Harvest: Part One

by Alicia McKenzie

Too bad cleaning up after this particular battle couldn't have been simply a matter of fixing things, Jackson King reflected as he looked out over Watch Hall. If that had been the case, Stormwatch would have been fully combat-ready a week ago. The transfer bay Jenny Sparks had blown up trying to stop Bendix from escaping was long since repaired, as was the rest of the damage to Skywatch's systems. As far as visible scars went, the confrontation with the High and its unexpected consequences here on Skywatch were nothing but a memory.

If only things could have been that simple when it came to Stormwatch's people themselves, Jackson thought bleakly. There were deeper wounds here, hidden ones that would take a long time to heal--if they ever did, entirely. To find out that the man you'd looked to for leadership and guidance had been a homicidal psychopath did bad things, trust-wise.

Damn you, Henry, Jackson thought wearily, for about the thousandth time.

Two weeks now, since things had gone to hell in Paraguay and up here, and the tension in the air was still palpable. One of his team leaders hadn't answered her fetish in eight days - it wasn't that he begrudged Sparks some down time, considering what he knew about her history with the High, but it would be nice if she at least let them know she was all right - and he didn't know WHAT to do with the other two. Fahrenheit and Winter were both tense enough that he found it almost difficult to be around them. They were questioning everything they'd done under Bendix's orders since that mess in Gamorra, every decision he'd made that they'd faithfully carried out. Everything. Even Jackson's insane predecessor's choice to put them in command of Stormwatch Red and Stormwatch Prime in the first place.

Damned contagious, too, this lack of confidence. He could see it spreading to the rest of the teams, and short of taking them all out to the figurative woodshed and beating some sense into them, he didn't know how to stop it. They needed more time off, or a successful mission. Too bad he couldn't guarantee either.

"Weatherman, there's a call coming through for you on one of the UN channels," the comofficer on duty said, breaking his train of thought. "A Michael Windsor. Says it's unofficial."

Jackson blinked. "Put it through to my vestry," he ordered and retreated to his office, wondering what this was all about. Unofficial or not, making a call to Skywatch wasn't a minor thing. There had to be a fairly good reason for it. Maybe I don't want to know--

The face on his terminal was one he hadn't seen for a while. Jackson smiled faintly, trying to ignore the quiet ache he felt at Michael Windsor's resemblance to his father, John. John Windsor had been Jackson's mentor, a good friend who'd died before his time, and the memory of that death still stung, even after all the time that had passed.

"Michael," he said, as amiably as he could manage. "You look well."

"Hello, Jackson." The younger man's expression was grave, and Jackson frowned, leaning forward slightly as he wondered what Michael wanted. Hard to know--to be honest, he didn't know the younger man particularly well. He didn't even know what branch of the UN Michael worked for, other than - apparently - something unrelated to Stormwatch or the seedling program.

John had often said that Michael had wanted to be out from under his father's shadow. Sort of like me and Malcolm--well, not quite the same. Jackson grimaced at the thought of his little brother, but Michael didn't seem to notice.

"I'm--I don't know quite how to say this," Michael said awkwardly. "I'm afraid I've got some--news. It's not--officially Stormwatch business, but I thought you'd better be notified."

"I'm listening," Jackson said grimly. This sounded like it might be one of those things that would become Stormwatch business, eventually.

"It's about one of your former teammates." Former teammates--that was a sizeable list of names, Jackson reflected. Michael continued, the look in his eyes almost haunted. "You've had a busy few months, I know, Jackson, so you probably wouldn't know that I've been working as a UN observer, monitoring implementation of the Caetano resolution."

"No, I didn't." Made sense, though, that the UN would be using observers in this case. The Caetano resolution, outlawing experimentation with SPB genomes and other genetic material, had been far from popular. Too many countries liked the idea of engineering their own SPBs--far too many. Personally, Jackson was somewhat of a fan of the resolution. Success on its part wouldn't put Stormwatch out of business, but it would certainly cut down on the number of threats they faced. Jackson forced himself to smile. "So you've been following in John's footsteps after all."

Michael gave a faint, humorless laugh, looking away for a moment. "In a way. But I tell you, Jackson, there are times lately I wish I could trade in my job for the one he used to have--today being one of them." He looked back at the screen, far too squarely--as if he was steeling himself for something. "We received some information a while ago that Caetano was being violated in Yugoslavia. You and I both know what kind of havoc could result if the Serbian government had SPBs to play with. There's been enough damage done in that part of the world with conventional troops alone."

"You won't get any argument out of me," Jackson said. "Did you get it substantiated?"

Michael was silent for a long, long moment. "Yes. We enlisted some local help to find out for us, one way or the other," he said, very softly. "It's true, Jackson, every bit of it."

"Damn." Yes, this was definitely something that needed to be Stormwatch's business, whether the UN felt that way or not. But what was the rest of it? And what did it have to do with--

"But our witness never got back to us with her full report." The pain in Michael's eyes was suddenly right there on the surface, clear as day, and Jackson tensed, already anticipating his next words. "Someone caught up to her first, Jackson. I--I had to identify the body."

