No Time for Fantasies

"What can you tell me, S.A.R.A.H.?" Zane asked.

"Nothing," she replied, promptly. "Or at least so my programming advises me. My anxiety programming is hyper-stimulated, however. I surmise that this situation is potentially exceedingly dangerous."

Zane grimaced. Dangerous, sure. His future self might have argued that the time-space continuum wouldn't be destroyed, only their own existence within it, but he suspected that he hadn't been nearly as sanguine as he pretended to be. If he, after less than twenty-four hours with his children, was willing to sacrifice the universe for them, how much more would his future-self have been willing to do?

"All right," he answered S.A.R.A.H., thinking hard. Where should he start? Supplies for 1947, plans for the future, creating a worm or virus for the S.A.R.A.H. of the past?

"I have been fascinated to discover that I have a subconscious, however," S.A.R.A.H. continued brightly. "Is this a byproduct of the emotional attachment patch that you gave me?"

Zane bit back a grin. "Not exactly."

"Apparently, I am generally as unaware of my subconscious impulses as most human beings are. This pleases me. Although I question whether my unconscious motivations are entirely healthy."

"Oh, they are, they are," Zane reassured her. "You're very well-balanced."

"Thank you for the compliment." S.A.R.A.H. sounded almost smug. "I admit that to the best of my ability to judge, my subconscious actions have been… interestingly creative."

"Oh, yeah?" Despite the time crunch, Zane's curiosity got the better of him. "How so?"

"Approximately 28 months ago, I suffered a systems malfunction while you and Jo were visiting. The two of you were trapped inside me for three days, with no electrical power. Despite intensive analysis, I had been unable to pinpoint the cause of the power outage until now, when my subconscious motivations were revealed to me. I do not quite understand why my subconscious determined that you needed a fifth child, however."

Zane's eyes closed and he stopped breathing as his body reacted to the idea of being trapped with Lupo, alone, just the two of them, no power, no distractions, for three whole days.

His imagination painted the picture. His Lupo, the Enforcer, she'd be furious. She'd pace the floor. She'd yell and scream and attack the doors. She'd look for tools to break the bunker's skylight open, she'd bash at S.A.R.A.H.'s consoles, she'd swear and curse and call him every name in the book because, sure as sunrise, she'd blame him for the whole fiasco.

But maybe, just maybe, after a day or two, she'd mellow out. Maybe they'd talk—the way real people did, not adversarial, not enemies, but sharing stories of their pasts, their dreams, their hopes, their desires.

And then he'd touch her. And she wouldn't push him away. She'd melt into his arms, lifting her face to his, pressing that glorious body of hers against him until he could feel every inch. And it would be fire, rushing between the two of them, back and forth, each of them inciting it higher and higher until they were burning up.

He'd unbutton her shirt. It would be a black shirt, of course, because she always wore black. Underneath it—a black bra. Definitely. Lupo wasn't the white underwear type. He just knew that her clothes hid lingerie that would tantalize and tease, that would make his mouth go dry and the rest of him ache with lust. And then—

But before his fantasies could go any farther, his train of thought derailed.

Fifth child. That was what S.A.R.A.H. had said. Fifth child. As in five.

So no, it wouldn't be like that at all.

It would be the comfort of long familiarity. It would be the excitement of parents escaping from their responsibilities, the delight of touching someone you knew almost as well as yourself, the ease of practice and the thrill of time, glorious time. He would know exactly how to make her tremble, every touch that would elicit a breathless moan of pleasure, every motion that would make her eyes glaze over in ecstasy. And she would know the same for him. Her lips—her really frickin' insanely gorgeous lips—would slide down his chest the way they had a thousand, no, three thousand times before…

"Your heartbeat has accelerated, Dr. Donovan. Are you well?" S.A.R.A.H. inquired politely.

Zane licked his lips. "What else has your subconscious done, S.A.R.A.H.?" he asked, managing to keep his voice steady, while he fought to get his unruly body under control.

God, it was like being back in tenth grade. He'd managed, for so long, to shove thoughts of Lupo into the darkest recesses of his brain. Yeah, she was hot as hell, but she was also the Enforcer. Off limits. Not going to be his. Not worth thinking about. But the slightest hint, the whisper of possibility, in their first kiss—the one that wasn't a first kiss—had sent him reeling. And now? Fuck, he was going to lose his mind.

"When Doctor Trevor Grant, Eureka's town historian, left his position abruptly, I applied for the job," S.A.R.A.H. responded. "I have greatly enjoyed being the town's historian and archivist, but it has only become apparent to me recently that this was also my subconscious at work."

Zane's lip lifted in a half-smile. "Does recently mean today?"

"Indeed," S.A.R.A.H. agreed. "Three minutes and twelve seconds ago."

"Before or after Caiti pushed the button on the bridge device?" Zane asked.

"After, by approximately .0045th of a second."

Zane ran his hand through his hair. No paradox, then. He'd already determined that S.A.R.A.H. would have to learn everything there was to know about the town's history—past, present, and future—so the fact that she'd figured out the same thing herself shouldn't be a problem.

"I have discovered a fascinating set of subroutines in my code," S.A.R.A.H. continued. "I surmise that you placed them there quite some time ago."

"Could be," Zane agreed. He hesitated. He didn't want to ask any questions. He had no idea what might jeopardize the timeline. On the other hand, he'd left his children alone in 1947, knowing that what one of them viewed as "bad guys" were on the way. He wanted to get back there as quickly as possible. "Did I leave you a shopping list, too?"

"I beg your pardon?" S.A.R.A.H. sounded politely interested in the idea of shopping.

"A list of supplies?" Zane tried again.

"Ah, indeed." A light shone down out of nowhere, illuminating two dusty boxes pushed into the back corner of the room. "Your supplies. You should take them and go."

"Not yet, I need to leave some notes for my future self. He—I—am going to have to write the code to modify your programming and have it ready to go when-"

"You cannot," S.A.R.A.H. interrupted him.

"Why not?"

"Because Isabel is not the most vigilant of babysitters, but she has realized that Caiti is missing. She cannot find you here without seriously jeopardizing your plans. Take the boxes and go, Dr. Donovan, so that Caiti can return to this moment in time before her parents grow concerned about my inability to locate her."

"But—" Zane started to protest, then grimaced in frustration. S.A.R.A.H. was right. He couldn't be found in this time. Cursing under his breath, he dived for the boxes. Balancing them awkwardly on one arm, he pushed the button.

A/N: I hope that was at least half as much fun to read as it was to write! Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter. They do motivate me!