Renee glared at the screen of her global in irritation as she waited for Seamus to answer.
It had been two days since Liam had disappeared off to - well, wherever the hell he was. Two days in which Renee had had to split her attention about half a dozen different ways, between everything she had to deal with. She could only just manage the search for the security breach - or leak - and the project Jonathan had started with Reynaud on top of her regular duties for Doors International. There simply weren't enough hours in the day for her to handle the Resistance as well.
Then Seamus' face appeared on the screen. He sported a broad grin, and Renee scowled darkly at him.
"Ooh, ye look to be in a right temper, y' do," the Irishman said, his grin widening. She gritted her teeth - she'd never been able to intimidate him.
"I don't just look it, I am," Renee snapped back. "Have you got any information for me?"
"Only that if yer Major Liam Kincaid is in Ireland, he's lying very, very low," Seamus replied. "I havena been able to find him, even in his regular haunts."
Renee blinked at that. "Regular haunts?" she repeated.
So, Liam goes to Ireland 'regularly'? Why the hell does he do that?
"Aye. From what people have said, there's a wee town up north, near Belfast, that he visits almost every month for a weekend. Visitin' his colleague's grave, belike."
"'Colleague'?" Renee repeated again.
"Lieutenant Siobhan Beckett," Seamus replied. "She was the UK Companion-Protector until she died last year - oh, about ten months ago. Shortly after that mess wi' the buggies what liked the portals."
Renee nodded in recognition as she remembered where she'd heard about Beckett.
She'd spent about a week after the inter-dimensional bugs had been dealt with travelling all over the world, dealing with problems caused by the bugs to Doors International's operations. When she'd arrived back in Washington, she'd been greeted by a message from Jonathan about the breakdown of the moral imperatives that the Taelons put in the CVIs. The message had mentioned that Melissa Park had managed to obtain a brain tissue sample from the UK Companion-Protector, Lt. Siobhan Beckett, and that she'd run a full set of simulations on it, all of which had come up with the same basic response. The message had also mentioned that Lt. Beckett had died due to the full breakdown of her CVI - but that she, like Sandoval two years ago, had been free of the moral imperative before her death.
But why on earth would Liam visit her grave? Renee wondered, frowning. And for that matter, she added to herself, just how did Melissa acquire those brain tissue samples?
The sound of Seamus clearing his throat brought her attention back to the conversation. "Will there be anythin' else, Ms. Palmer?" he inquired.
Renee shook her head. "Just keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if Major Kincaid turns up within the next two weeks," she replied.
"Verra well," Seamus answered, and disconnected.
Leaning back in her chair, Renee crossed her legs and stared out through the glass wall of her office. This was not good. This was not good at all.
I've got to do something. I can handle a lot, but not this much!
Just then, she heard the door to her office open and looked up to see Doors walk in.
"Well?" he demanded. "Have you found him yet?"
Renee gritted her teeth. "No, not yet. Augur suggested I check Ireland, but he doesn't seem to be there. I did find out, however, that he visits there quite often."
"Visiting Beckett's grave, most likely," Doors declared, scowling.
"Why?" Renee demanded. "Why would he visit the grave of a Companion Protector?"
"Presumably because she is - was - his mother," Doors replied. He sounded rather irritated, but whether it was because of her question, Liam's disappearance, just the thought of Liam at all, or something completely unrelated, was something that Renee couldn't tell. "How are those security upgrades coming?"
Renee pulled her thoughts away from the bombshell that Doors had just dropped - Liam's mother was, or rather had, also been a Companion Protector - and focused her attention back on her responsibilities to Doors International. "It's underway. We're moving the top projects over to secure, internal networks in order of priority. The co-venture with Reynaud got put directly on an internal network, and the techs are currently moving all information concerning Project Illusion over. Lambda's next."
"Good. Now, remember we've got that meeting with Henri on Monday. And if Kincaid isn't in Ireland, then he must be somewhere else. Broaden your search."
With that, Doors walked out.
"Great," Renee muttered out loud. "Broaden my search? How the hell am I supposed to do that without alerting either the Taelons or the Resistance?"
Slumping down in her chair, she tried to work out what to do next.
Liam opened his eyes slowly and stared blankly up at the ceiling for a long moment. The light coming in the eastern window was pale and grey, and he could hear the sound of rain falling on the roof.