The connection was easy enough to make.

A former teammate.

Yugoslavia.

"Shit," Jackson said softly. "Tatjiana."

***

A group of superhumans who have remained hidden to the world, intent on destroying human civilization--

Nikolas Kamarov tossed and turned, caught somewhere on the border between sleep and consciousness, unable to escape the echo of Bendix's utterly calm, utterly mad words from that last fateful briefing. In the dream, he stood there and listened, just like he had the first time--stood there and then walked away to do the madman's bidding, telling himself that he would do something once he was down there, once he could talk to the High and his people. That it could be worked out without need for bloodshed.

Only it hadn't worked that way, had it? He had tried, perhaps even begun to reach them, but not in time. Perhaps it had been too late from the very beginning. Confrontation had become battle, and then the Hammerstrikes had launched their deadly payloads--

And they had died, all of them.

This is a killing mission, Bendix's voice said inexorably. These people must be executed before they can put their plans into effect.

Killing mission--execute them--enemies of humanity--

--enemies of the state--?

Nikolas sat bolt upright, sweating even in the cool, dry Skywatch air. Taking a deep breath, he disentangled himself from the light sheet and swung his feet to the floor, raking a hand ineffectually through tangled silver hair. Staring blankly in the darkness of his quarters, he swore, very softly, in Russian.

An inconvenient connection for his subconscious to have made, but there was some truth in it. He had questioned Bendix's orders, had even been fully prepared to out-and-out disobey him on that last mission, yet he had still served, despite the protests of his conscience. He had willingly continued as part of a system he hated--trusted his own judgement, never wondering if the shadows had begun to creep into his soul, as well.

Just as he had in Spetznaz.

Now, with the true extent of Bendix's madness revealed, he couldn't shake the certainty that he'd repeated his own history, fallen into the same mistakes he'd committed once before. He couldn't even feel shame at it.

All he felt, now as then, was cold.

Pulling on a shirt, he walked out of his room and into the lounge area, which was of course completely empty at this time of Skywatch's 'night'. He hardly minded. He wasn't precisely in the mood for company, as the saying went.

Someone had left the television on, set to CNN. Nikolas sat down on the couch with a sigh, picking up the remote and turning the volume up just enough to be audible. The anchorwoman was speaking pleasantly about some aspect of the last American budget, and he grimaced, changing the channel immediately.

Politics-- He flipped restlessly through the available channels, not finding anything that caught his interest. What was it that Lauren was always saying? Two thousand channels and still nothing on--

The sound of a door whisking open somewhere behind him intruded on his thoughts. He stiffened, then forced himself to relax his sudden death-grip on the remote and keep flipping through the channels, steadily and methodically.

"Nikolas, the way you're channel-surfing, I'm going to get a headache just watching you," Flint said, sitting down on the other end of the couch and smiling at him. "I thought I heard someone out here. What are you doing up?"

"Very little. I did not mean to wake you up, Victoria," Nikolas said, trying to return the smile. The expression felt forced, though, and from the faint edge of concern in Victoria's eyes, she saw it too. "My apologies."

"You didn't. I was reading." Victoria frowned slightly, and reached out a hand towards him. Nikolas froze, and she halted in mid-motion, the frown growing. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, more brusquely than he'd intended. "Really, Victoria," he continued, managing another strained smile. "I'm fine."

She smiled ironically, but thankfully let it drop. "Sure you are." Letting her hand fall back to her side, she looked at the television with some surprise. "Nikolas, tell me you haven't decided to watch Emeril."

Nikolas glanced back in some surprise at the last channel he'd stopped on. "Why not?" he bantered a little desperately. "He is very entertaining, nyet? I do appreciate good food. Of course, he is American, but that cannot be helped--"

Victoria laughed, picking up one of the cushions and throwing it at him. Nikolas dodged, giving her a questioning look, and her grin widened. "Just doing what Lauren would, if she were here."

"I see," Nikolas said gravely, and returned the favor.

Victoria made a noise that sounded almost like a giggle as she moved slightly, the lightly tossed cushion sailing past her head. She seized another, brandishing it at him mock-threateningly. "You missed."

"I intended to."

"Oh, so you think I can't take you in a pillow fight, Kamarov?"

"I would certainly not be foolish enough to say that, Victoria," Nikolas said as earnestly as he could manage, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. To cover it, he snatched up another cushion, holding it like a shield.

"Oh, don't cower," she said with a wink, tossing her cushion at him.

"Cower? I do not cower." His attempt at a forbidding scowl as he lowered his 'shield' must have been somewhat less than convincing.

Victoria laughed, falling back against the side of the couch, her eyes sparkling. "You are SO full of it, Nikolas."

"Undoubtedly," he said dryly, not certain what had pushed the oppressive feeling of the last two weeks to a distance so suddenly, but not particularly minded to complain.

