Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Doll Parts ( Chapter 10 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

: Doll Parts :

“God, that looks painful,” Ian said with a wince, watching as Adam exposed his back to the brisk medical officer that waited for him to remove his shirt. Adam couldn't see the smattering of bruises there, but he definitely felt it, trying hard not to wince as the doctor reached in with gloved hands to assess the damage. “You were thrown into a wall and didn't die?”

“My manliness helped,” Adam said, wincing as the doctor's hands prodded at his ribcage. “Jesus. Isn't there a scanner that you can use?”

“Your manliness just yelped,” she replied dryly.

In full uniform, Ian shifted aside as she examined his front, noting the bruises and scrapes there as well. Adam tried to remember when he'd hurt his front torso area, unable to recall any moment when it hurt. But his adrenaline had been racing, and he hadn't even registered any of his injuries until hours later. It had taken that long just to report to the head officers that had heard of the situation, and he wasn't sure if Andy had even left his interview yet.

Ian and the others had heard of the incident through various contacts, and Ian had made his way over just to check on him before being released for patrol. Seeing concerned and awed eyes on him only made Adam feel dependent; needing the comfort of his presence and worry, soaking it up like a sponge.

“Jesus, that's so awesome,” Ian then said, wincing with him. “I'm surprised you weren't seriously injured, being thrown like that. I think any Normal person would have at least broke something.”

“I am a Normal person.”

“Muscles helped some,” the doctor said with a sigh. “Keep it up, soldier. Other than the bruises, you're fine. I'll prescribe a cream, but I recommend a night off just to recover. By this time tomorrow night, if you use the prescription, they'll retract. Isn't it the end of your shift?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered quickly. “He'll take tomorrow night off to recover, no argument heard.”

“Apply it every four hours. No strenuous activity until then,” she then said, recording her words down onto her holographic clipboard and sliding that through a slot in the wall. She left, removing her gloves, and Adam struggled to reach for his shirt. Ian grabbed it and held it aloft.

“Tell me who she is, first!” he said, Adam scowling at him.

“Jesus Christ, Ian, it was obvious I was hanging out with Andy.”

“Why it's such a big secret is beyond me,” Ian said, stepping away as Adam reached for it again. “Yeah, hey, I don't like the guy. But hiding stuff like that from me is absolutely wretched. Hell if I care if you do, but it sucks that you have to lie about things.”

“Am I sensing a jealous fit? Can't I be friends with someone else?”

“I really don't care who you're friends with, but I care when you lie and sneak around behind my back,” Ian scolded, tossing the shirt into the far corner of the room. “I'll go bug those guys for more info on your new friend.”

Adam scowled at his back as he left the room, and then slowly stood. It felt as if every muscle was broken, his body tensing in reflex to pain and finding that it was a terrible idea to do so. With a sigh he walked carefully toward his shirt and used his foot to lift it to a level where he could reach it. He awkwardly pulled it on and smoothed it over, frowning at how dirty he was. He then left the room, moving stiffly, the uncomfortable burning sensation of swelling bruises reminding him not to move so quick. He glanced down at the hallway where he knew Andy was being interrogated, noting the small group of armed military police officers that were standing by. He figured he wouldn't get the chance to get close to him tonight and started to walk away.

The door opened, then, decorated officers leaving the room, Andy close behind them. The MPs fell into step with each other, escorting the five down the hall, forcing Adam to step back. Andy glanced at him with a tired expression, but there wasn't time to say anything. Adam wondered where they were going and heard one of the men mention the Center. As the hall cleared, Adam took a tentative step out and decided to head home.

Hours later, Andy opened his sleep deprived eyes to stare up at the ceiling, the room quiet. With nothing more than a table, the walls were an opaque glass-like material, allowing various technicians to peer at them from behind the strong protective shields. It was circular and humming with some mysterious buzz that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, waiting for one of the psychic workers to visit him, but his exhaustion sure took note.

