Copyright
©1999, Tracey Harnack. All rights
reserved. No part of this story may be re-posted in part or in full
without written permission from me. It's characters are used without
permission, no infringement is intended.
Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry's Earth:
Final Conflict is copyright 1998, Tribune Entertainment Co.
Rating: PG.
Title: Almost Love
Author:
Tracy Harnack
Almost
Love
“It was almost love. It was almost always. It
was like a fairy tale, we lived out you and I. And, yes, some dreams come true.
And, yes, some dreams fall through. And now, the time has come for us to
goodbye.”
Siobhan shivered and rubbed her arms. “D’ye suppose
th’ snow will let up soon?” she asked absently. It was snowing so hard that
visibility was almost nil.
“Agent Beckett, I have no idea,”
Sandoval replied with a sigh. “It will let up when it lets up, and not before.”
“My, my, aren’t we irritable?”
Siobhan replied with a smile, moving to sit down next to him on the bench in
the Strandhill pub where they had taken refuge from the storm. There was no one
else there; Siobhan had picked the lock when the blizzard had come up suddenly
while they were investigating a possibly dangerous Taelon fanatic.
Sandoval shifted uncomfortably away
from her. “Yes, Agent Beckett, I am irritable. I have many things that need to
be done, and I am instead sitting around do nothing of consequence.”
“Well, as ye said, it will let up
when it lets up, and not before. So ye might as well make the best of the
situation.”
Sandoval scowled. He hated it when
she turned his own words back on him.
Siobhan stood up and went behind the
bar. “We have food, firewood, shelter, a cot in the back, and, of course,” she
grinned wickedly, “plenty to drink. Can I get ye ennathing?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. I
don’t drink.”
“A teetotaler, ye?” she asked in
surprise, fixing herself a whiskey and sitting down, this time across from
Sandoval, not next to him. He was visibly relieved.
“Agent Beckett, I do not choose to
imbibe because there is no reason do so. It is in no way beneficial, and it
causes a myriad of damages that the Protector of a Taelon should try to avoid.”
Siobhan leaned forward. “Why, Agent
Sandoval, d’ye have nothing t’ escape from?”
Sandoval looked askance at her. “Of
course not. I am quite happy with my life, and my work.” His answer was sound,
but just a bit too quick for Siobhan to believe. She was about to press the
subject, but he asked her hurriedly, “And do you have something you need to escape from?”
Siobhan leaned back casually. “I do
believe that was a personal question,” she commented.
He looked slightly flustered. “Of course
not. I was simply trying to make sure there is nothing that would interfere
with your work for the Taelons.”
“Of course.” Silence. Siobhan sipped
her whiskey. After a moment she said, “Well, mayhap I do have something I need
t’ escape from. A horribly guilty conscience from some sin committed in a past
life, perhaps, or even some great loss I experienced ages ago.” She smiled
sadly, with an unnamed pain behind her green eyes. “Trouble is, I cannae seem
t’ remember what it is.” She drained her glass.
They settled into an uneasy silence.
Finally, Siobhan shook herself. “Well, it does nae appear t’ be letting up, and
it’s not getting enna warmer in here. We’re both soaked. I know the owner of
this place, and he keeps some clothes in the back room. I’ll start a nice fire,
while ye go get changed.”
“No thank you, Agent Beckett, I’m
fine,” Sandoval replied tersely.
“Oh, dinnae be stubborn, Sandoval,”
Siobhan said, getting up and pulling him to his feet. “You’ll catch cold and
end up with a wrinkled suit ennaway. Now get in the back, and dry off.”
Technically, they were of equal
rank, though this was Siobhan’s home turf. But her tone brooked no arguments.
Before Sandoval realized what he was doing, he found himself in the back room,
doing exactly as she had told him. It was the “mother” tone he realized, the
one that no one, young or old, was fully capable of defying. He wondered where
the childless agent had learned it.
When he came out, wearing a pair of
pants that were far too large and a shirt the same size, Siobhan had a hot fire
blazing merrily away. Sandoval looked so comical, she could barely contain her
laughter.