***

Christine Trelane watched the man she loved pace back and forth across their bedroom, and wondered how long it would take him to wear a track in the carpet. The smile the thought provoked flickered and died as swiftly as it had come. It wasn't a night for levity, not with the news she'd finally managed to drag out of him after dinner.

"When are you going to tell Nikolas?" she asked softly, when Jackson paused for a moment in mid-pace. He gave her a swift, unreadable look, and she sighed. "Jackson. You have to tell him."

"I know." Jackson came over and sat down beside her on the bed, his shoulders slumping. "I'll tell him, and then what? Do I order him locked in his quarters?" His tone was facetious, but his expression wasn't.

Christine slid closer, laying her hands on his shoulders and rubbing gently at the tense muscles there. "You're that worried he'll try and take things into his own hands."

"Christine, this is Nikolas we're talking about, remember?"

"I remember," she murmured. Jackson was right; Winter had something of a bad habit of carrying on personal vendettas. And good Lord, is that ever putting it mildly--

"I know how he's going to react," Jackson muttered. "Damn it, I know it like I know the sun's going to rise tomorrow, and I still have to tell him." He gave her a helpless look. "I can't blame him," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "If it were you and me, I would--but I can't let him pursue this."

"Henry always looked the other way, you know. Hell, he HELPED him, that last time with M.A.D.-1." She'd been Weatherman, then. It occurred to her that she'd never actually gotten around to punishing Nikolas for doing the stoic Russian equivalent of telling her to shove her orders where the sun didn't shine and running off to break every rule in Stormwatch's books, simply because he thought it was the right thing to do--

She remembered other things, too. Older memories, of Tatjiana and Nikolas and how happy they'd been, in their own quiet way, before the war in the Balkans had drawn her back home and torn them apart. "I know you can't. I just--he's going to be devastated, Jackson," Christine said, very softly.

"I know." Jackson coughed--clearly to cover some reaction he didn't want her seeing, Christine thought with a sad sort of amusement. "I wouldn't be surprised if we got called in on this, in the end. Michael gave me a few more details--"

She reached out and laid a hand to his lips. "Tomorrow," she said softly. "We'll talk about this then. You'll tell Nikolas."

The pain in his eyes was suddenly all too visible. He forced a smile that lasted for all of two seconds before it faded again. "Some things are better left for morning," he murmured, and drew her into his arms, holding her tightly.

Christine hid her face against his chest, blinking back tears. They lived with this possibility every day, all of them, and had for years now. It was easier to acknowledge than to accept.

Much, much easier.

***

"I could really use a drink."

"Nigel," Fuji pointed out with a chuckle. "It is not even nine hundred hours, yet. Do you not think it might be somewhat early?"

"Ah, but it's never too early for me, Toshiro," Nigel Keane said with a grin. "There're benefits to having a twisted excuse for a metabolism, lad, don't you know?"

Nikolas shook his head with a faint, bemused smile as he stepped into the elevator after them. "Watch Hall," he said quietly, raising an eyebrow at Nigel. "We can stop at the bar after the meeting. Your thirst will wait until then, I trust?"

"Now you're being cruel, Nick," Nigel said, mock-mournfully. The corner of Nikolas's mouth tugged upwards a little farther, and Nigel pretended to brush tears he couldn't shed anymore from his eyes. "Absolutely heartless."

"You'll live." Those ice-blue eyes flickered with a wry humor Nigel hadn't seen there since before the business with the High. "At least I think you will, unless you've developed some physiological requirement for a constant intake of alcohol you have not told me about."

"What a bloody beautiful thought," Nigel said blissfully. Fuji gave one of his rumbling laughs, and Nikolas chuckled softly. "Aye, that's a couple of weeks worth of daydreams right there."

The elevator doors slid open on Watch Hall, still fairly quiet at this hour. The few technicians on duty nodded to them as they passed on their way to the Weatherman's vestry, and Nigel gave each a friendly grin, trying to ignore the way Nikolas ghosted along a little apart and behind them, walking as if he were alone and going to face a firing squad, his eyes fixed on the floor and his whole body stiff with tension. He'd never been particularly chummy with the Skywatch staff, but he didn't usually act like this, either, Nigel reflected bleakly.

This is getting just a wee bit old. I should get him stinking drunk and then kick him around a bit, see if that knocks some sense into that thick Russian skull of his. Only Nikolas could probably still take him apart, falling-down drunk or not, and wouldn't that be just a wee bit embarassing. Nigel snorted, and shook his head at Fuji when his friend looked down at him questioningly.

Maybe later, after Jackson got through with them. The vestry doors slid open as they got there, and Nigel blinked as he saw Christine standing behind Jackson's chair, her arms folding tightly across her chest and her expression tight and guarded. Jackson looked up as they entered, and there was something about the look in his eyes, too, something Nigel really hadn't been expecting.

