XIX

In the days that passed my initial meeting with Reed Weyland I concentrated hard on getting my weakened muscles back into some semblance of good form. Dr. Taves, perhaps seeing and recognizing my disgust at being so weak and incapable, aided me by taking me daily to a small gym located not far from my room. From what I could gather simply by walking to and fro every day, I wasn't in a hospital as I'd originally assumed. This place looked more like a military complex than anything else, with the Weyland Industries logo plastered on every other door. There were armed guards posted at almost every entrance—one not far outside the door to my room—and they gave the place a definite militant feel. Any questions I posted to the doctor about where I actually was were merely answered by small, purposefully evasive smiles; I gathered that if I wanted any answers, I was going to have to get them from Reed.

The intense workouts on the machines at the gym were both gruelling and gratifying; my still battered body protested the workouts, but I gained some measure of reassurance by knowing that, little by little, I was gaining my strength back. The doctor left when I started my exercise and returned to escort me back to my room. He seemed pleased by the rate of my recovery, but I couldn't tell for sure; Dr. Taves was incredibly hard to read and rather tight-lipped. He had books and a small television brought to my room, as well as a small wardrobe in exactly my size. I was beyond grateful to have something common like jeans and a sweatshirt to wear over the thin drab green of the scrubs. The books and TV were welcome diversions, and though I tried my hardest in the hours when I was alone to ignore what Reed had said and what little I'd remembered, I found that it just wasn't possible. And so it was that I spent a long time mulling over the tiny bits of memory that had resurfaced while within me a cold knot of dread steadily grew.

Reed made appearances some days, dropping in to say hello and ask after my health. He seemed genuinely delighted by my progress, and although he never stayed overly long I had the distinct impression that my welfare did indeed matter to him. Part of me dreaded the "talk" he'd spoken of us having in the future; another part of me was eager to hear what it was he had to say. He often took my hand in his or reached out to brush stray wisps of hair back from my face, and those gestures utterly bewildered me. Had we been … involved … before all this had happened? I was beginning to suspect that if we hadn't been, we had been close to something of that nature. More than anything else, though, I was confused; so many things to comprehend, and my brain was rebelling at the task. I studiously avoided looking at my face in the mirrors when I woke in the morning and set about getting ready for the day, because the last flashback I'd had after seeing the scar on my cheek had terrified me. Time enough to dwell on that later, I told myself, though I knew that I should be focusing on these things now …

It was a full twelve days after I awoke that Reed came to my room in the late afternoon, giving me the smile I was fast becoming familiar with and closing the door behind him. I was sitting up in my bed, leaning against a pile of pillows and flicking randomly through channels on the TV on a stand at the foot of the bed, but I laid the remote down and said with my own small smile, "Hello."

"Anything good on?" he asked. His voice was light, but there was a slightly strained note behind it. As he moved to sit on the bed, he watched my face for--something. I could never figure out what, but from time to time he would just study my reactions, as though what I said wasn't so important as what I didn't say. "I came to check on you."

"I'm fine," I told him, picking up the remote again and flicking the television off. "Going a little stir-crazy, getting frustrated because I still can't remember much, but I guess that's to be expected, right?"

Reed smiled, a bit ruefully, then grew serious. "Then I wonder if you'd be feeling up to coming with me." His tone grew hushed, a little worried, as his hand played over mine. I hadn't even noticed him taking it, but it lent an odd sense of warmth, of gravity. "I told you I won't rush you, but--I think it might be time to show you the monster."

In the long silence that followed I tried to effectively suppress the sense of dread that returned full force at his suggestion. I didn't want to see what he had to show me, and yet at the same time I did with a peculiar sense of urgency that bordered on worry. My emotions were befuddling; perhaps sensing my turmoil Reed started to retract his hand. I shook my head, swallowing hard before saying, "It's alright—I'm ready."

He was surprised, pleased. His hand gripped mine more firmly and he helped me stand. "I'm glad," he murmured when I was on my feet. We were close, close enough for him to kiss me if either of us had moved in, but instead he stepped back as if it was an effort. "I am glad. This will help, I'm sure. And I will be with you, Lex. Don't forget that." He shook his head. "I won't leave you alone."

I was shaken by his proximity—because I wanted it or because I feared it? He moved to the door and held it open for me, and so I exited the room with him behind me. He stepped up without further comment to walk beside me, and so I followed him to wherever it was we were going. We went the same direction I took to get to the gym but passed it before taking the next right and continuing on down a long corridor lined with doors on either side. Like in the other areas, there were a multitude of armed guards here as well. Finally we reached an end; a massive steel door marked with the numbers "002" in crimson blocked our path, and a guard shouldering an automatic rifle stood off to the side.

