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Next Morning
The morning light slipped into Sloan's apartment and touched everything with its warm colors of red, orange, and yellow. The birds were already awake, and the smell of coffee and bread from the shop around the corner drifted in through the open windows. Ed sat on the steps that led to Sloan's bedroom area, his head in his hands. He was so tired and his back ached from sitting so long. He had spent the better part of last night caring for Sloan, and two hours ago, she had finally been able to reach sleep. Ed had gotten a call from her around a quarter to eleven last night, and had rushed over. The sound in her voice had been terrible - a mixture of pain and fear - and when he had arrived, he had been shocked into silence. He had found her lying on her bed, the phone clutched in her right hand, her eyes closed in anguish. Every few moments, her face would contort into a hideous mask, and she would twist on the sheets, a cry caught in her throat. Ed had rushed to her side and checked her vitals, finding her heart racing, her temperature elevated, and her body totally exhausted. "We're going to the hospital," he had told her during her first respite. But she had grabbed onto his shirt, her green eyes narrowed to slits, her forehead crinkled, and got out a ragged, "No hospitals…please. This will…pass…" And she had been right. At around midnight, the episodes ended completely, and her heart rate and temperature had gone down. Of course, the pain had lingered, and the soreness had set in, and it had taken her almost four hours to fall asleep. All of that, and Ed *still* didn't know what was wrong with Sloan. He raised his head to look at her - sleeping so peacefully - and he wondered if it had something to do with Tom. Ed snickered. Of *course* it had something to do with Tom. And as if on cue, Sloan confirmed his theory, mumbling, "Rest, Tom. Rest…" Ed shook his head, and for the first time since Tom had been taken, he hoped that they would find a lead on him. He hoped that Tom would get back home. Because even though it hurt to admit it, Sloan needed Tom more than she needed anyone else. Just then Ed heard a cough, and a garbled, "Hello…Ed…Ed?" He jumped to his feet and walked over to Sloan, pushing her hair back from her forehead. "Hey…how you feeling?" She swallowed dryly, her eyes only half-open, and tried to smile. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she said, "Better, I think." Looking around, she realized it was morning. "Could I have some water, please?" "Sure," said Ed, his voice soft in case Sloan had a headache. As he handed her the water, he knew there was no question about it. She definitely had a headache. He could tell in the way that she held her head; the way she kept squeezing her eyes shut. Sloan drank the water in small sips - as if even that small exertion was too much for her. She shook her head slowly. "Ed, are you sure a train didn't come through here last night and roll me over?" Ed nodded, smiling a bit. "Well, I did nod off for an hour or so, but yeah, I'm pretty sure." Sloan was quiet then, relishing the cool feel of the water on her scratchy throat. When she was done, she handed him the glass, asking, "What time is it, Ed?" He checked his watch, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Getting close to six-thirty." She nodded, saying nothing more. She hoped that Tom was being given water, at least - maybe even some food. Even though she knew he wasn't hungry, she knew he needed to eat to keep up his strength. Ed sat on the bed with her, waiting for her to volunteer some information about what had happened last night. But as the minutes passed, he realized she wasn't going to - didn't trust him enough anymore. Maybe she only trusted Tom now. The thought angered him, and he exhaled roughly. Pushing off from the bed, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and stood in front of her. "Well, now that you've recovered, I guess I'll be going…" He turned and made it down the steps before her voice stopped him. "Ed, wait. Don't go." He turned to face her, his hazel eyes clouded. "Sloan, if you can't talk to me anymore, then we're pretty much at a dead end." Sloan's eyes widened in a horror. "Ed, I didn't think things were that bad between us." She waited a few beats. "*Are* they?" Ed raised his eyebrows, shrugging. "I don't know, Sloan. Why don't you try telling me what happened last night, and we'll see." Sloan took a deep breath, hesitating. Ed immediately jumped to conclusions. "Look, Sloan, if you don't trust me anymore, just say so!" Sloan raised her hands. "No, it's