played by Andrea Speed

Played by A.B. Gayle

__________________________________

Flynn Archer and Ray Bullivant

March 16th, Mystery Island

Ray sprinted back up the stairs. Fuck! The damn door wouldn’t budge. He knew he shouldn’t have followed the idiot inside. When they got out, Gideon would slow roast him over a spit and make sure there was plenty of basting first. That’s assuming they could get out. From what he could feel, there was a lock on this side. The twin to the one Flynn had opened. No convenient key or illuminated “press here” type of sign, either. A little light on the situation would help. “Hey, can you bring me my cell?”

“News flash, dude – you just knocked me down the stairs. I think it’s probably in a million different pieces on the floor.”

Ray groaned and head-butted the door a few times. “ You’re not into smokin’ coffin fags, by any chance, are you?”

Flynn glared up at the slightly darker shadow of King Kong. “What the fuck are you doin’ askin’ me if I’m a necrophile now? You take too many hits to the head?”

Ray trudged back down the stairs as the American didn’t seem too interested in trying to help. “Cancer sticks? Matches? Cigarette lighter? Any of those ring a bell?”

“Now you’re just being a dickhead.” Flynn searched his pockets, and while he wasn’t a smoker anymore, he was pretty sure he had a lighter. Mainly, because he was entertaining ideas of a little arson. But King Kong didn’t need to know that. He found it and had to flick the lever twice before he got an anemic flame that barely lit up anything. It was like a teaspoon of moonlight in an ocean of night. “Where the fuck are we?”

“No, we’re not. According to Gideon, the Fukawi are a central African tribe. I’m British, and you’re a Yank.”

It took a while for the big side of beef to come down the stairs, and Flynn knew glaring at him was pointless, but when had that ever stopped him before? He was the king of the useless gesture. “What are you playing at?”

“Playing at? What’s got your knickers in a twist, Sunshine? You’re the one who insisted on breaking in here. I just wanted to get my phone back.” Ray felt around on the floor, but after finding five separate pieces, he gave up. If it had been a machine gun he would have the bloody thing together in a jiffy, but in the dark, it was almost impossible to work out why the stupid gadget didn’t fit back together again. The damn thing was definitely cactus..

“Yes, and you conveniently fell down the stairs, and got us both trapped in here. Funny how that works.”

“It was just your ass, mate, couldn’t resist it.” Ray pulled off his T-shirt.

“Hey – what the fuck are you stripping for? Does getting trapped make you horny or something?”

“Yeah, shame it’s so dark; your tongue would be hanging out if you could see my pecs.” Ray pulled his trusty hold-out knife from the sheath strapped to his ankle. The weapon had saved his bacon on more than one occasion. “Turn off the lighter, will ya. We need as much fuel as we can get.” Working by feel alone, Ray started cutting his shirt into long strips. “You know it’s funny. They give you all this training back in Dorset, on how to make your own torch; I’ve always wanted to see if it works.” He pulled out his Firesteel and waved it in Flynn’s general direction. “We can use the fuel from your lighter to make sure the material burns. That’s assuming you don’t burn it all up first.” Of course the silly git wouldn’t do anything as sensible as obeying a simple request, would he?

“Uh, dude, who said you were in charge? And when did you become Bear Grylls or some shit?” Flynn walked away from King Kong and started feeling his way around, as the lighter wasn’t great illumination. He walked until he just about hit a wall.

“Bear Grylls? That arsehole couldn’t find his way out of swamp without his camera crew and rescue team helping him.” Ray laid two of the strips down and started hacking at the material to create a third. Each cut nearly made him cry. Of course, today of all days, he’d donned his favorite T-shirt with the dagger-head dragon on it.

“Exactly,” Flynn said, wondering if King Kong would get the implication. Maybe not. But what was he after? First following him, now trapping him in this … whatever. What was he playing at? Did he expect him to buy this innocent act? “And why are you ripping up your phallic Ed Hardy shirt? You’re gonna make the douchebags cry.”

“What’s wrong with the shirt? At least it’s not red like yours. You should never wear that colour you know. Haven’t you ever noticed that in movies, it’s always the guy in red who dies?”

“Wow, clumsy pass much, Kong?” Flynn nearly stubbed his toe on something. What was this? It almost looked like a counter top of some sort, flush with the wall. “And don’t you dare insult my Burn Shit Down t-shirt! It’s about all I have left of my old life.” Well, there was also Aiden, but even he wasn’t here now.

