DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed; as always, no profits realized.

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Asylum

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The pounding suddenly paused long enough that each man caught his breath again, but resumed immediately with another tatoo of insistent knocking. Cale looked at Butler, accusatively, and Tom blinked, shaking his head. "Hey, I don't know anyone here but you," he said. "So I take it you weren't expecting anyone, either?"

There was an immediate shift in the green eyes at that. Logan Cale had skills, but his eyes appeared to be too expressive for their own good, and Tom thought he saw a suspicion in them that Cale knew who was there. "No, I wasn't," he said grimly, and flipped off the brakes of his chair to head out toward the racket. "I'll see what they want..."

There was no way Butler was going to miss this, and he was on his feet and behind the wheelchair before Cale had crossed over the threshold to leave the kitchen. Following Eyes Only as he moved through the larger storage room quietly and on into the shop, Butler peered with him out across the counter and toward the door. There, they both saw the form of a large, powerful looking man peering in through the glass and waving as he saw them appear.

The bald one. With the crummy satellite reception ...

Butler couldn't see Cale's face from where he stood behind him, but saw the slight sag of his shoulders and even thought he heard a little snort of consternation. What had I thought the other day, about Eyes Only having friends here, looking out for him? Guess I was right on the money on that one. And Cale seems not only surprised by this visit, but even slightly irritated.

...and so why would friends looking out for him be bothersome?

...maybe because he didn't want anyone to know about his little meeting, here, Butler's inner debate continued. But clearly Linda knew – right? Or was even she out of the loop?

No, she fit the description of the woman seen with Cale in Seattle, and they were clearly a committed couple, not just a brief new fling. So it made sense that she knew him out there, and made the move here, with him. If so, she probably knew why he'd left Seattle ... and is likely, then, to know he'd been found. And even though she left, just as Cale wanted her to, maybe Linda passed on the word to the big guy, so someone could check up on him ...

Tom stood by as Cale went over to unlock the door and open it for the waiting man, who flashed a wide, apologetic smile to them both. This ought to be good, thought Butler. He moved around to the side, unobtrusively, just enough that he could watch both men's expressions as they spoke.

"Hey, man, I'm really sorry to interrupt," he offered, generally, to the both of them, "but Robert, I saw your car out back and was hoping you were done with that receiver I dropped off last week. Any chance it's ready?"

Cale seemed to hesitate only slightly, but fell into the patter soon enough. "Oh... no, I'm sorry; I got backed up on some other things. Tomorrow, though, or Tuesday for sure, alright?"

"Sure thing." The man's manner was untroubled, pleasant. Not bad, Tom thought. "Look, I wouldn't have bothered you but I saw your car and, you know... Just hoped I might have gotten lucky."

Butler's mind continued to run ahead, adding this moment now to his earlier curiosity about bodyguards and operatives and Eyes Only out here, without either sort around: Cale wasn't set up for an intrusion such as this, was he? Tom found himself wondering. No listening devices or high tech security watching Eyes Only, it seems, or the big man wouldn't have had to come in person. And this guy was a doctor or something, not Cale's employee; at lunch the day before he talked about getting back to "the clinic" for stitches and sprained ankles, and had lectured Cale about getting his exercise ...

It started to dawn on Butler that this was the first time Cale had been approached as Eyes Only, in all this time since leaving Seattle – his request that he be allowed to spring the news of his real identity on the community made it likely, and the good-bye scene Tom had witnessed certainly appeared too painful to be a familiar event. They had acclimated and had started taking on faith that this life was real and possible for them, Tom began to realize. This was the first time anyone had brought Cale's old life back to him, after he'd begun to believe – after he and Linda began to believe – that they really had left Eyes Only behind, along with all that went with it. They'd have no way to know what I planned for the story, what I wanted from them – or how many ways I could hurt them, or up-end their lives here. No wonder my appearance was such a blow...

But Cale was nodding to his "customer" now, managing a small smile as well to reassure his friend. "Your stereo's next in line," he promised. "I'll have it for you by Tuesday at the latest."

Whether it was a legitimate speculation of when a stereo he was repairing would be done, or just a response to placate the guy, Butler wasn't sure. Whichever it was, the man seemed satisfied. "That's great, whenever you can get to it. Sorry again to intrude..." he said to Tom, giving him another good look, before including Cale in his apology.