The weather seemed perfectly suited to his mood. He didn't really want to get up this morning - he wasn't sure that he wanted to face Sandoval just yet. The revelation from yesterday about Lili was still reverberating through his mind.
Lili was alive. And she was on Jaridia, sent by Sandoval to be, in essence, a breeder.
And there was nothing he could do about it. It had been done, and was impossible to undo.
"I've been in... occasional contact with the Jaridians..."
Liam sat bolt upright, ignoring the momentary jab of pain from his shoulder, as the memory of what Sandoval had told him last night popped into his mind. If Sandoval had been in contact with the Jaridians, then maybe he could let Liam contact Lili, talk to her - find out for himself how she really was.
The idea of action managed to spur him into getting up, and he carefully got dressed and walked downstairs, feeling better now than he had since Sandoval had sprung this on him yesterday afternoon.
Liam wasn't overly surprised to find Sandoval in the kitchen, making breakfast. For some reason - one that Sandoval's memories didn't give him, and Liam didn't understand - Sandoval enjoyed cooking. To Liam, it was just a way of making the food that was needed - he took after Beckett in that respect, although he had Sandoval's taste in food - but Sandoval seemed to regard it as an art, one that was worth spending a great deal of time on.
"Morning," Liam said, as he sat down at the table. He had a feeling that towering over his father while he made his request wouldn't be the best idea in the world.
Sandoval looked up from the batter he was stirring, and gave Liam a faint, almost hesitant smile. "Good morning, Liam." Then a flicker of a frown crossed his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," Liam replied, puzzled by the question - and the frown. "There isn't much pain this morning, so I haven't taken any painkillers. I think that they're what's making me so tired."
"As long as the pain doesn't get too bad, that's all right - but the minute it starts to get worse, you're to take a dose," Sandoval ordered. Then, to Liam's surprise, he placed the mixing bowl on the counter, walked over to the table, and placed the back of his hand against Liam's forehead.
"Sandoval?" Liam questioned. He saw a faint, hurt expression cross his father's face for a moment, but was unsure what it meant, and didn't think that asking would be the best idea.
"Can I take a look at your arm?" his father asked, rather than answering the question.
"Why? What's going on?" Liam demanded.
"I want to take a look at the wound you received from the crossbow bolt. You've been running a low-level fever for the past few nights, and I want to make sure that it hasn't gotten infected."
"Fever?" Liam repeated, bewildered. "I don't feel hot."
"You're not, at the moment," Sandoval agreed. "For some reason, it only seems to be at night. Dr. Park noticed it Sunday night, and I noticed it Monday, as well as last night."
"Doesn't sound like an infection," Liam commented, not sure why he felt the need to stall for time, but feeling it strongly nonetheless.
"And it may not be. But I'd rather check and know for certain, than not check and have it turn out to be something we could have prevented."
Liam unconsciously rubbed the palm of his left hand with his thumb as he thought. Sandoval had a definite point. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly.
Sandoval frowned again - probably at his tone - but didn't say anything as Liam carefully eased his right arm out of the sling and began to fumble with the cuff buttons. After a moment, he shook his head and leaned forward. "Here, let me."
Liam nodded and watched as Sandoval made quick work of the buttons, and then carefully rolled his sleeve up to expose the gauze covering the bolt wound. "This is probably going to sting a little," he warned, as he started to pull the gauze - and the accompanying medical tape - off. Abruptly he stopped and gave Liam a curious look, as though something had just occurred to him. "Why didn't she just use Taelon sealer?"
Liam worried at his lower lip for a moment before replying, nervous. He didn't mean to be - after all, Sandoval had said the fact that he was part-Kimera didn't matter to him - but he was. "The first time she tried a sealer on me, I had a... bad reaction," he said finally. It was something of an understatement - he'd nearly ended up destroying the examining room with his shaqarava before Dr. Park had managed to pull it off.
Sandoval simply nodded, and resumed his task of pulling off the gauze, while Liam stared out the window, focusing on the trees he could see through the rain from where he was sitting.
"Well," his father said, a moment later, "I don't think we have to worry about it getting infected."
Liam blinked and looked back at Sandoval in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"It looks as though it's pretty much healed," Sandoval replied calmly.
Liam looked down at his arm, and felt himself pale when he saw the thin red line which had replaced the gaping wound that had been there only five days ago.