His injuries from the fray, as light as they were, throbbed with uncomfortable awareness. He'd been punched, pushed, grabbed and thrown hard into the sidewalk, and it felt as if every part of his body remembered. His anxiety over what was to come, combined with yesterday's action, caused his stomach to knot. He was hungry, tired and in discomfort for being kept so long.

He had been taken into the Center, the main brain of Duncan Jones. It was where they housed administrative information, the psychic hive, and the technology that would continue to render their soldiers' safety. It was where the higher ups maintained their secrecy, and where the war rooms were kept. Located deep underneath base, it was accessible by rail car and protected by security provided best by Earth and Space forces, secret from the world up ground, where the public was led to believe that no such center existed. It also housed the prison sector where New Park's most notorious Alien and Superhuman criminals were held.

He looked over at the uniformed technicians that were sitting at their stations outside the walls, their faces set with serious and concentrating expressions. He didn't know what they were doing, but it looked as if they'd been focused since he'd been instructed to lie down on the single table. He looked up at the sight of a door opening within their location, admitting in several MPs, the psychic worker, and General Jacob West, the young and highly decorated officer that commanded over Duncan Jones' forces. Everyone stood to salute, and he scrambled to do so as well before he was told to stand down.

Clumsily, feeling entirely out of sorts, he resumed his position. General West posted himself near one of the stations, glancing at the monitor and speaking briefly with the technician that answered crisply. Meanwhile the psychic worker, her gray hair pulled into a severe bun and her loose clothing flowing with her movement, entered the room.

“Good morning, Andy Murphy,” she greeted cheerily. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I am Major Audrina Wintour. I am a Class Four telepath. I communicate by touch.”

“Ma'am, good morning,” he added, anxiety racing as she neared him. Her face, lined with age, turned gentle as she removed a pair of grey gloves, her fingers manicured as she flashed them. “Um, what are you going to do, exactly?”

“I won't take long,” she assured him, her voice suddenly hypnotic. But she entwined her fingers before her as she stopped beside the table, blocking out his view of the technicians in the room. “What I am going to do is access your memories. I am going to enter your head, and find whatever it is that's there. What I am aware of, judging from the reports given to me by your fellow squad-members and your lead, is that you encountered a Grey Alien. It seemed to have attacked you—it is recorded in your personal life force monitoring system. I viewed every possible angle that your equipment was able to provide and found nothing unusual. If it had transferred information to you, it was erased from that monitoring system through some telepathic block. But with the activity conducted by both East and South, we have to assume that it had given you something that even you cannot conjure by memory alone. So I am here to extract it. I am going to enter your memory and extract the information for our technicians to review.”

Andy swallowed tightly, feeling sweat bead upon his brow. His mind was racing, apprehension chewing at him over everything being revealed for everyone's display.

She smiled at him. “I won't be too nosy. I will be more focused on that night than upon anything else that you might be afraid of me seeing.”

He swallowed again, feeling his dry, tired eyes drift away from her, uncertainty and continuous worry eating at him. He wanted to vomit, watching her hand drift over him and then touch his forehead, where her skin was cool and firm.

“Relax,” she told him. “It'll take a few moments. I may come upon everything recent, including the incident that had taken place today. I will be projecting those scenes onto this recorder,” she held aloft a shimmering blue plate, flat as paper, “which I will then hand over to the techs. We will need every available bit of information you've have witnessed, overheard and experienced in order to examine what it is they want with you.”

Andy didn't feel anything in his mind, only the touch of her cool hand against him. But he was restless, finding that continuous swallowing wouldn't will away the dread that was caught in his throat.

“You've had a close encounter with this person,” she then said, a touch of wonder in her tone. “But he doesn't sound very educated. Threatening, but uneducated.”

`I'mina git ya, sucka, even ifyou run onto that base,' was the threat Samsara had whispered to him, voice mixed low and distorted by some mechanical device, but filled with a warning that made Andy sure he'd never find safety anywhere again.

Silence returned for a few minutes before her brown eyes took his, and he felt himself blush under that knowing gaze.

She smiled back. “It is good to be young. To enjoy your life.”

“Please don't talk about it,” he said uneasily, his voice loud within the quiet room.