"Nigel, Toshiro--Nikolas," Jackson said quietly. "Come in." Nigel and Nikolas sat down, while Fuji wandered over to stand against the wall. None of the chairs in here were sturdy enough to hold him.

Calling us by our first names--there's a bad sign already. The other thing that was bothering Nigel was why in the world Jackson had called only the three of them here. He'd already informed all the field agents that he was combining the teams, so why did he want to talk to Stormwatch Prime?

"Early in the morning for a meeting, Weatherman," Nigel said tentatively when no one else seemed prepared to break the silence. "There a situation we need to know about?" Christine turned away, biting her lip as her hair fell in front of her face like a curtain, and Nigel frowned. "What did I say?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Jackson was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he finally said, just before Nigel was about to say something else to fill the gap. "There is."

Beside Nigel, Nikolas stiffened in his chair. "What sort of a situation?" he asked, the caution in his voice painfully obvious.

Nigel was just as puzzled. There was something about this that didn't feel like a standard briefing, but there was no urgency here, that was the odd thing. What the bloody hell was going on?

"It may require Stormwatch intervention," Jackson continued in that same, utterly calm voice. "I'm not certain yet. We haven't had an official request."

"So this is just a--how do you say it, heads-up?" Fuji inquired. "Why only to us, then? Have you reconsidered altering the structure of the teams?"

"No," Jackson said softly. "I haven't." He stared down at his desk, reaching out a hand and adjusting a disk here, a pen there. Buying time, Nigel thought suddenly, and wondered why. "That isn't--quite why I called you here, Fuji."

"Why, then?" Nikolas asked. Jackson looked up, right at him, and Nikolas drew back slightly, that determinedly blank expression he'd been wearing more often than not lately dissolving into wary confusion. "Jackson--what is it?"

"We may be called in to deal with a violation of the Caetano resolution in Yugoslavia," Jackson said, his voice suddenly crisp, completely professional. "Michael Windsor alerted me to the situation. He's in charge of the UN observer team there."

"Seems par for the course, lately," Nigel said, affecting a shrug. Nonchalance was hard. There was something coming, here; he could see it in Jackson's eyes, feel it in the tension in the air. "Violations of Caetano, I mean."

"Michael enlisted some local help to verify the intelligence he'd received on this matter," Jackson continued, as if Nigel hadn't even opened his mouth. "He received a preliminary report supporting the allegations, but his source--wasn't able to deliver her final report. She--" He trailed off, staring straight at Nikolas, a stricken look breaking through the professional mask.

Nigel jerked upright from his slouch, and looked at Nikolas just in time to see the last bit of color drain from his face. "Local help," Nikolas said in a ragged whisper, his hands clenching around the arms of his chair spasmodically. "Jackson--" It was almost a plea, and at the edge of his vision, Nigel saw Christine's shoulders shake, as if with a sob.

"Michael said Scythe--that Tatjiana was--" Jackson said, his voice breaking slightly. "He doesn't know what happened, Nikolas. They--found her body, yesterday, outside Belgrade."

"Bloody hell," Nigel whispered. Tatjiana--oh, damn, girl, what did you get yourself into? He shook his head slowly as he turned back to Nikolas, trying to think of something, anything to say. "Nick," he started hesitantly. Nikolas looked around at him slowly, blue eyes blazing feverishly in his ashen face, and the words died on Nigel's lips.

Toshiro took a step forward, laying an immense hand on Nikolas's shoulder. "This is a terrible thing," he said, his synthesized voice full of pain. "Nikolas, my friend, I am so sorry."

Nikolas didn't seem to hear him. He turned back to Jackson, staring at him for a long, silent moment. "How?" he finally asked in that same ravaged voice. "How was she--" He stopped, as if he couldn't bear to ask the question.

"We don't have full details, yet," Jackson started.

"But you know," Nikolas rasped, cutting him off. "Windsor told you something." It wasn't a question, but a statement, full of a terrible certainty. Nikolas had never been one to fall for the diplomatic approach.

The muscles along Jackson's jaw rippled. "Damn you," he grated, no real anger in his voice, only sadness and a futile sort of frustration. "Maybe he did. Maybe he ever sent me some of the coroner's photos, Nikolas, and maybe I'll be dead a week and burning in hell before I'd ever show them to you."

Nikolas shivered, his hands tightening further on the arms of his chair, until Nigel expected to hear something crack. "I need to--know, Jackson. Please."

"No," Jackson said forcefully, his hand coming down on his desk with some force as he half-rose from his chair. "You don't need to know, Nikolas. I am so sorry--sorrier than I could ever tell you, but you do not need to know. Not unless you were going to do something about it, which you are NOT, are we absolutely clear?" Some of the intensity faded from his voice. "She wouldn't want you to see her like that, Nikolas," he said, more gently.

It didn't seem to make much of an impression. Nikolas got up, shrugging off Toshiro's hand and staring at Jackson. "You can't expect me to just sit here, Jackson!"

