The sun crept in the window, falling across Paris' bare back, warming her skin. She closer her eyes, drinking in this rare moment of relaxation, a brief respite from her job. It wouldn’t' be long before the nagging thoughts returned: this assignment was going too long, and the voices that had started to creep into her consciousness lately.

Ethan smelled dark, like gunpowder and cologne, the smell of desire. His body was lean, sprinkled with hair, a few of them already gray. He had a scar on his shoulder, small and white, and a long slash across his back. Bullet wound, he said, in the wrong place at the wrong time as Paris' fingers traced the rough skin, full of questions. They met every day now, in the late afternoon as the sun prepared to melt into the horizon, searing the city with her heat. No words would be said as mouths met and their hands groped at each other in an almost animal manner.

He was a fighter. She could sense that in him. It was the way he held himself, waiting for the attack, the way he slept fitfully after they made love, a symptom of too many nights on the run, too many dangers he had to face. He was a fighter in bed too, holding her down, pushing into her as if he could expel some sort of demon. She pushed back, expelling her own, trying to drown out the voices with moans of desire.

But no matter how loud she moaned, the voices came back. To be exact, one voice. The one who came before. And with the voice came the visions. It would happen when she least expected it: walking down the street, the smell of flowers wafting by and all of the sudden she saw him. The man with dark adoring eyes, smiling at her. Then he faded away and the pain came, searing through her eye sockets like a white-hot flame and Paris would stop for a moment, confused, forgetting who she was and what she was doing. The other one was surfacing, pushing at the walls of the prison that Jacques and his miracle chip had created. Paris hadn't said anything to them, her mother and father of sorts, because she knew that when they found out she would no longer be. The anesthetic and scalpel would dig her out and throw her away. The longer she could keep her secret, the longer she would live.

Ethan rolled over and stared at her, his eyes holding a question she'd seen there at least a hundred times already. What were they doing? She knew why she was there, but why was he. She saw it in his eyes sometimes: the other woman that he'd loved and lost, the other woman he was trying to forget with animal sex and a blonde amazon. He stroked her breast, his touch unusually tender, then rolled over to kiss the soft skin on her hip, his lips lingering, rough yet warm. Paris closed her eyes and another vision danced in front of her. Another man, long brown hair, eyes smoldering with a strange combination of passion, love and something deeper, abiding that made Paris feel thirsty for something real. It was the man in the bedroom, the one she'd shot. She hated this one and knew the pain would come soon. Her eyes flew open and she dug her fingernails into Ethan's back, keeping her moans in tempo as the white heat seared through her once again.

****

It was like she was trapped under a thick, cold sheet of ice, staring up at a world that she no longer recognized, a world of shape and color warped by her prison. How long had she been there, she wondered, trapped in slow motion, not feeling anything? Slowly things were coming back. First they were from long ago. Her husband, his touch, the way he put his arm protectively at the small of her back, Amara's tiny body, full of energy, then Declan, full of devotion and love like she'd never felt before.

At the same time, she lived in the present, knowing that something was in her body, watching her every move, the way she brought the cigarette to her mouth, exhaling slowly, watched her paint her mouth red like a slash, and Katrina knew who it was: Paris. This thing that lived in her body, kept her in prison, had unloaded a gun into her lover, and Katrina hated in a way that was white and hot and full of pain.

The more she hated, the more she felt. She started to get feeling back, her hands filling in slowly like an painter was adding them onto her body, and she was starting to be able to pound at the ice that had trapped her. Her fists became sore and she tried to scream out, to beg for help, but found she had not regained her voice. So she floated, then attacked the ice again and again.

Soon the smells started, faint but distinct. Smells that reminded her of things: the scent of flowers that reminded her of her wedding night as Taren had so carefully lay her on the bed. Then the smell of musk, and that night in Berlin came flooding back as she and Declan tore at each other in more ways then one. With every memory, she pounded at her prison, demanding to be let out, and she whispered to Paris, to the thing that had stolen her body, whispered revenge, whispered death, whispered hate.

Then she saw it. A crack running across the ice, shining silver like a spider web on the deep green, and Katrina smiled. It would break soon.

****

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Jacques tried to quell the fear he felt creeping into his voice. " We were going to pull him in, to take out the implant. It could kill him to turn in on."

