I'm sorry 'bout the delay! For Enrichment we went to Philly for 2 days and I had no Internet access!

Disclaimer: I'm working on it!

So Sick

Chapter 4

Soon I Know I'll Wake from This Dream

A boy, no older than eleven, sprinted down the shattered street. His heart was pounding and his long leg were fatigued, but he kept up his maniac pace for fear of what was coming. Behind him, a group of men in bright red armor, wielding heavy fire arms marched down the street. Their presence drove all others inside, leaving only the boy outside the relative safety of four walls. He neared the end of the dark street and came up to a house. It had a sense of ruin, a beautiful withering about it. Brass fixtures and dark wood showed prosperity at one time, but were marred by chipped paint and rusted metal. The boy charged in without prelude.

Inside, he slammed the door shut and clicked a set of lock that were most likely the newest thing in the house. Hearing the noise, a women came into the room. Her clear blue eyes scanned his face questioningly.

"Love, what's wrong?" she asked in a soft, motherly voice, "Why are you runn-" she stopped abruptly, then gasped.

"Lacer! Lacer!" she called frantically.

In response, a dark man who towered over the small woman and lanky boy came rushing into the dim parlour. Clenched in his fist was a sharp dagger, posed for use. Before he could ask what was the cause of the alarm, the woman cried out, "Oh Mar, Lacer, they're here!"

The man's caramel eyes widened and he gripped his knife more fiercely.

"We need to get out of here," he commanded in a rough voice, looking at the two that stood before him, "Atem, take him and go through the alley. That should buy us some-"

He was cut off by a hard pounding on the thick, belocked door. Voices shouted into them. The boy could make out they wanted to be let inside so they could "talk". Had he been in a different situation he would've rolled his azure eyes. But the men's true intent was know, so instead he looked toward the taller man for guidance. The man looked back at him, at a loss for what to do. If they tried the back door they could go through the alley. But it was likely they would be caught. But it was the only way...

Signaling them to be quiet and to follow, the man walked quickly through the dilapidated kitchen and to the back door. The light was off and the ancient refrigerator hummed; there was no one there. They came silently closer to the door, praying they would remain unseen.

Their stomachs gave a startled lurch when the helmeted head of one of their pursuers looked into the window. Followed were several more men, calling for more back up. They were surrounded, there was no way out.

The man wouldn't give up without a fight, however. Dagger on the ready, he glared at the masked faces forcing their way inside through the sturdy metal door. He knew there was no way he could escape, but maybe, just maybe, the woman and boy could make it out. That was all he cared about.

The boy was also ready for a fight; he grabbed for possible weapons in a broken old drawer. Inside were a few blunt kitchen knives, not fit for doing any harm. He tried the drawer below it, hoping for better results. He would not let the woman, or the man for that matter, be hurt! Before he could search for more suitable weaponry though, the men in red broke through the door and surrounded them. They drew there guns but did not take aim just yet.

The taller man made to stab one of them but stopped dead in his tracks. One of the soldiers pointed his gun straight at the woman, who had no means to defend herself. His armor was a deeper shade of cardinal, a sign of higher ranking. He lifted up his visor, revealing a furrowed, scarred countenance and tired brown eyes. He smirked at the man frozen in his spot.

"By order of the new ruler of Haven City, Baron Praxis, you are under arrest," the man said with an air of the utmost enjoyment. He opened his mouth to continue, but the arrestee interrupted him.

"You enjoying being Praxis' lap dog?" he raised an eyebrow, "Seems as though he could do better than you, Mender."

This man, Mender, snarled and narrowed his eyes.

"I have no time for this idle talk. I have a bounty to collect, captain."

He put venomous stress on the last word and glared at the taller man.

"Over my dead body you bastard!"

A malicious sneer worked its way unto his wrinkled face.

"Ah, I had so hoped you'd say that," he said, a crazed look about his eyes, "You see, I get the same payment whether you be brought in alive, or dead."

In a flash, his pistol's aim moved from the woman to the man glaring at him defiantly.

"Good-bye, Asunder."

A shot rang out before the captain had any time to react. Just as quickly, Mender shot again.