She nodded slightly. She looked at the recorder for a few moments, and then frowned. There was a slight push from within his thoughts that felt alien and intrusive—as if there were something crawling from the inside. He almost reached up to touch his head before realizing that he couldn't do so; his body was paralyzed. His breathing felt caught in his chest, his throat constricting as the uncomfortable sensation pooled heavily within his mind.

She pulled away with a low exhale, blinking her eyes rapidly, looking nearly dazed. She released him with an abrupt movement, pulling her expression into something of a person gathering their thoughts.

“What is it, Major?” General West asked, his voice projecting into the room.

She looked at Andy before saying, “There is a block to it, sir. I cannot access it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, that whomever created it built in a lock. But from what I can see, it is a receipt.”

“What sort of receipt? Are there serial numbers?”

“A basic form. It is tightly folded. It merely informs Murphy that `it is what they want'. It is very unusual. The memory is burned away. In such cases, it is because the telepath had access at that point, like he or she had severed the lifeline the moment it was registered. It is there; but it is blocked.”

Andy felt the intrusion again, but it was a painful blur—almost as if a headache had formed suddenly, pulsing and wrenching before disappearing as quickly as it occurred. He released a breath he didn't even know he'd held.

“I cannot open it,” she then said regretfully. “The Grey was killed by some attack. The very same as the others. Whatever it used to block access has been taken with it.”

“But the East and the South know about it. They know about it and they want it regardless.”

“That is the mystery, sir. Neither side knows who did it, and neither side is taking credit for the Greys' deaths. All they know is what we know—that this unlucky person has it stowed away within his memory. And unfortunately, he doesn't retain that particular memory for long, either; he was made sure to forget before he even remembered he has something to forget.” She gave Andy a sorrowful smile, touching his forehead once more. “But nothing else will leave your memory specifically.”

“I've read up on the reports. He has no memory of being taken,” General West continued, voice pensive. “And his squad mates report feeling the same way. The tech that protects them isn't working very well while he's in the midst of an assault. I suspect that he is acting as a dispatching tower for their psychic attacks. Their strengths lie in the proximity of their attack.”

“I will insert a deterrent,” Major Wintour then said, her hand against his forehead once more. A heavy feeling, like being weighed in from the inside, caused a throbbing headache to form, Andy tensing his jaw and feeling it throughout his neck and face.

“For the now, it'll force them to think that we've extracted the information. Basically, it is a thought hologram; almost as if we'd opened a brand new book and dog-eared it,” she then explained to Andy. “They should leave you alone for a small while.”

She then removed her hand. Andy looked up at her, wondering why the dread felt thicker within his throat, heavier than the headache. “I am done, here. I have what is important to that point.”

To him she said quietly, “I am sorry. You must understand the decision the General will make.”

The room was enveloped with silence after Major Wintour left, but Andy could see them talking right outside. The blue recorder was fitted into one of the station's receptor, and he could see the technicians working to analyze everything that flashed onto their screens. Major Wintour spoke briefly with General West, and he couldn't help but feel apprehension as their grave expressions told him of his fate.

Time crept until the General left with the MPs, the major leaving soon after that. Nothing was said to him after that point, and he found himself gazing up at the ceiling, lulled by the silence and by exhaustion. He tried hard not to think of Adam, but he had to wonder if the other man was okay. He noticed that he was taken in by medical personnel and wondered what his injuries were. He then forcefully stopped himself from thinking about it, paranoid in that his thoughts were still being monitored by the telepath.

Hours later, he was stumbling away from the Center by a group of MPs, all of whom were silent unless giving a command. He was tired, drugged, and grumpy, seeing that a majority of the day had passed and they were still not finished with him. He hadn't seen the major again and he'd noticed that those surrounding him were more heavily armored, weaponless, monitored and guided by the operators that welded power over every door and hallway. He was given sedatives to keep his mind unfocused, in case there was another attack. As such, he was incoherent and unsteady, feeling in the midst of some drunken episode.