"That is EXACTLY what I'm ORDERING you to do," Jackson said with a heavy sigh. "Nikolas, damn it, don't make this into something it doesn't have to be." He reached out and Nikolas took a step backwards. Jackson's expression hardened slightly. "You don't get the option of pulling one of your cowboy stunts on this, Winter," he said, almost coldly. "Is that understood?"

Oh, wrong thing to say, Jackson-- Nigel thought with an inward cringe. "I think we can all guess at how volatile the situation'd be down there," he said swiftly. Me playing peacekeeper, will wonders never cease-- "Not to worry, Weatherman, none of us are going to take unauthorized action." And if you don't get my meaning, Jackson, you're not the mindreader I took you for.

Jackson's attention was still fixed on Winter. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Nikolas--"

"Is that all, Weatherman?" Nikolas cut him off, staring fixedly at the top of Jackson's desk, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

"For now, yeah," Jackson said, and the sadness was back in his voice. "I'm sorry, Nikolas. I truly am. I know how--" He trailed off as Nikolas looked up at him, trembling slightly. Their eyes locked for a long moment, the air between them suddenly heavy, seething with the potential for some sort of an explosion.

Jackson was the first to break eye contact. "Dismissed," he whispered finally, turning away, towards Christine. Nikolas turned on his heel and was out the door so fast that it took Nigel a moment to pull himself together and follow, nodding swiftly at Jackson and Christine on the way out.

Bloody hell, I am NOT racing him to the elevator, Nigel thought distressedly, seeing Nikolas already halfway across Watch Hall. The technicians had all stopped what they were doing to watch him, their expressions ranging from concerned to bemused.

"Nikolas," Fuji called, outpacing Nigel easily with his larger stride. "Wait, my friend--" He caught the elevator door with one massive arm, just as it was about to shut, holding it open until Nigel caught up and dodged through. Nigel moved over to make room for Fuji, and gave Nikolas an intent, worried look.

Nikolas didn't meet his eyes. Or Fuji's. He stared fixedly at the elevator doors, still as a statue save for the movement of his chest as he breathed, rapidly and raggedly.

Nigel looked up at Fuji, and then back at Nikolas, uneasily. "I think it'd be a good idea if we went for that drink now," he finally said, for lack of a better idea, as the elevator moved downwards smoothly.

"I do not wish to drink." Nikolas's accent was thicker than usual, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper.

"I think you need a drink anyway, Nick."

"No."

"I believe what Nigel is saying is that we do not wish to leave you alone, my friend," Toshiro said sorrowfully. "You should not be alone at a time like this. Please--"

The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open, and Nigel threw an arm out in front of Nikolas as he stepped forward. "Let me put this another way, old son," he said, firmly but gently. "You're coming for a bloody drink. Maybe several."

Ice-blue eyes heated suddenly, in a flash of anger that was gone again almost instantly. "Or what?" Nikolas asked dully.

"Or Toshiro and I follow you around making right nuisances of ourselves." It wasn't much of a threat, but it was the best Nigel could think up on such short notice. Nikolas actually raised an eyebrow at him, and Nigel sighed. "Come on, Nick," he said gently. "Tatia wouldn't want you brooding alone, and you bloody well know it."

Nikolas actually shuddered at Nigel's use of the old nickname. "You don't--" He took a deep, shaky breath. "A drink," he said hoarsely, as if it was all he was willing to concede.

***

"Nothing from Jenny, still?" Victoria asked, brushing irritably at her still-wet hair. She'd decided to grow it out a little, but at the moment it was a spiky mess. Maybe I should just shave it all off.

"No," Shen said quietly, padding along softly in bare feet beside her. "Nothing at all."

They'd gotten together to work out this morning, the same sort of routine they'd followed the last couple of weeks, since Paraguay. With Lauren keeping so resolutely to herself, Sparks off wherever, and Jack Hawksmoor still limited to a few minutes on Skywatch at the most, Victoria and Shen had drifted back into the comfortable friendship they'd had as recruits together, what seemed like an eternity ago.

So much between then and now--so much water under the bridge and blood on their hands. It was almost hard to conceive of it.

"I was down in New York with Jack yesterday," Shen went on. "He hasn't heard from her either." She smiled faintly, almost sadly, and shrugged. "She needs time alone, I know. I don't blame her."

"No, I don't either," Victoria said with a sigh. "I just hope--" She trailed off, shaking her head. She didn't even know Jenny Sparks, not really. But Bendix had shattered Stormwatch into pieces, and if the rest of them were ever going to put it back together again--"You feel like getting some lunch?" she asked, changing the subject deliberately.

Maybe Jenny didn't want to come back. Maybe Lauren and Nikolas would just keep wallowing in their own private little guilt-filled worlds.

And maybe Bendix was laughing at them all, from somewhere. Victoria grimaced.

"Lunch sounds good," Shen said softly, an understanding look in her eyes. "Not like we've got anything better to do at the moment, is it?"