The voice coming out of the phone was forceful.

Jacques sighed heavily. No one liked life as much as Jacques DuPre and no one knew better how to read the handwriting on the wall. Self-preservation was the prime directive and Jacques was good at it.

" I'll start programming the new directive into the software and we'll pull him in for implantation."

The voice chuckled, and Jacques thought how weird it was to chuckle considering what the man on the other end of the line had just asked him to do.

Jacques smiled as he heard the click of he phone disconnecting. He didn't see it his way, and he never had. He hadn't seen it his way when he volunteered his son for the AI implementation and he certainly didn't see the logic in turning his son into the man who would assassinate his own lover. But Jacques DuPre wasn't Franklin Fairchild, and was glad he would never have to face that possibility.

None of that mattered. Jacques rarely let feelings get in the way of anything. Franklin had given a job to do and it was time to get started. More than anything, Jacques was good at what he did. He pulled out his Palm Pilot and typed in a message to Nightingale. She was probably at some chic café, sipping coffee and seducing a handsome young man. Sometimes he thought she did it to drive him crazy, to remind him of what he let slip away. He never let her know how much it affected him.

Jacques hit send and smiled. He would love to see Nightingale's face when she read his message.

****

Ethan was tired. He couldn't remember when he'd felt this worn out. After escaping Octavia's clutches, it had been a mad dash to London, then he met Paris. Paris had awakened a kind of animal hunger in him and he couldn't get enough of her. Now he lay on the hard mattress of a cheap hotel, staring at the empty space next to him. Paris had slipped out after he had fallen asleep, he body sweaty and hot against the tangled sheets.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt, but for some reason no matter how good the sex was, she just made him miss Mike. Mike, with her dark eyes and huge smile that melted his heart whenever he saw it. No matter what she'd done, he missed her, and Ethan knew nothing could take her place, not even all the blondes in the world, and he might be getting close to getting through that list.

He'd gone to the infirmary a few days ago. Heard she was injured and couldn't control his urge to see her, but Kevin had been there, so he'd turned around and left. There was no room in Michela Forsythe's world for him and she seemed determined to tell him that over and over. So he headed towards the café to meet Paris and they had gone immediately to the hotel, almost tearing each other's clothes off before they even got in the door.

Ethan turned over and stared out the hotel window. The night sky was velvet, draped in sparkling stars, with just a tinge of dark blue outlining it's edges. He could smell the sweet smell of flowers wafting in from a balcony next door and hear the sounds of laughter drifting up from the sidewalk below. His heart clenched as he imagined the voices were those of a happy couple, heading home for an evening of reading together, holding each other. No matter how good the sex was, it wasn't what Ethan Fairchild really wanted. What he wanted was a home, and not even a physical house, but a person to come home to.

Ethan closed his eyes again, trying to get the images out of his head, when he heard the high pitched ring of his phone. Grunting, he rolled over and felt around the dresser until her found it. He stared at the caller ID. Lancaster. Shit.

"Fairchild here." He said gruffly.

"Where the hell have you been?" Philip said, putting aside all pretense of politeness. Ethan could hear the anger in his voice.

"Tied up." Ethan smiled. It was somewhat close to the truth considering Paris' taste in foreplay.

"I've been calling. I need your bloody report, Fairchild. Get in here right away."

Ethan flipped his phone shut without saying good bye and rolled out of bed. He picked up his jeans that had been thrown haphazardly on the floor and started to pull them on when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye in the folds of the sheets. He moved closer and found a ring, a Claddagh ring to be exact. It was heavy, scratches forming a soft patina on the gold surface. Ethan fingered it then put it in his pocket. Paris must have left it. He would give it to her the next time he saw her, which would be sooner than later.

****

Thunder rumbled in the distance bringing with it a cascade of gloom. The sky grew increasingly darker as the storm clouds rolled in. With the storm came a great evil, an evil that threatened to consume them all.

Stone Jacobs steadied the Knights One, the personal helicopter to Chandelor Knight. The man himself sat in the back constantly thwapping his silver tipped cane toward the empty co-pilot seat ranting in his insidious way. As a pilot, he knew he shouldn't be flying alone, especially since they were flying straight into a horrific storm, but Chandelor was insistent that they find his grandson. Co-pilot or no co-pilot. And as it turned out, it was without one. Co-pilots were hard to come by on short notice.