“I smell like alcohol,” he said,
unhappily. Siobhan raised her eyebrows and began to lay his wet clothes out to
dry on the bench, which she had dragged over to the fireplace.
After an awkward pause, Sandoval
spoke up. “Um…Agent Beckett, perhaps you should also go change or dry off.”
“Are you concerned for my welfare,
Sandoval?” she asked slyly.
“Agent Beckett, your welfare is
directly related to your Companion’s welfare, therefore it is my concern.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll take my leave of ye,” Siobhan said, heading for the
back room. Sandoval stared after her for a moment. He never knew what to make
of her.
Siobhan was gone for a long time,
and when she returned she was wearing neither oversized clothes nor wet militia
uniform. Instead, she had taken one of the quits from the cot and wrapped it
around her like a sari. Her brilliant auburn hair was down and lay in damp
clumps about her long, elegant neck.
She drifted languidly over to the
fire and, stretching out like a cat, lazily began to dry her hair in front of
the flames. Sandoval watched her for a moment, and then he began to feel very
uncomfortable. He tried, unsuccessfully, to look at anything but Siobhan.
Finally, she was satisfied with her
work. She drew her knees up to her chest and looked intently at him. “Why are
ye so jumpy, Agent Sandoval? I do nae bite.”
“Uh, no…no, of course you don’t,
Agent Beckett.”
She smiled. “We’re going t’ be in
here for quite some time, if I know ennathing about storms. Why do we nae drop
the formality and get t’ know one another?”
Sandoval stiffened. “I prefer the
formality, Agent Beckett.”
“Siobhan, please,” she said firmly.
“And what are ye so afraid of that ye cannae relax for one moment and simply
talk to another human being?”
“I am afraid of nothing, Beckett!”
Sandoval replied, too vehemently.
“Well, ye are obviously afraid of something, or ye would nae be having
such difficulty simply talking with a person who is both your colleague and a
woman!” she returned, sharply. She almost instantly regretted speaking so
harshly, but she did not apologize.
“Perhaps I am,” Sandoval conceded
stiffly, turning away from her. Siobhan felt the temperature in the room drop,
and she readjusted her makeshift dress. Tentatively, sensing that Sandoval was
just on the edge of control; for some reason close to either a breakdown or
lashing out at her in blind anger, Siobhan got up and put her hand on his
shoulder.
“Let me help,” she said softly.
“You cannot!” he whispered
hoarsely.
As she sat down next to him, her arm
brushed his. Their skrills touched. Instantly, Siobhan was deluged by random
images and impressions, and both she and Sandoval clutched their heads. Skylark
was frightened and disturbed by even that brief contact. Pain lanced through
her head, and she stumbled backwards, reeling.
The pain ebbed quickly, leaving only
the memory and a dull ache. She felt something slippery and warm on her
fingers. Blood. She was bleeding from her ear. So was Sandoval, wiping the side
of his head with a handkerchief with one hand and stroking Raven reassuringly
with the other.
Siobhan slowed her breathing and
consciously lowered her heart rate. “What,” she said finally, “in hell was that?”
“I…don’t know, Beckett,” Sandoval
said, bewildered.
“I saw…inside your mind,” Siobhan
said, her emerald eyes darting around. “Just for a second…so cold.” She hugged
herself.
“Perhaps when our skrills touched, they
became a conduit for our thoughts,” he suggested.
“That must be it,” she agreed,
looking into the fire. Skylark seemed to be trying to tell her something, but
she couldn’t quite—
“Ye!” she exclaimed suddenly, her
head snapping around violently and fixing Sandoval with a piercing gaze. “Ye
are no longer under control of the motivational imperative, are ye?”
Sandoval’s black eye grew wide with
fear and he seemed to shrink within himself. He said nothing.
Meanwhile, a battle was being waged
inside Siobhan. Her first instinct demanded that she go report this fact to the
Taelons the moment she was able. But something blocked that plan of action from
locking itself into place. Skylark. Thank
ye, wee one, she thought, relieved and scared at the same time. The little
skrill was trying with all her might to again block the MI.
