Helllooo. So we've reached THAT chapter. WOHOOOOO. Or is it wohoo? Let's see! :D There's going to be more baby Smurph soon, though =)
And more Connaryl! Thanks for the reviews, hope you like this one, see you in the next chapter :D

Resurrection
Chapter 18 - Pictures

"I've asked you to come here so we uhm,...can discuss tomorrow" Smith said and Connor looked at the man.

Once again he found himself sitting in the chair opposite the professor, listening to scientific talk he couldn't really understand. Didn't want to understand. He was still having a hard time. His mind kept racing, back and forth, back and forth, contemplating what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to believe. He knew that asking Smith would be useless. They were so close to his precious surgery, and Connor was pretty sure that the man would say that Murphy was dead. No matter what. Whether it was true or not.

He still didn't know who was right. Connor just nodded, feeling defeated, confused and tired. He wondered where Daryl was, because he knew that he didn't just need to discuss tomorrow with Smith. He needed to talk to his friend about the surgery, maybe say goodbye. He just didn't want them to part like that: angry, with a shitload of things left unsaid. They needed to change that.

"…anesthetic, and open the skull with…."

The Irishman turned his head and looked out of the window, not really wanting to hear any of this. Not once in his life had he ever been in a -proper- hospital with -proper- doctors. He'd spent most of his life either living through pain and illnesses because they had been poor, or Murphy had taken of his wounds with simple household remedies and utensils. Which was the reason why he had never heard someone say so many medical terms in one freaking sentence. He could speak many languages and understood some of the words because they were Latin, but even with all this knowledge he didn't understand shit.

"…sent your friend to…" Smith went on and Connor suddenly listened up.

"..w..what?" he asked and shifted, now paying attention because he knew that this was about Daryl.

Smith looked at him in surprise, obviously confused by Connor's previous lack of interest.
But the Irishman was there now, looking at him and listening.

"I sent your friend to gather the required medical instruments. He's on a run with our scavenging group right now."

Connor widened his eyes and sat up.

"You sent Daryl out there. Without telling me" he repeated, panic suddenly rushing over him, big brother mentality kicking right in.

"Relax. Our team is…"

"Where te fuck is he right now?" the Irishman interrupted the man and looked out of the window, as if he was trying to make out his friend, no matter how high they were above the ground.

"University Hospital. It's alright. They've been gone for about half an hour now. It won't be too long and he'll be right back. Safe and sound."

Connor was still far from relaxed and gave Smith an angry frown.

"Safe 'n sound my fuckin ass. 's the same spot where we got ambushed when we got here" he said and got up.

"'m goin after him" he said and wanted to turn around, but Smith grabbed him by his arm and stopped him.

"No. You won't even make it past that door and you know it" the Professor said and Connor looked at his arm, only to glare at the man. He knew that he was right about that, but this didn't mean that he liked it.

"If something happens t'him…." he growled angrily as he sat back down, but Smith wouldn't let him finish.

"Your friend is going to be just fine. He's still having the same affect on the walkers as you. And he's going to have that for about another month if my calculations are correct. We can't have you wander around the outside now that we're so close to a possible success. We need you fit and unharmed for surgery."

Connor did sit back down, but he was now far from being calm. He was fidgety and couldn't believe that those bastards had separated him from his friend.
And now they were really trying to keep him here.

I think you and I both know that it's nat really my decision.
You go in there, they ain't lettin you out.
He's still alive.

He frowned when the professor's words suddenly sunk in.

"Another month? What'd you mean?"

Smith started turning pages in his file and scratched his forehead.

"The effect that your blood has on your friend's system is fading. It's a natural progression, a reaction. The tainted samples that cause his….invisibility to the walkers, so to say, are fading and dying, his own immune system sorts them out, if you want. Sooner or later all the traces of your blood will be gone. But not yet. The concentration is still high enough to provide this special sort of protection."

Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"Sooner or later your friend's body and the make up of his blood will go back to normal. Back to the dormant, undetected state of the virus. Attacks from the infected will be likely again. Which makes him uninteresting for our research whereas you.." he said and pointed at the Irishman with his pen.

