Chapter 2

The walk back to Sanctuary was made in silence. To Brennan it was almost as if she were sleepwalking. He had never seen her like this. Last year when faced with the prospect of confronting her father for the first time her reaction had been immediate and volatile, even violent. Now she looked like she was in shock. Maybe she was, he mused. He couldn't remember Shalimar ever mentioning her mother, not even after her father died. What could have happened between mother and daughter to zombie her out like this? His gentle queries elicited no response. About all he had been able to get out of her was that her parents had split up not long after she ran away from the institution they had put her in, and that at some point her mother had remarried. Other than that, she gave no sign that she even knew that he was accompanying her.

When they reached her bedroom Shalimar hesitated at the threshold. Brennan could almost feel her bracing herself. He squeezed her shoulders in a silent gesture of support, letting her know that he was there for her, whether it meant being at her side while she viewed the message or later if she wanted to talk. As apparently oblivious to his presence as she had been he half expected her to jump at this sudden contact, but she didn't. She turned inside his encircling arms, staying him with the light brush of fingertips on his chest, and beneath the pain in her deep brown eyes he saw gratitude for his offer and a promise to take him up on it later. Then she turned away, squaring her shoulders in a deliberate gesture and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

Brennan stood outside, his eyes fixed on the portal. His head knew that what Shalimar needed right now was space, but his heart wanted nothing so much as to open the door, gather her into his arms and hold her until the pain receded from her eyes. In the end his head won. Slowly, reluctantly, he forced his feet to move, step by unwilling step, until they carried him down the row to his own room. He would wait for her there. She would come to him when she was ready.

Shalimar crossed the room and sat down at her desk, the sleeping computer screen staring at her with its unblinking opaque eye. So many emotions were swirling inside her that she couldn't even begin to keep up, battling back and forth until all she could feel was numb. Memories played before her eyes, sputtering like crude home movies; scenes of ice cream and a soft cloth daubing at skinned knees, of monkey bars and the reassuring squeeze of a hand on the first day of school, of storybooks at bedtime, then later giving way to bewilderment and fear, of shouts and anger, thrown cushions and broken chairs, of eyes of love becoming looks of fear, and a mother's hand pulling away.

Something wet slid down Shalimar's cheek, and she discovered that she was crying. She swiped disgustedly at her eyes. This was getting her nowhere. There was only one way to find out why her mother was contacting her after all this time, and sitting here dredging up the past wasn't going to make that happen. Taking a deep breath, she made her finger reach out and tap a button.

"Hello, Shalimar."

The image on the screen froze. It took Shalimar several seconds to realize that she had paused the video; she had no recollection of having done so. The jolt she experienced just on seeing that face and hearing that voice after so many years took her by surprise. They were strangers now. All the anger and hurt and bitterness was in the past. Shalimar was a woman grown, with a life of her own and a family who loved her for who she was. She was no longer a terrified and confused little girl.

Another tear slid down her cheek, and Shalimar wondered grimly who she was trying to kid. A phoenix had risen from the ashes of her past bringing back feelings she thought were long buried. In an effort to collect herself, to lasso the wildly chaotic emotions ricocheting inside her aching heart, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using yoga techniques to try to center herself. After a moment when she felt she had regained at least a modicum of control, she opened her eyes and forced herself to study the image before her.

She looks older than I expected, Shalimar thought with an almost clinical detachment. I almost didn't recognize her. The years had not been particularly kind to the woman in the video. For a moment she wondered if this was indeed her mother. Her mother had been beautiful, her skin soft and smooth, her cheeks rosy and rounded, her cornsilk hair long and lush. This woman's features were essentially the same, but her face was thin and drawn, with lines that the expensive cosmetics couldn't completely disguise. Her hair was still blond, now cut in a short, fashionable style, but the shade that had once matched her daughter's now came out of a bottle. The voice was the same, though, as was the wariness in her eyes.Perhaps the picture in her head was just a child's fantasy, not a true memory. After all, the last time she saw her mother was half a lifetime ago.