Once he realized he was being lead to yet another room, he protested with a whine, one of the MPs holding onto his arm and forcing him along. He felt himself shoved into a chair, the MPs leaving without a word, a lock slamming into place. Seeing that the room was forged out of steel, windowless and without decoration, he groaned, lowering his head into his arms. He must've passed out then, for he awoke to someone shaking his arm again, blurrily looking up into the resident's face.

She spoke to him gently, but he couldn't process a word she was saying. Her flashlight moved over his eyes and she took a couple of surface tests over his state of being before leaving. The world didn't make sense to him at that moment, everything topsy-turvy and filled with jumbling confusion. He felt the ground leave him, sleep coming quickly as soon as he registered a flat surface underneath him.

When he lifted his head, in what felt like days later, he blurrily focused on the shape ahead of him and realized he was facing a uniformed desk pusher, his bald head and heavy mustache taking on recognized shapes. His head still felt sluggish and his perception was completely out of depth, but he was grateful for the ability to understand spoken words once again.

He was seated in the windowless office, several unarmed MPs standing nearby with stony expressions. He was still wearing his dirtied clothes from the other day, his eyes heavy with bags and his mouth dry and cottony, as if he'd drank too much the day before.

The desk pusher started to speak and Andy focused hard on his words. As he spread out various forms and a pencil, Andy started to comprehend that he was being discharged from service. At that point he went numb and blank, vaguely hearing the reasoning behind the release. General Jacob West had deemed him a threat to the base's security; there was no telling what he could do to them while under the influence of some mind-worker. Because of the injury caused by the Grey Alien's action, he was now a dispatcher; his squad had been manipulated because his mind was easily accessed by a head worker. Because of his proximity, whomever it had been managed to overtake the protective tech in their helmets to manipulate him that day he found himself in the junkyard. Tests had been performed on his squad mates, and no lingering traces of mind invasion were found. These results had been recorded, and the desk pusher showed him the parts of his brain where it had been affected by the attacks. His brain was now vulnerable to mind-attacks, as porous as a sponge due to the traumatic scarring. The others' showed nothing.

He was too much of a risk, especially with the information that he had burned into his mind. The General could not risk him staying on base where Andy could have access to the Center.

Andy was not to take it badly; he would be issued living quarters, access to mental health services regarding his sudden disability and severance pay for the next two years. They would continue to try and extract whatever it was that the Underworld wanted; he would be provided with security until the situation calmed.

The numbness spread to all parts of his body. He didn't know how he managed to sign the forms that required his signature in that he understood his discharge, but one of the MPs was there to help him do so. The desk pusher left with a salute, and Andy sat in silence. He had heard and processed the reasoning behind his discharge, but he kept thinking of the other things that he felt had a factor. Major Wintour had seen everything; he felt that it was his sexual preference that was a part of the release. For he felt that if the General deemed him such a risk, they would try harder to extract it, to protect him.

He felt as if they were tossing him away, defenseless and alone, back onto the streets where the Underworld could easily reach him. He tried to keep his emotions at bay, to go with Major Wintour's words, but he felt that he couldn't. The MPs were silent as they stood at their posts, none of them looking in his direction or saying a word. He felt like an exile.

He jerked his head up once the door opened, and saw the MPs shift. Two left while another pair remained, watching apprehensively as another officer appeared, holding onto paperwork.

“We will take you, now,” he said to Andy, on a brisk Southern accent.

Andy rose slowly, wondering where he was being taken. He felt shaky and numb, the visages of the drug and headache causing his very head to wobble. One of the MPs reached out to steady him, and he grew apparent that his limbs refused to work in the way he wanted them to. His jerky, stumbling movements made him feel as if someone was manipulating him like a marionette puppet. The officer waited patiently then guided him outside. Startled by the early morning show of New Park City's daybreak hours, Andy wondered when they'd left base. He was within a section of town he wasn't familiar with, but the residential streets and early morning bustle of street workers indicated a calm safety he wasn't used to. The unmarked SUV waiting at the curb allowed them to board before driving down a one-way. Andy was confused and on-edge, sitting with cramped action in the middle seat, an MP at each side.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that they were followed by two other unmarked vehicles, one of which were loaded with soldiers that looked comfortable and happy with the transport. He felt his lips thin, confusion and worry filling his hazed thoughts. A five minute drive to an apartment building with an unmarked mailbox was their destination. The officer turned and told him they'd moved his quarters to this one.