not that! Ed, I do trust you. It's just that I don't know how to say this, because I don't think you'll believe me." Ed sighed, near exasperation. "*What* is going on, Sloan?" She gestured for him to come and sit by her, and when he did, she reached for his hand, and smiled a bit. "I can *feel* him, Ed. I can feel what he feels. I can even see him sometimes. It's some sort of…connection, I think." Ed wasn't buying it. "I thought Tom was supposed to be the empathic one?" Sloan nodded. "He is. But somehow, *right* now, I can do it, too. But only with him." Ed still wasn't sure. "How do you know it isn't just your imagination?" Sloan raised her eyebrows. "Imaginations don't generally cause pain, Ed." Ed nodded, consenting her that point at least. "Can you feel him all the time? Or just certain times?" Sloan's pale smile faded quickly. "It seems I can feel him most when he's in discomfort or…pain." She looked away quickly, and Ed could see her wiping tears away. When she looked back, her eyes were haunted. "What they're doing to him, Ed…is horrible. I guess I'm not feeling *exactly* what he is. I'm sure it's diluted in some way, so what he must be going through…I can't even imagine." "You can only feel his pain? Nothing else?" asked Ed, not wishing to talk about the government torturing Tom. It would only upset her more. Sloan bit her lip a bit. "Not exactly. I can feel him at other times. Like, right now I know he's resting, and I know he's very weak." "Can you open yourself up or close yourself off to it?" Sloan shrugged. "If there *is* a way, I don't know how to do it." Ed wanted to ask more questions, but just then Sloan sagged back onto her pillows, fatigue evident. "Last night's catching up to you." She closed her eyes, sighing. "I didn't know it had an appointment…" Ed chuckled - for the first time in a long time - and pulled her covers up a bit. "Do you think this will happen again, Sloan?" he asked, his voice soft and worried. Sloan coughed. "Probably. They're performing tests on him, Ed. Trying to figure him out. They'll keep going until they kill him." Sloan's eyes snapped open. "*We*?"
Ed nodded but kept silent.
Sloan smiled. "I didn't know there was a 'we'
where Tom was concerned."
Ed shrugged, his hazel eyes warm. "Yeah, well,
I thought about what you said the other day, *and* I took another look
at 'The Wizard of Oz'…"
Sloan chuckled, her eyes looking happy for the
first time since Tom was taken.
"*And*," Ed continued, "I decided you might be
right about Tom."
Sloan looked up at Ed, thankful that they weren't
fighting anymore. "Oh you did, did you?"
"Yes. So, I'd like to get Tom back to see if you
*are* right."
Sloan nodded. "Well, it doesn't matter if our
reasons are different. We want the same outcome."
Ed stood up then, getting ready to leave. "Besides,
you need Tom. I see that now, Sloan."
Sloan's happiness evaporated as quickly as steam,
and her eyes turned dark green and serious. "He's a very special person,
Ed. I know you probably won't believe this, but he's very sensitive."
Ed shook his head, but underneath he was grinning.
"Don't push it, Sloan."
Sloan put her hands up. "Okay, okay. I won't.
You'll figure it out on your own."
Ed nodded and walked down to the lower level,
heading for the door. Before he got there, Sloan called out to him.
"Ed?"
He turned. "Yeah?"
"I'm glad we're not fighting anymore."
"Me, too." Ed smiled. "Rest up, Sloan."
Moments later, he was gone, and Sloan was alone
again.
But not really alone.
She snuggled into her pillows and comforter, and
closed her eyes, trying to find Tom somehow; feel him, sense him.
"I'm here, Tom," she said softly, feeling sleepy
again. "You're not alone."
A few minutes went by and Sloan began to think
that she wasn't going to sense anything. And then, just as she was about
to doze off, she felt him.
Like a shot in her arm, an image of Tom popped
into her mind. She saw him sleeping in a grey room, curled up like a little
boy who had been punished. She knew he was tired and weak - it was part
of the reason why she felt the same.
As Sloan drifted off, she wrapped her arms around
her pillow, wishing it were Tom. She almost thought she could feel the
softness of his skin, or the way safety seemed to enclose her when his
arms did.
"Take…my…strength," she mumbled before sleep overtook
her.
And though she and Tom were far apart, their dreams
mingled.
Two days later
Sloan came awake with his name on her lips. The
feel of his touch on her skin. His eyes on her soul.
She had been trying to get some extra sleep -
still not fully recovered from her ordeal a few days ago. She didn't know
what else to do but sleep and wait.