Ray could just about make out the words on the other guy’s shirt now his eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom. The logo said: Fuck politics, I just want to burn shit down. He snorted to himself. He hadn’t paid much attention above ground, more intent on making sure the guy didn’t kill himself. “Hey, maybe we should have used your shirt, instead.”

“It says burn shit, not burn shirt. And why the fuck are you doing that anyways? You’re acting like a crazy person.”

“Nah, I’m not. Acting, that is. At least, that’s what Gideon says when anyone makes that kind of remark. He always stands up for me.” Another long strip joined its brethren on the pile. Ray started cutting the next one. “It’s dark down here. Right? We need light. Me cut up shirt. Make torch. Pour on lighter fluid. Light it with my Firesteel and Bob’s your uncle.” At least, that’s what the instructor said, though Ray’s uncle’s name was Fred.

“Is this in case we get attacked by zombies or rogue Frankensteins, you’ll be good to go?”

Ray ignored the annoying little git. “All I need now is a long piece of wood for the handle.” Usually, they suggested to break off a branch or something, unfortunately he hadn’t thought to bring one with him. Just as well. If he had, he would probably have bashed Flynn over the head with it by now. “Noticed any Quidditch sticks lying around? Brooms?”

“Have you checked up your ass, Harry Potter?”  Flynn groped around blindly, mostly ignoring Crazy Ray. But where did this thing in the wall go?

Ray twisted around to replace his knife and caught sight of a dark shape on the floor, only a few feet behind him. “Hang on. Look what I found.”  Some straight lengths of timber were piled in a heap. “Magic.” The wood appeared to be pretty old, easily snapping into a useable length when he stepped on it. Ray started winding the strips around the top as tightly as he could, sticking his tongue out of his mouth as he worked. He really should get out of that habit, but it helped him concentrate. “It’ll be good for vampires, too.”

“I thought that was garlic. Got some of that in your fanny pack too, MacGyver?”

“No, but I can use my shoelace to form a cross out of the remaining wood if you like.” There that did it. Ray tucked the ends of the strips in as tightly as he could and gave the torch an experimental shake to make sure the bloody thing didn’t unravel on him. “Can I have your cigarette lighter now?”

“Sure.” It wasn’t doing him much good anyways. As he flung it at Ray, he added, “If your hair catches on fire, I’ll stamp it out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone applied their boot to my head,” Ray muttered to himself as he worked the top off Flynn’s lighter, and carefully poured the fuel on the wadded up material. A quick flick of the Firesteel and the surrounding blackness suddenly lit up as the torch caught alight. “Wow, it actually works.”

Flynn felt something beneath his hand. A button? He thought so, and to confirm it, he pressed it. There was a slight hum, and lights flickered on over their heads.

Blinking at the sudden illumination, Flynn looked at Ray and his little torch. He did a Frankenstein grunt, and said, “Fire bad!”

“Fuck.” Ray’s gaze switched from the blazing remains of his best T-shirt to the lights overhead. “Fire definitely bad. Oh, well, maybe we might meet some Ringwraiths.”

“You tell me, Hobbit. That’s more your piece of Middle Earth than mine.” Flynn finally got a look at the counter top. It was actually some kind of control panel, although most of the dials were broken, glass cracked, and buried in cobwebs and dust.

Ray headed off in the opposite direction, holding his torch aloft. He didn’t need its light any longer, but it was the principle of the thing. He always felt more secure with some sort of weapon in his hand. “It was Aragorn. Not the hobbits.” As far as he was concerned, the best part of the film was the bit where the Ranger jumped in to save them, brandishing the flaming branch to disperse the evil dead. And, speaking of Lord of the Rings, given the amount of webs he’d spotted near where Flynn was standing, there could even be a giant spider here.

“More like Arrogant, I think,” Flynn looked around what seemed to be some kind of cavern transformed into … what exactly? Some weird ass lab? “What the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Ray scratched his chest. At least he was still wearing his trusty Chesty Bond singlet that his aunty sent out from Australia. He’d die if anything happened to that. This place gave him the creeps. It wasn’t as if they were trapped below ground in a coffin or anything. The room or cave or whatever it was, must be at least thirty foot square.

“You’d think there’d be a button labelled “door” or something,” Flynn muttered, randomly pressing a few buttons. Some of them clearly didn’t work. None of them appeared marked in any way he could discern.