"Your infection is far too advanced. Way too far from what we call a 'normal' infection. The bites resulted in the complete transformation of the make up of your blood. Your system adapted itself to the virus' characteristics. Or some of them. Without showing actual symptoms like the aggression, the hunger, cannibalism... My latest tests show that a permanent adjustment to this new state of being is very likely. Permanent protection. Permanent masking instead of a temporary one as we can observe with your friend."

Connor snorted and turned his head.

"Can't be so permanent fer me then, considering that yer probably gonna gut me t'morrow" he said bitterly but tried to focus on his task, on his vision.

"But we could recreate this state in our labs."

There was silence for a while, until Smith let out an exhausted sigh and went on.

"Anyway" he murmured and started turning pages again.

Connor frowned when he noticed how the man would always try to keep him from looking inside the file as well.
It wasn't like he was interested in that medical nonsense talk, but it made him rather curious and suspicious.

"What's that, then?" he asked and pointed at the file.

Smith looked at him and then shifted uncomfortably.

"These are…just my notes. Everything about this disease. Ideas, numbers, links. Test results. Medical issues...Just… scribblings. Really" he answered and started writing again.

Connor watched him with sharp eyes, noticing how the man kept clutching to the file the entire time.
The sheer amount of papers in there made the whole thing even more suspicious.

He was right here, in this building.

"That's a lot of pages" he noticed, and when Smith raised his head to look at him Connor rewarded him with his best 'innocent' smile.

"There's a lot to be discovered about this strange disease" Smith answered and swallowed. He pointed at the Irishman yet again.
"We're writing a new chapter in the history of modern medicine after all."

Connor smiled even more, sensing that this was his chance.

"Aye. Ye better make it a damn good book. 'f always wanted t'be the hero in a great story" he said and the man opposite nodded slowly, honesty showing in his eyes.

"You will be. Trust me. You're doing this country - no, actually, make that humanity- a great service."

Both men looked at each other, and when Connor noticed that the professor was just about to keep talking about the surgery he interrupted him and leaned forward.

"Can I see yer findings? What ye've written about me so far?" he asked, but Smith moved faster than lightning, making the whole thing even more suspect.

"No.." he said way too fast and clung to his file.
Connor raised an eyebrow. Smith, sensing his mistake, shifted and tried to be more relaxed.

"It's just…it can be rather disturbing for you. I'd rather not..upset you with this. This is some very important, precious information about a very ugly disease.
I won't let anyone touch this file because we can't have any of these notes missing. The results could be…" he sighed and shook his head.

"Anyway. Back to tomorrow. We can provide a…" he was interrupted yet again when a soldier suddenly ripped the door open and entered the room without asking first.

"Professor, we need your help. Right now. There's been an incident in the lower sections" he said and then looked at Connor for a moment, only to face the other man again. He waited impatiently and right by the door, hoping that Smith would join him right away.

Smith sighed and looked at Connor.

"Do you mind?" he asked and the Irishman shrugged.

"Knock yerself out" he muttered, sensing that this could be his chance.

The Professor got up from his chair, with the file safely tucked away between his arm and torso. Just like Connor had suspected.
The Irishman fixed his eyes on the yellowish paper, mind racing, trying to figure out what to do. He knew that this could be his only shot at this.

He just needed to know.

Smith walked around the table to get past him and headed for the door.

He's still alive. He was right here in this building.

Connor pressed his lips together, and decided that this was it.
Smith was right next to him when he suddenly jumped up, while placing his foot right in front of the walking man.

"Actually, lemme help Ye. Pull my own…holy shit! Sorry!" he said, a fake apology for what he had caused. The exact thing he had wanted. Smith stumbled because he had tripped him up, sending him flying to the floor. The professor lost grip of his file when he used both his hands to protect himself from the impact.

"Sorry, sorry" Connor said and watched the file fall, the notes, charts and pictures slipping out of it and flying around because of the air circulation that was caused by the open door. It took Smith a moment to recover from his fall, as the soldier rushed to his aid and tried to help him up. Connor used the time to kneel down and take a look at all the loose papers. There weren't just notes. Writings. Numbers, tables and charts. There were also X-rays. Drawings.

Pictures.

Lots of pictures.

He picked some of them up, hands shaking, breathing stopping.