"Faster. Faster!" Mr. Knight yelled. "My grandson is in trouble. Quite possibly dead. Now put your pedal to the metal!" The silver tipped cane came down hard, this time precariously close to a panel of instruments which made flying the metal bird a whole lot easier. He only hoped Mr. Knight watched where he rapped that thing. One wrong move could send them both plummeting hundreds of feet straight down.

****

As the night descended and the storm clouds rolled, lightening colored with an uneasiness, streaked across the slate gray skies. Stone landed the craft just as Chandelor spied Julian Black slipping into an entranceway near the rear of the ruins. The giant rock formations enveloped his form like a vacuum.

"Oh, my God," Stone whispered, gazing at the ruins that had once been a monastery. "What happened here?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know," the elder Knight said, with a sigh.

They followed Julian down into the bowels of what turned out to be an underground lab. The silver metal walls shined like a million mini suns as they reflected the bare bulbs lining the hallway. It was obvious to both men that Julian was looking for something.

"What are you doing down here?" Chandelor asked his bastard son. He leaned on the silver tipped cane with a heavy hand.

"I'm here to find my niece, Faith. What in the hell are YOU doing here?"

An unnamed expression crossed Knights features before he simply answered,

"Finding my grandson."

"Grandson?" Julian said, with surprise. "Having a grandson would imply having a son. Since when do you have one of those much less acknowledge them?"

Knight remained silent. He knew that divulging too much information to Julian Black could prove to be a deadly mistake.

Stone stood between the two men knowing that this confrontation could possibly get out of control. He knew the history between the two men and he wasn't interested in seeing a repeat performance of the last time they had shared a room together. Stone distinctly remembered driving home that night with a bloodied and broken nose. It wasn't a night he could easily forget. This was why he made himself a barrier between them. Knight and Black when mixed together formed a very volatile concentrate that could blow at any minute.

"Leave the man alone," Stone said. "You're both down here on a mission of

Mercy. Why don't you both just work together for once in your hot headed lives?"

The men nodded. They knew that now was no time to fall into their usual banter. Lives were at stake. As they resolved to start the search, a high pitched scream penetrated the long hallway. The noise echoed, bounced off the metal walls making the scream even louder. It took a few seconds to ascertain that the sound was coming from a room to Julian's left. Stone and

Julian rushed to the door. They clawed at the surface searching for a way inside.

"That sounds like Faith. FAITH!" Julian grunted, knowing that opening this door could mean the difference between saving her life or losing it.

"Uncle Julie!" Faith screamed from her imprisonment. She pounded on the door in a frantic plea for assistance. "Help us!"

****

Faith's voice was hoarse, her throat felt dry and scratchy, but she took a deep breath and screamed again, pounding her bruised fist against the cold silver door. On the other side was safety in the form of her uncle, Julian Black.

Julian Black was her little, dirty secret. The one Franklin had tried to keep from her, the one Kevin had warned her against time and time again, and Faith had believed them. Believed them as if their words were goodness and truth, as if they would never lie. But now, with that monster holding a gun to her head and the fear creeping back like a disease that threatened to engulf her and tear her apart, all trust she'd had in her family melted away.

"He can't get to you."

Ian's voice whispered in her ear, smooth as silk and seductive, and his breath was hot against her skin. Faith's body trembled as she fought to control her fear and a tear leaked out the side of her eye.

"No one can, Faith. You're all mine now."

Faith took a deep breath and turned to run. It didn't matter that he had a gun. Maybe getting killed would be the only way she could escape. Moving quickly, Ian pinned her against the door with the weight of his body, his eyes staring down into hers. She was paralyzed by his gaze, frozen in place, not even able to scream. He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, then backed away from Faith and she crumpled to the ground, sobbing. Ian had won.

"You." He said, gesturing at Gia who was staring in amazement at the man who looked so much like Ethan yet was so different. "Open the door."

Gia walked towards the door, stepping over Faith and slowly opened it. The heavy door swung open silently, revealing the shocked faces of the two men standing outside of it. Faith lifted her head and stared up at Julian Black. It would all be over soon.

"Chandelor." Ian said, pointing the gun steadily at the three men on the other side. "Long time, no see."