Victoria smiled grudgingly. "You've got a point."

"I usually do," Shen chuckled as they stopped at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator. She looked around with a sigh. "It's so quiet," she murmured. "Have you noticed? Half the people on the station are creeping around as if they're afraid to speak too loudly."

"Oh, I've noticed," Victoria said. The Skywatch staff was definitely nervous. It's as if they expect Bendix to jump out from behind every corner. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. None of them had realized how much Bendix had actually terrorized the people who kept Skywatch - and Stormwatch - running. Some of the stories were horrifying. Like what he'd done to the security officer Rose Tattoo had--used. "You know," she said, changing the subject again, "I had an interesting talk with Nikolas at an unholy hour this morning."

"Oh, really?" Shen said, arching one delicate eyebrow. "You talked, did you?"

Her tone was gently teasing, at the most, but Victoria couldn't help blushing. "Yes, Shen, we TALKED," she said, stressing the word a little sardonically. "Wipe the suggestive look off your face, will you?" Shen had been as discreet as discreet could be, even before she'd been assigned to Stormwatch Black, but she wasn't above a little friendly needling.

"Suggestive? Me?" Shen said with a wicked little smile. "I'm sorry. I'm teasing you." Her smile faded, her eyes going thoughtful. "Was it a good conversation?"

"It wasn't much of a conversation," Victoria admitted, her mouth quirking slightly. "I did find out he can actually laugh, though."

"Quite a revelation," Shen said, very gravely.

"Hey, you're telling me. I wasn't even sure he could smile." Victoria looked up with mild aggravation at the elevator, just as it slid open to reveal Lauren already inside. Lauren actually flinched at the irritated look she'd accidentally intercepted, and Victoria hastily smiled.

"Hey, Lauren," she said warmly, stepping into the elevator.

"Good morning, Lauren," Shen said serenely, following her. "We were just about to get some lunch--care to join us?"

Lauren shifted, giving them a tight smile. "If you're sure," she said softly, brushing red hair away from her face almost tentatively. There were circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't been sleeping well.

Victoria wasn't surprised to see them. "No, we were just asking to kill the time," she said, in as teasing a tone as she could manage. She was so tired of this, damn it. It bothered her to see the Skywatch staff so cowed and Shen so worried, but it HURT to see Lauren - the bubbly, fun-loving friend who'd been the best part of these last few troubled months - so quiet and withdrawn. "Don't be ridiculous, Lauren. Of course we're sure."

Some of the tension eased from Lauren's posture, and she actually looked a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, Shen, Vicky. I just thought--"

"Wrong," Shen said, unruffled, softening it with a smile. "You thought wrong. So let's go have lunch and gossip. It seems like forever since I've been part of a good gossip session."

"Sounds like fun to me," Victoria said brightly.

Shen gave her an arch look. "You haven't heard what we'll be gossiping about yet, Victoria." She turned to Lauren, her smile turning innocent, almost childlike. "Victoria was just telling me that she and Nikolas had an interesting--interlude last night."

"SHEN!"

Lauren's expression suddenly quivered, as if she was trying to hold back a grin. "Vicky? You and--Nikolas?"

"NO!" Victoria glared at Shen, trying not to laugh. "You have an evil sense of humor, Shen Li-Min."

"I know," Shen said primly. "But it was too good an opening, Vicky. How was I supposed to resist?"

Lauren tilted her head, that grin still struggling to escape. "You sounded so horrified at the possibility, Vicky. Would it really be that bad?"

"Well, no," Victoria said defensively, not quite believing she was talking about this. "But--well, for pity's sake, Shen, you made it sound like I'd--jumped his bones or something!" Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but Shen's expression, even her tone--suggestive wasn't strong enough a word.

"So?" Lauren said with what sounded like an honest-to-goodness giggle. "Are you telling me you wouldn't if you had the chance, Vicky?"

"Would you?" Victoria said, biting her lip and trying to stop blushing.

"In a New York minute."

"Lauren!"

Lauren blushed to the roots of her hair, but she was smiling as she did, a broad, unreserved smile that reached her eyes and lit them up. "Give me a break, Victoria. The man's drop-dead gorgeous--"

"Well, yes, but--"

"--and if he hadn't been off the market when I first met him, I'd have been chasing him since training."

Victoria blinked. "Okay," she said, making herself smile and pushing the little voice that wanted to demand more details into the nice, safe corner where it belonged. "Anyone you're contemplating 'jumping' these days, then, Lauren?" Lauren turned even redder, and Victoria went on mercilessly, grinning. "Turnabout is fair play, Pennington. Spill it--"

The elevator came to a stop, the doors opening, and Lauren giggled, darting out through them. "Saved by the bell," she said.

"You can't leave us like that," Shen protested with a soft laugh, following her. "None of us get off the hook that easily, you know. I wanted gossip, remember? Nice, juicy gossip, and I'm not going away until I get it." Victoria brought up the rear, chuckling.

