XandertheGoat: Really? That's hilarious! Great minds think alike, I suppose. Nah, I don't mind- it's a completely different pairing, and I'm sure the explanation will be very different too- I took a look at your story, and your characters are in their real bodies, for one, and the "Crossed Wires" are specific to mims. Lao has already come back at this point, but hasn't run into anyone from NLA, so Cross still thinks he's dead because she can't hear him anymore.

That said, I want to see if anyone can guess why Cross and Lao are connected! There's a big hint in the intermission, and I doubt anyone will figure it out before then, but the hints so far are:

1- Lao grew up without much money. (Think of ways young men can make money.)

2- This should only be possible between close relatives.

3- Cross and Lao are not related.

4- The "grey eyes" thing is completely wrong.

The first person to guess right gets a mention in the next chapter!

Cross had taken the rest of the day off, though there wasn't much left. She ate dinner and went to bed early, but she didn't intend to sleep. Getting back into that room was easy. Getting into the next room wasn't.

The metal door was locked, or jammed, or maybe it had a mind of its own and just refused to open. After an hour of beating and slamming and looking for a key, she finally broke. "Why? Why can't I get into my own mind?"

"Because I'm afraid of what I'll find, so my subconscious is keeping me out," she answered. She blinked. She… wasn't expecting that to work.

Cross swallowed, visualised her fear as a hard, red ball, and slipped it into her pocket. If she threw it away, it'd bounce back and hit her- but as long as she wasn't holding onto it, it couldn't stop her. She opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was the heat- her skin felt like it would melt off just from standing there. The ceiling was burning, but the walls were made of steel. They glowed red hot, the only light in the room. Fire flickered on the floor. At first she thought it was a mirror, but it was liquid, slick under her feet. It looked red, but then the whole room looked red too. She walked in farther, then turned around. Next to the door, part of the wall had crumbled, letting in light from the other room. In the white light, there was a table covered in pictures. She looked over them- Lin cooking, Tatsu dancing, Elma showing her how to properly hold a gun… Lao smiling. She picked up that one. It was her promise that she'd made that night in Noctilum.

On the farthest wall was another door, glowing hotter than any other place in the room. There was a slot in the door, and Cross pushed the picture frame through. Her hands came away steaming, but she was satisfied.

She looked up at the ceiling of her bedroom and smiled. She hoped she'd have Good Dreams tonight. Almost every night since she'd awoken, she'd had the same dream;

(Fire nipped at her heels, her hair. She turned, wanted one last look, as his shoulder erupted in an explosion of gore, it splashed on her face, down her cheeks, into her mouth, the metallic taste almost sweet-)

It had haunted her. She hated it, hated how she woke up covered in sweat every night, hated how, despite the ever-present terror, the taste of human blood… she almost enjoyed it.

She'd had that dream every night, until three weeks ago. It was a new dream that night, of a pale-skinned woman with dark red hair, of writhing bodies and wandering hands, and the smell of sex, and of bright blue flowers.

The red dreams had come back the next night, but days later the woman returned to her, ran her fingers through her hair, whispered words in in her ear both loving and filthy, made her body feel things she'd never known. She'd seen the woman several times since then, and though she still woke up sweaty, the morning sun seemed a little brighter on those days.

Cross got her wish. Her dream was as good as she'd hoped, though different than before. The woman was there, but a few minutes in, a familiar face had joined in. His beard was rough on her skin, his hands strong and forceful, so unlike the woman's. The woman's touches were teasing, made her crave more- his filled her with pleasure, made her feel like she would explode. She felt clumsy and inexperienced, but he was patient, gently walking her through it, showing her where and how to touch.

This feeling of being in control was new to him- the pale woman was always in charge, when they made love. He was her willing slave- he loved serving her. But this was new and exciting, made him feel strong and confidant. He felt needed, and he liked it, and Cross liked that.

Cross had enjoyed her dream, but she didn't know how she was going to meet Lao's eyes the next day. She felt beyond embarrassed- she hoped Lao wasn't picking up on it.

She had hours to go before her meeting with Irina, and Elma had given her the day off, so she had to find something to do.

Breakfast was wonderful, and Nagi had decided to join them today. Lin was distracted- she was sketching out a Skell on her napkin. That was when Cross got her idea;

"Nagi? You were a police officer, right?"

He smiled- Cross was always informal around him. The dirty look Elma shot at her didn't go unnoticed. "A lifetime ago."

"Do you know of any sketch artists are here in NLA?"

"Now that's an odd question. Hmm… Yes, I believe that I know of one. Mind telling me why you're looking for a sketch artist?"

Cross pushed her evello eggs around on her plate. "I keep seeing a woman in my dreams. I was hoping if I could see her face when I'm awake, it might jog my memory." It wasn't a complete lie. She looked up.

Nagi's face was inscrutable. His mouth was pressed in a firm line. "You want your memory back?"