At the thought that his personal and private things had been uprooted from the studio apartment he had been living upon for the past three years caused a weight in his stomach. There was a mover's van sitting out front, and the movers were dressed in military fatigues. The MPs helped him from the SUV; he felt like an exhausted criminal held captive. The way everyone was looking at him made him paranoid in just how much Major Wintour had revealed.

The night manager of the building greeted them cheerily, somewhat bothered by Andy's dismissal mood. The next hour was involved with a general tour of the facilities, followed by the one bedroom apartment itself, accessed by a palm print, security heavy on each floor. The building was built for celebrities and high important city councilmen—it could withstand heavy structural attacks and the security within were enough to stop a class 5 telekinetic in her tracks.

Despite the high-end motivations for a new home, Andy could feel himself growing more and more depressed. All of his things had been set haphazardly within his new apartment, boxed in haste and deposited just as quickly. His bedroom had been set messily, but it was after everyone left him with compliments on his new home that he felt himself grow overwhelmingly despondent. He heard the door lock behind the MPs, and felt entirely alone. It gnawed at his very being, causing his eyes to tear suddenly, for his chest to constrict.

He swallowed hard, wiping at his eyes as they started to run. Copied discharged papers caught his eye as he saw them on his battered couch, and he sniffled. He felt completely and utterly rejected from society; as if he had done something incredibly terrible. His hands shook as he jammed them under his armpits, as if they'd gone suddenly cold. He had trouble standing as overwhelming sensation crashed over him. He hit the carpeted floor on his knees, struggling to stay in control.

But the entire apartment was deathly silent and devastating with its emptiness and the fear of being alone consumed him.

“They locked away all his information,” Larson said, running his eyes over the small print that popped up over his phone. Sam looked at him, his tired eyes displaying all the emotions he was feeling at the moment, shoulders hunched. “It's practically like he didn't exist. Most likely it's because they want to discourage the Underworld from locating him, or finding sources in which they could manipulate him.”

“But where would they take him? Do you think he's still in Center?” Sam asked, nibbling at his thumbnail. Bridgette batted his hand away from his mouth.

The three of them were sitting in the living room of Larson's shared house, where Adam lingered in the kitchen, Ian at the dining room table with a tabloid magazine in front of him. After nearly three days, Andy Murphy was still missing, and Sam had discovered that he was no longer living on base from his neighbors, who had been surprised by the sudden move. His cell phone had been disconnected, and the resident in the med-building had said she couldn't talk about his condition, subtly implying that he was still within the Center's clutches. Worried over his missing brother, Sam had been a bundle of nerves almost the entire time.

“No. I've got a friend that works as a system operator down there, and she said they discharged him from their facilities a day ago. After that, his basic information was erased from base's records, but I think it was moved under a different name or removed all together to a different location. They're just making it hard for the Underworld to get a hold of him, Sam. These security measures are necessary.”

“I wish he'd at least talk to me and tell me where he's at,” Sam muttered.

“He probably can't,” Larson then said, thumbs moving quickly over the keyboard of his phone. “Because of the head attacks, they had him drugged.”

“Still.”

“I'll find him, Sam. Once we find him, you'll feel better.”

Sam nodded, lips held tightly. “What were their findings? I mean, did they ever find out why they were after him?”

“Nope. Information's not there,” Larson said. He looked over at the kitchen. “They interrogated you, too, right, Byrons?”

“For hours,” Adam muttered, thinking of the time spent within a plain room, answering the same questions over and over again. At least his back had healed up, and he shifted his shoulders with a discomforted expression. “What I know is what I was told.”

“Maybe Ken and them know?”

“He's actually been prowling around the place,” Ian spoke up from the table, giving a frown. “He's asking the same questions as you are, Sam.”

“They were here a few times,” Larson admitted.