Wait for the inevitable phone call from Ed, saying
that he had heard from Ray, and that they had found Tom's body. Wait for
the eventual news broadcast telling of an unknown body found in some dark
and damp alley. She could almost see herself going down to a grey, lifeless
morgue to ID Tom's body.
Sloan shook her head, trying to shake away the
somber thoughts, and pushed the covers aside to get up. As she padded down
to the kitchen, she wondered where Ray and Atwood were. She hadn't talked
to either of them since meeting Ray in the park. She had tried to call
Ray once, but had not gotten an answer, and neither of them had called
as Ray promised.
She hoped that Ray was safe.
Sloan didn't worry about Atwood. He always managed
to get by somehow - especially since he was probably on the wrong side.
The phone rang then, its shrill cry cutting through
Sloan's unforgiving thoughts.
She knew it was probably just Ed calling to check
up on her, but every time the phone rang these days, her heart went into
free-fall, skittering through a hopeless void, as she wondered if they
had found Tom.
And if they had, was he alive?
Was he still self-aware?
Or had they ruined his wonderful intellect and
reduced him to something less than an animal?
Those thoughts went through her mind every time
she picked up the phone and hit the TALK button.
It was sick, but in a way, she was relieved when
Ed said, "Hey, Sloan. Just checking to see how you are."
Because, even though Sloan wanted nothing more
than to have Tom back, at times, she thought it was better NOT knowing
what they were doing to him.
And during those times, she hated herself for
being so weak.
"Hey, Ed," she said, trying to sound normal as
she coaxed her heart back from the ledge it had been ready to jump from.
"How you feeling?" His voice was warm through
the phone, and helped to calm Sloan's tattered nerves.
She sighed, wishing that she had made some Earl
Grey tea, her favorite. "Better. I'm just trying to rest."
"Any more episodes?"
Sloan shook her head. "No. It's been peaceful
on the home front."
"Any nightmares, flashbacks, or daydreams bothering
you?" he asked.
Sloan pulled her thin robe tighter around her,
and wandered over to Tom's couch. She always seemed to end up there these
days. "Take your pick."
"Sloan…you should take a sleeping pill. You can't
be getting much rest if you're constantly fighting nightmares," Ed admonished.
She could hear him chopping something as he talked.
Carrots or celery, maybe. She didn't answer for a few moments, as she picked
up Tom's pillow, caressing it softly. The moments of silence stretched
out, lengthening into almost two minutes. Finally, she spoke softly, her
voice broken.
"They're all I have left of him, Ed."
And those few words spoke of her heartache so
clearly that it brought tears to Ed's eyes, even though he didn't really
approve of Tom.
"God, Sloan…"
Sloan nodded into the phone, sniffling, trying
to keep the tears at bay. "I know, I know…it's pathetic and sad, and any
other synonym you might use. But it's the truth, Ed."
Ed was a silent for a few seconds and the chopping
ceased. Then: "Sloan, I think maybe you should go talk to someone. Someone
other than me. Maybe it would help you to get through this."
Sloan's anger and disbelief erupted so quickly
that her hold on the phone tightened to a death-grip. She thought she could
crush the phone if she wanted to.
"'Get through this'? As in, work through it because
it's all over? Is that what you're saying Ed?!"
She heard shuffling on his end. "No, no, no, Sloan.
That's not how I meant-"
"So I guess you think I should just give up on
Tom altogether, then? Right? Just forget him and go to some therapy so
I won't be *bothered* by his memory, and then go back to my old life."
Ed was silent. He had stepped into another landmine,
and he didn't know what to do.
Sloan had forgotten about holding back her tears,
and they rushed forward now, spilling onto her cheeks. "Well, I'm sorry
if I can't wrap everything up all neat and tidy for you, Ed. I'm sorry
if I'm not made that way. I can't just forget about Tom like that. I won't.
I wouldn't forget about you so easily."
Ed knew she was telling the truth. She wouldn't
abandon him and he was just her friend. She loved Tom, so Ed knew she certainly
wouldn't abandon him.
Ed sighed into the phone, wondering how to repair
this newly burnt bridge. "Look, Sloan. I'm sorry about what I just said.
Please, I don't want to be fighting again. Just forget I ever mentioned
it."
Most of Sloan's anger evaporated at his words,
as she remembered the truce they had negotiated only two days earlier.