Ray retraced his steps and scanned the panel. “Careful, with your luck, one of those could set off anything. I’m going to get some back-up. You never know what could be down here. Remember those guys who opened the tombs in the pyramids? They all came down with some mysterious illness. Maybe this place is cursed.”

“Oh, is that what the torch is for? You’re afraid of mummies? Don’t worry, they’re even slower than zombies. And they look kinda flammable. I bet they smell like old beef jerky and sweat socks.”

“Yeah, if there are any mummies around, I suppose I could always unwrap them and use the bandages to make another torch.” Ray sighed. If there had been a mummy here, he needn’t have destroyed his favourite shirt. “Anyway, at least there’s enough wood.” He kicked the broken pieces of timber around. “At some stage, these must have formed a railing at the edge of the steps.” Now he could see better, their original purpose looked a lot more obvious. Ray climbed back up toward the door. He really needed to get Gideon and Rag down here. They were the brains of the outfit. He just supplied the brawn. “Hey, wunderkid, can you get your arse up here, and put your tool to a good purpose for a change?”

“Again with the come ons. Jesus, Kong, it ain’t happening. Get over yourself.”

“I need you to open the door. Jeez, mate, what did you think I meant?”

It was a long climb, and once he reached the top he was tired. Goddamn, maybe falling back down was just the thing. Flynn crouched down and examined the lock. A bit different from outside, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure how until he inserted a pick and felt something that shouldn’t have been there. “Fuck me. Dude, this lock is broken.”

“Huh,” Ray leaned over, to get a better look at what Flynn  was doing. “Are you sure?”

“Hey, Mongo, if you set my head on fire, I’m fucking suing you for everything you got.” Flynn shoved away Ray’s arm holding the stupid burning shirt. You could almost smell all those frat boys crying at the loss of an Ed Hardy. “And, yeah, I’m fucking sure. Locks are my thing, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Okay, okay. I was just trying to help.” Ray set off back down the stairs. “I think I saw an opening in the back wall. Maybe there’s another way out.”

“Well, we don’t seem to have a lot of options this way, unless you can shove your bulk through a metal door.” Solid core too. Flynn really did wonder if this was a blast door. It didn’t really make sense, as an explosion of any size would probably send the roof crashing down, but maybe the door was made to keep something in. Oh, he so didn’t want to think about what that could be right now. “Wait at the bottom, Kong. If I fall, I want something pillowy to land on.”

Ray pounded his chest like a gorilla. “Nothing pillowy about these pecs, mate. I do push ups every day.” He waited at the bottom of the steps, anyway, just in case the guy did trip or something. With the railing gone, they did look a bit steep.

Flynn followed Ray as he headed for whatever he thought he saw. Flynn was hoping for a fire door with a big neon “Exit” sign over it, but no such luck. There were some benches in the middle of the room. glittering with a rime of broken glass, and one wall seemed to have some sort of tank leaning hapharzadly against it. The sides of the glass were all a putrid shade of green. The only good thing he could say was that it was too shallow to house any decent sized mega-gators or sharktopuses. For a moment there, he’d wondered if they’d stumbled into some sort of underground aquarium. The water in the tank had long since evaporated, leaving what looked like scummy rock covered by shells of some sort. But if they were shells they looked they’d been taking steroids. The fucking things were at least two inches high.”Did Rapid Toke used to have a water park or something? Have we found the lost aquarium of Rapper’s Token?”

“Or maybe it’s Barbossa’s bath? If it is, he needs a good dose of shock treatment.” There could be some stuff back in the swimming pool shed. “Nah. Nothing interesting here.” Ray poked at what looked like a pile of garbage up one end of the twenty foot long tank. A few of the shells moved slightly as his finger depressed the surface. “Yikes, I thought this was all rock. There’s something under here.”

“If it’s a face hugger, you’re on your own.”

“Face hugger?”

“You know, Alien? Oh, god, don’t tell me you don’t know what Alien is.”

“Sure I do, but I was too busy checking out Ripley’s tits to worry about any creepy crawly. Speaking of which, this thing really stinks. Did you notice that?” Ray gave the pile of rubbish another prod.

“C’mon face hugger,” Flynn urged, looking closer at the pile. Hey, was that a stick? “Dude, is that – oh, christ, it’s an arm.”

Ray put the burning torch closer. “Nah, couldn’t be an arm, it’s all black and… Hang on, I’m just going to get something.” One of the remaining pieces of wood on the ground was only a couple of feet long. That would do. “Here, use this.”

