A/N: Wow. It wasn't my intent to be mean. Merely to cut off the chapter at a reasonable length (it was running at about 23 pages at one point) and a natural stopping point. Really. Honest.

Thanks to everyone for the feedback. I hope you'll think the update was worth the wait…

Providence

Chapter 9

No fate, he told me. No fate but what we make. He loved that line. That stupid, corny line from an old movie made in the twentieth century. To him, it summed up everything that he was trying to do, everything that he was trying to change. I just didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.
from the letters of Darryl Morris to his wife Sheila, written after her death


Les tore through the base, his thoughts jumbled as he searched through the crowds for Chris both physically and mentally. Telepathy was a tricky thing…it was kind of like placing a phone call. If the person on the other side didn't pick up, they weren't going to hear anything. No matter how 'loud' he called.

He'd already been to Chris' quarters and 'mindsent' to the telepaths in command central. No sign of Chris at either location. He was running out of places to look.

And running out of time.

Even more frustrating, Les couldn't even 'drop' his mental shield for a quick scan – too many people on base to attend the service made it a useless exercise. Spotting one 'voice' in a crowd this large would be harder than looking for a needle in a haystack.

He cursed his luck.

Sweat poured down his face as he burst into the mess hall. It was empty now, save for a couple of people cleaning up the hall.

He was running out of ideas.

Chris, where the fuck are you?

"Les?" A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Turning towards the cause of his distraction, Les wheeled in his violently churning emotions. He smiled tightly, recognizing the woman in front of him, "Hey Theresa. Look, I'm kind of in a hurry right now. I'm looking for Chris. Can we catch up later?"

Theresa nodded sympathetically, "Of course. You take care you hear?"

Nodding, Les whirled around to make a quick exit.

"He sure is popular today. Poor boy – I suspect he just wants to be left alone," Theresa sighed, picking up some paper that was littering the ground.

His hand on the door, ready to push it open, Les paused. Turning, he asked slowly, "I'm sorry?"

"Chris," Theresa explained. "You're not the only one who's been looking for him."

Facing Theresa, Les quickly strode forward, firmly grasping her shoulders, "Who? Who else was looking for him, Theresa?"

Theresa looked up at him, her eyes unblinking, surprised at Les' vehemence, "Why, Bianca. She was here earlier. I think she kind of felt sorry for him, you know? She was a bit concerned." Theresa chuckled slightly, "Just between you and me, I think she has a bit of a crush on him."

Stumbling back, Les freed his grip on Theresa's shoulders, "How…how long ago was that?"

Theresa frowned, "About fifteen minutes ago. Maybe twenty. You okay, Les? You're kind of pale."

"Do you know where she went? Where she thought Chris went?" Les asked urgently, ignoring Theresa's question.

"Well – I told her about that place Chris likes to go. You know, when he wants to be alone? I reckon that's where he would have headed after a day like today," Theresa shrugged.

"What place? What place, Theresa?" Les asked, confused. He hadn't known that Chris had a 'place' he liked to go.

"Why, the old playground outside old Mission Hill," Theresa said, surprised that Les didn't know. After all, she was well aware of the friendship between the two. "He goes there sometimes…for peace and quiet."

"Can you tell me where it is? This is really important, Theresa. I have to find Chris," Les demanded, anxiously. "I have to find him, right now."

"Sure," Theresa replied. "Go as far east as you can with tunnel 66. There's an emergency exit at the end of the tunnel that will take you up to the surface. The park is right there."

Grabbing the older woman, Les pressed a quick kiss on her forehead before running off, "Thanks a million, Theresa. I owe you one."

Shaking her head at his antics, Theresa could only watch as the doors of the mess hall swung shut.

"Young people these days. Always rushing off."


The sound of a branch cracking abruptly jerked Chris from his thoughts.

Whipping his head around, Chris responded instinctively, ducking as something shot past him overhead.

Thunk!

Frozen, he stared up at the knife buried in the statue, the handle still quivering.

His instincts suddenly took over and he rolled off the bench coming quickly to his feet to face his enemy.

His mouth dropped open.

"Bianca?"


"Where is Les hurrying off to?" Darryl asked his sons, motioning them to come inside as he caught the back of Les' retreating figure.

Michael shrugged. "Dunno. He just took off all of a sudden. Should we go after him?"

Darryl shook his head. "No, if he needed us, he would have said something." Gesturing at his sons, he pointed at the chairs at the kitchen table while taking a seat himself. "Take a seat. Tell me how your mission went."