In all the pictures that he held there was no face. Not once. He could see hands. Arms. Shoulders.

Neck.

Head.

Not once did he see a pair of eyes. Or a nose. Or a mouth or the face in its entirety.
But the truth was that he didn't need to see it to recognize the person in the pictures.

There it was, the terribly ugly scar, the wrinkled reddish skin around it.
A bite wound, on a right shoulder. The shoulder wasn't his, and yet there it was - the same tattoo, on a very pale, abused neck.

Connor grabbed the next picture in horror.
The picture of another wound.

Forehead.
Circular.
A visible small dent in the skull.
A long, healed cut, a scar from an operation just below the dent, a scar that was reaching from the person's left eyebrow to his temple.
Operated bullet wound.

A raven black fringe.

Connor could hardly breathe, but something forced him to keep going, to look through the pictures in a hurry, only to stop at one last picture.

Skinny, pale fingers.
Hardly any fingernails left.
Visible dark veins along the right thumb, but that wasn't important.
What made the picture so distinctive was what he could see on this hand, on the finger, unmistakable, unique and defining.

Aequitas.

Connor could no longer kneel, he couldn't even hold the thin pictures anymore. They slid out of his hands, and he still wasn't breathing, and for a moment it felt like his heart stopped beating as well. It felt like a train hit him at full speed, catapulting him against a concrete wall and breaking every single of his rips because of the sudden pressure to his chest, the shock.

He was only vaguely aware how Smith moved about next to him, ripped the pictures and papers out of his hands and tried to drag him away from the file, the ground, but Connor wouldn't react, couldn't react. Couldn't breathe. Smith wasn't fast enough with his cleaning up, he could still see a couple of pictures, more of the bite wound, profile shots, pictures of the bullet wound, pictures pictures pictures, and tiny glimpses of raven black hair.

The tattoos were everywhere, unmistakable, but not his own. He saw the Aequitas picture once more and then reality finally crushed down on him, made his heart beat violently, his breathing sped up, his hands started shaking. He was going into shock and he knew it, but he couldn't function, didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or cry, he was just…petrified.

Daryl had been right.

He was everywhere, in these pictures, these Xrays and notes.

Aequitas.

Murphy.

Murphy was alive.

"You weren't supposed to see that!" Smith yelled, suddenly losing his cool, panic and shock obviously showing in his eyes.

He was petrified, but not nearly as shocked at Connor, who kept staring at the ground with wide eyes, breathing heavily, trying to adjust to the new information. The entire past year had been a lie. He had never been alone. Murphy -wasn't- dead. Never had been. He was still here, on this Earth, with him. No heaven, no peace. His baby brother was out there. Somewhere. All on his own. Without him. With no one to protect him.

And then there was the sudden other realization, the part that hurt so much that he wanted to scream, because it was driving him insane.

The scar. The dent.

He had caused that wound. He had shot his brother. Murphy had been alive when he had turned his gun on him. He had caused Murphy pain. He'd left him all alone. In this filthy apartment in Boston. With the undead surrounding him. Terribly injured, starved, thirsty, with no food, no medicine. He had stripped him of his rosary. His guns. He'd shot his twin brother and left him to die.

Connor tried to stay calm, to keep his cool long enough so he could trick the professor, his soldiers, everyone until he could escape.

There was no way he was doing this operation. No way he was going to die. Fuck the cure and every last human being, child, baby or woman on this Earth. He didn't care about humanity's wellbeing anymore. He didn't care if someone saved these people or not. He would do anything, accept anything and live through anything. As long as he found Murphy again. Because Murphy had and always would be his main reason for everything. Living. Fighting. Protecting. He needed to find Murphy. Protect him. Explain, apologize, wrap his arms around him and never EVER let him go again. Even if that meant that he had to face an entire office block filled with soldiers, even if that meant that he had to search every town, every forest, every city, village, field or state in America.

He needed to find him.

And when Smith finally swam into view and tried to drag him out of this room he knew that the men knew this as well.

You go in there, they ain't lettin you out.

"Let me go!" he roared, ignoring his previous cunning plan to get out of here by tricking them.

He started kicking and boxing and yelling, completely losing it because his brother was alive, and these people wanted to kill him.
They dragged him out of the room, away from the file, the pictures, out into the corridor as he kept yelling and fighting.