"Why wouldn't I?" "Because her only memory was of fire and blood and that didn't imply a very happy human life" was the answer, but Nagi didn't know that.

"Some people forget things when they're too unbearable to remember. Aren't you ever afraid that's why you lost your memory?"

Cross nearly choked- she hadn't realized he was that perceptive.

"I don't think anyone's entire life could be too bad to remember, Secretary," said Lin.

Nagi rubbed his scar and sighed. "I'll give you his address. He's a Mediator now, usually hangs around the Commercial District. I'm afraid I have to leave now, but the food was wonderful, Lin."

"Thanks!" chirped Lin. She was still looking at her napkin.

After he'd left, Cross prepared to leave, but stopped. "Elma?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think… Um…"

Elma sighed. "He's alright, Cross."

"Are you sure? I've never seen him look so… tired."

"Not everyone can forget their mistakes, Cross. He's had to make some tough calls in his life."

That sounded almost like- "Elma, did he know me back on Earth?" Elma was silent. "Did you know me?"

"The day in starfall basin was the first time we'd met."

"You didn't answer my first question."

"Don't you have someone to meet up with?"

"Don't keep secrets from me, Elma!"

Elma looked like she'd been slapped. "It's not my secret to tell."

"It's My past, Elma- My entire life!"

"We are a culmination of our experiences, Cross. Your life started on that night in Starfall Basin, and you, as a person, are who you are because of your experiences these past two months. If you remember who you used to be, you won't be the same."

"Right! Then I'll be Me and not... not just a shadow!"

Elma walked forward, took her hands. "You are you, Cross. You may not be who you used to be, but who you are now is no less real- no less valid." Elma hugged her. "I like you now, Cross. You're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you."

Cross' eyes were burning. She returned the embrace, but added; "I'm still mad at you."

"I'll live," Elma laughed. "But you do need to get out of here, it's almost noon."

The meeting with the sketch artist went well. For the price of a grenade pizza, he drew the woman's face. It didn't bring back any memories, but looking at her made Cross feel calm… and a little sad. Picture in hand, she left to meet Irina.

The session could have gone better. Lao had gotten into his second Room last night, same as her. They slipped into each other's first room without having to physically touch, and Lao walked in on her consciousness with no difficulty.

The feeling of him standing there was a little odd- the feeling when he looked through her photos was completely bizarre. Flashes of memories jumped out at her, clear as the day they'd happened, then left just as quickly. The flavor of pizza with ovis meat, the rushing sensation of falling off a cliff, the smell of Rust Lake, the sound of her name on her lips for the first time, looking out at Primordia as the sun rose on that first day.

"I didn't realize you got so… easily excited. You always seem serious."

"I'm just quiet."

"I see that now."

When she tried to enter his consciousness, he nearly knocked her out. A rush of emotion- a feeling of violation- surged at her when she touched the door. It felt like getting punched in the stomach. She opened her eyes, and she was on the ground outside the plant. Lao offered her his hand.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to do that." His voice sounded genuine, but Cross felt a twinge of something alongside his guilt… a sense of success. He realized this seconds later, and the guilt redoubled. Well, he was an ass, but at least he felt bad about it.

Agreement- more guilt.

Realization- horror, embarrassment- he wasn't supposed to hear that!

Embarrassment, remorse- he hadn't meant to overhear. She was right though, he was an ass. He was scum, he didn't deserve to live. He didn't want to live. Sorrow, loneliness…

Worry- Are you okay?

Embarrassment- she wasn't meant to hear that. She didn't deserve those negative thoughts in her head, he was just a burden, he was dragging her down, guilt, guilt, guilt…

She was making him sad, she was invading his privacy, she didn't know how to stop, guilt, guilt, guilt...

"What's going on over there?" Cross jerked her head towards Irina. "You both look like you're gonna cry." Her face softened. "Need a minute?"

"Yeah." Cross could still feel negativity coming off Lao in waves. She wanted to distract him, but how?

"What's that?" He asked.

"Huh?"

"You said you wanted to distract me."

He heard that? Embarrassment-

Guilt-

Cross kicked him in the shin. "Don't you dare start that again!"

Shock- then he chuckled. "Okay. That hurt, though."

"Not half as painful as your internal monologue!"

Guilt-

Cross narrowed her eyes threateningly.

He smiled a little- that was pretty cute.

"Cute!?" She felt like she could melt into the sidewalk- she couldn't tell if she liked the feeling or not.

"You're crumpling your paper."

"What? O-oh." She released her death grip, smoothed the edges. She looked down at the woman's face-

Lao ripped the paper out of her hands. A wave of emotion hit her- anger, sadness, loneliness, anger, confusion, curiosity, seething anger. "Why the hell are you carrying around a picture of my wife!?"

"What? She's your… No..." It suddenly made sense. Cross felt like she was going to vomit as last night's dream rushed into her head.

