

"It's Ephar." Simon's face changed swiftly from relief to despair, back to rage.

"What if my man hadn't been caught last night?"

"Then you'd have no problem going!" Ron motioned towards the next room. Simon held his eyes in a glare; Ron had uncharacteristically lost his cool.

"No one saw this coming?" Simon was in denial, the words formed at his mouth, spurred on only by his feelings of disbelief. "How did you neglect to tell me, there must have been intelligence, why am I on the outside?"

"Your mind wouldn't have been in the game Agent!" The ranking agent's eyes bored into Simon's. "You and I both know full well that it's not just an assignment, that information would have endangered Ms. Cregg and I couldn't risk that." Ron was firm; that had been his decision, by the book.

"Yes sir." Agent Sunshine sighed, the warmth of rage left him: the cold of remorse set in. "You know," a sardonic smile stretched his lips out, "I had truly lost sight of what it was to have anyone to leave behind."

Feelings weren't in the supervisor's job description, but half his professional career with the man, the change in Simon Donovan was striking. Never before had he questioned a superior, let alone an order; never before had he spoken so frankly.

"You can't let her be an issue here." Ron was gentle, his voice uncharacteristically soft: the professional relationship was briefly laid down.

"I can't just forfeit my life now!"

"Simon, you knew this would come sooner or later! There are things that are forfeit, that you know for now, have to end here." their conversation was but a hushed whisper, flux in the air.

"Don't ask me, not now!" Simon turned bitterly away. At that, the superior agent resurfaced and pulled rank:

"I'm not asking you – I'm telling you it's now. Your card has come up soldier!"

'Soldier', it rang in his ears, the gunfire and the jungle flashed across his mind's eye, deep brown eyes bulged from a child's face of pure innocence. The Rangers' creed ran through his mind…

…Fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavour to uphold the prestige, honour, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger Regiment. Never shall I fail my comrades. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall…I will complete the mission though I am the lone survivor…

The word soldier made something snap in his mind, the Ranger came back in an instant. Never leave a man. Facing his commanding officer, the deadpan soldier stood to attention. Ron lost all heightened strain that had seeped into his voice; his tone was simple and regimented:

"You'll leave immediately, it's a commercial flight; military movements are so closely watched it would be hard to get you in short of dropping you in a flyover. The plane leaves at 0600; an agent has your kit. He's waiting in the car with your passport and ticket.

"How long?"

"Twelve to eighteen: ghost." Ghost – no contact, he was on his own. Commissioned by the US, but truly alone, if everything went wrong, there would be no recovery operation, there would be no military funeral, and there would be the quiet distribution of his estate, but beyond that, no recognition what so ever of his existence. Even the Ranger in him couldn't stop the swell of emotion: he swallowed hard. The two men stood in silence. Simon remembered the boy who had saved his life in Ephar over twenty years ago. There was not one day he did not look to the sky and thank Jeremiah for his life. There was not one day he did not look to the sky and ask God when his time would come; when he would pay his debt. Ron's voice snapped him back to the present:

"Simon Donovan, I will certify by the authority vested in me by the Treasury Department that you are sound of mind. I am obligated to ask you if there are changes to your final testament as I have it in my possession?" He moved to get a piece of paper from his jacket. The shorter man held his hand up: Ron stopped, returning his hands to his side.

"You split everything between Anthony and Miles. You make sure Miles takes Anthony on, he agreed to be his Big Brother."

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir." Simon captured the eyes of his superior. "And Ron, when I don't come back, you tell her everything. Tell CJ why I left."

"You know I can't do that."

"I can expect you to do what ever the hell I like – a man sentenced to death has that prerogative!"

"You have a debt Donovan, but he didn't make the ultimate sacrifice."

"He was ten years old."

"You have to leave. Now."

"I left my side arm."

"Where?"

"In the other room."

"Simon no! Get your head in the game – you know what it did to you last time and you know it made no diff–" Simon cut in with hideous venom in his voice:

"Screw you Ron, she's not Aimee!"