“Fuck you, I’m not touching that! I’ve already done my share of severed limb finding.”

Ray poked the end of his torch into the gap between the tank and the wall. Using the piece of railing, he carefully levered up the section of… something… that stuck out from the solid mass lying on the bottom of the tank. “I don’t think there’s anything severed about this, it seems pretty firmly attached to the rest of the body.”

Flynn made a noise of disgust. “Is it bad karma? Why do I keep stumbling across dead bodies?”

“Well, strictly speaking, you didn’t stumble across it, it’s in a tank. Do you think he went to sleep in the bath and drowned?”

“When have you ever seen a glass bathtub? This is a tank for piranha or something.” Flynn frowned at what he just said. “There aren’t any piranha around here, are there?”

“No, they’re only found in Africa. Gideon told me that when we were on this hush hush mission in Colombia, and had to wade through all these rivers, looking for hostages. Anyway, if there were any piranha in here, he’d just be a skeleton, wouldn’t he? But this guy seems to have all of his flesh intact… or most of it anyway.”  Ray prodded a piece that fell off with one of the shells attached. “Weird barnacles.”

“That’s not a barnacle. I don’t know what it is, though. Some kinda sea creature.” Flynn shook his head, and said, “This reek is gonna make me barf. Where is this way out you supposedly saw?”

“Over there.” Ray retrieved the torch and headed across to the dark shadow in the middle of the far wall. “We better not touch anything until the experts arrive. Don’t want to ruin the evidence. Pity we haven’t got a piece of chalk or some tape to say, Keep Away.”

“Yeah, ‘cause this place is such a hotbed of activity,” Flynn said, rolling his eyes. ”Lead on, McGruff.” And it fit Ray perfectly, because if anyone was a crime dog, it was him. Whatever that meant. Wow, where was his head lately? Flynn was pretty sure he couldn’t be senile yet, but he just kept getting the weirdest feeling he was losing his mind.

Well, what better place to do it in than a place where no one could hear you scream?

played by Andrea Speed

played by A.B.Gayle

Flynn Archer and Ray Bullivant

______________________________________

March 16th, Mystery Island – Redemption Reef

This was all so much bullshit.

Flynn wanted to break into Eidolon headquarters and beat up every motherfucker in a suit until they told him what the fuck was really going on here, but they kept him too busy – and too unsettled – to even try. Aiden was possibly safe, and quite probably not, as he’d left with a bunch of other do -gooders to start a school, or some such nonsense, on the ass end of this island-reef hell, where apparently they hadn’t even invented the telegraph yet. Aiden had told him not to worry, but it had been two weeks now, and there hadn’t been so much as a carrier pigeon with a note tied to its leg. Okay, it wouldn’t be a pigeon here. Fruitbat? Why not? A fruitbat with a scroll tied to its leg. He had yet to find one.

Eidolon kept him busy, with their “training”, but he half-assed it enough that they got tired of dealing with him. Flynn was happy this skill hadn’t gotten rusted. You’d think it’d be easy to frustrate people, but when they were a huge corporation that drilled you to be just as Stepford wife cheerful as possible, pissing them all off was a true art. He was proud his sulky teen-hood had trained him to be as big a pain in the butt as possible.

It was a nice day. What a shock! Because every day was hot and sunny, with cloudless blue skies and stunning sunsets. It was pretty at first, then slid over to mundane, and lately, since Aiden had been gone, he just found it supremely irritating. He wished the sky had a face, so he could punch it.

As it was, he was just wandering around what had been the old resort, the tourist trap that existed here before violent weather and an earthquake or two sent all the fat white people running. Not that there was anything to see. The buildings, if intact, were empty shells, housing rodents and various island fauna. All the good stuff had been looted or destroyed ages ago. He thought if Eidolon were really serious about building the island up, they could open the old resort as the Tourist Trap Ghost Town and make some fast cash.

He found a rusted shed near the cracked, cavernous hole he took to be the location of a former swimming pool. Some of the tile was still intact, little flashes of white like bone beneath black soil. That just added a nice creep factor to the whole ghost town thing. Scatter some rubber skulls around, and you’d have a built-in Halloween party spot.

The accompanying chain and padlock were even more rusted than the door, suggesting cheaper materials. If he yanked really hard, he could probably break it, but he was in the mood to test out his skills. He used a couple of small picks and got the rusty padlock open in no time – definitely cheap – and the chain fell apart as he pulled it through the handles.