And it was working, to Siobhan’s great shock. Under the pressure of the
little skrill’s fury, she watched in amazement as the thing that had controlled
her every thought for three years melted away and dissolved until it was almost
unnoticeable. In fact, it appeared to be nearly gone, and what was left was
fading rapidly.
How
did ye do that? she asked her small savior.
Skylark responded (not in words, but
in a montage of thought/impression/image) that, while she had acted as the
catalyst, it was not her doing.
What,
then?
The skrill told her sadly that her
CVI was breaking down. The MI was the first thing to begin to go, because the
human will was constantly fighting the constraints, always an inch from
breaking free, so that the slightest impetus might allow it loose. She also
said that it might be a matter of months, or a matter of days before the rest
of the CVI broke down.
Will
I die, wee one? she asked, fearfully.
The impression she got said, more
clearly than any words, “I don’t know.”
Her attention was turned to
Sandoval, who was as near to a panic as she had ever seen him. “Beckett,” he
said. “You cannot report this to the Taelons.”
“Oh, and why not?” she asked, testing
him.
“Because the future of humanity may
rest with what happens to me.”
Siobhan snorted. “I’ve heard that
one before. But dinnae worry. I have no intention of reporting ye.”
The Filipino man’s almond eyes
widened. “You mean…”
“Aye,” she agreed. “I’m free, too.
Though I dinnae know for how long. But I’d appreciate an explanation as t’ what
is going on with ye.”
“I would prefer not to talk about
it, Beckett.”
“My name,” she hissed. “Is Siobhan.
Please call me that. And while ye are at it, what ye prefer is not the issue. I
am going t’ need to know where ye stand. I know your CVI has broken down, but
there’s something else going on, isn’t there? ”
Sandoval’s eyes narrowed. Finally he
sighed. “I might as well tell you. Sit down, Beck—Siobhan.”
A brief smile played on Siobhan’s
lips. Then it faded, and she moved to the bench by the fire, seating herself at
a distance she judged her unwilling companion would find comfortable. “Tell
me,” she said, endeavoring to be gentle, and failing because of her headache
and her growing fear of her own fate.
“The Taelons came five years ago,”
Sandoval began tightly. “My parents were both scientists—geneticists, actually.
So was my brother. They were almost immediately commissioned by the Taelons for
some secret project. A year later, they disappeared.”
Siobhan’s green eyes widened.
“Disappeared?” she asked warily.
Sandoval nodded bitterly.
“Disappeared. I was just beginning to do some…sensitive work for the FBI at
that time, so I made it my business to find out.”
“What happened?”
“They were murdered,” he said
coldly. “The official story, once they got around to making one up, was that
they were killed by some anti-Taelon fanatic. I knew the truth.” He broke off
and stared expressionlessly into the fire.
Siobhan slid over to him and laid a
hand on his knee comfortingly. Sandoval jumped, but didn’t say anything. “Which
was?”
Sandoval looked straight at her, his
gaze so piercing that she imagined it drilling a hole right through her. “The
Taelons killed them. They used them to find the answer to something that had
been eluding them for years, a matter with the skrill, and then they killed
them. It was too much of a risk to keep them alive.”
Siobhan swallowed. “Ron, I am so—”
Sandoval cut her off. “Don’t say it.
I don’t need your pity.”
“But why did ye become an Implant,
then?” she asked, confused. “They killed your family, I would have thought ye
would have joined the Resistance.”
“Don’t you get it?” he growled. “The
Resistance may be alright at what they do, but they don’t have the resources,
organization, or the guts to do what really has to be done. What needs to be
done can only be done from the inside, from someone who is so completely and
totally trusted by the Synod leader that he has access to information that no
other human could ever hope to get his hands on.”
“Ye mean, ye allowed yourself to be
implanted…”
“So that I could destroy them,” he
said fiercely. “I knew what it would do to me, and I accepted that. I knew
everything that would happen and I took that responsibility on myself, because
I knew that one day, I would be free. And then, it would all be worth it. I did
what I did,” he gazed at her with fire in his eyes, “for the knowledge to
destroy them.