It was surprising to her that her moods swayed back and forth so easily
- as easily as the tide.
"Okay, Ed." Her voice was soft again.
A few moments passed in silence, before Sloan
spoke again. "There's got to be a way to find him, Ed. There must be a
clue we've missed. Maybe something you haven't remembered yet?"
"Sloan, that drug - whatever the hell it was -
took most of my memories of that night. I've already told you what I remembered,
and nothing else has come back to me."
"I don't believe that this is the end, Ed. We're
going to find him. We'll find a lead somewhere. I don't care what I have
to do to find him. I'll do anything."
That was exactly what scared Ed. He had been wondering
what lengths Sloan would go to in order to find Tom. Would she kill someone?
Would she sacrifice herself? Would she dedicate the rest of her life to
a fruitless search? Would she lose herself in her grief if Tom were never
found? Would she lose her mind?
"Sloan, we have to be smart about this. We can't
go off on quests."
Sloan felt her anger rising again, along with
a terrible sense of dread. Suddenly, she felt like something awful was
about to happen to her, but she didn't know what. And that was almost worse
than if she *did* know what was coming.
Sloan knew she should tell Ed about the feelings
she was having, but she was annoyed with him at the moment and wanted to
be alone.
"Look, Ed, I'm really tired. I'm going to go back
to sleep."
Ed hesitated, sensing something else, but in the
end, he relented. "Okay, Sloan. Sleep well."
She didn't answer him. Just clicked the phone
off and placed it back in the charger, a strange look on her face.
Earl Grey tea.
Yes, some of that might make her feel better -
more in control.
Moving back into the kitchen, Sloan tried to escape
her mind and her fears in the mundane task.
That Night
The cell was dark, cold, and damp - moisture seemed
to cling to the air like a lover. It must be what it felt like to be in
the womb, he mused. Darkness everywhere - but every day that goes by, coming
closer to a new way of life; a harder way of life.
Tom knew that something was coming. He just didn't
know what that something was. But he knew that there could be only one
thing after Phase One: Phase Two. The fact that it was coming didn't bother
him as much as the fact that he didn't know what it was.
He tried to find a comfortable position on the
hard floor, but it was nearly impossible. Cold concrete was never meant
to be a mattress. It was so dark that Tom couldn't see much of anything,
even with his superior eyesight.
But he could hear them.
Atwood's boss and the cowardly scientist who hid
behind clipboards and men named Rolfe.
Tom could hear them quite clearly - at the other
end of the hall - discussing him as if he were a lab rat.
As if he were worse.
Less.
"He is *very* resistant to any kind of re-programming
techniques," the scientist was saying. "And from our Phase One experiments,
we have learned that he has a very advanced nervous system. Not to mention
his heart - which is as strong as a Clydesdale's."
Tom could almost hear Atwood's boss rolling her
eyes in disgust. "I don't understand. We know Lewis trained him, and we
know Lewis was the best. But we also know most, if not all, of Lewis' techniques.
What's the problem?"
As Tom listened, he stretched out his psychic
tentacles, hoping that he could find the scientist's mind again. And maybe
this time, he would find it in a more cooperative state.
Tom closed his eyes and tried to silence the chatter
in his mind. He needed to be totally intent on this for it to work.
The scientist hesitated in answering, almost as
if he could feel Tom's mind; so close. "Well…ma'am…uh, you see, we really
don't know enough about his anatomy and biology yet. Or how he would react
to a thousand different situations and stimuli. He was also trained and
programmed to withstand any kind of torture up until the highest of breaking
points. What he's already undergone might have destroyed lesser men - maybe
even other Dominants."
The Attractive Woman scoffed. "Why is everyone
so intent on making this one so special? He's no different than any of
the others we've had here."
"He reminds me of Laura in a lot of ways. She
never stopped fighting. Not even at the very end when there wasn't much
left of her. Laura and he are of a different ilk, I think. Perhaps their
understanding of and compassion for the human race gives them something
extra. Maybe it's an advantage and not a hindrance."
"I told you never to speak her name again!" the
woman hissed, her voice as piercing as glass. "She's dead, thank God, and
I want her to stay that way."
The scientist agreed. "Yes, I know. I was just
making a comparison. Perhaps, by looking back on…*her*…we won't make the
same mistakes with Tom."
