PREY
Reciprocity
¥
Chapter 1 ¥The room was dark except for the glow of the television. A figure huddled under a blanket in an oversized easy
chair, blue tinted light reflecting an uneasy purple off the auburn curls. Large green eyes stared at the screen
and the only movement was a thumb on the remote control flipping channels.''
"You too can have the abs you've always -"
"Just look at the detail on this adorable, hand painted -"
" - hundred dollars, not ninety dollars, no, not even fifty dollars! You can have all this for -"
"-call is free! Why live in doubt any longer?! Phone now for your FREE psychic reading!"
The large, elegant black woman on the screen seemed to be talking directly to Sloan. Her thumb paused over the
remote. The infomercial cut to a thin heavily made up peroxide blonde.
"You're concerned about the man in your life. You want to know if he is telling the truth or not," said the blonde,
speaking straight to the camera.
"How did you know?" gushed a woman's voice that sounded as if it was coming over the phone.
"Honey, all I can say is be careful! He's definitely not what he seems!"
Sloan felt her eyes tearing up and quickly punched in the number for CNN. She sat in what she now thought of as
Tom's chair, wrapped in the blanket he had used when he had been sick from the geno-genesis serum, and later
when they had rescued him back from that god-awful research facility. She pulled it more tightly around her
shoulders and tried not to cry.
The TV droned on, but Sloan tuned it out. God, what was happening to her? Crying over infomercials? Sitting
around the apartment afraid of leaving and missing a phone call, afraid to sleep because she knew she'd dream of
Tom? She shook her head and focused on her hands for a moment. This had to stop. She got up and started
folding the blanket.
Lemon grass tea, Sloan thought. One cup and then bed. And tomorrow maybe I'll take Ed up on his dinner offer.
The first few notes of the CNN breaking news theme caught her attention. The logo cut off and was replaced by
one of the anchorwomen looking serious. Sloan picked the remote up off the chair and turned up the volume
slightly.
"...Maxwell, the president's National Security Advisor, has been shot and killed in Chicago. Details are still
sketchy, but it appears that a lone gunman using a high powered rifle and scope shot Mr. Maxwell as he was
leaving the conference -"
Sloan didn't hear anymore. She was at the phone calling Ed. No answer at his apartment or the lab. She tried
Ray and Walter. Nothing. Grace said Ray had gotten a call and left in a hurry.
Sloan started pacing. John Maxwell. He had been an ally. There was no way this was unconnected to the
Dominants, and with Ray, Ed and Walter all unreachable, she had to wonder if it had something to do with Tom as
well. She went back to channel surfing, looking for more details on the assassination and waited for the phone
call she knew would come eventually.
¥
Chapter 2 ¥Flying out of Chicago in winter was always risky. The sudden snow storm that had come up had delayed all the
flights out of O'Hare. It was going to make his round about return to Canada much longer. He had to get back to
Salt Lake City and then change personas before making his way back to Lewis.
"You're all checked in, sir. You'll be departing from gate 15. Enjoy your flight." The girl behind the counter
smiled brightly in spite of the late hour.
"Thank you," Tom said as he took his tickets and driver's license back. He smiled in return and nodded. The girl
had red hair, but it was straight and her eyes were blue, not green. She really didn't look like Sloan at all.
Tom nodded again after checking the papers she had returned to him and followed the roped off path towards
the gate. Having ditched the rifle in Lake Michigan, he didn't have anything for the x-ray machines to detect.
Security was high, of course, and the line to go through the check-point into the departure area was longer than
normal, but there was no pressing schedule now. He could wait.
Tom kept alert as he stood in line. The assignment was complete, but not over until he returned to Lewis.
Without ever looking at them directly, he kept track of the movements of the airport security personnel and all
the passengers nearest him. There was an older lady behind him carrying bags of Christmas presents. She
seemed to be intent on not losing anything. In front of him there was a couple: young, dressed in shabby chic
that usually indicated college students. Both had dyed their hair black and they were painfully thin. Their
make-up matched as well: heavy black eyeliner and blood red lips.