The two brothers sat next to each eyeing their father. DJ sneaked a glance at Michael, who shrugged imperceptibly. Something was…off, but DJ couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Mission was fine. We got a lead on who murdered Marcus."

"Tea?" Darryl asked, rather nervously. DJ shook his head. Regardless, Darryl rose from his seat to put the kettle on. "I'm rather parched myself."

"Sure, I'll have a cup. Dad…" Michael said, hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"

Seemingly focused on ostensibly preparing tea, Darryl kept his back to his sons and avoided eye contact with them, "No. Why do you ask?"

Trading looks with his brother again, DJ leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, "I don't know. You just…you seem distracted. That's all."

Fiddling with the temperature dials on the small oven, Darryl didn't respond. Instead, he asked, "So who murdered Marcus?"

"Assassins. A mother-daughter team, actually. Part of this coven of witches that call themselves Phoenixes," Michael replied, leaning back in his chair. "Apparently they're top of the food chain, according to Phinks."

Darryl nodded absently, "Good, good."

"Huh?" DJ asked in confusion. "What's good?"

Darryl glanced over his shoulder, "Sorry?"

"I said some assassins killed Marcus, and you said 'good.' What's good about that?" DJ explained patiently. "Dad…you sure you're okay?"

Bracing himself against the oven, Darryl shook his head in apology, "I'm sorry. I guess I am a little distracted." As the kettle began to whistle, Darryl flipped off the dial and poured it into the nearby waiting teapot. Picking up the teapot and a couple of cups, he brought the refreshment over to the table. "Damn. I forgot the milk and sugar."

"I got it," DJ motioned his father to remain seating and opened the small fridge to retrieve the milk. "Don't bother getting up."

"Thanks, son." Darryl began to carefully pour the tea into the two mugs. The steam from the hot tea swirled upwards towards the ceiling, evaporating.

Rummaging through the cupboard, DJ frowned, peering into its depths, "You and mom still keep the sugar in the same place? I can't find it."

Cursing, Darryl abruptly put down the teapot as his right hand shook. The hot tea sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto Darryl's left hand which was holding the mug steady.

"Dad!" Michael exclaimed, reaching for his father's hand.

Darryl brushed him off, "I'm fine." As Michael continued to fuss, Darryl repeated, saying brusquely, "I said I'm fine, Michael!"

Staring at his father from the kitchenette, DJ shook his head in disbelief, "Dad. He was just trying to help."

Rubbing his face wearily, Darryl nodded. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, Michael. I don't know what came over me."

"Dad, it's okay," Michael threw a concerned look over Darryl's head at his brother. "I know you didn't mean it."

Forgetting the sugar, DJ came back to the table to take a seat next to his father. "Dad. What's going on?"

"I…I…" Darryl fought to get the words out, his tongue stumbling.

Michael reached out, putting his hand on his father's arm reassuringly, "Dad. Whatever it is. You can tell us."

"There was an…an accident," Darryl spoke slowly, his mouth full of cotton. "With the supply run…"

DJ looked at Michael in confusion, "Yeah. We heard. What about it?"

"Your…she…your mother wanted to help," Darryl whispered.

DJ and Michael stared at their father, stunned. "Wha-? Dad, what are you saying?"

"Your mother…she…she didn't come back," Darryl closed his eyes. "She didn't come back."


Her foot came down hard on the branch just as the knife left her hand, emitting a loud CRACK!

She had missed.

She, who had never in her entire life as an assassin, ever missed a target.

She stared in amazement at the knife buried in the statue, momentarily stunned.

"Bianca?"

Her name on his lips shook her out of her reverie. As her eyes met his wary ones, her training reasserted itself. Snarling, she released her second knife from her other wrist sheath. The knife glittered in the fading sunlight as she slashed at him. Jumping back, he moved away from her, watching her carefully through wide eyes. "Why? Just tell me why, Bianca."

She let her anger flare through her, helping her to remember the reason. She stifled the impulse to stop. "Bastard. You killed my mother."

He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," she hissed. "I know you killed her."

He shook his head again. "I've never taken the life of another human being. Demons, yes. And many of them. But never a human – good or evil."

"She was my mother!" Launching herself at him, she sliced the knife in a downwards arc towards his chest. Chris managed to catch a hold of her wrist, grappling with her. Anger fuelled her strength, and the knife inched towards his chest. Twisting her wrist, Chris managed to get her the drop her knife and before she could retrieve it, used his telekinesis to send it flying across out of reach, the knife landing uselessly in the grass.