The boy stared down at the lifeless bodies of his parents, his clear blue eyes clouded over with horror. Pain beyond pain assaulted his entire being, ripping organs and grinding at bone. Blood pounded through his head and his breathing became faster and harder. Anger burned his stomach.

Time seemed to go slower as Mender turned towards him, aiming the gun at his heart. He snapped back into realization and dove to the ground and rolled behind a rickety chair a few feet away. The bullet went into the floor boards, sending splinters of wood flying.

Next to him lie the dagger his father had held moments before, seeming to call to him. The boy grabbed it and jumped to his feet. Hatred for the man in front of him forced his teeth to clench and his fingers to dig into his palms. Ruby crescents formed and pooled under his finger nails, but it only made him dig harder.

Mender frowned; what a waste of a bullet. Then he looked back at the boy and smiled mockingly at him.

"I see you father taught you a few things boy. I-"

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" the boy interrupted with a snarl. He made to use the dagger, but the man held his hand up and continued speaking.

"I must say boy, you have spirit. I've decided you need to live."

He nodded to someone the boy couldn't see and everything went black.

/nt/

Torn thrashed weakly and mumbled something through his feverish haze. Kiera smoothed the navy covers down in a worrisome manner befitting of a girlf- mother. Torn had been in a restless sleep for around two hours, drifting in and out of consciousness in intervals. The fever was causing him to have nightmares, probably of things that had already happened to him. He would say a few whispered words and move a bit, sweating and breathing heavily. She thought she'd heard him mention something about his mother a little while before.

He kicked again and divulged more incoherent talk. They sounded different from his other dreams. He was still reliving something horrible, but what she didn't know. Kiera listened closely, trying to understand him. Then it came out distinctly and clear.

"Ashelin, no."

Her heart sank. He was dreaming of her. Though, if he was having a nightmare about her, she'd done something to him, something that had hurt him. In fact, he sounded...heart broken. What was he dreaming about that caused him that much pain?

/tn/

A man walked down the empty hall. He was tall and rough looking, emitting a sense of unquestioned superiority and pride. He looked tired and sickly, and even a little depressed.

As he came nearer to a particular door, his eyebrows furrowed and he slowed his walk. He stopped in front of it and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The white industrial blinds were drawn closed, but a thin crack where they met the end of the window gave a small view inside.

The man sidled up to the window and looked inside. Immediately, his sharp blue eyes clouded over in utter agony. His shoulder dropped from their strong carriage and his warm skin paled. Slowly, as if facing defeat, he pulled back and looked down at the ground. He began to walk again, not noticing the tears falling gently down his cheek.

The fact that is was early morning deterred any witnesses to his anguish. The empty hallway offered no comfort; he was, in every way, alone.

/t/

Torn had absolutely no idea where he was. It was dark and cool, which he was thankful for. It felt vaguely familiar too. Maybe if he moved around a little...

Oooh, sore, very sore. Moving not good.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to make out his surroundings. The walls were painted black, and he was laying on a long, cherry bed. The blinds were closed, as well as the navy curtains. He felt cool satin sheets and a soft comforter against his skin, and his head was laid on soft pillows. Oh, wait, this was his bedroom. Shows how much time he'd spent at his apartment. The question was: how had he gotten there?

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what had happened before waking up. He could faintly remember dreaming of different things, things that made him feel awful. And he remembered going to work, getting home late, catching a cold. Then meeting Kiera and...he'd passed out.

Torn grit his teeth in vexation. He was ashamed of himself for being so weak. Passing out because of a little cold? I was unacceptable! He clenched his fists and made to sit up. His body would pay for its insubordination later, right now he needed to find out how he'd gotten there.

On cue, the door to the bedroom swung open and a revealed a familiar green head. If he hadn't felt dumb before, he was mortified now. He'd passed out in front of her. Anyone else would've been bad enough, but her? Looks like someone was running laps tonight.

Kiera looked inside, expecting to find him still asleep. Her eyes widened as she saw he was sitting up and she rushed over to him.

"Torn you moron!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his shoulders and squeezing the life out of him, "I've aged twenty friggin' years because of you! What the hell were you thinking?"