"Just figure out a way to make him work for us.
We don't have much time left."
"And if I can't figure out a way?" he asked, a
tinge of fear in his voice.
Tom heard the sharp click-clack of the woman's
heels as she paced, obviously annoyed. He used the lapse in conversation
and pushed himself, smiling, when he felt the other man's thoughts.
"Then…then dissect him. Slice his brain up into
nice little sections. Turn him into a vegetable. I don't care! Just learn
*something* from him! Something we can use."
All of Tom's focus fell away when he heard that,
and his concentration was broken as pure fear took up residence inside
his heart.
Fear because he knew he would never tell them
anything; never give in.
And fear, because he now knew what would happen
to him when he didn't.
Four Days Later
Colors careened around her, swerving in and stinging
her with their brightness. Violent bursts of violet, scarlet, saffron,
orange, blue, and green swirled above and below her like psychedelic vultures.
She felt as though she were being tossed and turned on a stormy sea and
her only way to survival was a thin lifeline that burned and cut her fingers,
but she didn't let go. The rope led off into another dark wave, and she
didn't know how she knew it was keeping her afloat, only that it was.
Every few moments a bolt of lightning would rip
from the air and strike frighteningly close to her, singing her hair or
eyes or skin, and sending a sharp pain through her body.
She would cry out his name every now and again,
wondering if he was lost in this same storm. He never answered her, but
she was certain that he was nearby.
She could *feel* him.
All she wanted to do was float away from that
lightning and the raging storm, and find her way back to his arms. But
no matter where she went, it seemed to follow her.
And she could find no respite from the pain.
12:32 am
The lightning cracked so close to her that she
was certain she could smell her own hair and flesh burning. The pain raced
down her spine and radiated out into all her limbs with a snap.
"TOM!"
There was no answer but the howling of the wind.
She was starting to lose feeling in her legs from the cold water, and her
eyes were being affected by the brightness of the lightning.
She closed her eyes, trying to fight the tears.
"Oh, please help me, Tom. Make this stop…"
Unknown Government Facility
Tom's eyes snapped open, and for a moment the
pain slipped to the side of his consciousness. He was strapped to a chair
while the brightest light he had ever seen in his life was flashed in his
face at different intensities. Meanwhile, the electric shocks of Phase
One seemed like static electricity compared to the level that was coursing
through his body and out into his nerves now.
The cowardly scientist didn't even bother to ask
him questions anymore. He was in full research mode, and he thought of
Tom as a big, fat guinea pig. They had already taken his spleen, appendix,
and left kidney. He was afraid that soon they would move on to more crucial
organs.
It was more pain that Tom had ever experienced,
and it was killing him, he knew. But he pushed all of that aside because
he had heard Sloan's voice.
In his mind.
She was begging for his help. She was in pain;
terrible pain.
And it was then that Tom realized that every time
he had pictured Sloan's face - every time he had used memories of her to
help him through the experiments he had been connecting with her in some
psychic way.
Unknowingly, he had subjected her to this agony.
No more.
Tom closed his eyes and tried to recall the last
vestiges of his training to push the pain away for a few moments so he
could focus on Sloan.
After a few moments, in his mind, he saw a blurry
image of her on her bed. A fever had her in its hot, steely grip, as she
tossed and turned, the pain breaking her.
It made Tom sick to his stomach to think he had
caused it. He knew that death would claim him soon, he would never really
see her again, but he could do one more thing for her.
He could set Sloan free, and give her peace.
Though he thought it would be hard, Tom found
it quite easy to let her go, because he knew it was best for her. Before
doing so, he said one final thing to her over the cosmic lines: I will
never really leave you, Sloan.
Then, he simply stopped thinking about her, and
her images became even fuzzier and soon faded into blackness. His whole
mind was dark, and Sloan was free of him.
Now he was truly alone.
Sloan's Apartment
Her eyes opened slowly and then slid shut against
the harsh sunlight. She moaned from the pain that was still left, and took
a deep, ragged breath. As the air filled her lungs, slivers of pain shot
through them.
Ed was beside her in a second, and took her hand
in his. "Hey, you've come back to me."
Sloan could barely see him. Something must have
happened to her eyes, because her vision was very fuzzy and dark, and she
was certain she could feel every nerve in her entire body.