“I would do anything, anything to accomplish that.”
Siobhan withdrew her hand from his
knee and looked at him uncertainly. “I…I don’t know,” she said. “I’m a
little…disoriented, still. I think I need t’ go lie down…” she got up as
quickly at her garments allowed and headed for the cot in the back.
Sandoval followed at her heels and
moved himself between her and the cot. “Siobhan…” he said softly. “I would
never hurt you.”
She looked at him, searching him. At
last she said, “I care about ye, Ron. Very much.”
“I care about you, too,” Sandoval
said after a brief pause. He stepped closer to her, and she half-smiled
tentatively. They leaned forward simultaneously and their lips met. An electric
shock ran through Siobhan, and she shivered at the sensation.
“What’s wrong?” Sandoval asked when
they parted.
Siobhan smiled. “Nothing,” she said,
wrapping her arms around him. “Nothing at all.” Their kisses and caresses began
shyly, but soon gained confidence. Not only confidence, but urgency, a need for
closeness. Both had been trapped inside themselves without affection for a long
time. They craved human contact.
Before Siobhan knew what was
happening, Ron had her in his arms, still kissing her face, her hair, her neck.
He carried her as though she was feather, murmuring softly to her and caressing
her back, shoulders, arms, and cheeks. He set her down gently on the cot and
took her chin in his hands, tipping her head back and kissing her almost
desperately on the lips, while tracing her delicate jaw line with his finger.
He started to slide the quilt that was serving as
her clothing off her shoulders. It took every once of willpower in Siobhan’s
mind to put her hand on his chest and say, however weakly, “No.”
If Sandoval had continued, if he
hadn’t heard her or ignored her protest, she never would have found the
strength to say it again. But he did stop, just before things went too far. He
looked at her with his dark, inscrutable eyes, with one hand on the back of her
neck and the other on her now-naked shoulder. He didn’t say anything.
“I…I’m sorry,” Siobhan stammered,
her slim body slipping out of his grasp. She ran from the room, pulling her
sari back together and leaving a very confused Companion agent in her wake.
Siobhan was just as confused as he,
as she sat down on the end of the bench nearest the fire, her legs hugged
tightly to her chest and Skylark trying desperately to console her.
Sandoval gave her a few moments to
collect herself before coming after her. He came into the main room slowly,
afraid he would startle her. She was rocking back and forth slowly in front of
the fire. Tears were streaming silently down her pale cheeks from her emerald
eyes.
He had never been comfortable around
emotional people, especially females, but he even he was no so hard hearted as
to be able to sit there and ignore tears. He made his way over to her and sat
down at a distance that he judged unthreatening.
“I thought that was what you
wanted,” he said at last.
Siobhan looked mournfully up at him.
“It was,” she said sadly. “And…and it is.”
His brows drew together in
confusion. “But, I—”
“I’m so sorry, Ron,” she said,
wiping her face at last. “I know I led ye on, but something just was nae
right…” She took a moment to compose herself and began again, her accent thick
and heavy with emotion. “What ye told me…earlier. Ye really would do ennathing
to accomplish your goals, I can see that. It’s the only thing that important t’
ye.
“Ye may care for me, even when ye
are out there, trying to play both sides. But ye will nae let that get in th’
way of ennathing ye have to do. There simply is no room for a relationship, for
ye cannae and will nae afford it.”
She smiled ruefully. “In here, when
we might as well be th’ only two people in the universe, ye are free to be warm
and loving, ye can even let your guard down for an instant or two. But the
moment ye step outside that door, I will become a distraction.”
Sandoval winced at her use of that
word, but she continued. “You cannae let your feelings for me show through, and
I cannae give me heart to someone who will never give his to me. Your heart is
already given, Ron, to revenge. There is nae room for me as long as the Taelons
are here.”
She fell silent and stared intently
into the fire. Sandoval thought his reply over carefully. “You’re right,” he
said at last. “I’m sorry.”
“Do nae be sorry for what ye are.
For good or ill, ‘tis all ye have.”