It was the young couple that caught his attention. Not for their looks - which were designed for the standard
shock value that so many university students went for, but for the keening emotions that vibrated between
them. They stared into each other's eyes and it was as if an electric current passed between them. Tom couldn't
help but reach for that current. Before he knew it, he was caught in it, like he had grounded himself and then
grabbed a live wire. The charge blew him away.
He was in a shabby motel room, on a thin, hard mattress. Her body beneath his, his fingers in her hair, her
mouth opening to his kisses, wanting nothing more, needing nothing more, except to be closer, to be with her.
Then the sirens -
"Dear, are you all right?" A hand on his shoulder. A woman's voice. Tom blinked back to the here and now.
"Yes. Sorry. Think I may be getting the flu," Tom said, gathering his wits about him. He saw that the line had
moved, and quickly stepped up to keep his place. The older woman with all the presents had brought him back
from the dream, but he was shaken that all his training with Lewis could be so easily undermined.
"You're sure you're all right?" the woman asked again.
"Really, I'm fine," Tom said and smiled again, while at the same time scanning the immediate area to see if
anyone had taken advantage of his lapse in concentration.
"Are you traveling to see family for the holidays?" the woman asked, as they shuffled a little farther up the line.
"My girlfriend," Tom answered automatically. Something was out there. His eyes were casually moving from the
woman speaking to him to the front of the line, as if checking on their progress. But there was something out
there. A shadow. He tried to focus.
"How nice!" The woman exclaimed and nodded. "Long distance relationships can be so hard!" The woman chatted
on, as she rearranged her packages one more time. "Especially at the holidays."
The shadow was moving closer. Tom tried to pinpoint the source, but the airport was crowded and he could not
match the sense of presence to a particular face. But he knew it was Dominant. Someone following him. Of
course. Lewis' agent had located him. On a mission of this importance would the head Chameleon would only have
sent his best. He should have anticipated that. Tom would need to draw his shadow out into a more isolated area.
"What did you get her?"
"Excuse me?" He said, his attention snapping back to the woman standing next to him in line.
"Your girlfriend," she said raising her eyebrows slightly. "What did you get her for Christmas?"
"Nothing yet." Tom shrugged and put on a sheepish expression. The shadow was watching.
"Men!" The woman shook her head. "You always wait till the last minute."
"I have time before the flight. Perhaps I should go look in the shops here," he said, deciding it was time to move.
"That would be good!" The woman enthused. "Surprise her with something when you get off the plane - she'll love
it! You should get her jewelry! A nice bracelet, or earrings or..."
"Thanks for the advice. I think I will," he broke in, and started edging out of the line. "It was nice meeting you."
"Have a merry Christmas!" The lady called out after him.
As soon as he turned away the smile dropped from his face as if it had never been. He headed down the
promenade away from the entrance to the departure lounge. His black leather trench coat flared slightly as he
walked, and he knew it made him a noticeable figure as he moved against the tide of the crowd, but that was all
the better. He felt the shadow follow, felt a brief echo of puzzlement. But it slipped away.
Tom was puzzled as well. He thought that Lewis would have instructed his back up to go masked at all times, but
in that case, he should not be able to sense anything. On the other hand, if this agent was unmasked, then Tom's
senses were much duller than normal. He could pick up almost nothing from this individual.
Tom came to the entrance of a service hall. There was a sign indicating bathrooms were also located there. He
walked into the hall and then ducked into a little alcove that held a water fountain. He concentrated and his
sense of the shadow became a bit clearer. It was coming closer.
Tom heard steps hesitating at the entrance to the hallway. He waited, his shields firmly in place, but not
masking. He wanted this agent of Lewis' to come to him. The person following him would sense his presence but
nothing of his state of mind.
The hesitating steps finally gave in, entered the hallway, and walked a few cautious steps.
Tom exploded out of the alcove. In that split second, he realized that the agent was the same male that had
tried to follow him to the kill site. Tom grabbed him by the coat and slammed him up against the cement wall.
The other man's confusion and surprise burst over him as the masking dropped. Then shields went up and all Tom
got from him was a normal sense of presence and attention. Tom pressed his left forearm against the male's
throat and patted him down with his right, finally coming up with a gun. He pulled it out and shoved it in the
agent's stomach.