"Wh-What happened to m-me?" she asked haltingly.
Ed sighed. "You've had a few more…episodes in
the past four days or so. You called me when you felt the first one coming
on. You couldn't see - said there was a bright light shining in your eyes.
When I got here, you were lying down. You lapsed into unconsciousness soon
after. You haven't been awake since then, but I could see that you…and
Tom…were going through various kinds of experiments."
"He's gone."
Ed's eyes widened. "What?"
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
"I can't feel him anymore. I think he broke our connection."
"He must have finally realized what was going
on, and didn't want you to suffer anymore."
Sloan nodded wearily. "He's dying, Ed. I don't
think he'll last much longer."
Ed said nothing. What was there to say?
Sloan swallowed, feeling some of the pain ebb
away. "We'll never find him, will we?"
Ed couldn't bear to look at her. He shook his
head. "I don't think we will, Sloan."
Sloan closed her eyes, feeling as though her heart
was one big livid wound. "I don't think I want to live if he dies."
Two Weeks Later
There was a great darkness surrounding her, and
it was growing with every passing second. It was the kind of blackness
you notice when you realize that nothing else can be done - that it is
over - that there is no hope left.
Sloan recognized that darkness all too well.
But still, she could not do it.
There was just no way she could let him go. Not
ever.
Sloan looked down at him, lying on her bed, in
the most pain she had ever seen anyone go through, and refused to let him
go.
His eyes were half closed, and what she could
see of them were pale and glazed, most likely unaware of his surroundings.
His brow was flecked with sweat, and his hands were clenched into fists
at his sides as he tried to withstand the agony that broke through even
in his unconscious state.
Countless life support machines beeped and wailed
in the background, helping him to breathe, helping his heart to beat, but
they were only buying time. His nervous and immune systems had been all
but decimated, his heart pushed to the limit, and his spleen, appendix,
and left kidney stolen. Slivers of skin had been cut from his arms, legs,
and chest, and he was partially blind in one eye from devastating light
tests.
But Sloan saw none of it.
She saw Tom as the grandness he had been.
She saw the miracle and ingenuity of evolution
that Nature had produced. She saw the piercing blue eyes, the gentle kindness,
the brilliant mind, and the amazing strength, and was in awe.
She was in love.
And she wasn't about to let go of the man she
loved.
Sloan kept her eyes on his face, the one part
of him that still looked the same, and was proud.
Tom hadn't given in to them; hadn't broken down.
He would be dead by now if he had, she knew.
No, he had held out, giving them nothing, and
forcing them to use him as research material. He had protected his own
kind and the kind he had aspired to be. He was not a traitor or a guinea
pig. He was a hero.
Sloan smiled, and reached down, taking his hand
in hers. She squeezed it gently, and leaned close to him, whispering in
his ear. "I'm here, Tom. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."
His fingers twitched slightly, but there was no
other reaction.
He had been dropped off almost a week ago. Sloan
had mostly recovered from their shared experience, and had been sitting
with Ed one night. A sharp knock had resounded on her door, and when Ed
opened the door, Tom was slumped in a heap on the floor, barely alive.
They had immediately taken him to her bed, and
Ed had run off to get monitors and equipment and medicine because Sloan
had flatly refused a hospital.
She had nearly fainted when she saw him, and as
she took up her vigil, she thanked God for sending Tom back to her.
And she vowed that he would live.
Tears sprang to her eyes painfully because he
wasn't getting any better. He had not stabilized. In fact, if Sloan was
truthful to herself, he was getting worse every day, every hour, every
minute.
He was dying.
"No!" she whispered harshly, swiping angrily at
her tears. She squeezed his hand harder and put her head on his chest.
"Don't leave me, Tom," she begged. "Please try to fight. You can beat this.
Please."
Tom didn't move.
She let a raw sob break through. "Please…"
Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder. "Sloan…"
She looked up to see Ed standing next to her,
his face the saddest she had ever seen. She blinked a few times, trying
to focus. "Any news, Ed?"
Ed shook his head. "No. There's no change, Sloan,
and there's not going to be…except for the worse. You know that."
She shook her head slowly, defeated. "No…"
"You *know* that, Sloan."