For an instant, Lao also thought of the dream- the same dream, but from a different perspective. Then; realization, invasion, betrayal, violation, icy hate. "Leave."

"Lao, I'm-"

"I SAID GO!"

Cross ran. She felt his hate as it buried into her- If she felt this way about someone, she'd kill them on the spot. No, she'd make them suffer. That he'd told her to run instead… baffled her.

Cross ran to her room and locked the door. She had no idea how long she sat there, alone, doing her best to ignore the thunderhead in her mind. It could have been minutes later, or hours, that she heard his voice.

"Cross."

She jumped- his voice was right next to her! How did he get past the door without her noticing-

"I'm not there, Cross."

She swallowed. She felt him in her mind, he wasn't lying.

"I'm sorry. I overreacted."

"No, you didn't! If I was in your place, I would have wanted to kill you too!"

"Kill!? I didn't want to kill you!"

"What? Then why did you tell me to run?"

"I didn't want to look at you- but I didn't want to kill you!" A pause. "You... were afraid for your life."

"Yes."

"I… I don't know what to say. I didn't realize I'd scared you that badly. I'm really sorry, Cross." The anger was gone, now. In it's place was guilt, and…

"Cross, will you… come here?"

"Your room?" No, she realized. His mind.

Cross slipped into her Room, and looked around. Lao wasn't here. She walked through the arch, approached his door. She touched the knob, paused. Yes, he was sure. She walked in.

The walls were pale yellow. They were covered in taped pictures, the same kind that covered his bedroom's ceiling. The ceiling was covered in plastic stars- they glow in the dark, he thought. The room was cluttered- toys and clothes and bed sheets, a bed and a crib. Pillows and chairs and stacks of paper and crayons- and everything, absolutely everything, was covered in flowers. The floor was invisible, covered in inches of fallen blue petals. The smell was sweet, but so horribly strong it made her gag.

She fell to her knees, felt herself sink into the azure mass. The petals that were visible were freshly fallen, but down here she could tell the ones on the bottom were old and rotting and stank of decay. The floor was wet and sticky, grabbed her clothes and skin and pulled. She was sinking, the freezing, moist slime creeping up her legs, her waist-

Lao grabbed her hand. It was strong, and he was strong, and she felt sick and weak. She didn't know how it happened, but her face was buried in his chest and they were tangled in each other's arms. "This is… awful."

"This is me," he said. "Does it scare you?"

"Yes," she whimpered. She realized what she'd said, tried to backtrack; "No, I'm not really-"

"It's okay," whispered his mouth. His heart added; "I'm scared too."

They stayed like that, pressed together, for how long neither could say. Her skin was feverishly hot, his was clammy. His cold hands ran over her arms, cooling her. He smelled of something she couldn't recognise- "The Earth after the rain," he answered silently. The Earth- this smell felt the same as her name… Right.

He felt chilled, unable to produce his own heat, dead. Touching her was like seeing the sunrise- her hands massaged his skin, made his blood flow, his heart beat again. She was alive- no, a source of life.

She stood before him, naked, warm brown skin covered in steaming blood. It was as if she was life itself, flowing into the ground, nourishing all that stood upon it.

Her liquid hair poured around her, became a sea, a burning ocean of blood that drowned those who did not pay tribute to the Mother Goddess. And she was terrible, and she was beautiful.

He was bare, a statue of stone, a relic of a kingdom long past. His white marble skin seeped a black horror- it ran down his chest, dripped from his fingertips, covered his eyes and sealed his mouth. And he was silent, and he was unreachable. And he was all she'd ever wanted.

She was floating, lost in the sea, she was burning-

He was sinking, trapped in the tar, he was frozen-

She was lost-

He was alone-

Blood poured down her throat-

Tar filled his lungs-

She was drowning-

He was drowning-

They Were Drowning-

It was chance, that their outstretched fingers brushed. It was luck, that they took each other's hand.

They held tight, and pulled, and her head broke the surface of the wild waves, and he too was above ground, living but not alive.

She held him. Her bloodstained hands were wet, and she washed the tar from his eyes. She rinsed the darkness from his mouth, cleaned his lungs, his nose and his ears. But he was still. He was clean, but he did not breathe. His eyes were open, but he did not see.

She felt fevered and sick, her skin cracked like desert sod and blood boiling in her veins.

He was cool, and when she touched him, she felt refreshed, soothed. He was Old and he was the history of a world she never knew. She wanted him to tell her his secrets, teach her of the Old World and Feelings and how Man and Woman came together. But he wouldn't speak.

"Why?" She asked sadly.

Because she was cradling a corpse. That man had died long ago.

But dead men don't speak, so she held on, and nursed her rotting treasure.)

Just make me awake.
Oh please, tell me,
Why must we face these hard times?
Don't look away!
Where is your heart? Oh, please-
I've always heard you!

End Act 1

Next time: Intermission, or "Patching up the plot holes"

"That's tragic."

"You cut his brakes."