“Ken's really pissed off,” Bridgette said aloud, brow furrowed. “I mean, really pissed off. Like he personally lost Andy himself.”

Adam thought of the confrontation that had occurred a day earlier. Ken ripped into him with his accusations, with the trick performed in the restaurant. Paul had to hold him back. It made him uncomfortable with the thought that perhaps Ken cared more for Andy than anybody thought. His behavior was like that of a disgruntled, possessive lover, and it made Adam wonder if anything had happened between them.

“It sucks not having a completed team,” Ian muttered. “They're working with some older man that seems to try and lord over them his own experiences. They don't like it.”

“He's looking for him just as hard as you,” Bridgette then told Sam. “Keep in touch with that guy.”

“I don't know him. Andy never really introduced us.”

“He probably didn't want you to. He's a shithead. Paul's a shithead. That's probably why,” she figured with a shrug, resting back against the couch. “Sam, you really can't do anything if the military's going hush-hush with the situation. If they're putting Andy into hiding, you'd best just be satisfied that they're doing something for him.”

“I know, I know, but I need to hear from him!” Sam protested. “I have to know if he's okay.”

Larson moved to say something when his phone buzzed. He answered it jovially, Sam looking down at his hands with some consternation. Bridgette reached over to punch him.

“Let's go out tonight. Get your mind off of it for a few hours. It'll help to relax,” she said. “You'll have your phone, and Lars has his connections.”

“We could go bowling,” Ian suggested. “On base just to stay close.”

Larson hung up his phone and looked at Sam with a thoughtful frown. “That was Jensen. He just told me your brother was moved off-base, to the north side of the city. Some high-class suburb where security's tight.”

“Off…base? But…that doesn't make any sense,” Ian said slowly. “If it was some big thing, wouldn't they hold him in Center?”

“What suburb?” Sam asked, rising from the couch.

“Roseville. It's a three hour drive by Fast-Trac.”

“I'm going there, then. What's the address?”

“It's celebu-city over there, Sam. Take your autograph book with you.”

“Just give me the address,” Sam said impatiently, holding out his own phone so Larson could input it in his notes file. Larson did so quickly.

“How did Jensen know?” Ian asked, perplexed.

“The world's last ninja knows things man's afraid to ask,” Larson replied. “All he said was the address, which is high security, it's in Roseville, and if the guards ask, Sam's supposed to tell them Major Wintour approved of the guest list. Oh, and instead of asking for Andy Murphy, you need to ask for Brandon Randall.”

“It doesn't make any sense,” Ian muttered as he continued to flip through the magazine. “Why off base?”

Adam was quiet the entire time, watching them all interact with each other. While on one hand he asked himself the same time, concerned with Andy's whereabouts, he found himself feeling disturbed over the possibility that Center's workers had discovered their tryst. He watched Sam check his wallet to make sure he had enough funds to get across the city.

“If it's high security, Sam, they'll probably turn you away,” he said, finally speaking up. “You're his half-brother. You are close to each other. The Underworld will figure this out quickly. It's probably why they haven't told you a thing.”

Sam gave him a stricken look, and realization crossed their faces.

“They'll do anything to get what they want,” he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “They could use you to get close to Andy. I don't think you'd want to put him in that sort of position.”

“I…didn't even think of it that way,” Larson muttered.

“How—how am I going to get into contact with him, then?” Sam said, sitting slowly on the couch.

Adam cleared his throat. He played with the cup he was using, unable to answer that question.

Ian gave a low sigh. “I know of a way.”

Adam gave him a sharp look. “Don't even think of asking that fucking girl.”

“I'm not!” Ian snapped at him. “Shit, I was just going to suggest calling the place first. If they don't know his location yet, they won't have his phone lines tapped. Try it the old fashioned way and go by landline. The most secure ones are in the administrative building.”

“I'll have to,” Sam said, rising again. “Larson, come with me, okay? I can't talk to those people like you can.”

“We'll go right away, little buddy. Just let me get my night outfit on. They've got cute civilian girls working those counters.”