Daryl was running up the stairs, breathing heavily, heart beating in his chest and ready to jump out. His side stung from the broken rip, but that didn't matter. He needed to get back up there. Grab Connor, get him out of here, before these fucks managed to separate them and kill his friend. It was too late now. He had done the inevitable, there was no turning back. He had been the only one to make it back from the hospital, playing an act, he'd even covered his face with blood and told them lies.

They need your help. You need to get back there.
I need to give this to Smith. I really need to talk to him.
Go back to this hospital. They need backup.

And they had been so stupid to believe him. Only two men had guided him back inside, to the weapon chamber, and it had been way too easy for him to overwhelm them. Another two soldiers, killed, because they had left him no other choice. They were locked inside the weapon chamber, which no one could open anymore. He had destroyed the key, rendered the lock useless by breaking the key inside. No one would be able to get anymore weapons to fight them, and he had theirs back. His crossbow, Connor's guns. He had stored his beloved weapon in a broom chamber downstairs because it was too obvious, because he needed his cover.

Daryl was still wearing their uniform. Jacket and vest that protected him from bullets. Riot helmet which made his face pretty unrecognizable, Connor's guns, safely packed away in holsters. He had been the one to cal the incident in, to keep his cover up, not to make them suspicious why he was running around with an assault rifle.

Just in case.

He was willing to do ANYTHING right now, although he still tried to stay low for as long as he possibly could.
He even thought about escorting Connor right out of here, to look like he was one of them, to overwhelm them just like before.
He just needed more time.

Daryl was completely out of breath when he finally reached the top floor, the very last flight of stairs. Pretty much everyone was up here on this very floor, which he definitely wanted to use. He slammed the door to the stairs shut behind him and had a look around. He couldn't really see anyone right now, because the stairs were at the far end around a corner. He didn't like doing it, but knew that this was the only way to get out of here without them coming after them. Too soon at least.

I had a small group chase him.
They followed him all the way down to Savannah before we lost contact...

They were going to follow them. Follow Connor.

Daryl had one final look around and gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch" he muttered, because he couldn't believe that he was really doing this.

There were kids and women up here. But this wasn't about them. It was about Connor. He pressed his lips together and then grabbed the chains and lock he had stolen from the weapon chamber, so he could wrap it around the door handles and lock the door to the stairs. Daryl looked at the key in his hands and then put it in his vest with an uneasy sigh.

This was going to be 'fun'.

Oh how he was going to kick the leprechaun's ass later. He couldn't believe that this dumbass really made him do something so stupid.

" Let me go!" he heard his friend roar somewhere on the other side of this corridor.

He turned his head abruptly to see where the noise was coming from.
It sounded like there was a fight going on, with his friend right in the middle.

"Let me go, ye can't force me t'do this shit!" Connor yelled and Daryl clenched his fists.

"Oh no, you didn't" he growled, hatred and sheer anger rushing over him.

His friend was in trouble. He could hear it. Everything was falling into place, escalating, spinning out of control.

Daryl grabbed his rifle and started running, around the corner, only to nearly run into another soldier. He huffed but decided not to say something. The soldier hardly looked at him and kept running towards Connor and the others, and despite the whole wrongness of it all right now Daryl still had to smile. The uniform did it. They thought he was one of them. Anti walker/disturbance unit. Ready to protect, to kill. He ran after the other soldiers, careful to stay behind them so they wouldn't grow suspicious, heart beating faster and faster.

He could see Connor by the far end of the corridor, right in front of the large window front that was facing the river. The Irishman was struggling violently as three soldiers tried to hold him down. Smith was standing there with a syringe, talking to him, pleading him to calm down, but whatever had freaked Connor out, it kept him going, struggling, fighting, and yelling.

"He's alive and ye knew it ye fuckin bastards!" he roared and Daryl suddenly froze, realization hitting him right in the face.

Connor knew it. Connor believed him. And now he wanted to get out. No convincing needed.

No surgery. He just needed to get him out of here. The Irishman was still kicking and fighting but would look at all the soldiers every now and then, and since Daryl was standing behind them he decided to take this chance. He lifted the visor of his helmet up and watched his friend fight, and it took Connor a whole while to catch glimpse of him.