"Mr. Weyland," the guard said by way of greeting, nodding his head before glancing briefly at me. He said nothing further, instead turning and punching in a number on a keypad located to the right of the door. With an echoing grinding noise the door slid open, and with a muttered thanks Reed touched my shoulder, indicating I was to precede him. As soon as we crossed the threshold the door closed, and I found myself in a room that looked remarkably like that of a hospital lab. There was a desk in the far corner, covered entirely in scattered papers, and several filing cabinets lined the wall beside it. Shelves lined the other wall, and in organized cluttered on top of them were a myriad of medical supplies. Another desk, this one with a computer, sat on a desk beside the door we had come through. Another door was set beside the computer desk, and in the wall opposite of us there was a large glass window that looked down and out into another chamber.

My eyes were drawn instantly to the window, knowing with an almost painful certainty what I would find should I look through it. Reed, however, moved towards the other door in the room, beckoning me to follow. Wondering what he wanted me to see, I obeyed. The next room had charts lining the wall, some filled with medical information, some containing things I didn't understand. There was another computer in this room too, and its monitor seemed to be continually updating several graphs simultaneously. There was a door set in one wall, marked with "002", and seeing the security keypad next to it I knew where it led. My eyes were torn from the door, from the fearful and wondering thoughts of what lay behind it, to follow Reed to a large steel table set in the corner of the room.

"What is that?" I asked him, approaching and catching glimpse of the paraphernalia littering the table.

"The monster's equipment," he replied, eyes fixed upon it as mine were. "Its armor and clothing." There was a fascinated note in his voice now, a gleam in his eye as he hefted a bowl-like metal piece and turned it so I could see. "Its mask."

-his mask was distinctly unique; it was more linear than the other's, more angular, and there were three deep grooves that bisected the face –claw marks?--

I reached out to take it, to touch it, to trace my fingers down the deep scratches dividing the mask in half, remembering seeing it somewhere before, remembering that it had made me afraid. I set it down quickly then, and Reed indicated the rest of the items on the table. There was a large metal gauntlet, sophisticated in appearance; lying next to it was a straight, slender, compact piece of metal with a wickedly barbed spearhead on one end. My eyes roamed over them to large pieces of metal plates, carved with amazing intricacy into hundreds of snake-like scales; in my head I fit them to together over a body much larger, much stronger than that of any human …

-his armor, upon inspection, was also different from that of the other – it was shaped in the form of scales upon scales, like the skin of a dragon from myth—

"Scale," I whispered suddenly; it was a name given to a monster that I could only recall through armor and mask. Reed was staring at me, his eyes almost painfully tense in their regard; for some reason I didn't want to tell him what sliver of recollection had just returned to me. "I recognize the scales in the armor," I told him, gesturing.

He said nothing, just watched me. Then, at length, he nodded slowly, eyes still on me. "You certainly had a few good chances to see them up close." When he looked away, it was like turning a heat lamp away at the same time. "We can't identify the metal they used," he went on as if nothing had happened, "but the workmanship is exquisite." He tossed the piece in his hands to the table. "Are you ready to see it now? Or does this make you think of anything else?"

My gaze flew instantly to the sealed door. I said thickly, "I'm ready to see it."

He stepped past me, squeezing my shoulder gently in the process—a sign of comfort and support?—before leading me back into the office where we'd first entered. He strode to stand by the large observation window; I hesitated for a moment before stepping up beside him. It looked down into what appeared to be a high-tech medical laboratory; undeniably expensive equipment and monitors could be seen everywhere. And there in the dead center of the room was a large, steel and black medical table. And lying on that table, a thing of incredible girth and bizarre, mottled skin, was the creature. It was bare from the waist up; a simple white sheet covered the rest of it. It was hooked up to no less than five different things; ECG sensors were taped to its massive chest and I noted an IV in one thick wrist. It's face was the last thing I looked at, and the moment I saw it another image flashed to life in my mind—

-skin was mottled greenish yellow, reptilian like, and his eyes, close set and beneath a large, prominent brow, where a dark crimson in color. Framing his toothy mouth were four mandibles that moved as though they had a life of their own, and each was tipped with a small tusk. From the back of his head fell the long, thick tube like strands that were, I realized, his hair—

I must have a made a noise, because Reed was suddenly gripping my arm tightly. His eyes, boring into mine, seemed to be both apprehensive and concerned. I said tersely, my own eyes still on the creature, "I remember … seeing them without the mask."

"You do?" He pulled me close. "God, Lex. I didn't know. The first time I saw them—" He trailed off and looked over at the one on the table. His arm stayed around my shoulders. "I hate them," he finished simply, in a sudden display of cold disgust. "I want to know more about them, but I hate seeing them, knowing what they were here to do. It makes me sick to know what we are to them."

"Why keep it alive?" I asked, staring down at it—no, it was male. I knew that much, though how I was unsure. His chest, easily twice as wide as my own, rose and fell steadily with his breathing, and what looked like a hybrid version of normal oxygen mask covered the lower half of his face. "Why not kill it?"

After what they did to you, it was my first instinct," he admitted. "But then my scientists made the point that we have never had an opportunity like this to study another life form from another planet, and the intellectual part of my mind had to agree." The words seemed to taste bad. "I would rather kill it the way it killed my men, my father."