Butterfield knew he'd pushed Simon to the limit. He was running a tight course; he had to let him do it. From what he heard of CJ Cregg, he couldn't be sure Simon was right: right if she wasn't like Aimee Donovan had been, or if it were possible for anyone to believe in love when they were so alone. The knock on effects to the President's senior staff, thoughts ran through his head, but Ron knew it had to end, for both their sakes. It was tragic even to his eyes; he never thought he'd see Simon Donovan this way again, the way he'd been when he had quit the Army Rangers. Ron had been promoted and had wanted to take his most promising soldier along with him, but the bombshell of Ephar and Aimee had changed that. The look in his eyes was different somehow, he knew Simon Donovan and what he saw between them was real. Worst of all, he knew that this time, it was by Simon's own actions that his heart would be broken again.

Fully clothed, Simon stole back into the room. His holster and weapon were where he had left them, in the middle of the cream carpet. He knelt and gingerly picked the item up, his fingers remembering the sensation of her skin; the way she had freed him of his burden. The agent rose slowly, and removing his jacket, placed his iron yoke of service back upon his shoulders.

CJ stirred and woke, her eyes finding the empty space next to her, she turned over and her eyes fell upon the suited figure.

"Hi." His voice was weak. She took in the sight of him fully dressed, his face was sad.

"Are you… going?" The shakes in her voice reverberated through him.

"Yes." It was that simple, it had to be – for no words would express how it was the hardest thing in the world.

"Can I… uh, can I… see you sometime? The weekend maybe we could…" She searched his face and he spoke in an expressionless tone, yet his eyes played his pain like cracks over their glassy surface.

"No. It's over Ms Cregg." She sat up, the sheet fell away from her body, but she was unaware of it.

"Ms Cregg? Simon? – What's this about?"

"I have to go."

"I… I don't understand, did someone… say something?" She shrugged as she fought the tears back.

"I just have to go."

"Where?" She smiled; it was the only expression that might hold back the tears. On the verge of breaking down, she laughed at her stupid, desperate question. Dealing with being used seemed to be a speciality of her love life. He was another in a line – how gullible must she be? The thoughts made her feel angry to the point of nausea. Simon took the few steps back over to her; he stood over her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"CJ, I…" he tried to touch her face, she backed away as far as she could and cut him off:

"No, just go, Simon, please." She was disgusted at him and at herself. He looked down and saw the hurt in her eyes. As he turned to leave, the first of her warm tears rolled from her eyes; impulsively he snapped back round, pulling her to her feet and into a firm embrace and desperate kiss. She fought him vigorously, and pushed him away, growling against his lips:

"You're all the same!" She stood fiercely in front of him, uncaring that she was naked and emotionally broken. "You're all just about getting yourselves damned well laid!" Her rage flowed freely, her arms flayed in expression: "Am I that easy?" He stood there, unable to speak. "Am I that easy!" She shouted again before her shoulders slumped and she shook her head: "None of you care a damn whisper!"

"It was never just sex to me." Finally finding the words, his voice was empty and seemingly uncaring, devoid from emotion as his heart bled numbly in his chest. To her, it was as if he wasn't even trying, it was almost sarcastic to her ears. For that, she slapped him hard across his left cheek; the tears intensified as she shrank away from her act of violence, sitting pathetically on the edge of the bed they had shared, despondently wrapping her naked body in the ruffled sheets. His head stayed tilted to the side, but he hadn't even flinched; the pain from her palm didn't hurt, he wanted her to keep hitting him. Maybe it would numb him from the pain in her eyes that crushed him so completely inside. When she didn't hit him again, he fled with firm strides, ashamedly starring at the floor as he went.

The door closed quietly, she never heard it. The sobs were so deep that they shook her whole body. Her mind hadn't caught up with her heart, and she almost felt at a loss as to why she was crying. Then the nausea returned. That sick taste in her mouth as she realised she'd been used. They had duped her. Simon Donovan and his good for nothing friend: 'take care of him, he's so weak' – everything he said she subconsciously spun into a lie in her head. Never in all her life had she felt so alone. Milo had been right she mused; love did come along and slap her in the face, and by God did it hurt.

TBC-