Inside, he could see why no one had ever bothered to break into the shed. There were skimmers, a net, the strong smell of chlorine, a couple of lawn implements. Nothing valuable, nothing of much use here. Still, he grabbed one of the skimmers and shouted over his shoulder, “Hey, wanna scoop? We could go corral some sheep to ride and have ourselves a joust.” Someone was following him, had been since he left Eidolon’s base, and they were about as quiet as you could be out here. Which meant not at all. Tailing people was for urban centers, not islands with too many damn leaves.

His shadow stepped out from the side of the main building, and almost instantly blocked out the sun. Great, they sent King Kong after him. “They sent you to tail me? What, were they out of tanks?”

“I’m just supposed to make sure you don’t get into any trouble,” the big man replied, lounging against the door jamb.

Flynn smirked. “Really? So where’s the tranquilizer darts and sap full of buckshot?”

The big man looked kinda sheepish. “Huh? Sap full of buckshot? Sorry, you lost me there.”

“A sap. It’s a … thing, and you hit people with it. Ever see any Ray Milland movies?”

“No, but as it so happens my name is Ray, Ray Bullivant.” He offered his hand out to shake.

Flynn looked at the man’s extended paw, and wondered if he’d find it funny if he held out the pool scoop. Maybe not. Still, he made no move to shake his hand. “Not Lenny? Wow. So, how long have you been working for the evil empire? And what did you do to get this shit assignment tailing me?”

Ray put his hand in his pocket and pretended that’s where he meant to put it all along. “Gideon said to watch the punk and make sure he doesn’t kill himself. You’re not meant to be in here.” He knew he was stating the bleeding obvious, but hey, he liked watching to see what the kid would do or say next. It was better than watching Harry fiddle with his radios all day, and there are just so many games of cricket you can have with only five people.

“Oh, why? Are they worried I’m going to start cleaning everyone’s pools without the authority to do so? Well, slap my hand and take away my birthday, ‘cause I feel like skimmin’.” Flynn tossed the scoop back inside the shed and kicked the door shut. They should have named this place Tedium Island.

Ray straightened and stepped back as the young man strolled past him. “What’s with the Lenny jibe? I didn’t get that one.”

Flynn looked back at the guy. He was honestly built like a refrigerator; his shoulders were square and everything. “If I said “Tell me about the rabbits, George”, would that help?

“Nope.” Ray grinned and lounged after him with his hands in his pockets. What was this kid on?!

Flynn shook his head. He was Lenny! Holy shit. He better warn the womenfolk. “It’s a sitcom reference. Laverne and Shirley. But you’re not American, are you? You wouldn’t know.” Flynn headed back into the trees, wondering if pirates ever washed up here and buried treasure in the sand or volcanic soil. It’d be cool to come across a two hundred year old bottle of rum, or a syphilis encrusted skull.

“Nope, I may be a tank, but I’m not a Yank.” Ray chuckled at the look on Flynn’s face at his sick joke. American sitcoms sucked but then so did British soaps. No wonder he never watched them! The silly git wasn’t even looking where he was going. Ray threw himself into the air and landed on top of Flynn, squashing him into the ground. He rolled off and sat there grinning at the look of astonishment on the young man’s face. “Careful.”

Flynn glared at the big ox. “What the fuck, Fridge? You ain’t even my type. What the fuck’s your problem?”

Ray brushed off his hands and scrambled to his feet. He held out a hand to help Flynn up. “There’s a hole there. A big one.” Someone had removed the barrier they’d erected. Who the fuck would have done that?

“A guy once used that line on me at The Cock, and it didn’t work then either.”

Ray backed away. The ground under his feet didn’t feel too secure. He lay down again and edged forward on his stomach. The sides were already crumbling around the edge of the eight foot deep pit.“That’s where we rescued your mate, Gil.”

“Doctor Feelgood? I think he’d object to being called my mate.”

“Not feeling too good yourself, eh, Doc? Lost your other mate?” Ray had been tailing Flynn ever since the teacher left, and if the young man kicked at any more stones, his shoes would get a hole in them.

“Why, you wanna submit a resume? Or, wait, are you writing my biography? ‘Cause, if you are, can you make me the son of a boot black? That’d be awesome.” Flynn looked down at the hole, and that was all it was, just a hole. Leave it to pretty boy Feelgood to somehow get trapped in it. What a pussy.