****

Julian surveyed the situation with one quick glance. A boy huddled in the corner, his face terrified. Gia Doyle stood in the middle of the room, staring at a man who looked suspiciously like Ethan Fairchild. Faith was collapsed on the floor, shaking.

"Fairchild, you bastard." Julian snarled as he pulled out his gun. He didn't stop to think, but aimed to kill. He almost pulled the trigger when Chandelor Knight's cane came up and knocked the gun out of his hand. It fell with a metallic clang and skittered across the floor.

"You don't understand what's going on here." Chandelor said quietly, "and the bullet would ricochet. We don't need more damage."

Turning toward the man with the gun, Chandelor Knight smiled. The air was thick with tension as the two men faced each other.

"Ian Fairchild." Chandelor intoned smoothly. "I never thought I'd see you alive again. I guess I should have kept closer tabs on your father."

Julian glanced between the two men who were circling each other like two animals ready to spring at any moment. He took a small step towards Faith, then another as the two men bantered between them. Then, in one quick motion, he pulled Faith's trembling body into his arms and cradled her gently. Supporting her, he started to move towards the door when he heard Ian's voice.

"Don't take her anywhere, Black."

Julian turned to see Ian pointing the gun at him.

"Faith is mine. She's always been mine, and I intend to keep her this time."

"No one belongs to you."

Julian and Chandelor turned at the sound of Gia Doyle's voice. She was standing the middle of the room, legs planted shoulder width apart and Julian's gun in her hand. It was pointed squarely at Ian.

"Let us go, asshole."

"Gia." Ian said smoothly, not missing a beat. "You are pointing that gun at the wrong person. I have something that might help you change your mind."

"Not a chance, Ian." Gia pulled back the trigger and the click echoed in the room. "I'm guessing I can hit on the first shot, which means less ricocheting."

"I think you'll be interested in what I have to offer you, Gia. After all, it's what you've wanted for a long time. You are in love with my brother, am I correct."

Gia didn't answer, but stared at Ian.

"My father was smart when he saved me. He gave me a gift that I can give to you: my brother's memories, and his secrets. The secrets that will destroy the one person who keeps you from Ethan: Michela Fairchild. Give me Faith and I will give you what you need to have Ethan forever."

****

It was an eerie experience to look into the eyes of a man you loved and see a whole different side of him. She was viewing Ethan's twin. As she gazed into Ian Fairchild’s eyes, she knew she was looking at pure evil incarnate. On one hand it disgusted her. On another, it was adrenaline rush. He was Ethan, only Ethan with an edge - an evil edge. Why did the thought bring her only more questions and desires?

As if Ian could read her mind, he came back with a retort that both surprised and annoyed her.

"You think you’ve locked your secret away so no one can touch it? I know your secrets Gia Doyle."

Gia kept an even eye on the delusional man. Never let the enemy see fear, she remembered. Fear was a quality that could only get you killed. Or worse.

"You don’t know me," Gia bit out.

"Oh, but I do," Ian said, with a smile. "I know more about you than you know. I even know about the rose tattoo."

Gia could control her anger no longer. She rushed at the man flattening him against the wall.

"If you wanna play mind games with me, you’re gonna have to do better than that!" Her voice held a gravel quality.

Ian laughed, and it sounded like Ethan. For a moment it took her aback. Then quickly she regained her composure.

I don’t want to play mind games with you, Gia. I want to play with you like Ethan played with you in Amsterdam." Ian smirked as Gia turned sharply to meet his gaze. "Don’t look so surprised. You created me. You’re the reason I’m alive and have my brother’s memories."

"You may have his memories, but you will never *be* him," she hissed.

"Maybe not, but in my mind is locked a secret you so desperately want to know. I know how the prodigal brother feels about you. We can make it a trade. You give me Faith and I’ll tell you the secret Ethan has kept so close to his heart."

****

Julian Black left Faith’s side and spun Gia around on her heel.

"That man is playing you."

"Why the hell do you care?" She wrenched her arm free from his grasp and stalked across the room

"Why do I care?" Julian pointed at Faith. "That is my niece over there, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you turn her over to a psychopath like Ian Fairchild in trade for a memory he *might* have!" His eyes were as cold and ruthless as coal.