She deflated instantly, sinking against Ed, and
cried angry, bitter tears. "Why didn't they just kill him, Ed?" she asked
in between sobs. "Why did they have to do it like this? Why did they have
to steal even his right to die peacefully? And why did they give him back
to us now?"
"Because they're bastards, Sloan. They don't care
about anything except this war with the Dominants. The end justifies their
means. As for your last question, I think that Atwood's boss just wanted
you to suffer."
Sloan was silent for some time, just watching
Tom as the machines pumped air into his lungs and blood into his heart.
"I can't bear this," she said finally, the bleeps
from the machines punctuating her words. "I can't watch him slowly die.
It's killing me."
Ed looked down at her, and had never seen her
red-rimmed, green eyes look so lifeless and full of pain and sorrow. Her
hair was limp and dull, hanging about her face like its spirit was broken.
And she was too thin, and probably hadn't eaten for days.
She was right. This *was* killing her.
But it would kill her soul first.
"There is…another way," he said at last, speaking
slowly and carefully. He didn't want to upset her.
Sloan was confused at first, her brow furrowing.
Then, in a great wave, understanding washed over her. "No, Ed. No. It wouldn't
be right. And I couldn't do it."
"Then *I'll* do it, Sloan. It would be quick and
silent and peaceful, and I think that Tom deserves that."
Her initial reticence was wearing off, as she
realized that this could be her last gift to Tom. Her final act of love.
"Are you sure he won't recover?" she asked shakily,
still not wanting to let him go.
Ed sighed. "Sloan, there's no chance. Not after
what they did to him. I don't know how he survived long enough to get here."
Sloan looked back at Tom, and felt her heart shattering
inside her and drifting away on a bitter wind. "He wanted to see me one
last time."
Her voice broke halfway through, and she said
it almost absently, but Ed knew that somehow, she was exactly right. "What
do you think?" he asked quietly.
"If I can free him from this pain, like he did
for me, then I want to do that for him."
Ed nodded and walked out of the room quickly.
After he had gone, Sloan looked at Tom for the
longest time, memorizing every line in his face, every eyelash, every color
in his hair, and remembered all the time they had shared.
12:52 am
Ed walked toward Tom, a syringe in his hands.
Sloan was sitting next to her bed, holding Tom's hand. When Ed came to
a stop next to her, she looked up at him, tears marking her cheeks.
And suddenly, she heard Tom's voice in her mind,
and her heart froze.
"Wait, Ed."
Her voice was so quiet and shattered that Ed barely
heard her. "What is it, Sloan?"
She looked back down at Tom, and swallowed a few
times. When she looked back up at Ed, there was strength in her eyes.
The last of her strength, he was certain.
"*I* want to do it."
Ed was shaking his head no before she even finished,
but he didn't protest when she slipped the syringe from his fingers. She
held it in her hands as if it were an ancient artifact, and studied it.
"I owe him this, Ed," she said, still looking at the vial. "I *have* to
do this."
Ed could not resist or argue against such a statement.
He backed away quietly, seeking a dark corner, and left Sloan to her horrible
task.
Sloan took a deep breath and pushed Tom's sleeve
up his arm, remembering a moment that seemed eons ago when she had drawn
blood from him.
When he had helped her - had gone against his
own people to help her.
And as nervous as she had been at that moment,
she felt none of it now. There was only exhaustion, grief, and a certainty
that she was doing the right thing for Tom.
Sloan realized now that it had been selfishness
to want to keep him with her when he wasn't living anymore. He was existing.
She would give him peace.
And even though she was sure that she would never
feel peace again, she was happy because he would.
Tears fell from her eyes in an unending river,
and she felt like her whole soul was being consumed by all of the sadness
that existed in the world. She pushed the needle into his arm and depressed
the plunger, pumping a silent poison into his blood.
"I love you, Tom," she managed to say, "and that's
why I'm letting you go."
Moments later all of the monitors took up a flat-line
cry of mourning that filled the room and Sloan's soul. She broke down,
crying, and climbed into bed with him, lying next to him, her left arm
hugging his waist.
Looking up, she gently touched his cheek, then
kissed it tenderly, her whole body shaking.
She lay there long after he was gone, and long
after the last echoes of the monitors died away.