He'd always known that he healed at a faster rate than ordinary humans. But there had been a great deal of damage done to his arm, although not as much as to his shoulder. Dr. Park, who knew about his rapid healing, had advised that it would probably be another week before his arm healed, and another two or three before his shoulder did so.
"Liam?" Sandoval said, and Liam realized that he'd been silent for several minutes as he tried to come to grips with this. He took a deep breath and looked up to meet his father's eyes, and was relieved to see no sign of revulsion or distaste in Sandoval's expression.
"Sorry... I was a bit... surprised," Liam managed after a moment.
Sandoval simply nodded and stood up. "Well, it's good to know that there's no chance of infection - and we won't need to bandage it back up.
"Now, what type of pancakes would you like? We've got blueberries, strawberries, I could cut up some apples... or you could have them plain, if you prefer."
Liam stared as Sandoval headed back to the stove. Whatever reaction he'd been expecting, and he wasn't entirely sure what that was, it definitely wasn't this. He'd thought that Sandoval would start questioning him about it.
"Liam? I need to get started before the frying pan gets too hot..."
"Uh... Blueberry, please," Liam replied slowly.
"Blueberry it is." Sandoval picked up a small bowl from the far end of the counter and emptied it into the mixing bowl, stirred the batter a few more times, and then started pouring the batter into the frying pan. "It'll take about fifteen minutes or so to finish them. If you want to do something while you're waiting, feel free."
Liam watched him for a few minutes. After the matter of his arm wound, he didn't feel entirely comfortable broaching the idea of Sandoval letting him communicate with Lili just yet. The two things had nothing to do with each other, but still...
"Why do you like to cook so much?" he asked, before he thought about what he was doing.
Sandoval gave him a quizzical look. "What makes you think I like cooking?" he asked.
Liam felt himself relaxing a bit - this type of conversation shouldn't have any pitfalls. "Maybe it's because you've been cooking fairly steadily since we got here," he pointed out in open amusement. "I mean, you could've picked up a bunch of ready-made meals at the supermarket, but instead you picked up the raw materials. I was wondering why."
Sandoval nodded in understanding as he turned back to the frying pan in time to stop one of the pancakes from burning. "My mother taught me to cook," he explained. "She said knowing how to cook well was a valuable asset for anyone. We used to spend every second Saturday at home cooking and baking. I didn't get to spend all that much time with her during the week - she worked all day, and often didn't get home until late at night - so those Saturdays were special."
Liam thought for a moment about that. Now that Sandoval had told him about it, he could identify the memories of those afternoons, and he found himself understanding his father's love of cooking much better.
"My father used to tease me about becoming a Cordon Bleu chef one day," Sandoval went on, as he deftly flipped the pancakes onto a waiting plate and poured some more of the batter into the pan. "Either that, or owning a chain of restaurants."
Those memories began to filter through to Liam as well, and he found himself relaxing even further under the combination of the easy conversation and the pleasant memories from his father. "It must have been fun," he said quietly.
Sandoval hadn't said anything to Liam about the rapid healing of the wound caused by the crossbow bolt because he'd seen how pale his son had gone when he'd seen the faint line that was all that remained. It was obvious that something about it scared Liam, and while Sandoval was determined to find out exactly what it was, he didn't see any point in making Liam even more nervous by insisting they discuss it right then and there. He'd been trying to think of some other topic of conversation when Liam had asked him about his love of cooking.
He shot a quick glance over at his son. Liam was staring into the distance, much as he had during part of their discussion last night, but his tone of voice wasn't the same. Rather than the mingled anger, pain, and nervousness he'd heard then, all he heard now was what sounded like wistfulness.
Then, thinking about what he had just said, and who he'd said it to, he realized that that was most likely exactly what it was. His parents had been there, willing to do things with him whenever they had the chance. Liam had never had that. Until now.
"Have you ever cooked pancakes before, Liam?"
Liam's head jerked up and he stared at Sandoval, open surprise on his face. "Uh... no?"
"Well, then, now's an excellent time to start. I've already made a few, so the pan is nicely heated and there's not too much left in the bowl. Why don't you come over here and make the rest of them?"
The surprise gave way to confusion, but Liam stood up and came over, then stopped by the stove, looking from Sandoval to the mixing bowl to the pan and back again to Sandoval, obviously puzzled.
"Here. You should be able to use your left hand just fine for this. Take the bowl and pour enough batter into the pan to cover about half of it," Sandoval instructed.