She tapped 'play', and the video resumed.

"I would have contacted you sooner, but I didn't know how to reach you," the image said. The hands fluttered nervously, folding and refolding, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them. "I don't even know if this message will find you now, or if it does, if you'll even open it. I wouldn't blame you if you deleted it sight unseen."

Shalimar was in perfect agreement with that notion.

The woman in the video took a deep breath, collecting herself.

"Well, anyway, if you've watched this far, let me get to the point," she said, "Among your father's effects was a life insurance policy, one that I didn't know anything about. It's for one hundred thousand dollars, and it names you as the sole beneficiary. You also have a substantial bequest in his will. Collecting it involves a fair amount of paperwork and red tape, so you'll have to come out to San Francisco. If you'll let me know you're coming, I can set it up with the attorneys. It should only be for a couple of days."

The figure hesitated.

"I suppose the most convenient thing would be for you to stay with us," she said slowly, "Our penthouse has a guest room, and it's near the heart of downtown, just a few blocks from the attorney's office. That will simplify meeting arrangements."

Shalimar paused the video again. Convenient, she said. Not I'm longing to see you or there's so much for us to talk about. Not even It's nice to know you're alive and not in prison for killing someone. Convenient. Shalimar could almost feel the reluctance rippling in waves from the image's closed expression and wooden posture, as if seeing her only child again was nothing more than a necessary evil. Probably there was something in her father's will that wouldn't allow his ex-wife to get whatever he might have left her if she didn't at least try to contact their prodigal daughter. Shal could easily picture her manipulative father arranging things that way. Olivia was no doubt hoping that by appearing so obviously unwelcoming Shalimar would refuse to come.

Well, Mom, you're about to get your wish. Shalimar had no intention of flying all the way out to the West Coast. For what? To reopen a lot of old wounds? To have the faint little flicker of hope that insisted on rising in her heart despite her best efforts to keep it locked inside get brutally stomped on? It would be far better to just to ignore the whole thing, to bury the past once again and try to regain the peace of mind the phoenix had so thoroughly shattered. It would take time, but she could do it, just as she had before.

With that thought Shalimar extended a finger to stab the 'delete' key, but for some reason ended up simply snapping off the monitor instead. That small action, however, seemed to be the extent of her brain's ability to function. For a long time she just sat there, drained and numb, staring into the screen's all-encompassing blackness, echoes of all the old unanswered questions and what-might-have-beens, all the hopes, dreams and fears clamoring in the back of her mind. Finally, chiding herself for allowing such foolish, sentimental and impossible thoughts to affect her like this, she resolutely turned her back on the screen and rose slowly to her feet. Weariness weighed on her to the very depths of her soul. More than anything she wanted to simply climb back into her den-like bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend the whole thing was nothing more than a bad dream. Instead she found herself leaving her room and heading down the row, seeking a haven of a different sort.

Brennan felt rather than saw the shadow fall across his open doorway, and was up off his bed, his book falling forgotten from his grasp, before Shalimar's tentatively-raised hand could knock. Ordinarily he would have waited for the tiger to come to him, or at least met him half way, but one look at her face drove him into unthinking action. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into his arms, kicking the door closed behind them. Without asking any questions he just held her, feeling the proud, rigid stance of her body as she fought to suppress the first telltale quivers, saying nothing because there was no need for words between them, but speaking with his body as she buried her face in his shoulder. The tremors built, and bit by bit her control wavered until finally it collapsed completely, not in great, wracking sobs but in quiet shudders and hot tears seeping into his shirt.

After a while the storm subsided. Brennan felt her start to draw back and immediately loosened his grip. Shalimar sniffled and turned away, dashing the last moisture from her eyes, too embarrassed at her loss of composure to look up at him. This was not the image she usually projected. He must think her a total wimp.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly, a dull flush rising to her cheeks to match her reddened eyes, "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't sweat it."

He reached back for the box of Kleenex that stood on his desk and handed it to her. She gave him a wry, watery little smile.