"My lips are sealed--" Lauren sang out, and then stopped dead. "Oh, for God's sake, Nigel," she scolded, striding over to the bar. "Isn't it a little early? It isn't even noon yet!"

Victoria hesitated, taking in the scene. Nigel wasn't alone. Fuji was there, hunched over the bar, his posture curiously despondent, and sandwiched between him and Nigel - who hadn't so much as looked at Lauren yet, let alone spoken to her, and wasn't that unnatural? - was Nikolas, a glass and a bottle of vodka sitting in front of him.

He didn't look up at them, either. Victoria frowned, and followed Lauren a little more slowly.

"Something's wrong," Shen said softly. Victoria was getting that impression. Nigel drinking this early wasn't too unusual, but Nikolas didn't seem the type to join him.

Lauren had stopped again, raising a hand almost involuntarily. "Nigel," she said shakily, something close to fear in her voice. "What's wrong?"

Nigel slid off the bar stool, a little unsteadily, and laid a hand on Nikolas's shoulder for a moment. "Stay right there," he said, his voice very slightly slurred. Nikolas didn't so much as blink at him, just poured another glass of vodka and downed it in about two gulps.

"Nigel?" Lauren was sounding almost panicked, now. Nigel made his way very carefully over to her, and she backed up a few steps, blinking at him confusedly.

"Lauren," he said very quietly, the expression on his face set in something rather more somber than any of them were used to seeing from Hellstrike. "The Weatherman--" He hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the still-oblivious Nikolas. "Jackson called us in first thing this morning with some bad news."

All the color had drained from Lauren's face, and Victoria stepped up to her friend's side, laying a hand on her arm but feeling utterly helpless. "What?" Lauren whispered. "Nigel, tell me."

"It's Scythe. She was working with a UN team in Yugoslavia--with Michael Windsor, actually. You remember Michael, right? John Windsor's son? She was--they were trying--" He stopped, with a sigh. "Someone--she's dead, Lauren." Nigel couldn't cry, of course, but there were unshed tears to spare in his voice as he spoke, and Victoria drew her hand back as Lauren gave a soft gasp, her head turning towards Nikolas and her hand flying to her lips as if Nigel had slapped her.

"Oh, no," she breathed. "They--they're sure?"

"Aye," Nigel said wretchedly. Lauren moved forward, in the direction of the bar, and Nigel put an arm out to stop her, giving her what might almost have been a warning look. "Lauren," he said, very quietly. "He's not taking it very well--"

"I can see that for myself, Nigel," she said, her voice just as low, but a bit of a snap to it this time. He let his arm fall, and she went over to Nikolas, slowing down as she drew closer, as if she was afraid of scaring him off. "Nikolas," she said softly. "Nikolas, I'm so sorry--"

He poured himself another drink, ignoring her completely. Victoria glanced over at Nigel questioningly. "Scythe?" she said, just as quietly as Lauren and Nigel had been speaking a moment ago.

Nigel's expression turned even more pained. "One of our former teammates," he murmured. "She and Nick were--" He trailed off. He didn't need to finish the sentence; Victoria was perfectly capable of putting the rest of it together herself.

"Oh." It was the only think she could think of to say. "I--I'm sorry." That was almost as bad, but better words wouldn't come.

Lauren looked over at Nigel, tears shining in her eyes as she tried again and go no reponse from Nikolas. Nigel shook his head slowly. She turned back to Nikolas, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder, just as Nigel had--

He flinched, violently. Lauren took a step back, and he slid off the barstool. "I think I have had enough to drink," he muttered, his accent thick enough to cut with a knife. He swayed as he stepped away from the bar, and Fuji moved to steady him, which only provoked the same sort of reaction Lauren had. "Nyet!" Nikolas said vehemently, clutching at the edge of the bar to get his balance as he turned to face them all. Something in Victoria's chest clenched at the sight of his face.

"Nikolas," Nigel said, starting forward. "Sit back down. We'll--"

"This is not helping!" Nikolas almost hissed, blue eyes crackling with energy, and Nigel froze.

"Easy there, old son," Nigel said, much more carefully. "You want to hit someone, I'll volunteer happily, but don't be thinking of blasting holes in anything--or anyone."

Nikolas drew himself up with a sort of frosty dignity, the glow in his eyes fading as he looked at each of them in turn--not really seeing any of them, Victoria was sure of it. "I thank you for your concern," he said, his tone formal, every word carefully enunciated. "But I wish to be alone. Please be so kind as to respect that." He stepped around Lauren and headed for the other exit, never so much as looking back over his shoulder at them.

No one moved to stop him. They probably could have, if they'd really tried, but it likely would have involved a little too much property damage and personal injury to make it worthwhile.

"Nigel," Lauren said worriedly as they watched him go, "shouldn't we--"

"What, lass?" Nigel asked heavily. "I'm amazed he stayed as long as he did."

