A/N: Long story short, it's been a dreadful year. Alas, I've had hours cut, and so I took some time to review my stories and update them. My other story has a relatively stream-lined and simple plot, and was easy enough to catch up on. This one… not so much. Alas… I give to you… a much overdo update. Thank you so much to those that have stayed with me, and even more so to those that have provided motivation along the way! Chapters may become shorter, but updates more frequent.


Eric Morris clattered up the stairs to the make shift living quarters of Ragland's hide away, with the kids following closely behind him. Cross had dropped him here with strict orders to remain with them. Babysitting, how lovely. Although these kids didn't seem particularly difficult. They'd been quiet, perhaps mostly out of shock; the girl more so than the boy. He knocked on the door before he opened it, ushering the two inside before he closed the door.

Lily was apprehensive, walking in slowly and attempting to take in the room all in one glance. Jon was the opposite, peering at each face slowly, almost lazily, before setting himself at the couch without any need of an invitation. He sat there in his ratty sneakers and street clothes, opening and closing the tin box that was the only thing of real importance to him.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Eric said, staring at Jon in amusement as he went to the make shift kitchenette. There were a few provisions enough to make themselves some peanut butter sandwiches. He cut them into halves, just enough to stave off the worst of each person's hunger.

"The one you called, kids. Dr. Ragland," Eric gestured. "This is Lily and Jon." He pointed them out to Ragland, who looked at them only briefly before continuing with his work at one of the tables set aside for such.

"Where's ZE-Alex?" Eric asked, his voice low and muffled with sandwich. Ragland was about to reply, when the door crashed open. It was a wonder they didn't see it fly across the room off its hinges. It closed significantly more gently than it'd opened. Alex came into view, walking away from them and down the hall determinedly. There was a force to his step that bade no one call for him lest they no longer wish to live.

Foster came into view then, shuffling into the living space with a haunted look about her. Eyes were wide, rimmed with lack of sleep, her nose dripping a little and her skin splotchy and pale. For a moment both men thought her ill.

"Foster?" Ragland asked tentatively, his brow furrowing a little. She startled and turned, looking at him for a moment as though he may devour her.

"Spending quality time with Mercer can have that affect on people," Eric chuckled a little nervously, moving toward her to take her by the arm and settle her into one of the cushions. "Just rest here a moment," he whispered, before going to make her a sandwich as well.

"I take it we weren't successful," Ragland called across the space where the kitchenette and living room connected.

"Nope," Foster croaked, staring at the far wall. Eric moved back into the kitchen area after giving her half a sandwich. He gave Ragland a pointed look and moved close to whisper.

"That wasn't fair."

"What wasn't fair?" Ragland asked, not looking at Eric as he worked on several samples. He placed a Petri dish under the lens and began moving knobs to focus in on what he was studying.

"Allowing him to take her… where ever."

"All of a sudden you're quite protective."

"It gets her further entrenched. I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not going to make it with this many people. We're busting at the seems already. Provisions are low and now we have two kids."

"I definitely didn't see them coming along," Ragland muttered, clearly distracted and hardly listening.

"Dammit Ragland, I have a high threshold for people's shit, alright? But not for letting others get away with whatever."

"So which is it, then?" Ragland stopped and stood straight, meeting Eric's challenging stare. "Are you being reasonable, or are you being protective?"

"Entirely both," Eric insisted. "You let him get away with however he thinks shit should be done around here and before you know it, none of us will be left."

"You think I have any control over what he does?" Ragland countered, his whispering harsh and filled with irritation. His eyes quickly scanned the room, a little nervous in their trek. Eric bit his lips, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he glanced at the adjoined room, back at Ragland, and then nodded at the far side of the kitchen where a set of stairs led down into the morgue.

"What?" Ragland asked, not comprehending.

"He still cares about her. And you're in charge of taking care of her," he explained. Ragland took a moment to understand that he was talking about Dana. The doctor shook his head, laughing a little in disbelief.

"It doesn't make any difference," Ragland dodged the subject, and Eric could see it.

"It does," he insisted. "You can easily use that—"

"Look," Ragland held up a hand to stop him. "I know what you're going to get at, and I'm going to let you know that it would all end badly. Just understand me when I say this; it makes. No. Difference." Ragland shook his head as he flippantly switched up the light on his microscope and capped the Petri dish. He placed the sample in the freezer and removed his glasses to clean them.

"Get some rest Eric," he said, removing himself from the kitchen and heading toward one of the rooms.

"You kids can sleep here or in the spare bedroom on the left if you like," he said as he passed. He didn't address Foster as he made his way to find respite.


Alex sat in the morgue on one of the slabs, the stillness comforting to him. Upstairs, even though they whispered, he heard everything that passed between Ragland and Eric, as well as what the television was belching out into the living room. The doctor was a smart man, he thought to himself. He picked at his fingernail, wondering at the skin that overlapped them, and how pulling at the sides accompanied thought in some people's memories.

He stared at the cot across the way, the form that lay on it shadowed in the corner. He no longer felt that attachment and unyielding responsibility when he looked at her laying motionless there. He looked for it, but didn't find it. It was disconcerting, as though he had lost what last strand of humanity was left hiding within him. Yet, similarly, he was relieved. He wondered if it were a temporary feeling after overhearing the two upstairs. The moment it was made aware to him just how much of a weakness she was, how others might use her against him, a ruthless part of him disconnected. He pondered over how long that might last.

Everything changes. Everything changed. It all was a molting process, a growth, a death, a motion driven existence of continual improvement or destruction; perhaps both.

Constantly evolving, right?

His cell phone rang.

"Mercer," a familiar, gravelly voice spoke as soon as he'd picked it up and placed the receiver to his ear.

"Cross."

"We have a unique rescue mission."

"Does it have anything to do with Gentek?"

"I wouldn't be calling you if it didn't."