"Who sent you?" Tom said in a deadly flat voice. He knew the answer, but he wanted to see what Lewis' agent
would admit to.
"You know," the male answered in a strangled whisper. "I'm your back up. Nicholas."
"Then you should have contacted me after the kill."
"I would have." Nicholas paused and swallowed. Tom felt the muscles in his throat working. "If there had been a
kill."
He knew.
Tom's eyes narrowed. Lewis had put a tail on him and Tom had been careless enough that the whole mission was
endangered now. He needed to know exactly what Nicholas had reported to Chameleon headquarters. Did Lewis
know that John Maxwell was still alive? If so, then there was no going back to Nead an Iolair, ever. Lewis would
never forgive this further betrayal.
"Then why aren't I dead?" It was the obvious question. "Does Lewis want me back for questioning?"
"I don't know. I haven't reported in yet." Nicholas shields dropped slightly and Tom felt the truth of his words.
He was shocked. If Lewis didn't know yet, then it might be possible to preserve his position with the
Chameleons.
It would of course mean killing Nicholas. An inconvenience, but it could be managed. Blame it on the NSA, or even
Luthor's people.
"Why haven't you reported?" Tom asked, still holding the gun on Nicholas.
"You aren't the only Chameleon with doubts," Nicholas said and simultaneously opened his mind completely so
that Tom could sense he was sincere. Tom was impressed. There was no fear in the younger man. "I want to know.
I want to know what it is that makes you side with the Humans. So are you gonna kill me, or do we talk?"
¥
Chapter 3 ¥A young woman stood at the window of a penthouse apartment overlooking LA, perfectly still. Only her breathing
causes a slight shifting of her white ruffled shirt.
Darcy was her name once.
It's still what people call her, but she knows that she's not the same person. She's not the girl who was given
that name at birth, grew up in a loving family, had a best friend named Kelly, and one day hitched a ride with a
stranger when it would have been safer to walk.
No, that Darcy, the Human Darcy, was dead.
The new Darcy extended her senses over the city, feeling the rush and tremble of humanity as people raced
through the streets - even at this hour. She knows she's apart from them, separated by more than distance or
money or power. She stands among a very small group that have walked both sides of the species line, and that
makes her precious to the person sitting on the couch, watching TV news bulletins. Darcy missed her friends and
family when she thought about it. But to be with him, chosen by him, meant that she rarely thinks of them at all.
"Darcy, come here." He held his hand out to her and she went to him. To Randall Lynch.
¥
Chapter 4 ¥It was late enough now that it was almost morning. Sloan sat and dozed in front of the TV, still in Tom's chair.
She hadn't had any calls and had given up trying to figure out where the others had gone.
When I find Ed, I'm gong to kill him, she thought to herself. Slowly.
It was 3:30 a.m. when the phone rang.
Sloan bolted out of the chair and grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. "Hello?"
"Sloan? It's Ed," came her best friend's voice.
"Ed, where are you?" Sloan practically screamed into the receiver.
"I'm at the lab. Look, I think you better come down here. There's something..." Ed was cut off by someone in the
back ground. Sloan could hear the voice and she thought it was Ray, but she couldn't hear what was being said.
Then Ed spoke again, but it wasn't directed at her. "She has every right to know. For God's sake, she's the one
that really needs to know!"
"I'm on my way, Ed!" she said loudly into the phone as she reached for her purse and keys.
"Sloan," she heard him say just before she hung up, "Drive carefully, OK?"
¥
Chapter 5 ¥"They've started, Darcy," Randall Lynch said as he absent-mindedly played with a strand of Darcy's hair, while
staring at yet another broadcast of the assassination footage. She sat next to him on the oversized couch
completely still, absorbed in the intense feel of him.
"We knew they were going to," she said quietly. "You said so after the gathering under the comet."
"Idiots!" He declared as he stood abruptly. "How can they think this will work!" Lynch started to pace. Darcy
watched and was reminded of a leopard she had seen in the San Diego Zoo when she was a child. It had paced
back and forth, back and forth. It wasn't until she took a psychology course in college that she realized this was
indicative of mental illness in captive animals. She wondered if this applied to Lynch as well.