"Thanks."

She took one and tended to her runny nose, and then set the box on his dresser behind her. When she turned back she saw that he had peeled off his shirt and was slowly advancing on her, an odd look on his face. Hard muscles rippled under gleaming skin as he moved closer. Shalimar's breath caught in her throat; she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was pure power and athletic grace, like a jungle cat on the prowl, and so totally, compellingly male. The temperature in the room suddenly jumped fifteen degrees. She took an uncertain step back, bumping into the dresser.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

Then he was there, looming over her, and one of his hands was reaching out. For a moment she thought she saw something like hunger flash in his eyes, and her heart gave a funny little leap. But she must have imagined it because in the next instant it was gone, and he was reaching, not for her but around her, to the drawer handle.

"Just getting a fresh shirt," he said softly, not taking his eyes off her but leaning in close, so close she could almost feel his breath on her skin, "This one's a little damp."

For a split second she had the strange idea that he almost said something else. Then he pulled the drawer open, and she jumped a bit and scuttled sideways out of his path when it smacked her in the butt. He bent over the open drawer and seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to select another shirt. She turned away, seeking a distraction from the suddenly unsettled nature of her thoughts. Her eyes fell on the shirt tossed carelessly on the bed. She picked it up and found the spot her tears had soaked. Embarrassment at her weakness flooded her all over again.

"I really did a number on you, didn't I?" she said ruefully. The wet spot was bigger than she thought. She touched it tentatively, and a little frisson of electricity skittered up her spine as her feral senses caught the smell of her tears mingled with his scent in the fabric. The combination was enticing somehow, one that made her want to bury her nose in it and inhale deeply. A heartbeat later she realized what she had just been thinking, and dropped it back on the bed as if it suddenly burned her. Brennan didn't notice. He had other things on his mind.

"You sure did," he muttered, shaking out the new shirt as he prepared to put it on.

She was blushing furiously when he popped his head through the opening and pulled the shirt into place. Brennan mistook the cause of her discomfiture. Thinking she was still chagrined over her breakdown, he came over and lightly put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hey," he said gently, "I told you, don't sweat it. I don't mind you crying on my shoulder, and I certainly don't think of it as any kind of weakness on your part." He took one hand and lifted her chin to meet his gaze, smiling at her. "Actually, I take it as a compliment."

She gave him a look that seriously questioned whether he had lost his marbles. He had to chuckle when he saw it.

"I mean it," he insisted, "You and I … and some others I could mention … it's not in our natures to easily allow others to see what we perceive as our weaknesses. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, or more likely some kind of trust issue – which is weird when you think about it because we trust each other with our lives all the time. But this is more…I don't know… personal is the closest word I can think of right now. A more conscious, more decisive expression of trust." He sighed, realizing that he wasn't expressing himself the way he wanted to, brought home in part by the slightly incredulous expression on her face as she stared at him. "Anyway, the way I see it, you trusted me enough to let me share something that you would ordinarily keep very private. Like I said, I take it as a huge compliment."

Shalimar felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Brennan never ceased to amaze her. Just when she thought she had him pretty well figured out, he comes up with something like this. She allowed the smile to blossom.

"That's pretty profound for a guy who was raised on the streets."

Brennan's eyes twinkled. "That's me. Profound, sensitive…"

"Humble…."

"That too." Then he sobered, and lightly brushed a wayward strand of gold back behind her ear.

"So what did your mom have to say?"

Shalimar's smile died. She turned away, pacing slowly around the room. Brennan slid quietly into his desk chair, giving her space literally and figuratively, waiting. Back and forth, back and forth, and all around the room she prowled, picking up things and putting them back down without really even seeing them. Brennan could see the tension coiling in her, her muscles tightening into knots with each passing minute. He didn't push her, remaining silent. Finally, after several more circuits around his room, she dropped wearily onto the bed facing him and drew in a deep breath.

"Let me tell you a little story…."