“I’ll be back.” Ray scrambled up and set off at a run in the other direction, back the way they’d come.

Flynn waved at the Fridge’s incredibly broad back. He must shop at whatever Big and Tall place existed in this hemisphere. “Sayonara. Write if you get work!” Flynn turned and continued walking amongst the trees, avoiding the Pit of Dumb where Feelgood nearly killed himself. He must have had a big dick, because what else could Jude have ever seen in him?

Moments later Ray returned with one of the pool skimmers in his hand. “Why would you want to be the son of a boot black?”

Wow. Flynn was starting to like this guy, because he was like  the human equivalent of a ten second delay button. “Sounds cool. Flynn Bootblacker. Besides, no one would believe astronaut.” He noticed Ray was holding one of the scoops. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going fishing.” Ray got hold of the business end and started poking it at the hole. “Wouldn’t you be Flynn Bootblackson?”

“That would be Bootblackerson, thank you very much. And what are you fishing for, land sharks? You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”  Flynn hummed the Jaws theme.

“If you stop wandering around like a lost sheep, I can show you. But I can’t be in two places at once.” Ray placed the net end over Flynn’s head. “Nearly as good as a shepherd’s crook,”  he said and yanked him back towards the pit.

Flynn grabbed the scoop and pulled it off. “Hey, Lenny, I’m not a fish! Just knock it the fuck off.”

Ray laughed at the look of outrage on the kid’s face. “Oops, sorry Flynn Astronut.” He walked back to the pit they’d come from, dropped to his stomach and wormed his way toward the hole. Once there, lying full length on the ground, he used the scoop to systematically scrape the sides, letting the head drop down to the full depth then angling it slightly before working the handle up through his hands. After each pass, he edged his way sideways so he could check the next area. After repeating the action a few times, sure enough, a soft click sounded, followed by the impact of a short spear embedding itself in the skimmer’s mesh. “Gotcha.” Ray drew up the net and inspected his catch.

Flynn was tempted to kick Lenny in the ass and send him falling down the hole, but he’d probably have to help pull him out afterwards, and he just bet he’d pull a groin muscle. “What is it, Manta Ray?”

“Another of those lethal little buggers that nearly killed your not-my-mate, Gil.” Ray edged away from the hole and sat cross legged, turning the scoop around so he could see it. “The thing is, now we have a problem, because this-here-thingy shouldn’t be there. Someone has reset the trap and removed the barriers we’d erected to keep idiots like you away.”

“Idiot? If that isn’t the Kong calling the gorilla ape, I don’t know what is.” Flynn tried to see what the Fridge was looking at, but it was just a small thing, like a rose thorn, but a bit longer.

“See these barbs?” Ray twisted the net around, so that Flynn could see it better. “They injected a poison of some sort. Gil’s heart stopped beating twice.”

“Talk to Eidolon. I’m sure they’re behind it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll check with Gideon first. In the meantime, try to keep your big gob shut for once, hey?”

Flynn crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, Fridge, you’re the one’s who been lecturing, not me, so keep your own fucking trap shut.”

“Speaking of traps, you don’t have a pair of gloves on you, do you?”

“Oh yeah, I shoved them up my butt for safe keeping. No, I don’t have gloves on me. Why?”

“I’m not touching that thing without them, and for all I know there could be more down there.” He turned and stared at the dark patch that just looked like part of the shadow of the tree. “As far as we could tell there’s nothing at the bottom anyway, so why rig up something like this?” Ray looked hopefully at the young man who was crouched down beside him. “I don’t suppose you would like to go back and fetch the other scoop for me?”

“Listen to yourself, Lenny. It’s a hole in the ground. Someone’s fucking with you. Probably Eidolon.”

“It still doesn’t explain why someone would booby-trap a hole with nothing in it. Unless they’re trying to catch heffalumps, of course.”

“I believe they only exist on Muppet Island.” Flynn had no idea what he was talking about and he didn’t care. He decided to leave Lenny to his hole scrying – which sounded so much filthier than it actually was – and wandered off into the trees, keeping an eye out for guano and any booby traps. Like there’d be any.

Damn. Where was Flynn off to now? “Do I have to bring bloody kiddy’s reins for you? Stop wandering off by yourself.” Ray carefully placed the pool skimmer against a tree and set off after the young man.