"That Lewis ever convinced the Council to support his plans speaks to just how arrogant we've become." Lynch
continued. "And now we have the new High Council which to contend with. It's not enough we had the one?"
"Yes, I know," she agreed. "They don't understand Humans." Darcy said, trying to find something soothing to say.
"Not like you."
"No, they don't." Lynch agreed. "Both Councils think that Humanity will roll over and play dead for our superior
species just because we take over the centers of their governments? Their businesses? Idiots!"
Darcy kept her mouth shut. She knew from experience that Lynch was beyond discussion right now; he just
wanted a sounding-board for his frustration. Power rolled off him like a scent. It made the hairs on Darcy's skin
stand up and her Dominant senses focused on him, trying to predict which way to jump in order to stay out of his
way. He was dangerous, but ultimately compelling. When he was angry like this, it reminded her of the
Lynch-clone that had taken her and Kelly originally. Intense, focused, and full of barely reined in rage.
Lynch stopped pacing and turned to look intently at Darcy. "What about the woman, have we finalized our
agreement with her?"
"Yes." Darcy answered. "She can supply us with the lab and equipment we need. She's suspicious, of course, but
like you said, she can't pass up the opportunity to get the cloning technology and the changeling serum, especially
now that she's cut off from the Whitney University lab."
"Be sure that the teams we send the new lab are mixed - Human and Dominant - we've got to continue presenting
ourselves as pro-peace." Lynch said and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Let her think she's got her hands on
another bunch of idealists and rebels. Once we've got the supplies and equipment we need to build up our stock
of serum, she's dead."
"It'll be hard to make it look like Humans are equal partners in the lab," Darcy ventured cautiously. It was a
tightrope act to point out difficulties without provoking him to anger. Lynch narrowed his eyes and cocked his
head to one side. Darcy quashed the urge to shiver and went on to explain. "Most of the acolytes and changelings
are, like, my age, and they're not experienced in science and research. I can't think of any that could pass for a
geneticist or researcher."
As quickly as it had come, Lynch's frown disappeared.
"That's why I like you, Darcy," he said, as a slow smile leaked across his face. "You point out exactly what a
Human would catch. That's why you're so essential to me."
He took two steps towards her and stopped directly in front of her with only a few inches between them. Darcy
still sat on the couch. She had to look up at him now, exposing her throat, or look straight ahead into his crotch.
Lynch smiled at her discomfort, and thrust his hips even closer. Darcy leaned back and averted her eyes
downward, but she knew no matter where she looked he could sense her desire as clearly as if she had spoken of
it. Her mind and her scent gave her away - just as his spoke of wants he had not bothered to express yet.
"Any of the changelings could've told you the same," she said quietly.
"Ah, but how many have the courage to tell me I'm wrong or I missed something. That's why you are so valuable.
And so desirable." He paused until she finally gave in and looked up to study his expression. The knife edged
smile remained. "Come." He pulled her to her feet and held her close. This time she could not stop the shiver
from surfacing. "Let's go back to bed and then, later, we can discuss how we're gonna kill this woman once we've
got everything we want from her."
Darcy nodded, but it took all the self-control she had not to start ripping his clothes off right there.
¥
Chapter 6 ¥Dark.
And far away... at the end of a tunnel? Or a long room? He saw her picture. A photo that Lewis had shown him
with her in the embrace of another male. Then she started to move. The male was touching her. She twisted. He
didn't want to look, but he couldn't shut his eyes, he couldn't move.
"What does she see in us, Tom?" Lewis asked, from the seat next to him. Tom couldn't turn his head, couldn't
escape the images, but he felt Lewis there beside him. Felt his presence. Heard him shift in his seat. Smelled his
arousal as the images on the screen went far beyond what had been shown that day in the library.
"She doesn't see anything in 'us', Lewis. She hates you," Tom grated out. He so wanted to turn his head, but
muscles would not answer.