Liam obediently took the bowl, his confusion still showing, and followed Sandoval's instructions.
"Now, take the spatula..."
Liam curled up on the couch and picked up Castle of Wizardry, opening it to the page he'd been at when Sandoval had come in after his walk yesterday. Sandoval was busy washing the dishes they'd used, and he'd practically ordered Liam to, 'get out of the kitchen and let me finish up in here'.
He didn't start reading immediately, however. Instead, his thoughts went back to breakfast.
It had been... weird.
First of all, of course, had been the matter of the fact that he was apparently becoming feverish at night. He honestly had no idea what was going on with that, although he had the sneaking suspicion that it had something to with his sudden increased speed of healing, the reappearance of his shaqarava, and the change to his scans that Dr. Park had noticed.
Then, there had been the matter of his suddenly having healed almost completely from the wound caused by the crossbow bolt - in only five days, as opposed to the week and a half that Dr. Park had predicted; and his father's ignoring the impossibility of it completely.
Followed by that cooking lesson.
Liam had to admit that he had actually enjoyed the lesson a great deal; and the pancakes he had made seemed to have tasted even better than Sandoval's. He'd mentioned that, and his father had laughed and told him that it was because he had made them. It didn't really make much sense - after all, the fact was that Sandoval was the better cook, by far, and this was the first time that he had ever made pancakes - but Sandoval had said that that was why.
But he kept coming back to the other incidents during breakfast: the mention of the fever; his wound; the way Sandoval's memories had seemed to flow so smoothly, when he'd always had a great deal of difficulty accessing them before...
Something was changing in him - something that he didn't understand. And it was scaring him.
The bell over the door of the shop rang softly as the door opened, and Ali McPherson looked up from where she was arranging some of the latest shipment of books - and suppressed a groan of dismay as she saw who was standing there.
The last person she wanted to see at the moment was Grant Fellowes.
"Ali!" he greeted her warmly. "I was hoping to find you here!"
Ali kept her expression and tone as professional as she could manage, wondering if he would ever take the hint. "Mr. Fellowes," she replied. "How can I help you? I'm afraid the Virgil hasn't come in yet."
"I'm not here about the Virgil, actually," Fellowes replied. He reached into his pocket, and with a flourish, pulled out two pieces of paper. "I've got two tickets to tonight's performance of Aida, and I was wondering if you would care to join me?"
Ali forced a smile, giving herself a silent reminder that Fellowes was one of Janine's friends. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Fellowes. I don't care for opera."
"Come on, Ali, it'll be fun," Fellowes continued persuasively. "We'll go for dinner beforehand, and-"
"No, thank you," Ali said firmly. "Why don't you ask Janine? I know for a fact that she enjoys opera." Barely aware of what she was doing, she began rubbing the base of her left ring finger, where her wedding band had rested. Twisting it had been a nervous habit of hers back when- She cut the thought off abruptly.
"To be honest," Fellowes was saying, "I'd much prefer your company to Janine's."
Ali shook her head as the door opened again, and a customer walked in. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fellowes, but I'm not interested." Then, before he could continue to try to persuade her, or even make his oft-repeated request that she call him 'Grant', she walked over to the new arrival. "Good morning, Mrs. Yeung."
"Ms. McPherson," the elderly lady replied, nodding. "I believe you called concerning my request?"
"That's right," Ali declared, relieved to have a legitimate reason to ignore Fellowes. "We just received a shipment from a Seattle estate sale, and it included a copy of the Mark Twain that you've been looking for. If you'll follow me..." She led Mrs. Yeung into the back room, where they kept the special orders, paying no attention to Fellowes as she walked past him. Luckily, he knew better than to bother her while she was dealing with a customer.
It was a matter of moments to find the Mark Twain, and Ali smiled as she watched Mrs. Yeung examine it carefully. She loved books - always had - and loved old books most of all. She'd even introduced Ron to the pleasures of collecting old, rare books-
Again she cut the thought off before it could finish. This was not the time to be thinking about any of that, especially not with Fellowes just outside.
As the daughter of a minor politician and the wife of a law enforcement officer, she'd developed a definite distaste for reporters. Oh, she knew that there were good, honest reporters out there, but most of her experiences had been with the ones who were only after the sensational and sleazy stories, rather than the truth.
For the past two years, of course, she'd had other reasons to avoid reporters. If her identity was ever discovered...
