A/N My thanks to thanan for the Ed-iting on the previous chapter! You rock! And my great thanks to everyone that reviewed!

Chapter Thirteen: Give and Take

Pain. Darkness. Fear. He had woken up in this state before, time and again over the past few days, and always his senses had cleared to reveal that his reality was so much worse than his imaginings.

He kept still, perfectly still, wishing for some way to locate his captor without opening his eyes. The logical part of his mind - in other words the vast majority of it - told him it made no difference where the Fusion stood. When the agony came it would come at him from every direction, but some instinct made him want to keep his mimic in sight. His hearing was all but gone. Rapid decompression in the Fusion's torture chamber had burst both his ear drums that second day and his hearing had worsened each time the pressure had changed. The pain had been staggering, worse even than the ache in his lungs and the rapidly growing soreness in his joints. On dry land, he had the bends. He could barely think for the pain, and he wanted only to avoid the endless questions, the digging, the invasion of his thoughts and feelings and memories. There was no holding out for much longer. Had he spoken? Had he broken? Had he doomed Earth's Forces? He could not remember. Did he want to remember?

Probably the most disturbing aspect of this whole, nightmarish experience was the fact that his own double was doing this to him. To see his own face, his own expressions and gestures turned against him, hear his own accent threatening and enticing - that was the worst part.

Or almost the worst. That he might have been made to betray his world, his friends and family, everything he loved, was far, far worse.

If his pain was any measure of his resistance, though, then perhaps he had stood fast after all. Perhaps he had been as strong as the world needed him to be . . .

Then something cold and wet touched his lips, a light tracing across his mouth. There was a metallic taste on his tongue, triggering memories.

Dexter remembered.

And panicked.

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He held the human's jaw in an iron grip, forcing Dexter to look at him. He ignored the blood and pain he caused as he looked hard into the eyes of his helpless captive. The whites of Dexter's eyes were a shocking red from broken blood vessels, as red as his doppleganger's glowing orbs. His blue irises stood out in lurid contrast. The boy wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he knew that if he ignored the Ur-creature he'd get slapped. Besides, his hearing was so distorted by now that Dexter had to do his best to read the Fusion's lips to get what he was saying.

"You call me a shadow, a thing without love or substance. Tell me, Dexter, can a shadow do this?"

He tightened his grip, wringing a small cry of pain from the boy genius.

"You deny me. Why? I am here. I am you!"

Dexter shook his head. The Fusion crouched before him in the small chamber. He seemed almost desperate to understand this emotion that Dexter wasn't certain he was capable of recognizing or even experiencing. The issue consumed him - why was he so focused on love and ignoring the wealth of information Dexter represented? He could not grasp the Fusion's fascination.

"How can I know what love is unless you show me?"

"I have . . . shown you." He struggled to breathe. "Everything . . . I have done . . . is for love. For Earth . . . my friends . . . my sister."

"So love is pain?"

He sighed, blood on his lips, dread in his eyes. "No. But it makes this pain . . . worthwhile."

"If you do not give me what I ask I will simply take it."

"You can only . . . give love," he rasped, feeling himself fading. The sensation was almost welcome at this point. "Not take it."

The Fusion's eyes narrowed. He seemed as interested in Dexter's suffering as in their conversation. This new statement was something of a challenge for his comprehension. Reaching out, he delicately wiped the blood from Dexter's lips with one finger, all the while staring directly into his counterpart's eyes. His touch was cold, unclean, revolting. He looked at the smear of red on his green glove, and then focused on his twin.

"Can't I?" He smiled dark and wicked, and reached out again to grasp the boy's face in an iron hold. "And how will you stop me when you're dead, Dexter?"

Appalled, Dexter twisted away as he tried to avoid the Ur-Dexter's touch, falling to his side on the floor of the chamber in renewed panic. The Fusion rose, looming over him, and at Dexter's futile effort to escape his presence, he laughed. Dexter felt himself being lifted by the front of his lab coat and he was slammed against the wall. He barely felt anything - it was more motion and impact than any real pain. Stunned, his head swimming and his body too weak to resist, he opened his eyes to find his double's face an inch from his own, so close that he was almost in focus. The stench of Fusion Matter overwhelmed the smell of blood. The red eyes glowed with unnatural power and he leered at the pathetic and helpless life he held in both hands.