"I am referring to males of our species, in general, Tom." Lewis went on in a calm conversational tone. "Don't
forget, I have held the defiant Dr. Parker. Felt her excitement, her curiosity. And certainly, she enjoyed herself
while you were gone, as we can see in this video. She is an anthropologist after all - how could she pass up the
chance for this kind of field work?"
"Sloan would never do this, Lewis," Tom said. "Special effects and trick editing. I know you, Lewis." But even as
he said it, he couldn't stop watching the screen. It seemed to get larger, grow closer. There were sounds now.
Soft moans. Quiet frictions of slick skin and satin limbs.
"She certainly does enjoy her work..."
Lewis' voice was cut off by a thud, and Tom jolted awake as the plane landed.
The dream was drowned out by the hum of the wheels and the whine of the jet engines as the plane finally began
to slow, but it left a bad taste in Tom's mouth. Something unpleasant. He put it out of his mind and focused on
the present.
Nicholas would have reported in to Lewis by now. That had been their agreement: Tom would return to Pasadena
and Nicholas would report his latest betrayal to Lewis, complete with bruises from an elaborate beating inflicted
by Tom.
Nicholas's reasoning had been good. With Tom's checkered past he would never be fully trusted, while Nicholas
had a clean record and well developed masking and shielding skills. Tom defecting now would leave a space that
had to be filled. Whether Nicholas were picked to fill it or not, it would throw off Lewis' plans for a political
coup and give the US government time to re-group and recruit assistance abroad.
"Outside the Chameleon Program, there are several groups with doubts about the coup," Nicholas had said as
they had stood in a maintenance area away from surveillance cameras and prying eyes. "Not all of them want
peace, but all of them are concerned that the Council is moving too soon with this. There are not enough of us to
manage the infrastructure of a country the size of the US. If we win, how long before the supply chains collapse
and resources dry up?"
"So what do you want, Nicholas?" Tom had asked bluntly. "Do you want peace? Or just a better plan?"
"For myself, I want to survive as something better than a medieval war-lord or stone-age farmer!" Nicholas had
replied. "But most importantly, I just want our people to survive in the long term. Isn't that why you're with
them? Don't you agree that there are simply too many of them for us to control. In the end, they'll kill us."
"I didn't used to think so," Tom had confessed. "I thought we'd sweep over them, because we aren't held back
by mercy. But now... It's not just numbers, Nicholas. There's something about them. Some of them, anyway.
We'll never control them. You're right."
So they had agreed, and choreographed the kind of beating Lewis would expect - severe, but not deadly, after
all Tom had not killed Lewis when he'd had the chance. Lewis would believe he would spare an operative. Nicholas
would deliver the message: Maxwell was still alive, and Tom - well, Tom was not like them anymore.
"Welcome to LA International Airport. We hope you have enjoyed your flight and..."
Tom tuned out the announcements and focused on scanning the crowd outside the plane.Tom's sensing had gained
tremendous strength. In training with Lewis he had never been able to detect the master, but few Dominants
had Lewis' level of control. Nicholas had been masked, and Tom had felt the shadow that it left on his
consciousness. There were none of his people there - neither masked, nor shielded.
No. No one was waiting.
It was time to go find Sloan. To go home.
¥
Chapter 7 ¥It was roughly a ten minute drive from Sloan's apartment to the lab. Sloan made it there in five.
She ran in to the building, barely pausing to show her ID to the night guard at the desk, and then up the stairs
and into the main lab. As she burst in, she found Ed and Ray standing, glowering at each other, arms folded
across their chests. It was dark except for the milky green light of the under-the-shelf fluorescent. The two
men looked like gargoyles standing guard. They both looked up at her as she came in, but their eyes slid away
quickly, unable to meet hers.
"Ok, what's going on?" she asked them, coming to a halt directly in front of them.
Neither man said anything for a moment and then Ray looked at Ed and raised an eyebrow. "You're the one that
wanted to tell her, so go ahead."
"Right." Ed nodded and the frown dropped from his face leaving only exhaustion and worry in its place. He
rubbed one hand through his hair and leaned up against the counter.
"Ed?" Sloan said, and took a step forward. "It's Tom, something's happened, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, Sloan." Ed took her hand and stared into her eyes as he spoke. "There was an assassination last night.