"Excellent condition," Mrs. Yeung declared, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I'll be delighted to take it."
Ali smiled. She genuinely liked Mrs. Yeung, and the elderly woman had been looking for this particular edition for several years now. "In that case..." She gestured toward the main part of the shop.
Coming out of the back, Ali was relieved to see that Janine had arrived, and had engaged Fellowes in conversation. She finalized Mrs. Yeung's purchase swiftly, and walked her to the door, discussing the possibility of finding a few other treasures in the lot from the estate sale as she did so.
Once she'd closed the door behind Mrs. Yeung, she turned around and caught Janine's eye.
"What is it?" Janine asked quietly, walking over to her.
"I'd like to take a bit of a break," Ali said, equally quietly. The last thing she wanted right now was for Fellowes to offer to join her. "Take a bit of a walk around the park..."
"Go ahead. You were here all yesterday without one," Janine declared.
A faint smile crossed Ali's face. "Thanks, Janey. I'll be back a bit later."
"Take your time. I'll be here for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, and now that you've got most of that latest shipment set up on display, there isn't that much else to do today."
Ali smiled again, a bit wider this time, and then headed out, crossing the street and walking straight into the park. Finding a hiking trail, she started along it, distantly aware that she was rubbing the base of her ring finger again.
By the time she'd arrived in Vancouver, over a year and a half ago, she'd managed to push the memories of her previous life into a back corner of her mind. She still remembered everything, of course, but the memories themselves tended to stay distant.
Or they had, at least, until three weeks ago, when she'd met Companion-Protector Major Liam Kincaid.
For some reason, the young Companion-Protector who'd stopped in to buy a book three Fridays ago had brought all those distant memories to the surface. Now, rather than just remembering general things that had happened, she would be... oh, dusting a bookshelf, and suddenly would recall the way Ron had wrinkled his nose in an effort not to sneeze the first time she'd shown him her father's library; or she'd be cooking dinner, and the image would pop into her head of Ron twirling her around the kitchen, laughing, as he tried to tempt her into trying one of those bizarre roast beef and grilled cheese sandwiches of his...
It wasn't that Major Kincaid looked like Ron - nothing could be farther from the truth - or even that he was a Companion-Protector. She'd listened to news reports about the Taelons, seen Ron - or rather, 'Agent Sandoval' - giving interviews, and none of it had affected her this way.
No, it was something about Kincaid's mannerisms, his body language, that had reminded her so forcefully of Ron. The way he'd handled the copy of Oliver Twist he'd bought - for Sandoval, she suspected; Ron's birthday had been the Tuesday after Major Kincaid had been by, and he was extremely fond of Dickens... His actions and behaviour had been so much like Ron before the implantation that the sudden rush of memories was, perhaps, not all that unexpected.
It was, however, very difficult to deal with. She'd loved Ron with all her heart; when he'd betrayed her like that, putting her in the asylum, she'd been so stunned that she hadn't even tried to fight it all that much.
Then, when he'd rescued her... She'd managed to get her hopes back up, only to have them dashed again when it had been explained to her by Boone and the Liberation that Ron had to be re-implanted to save his life, and that they had to give him an implant with a motivational imperative for it to work...
She'd followed the Liberation's instructions and suggestions like an automaton for the first two months after that, before she'd come to her senses and decided that it was time for her to make a life for herself - a life where she wouldn't be in danger of being used by the Liberation for their own purposes. They hadn't fooled her; even if Boone - and perhaps that hacker... Augur, she thought his name was - had been genuinely willing to help her, Jonathan Doors and Captain Marquette had seen her as a possible pawn to use against Ron if necessary. Despite what he'd done to her, she hadn't wanted that. Not when the first thing he'd done when he was free of the motivational imperative was get her out of the asylum.
So she'd used everything he'd taught her to set up several new identities, and then made the ones that the Liberation had given her disappear. It had been reasonably easy to do; and when she'd been certain there was no connection between the Liberation identities and Alison McPherson, she'd moved here and started her new life. A life that had no connection to FBI Special Agent and Companion-Protector Ronald Sandoval.
Except now it did. She couldn't go anywhere or do anything without her memories ambushing her. And the news reports of the past week - the attacks on Companion personnel, especially Major Kincaid - had made it even worse.