"Let go of me or I swear…" he roared and then suddenly trailed off, staring at him with wide eyes.

Daryl nodded and then placed a finger on his mouth, to let his friend know that he was supposed to keep quiet about him, that he was supposed to keep fighting so they would concentrate on him, not Daryl. The hunter grabbed the visor and pulled it back down. Connor nodded slightly and resumed the fighting. "Fuck you!" Connor yelled and kicked extra hard, hitting one of the soldiers right between his legs. The man groaned and toppled over, causing an uproar amongst the other soldiers.

And this was all Daryl needed.

"Intruder!" he yelled as loud as he could and turned around in an abrupt motion, drawing his rifle and aiming it at…thin air. He did get the reaction he wanted, most of the soldiers grabbed their guns, and the multiple clicking of safeties could be heard. They all turned around and followed his motion, and Daryl knew that he needed to use this moment to distract them from Connor, so his friend would get a chance to free himself. He started walking, back turned on his friend, and tried to lead them away.

"Think I saw him run inside the cafeteria!" he yelled and tried to alter his voice, so that it wasn't too obvious. Some of the men followed him and this pleased him, although he now had to admit that he didn't have a clue how the fuck he was supposed to get out of here when he had multiple sharp rifles pointed at his back.

What he didn't expect next though, was the sound of three gunshots.

Everyone turned around abruptly, including Daryl, to see what had happened. As soon as he was facing the window front again he could see Connor standing there, gun in his hand, one soldier lying on the ground, and Smith, who was holding his bloody arm with wide eyes. Connor had obviously shot him to keep him from using the syringe, or holding him down. The Irishman was standing all alone there, silly handgun pointed at the countless soldiers, who were responding with their rifles - which they now pointed at Connor.

"Put the gun down!" one of the soldiers roared, and Daryl just stood there, completely petrified, actually terrified. His friend was now facing the muzzles of MANY sharp weapons, and he wasn't sure about those people, if they were still going to shoot him, despite his immunity. Smith was groaning and gasping in pain as he pressed his back against the wall, trying to nurse his bloody arm as he was staring at Connor with wide eyes.

"Please, we're so close. Don't ruin this for all of us" he was actually begging the Irishman, who just stared at the soldiers. Daryl was surprised that his friend's hands weren't shaking, because it was a scary situation indeed. There was no way out, he practically had his back against the wall, soldiers with guns standing opposite him, and even Daryl couldn't help him right now. They were outnumbered and they certainly couldn't shoot their way out of this mess. And as soon as they both decided to surrender Connor would be forced to do the surgery no matter what, and they were either going to kill Daryl, or throw him out And both men knew it.

Daryl wanted to call out, tell his friend what to do, but truth was that he didn't have a clue.
He was just standing there, watching the scenario with wide eyes. Connor then fixed his eyes on him, because it was easy to identify him.
He was the only one who didn't point a gun at the Irishman.

"Put the gun down right now!" a soldier yelled but Smith interfered.

"Don't hurt him! We need his…"

"Shoot his arms! Or legs!" another soldier roared and Connor pointed his gun at the man, only to walk further back, until his body connected with the window behind him. He turned his head for a split second to look back, chest now heaving until his breathing suddenly calmed down. He fixed his eyes on Daryl yet again.

"I gotta find him" he said, nodding, eyes piercing with sheer determination and then everything happened within a blink. Connor turned around as fast as he could and pulled the trigger another two times. The bullets hit the windowpane hard and made it crack into a thousand pieces. They heard the sudden loud howling of wind and the banging of doors down the corridors as all the soldiers started running at once, but the Irishman was faster. Without a warning he suddenly started running and jumped, through the now paneless window, causing everyone to cry out in pure horror. Within the blink of an eye Connor was gone, fallen out of the window, and less than 15 seconds later they heard the loud splash of water outside.

Daryl couldn't keep the terrified "NO!" in that escaped his mouth, and for a second he didn't know how to function, what was right or wrong, he just ran for the window with all the other soldiers, looking down at the brown waves of the river, but couldn't see anything.

Connor had disappeared in the rushing waters.