"No problem. See you later..." Cale's voice was soft, and his movements subdued as he again moved to the door, locking it, then turned to assess what his visitor may have thought of it all. Looking at Butler only briefly, he then turned away again to make his way back toward kitchen. "Sorry," he murmured, not giving away what he decided. "I assume you want to get back to it..."

But Butler didn't move, speaking to the retreating back. "No one else has recognized you – or followed you out here before now, have they?"

Cale stopped, not turning around ... and hesitated only a moment before pushing forward again. "No," he acknowledged, as he kept moving.

Butler shook himself to follow, watching from behind as Cale returned to the table in the kitchen, the interruption – or maybe his question, just now – seeming to further darken the other's spirit. Cale's reaction to his friend's appearance, very likely a part of his continued uncertainty about the interview's outcome, combined with his description of life after he'd been identified, bringing Tom another wave of now-familiar guilt: how selfish it was to assume that Eyes Only could continue, without considering the toll it might be taking on the man behind the mask...

But still, he had a job to do. Anxious to get Cale talking again, Tom sat down at the table and asked a question that picked up where they'd left off – and was at the heart of his pursuit. His own voice quieter now too, Tom asked, "So ... had it not been for your identity being revealed – and all the problems that brought for you – you'd still be at it, being Eyes Only?"

Cale considered the question. Despite his attempts to remain neutral, and not give anything away in his reactions, his expression unconsciously communicated how much he'd hated leaving his work undone. "Probably," he minimized, looking down at the table.

"That makes me think that you still may be working." This time Cale didn't react – nor did he look up. "From here, in the heartland, even..." Tom suggested. And again, tried just waiting...

But the response was different this time. Looking up to meet Butler's eyes, Cale said, "You'll understand why I can't answer that." His voice was still soft, but strong now, purposeful. "If I am doing any work at all, it would be compromised as certainly as Eyes Only's was, if it's revealed. And you'll expect me to deny it either way, so there's little point in my saying I'm not, even if it's the truth." His green eyes drilled into Butler's now, intense again. "So there is no possible way I can respond in a way satisfactory to us both."

Tom considered the response for the moment, then nodded, a small smile of concession, almost sheepish, appearing suddenly. "I see your point."

Cale's eyes glimmered with a tiny spark of hope to see it. He's seen I might be reasonable, Tom knew, and knew at that moment that what he chose to write – how he chose to publicize all he'd found – meant the world to the man seated across from him. How sad, that it's come to this for him, Tom realized. All he's done, all he's given ... and all he wants now is a chance for a normal, quiet life with the woman he loves...

Butler sat forward, sensing that the change in Cale's response might bring the interview to a different level. "In the six years between your first broadcast and your last, you singlehandedly changed the face of Seattle politics..." he offered.

"... not singlehandedly," Cale interrupted, low. "Never singlehandedly. The information always had to come from somewhere..."

"So did Eyes Only – and that was all you, your creation. The first stories were yours, ones you investigated, just as you did for your stories in the P-I, and the stories you did for the other papers and journals..." He watched the green eyes as they watched him, warily. "Later on, you had a wider net of informants, and the stories came to you far more often than you had to go looking, but you can't tell me your hand wasn't in every story you ran, and in the investigation and confirmation of what was found..." At Cale's eventual, grudging nod, Butler asked, "what gave you the idea? Why 'Eyes Only?'"

Cale looked away and shrugged, again minimizing his efforts. "There wasn't a newspaper or television station that wasn't being censored, either by those in power buying the outlet – or their editors – or by post-hoc destruction of those that weren't for sale..."

"Like firebombing their offices, like the Pacific Free Press?" Butler tried.

He got a nod in return. "That, or even something as simple as the stealing and destroying all copies of an edition, as they're being loaded on trucks for distribution," Cale said. "So the best medium, then, was something they couldn't steal and destroy. That left TV or radio or web broadcasts, and more people had TV sets blaring around them than radios or computers. Just the process of elimination," Eyes Only shrugged.

"Well, no one else thought of it," Butler actually encouraged.

And he was surprised – and heartened – to see Cale suddenly relax and chuckle in response, his voice carrying a wry twist of irony. "Me and my big ideas..." he muttered, finally allowing a smile, more centered now. "If I'd just gone into the family business..." The rueful words were said with an easy, humored grin...

Butler met Cale's grin with his own, and as it lingered, he observed, "you don't strike me as the type to agonize too much over the road not taken."

"Always too busy trying to negotiate the one I chose." The grin softened back to a quiet smirk, as Cale's eyes dropped away to the table top.