Stopping, Ali took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. She was just going to have to live with this. The memories weren't going to go away again, now that they'd been dredged up... so she would just have to cope as best she could, and try not to think about it as much as possible. It would be hard - but she had no doubt that she could do it if she had to. And she had to.
Sandoval stood in the doorway to the den, wincing slightly at the similarity to yesterday morning. Like yesterday, Liam was curled up on the couch, with Castle of Wizardry in one hand... but he wasn't reading. Instead, he seemed to be staring off into space, and hadn't even noticed that Sandoval was there; or, at least, he wasn't acknowledging Sandoval at all.
Walking over to the fireplace, Sandoval lit the fire he'd laid earlier, and then sat down in the leather chair. Liam still hadn't given any indication that he knew Sandoval was there, and he was beginning to get a bit worried.
"Liam?"
"Hmm?" his son murmured absently.
"Are you all right?"
Liam blinked, and seemed to come back to himself. "Sorry, Sandoval..." he said quietly; "'fraid I didn't notice you come in."
"That's all right - remember, we're on vacation, and McKenna's imprisoned on the mothership; no need for complete alertness at the moment," Sandoval reassured him, once again feeling that twinge at Liam's apparent determination to call him by his name. "You appear to be a bit preoccupied."
Liam worried at his lower lip. "I..." he started, and then looked away, falling silent again.
"Are you all right?" Sandoval repeated. He had the feeling that Liam hadn't really heard him the first time.
"Yeah..."
This is so damn awkward... I thought that by getting the issue of Captain Marquette out of the way first, I'd be able to see how he reacted, and then plan the rest of the vacation - and the revelations - based on that reaction. But it isn't working. Sandoval considered for a long moment. I know my colleague, Major Kincaid. I can predict how he'll react to situations, how he'll deal with threats, how he'll act around me...
I don't know my son, Liam. I don't know anything about him, except his public persona and who his other parents were. That's what I'm supposed to be doing here... getting to know Liam. Not just telling him about what I've been doing. Only I don't have any real idea where or how to start. He sighed, and then blinked.
There's an idea, Ron - just ask him! Let him decide what to tell you, at least at first...
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're all right," Liam said, studying his face.
"I was just thinking..."
"About what?" Liam asked, his tone genuinely curious.
Sandoval leaned back in the chair and glanced at the flames in the fireplace. "About the reason we're here. I want to get to know you - you, not 'Major Kincaid' - but, to be honest, I'm not sure how to go about doing that. I don't even know what questions to ask."
Liam blinked in surprise. "Umm..." He stared off into space again for a few long minutes, then returned his attention to Sandoval. "I... uh... don't really know what to say to that..." He paused again. "Why not just ask me what... well, what you want to know?"
Sandoval shook his head. "We'd be here for much longer than two weeks if I did that - I want to know everything," he admitted softly.
Liam flushed bright red at that.
All right, so what's most important? Not the Resistance... and I don't want to ask him about Ha'gel and the Kimera just yet. I think that's going to have to wait; it seems to be a sore point at the moment. So of the rest... "Da'an knows, doesn't he."
Liam nodded slowly. "Yeah, he knows. He's been keeping it a secret from Zo'or and the rest of the Synod from the beginning."
"When did he find out - and how?"
Liam grimaced. "When... at Boone's funeral, just after I saved him from the replicant attack. How..." The grimace deepened. "When I was helping him up off the ground..."
"...Where you tackled him in the first place..." Sandoval put in.
His son sighed. "We... umm... Shared. Sort of. Not a full Sharing, but enough of one that he recognized... what I am."
Sandoval thought back to the events of that first week after Ha'gel. "While you were in the Embassy, waiting for the replicant... that game of foovlasha?"
Liam nodded. "That was when he let me know that he knew." He grinned faintly. "I'd figured that out beforehand, of course... part of the reason I went to Boone's funeral was to attract Da'an's attention, though I hadn't really intended to do it that way. When you called... Lili..." he hesitated for a moment, and then went on, "...to tell her to order me to report to the mothership for that interview with you and Zo'or, I knew it had worked."
Sandoval nodded, though he wasn't terribly happy now with his memories of that interview... hell, with any of the memories of the way he'd treated Liam, especially during those early days. "Weren't you worried that he would report you to the Synod?"
Liam shook his head carefully. "Nope. I knew he wouldn't. I..." He stopped.
"Liam?"
He started worrying his lower lip. "I just... knew he wouldn't."