Sandoval nodded at her words, but
felt compelled to pursue something. “What you told me that night in your hotel
room—about how our paths were destined to cross, how our lives were entwined.
What was that, then?”
Siobhan chewed her lip. “I…I dinnae
know. Ever since that incident with Ha’gel, I’ve felt that, somehow, that has
past. That the destiny we shared has been fulfilled. I do nae understand it,
but I know, deep down, that for us to make our paths one now would not only be
folly, it would be peril.”
Sandoval gave her a skeptical look
and she shrugged. “Ye did nae believe it before, why should ye believe it now?
I tell ye only what I see and what I believe to be true. Our task together is
done…everything is telling me that. Our CVI’s, Major Kincaid,” a frown
flickered across her face at Liam’s name, “my runes, and your story.”
“What does Major Kincaid have to do
with us?” Sandoval asked. Again, that frown at the mention of the young man’s
name.
“I do nae know,” she admitted.
“Perhaps he is only a symbol, but I feel something when I see him that I cannae
understand.”
They were both quiet for a long
time. Sandoval noted that the snow had stopped falling and that someone would
be coming to dig them out soon. Siobhan nodded.
“Will ye…” she began tentatively.
“Yes?”
“Will ye just hold me, for a bit? I
have the most curious feeling of dread that we will nae be alone together again
in the foreseeable future. I know we cannae have anything more, but I would
like to be close to ye for a little while at least.”
Sandoval was taken aback. “Well…I…”
“Please?” she said. “It’s been so
long since I’ve had anyone hold me, even just a friend. I’d like t’ be friends,
even for one evening. And…” she struggled for words here. “I’m afraid for some
reason…”
He could tell the admission cost the
usually tough woman, and it hurt him to see her in so much pain. He did care
about her, and as long as she knew not to expect anything from him once they
went back to their regular lives…Well, even he had to admit that the feel of
someone he cared for in his arms would feel pretty good.
Unsure of himself, he slid over on
the bench until they were touching. Awkwardly, he put one arm around her
slender shoulders. She sort of melted back against him with a sigh. She gave
him a brief smile of thanks, and put the loose end of her sari over his lap to
keep them both warm.
Sandoval had never been much of a
cuddler, and he hadn’t sat like this with anyone in more than four years. It
felt good, but it scared him. Allowing himself for the first time to forget,
for just a moment, about anything other than the here-and-now, he held Siobhan
tightly in front of the fire and stroked her lovely auburn hair. A drowsy smile
crept over her face and she, too, forgot her fear and everything else except
the present.
That was the way the rescue team
found them three hours later, half asleep. They both jumped up, startled, when
the door swung open to a mixed team of Siobhan’s militia officers and
Volunteers. They both recovered their aplomb rapidly, Sandoval smoothing out
his beer-stained, borrowed clothes and Siobhan gathering her quilt modestly
about her and excusing herself to go change.
They were ready to leave in fifteen
minutes, each now properly attired in their own (slightly wrinkled) clothing.
They left a note for the owner on the bar, telling him that he would be
reimbursed for whatever the Protectors had used.
“We have a shuttle waiting for you,
Agent Sandoval,” said a clean-cut young militiaman. “Agent Beckett, we have a
car outside to take you to your apartment. “
They followed the man in the snow.
There were drifts up to the level of Siobhan’s head, and the average depth
seemed to be three feet. The rescue team had cleared a path for them to the
road, which had been recently plowed.
When they reached the road, they
faced each other awkwardly, with the others a discreet distance away.
“We almost—” Sandoval began, but
Siobhan lay a finger firmly across his mouth.
“Don’t,” she said. “Almost is th’
third saddest word in th’ English langauge.”
“What are the other two?” he asked.
“If only.” With that she leaned
forward impulsively and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was a thoroughly
inappropriate gesture in front of the subordinates, but she was never one to
stand on ceremony. Before he could say any one of the hundred things running
through his mind, She turned, and rubbing her arms to stay warm, picked her way
over the ice to the car.