"Can't have been easy," Tom quieted, still probing. He considered for another moment, in silence, then asked, "Along with everything else – being on the most wanted lists for both City Hall and the black market syndicate, for a start – you were shot..." Butler watched his subject, carefully. "What was life like for you, after sustaining a spinal cord injury as damaging as yours?"

Cale pursed his lips at the question, not expecting it. Surprisingly, he appeared more uncomfortable with it than the questions posed earlier about Eyes Only. He finally drew a breath, sighed it out – and shook his head. "I'm not the one to ask about living with an injury like this – my circumstances were unusual. My life has been much easier and healthier than many others with the same injury, because I've had enough money to get anything I needed to make things easier – medical attention, therapy, assistive devices. That makes all the difference." He shrugged. "Before the Pulse, too, it was a lot easier – laws mandated access to all public buildings and working elevators inside, dependable electricity to keep them running..." Logan's eyes came back to Tom's, a new thought appearing to develop as he spoke. "Those laws were among the first things jettisoned after the Pulse, and the loss of that easier access, coupled with all the 'regular' hardships so many have faced since then..." He trailed, then focused back on Butler, leaning forward and eyes challenging him. "There's a story, Tom. Talk to some of the guys back in Seattle. I can give you names, a whole cross section of guys on my basketball team and the teams we played. Talk with them about what it's like getting by, even in the supposed recovery out there. All those guys are able, resourceful – and none is asking for a hand-out – but once in a while they could use a break." Cale's eyes took on a gleam as suddenly, the grin found its way back. "And I suspect a push toward some of those pre-Pulse amenities would be a good start ... as in, a push by a story in the P-I..." He watched Butler for his reaction, urging his interest and agreement. "Much more interesting than a underground writer who cut out a year and a half ago."

Impressed yet again by the man before him, all that he'd done, and his continuing urge to fix the world around him without thought for himself, Butler listened, then nodded, quiet himself now. "I'll look into it," he promised, and after another moment, managed to regroup. "What did you think of the grassroots efforts to get you elected as mayor – or governor?"

Cale actually laughed at that, softly, "I appreciated the thought, but I knew they weren't serious," his eyes fell away again, Cale seemingly slightly self-conscious, even now, at the memory.

"I think they were – certainly many were. If you could do that much from behind the mask, it stands to reason you could have done so much more actually aboveground, in charge of things..."

"I think it would have been the same as everything else – everyone wanting something, nothing is ever enough – whatever I might have been able to do would have been far too little. Better to let those who know something about government power and how to use it wisely and honestly be the ones to serve."

"It would have been one for the books." Butler shook his head. "I would have voted for you."

Cale considered the man across from him, sizing him up in the silence now between them, and offered a soft smile of concession. "I believe you would have." Not dropping his gaze, Cale went on to admit, "I remember you, you know. We didn't meet, but ... I remember your helping us out, getting the files from your father's office so we could trace payments made from the mayor's office to nonexistent mental health clinics – stealing the money that should have gone to providing services to thousands who desperately needed them. " The compelling eyes carried appreciation, even now. "And you were able to get another several files along the way, as I recall."

"Yeah." In spite of himself, Butler felt his ears warm with the flush of pride he felt, hearing that his contributions had been remembered, unable to say more in the moment...

"Thank you, for your help." Cale said simply, directly.

Tom allowed himself a memory, a personal observation. "Getting those files to help Eyes Only meant more to me than maybe anything I've ever done, or anything I've written or investigated since. I was so worried that my father was to blame for so much of what was going on ..." He looked back to Cale. "I'm the one who should thank you – it gave me a chance to see that he wasn't the worst of them..."

"Not by a long shot. His worst sin was to remain silent while the crooks around him tied the city up for a while. He wasn't the only one."

"He could have spoken up..."

"A lot of them who did went missing, suddenly, and your dad had a family to consider." Eyes Only reminded him. "And once we knew what his files contained ... well, he was able to help, too." Cale smiled softly.

Butler looked at his subject in some surprise – and wonder – and appreciation. "Thank you," he said again, softly ... and then asked, suddenly feeling a frustration with Cale for agreeing to his interview, an irritation almost as strong as the one he felt with himself for intruding on his privacy, "Why did you agree to talk with me, man? Why are you letting me do this?"

Cale's eyes first registered an initial surprise at his outburst, but immediate recognition replaced it. "I told you – if there was going to be a story, it was the only way I had any hope of having any say about its contents..."