It was obvious that Liam did not want him to ask how he'd known, and Sandoval suspected that it might have to do with his Kimera heritage. So he decided to change the subject.
The problem was that, while he wanted to keep the current conversation as neutral as possible, he wasn't sure that he could actually do it. There were so few subjects he could think of that qualified as neutral; all of them seemed to have too many possible pitfalls. Captain Marquette; the Resistance; Liam's Kimera heritage... all of it seemed to be inextricably wound together. He hadn't expected his question about Da'an to enter forbidden territory so quickly, and he really didn't want to force anything.
Perhaps if he opened himself to questions as well, it would help... "Is there anything you want to ask me?"
Liam worried at his lower lip again. It would've been hard to miss the fact that Sandoval was deliberately trying to respond to his unease by steering away from certain subjects, the same way he'd ignored the matter of his healed arm at breakfast. The problem was, Liam wasn't sure why he was feeling so sensitive about the matter of his Kimera heritage. Was it just that despite the fact that his father appeared to have accepted that he was a Kimera hybrid, he was still scared of rejection? Or did it have to do with the fact that he'd been so certain that his Kimeran abilities were fading, only to be proved wrong? Was it something else entirely? Some combination of the above?
Perhaps it was just the simple fact that this entire situation was really, really awkward and uncomfortable.
Sandoval was waiting patiently for him to ask something, and Liam had no idea what to say. There was no point in asking him about something that had happened before Liam was born... Well, no real point, in terms of finding something out... Liam corrected himself. Not with the memories becoming so much more accessible. There might be some other reasons, like prompting the memories, or learning about how his father saw some of his memories now - but Liam didn't want to ask about those. At the same time, however, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know anything about what his father had been doing since then. He and the Resistance had discovered enough for him to know that a lot of it wasn't good.
But there is one thing... came the flicker of a thought. Something he'd been wondering since he'd seen the card and the piece of paper with his directions on it sitting on Sandoval's desk.
"When... when did you figure out about me?" he asked hesitantly. He couldn't seem to actually say the words 'son' or 'father' yet...
"The first part of it... that you're my son..." Liam was amazed at how easily those words seemed to come to Sandoval, "I figured out Sunday afternoon. That's when I noticed the similarities between the birthday card you gave me and the directions you'd written out to The Happy Greek. Then Dr. Curzon called..." He paused, and then shrugged, almost as if to say, 'What the hell'.
"I'd already found out that you weren't the real Liam Kincaid, so I was going to run a DNA-based search to see if I could find out who you really were. I gave the handkerchief I used to bind your arm to Dr. Curzon to extract your DNA, and she called me back just after I'd figured it out to congratulate me on finding you."
How did he find out that I'm not Kincaid? Liam wondered. Does he know who Kincaid really is? However, those questions could wait - for the moment, at least. He would have to ask it - he was going to have to let the Colonel know - but it didn't have to be just yet.
"What about the rest?" he asked quietly.
"About Siobhan being your mother - I figured that out Sunday night, when I went to get the clothes from your apartment for Monday."
Liam glanced away, towards the fire, as he remembered what he'd thought when Sandoval had tossed the duffle bag on his hospital bed Monday morning. "So you did see the pictures," he murmured.
"Yes." Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw Sandoval lean forward. "As for Ha'gel... that I figured out Monday night." He paused. "You were... having a nightmare, and calling out in a language I didn't recognize. It wasn't human, and it wasn't Eunoia. Then my CVI kicked in, and I remembered a few things, including a discussion I had with Zo'or concerning your destruction of the Jaridian replicant, and how Da'an had rejoined the Commonality."
"And Zo'or told you that only Kimera were able to separate from and rejoin the Taelon Commonality," Liam finished. He really didn't want to think about the nightmare Sandoval had mentioned... even the hint of it sent that same icicle of terror down his spine; the terror of being abandoned by the one who had created him.
"Va'nei, liea o'onarr!"
Liam shivered as the words burst into his memory. He knew that they were the ones he'd spoken in the dream, begging Ha'gel to stay, to not abandon him...
"What's wrong?" came Sandoval's voice, and Liam forced himself to look over at his human father. Sandoval hadn't abandoned him; he'd stayed, he'd accepted Liam as his son.
He shivered again, though he wasn't sure why, and then a moan escaped as his shoulder suddenly burst into agony.