He watched her go, and she turned
back to glance at him before she climbed in. Her last glance was one of regret,
tinged with guilt, though he knew the guilt had little to do with him. Then she
was gone. Having nothing else he could do, Sandoval went home.
Two days later:
The end of “Redemption”.
Sandoval looked out from a corner of
the cave into the occupied cavern. The sunlight from the hole in the roof
illuminated the Liam Kincaid and Siobhan Beckett like a spotlight. She lay in
his arms, wracked with pain and barely breathing. A pool of blood surrounded
them, trailing from Siobhan’s ear, and there were tears of agonizingly intense
pain in Liam’s eyes.
Sandoval had tracked Siobhan here as
soon as he realized what was happening. He should have known as soon as he
discovered that her MI was deteriorating, he should have known that the rest
would good soon. He’d caught a lucky break, a one in a thousand chance that the
CVI breakdown hadn’t killed him. But he’d been too damned self-involved to put
two and two together.
He wanted very badly to run to her
and hold her and be with her during her last few moments. But there was
something between her and Major Kincaid that not only did not invite intrusion,
but that absolutely forbade it. There was a wall between them and him that he
could not have crossed no matter how hard he might have tried.
They were speaking to each other
now, in whispers. He could not hear what was passing between them. There was a
palpable bond between them, he realized, as strong as if they had always been a
part of each other. It was…love, he identified with surprise. A pure, deep,
abiding love than Sandoval could never understand.
Just then, Siobhan stiffened
suddenly. Sandoval heard the death rattle in her shallow breathing, and then
saw her go limp. Liam began to weep loudly and unashamedly. “Guide my soul
until morning,” he cried, looking up to the sky at though trying to follow the
course her spirit took as it winged heavenward.
It was almost as if…but, no, that
was impossible he told himself. Perhaps they were just distantly related. They were both from Ireland, originally.
Just then, Skylark set to tolling a
skrill death knell. Liam seemed oblivious to it, but Sandoval felt/heard it
through Raven, who joined in. It was music, an exquisitely beautiful song of
unbearable sadness, combined with a prayer to the skrill deity. The grief was
for Skylark’s lost mistress. The prayer seemed to be somewhat of a blessing
over her soul and a request for Skylark’s own peaceful departure, as she would
die scant moments after the body supporting her ceased functioning.
What Sandoval could translate came out roughly as,
“The angel/alien/friend/mistress had been kind to this child of Skrill, give
her spirit peace and her soul no fear, as she travels into the Void. Watch over
this small one as my journey ends/begins. I fear many things ahead. Keep me
brave in the face of Unknown, allow me to bring honor to my hive/clan/family as
I leave/die/transition, and draw your small daughter to your
loving/caring/strong arms.”
Raven echoed with what seemed like a ritual
response/blessing that was too lovely to put into words. Then Skylark’s cry
died away sharply, and Raven’s increased in intensity for a moment and then
faded away. All this took less than a minute.
Liam glance flickered towards where
Sandoval was standing, and he had barely enough equilibrium to step deeper into
the shadows before the younger man spotted him. Liam’s gazed returned to the
dead woman in his arms, and he crumpled her to him and cried into her shining hair,
everything about him begging her to come back to him.
Sandoval felt a sickening sense of
loss as it finally sunk in that Siobhan was dead. I… he thought to himself, I almost loved her. I could have loved
her, if I had let myself. I was one step away from falling in love with her.
But I didn’t. He realized this with a pang of regret. I will…miss her, though. Very, very much. And I will avenge her death,
I swear. They killed my family, my wife, and my…and a beautiful, vital, unique
woman who deserved a life and a family and her freedom. And who knows how many
others.
Goodbye, Siobhan, he thought, taking one last glance back at her. I’ll make them pay for this, for you. For
the woman I might have loved. Raven sent a ripple of sadness through him,
and he stroked her reassuringly. And for
what they did to you and your people, my sweet one. I won’t rest until I know
they will never be able to harm anyone, ever again, they way they have us two
and those we cared for.
With that Sandoval turned and walked
out, without another backward glance. He did not linger to see Liam gather his
dead mother into his arms to take her to her final resting place.