Fuji gave an echoing sigh. "He should not be alone."

"No, he shouldn't," Nigel said, sounding almost angry all of a sudden. "He shouldn't be alone. She shouldn't have been alone. You want to get technical about it, Toshiro, Tatia should never have bloody well left in the first place!" He walked, swaying on his feet, back over to the bar, and sat down, grabbing the vodka bottle and filling his own glass. "If she'd come back with him the last time, this wouldn't have happened!" His hand tightened around the bottle until Victoria expected to see it snap.

Lauren swallowed visibly and went over to him, taking the bottle out of his hands. "No point in rehashing what should have been," she said hoarsely. "You don't think he'd--"

Nigel gave a humorless bark of laughter. "What, go storming off to find the bastards that did this and turn them into their component atoms? Do you really need an answer to that, Lauren?"

"What did happen?" Victoria asked awkwardly. She didn't really want to know how the woman had died - it sounded like Scythe had been long before her time - but she had to ask. Seeing how it was affecting the others, she had to know. "Did Jackson have any details?"

"Yes," Fuji said mournfully. "But he would not share them. Perhaps he was correct to refuse to do so, yet--" He sighed again. "It leaves things unfinished, and I am afraid Nikolas will not accept that."

"Details, hell. Our sainted Weatherman's apparently got pictures," Nigel said savagely. "Can't bloody well imagine what they're like, he was so hellbent he wasn't going to let Nikolas see them."

"Has Jackson told Karl and Maya?" Lauren asked, setting the bottle back down on the bar. "They should know."

"Bloody hell, I didn't even think to ask--" Nigel swore and slammed his glass down. "You know, to hell with keeping Nick from going down there and finding these bastards. I'm going to ask him if he wants some company."

Lauren grabbed his arm as he got up. "No, you're not," she said sharply. "Don't be stupid, Nigel."

"Stupid? Stupid is letting whatever murdering bastards did this think they can getting away with offing one of our own!" Nigel growled. "Tatjiana was Stormwatch before any of us, except Christine and Jackson--Jaysus, she was my training officer! Jackson's gone soft in the head if he expects us to just sit here and--"

"Nigel," Shen said softly, "it won't work to take things into your own hands. Better to wait and go through proper channels."

"Oh, that's ruddy hilarious coming from you, Swift," Nigel snapped. "The pot calling the kettle 'black', forgive my bloody pun--"

"Nigel, that's not fair," Victoria said angrily.

"He did not mean it, Victoria, Shen," Toshiro said immediately, in apology. "He is upset, and slightly drunk--"

"More than slightly would be my guess--" Victoria muttered.

"I did not take any offense--" Shen said, almost in the same breath.

"Okay," Lauren said, one hand to her forehead as if her head was hurting. "Let's just stop right here. None of this is doing any good."

"You're too bloody right about that, Lauren," Nigel said bitterly. "No good at all. But I guess we should be getting used to that, shouldn't we?"

***

It was quiet, in his quarters. Nikolas sat on the couch by the window, letting the sunlight stream over him as Skywatch moved in orbit. It was energy, just like any other, and he could feel himself absorbing it. It would be easy enough to amplify it and lash out--he could probably put a decent-sized hole in Skywatch's hull without too much difficulty, using the sunlight alone.

If he wanted. He didn't. His head was swimming from all the vodka he'd drunk--maybe it was that, making him unable to focus. He laid a hand against the glass and concentrated on breathing past the frozen tightness in his chest.

Tatjiana was dead. It was the only thought he could seem to finish, the only one that did not tumble half-formed into the haze the vodka had left.

She was dead, and he was as much at fault as whoever had killed her. If she had turned him over to Obilich that day in Belgrade, instead of risking her life to save his and get him safely to Tuzla, she would have been safe now, still among her own people. She would not have been investigating something dark and secret for the UN, would not have died--

His fault. He had stood there on that hill that night, Podrdice burning below them and the snow falling all around them, and told her to look to the future, instead of the past, to give up the anger and bitterness that had been turning her into something far too much like what he'd been before Stormwatch. He'd looked into her eyes and seen himself, seen the same cold, dull self-loathing that had stared back at him from the mirror for all those years, and it had been almost too much to bear.

So he'd pleaded with her, laid his soul bare before her as he never had years before when they had been together, admitting to all the doubts and fears that still tormented him, all the demons that still haunted his nights. He had hoped so desperately that she would listen to him.

Now he wished he'd laid down in the snow and died before they'd ever reached that village, before they'd had that argument.

She had listened to him, and now she was dead. It was simple. So very simple. A haunted laugh escaped him.

Tatjiana--

He hadn't even said goodbye. The pain hit at the thought, sudden and violent as a storm, and he fought it back desperately, not ready to give in. Not daring to feel.

The sunlight began to ebb, bit by bit, as Skywatch continued in orbit, moving behind the earth. The room grew darker. Dark and cold and empty--

He didn't notice.

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