"I don't want you dead," Chris panted as she broke free.

"And you have such tender concern for me," Bianca sneered, as the two faced off, circling each other. Why wouldn't he fight back?

"I do care about you, Bianca. Just like I think you've come to care for me these past few weeks."

She felt a slight twinge and self-hatred flooded through her. She shook her head, focusing on the memory of her mother. "Don't count on it," she jeered. Lashing out with her leg, her foot connected solidly with Chris' stomach. Caught by surprise, he sank to the ground clutching his middle in pain.

At that moment, she felt herself split in half and the half that was the trained assassin…the half that took over her body when completing a mission…the half that completely divorced itself from that other side of herself which experienced feelings…emotions…asserted itself. Strongly.

Coldness settled in all around her, isolating her from the sounds and sights around her. She went to that dark void inside herself, her world narrowing to herself and her target. Straddling him, she curled her fingers into his hair, lifting his head back so that he could see the hatred in her face. Slamming his head into the earth, she said coldly, "You killed my mother. And now I'm going to kill you." She watched dispassionately as his lip split and blood splattered onto the dirt beneath them.

"Bianca, listen to me – ," Throwing her off with a combination of his telekinesis and his own physical efforts, he quickly rolled away from the assassin, pushing himself unsteadily back onto his feet. He winced, his head woozy, "I'm not going to fight you, Bianca."

Landing on the balls of her feet, Bianca whipped around to face her opponent again. "That'll make my job so much more easier."

"I told you, I didn't kill your mother," Chris replied, wearily. "I've never killed another human being, and I don't intend to start now."

Bianca sneered. "More fool you."

"You don't want to do this," Chris started, his eyes carefully assessing her every move.

"What the hell would you know about what I want? You killed my mother, you sick son of a bitch!" Bianca spat, feeling the anger began to bubble to the surface at his patronizing tone. "What the fuck would you know?"

"I know what it's like to lose someone close to you. To lose your mother," Chris grimaced. "To be alone in this world, thinking no one else understands what you're going through. What you're feeling."

Letting out a scream of primal rage to block out his words, Bianca threw herself at him again. Together, the two tumbled to the ground. She balled her hand into a fist and smashed it into the side of his head.

He threw up his arms to block her.

Perched above him, she slammed her fists one after the other, letting her anger and rage override everything else.

Override every thought.

Her knuckles were bleeding, the flesh raw.

Who did he think he was?

What did he know about pain?

About loss?

She drew back her fist again, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions overwhelming her. The fury flowed through her veins, boiling her blood. A much safer emotion than that of the grief she was experiencing at the loss of her mother that had yet to leave her.

"It's not fair. This war…so many lives lost – and for what?"

"Your loss will be an open wound in each of our hearts."

The same grief staring right back at her, like a mirror image.

Compassion…sorrow…

Green eyes filled with understanding blinking up at her.

And the hatred drained away like water, leaving her trembling.

Leaving her numb.

Leaving her exhausted.

Leaving her.


"Hey!"

Les ignored the angry shout as he shoved his way through the crowds. More people threw dirty glances in his direction as he continued to push forward against the overflowing hallways.

He was beginning to feel panicked, unsure of whether his shortened breathing was a result of the sickening feeling in his stomach or from his efforts to jostle through the packed corridors. Cursing the crowds, Les scanned over the heads of the mob and saw no end to the sea of people moving at a snail's pace in front of him. Out of his peripheral vision, he spotted a less crowded tunnel. Although the detour wasn't the most direct route, the lack of human traffic could work to his advantage and allow him to make up the time. Les veered off to his left, and free of the human obstacles in the less crowded tunnel, he took off at a dead run.

Zigzagging his way through the base, cutting from tunnel to tunnel, Les took the longer, less traveled paths. Whether it was the right decision was moot. Only time would tell. He glanced down at his watch, the minutes passing far too quickly as he covered the entire distance of the base.

He could feel the sweat dampening the back of his shirt, sticking to him. He concentrated on evening his breathing and pushing past the pain. He silently cursed Chris again for choosing such a remote place to observe his grief.

You had to pick the furthest corner of the base to be 'alone.' You couldn't be 'alone' in your own damn quarters, Les thought half frustrated, half exasperated. It was easier to concentrate on those feelings, instead of focusing on the burgeoning terror in his gut that was telling him he was going to be too late. Too late to stop Bianca. Too late to save Chris.