Two days later
Sloan stood above the canyon, looking down on
the blackened remains of Tom's childhood home. The day was clear and bright,
and the sky was a periwinkle blue that she thought only existed in paintings.
A slight wind ruffled her hair as she pulled her sweater closer around
her, feeling slightly chilled.
She could feel him all around her, here, in this
place.
*I will never really leave you, Sloan.*
This was *his* place. The place he had come to
find his innocence, to reclaim his memories. This was the place that he
had considered home, she knew, even though his mother had tried to make
it something else.
This was where his soul would want to rest, to
float in the breeze, to dance in the sun.
Wiping a tear away, Sloan bent down to pick up
the simple silver urn that held Tom's ashes. She moved closer to the edge,
and removed the top from the urn, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
Turning the urn upside down and shaking it away
from herself, she watched as the ashes floated away on the breeze, spiraling
down toward the canyon floor.
"I love you, Tom. Be at peace."
When the last of the ashes had drifted away, Sloan
took a deep breath, and hurled the urn down into the canyon as well, never
wanting to see it again. She felt like there was a huge gaping hole inside
her now, and it was swallowing her.
She stood there in silence for a few moments,
watching two hawks that were looking for their next meal. They were mates,
she knew. A team for life.
That's what she and Tom were.
Even though he had died, there would never be
another for her. She had given her heart to him freely, and it was not
her place to give it to another even if she wanted to do so.
The night Tom had died, she had grabbed the razor
in her bathroom, pushing it to her wrist, her face contorted in absolute
agony and loss. Anger had welled up inside her like a surging poison, crashing
over her broken heart.
She had pushed the razor harder into her skin,
a few droplets of blood appearing, but suddenly something had stopped her.
Killing herself was not the way, she knew. It was the easy way out, and
Tom had never been one to take the easy way out.
He could have given in to the government and had
an easy death, but he hadn't. He had fought it out and squeezed every last
drop of time out of his life.
That's what she should do.
Sloan didn't know if she would ever get over Tom's
death, but she wanted to try and find some happiness and meaning in the
years that were left to her. She knew that would make Tom happy.
She knew that would make him proud.
"Sloan, you ready?"
She nodded to Ed, who had stayed back, giving
her privacy. She walked towards his van slowly, as if her bones were stiff.
She felt like she had been standing over the canyon for hours.
They were going to meet up with Ray and Atwood
and go to where the confederate Dominants were headquartered. Ray had called
the day after Tom had passed away, telling them of all the progress they
had made. Sloan and Ed had agreed to come with them, having nowhere else
to go. Her work meant nothing to Sloan anymore, and she never wanted to
set foot in another lab again.
So, she and Ed would go with Ray and Atwood. Atwood
had proven himself to Sloan by arranging the alliance, and she trusted
him as much as she did before. Ray was going to risk coming home to get
his family, and he and Sloan and Ed would meet and then go on to the confederate
headquarters. Sloan and Ed had been through so much, and now they wanted
to try and find someplace safe, where the war between the Dominants and
the humans couldn't get to them.
Sloan knew there was nothing to do now but keeping
going forward, keep living, and keep loving Tom and remembering all he
had taught and given her.
When she reached Ed, he put his hand on her shoulder
and squeezed a little. "Hey, you kinda spaced-out there for a few minutes.
You okay?"
"Not really," she said, her voice soft and sad.
"But I hope I'll get close to it one day."
Ed sighed sorrowfully, but decided not to comment
on her words. Instead, he focused on something that might make her happy.
"You were right, you know," he said as she got into the van.
"About what?"
There was a difference to her voice now. Loss
and grief permeated every word, and Ed wondered if he would ever see her
smile again. It used to be so easy to make her laugh, and now he thought
all of her laughter was gone; stolen.
"About the Tin Man."
"I was?"
"In the end, he realized he had a heart all along,
and so did Tom. He taught me that everyone feels in different ways and
intensities, and one way is not better than another. He had a big heart
in his own way, and all of it loved you, Sloan."
She put her hand on Ed's cheek and blinked slowly,
grateful she had such a friend. "Thank you, Ed."
He grinned and shut the door, moving to the other
side of the van.
As he started the car, Sloan thought about the
"Wizard of Oz" and how it ended.
Maybe one day, just like Dorothy and the Tin Man,
she and Tom would meet again in another time and place.
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