“Get some,” Bridgette said sarcastically.

“I just might.”

The four of them left a few minutes later, and Adam looked over at Ian. He had been reflecting on his time with Andy almost the entire time, but he also felt conflicted with doing so. As if he had been cheating. Looking at Ian now, dressed in his found black shirt and jeans, bare toes curled against the linoleum, he had to wonder why he had. His eyes traced over Ian's bent head, having memorized almost every part of the other man, knowing that if he'd go blind, he always remember Ian's features and form.

He wanted to know what it was like to be with him, jealous of the time Ian spent with the girls he picked up. He wanted to know if his kisses were careful and sweet, reflective of his personality, or if he was somewhat aggressive. He wanted to know what noises Ian made in pleasure or how his body reacted in the throes of some orgasm. He wanted to know every plane and inch on his body. But because Ian was straight and Adam was not, Adam could only look at him and wonder. And being forced to hold back was something that tired him, made him accept others easily.

He was attracted to Andy; but Andy was not Ian.

He sighed low, reaching over to pick up a heavy free weight from the counter, performing arm curls with casual action, determined to drown out his thoughts with some exercise.

Ian shut the magazine with a sigh. “It's weird that they took him off base. It's bothering me.”

“Why? You don't like that person,” Adam mumbled, arm starting to strain.

“I don't. I don't because, well, if you'd been looking, if you saw the way he was looking at you,” Ian then trailed off to give a shudder. “It was like watching a guy check out some girl. He was just…and I backed out, I didn't want to bring anything up. But, gosh, it does make me wonder. If this person's so valuable to both sides, why move him out into the city?”

“Go ask somebody important.”

“They don't even know!” Ian said, grunting as he stretched his long arms over the table. “I asked everybody I could possibly ask. Or he's some sort of threat. General West probably was in on the evaluation and deemed him a threat.”

“So why didn't they do that on the street? Separate us and take him?” Adam theorized, furrowing his brow as he switched the weight to the other arm.

“Well…I don't know. It would have made more sense,” Ian mumbled. “Both of you were vulnerable. Maybe they just wanted to throw-down.”

“Maybe.” Adam thought of Andy, wondering where he was. He wondered if he thought of that day as much as Adam himself did. Seeing how he reacted to his kisses, the way Andy became pliant and needy in his arms was both a turn-on and a turn-off. He liked the fact that it was going to be easy to get what he wanted, but he didn't like knowing that Andy might want more than Adam was willing to give.

“What made you guys go out together, anyway?” Ian then asked, looking at him.

Adam gave a shrug, lifting the weight over his head. “Sam. We were talking about Sam.”

“Sam's a big kid, now. He has to grow up eventually.”

“I guess you wouldn't know what it's like to have an insecure younger sibling,” Adam said.

Ian frowned. Grumbling, he flipped the tabloid onto its front and began looking through it backwards. “No, I wouldn't.”

“They're close in that sense. Sam was really pissed at you for bringing it up the other night.”

“YOU brought it up!”

“I couldn't let you be sneaky when it came down to something like that. Talking behind Sam's back isn't the right thing to do.”

“It's just—! I mean, don't you feel violated? That another man could be looking at you like that?” Ian asked him incredulously.

“No. I know what I look like.”

“It's disgusting! And to have it so close by, it's like…what if he hits on you?”

“I doubt he would,” Adam said with a chuckle, thinking of the way Andy reacted to him over his very words. He guessed that nothing would have happened if he hadn't been so aggressive.

“Well, it's gross. It's really gross, and I'd rather not be around such a thing. I thought the military weeded out shit like that,” Ian muttered.

“And it's no big deal if your young girlfriend says things like that.”

“She's not my—!” Ian took a deep breath and lowered the tabloid. “Look. I just don't like him. He could be nice, the most compassionate guy on the planet that's in the wrong place, but I just can't bring myself to like him. Not after that night. I just hate those kinds of people, Adam, I can't go back.”

“Why?” Adam asked, switching the weight to the other arm and resuming the set of shoulder exercises. “What's so horrible about them that you have to get so hateful?”