Ignoring the burning feeling in his lungs, Les spotted the emergency exit that Theresa had mentioned. Bursting through the door, he came to an abrupt stop as the intimidating sight of a staircase spiralling seemingly unendingly upwards greeted his gaze. Barely pausing to catch his breath, he grabbed onto the handrail, taking the stairs two at a time.

The blood pounded through his veins in rhythm with his leaps as he bounded up the set of steps.

In rhythm with the words that kept drumming through his brain.

I can't be too late…I can't….


Chris threw up his arms to protect his head, but he refused to trade blows with his attacker. Perched above him, she rained down blow after blow on his arms, releasing all her pent up pain and anger on Chris.

Pain.

He lay on the ground absorbing blow after blow, wondering how much would be enough to divert her rage. He looked up at the tortured young woman, tears streaming from her eyes, running down her face as she screamed and sobbed her frustration. He could hear her pain and loneliness in her wails as she continued to smash her fists into his upper body – much like the pain and loneliness he had first experienced after his mother had died. And the pain and grief he experienced each time another family member was taken from him.

The grief he was experiencing right now with Sheila's death.

It was why he didn't fight back. He knew that he was running the risk that she would indeed succeed in killing him. But he rather believed that she would have to retrieve her knife to do so. He also believed that he had gotten to know the 'true' Bianca these past days. And she wasn't a killer.

Of humans, anyways.

He hoped.

The punches began to slow and her wails subsided into small hiccups. Eventually they ceased. Chris cautiously lowered his arms from their protective position to look into Bianca's face. Rolling away from him, she lay in a fetal position, curling herself into a small, protective ball. Her shoulders shook with silent tears, and only her gasping breaths and Chris' breathing broke the silence between them.

Wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve, he grimaced as he noticed the blood stain it left as he pulled his sleeve away. That's going to smart in the morning, he thought ruefully. He grimaced at the inane thought. Scooting closer to Bianca, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, murmuring, "Bianca."

"She was all I had. And you took her away from me," Bianca accused, tonelessly. "Whatever else that I am, whatever else that I've ever done…it didn't matter. Because she loved me."

"Bianca…"

Whipping her head around, she took in the sight of Chris bruised, battered and bleeding before her. As if the implications of her actions began to sink in, she murmured, "You're hurt."

Chris brushed off her concern. He was more worried about her mental health. "It's nothing."

She stared at him in disbelief, "How can you be so…so concerned? About me? I nearly killed you!"

Chris shrugged. "But you didn't. Bianca…" he replied calmly, reaching for her.

Holding her hands out in front of her like a child warding off a nightmare, she began to back away, "No. No…I can't…I don't…Nothing makes sense anymore!"

And before Chris could stop her, she bolted from him.

Taking a couple of steps forward with the intention of chasing after her, Chris stumbled. The world began to spin and he cursed the pounding pain in his head.

"Chris!"

Les burst out of the manhole, tripping over himself in his haste to reach his friend's side. Not close enough yet to notice that Chris was battered and bleeding, Les shouted as he ran towards Chris, "Where's Bianca? We think she may be a spy!"

Les' voice seemed to be coming from miles away, muted and distorted. Chris opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Instead he collapsed to the ground, the darkness swirling up to swallow him whole.

Bianca…, he thought.


"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Les asked fretfully. "He should be awake by now, right?"

They were in the infirmary. Alarmed at Chris' medical state upon finding him, Les had dragged his unconscious friend straight to the whitelighter for healing. Lilah shook her head, "I don't know, Les. He did experience a lot of head trauma though."

"But you healed that," Les pointed out. "Right? So shouldn't he be awake?"

Lilah shrugged. "Maybe it's just his body telling him that it's not ready yet."

"Not ready?" Les started pacing in the small examination room. "What the hell does that mean?" A knocking on the door interrupted before he could continue.

Duncan stuck his head around the door. "Chris okay?"

"He's fine," Les said briskly, walking over to the door. "We think. Well?"

Stepping inside, Duncan spared a glance at the sleeping Chris before focusing his attention back on Les, "No sign of her. We searched her room. All her stuff is still there. She literally must have taken off just before you got to Chris." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and handed it to Les. "We did find this though."

Flipping through it, Les glanced up at Duncan grimly, "It looks like she was trying to put together a comprehensive map of the base."

Duncan nodded. "As much as we can figure. I've alerted all scouts to look out for a woman with her description in the tunnels. Chances are she's trying to get back to Wyatt's stronghold. If we're lucky, we might be able to catch her while she's still in the dead zone."