John Maxwell is dead. And we think Tom may have killed him." Ed gripped her hand a little harder as he made the
last statement, as if he were afraid Sloan would bolt out of the room.
"No." she said softly and shook her head. "I don't believe it, Ed. He ran away, yes, but he was hurt. There's no
way he could be well enough to do something like that. Even if he would agree to it - which he wouldn't!"
"There's evidence." Ray said and stepped to one side so that Sloan could see a TV with a video player sitting on
the counter behind him. "That's why Ed said you needed to know. You know him better than any of us Sloan. You
look at this tape and tell me if you think it's Tom."
Sloan stared at the TV as if it were going to bite her, but the she nodded slowly and Ray pushed the tape in and
let it play.
"The NSA got this from off a local station's weather camera. They leave it on all the time, and then pick clips to
show current conditions or storms coming in or whatever. It was trained on the Ferris wheel all that evening.
The NSA was able to enhance his image."
She saw a figure sitting; it looked male. It raised a long shape to about shoulder height, and then there was a
flash. Then the figure stood and threw what might have been a gun off the Ferris wheel into the lake. There was
something in the throw, in the angle of the shoulders...
"No!" Sloan burst out. "You can't tell anything from that!"
"That's what I said," Ed agreed. "But there's more."
Ray nodded and switched the tape. "We got this off one of the Pier security cameras, they're for catching
shoplifters."
Now they were looking at a crowd scene on a pier. There, walking along and looking around like any other tourist,
was Tom. He was looking toward what appeared to be the same Ferris wheel.
Sloan gasped and put a hand to her mouth. He looked fine. Completely healthy. He moved with a confidence that
she hadn't seen in months. No shaking, no flinching, as people brushed up against him and went on their way. He
appeared to be fully recovered.
So why hadn't he contacted her?
"Tom's picture has been on the NSA hot-list since he went missing," Ray said and stopped the video freezing on
a full-faced shot of Tom. Then he continued in a voice that reminded Sloan he had been a policeman, used to
telling people things they did not want to hear. "When we found out there was a chance he had gone back to
Lewis, I updated the NSA and they put him on their possible threat list."
"No." She was clenching her teeth so tightly that she almost didn't get the word out.
"Hey," Ed, still holding her hand in one of his, slipped the other round her shoulders. "You knew it was always a
possibility. After what they did to him, what he went through. It would have been enough to change anybody."
Sloan pulled away, ignoring the pained look on Ed's face.
"He was there. That doesn't mean he killed Maxwell."
"Sloan." A cultured voice came for the lab doorway and they all turned to find Walter standing there looking
serious. "We won't jump to conclusions until we have the facts, but you have to admit that this is pretty damning
evidence." He entered the lab and walked over to the television and, picked up the remote control. He froze the
picture on a full-faced shot of Tom.
"I won't believe it," she insisted. "I know Tom and he wouldn't..." She stopped, aware that her voice was
trembling.
"Wouldn't, what Sloan?" Ed said softly. "Wouldn't kill anyone? What do you think he was doing before he met
you?"
Sloan jerked her hand out of Ed's grip and slapped him hard.
And in the instant that the crack of the blow echoed in her ears, Sloan knew she had gone over the edge,
because she heard Tom's voice ring out. "Sloan! No!"
The only person in the lab that didn't freeze was Ray. His gun was out and trained on the figure in the doorway.
"Hands where I can see'em!" Ray yelled. "Now!"
¥
Chapter 8 ¥Tom stood in the doorway of the lab and took in Ray, Ed Walter, the TV, and his own image on the screen. He
saw it all, and yet the only thing that mattered was Sloan. She stood out like a 3-D image against a 2-D backdrop.
Her hair was pulled back casually from her face, with loose curls straying down the sides of her face. She was
wearing a little knit dress and her denim jacket and Ked sneakers. No make-up. Dark circles under her eyes.
She was the only real thing in the room.
Sloan turned from Ed, eyes wide, and stunned. She looked at Tom. There was a rushing in his ears, and he was
caught in a raw, powerful connection that he had no defense against. He saw her lips move, and shape his name.