"That's not it..." Butler knew, and at the expression he saw in response, he knew he'd been right. Cale wavered, looked away as memories were recalled yet again, and he finally shrugged, a haunted smile on his lips.

"I did the same thing, once, went looking for a journalist who disappeared, and demanded to know why he'd left the cause behind. It didn't turn out so well. Maybe ... I consider this some sort of pay-back..."

"Nathan Herrero," Butler said slowly, remembering. Cale didn't have to answer, his expression said it all for him. "You found him?"

Cale nodded. "I accused him of walking away from the responsibility he had, as a journalist, to fight the corruption around him. A ... friend ... suggested I was making his leaving more about me, and not what was good for Herrero and his family."

Butler's face burned; he knew he'd been made. He's still a journalist, and sees that I have been a rank amateur in how I've handled myself in this...

To his credit, though, Cale simply added, in a soft voice, "You know as well as I do there are always going to be people who do the right thing and people who don't, people who serve the cause that you think is right and people who work against it. I tried for a long time to force everyone else to work for what I thought was the greater good. I finally caught on that I was merely one man, and that I could do my part, and my part only. Working with like-minded others can make a difference, and can sometimes become a greater whole than the sum of the independent parts. But when it's all said and done, it's a lot simpler, and a lot less complex, than we all want to believe." Cale was watching him, gauging his reaction, as he said quietly, "when you take your shoes off at night to crawl into bed, the questions you've got to ask yourself are 'what have I done today to make the world a better place?' ...and 'what have I done to make it worse – and if worse, what can I do tomorrow to make it right?'"

Butler gulped, all distance gone now. "How can you still think that?" he breathed, "with all that's happened to you, all you've seen?"

"Because of all that's happened to me... and all I've seen." There was a smile of contentment again on his features, and Cale said simply, "it's a wide world out there – and always, there's hope. You wouldn't be a journalist if you didn't believe that spreading the word will enlighten and empower people who read your work, and that there are still people out there who care enough to want to know the truth. You know that telling the truth about those in power will temper their abuse of it – why else do the corrupt try to censor those of us who are committed to telling the people what's really happening?" Cale's green eyes bored deeply into Butler's. "And as long as you have hope – you can trust that there is good in the world, and greatness in everyone around you. Once you realize that ... you can just kick back and enjoy the ride..."

Butler was silent for several moments, mouth dry, feeling overwhelmed with the depth – and simplicity – of the man's observations. He licked his lips, and said, hesitantly, "Eyes Only ... can't be allowed to die..." His voice sounded emotional in his ears, needy. "There's still so much to be done..."

"You can be part of it."

Butler looked up quickly, searching for his meaning. When Cale said nothing else, he asked, "You could ... give me a name, or a number to contact? To help?"

Cale shook his head and said evenly, "no, but if you want, I can have someone get in touch with you. They'll know how to contact you, through the P-I if need be."

Butler nodded absently, overwhelmed. "Okay." He licked his lips again, and shrugged, "look, I can't do this; I can't do a story about your leaving and what's happened, and risk all that you have, here..."

"Then do the story you think is right."

"But," Tom sputtered, "you wanted to avoid the story all togther; why would you say...?"

"Your paper knows you're here– and maybe even where you came. Your editor knows you're here; probably others do, too ... friends or family? You had to leave some trail about doing a story about Eyes Only, or me, or both. You've bitten off a good bit, Tom, and now you've got to chew it. Otherwise, enough people will suspect you found me and were bought off – or maybe even recruited, for those who know your history and your leanings. So it's better for both of us if you write something. What that is..." Cale wavered, looking Tom directly in the eye, "I trust you to use your best judgment."

Butler, wrung dry, sat back, considering what had happened in the past few minutes. "I don't know that I trust my judgement anymore – not in this..."

"I do." Cale said immediately. "You've come through in the past for Eyes Only, and you're a talented writer. And, I appreciate your ... interest ... in letting me keep my life here intact. You have the skills to write a story around all that. And, while I still would rather there didn't have to be any story ..." his eyes actually twinkled at that, "I trust that you'll manage one without giving too much away."

Butler barely trusted his voice, let alone his legs, but managed to stand, suddenly needing some distance, needing to find himself again after having lost his focus in the presence of this man he so admired. "I'll do everything in my power to justify your faith in me."

The smile was one he'd remember for a long time afterward, as Cale quietly offered his hand, even at his abrupt departure. "I know you will, Tom. I appreciate it."