Rubbing his head, Les closed his eyes briefly, "Keep on it. I want to catch her before she has a chance to report anything back to Wyatt."

Heaving a sigh, Duncan shook his head, "You know we might not be able to catch her. She's an assassin, Les. She's skilled and she's deadly. Not a combination that works in our favour right now."

"I don't want to hear it. Just get her."

Hearing the dismissal, Duncan nodded again, "I'll see you back at command?"

Nodding curtly, Les waved Duncan off as he shut the door. Turning back his attention to Lilah and her sleeping patient, "Can't you just wake him up?"

Looking up from her examination, Lilah said through gritted teeth, "No, I cannot just wake him up."

"Look – if we're going to catch the assassin before she makes it back to Wyatt's, I need to know where we stand. And right now, Chris was the last person in her presence," Les pointed out.

"I will not have you endanger Chris' health just because you slipped up!" Lilah glared.

"And what the hell do you mean by that, lady?" Les glared back, angry more because her words of recrimination matched his own feelings than because of her actual accusation.

"Oh please," Lilah scoffed. "Who's in charge of watching Chris' back? Of assessing potential dangers to him? You're supposed to watch out for him, Les. And instead, you let a pretty face fool you. What kind of telepath are you?"

"Now you just hang on a darn minute, you freaking –," Les began heatedly.

"Good God. What the hell are you both shouting about?" Chris groaned, gripping his head. "With the way my head feels right now, it'd better be a matter of life or death or I'm going to be incredibly pissed off."

Startled, the two snapped their mouths shut in surprise, effectively cutting off their argument.

"Actually – it was a matter of life or death," Les responded dryly, the first to recover from the sight of Chris pushing himself into a sitting position. "Yours, as a matter of fact."

"Not funny," Chris glared at Les through slitted eyes, holding his head tenderly.

Quickly moving to Chris' side, Lilah gently placed her hand over his, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I did ten rounds with Mohammad Ali," Chris replied, a little groggy. He winced at the fluorescent lights. "Can someone turn down the lights? I think I'm getting a headache."

Les quickly strode over to the switch to dim the lights as Lilah's hand gave off a gentle golden glow. Murmuring over Chris, she asked, "Any better?"

Chris nodded tiredly, "Much. Not as tender. Thanks."

"It'll be a couple of days before you fully recover," Lilah warned. "There's only so much healing I can do. You're to take it easy, okay?"

At Chris' nod, Les turned his attention back to Lilah, "Can he answer a couple of questions now?"

Before Lilah could respond, Chris interrupted, "He can," referring to himself.

Leslie eyed his friend. Chris' face was still paper white, but at least the bruises, cuts and swelling had disappeared. "How much do you remember of what happened?"

"You mean Bianca trying to kill me?" Chris asked, softly.

Lilah grimaced, "So it's true? She really was a spy?"

"What did you think she was? The next door neighbour?" Les jeered.

Lilah shrugged, "I had hoped –,"

"Weren't you the one that just accused me of getting taken in by a pretty face?" Les accused in disbelief.

"Well, I…" Lilah started.

"Enough!" Chris held up his hand. "Please, no yelling. My head is killing me. You can yell at each other later, when I'm not around. Okay?"

Shamefacedly, Lilah nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry, Chris. It's just…what are we going to do about Bianca?"

"We'll figure that out once we catch her," Les shrugged. Turning to Chris, he explained, "I've got Duncan leading the search in the tunnels for her and a team scouring the ground above. I want to get her. Get her before she has a chance to report back to Wyatt all that she's learned."

Chris shook his head, "No."

"Sorry?" Les asked, confused.

"Call back the teams," Chris elaborated. "We can't pull them off patrol just to chase down one person. Our defenses are full of holes as it is. It leaves us open to attack. Pull everyone off that search. Now."

Les stared at Chris, whose head was bowed, avoiding eye contact. Shooting a glance at Lilah, he jerked his head at the door, "Do you mind giving us some privacy?"

Nodding serenely, Lilah glanced at Chris who was still staring at his shoes, "I've got some things I've got to take of, anyways. Chris – you come see me if you feel the slightest bit off, all right?"

Chris nodded. "Thanks Lilah."

Les waited for the door to shut before folding his arms, asking Chris, "You mind explaining?"

Chris' left shoulder lifted in a semblance of a half-hearted shrug, "Explain what?"

"Cut the bullshit. This is me you're talking to, Chris. Your friend, remember?" Les quirked an eyebrow at his young friend.

Reluctantly lifting his gaze from the floor, Chris met Les' sympathetic gaze, flinching, "It's a tactical decision. Nothing else."