I couldn't remember the death of Charles Bishop Weyland, though Reed had told me I'd been present when one of the creatures had killed him. I heard the grief in Reed's words and felt a rush of sympathy for him. "What of the other two?" I questioned after a moment. "Aren't you afraid they're going to come back for it?"

"Yes," he said, and a hardness entered his expression. His fingers fanned and tightened on my arm. "I expect they will."

"You want them to come here," I said in sudden realization. "You want them here … to kill them? Or to study them?"

"Both." He shook himself and looked down at me. "We can learn a lot from them, but I'm not interested in making friends. Next time they come down here, humanity should be prepared to defend itself."

A logical answer, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't said everything there was to say. My gaze fell again upon the comatose creature down below—the creature I somehow knew by name—and I couldn't help the shiver that caressed my spine. "Can we go?" I asked, suddenly wanting to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

He nodded, grateful as I was to leave, it seemed. The moment the door closed behind us, separating us from the monster and the memories, he pulled me up against him and wrapped his arms around me. When I stiffened, he murmured into my ear, softly, desperately, "Please, Lex. Just for a moment."

I gave him a moment, both glad to have someone to hold on to in light of all that was transpiring but for some reason unaccountably uncomfortable with it. I pulled away, ducking my head because I didn't want him to see how confused and how unnerved I was. It was becoming apparent to me that whatever else had transpired in the past I couldn't recall, Reed and I had been involved somehow. How was I to do deal with that, though, when I couldn't remember? Not wanting to appear as though I couldn't stand him, I said softly, "Thank you."

"No, thank you." He shifted uncomfortably. "Why don't we go up and talk somewhere more comfortable? This place bothers me, and right now I could use a drink."

I nodded, following him past the guard, glad to leave the creature that had hunted me—the creature I had for some inexplicable reason named—behind.

XIX

He took me to his own quarters, set on the upper level of the facility. On this floor, I saw, there were windows, and as we exited the elevator and strode past I caught a glimpse of the world outside. It was dark, too dark for the time of day it was, and all there was to see were stars and a stretch of snow blanketed forest. I asked Reed where exactly we were; he explained that in the mid 90's, there had been a petroleum boom in the furthest north and south areas of the world—the polar areas. We were, he told me, in a facility his father had built during the boom, a full day's flight from the island of Bouvetoya.

Reed's quarters were somewhat more extravagant than my own. They were fully furnished, seeming more like a small condo than some rooms in what could have passed for a bunker. I seated myself in a small chair, lost in a haze that revolved around Reed, his affections, and what I had just seen in the lower level. Reed returned with a glass of what I thought to be wine but was in fact some manner of fruit juice. Relieved for some strange reason that he hadn't offered me alcohol, I felt myself beginning to relax and lower the guards I hadn't even known were raised. We talked of menial things, of normal things, and I was grateful that he was making the effort to steal my attention away from the creatures—the hunters—and what had happened and most likely would happen. After a considerable amount of time I looked down to find my drink was gone; with an amiable smile Reed took my empty glass into the area that served as his kitchen. I rose as well, deciding it was time to leave, and made my way to the door. He followed me, and after I opened the door and stepped through I turned to face him.

"Thank you. For this, for distracting me," I fluttered one hand in the air, and he smiled again.

"Thank you for the same." He reached over and caught my hand, the gesture suddenly intimate. "Lex, I--" He began, then merely leaned in. I felt his mouth touch mine, first hesitating, then more surely, as though we'd done this before. When I didn't push him away, he moved in closer, tilting his head and bringing us into further contact. The kiss was nice—but at the same time there was a small voice in the back of my head screaming at me as though to distract me; I opened my eyes and prepared to pull away when I saw something moving, something rippling in the air in the furthermost corner of my vision. I stepped away from Reed, swivelling in the direction of what I'd seen, but there was nothing there.

"I thought I saw something," I said a trifle sheepishly, shrugging. My heart was racing from the aftermath of Reed's mouth on mine—it was nice to feel human contact again, to know somebody cared, but why did it also feel as though I was betraying a piece of myself?

Reed's gaze was focused in the direction mine had been when I'd pulled away; I watched, confused, as lines of tension appeared between his brows. "I'm sure it was nothing," I said, and he looked back at me. Though he nodded and smiled, I could tell he was still bothered by something.

"I'll take you back to your room," he said. He stepped past me, and I followed him. In the elevator I glanced at him, wanting to apologize for ruining the moment we'd had, but he was staring unseeing at the ground, the look in his eyes almost reminiscent to that of apprehension. When we arrived back at my room I made to step through, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. When I turned to face him, he ducked his head swiftly to kiss me gently on my cheek, and without another word he was striding quickly away. I watched after him a moment before entering my room; as I collapsed on my bed the one thing roiling through my mind was not the kiss, but the expression on Reed's face when I'd told him I'd thought I'd seen something in the hall.

XIX

Author's Notes: Ah, Reed. He's so much fun to despise. Chocobo Goddess is a master at writing villains, isn't she? Anyways, Scar fans, hang in there. You know I wouldn't abandon him, for after all, Scar/Lex is my one true pairing. XD