He couldn't hear her. He couldn't move. He saw her look over at Ray and then she ran towards him. Holding her
left arm out stiffly as if to ward off Ray's bullets, she ran to Tom.
Ed tried to grab her on the right, but she slipped through his fingers. She threw herself into Tom's arms.
"Tom!"
Sound returned. Reality came back.
He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her hair, filling himself with her scent. Roses and nutmeg, and
less familiar, the sharp, metallic smell of exhaustion.
"Sloan." He whispered, and ran his hands over her, simple touches he had not been able to bear when he had
been recovering from the cage and the tank. Her arms slipped under his trench coat and wrapped around his
waist. She was so thin, so tense. And it was his fault, he knew.
"Stand away, Daniels!" Ray was shouting, had been shouting, Tom realized.
"Don't shoot!" Ed looked as if he might dive for the gun himself. "You might hit Sloan!"
"Ray, stop it! What are you doing?" Sloan yelled, lifting her head. She turned in Tom's arms to face Ray.
Chameleon training slammed back into place.
Tom slid Sloan behind him and moved both of them back into the shadows beyond the doorway, allowing his
leather trench coat to flare slightly making him a less certain target.
"Another inch and you're a dead man, Tom," Ray called out, his gun steady, but Tom felt his reluctance. Ray
didn't want to shoot.
"Ray!" Sloan's voice was low and tense. "Don't do this!"
"It's all right, Sloan," Tom said loudly, still holding her hand. "Ray isn't going to shoot me - is he, Walter?"
Walter had stood motionless through the confusion, but now he reached out a hand and gently placed it on Ray's
gun-arm. "Put it away," he said, "There's no reason to shoot."
"No reason!" Ed repeated. Tom felt his shock and disbelief. "He killed John Maxwell - and who knows how many
others!"
"Walter," Ray said. "You want to explain?" He continued to keep his eyes locked on Tom, but the Chameleon could
feel his guard relaxing slightly.
"John Maxwell is very much alive," Walter said, placing greater pressure on Ray's gun-arm and forcing him to
lower it. "I got off the phone with him just a few minutes ago."
"You mean he survived the shooting?" Ed asked. "Lucky guy - but it doesn't change the fact that somebody,
probably Tom, tried to kill him."
"If I'd been trying to kill Maxwell, he'd be dead," Tom said, answering Ed but looking straight into Ray's eyes.
Ray reluctantly holstered his gun. Ed stood with his arms folded across his chest, still frowning, but glancing now
from Walter to Tom as if he didn't like the direction this was moving.
Tom felt the tensions shifting, easing. He let Sloan come back around to stand at his side. Sliding in under his
arm she slipped her right hand back around his waist and held him close.
"But why are you here Tom?" Walter asked, frowning over his glasses at the Chameleon. "Have you got the
details on Lewis' plans?"
"What do you mean, 'why is he here'?" Sloan asked looking from Walter to Tom. "Where else would he go?"
"He means he's known where Tom was all this time," Ed stated. "Isn't that right, Walter? He means he expected
him to stay with Lewis."
"That's not precisely..." Walter started, but Sloan cut him off.
"How could you know anything? Tom knocked you out when he ran away."
"Sloan, I -" Tom started but then didn't know how to explain. He felt her confusion and suspicion growing, and
behind it was a reservoir of hurt that took his breath away. What had he done?
"Isn't it obvious, Sloan?" Ed asked and then looked at Walter. "Walter and Tom cooked this up together. It was
all an act to get Tom back in Lewis' camp as a spy, wasn't it?"
"Tom?" Sloan's eyes were wide as she looked up at him and the hurt spread out through them in a black pool.
"It wasn't like that, Sloan," Tom took her gently by the shoulders desperately trying to find the words that
would dissipate the sense of betrayal welling up from her.
"So what was it like?" She asked, pulling away to stand alone, facing him. "Explain it to me."
"Why don't we all go into my office, sit down and discuss this," Walter suggested.
"Discuss it?" Sloan whipped around to face her boss, a man she had come to think of as a friend. "What is there
to discuss, Walter? Either you knew where Tom was all this time and what he was doing, or you didn't. Either you
were deceiving us or you weren't. There really isn't anything to discuss."