Les shook his head. "Not good enough, Chris."

"What do you want from me?" Chris asked frustrated.

"Tell me what happened. Tell me why you're willing to let the woman who tried to kill you go, the woman who could potentially feed Wyatt all sorts of information on the Resistance," Les demanded, evenly.

"There's nothing to tell. She tried to kill me. She stopped herself and then she ran off," Chris replied with another shrug.

Knowing Chris as he did, Les knew the deliberate casual tone meant Chris was feeling anything but. Suspicious, Les pushed, "Fine. So she didn't kill you when she had the chance. But she's still a spy. And she could still tell Wyatt stuff I'd rather he didn't know about us."

Chris heaved a sigh. "I really don't think she would."

"And you think this because?" Les prodded.

"I don't know, Les!" Chris bit back. "She could have killed me back there. But she didn't. It's just a feeling I have. I…when we were fighting…there was this look in her eyes…"

Feeling the ten years difference between them more than ever, Les sighed, feeling old and cynical. "Look, Chris. I get that you kind of dig her. And that it seemed she kind of digged you. But she was playing you, Chris. Just like she played all of us."

"She won't tell Wyatt anything," Chris said, stubbornly. "I know she won't."

"I'm sorry, Chris. But you're not thinking clearly about this," Les stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm not calling Duncan off the search. I'm not calling any of them off."

Chris glared up angrily at his friend, "Just who the hell is the leader here?"

"You are," Les replied evenly. "So don't make me counter you in front of everyone. And I will. If you try to call the search off."

Chris shot Les a dirty look, "I'm the leader. They'll listen to me."

Les shrugged, "Yeah, they will. And they'll also listen to me explain how you're being swayed by pretty face and a hot body…"

"That's disgusting," Chris replied, unconsciously clenching his right hand into a fist.

"You can't see it right now but I'm just doing this for your own good," Les said loftily. Seeing Chris' growing anger, he sighed. "Look, kid. I'm your friend. I'm just looking out for you."

Silence.

"And what are you planning to do if we do catch her?" Chris wanted to know.

Les rubbed the back of his neck, agitated. "I'm not sure yet. I haven't quite figured that part out yet, okay?"

"Well maybe you should have before you gave the order to hunt her down like a dog!" Chris glared.

"Hey! She's a spy, Chris! I'm not the bad guy here. All I know is we can't let her tell Wyatt what she's found out here. End of story."

Chris shook his head vehemently. "No, not end of story. Say you do catch her. What – we're going to keep her here, against her will? Lock her up in some room? Maybe throw her some bread and water every once and awhile?"

Les threw Chris a frustrated look as he began to pace back and forth, "I said I don't know."

"Well you better know! Are we going to be judge, jury and executioner now?" Chris demanded.

"How the hell would I know? We'll cross that bridge when we get there, okay?"

"No. No, it's NOT okay. She's still a human being, Les…No matter what else – she's still one of us at the end of the day," Chris argued.

"Don't you think I know that? Do you think I want this?" Les replied, perturbed. "I've been wondering the exact same things while you were lying there unconscious. All I do know is that we have a duty. A duty to the people who live on this base, Chris."

Stalemate.

Interpreting Chris' silence for acceptance, Les faced his friend, "Look – whatever happens…we need to think of the bigger picture, okay? We need to think about all the people that count on us to keep them safe. Safe from Wyatt."

Sensing Chris' wavering, Les reached out to place his hand on Chris' shoulder, "Are we okay?"

Rubbing at his eye, Chris weighed his options, before sighing, defeated. "We're okay. I don't agree with you, but…we're okay."

"Good," Les breathed in relief. "Come on, then. Let's get to the command centre. I'm sure everyone is up in arms and would love to see you."

Chris nodded. "I'll be right out. Give me a minute, okay?"

Les nodded, exiting. "All right. I'll be waiting."

The door closed.

Looking into the mirror hanging on the back of the door, Chris stared at his reflection. He grimaced at the sight of his blood stained dress shirt. There would be no recovering it. Looking around for his jacket, he spotted it hanging over the back of one of the chairs in the room. Retrieving it, he shrugged the formal wear back on, buttoning the blazer to cover up his soiled clothing.

"You killed my mother…"

She had sounded so certain. He looked at his reflection, his green eyes dark with doubt...

Did I?
To be continued….Nothing like a good ass kicking to induce romantic feelings in one another, eh? Hey, I never said it would be smooth sailing for these two.