Ian shrugged a shoulder, face scrunched up with irritation. “I can't put it in words. Not right now. I've always felt that way, so it really isn't anything new.”

“Did someone hit on you back in the day?” Adam asked.

Ian `hmphed', making a face, but he didn't answer. “Well, I just don't want to be around him. Not at all.”

Adam thinned his lips, wondering why Ian wouldn't answer. If anything had happened, maybe it had before they met. He finished his reps and set the weight aside, stretching out his sore muscles. He wanted to see Andy again.

“But I feel rotten about it, whenever Sam says something. I like Sam, and I like the potential he has. I don't want to lose him as a teammate, and I feel like I've personally and physically hurt him every time I open my dumb mouth,” Ian continued to mutter at the magazine. “It really bothers me that my hate for these people conflict with my teammates'. I wish I could magically shut it off, Adam, but I can't.”

“I'm not saying you should change. Just calm it down a little.”

“Every time I see him, my lip just curls,” Ian then said, turning in his chair to show Adam just how it does. “And I know it shows. I just clam up. I want him away from me and I don't want to hear his voice. I want to get physically violent with him if he's near, and it really really bothers me!”

“I doubt he'd let you push him around,” Adam said, thinking of the way Andy fought.

“It's not like I think or plan about physically attacking somebody.” With a sigh, Ian closed the magazine again. “What should we do, Adam? I can't sit here all night. I'm going to be stewing over things.”

Adam shrugged. “I'm going to stay in.”

“Oh, c'mon, don't be a boring old man. Sheesh, since that night you've been quiet and going to bed earlier than you normally do,” Ian complained. “Don't tell me, you've—”

“Smith's a class-5 psychokinetic, right? She can also use a wide-range of telepathic attacks. She doesn't need to be in close to dive into someone's head.”

Ian blinked at the change of subject, then furrowed his brow with concentration. Adam could see that the change to work related issues was something that could easily distract his friend.

“Sure. She's capable of doing so. Kawakura needs to be up front, but she's considerably weaker compared to her. Still capable of doing great things, but weak.”

“It was neat to see them fight. But both of them were focused on each other. They had Andy right there, but neither thought to dive into his head from that proximity. Samsara—”

Ian jerked his head at the name. “S—Samsara was there, too? Was…was…he…? Was he aggressive as usual?”

“Yes,” Adam said with a shrug. “In and out. Took a few hits but…it was the usual. Sniped from afar at first then got in close.”

“Was there…was there anything different about him?”

“No,” Adam replied, giving him a frown. “Nothing. Just the usual reckless behavior. I engaged into gunfire with him at one point.”

Ian gazed off to the side, absently twiddling his thumbs. Adam watched him for a few moments, wondering what he was thinking before saying, “If they wanted that information so bad, they would have got it.”

“What do you think started it all?” Ian then asked. “I wish I could see the files from 43's records.”

“It's still not out for review?”

“Lars said it's locked. Since it's still under investigation.”

Ian leaned onto the table with an elbow, drumming his fingers along his jaw. His thoughtful expression captured Adam's attention. Ian's cell buzzed with an incoming message, and Adam's stomach twisted with irritation. He could see the devil girl icon on the screen. Ian glanced at it, then performed a double-take, picking it up to review it.

“Well, I'm heading to bed,” Adam said with a sigh, wondering who the girl was.

“Don't go. Come into town with me,” Ian said, lowering his phone. “Please?”

“No. I'll be ignored the entire time with that person on your phone.”

“I…Um, let's go meet up with her. I'll introduce you.”

“For real? It's that serious?”

Ian gave him a sheepish shrug as he lowered his phone. “But will you?”

Adam glanced at the stairway, where he knew he was going to go to bed and maybe masturbate to the memory of Andy's kisses. But his curiosity was stronger, wanting to get to know the girl that occupied Ian's time on the phone. He nodded. “Fine. Let me get dressed, first.”

“All right! Cool! Meet me outside, I'll get a taxi,” Ian said, shuffling away from his chair and hurrying off, answering to the text.