"I was hurt, Sloan," Tom tried to explain, sensing Sloan's pain turning to outrage. He tried to make her
understand. "I had to get help, and your people couldn't give me what I needed. I had to go."
"My people couldn't help? Don't you mean I couldn't help? So you left and went back to Lewis?" Sloan demanded.
Tom stood stock still. This was dangerous ground and he didn't know what to say. If she could have sensed him
perhaps he could have made her understand, but there were only words to work with and he didn't know what
would be the right ones to use.
"You couldn't even tell me?" she persisted. "You just left? But you had time to make all kinds of plans with
Walter." Sloan's lips were in a tight straight line and her jaw clenched. Tom saw the pulse in her throat speed up.
He had to make her understand.
"I couldn't tell you, Sloan. I wanted to protect you. Knowing would just have put us both in danger," Tom
explained. "My desertion had to be totally believable. Lewis was watching. When he saw how badly injured I was,
he knew that my programming would've been triggered. But then I had to convince him that I was loyal again He
would have watched you and tried to determine whether my disappearance was legitimate or not."
"Legitimate?" Sloan bit out each syllable. All the relief and wonder at his appearance was being burned away by
anger. "Well, you succeeded. I believed your disappearance was completely legitimate. So the only question is why
you've come back."
Tom swallowed. Even with his shielding as tight as he knew how to make it, he couldn't completely block out the
acid burn of Sloan's feeling of betrayal. But protecting her had been essential.
"That is the question, Tom," Walter broke in, calling his attention back to the others in the room. Ed, Ray and
Walter were all standing as awkward witnesses to Tom and Sloan's argument. Walter went on. "I didn't expect
you back this soon."
"Well, I can see you two have things to discuss," Sloan said taking another step away from Tom. He reached out
to pull her back but she held her hands up stiffly, warding off his grip. "No. Don't touch me, Tom. Stay and let
Walter debrief you. I'm sure that's what you're here for. I don't want to get in the way."
"I don't care about that -" Tom started but she cut him off.
"No," Sloan said and glanced at the others, and then looked back at Tom and took a deep breath. "You went away
for a reason. Fine. I assume you've collected information that is important to... us." Her voice trembled slightly
on the last word, so she paused and took a deep breath before going on. "Walter needs to go over that
information with you, and I - I need some time to think. When you're finished, we can talk. Privately." She
glanced again at the three men standing uncomfortably behind her.
Tom could feel a storm of emotions in her now, too complex to separate, too painful to analyze. He swallowed,
reaching for the hard won control he had relearned with Lewis, and nodded his agreement.
"I'm going home," Sloan said. Picking up her purse from the counter, she headed for the stairs.
"I'll drive you." Ed said and followed her out.
Tom watched them go. Just as Sloan was about to go out the main door, he stepped into the hallway and called
out to her, "Sloan!"
She stopped so suddenly that Ed almost ran into her. She slowly turned and looked at Tom.
He desperately wished she could sense him so that she would understand that he had not intended to hurt her.
But she was Human and he didn't know the words that would make her believe. "I'll see you later," he said. It
was a statement. A promise. One he could only hope she would allow him to keep.
She nodded once, and then she was gone. Ed followed after her, full of concern and caring.
Maybe Ed knows what she needs now, Tom thought. I certainly don't seem to.
"Tom," Walter said pulling the Chameleon's attention away from Sloan. "I know it's not the first thing on your
mind right now, but I do need you to tell me what you learned of Lewis' plans."
"Yes," Tom agreed, turning his Chameleon face back to Walter. Sloan wanted time to think and he did have
information for Walter. "I have an outline of Lewis' plans, and we have a new ally among the Chameleons. That's
why I came back."
"Let's go and discuss it in my office," Walter said and gestured for Ray to join them.
Tom nodded and gave a last look down the hall after Sloan, then he headed to Walter's office. Ray fell in behind
him. Tom heard him say in a low voice, "Whatever you got for us I hope it was worth it."
"So do I," Tom replied softly.
********************