"He’s not the only one who’s psycho," she said, obviously slamming him. "Like I would turn her over to either of you." Gia began to walk away when Julian’s words stopped her.

"Take some free advice. Ethan’s not worth the sacrifice."

Gia spun around and pushed herself well into the head of the Black Council’s comfort zone.

"Listen Dr. Drew. If I wanted your advice, I’d call up your 900 number."

Julian contemplated a moment before throwing a new taunt back at the leggy woman. "You don’t like playing with the other children, do you?"

"Not if the only other kid in the sandbox is you!"

"What’s your decision," Ian asked, calmly. "Time is running out on this offer. He may have acted placidly but he was obviously tired of waiting.

"You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll promise you one night you will never forget."

"Gia, NO!" Faith screamed. "You can’t do this to me!"

"Sorry, kid, but I have my priorities."

****

"So nice of you to join us again, Mr. Fairchild."

Ethan smiled at Philip Lancaster, who sat self-righteously behind his big, black desk barking out commands like he thought he was God himself. Of course, he wasn't. That was Ethan's father's job, but Philip liked to play God. He made no bones about it. Ethan would never accept Philip as his father's predecessor. It was like putting an ape in charge of running the country. Ethan snickered to himself. Maybe that wasn't such a good example.

"My pleasure, Phil, old boy." Ethan plopped down onto one of the less comfortable chairs beyond Philip's souped up desk and offered him another lazy smile, just to piss him off.

"Since you've wasted so much time trying to find the office again. I think you should get to your debriefing. You'll be assigned to another case this afternoon."

Philip was such an asshole. He knew this was supposed to be Ethan's vacation.

"And don't bother trying to get that vacation," he said, as if reading his mind. "It's been rescinded as of three minutes ago."

Philip was definitely a first class asshole.

That was a week ago and Ethan was still contemplating on writing his debriefing statement. He didn't quite know where to begin. So many things happened in the days since the wrap of the Bulgarian mission. The screen of his computer emitted a pale white sea of emptiness egging him to get the report over with so he could get on with his life and get out of the office. Paperwork was not the best part of this job.

His office at Legacy headquarters was much like he remembered it, only cleaner. The olive walls cast a dim, green reflection on his terminal as he typed the minutes of the mission -- what there was of it. Half of what had transpired wouldn't see the inside of a computer data bank, much less hit the highest points on the Legacy grapevine.

But unlike himself the rumor mill seemed to thrive on situations exactly like this. And because of that fact, the grapevine had taken on a life of its own. The fish stories kept getting bigger and bigger until even he couldn't believe what he'd done this time.

They might not have had details of the mission correct, but they did seem to know about Kevin and the child-like crush he had on Michela Forsythe. It was truly shocking how many other people cared about his life and the lives of his family members. What little time Ethan did have to himself, he preferred it strictly off the record.

He had, of course, heard about Michela's gunshot wound and being the honorable man that he was, he paid her a second unannounced visit at the infirmary. Anything to get out of Philip's site for more than five minutes. He didn't like when people kept tabs on him. If he didn't know better, he was starting to think they were up to something.

His brother, Kevin, once again beat him to the punch. He was already at the infirmary plastered to Michela's side like a Saturday night Special when Ethan arrived sometime near the end of visiting hours. It was in that moment Ethan realized how deeply his brother felt for the woman. And actually, to tell you the truth, he was happy for him.

He'd heard Kevin had confessed his love and devotion to Michela and she treated his gift of the heart like she did everything of value. She pitched it back in his face like a cheap suit.

Eden Fairchild was the one who told him this with a greedy glint in her eye as she stood in the hall outside Michela's room. She was overjoyed at Michela's dismissal of Kevin. Ethan slunk into the shadows as Kevin beat a path out of the hospital room. Ethan knew his presence would only make things worse, and Kevin didn't need him beating a dead horse.

Ethan was still sketchy about what happened in the laboratory under the Bulgarian monastery. All he knew for sure was that Faith wasn't talking, and she had once again drawn herself close to her "Uncle Julie." The thought made him shudder.