They came in to the kitchen for lunch together, ostensibly looking as if nothing untoward had happened. Jesse stood at the counter amid an array of packaged meats, crusty bread and condiments as he worked on assembling a pair of sandwiches. Lexa crunched a potato chip from an open bag nearby, then hefted a pitcher of tea to pour into two glasses, the ice cubes inside crackling as the liquid hit them. Both looked up at the new arrivals.

"There's cole slaw and potato salad in the fridge to go with sandwiches if you don't want the chips," Jesse said casually. He turned back to what he was doing without further comment. The cold water Shalimar must have splashed on her face mitigated the reddened, slightly puffy look of her eyes but didn't completely erase it. He surmised that she'd told Brennan about her childhood once her powers began to surface. Jesse had already heard at least part of the story; being together long before the others joined gave them a special bond, like brother and sister, and they shared a lot of confidences in those early days. Meanwhile, Lexa went to the cupboard and pulled down extra plates and glasses. If she noticed the grim set to Brennan's jaw, or the fact that the black, long-sleeved tee shirt he was wearing when she saw him before breakfast was now light gray, she didn't mention it.

They ate lunch with the usual small talk punctuated by some awkward silences, each one pointedly avoiding the subject that was uppermost in their minds. Afterward, Shalimar drifted into the lounge area, the others trailing cautiously in her wake. She was well aware of the covert glances shooting at her back and between her teammates, just as she knew that Jesse and Lexa were waiting for her to tell them what was in the message. She flopped into one of the overstuffed chairs, pulling her feet up and tucking them inside.

To no one's surprise Brennan took the chair next to her, a large, hovering presence and making no apology for it. Interestingly enough, Jesse and Lexa elected to sit together, slipping onto the near end of the larger sofa with a studied casualness, not actually touching, but not with a lot of room between them either. The feral filed that intriguing little tidbit away for future reference. In the meantime, she might as well get this over with. They listened sympathetically as with just a few terse sentences she gave them the gist of the message, leaving out most of the gory details. She finished with what she hoped was a convincing show of complete indifference.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because I'm not going."

She knew by their faces that none of them bought her act. Silence reigned as they all pondered her declaration for a moment.

"Maybe you should, if only for the money," Lexa ventured, taking a sip of her iced tea, "Not counting whatever is in the will, a hundred grand is a pretty fair chunk of change."

"I don't want his money!"

Lexa set her glass of tea down on the end table and returned Shalimar's glare seriously. "You might want to reconsider. This thing with the Dominion is going to come to a head sooner or later. When that happens, we need to be prepared. Having some extra cash around could come in handy."

She had a point, and a good one. Shalimar hadn't thought of that. The precognitive psionic, John Bishop, did say something to her about a looming battle, and Adam Kane had warned them that the Dominion was not to be trusted. She reached up to rub her right temple where an ache was beginning to develop. Just what she needed – more complications.

"I agree with Lexa," Jesse spoke up, "In fact, that's something we should all start thinking about – stockpiling cash and other supplies in the Helix and in places outside of Sanctuary. We need to start making some serious contingency plans."

Shalimar glanced over at Brennan in the adjacent chair.

"You might as well get your two cents' worth in." He hadn't said anything while they were in his room.

He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"It's your call, and I'll support you in whatever you decide. We all will." He directed a hard look at Lexa, daring her to contradict him, before returning his gaze to Shalimar. "But I remember when you confronted your father. A lot of things came out, and you were able to put at least some of it behind you. But then he died in the explosion at Naxcon, and I know you've wondered sometimes since then if you could ever have established any kind of relationship with him. You have that opportunity now with your mother, a chance to maybe unload some of that baggage. I just think you might regret it later if you don't take that chance."

She glanced around the room, meeting each one's gaze in turn. No one spoke. For a moment it seemed as if Sanctuary itself held its breath, waiting for her to speak. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the top of the chair cushion. The pros and cons battled back and forth in her mind, the arguments for and against hammering her until she felt like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. Ultimately, though, it was her decision, just as Brennan said. A weary sigh escaped her.

"Fine. I'll go."