"Try and stop me now."

He could not.

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He gasped, or at least he tried to. His throat was too dry, too raw to produce anything other than a soft, whining sound that his own ears could not detect. He tried to see, strained to hear, fought to twist away from the sick and evil copy of himself. He knew if he could open his eyes he'd see only dull green skin and eyes like burning coals sneering down at him again.

To his terror he could not move freely. His arms were bound, his legs fouled. All his senses were stifled. He was still a prisoner. The Fusion still had him. Dexter writhed and pulled at the restraints regardless of the pain that shot through him. Every joint ached and protested the sudden movement, and dizziness seized him even though he had not succeeded in doing more than struggle and toss.

He was going to die. He knew that full well. The Ur-Dexter was going to kill him. Without the desired information about the Omnitrix, there was little reason to keep him alive. Frightening a prospect though it may be, he was not going to die without fighting to the end. He refused to give his life. It would have to be taken from him.

Suddenly his right arm was free. He swung and hit something. No effort was made to return the strike or restrain him. Instead his left arm was also loosened. Struggling to sit up, he sensed a presence very near by and he tried to twist away. Before he could escape, he was swept into a gentle embrace, held tight and close. He could feel arms across his back, the press of fabric against his skin. Dexter fought to get away, panicked anew, the last memory of the Fusion and his distorted quest for love still so vivid and horrifying in his mind.

And then he realized that whoever was holding him so carefully was breathing. Long, slow breaths, in and out. That was all. He could feel ribs expand, feel a faint exhale against his exposed skin, feel the warmth of another human being. The person just held him, trying to calm him, not forcing him to do anything but be still. They made no move, but neither did they relax their hold. Gradually, reluctantly he responded, seeing nothing for it since he lacked the strength to free himself. He tried to match his respiration to theirs but could not sustain a long breath without coughing violently. The fit triggered a fresh wave of pain that sapped the last of his resistance. All the while, the person just held him, rocking ever so slightly with each breath, a slow, smooth motion as lulling as waves on the sea. His exhausted body gave in, and Dexter sank down against the warmth and security of the person holding him, beaten not by strength or pain, but by kindness.

The person shifted, and one arm released him. A moment later Dexter's wrist was lifted in a loose hold. He tensed and tried to pull away, but the person only set his hand atop an unmistakable device. He traced the shape, recognized the design . . .

The Omnitrix.

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It was a long time before Dexter calmed down and his panic faded. His reaction to Ben had been as heartbreaking as it had been pathetic, for he was in no condition to control his emotions and too weak even to try. Trembling, gasping, almost hyperventilating, he clamped down the Omnitrix with all his strength like a drowning person holds on to a lifeline. Eventually his hold slacked slightly and he slumped down, deadweight against Ben. He might have cried, but Ben didn't even check. It made no difference, so long as Dexter realized that he was safe. Ben Tennyson had seen and done enough in this war not to think any less of his friend for tears, especailly after facing Dexter's dark and evil doppleganger. He'd fought the Fusion for a few minutes. Dexter had been fighting him for days.

"Is he asleep?" Number Seventy-Seven asked softly.

Ben looked down at the scrawny figure sprawled across and on him. "I think so."

"Whew. Okay. Well. No more spoon-feeding him water." The medico dumped out the offending liquid that had triggered the anxiety attack. With Dexter being on oxygen for so long it was a constant battle to keep his throat from drying out. "He should be able to start drinking through a straw tomorrow anyway. This is the most alert he's been. Too bad he panicked. I'm glad you were here," he finished with a wry look.

"Me too. I told you the restraints were not a good idea, Seventy-Seven."

"Please. Both his inner ears and his sinuses are shot and I've had to cauterize the blood vessels in his nose twice. If he sneezes again he may need surgery. I can hardly have him wandering around the halls."

"Wandering? He probably can't even stand up straight."