Torn attempted to detach the mechanic from his torso and hasten to explain.

"Uh, Kiera, I didn't mean to- You shouldn't- I was-"

It would've been a lot easier to explain hastily had she not still been practically sitting on his lap. Or he'd had more than a flimsy wife beater on.

She pulled back to look at him, putting on a stern face.

"Torn I-" she started. But her face changed to worried and she put her small hand to his forehead.

"I hope your fever isn't acting up again. Do you feel all right? Your cheeks are pretty warm."

Torn wasn't sure about his fever, but the Voice was back again.

'If we play our cards right, we could get laid!'

'Not now!'

'Seriously! She'd totally do it if we acted sick some more! Quick, cough a few times!'

'Damn libido!'

"I'm fine," he said trying to duck away from her hand.

"That's what you said to me this morning and look what happened!" she retorted scoldingly, "You were completely unconscious when I got you here!"

"Wait, how did you get me here?"

Kiera grimaced slightly. What a trip...

"Well, after nearly having a heart attack, I found your cell phone and called in a favor."

"From who?"

Her frown increased.

"Jinx."

Torn raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

"Let's just say he owed me."

"For what?"

"For letting him live," she said with a smirk.

"What did he do?" Torn asked, his eyes narrowing slightly and frowning.

"Full of questions today aren't we? Well, nothing actually, just bothering me. But don't go postal on his ass, he was very helpful," she said, noticing the frown.

Kiera had been surprised at Jinx's agreeability. He'd came without complaining and didn't tell anyone like she'd asked him not to do. They'd gotten Torn out in his zoomer and drove to his apartment at the HQ Compound. Luckily, everyone had gone back to work after lunch, so no one saw them. Before he left the unconscious commander and herself, he pulled her aside.

"Look sweetheart, don't worry 'bout ol' dreads. I've seen him pull himself out of some pretty tight spots; he'll be okay."

Kiera didn't know what to say to this and just nodded and smiled faintly at him.

"Oh yeah," he said, poking his head back in the door and smirking, "and go easy on 'em will ya? He is sick ya know!"

He'd left her, shaking her head at his ever suggestive banter, to figure out what to do with 'ol' dreads'.

Kiera felt Torn looking at her and locked eyes with him. She hadn't noticed how close they were until that moment; she was practically on his lap!

"Look Kiera, I-I really a-appreciate what you did." he said, stumbling over his words.

She smiled at him and leaned a little closer.

"Don't mention it. You know I worry about you though. You can't eat nothing, work twenty hour days, and never sleep! I don't want you sick Torn!"

He looked away from her upset eyes ashamedly.

"I'm sorry Kiera. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing."

"You can tell me, you know."

"I...It's...nothing."

She frowned and fixed her gaze on him, trying to figure him out. Not succeeding, she sighed and stood up.

"Try and get some more sleep, okay? Tomorrow I'll come over again to check on you and then we'll leave."

"Kiera, I have work. Chances are I won't be here."

"Wrong, I called and told them you were going to be in Spargus for a few days on personal business. You will not go to work! Is that clear?" she looked sternly at him.

"I'm a grown man!" he said indignantly, "You can't keep me from working!"

"Some grown man! You can't even take care of yourself! I can see your ribs Torn, don't try and tell me it's just a cold! You're killing yourself," her eyes were filling up with tears now, "but I'm not going to let you!"

All his resolution went right out the door. He was a sucker for big green eyes and tears. He put a large hand on her shoulder and sighed.

"I'm sorry Kiera. You-You're right. Look, I'll take a day or two off and rest, okay? No work at all."

She smiled at him and put her hands on her hips.

"That's better. Now, go to sleep and don't worry about tomorrow."

As she started to leave he asked, "Wait, what's tomorrow?"

She paused and looked back, hand on the door handle.

"Oh, I'm taking you to the doctor. Good night commander."

/an/

I like the last part with Torn and Kiera talking. Oh, and the names of 'the boy's' parents are pronounced:

Lacer: Lay-sir

Atem: Ott-em

Bonus to whoever can figure out the connections between those names, plus Mender!

R&R!