Date: Wed, 24 Nov 1999 23:41:50 -0800

Our life, like so many other things in Cascade, did not survive the earthquake that tore California into two pieces and shook the entire West Coast like a terrier shakes a rat. Jim and I, ourselves, came through with flying colors--it was just our *life* that got destroyed. We'd been in a warehouse, and the warehouse happened to have a bomb shelter, so after waiting for the earth to stop moving we made our way out into the street. Jim's truck had been dented by some falling masonry, but other than that, it was in good shape. We got in and drove off to join the relief efforts, not knowing we'd never make it.

How could we have known? After the mess with my dissertation, Jim and I had set up safeguards, in case any government agencies decided I hadn't made the whole thing up. We disappeared, and letters would go out, videos would hit every major news organization in the world, lots and lots of people would be flagged, things would be set into motion. We just weren't expecting the government to take advantage of something like the quake
to grab us. No one would miss us, no one would guess, not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

So as soon as They knew we'd survived the quake--and They must have been keeping a close watch on us--the men in black helicopters came down out of the sky and took us away, as neatly as a well-trained dog cuts a sheep from the herd.

Except, of course, that Jim and I are not sheep.

Except, of course, that we are both cops, both ex-military, and both
a lot cagier than They gave us credit for. Did They really think I'd
put everything into that dissertation? So what if They separated us?
They couldn't learn anything from us when we're apart--the protective instincts in both of us are too strong. We'll shut down if we're separated too long, and I don't know that there's any drug or torture that can force one-half of a bonded Sentinel/Guide pair to betray the other.

That's one of the things I didn't put in my dissertation, one of the
things that happened that was too personal, or too dangerous. Jim and I, in the moment of my death and rebirth, becoming one. After that, becoming lovers was inevitable, because from that instant onward we were one flesh. Which is why it nearly killed me when my diss got out. The mere fact that I hadn't made it *impossible* for Naomi to innocently do what she did was so close to betrayal that it could have severed the oneness, could have killed Jim and I both--I'm not sure I want to *know* what would have happened if I hadn't done what I did. I mean, we're a bonded pair, right, but we're still human. *We* can drive us apart, even if neither of us will survive the separation.

Being one with Jim is actually meaningful. It gives us certain advantages, advantages we didn't have before. We know certain things about each other--about how close the other person is, in what state of health...sometimes I can even tell what he's feeling, in a very general way. Other advantages we've always had. For example, he could always hear me. I was the one person who always sounded normal to him. Everything else could hurt his ears, but not me. I was safe.

He also can't filter me out--more information not in the dissertation.
I'm sure They've got white noise generators on him, but I know he can hear me, and so I'm talking too softly for any bugs I know of to pick up. Unless he's more than five miles away--and I know he's not--he can hear me, clear as day, and he knows I'm fine. He also knows exactly where I am, and I'm sure he's filtered out the white noise completely. I taught him that little trick--and it's yet another thing I didn't put in the diss. I may have been six kinds of idiot for leaving his name all over it, but I'm not *stupid*.

And I certainly wasn't crazy enough to actually write down how good his senses really are. I cut them all by at least half, and I destroyed any evidence that might indicate that he was more sensitive than I'd reported. The question was, just how much had They figured out? Was my voice enough to keep Jim grounded and in control? Did They realize yet that I'd gotten rid of evidence? How long would They keep us apart? We'd tried separating for a week not too long after the Mystical Fountain Merger, and about five days into that week we both got panicky and ended up wrapped around each other, shaking, in the kitchen of the loft.

So, when They kept us apart, I almost hoped it would be for a while. From a strictly scientific point of view, forcibly keeping Jim and I apart might actually be interesting. It almost guaranteed we'd try to get to each other. And I remember how strong the compulsion was that time, the mind-numbing heedless *need* to get to him. We hadn't become lovers yet, and I wondered how our sexual relationship will affect that compulsion if They kept me away from him.

I was sitting there, talking under my breath to my Sentinel, for about
four days. I muttered about black ops and the government and ways to torture our captors and our nice warm bed in the loft, and then They came to talk to me. I smiled at Them and answered every single question They asked fully and non-informatively. And the questions told me what I needed to know: They didn't know a damn thing. As my guard was taking me back to my cell, Jim made his move.

I could sense him, and I felt a rush of relief that he'd done this before
we reached the mindless panic stage of separation. I felt him, coming closer, and I stumbled heavily against my guard--not that I weigh much, but hell, I weighed *enough*, and these idiots had figured that I was no threat. Too small, too geeky, sure he's a cop, sure he was in the Army, but it's not like he saw combat and it's not like he's ever had to actually shoot anyone, so he's got to be harmless. After all, he's the brains of the partnership, not the muscle...

So They gave me *one* guard, the idiots, figuring that at *most* I could try to run, which would be utterly pointless in this situation, since I didn't know the first thing about how this place was mapped. I'm pretty damn certain that They didn't expect me to try to take him out. But then, I already knew that They didn't know anything about me. I stumbled against him, and he fell against the wall, and I took his handgun and blew his motherfucking head off. I was helping myself to the semiautomatic rifle he was carrying when Jim flew around the corner, barefoot, wearing only scrub pants and an identical rifle. "Chief!" he said, blinking at the faceless body on the floor.

"I just killed a guy, Jim," I said, slightly dazed by the fact that I'd done it, and without a second thought.

"Yeah," he replied, sympathetically, "now let's get the fuck out of here."

That didn't exactly require second thoughts, either.

"I've mapped the complex by sound," he said, as we ran. "You think you can still fly a chopper?"

"Jim, I will dress up in an evening gown like J. Edgar Hoover if it gets us out of here."

He snickered and shot out a surveillance camera, then yanked a cover off of a ventilation shaft and shoved me inside. We were halfway up when the alarm sounded, and Jim yelped in pain. "Filter it out," I said, moving one foot down to rest against his shoulder. He wrapped his hand around my ankle and held on. "Don't turn it down, Jim--we need your hearing to get us out of here. Filter it out. Come on." After a long moment, I felt him relax, and we started climbing again.

As we came up onto the main level and into the hangar, I wondered if we were *meant* to escape. I mean, this was too damn easy. Way the hell too damn easy. These people could not be that stupid.

But they could be that arrogant, I thought. If They had had Jim white
noise'd--which I was sure they had--and if They thought I was *harmless*--which the dead guard many levels below indicated I was *not*--then They could be arrogant enough to think that we wouldn't make it this far, and if we did...well, it had been ten years or so since I'd flown a chopper, after all.

I hopped into one and got it running while Jim shot the controls of all
the rest. Then he jumped in next to me and smiled, and I took off.

We couldn't go home. We couldn't even go *near* home. But we'd prepared well, and we had stashes of money and goods hidden all over.

California had been sundered. Our old life had been destroyed.

Jim and I were still one. Still alive. I checked the GPS system on
the chopper and headed for our nearest stash, moving forward through the ashes of one life into a new one.


### The End ###