"All the more reason. You okay? He walloped you pretty good."

Ben snorted. "For Dexter. Yeah, I'm okay. Can you take those bandages off and just keep the room dark? I doubt he'll freak quite so much if he can see where he is."

"I'd rather leave them on, but you're right. Here, let me give you a hand. Lay him down again."

Between them they freed Ben, easing Dexter to a comfortable position on the bed and covering him warmly.

"How long before he can hear and talk?" wondered Ben. He was untangling the intravenous tube from around Dexter's arm when the younger boy's hand closed over the Omnitrix again. He tried to shift away but Dexter would not be shaken off, and eventually Ben just gave up the fight and relinquished his left arm.

Seventy-Seven smiled at his dilemma. "His ears should heal in two or three weeks. I expect partial hearing to come back faster than that. His eyes should be back to normal by then, too. His throat is going to be the biggest problem now that the decompression sickness has been dealt with."

"How did that go? Sorry I couldn't help you there. Mandy kinda recruited me to help deal with . . . an issue."

The KND doctor knew better than to press for details, well aware of what had occupied Tennyson's time once they got back from Pittsburgh. "It went smoothly. He was in and out of decompression in less than a day and he responded very well to the initial oxygen therapy. Now it's just a matter of time and rest. And speaking of time, I have to go check on Number 431."

"How is she?"

"She'll be fine. I'm discharging her tomorrow."

"I'll swing by for a visit as soon as I can get out of this death grip."

"She'd like that. You'll stay here?"

"Yeah, DeeDee's due in at seven. She can take over for me."

"I'll see you later, then. Try to get some rest. I'll have a nurse remove those bandages."

The doctor left, closing the door softly behind him. Moving carefully so his did not dislodge Dexter's hold on his wrist, Ben snagged the nearest chair with his foot and pulled it over to the bed. He settled in, looking forward to the long, boring vigil that lay ahead. He didn't mind. No matter what, with his friend alive and safe, it was going to be a good night.

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Darkness. Pain. Warmth. Dexter blinked sleepily, wondering what had roused him, realizing he could blink now, and see to an extent. He ached from his hair to his toes and his ears and throat were afire, but it did not seem quite as bad as the last time he had woken up. Speech was impossible, that much he could tell – his throat was perfectly dry and completely raw. He gazed into the shadows, remembering. No memories were triggered, no panic ensued; he simply remembered what had brought him to this point. There were so many memories to sift through. It would take him ages to fully grasp everything that had happened to him . . . and that had been done to him. Well. He would face it and deal with it in his own time. Right now he simply wanted to find out about his surroundings and glory in being warm again. He thought back on the previous time he'd been aware and wondered if Ben was there in the room now or if he was alone. Had it been Ben that he'd hit? Most likely his friend would not be offended, just amused that he had tried to fight.

The room was a shadowy blur, but he was able to gather that he was in a hospital. Something about the place was familiar, and gradually he concluded that he had to be in the medical ward at DexLab headquarters. That knowledge brought immense relief. He rested his head back, feeling the soft pillow beneath him. He'd forgotten what it was like to be comfortable. Pain and fear had temporarily chased away any sense of security and ease that he had possessed. With time and effort, he hoped he would regain them.

He closed his eyes, taking stock of himself. He was terribly hungry. That was probably a good thing. He had no notion of when he had eaten last. His nose was tender from where a cannula fed him oxygen. That was annoying. He could feel pricks of pain against the back of either hand and he knew that he was on multiple intravenous tubes. That was probably a necessity.

His joints – especially his shoulders and knees – hurt with lingering, remembered pain, and his skin had a faint tingling sensation. So. He had been treated for decompression sickness. That was welcome news. He hadn't told DeeDee what had been done to him because he knew that given their situation back in that cold cell there was nothing she could do to help him. There had been no sense in frightening her more than she'd already been. His physical condition then and now came as little surprise. There was only so much change in atmospheric pressure a body could take and he had taken quite enough for a lifetime.

Experimentally he drew a deep breath. At least he tried to draw a deep breath. The resulting coughing fit reminded him exactly how sore he really was and how badly he'd been hurt. No more deep breaths . . .