Gia Doyle was another story. She was happier than he'd ever seen her. A smile lit up her usual sour face giving her an almost glow. He wished he had time to delve into what was up with her. Here was a woman who had been in a perpetually bad mood since birth and now she was walking around like Monica on "Touched By An Angel" granting wishes wherever she went. He could almost imagine the ethereal light shining on her head. Yes, something was definitely not right in River City. It made him nervous, but he didn't have time to look into it further.

But the biggest problem he had was Philip Lancaster's sudden inspiring idea to pair him with Octavia Kassoff. She was Russian, she was intelligent and she was suddenly overzealously civil to him. Which on one hand was nice but at the same time made him suspicious. Having her around was not going to be a good thing. He could see therapy in his future if Philip pushed this issue. Philip was definitely on his shit list for this one. Way at the top of it. A place reserved for only the truly awful. He was number two to

Michela's number one.

Weeks had passed since Michela rebuffed Kevin. She was now out of the infirmary, as was his cousin, Declan O'Connor. But the worse news was yet to come. Philip decided to pair him with not only Michela Forsythe but Octavia Kassoff as well. God grant him the strength not to kill them both.

The traffic on South Audley Street hummed along like blood pumping through the veins of London. The apartment looked remarkably well. Maybe that had something to do with Emma, his housekeeper, visiting once in a blue moon, which to him meant once a week, or maybe it was because he hadn't seen the inside of his apartment in weeks. Everything was exactly as he left it, except the trash, which was gone. How Emma knew what was trash and what wasn't baffled him.

Ethan shrugged off his jacket, holster and shirt and folded himself into the leather couch. It was black and shiny, more a piece of art than a couch, really. Why he'd let Michela talk him into it was beyond him. But the piece did, he had to admit, look good in the room in which it sat.

It was definitely good to be home.

With one hand he zapped through the channels on the telly while expertly opening a bottle of ale with the other. Usually, he wasn't one to drink, but today he was making an exception. Michela and Octavia. God! What had he ever done to deserve that?

He took a long drawl on the bottle then let out a sigh. His body felt like a heavy weight on the black leather. He seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the comfort of the couch. It wasn't long before his eyes began to droop. Time for some serious shuteye. He rose and stumbled up the stairs to his loft room. Before he could make his way up the spiral staircase, he collapsed on the metal steps halfway up.

While he was out, he dreamed of things that he thought he had forgotten and things he didn't know he knew. People were surrounding him. Their faces blurs of fog and color. Their raised voices held his attention. He tried to get up but found himself restricted, confined. It was almost as if someone had secured him to a bed for a very long and very painful operation.

"What's going on?" he tried to whisper, but his voice wouldn't cooperate with him.

"If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right," one woman said in that dreamy whispery way people spoke in dreams.

"Octavia? Is that you?" He tried to speak again but the words wouldn't come.

What was happening to him? His arm slipped free from its confines and he waved it to get someone's attention.

"Vargas!" she yelled. "I told you to secure the patient!"

"They may think they have perfected this technology but it is MINE, dammit!

Mine! And I'm going to show them how to really control an AI patient."

"But why him?" a younger male voice asked.

"Because even with his super ego, he's still the best. With my technology inside him, he'll be even better." Octavia's form slipped by him in a blur of white and yellow.

"But there are other reasons, right?"

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe I want to prove something to my father. Or maybe I just want to control the bastard and avenge my brother's untimely death."

"Or maybe both?"

"Or maybe both. Now shut up and focus. This is a delicate operation."

Ethan didn't remember much after that. But it was a dream, after all, and dreams in the scheme of things really didn't matter much. It wouldn't be until weeks later that he learned exactly how much of a dream it hadn't been.

The next day he awoke in the balcony-like room looking over his living area.

The discarded ale bottle was still lying sideways on the end table and his gun, holster and shirt was lying in a pile next to the door. He felt better today but still a little woozy from the previous night. He must have been more tired than he thought.

The phone rang and it sounded like he was standing inside a bell tower at noon. Pain exploded inside his head. "God!" He held his hands to his ears and ran to pick up the extension quieting the noise. One beer can not give me a hangover like this, he thought.

"Yeah, what do you want?" His head pounded as he waited for the caller to speak.

"Good morning Chameleon."

"Chameleon?" Something about the word triggered his subconscious.

"Are you with us, Chameleon?" The woman's voice was stern.

"Yes," he said. "I am with you. Awaiting instructions."