A shift in the shadows and a light touch on the blankets drew his attention and he turned his head to see who was there. DeeDee, a dusky pink and gold haze, was seated beside his bed. Her head rested on her hands and she held it angled to the side so that they could look at one another straight on. Her blond hair was bright even in the twilit room, and through his blurred vision he could make out her smile. She was talking rapidly and probably had been at it from the time he'd opened his eyes, but he heard just faint, distorted sounds of her high-pitched voice.

He listened and watched, not caring if she made any sense. She rarely made sense to him, period. Seeing that she had his full attention, she became excited and more animated, gesturing for added emphasis in her story. He smiled faintly, and she paused in her dramatic narrative to return the smile. It struck him quite suddenly that she was a pretty thing despite her lack of intellect. She was a good person, and he was grateful beyond telling that she was his sister.

Mindful of the intravenous connection, Dexter carefully snaked his hand free of the covers. Immediately DeeDee took his hand in hers and he gave her fingers a squeeze, trying to convey what he was incapable of saying aloud. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then just settled back to gaze at her little brother. Dexter returned the look fondly, knowing how much he owed her.

But for DeeDee, he never would have survived.

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DeeDee was still talking - reading him cards and letters from a stack on the table, not a word of which sank in - for what felt like hours later when the door opened to admit two people. Seeing it was not Number Seventy-Seven come to poke and prod and annoy him again, Dexter gingerly sat up. DeeDee broke off from her endless gabbing long enough to help him. As she did so she recalled his glasses, and producing them from her pocket, she put them in his hand. Dexter could not suppress a little grumble (silent though it may be) that she had left him squinting this whole time she'd been chattering like a squirrel.

With a frustrated move he slipped the cannula from off his face so that he could wear them comfortably. The world came into abrupt focus and he blinked, sighing in relief to be able to see.

Mandy stood at the foot of the bed and Ben brought up the rear. The commander of Earth's Combined Forces was her usual unsmiling self, though she looked at Dexter with an air of satisfaction. Behind her, Ben was smiling to see his friend and playing fetch-and-carry for Mandy. He immediately handed Dexter one of the two compact computers he had in his hands. He smiled as Dexter seized upon it and set to work.

Instantly it was apparent that Dexter had them grossly outclassed when it came to typing. He had almost a full page of questions written and sent before Ben managed to pull over a table and open his own computer. The older boy gaped in astonishment at the details being demanded of him as his screen filled with rapid-fire queries. Some of those questions would take hours to answer.

Mandy glanced over, saw what was happening, and came to the rescue. It was just a simple communications device, thrown together by Number Two so that they could converse with Dexter without resorting to writing. At this speed Dexter was going to overload the thing.

"Oh, for the love of-"

She reached over and closed the computer right on Dexter's fingers. He snatched his hands away, offended but not surprised at her conduct. They glared so hard at one another that DeeDee tittered and Ben fought not to laugh out loud. Mandy leaned close, enunciating each word so he could read her lips.

"Slow. Down. Dexter."

She elbowed Ben out of the way and set herself before the other computer and typed (deliberately taking her time) before she gestured that he could look. He opened the computer and read,

I'll get you all the reports. You can grill Tennyson after that.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ben, reading over her shoulder.

Dexter nodded in agreement and Ben just gave up the fight.

How do you feel?

Alive. Hungry. Bored. Everything hurts.

No kidding. Start a report. I want as much detail as you can remember. Take your time and make it exact.

Will do. Is Computress functioning?

Yeah, at a basic command function level. I want one.

Computress was not in the lease, Mandy.

She smirked. He was, of course, quite correct . . . for now. Another round of even dirtier looks was exchanged, each of them giving as good as they took. Clearly Dexter knew what she was thinking as the battle lines were drawn in the sand.

"They do this a lot?" wondered Ben, thoroughly entertained. He hadn't seen such world-class glaring since Mandy had issued her arrest order if Dexter tried to step outside just as he was trying to step outside.

"All the time," whispered DeeDee, and giggled.