“I’m not one of your rabbits, Lenny. You can’t tell me what I can do,” Flynn shouted back, glancing over his shoulder. He didn’t care if the man was as big as a moose, he wasn’t going to take orders from him. Of course, he picked the wrong time to look back, because his foot caught on something, and he fell gut first onto the trunk of a fallen tree, his breath leaving him in a single grunt.

“Maybe I should grab one of the dog collars and chains. Unless of course Gideon brought his bondage gear with him. You’d look kinda sweet in a collar.” Ray picked up Flynn and threw him over his shoulder, giving his butt a pat at the same time.

Okay, that tore it. He’d indulged Fridge long enough. There wasn’t much you could do from a position like this, except grab the guy in a modified headlock, which he did, and then knee him in the face. They both went falling, but at least Flynn was expecting it. As soon as they hit the ground, he rolled away, and scrambled up onto the fallen tree trunk, which was surprisingly rough beneath his hands. “Jude’s paying you to be an ass to me, right?”

“Nah, I’m nobody’s ass, but you sure are cute when you get mad.” Ray rubbed his jaw and scrambled up into a crouch, warily watching the young man. “Now are you going to behave, or do I have to make you?”

“Oh my god. Are you actually flirting with me? Are you getting off on this, Lenny?” Flynn shook his head in disgust. “No molesto, comprende? I have a boyfriend, and he’s shit-loads more attractive than you.”

“Oh, now I’m mortally offended! Here I was thinking you must like me after calling me all those lovely names. I’m mortified. Mortified.” Ray put the back of his hand against his forehead and gave a loud sob. The young guy hadn’t moved. “Speaking of boyfriends, was yours the pretty boy with the dog? The one I saw climbing all over the carpenter they brought in to build the new school? Maybe he just liked him because he had a big tool….” Ray paused and grinned. “…belt.”

“You motherfucker,” Flynn snapped. Yeah, he was probably just saying that to get a rise out of him, but it worked. He dove off the log, aiming for the big lug’s almost non-existent throat. He felt the log shift beneath his feet, but didn’t think much about it.

“See, I knew you’d fall for me before too long.” The impact of the flying Flynn sent Ray reeling backwards. As he fell, Ray caught the young man in his arms and twisted so he was lying on top. “I may not watch soaps or sitcoms, but I do watch WWE!”

“All fake bullshit,” Flynn replied, driving his knee up into Fridge’s balls, and slamming his head into his face. It was a bad, bad headbutt. Namely because Flynn hit bone, not cartilage, and instantly saw stars. “Goddamn it!”

“Fuck.” Ray threw the smaller man off and curled up into a ball. The world spun and went white. He lay there for a while, fighting the nausea. Eventually he managed to sit up. “Next time, how about asking me politely to let go.”

“Fuck you; you started this,” Flynn replied, rubbing his forehead. Like that would help.

Ray gritted his teeth and swallowed a mouthful of bile back down. “Fine by me, there’s a hole over there.” Without turning, because that would be a bad idea, he pointed to the one he’d found
the barb in. “Feel free to fall down it whenever you like. Just don’t expect me to come rescue you.”

“I would rather stay in the hole,” Flynn said, sitting up. His head continued to throb, but it was his fault. He should have known the Fridge would have a head like granite.

“Yeah, best place for you. I could throw down bananas when you get hungry.”

“Racist,” Flynn said, and climbed unsteadily to his feet.  As he was staggering to stay upright, he noticed a weird shadow on the ground. Or, wait – was it a shadow? He edged closer.

“Racist? How do you figure that one? Being cruel to dumb animals, maybe.” The stars finally cleared from Ray’s head long enough for him to notice that Flynn had gone again. Fuck. Why had he volunteered to play nursemaid for the brat? Rag or Clarkey could do it next time. He rolled over onto all fours and sat back on his haunches, steadying himself with his clenched fists so the ground didn’t slam into the back of his head.

“Hey. Mongo, get up. There’s another one of these hole thingies. And I think there’s something down at the bottom of this one.”

Ray took a deep breath. Getting to his feet did not seem a good option at the moment. He crawled over to where the young man was standing. The log he’d been on must have moved during their wrestling bout; instead of solid ground underneath, there was another pit. Ray reached into his pocket and drew out his cell.

“I don’t think 9-1-1 works out here, Lenny.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a smart-ass?” Ray flicked the cell on and pointed it at the hole. The illuminated surface acted like a torch, revealing that there was indeed something at the bottom. Some kind of door.

Flynn climbed down and started inspecting the structure. It was large and rectangular, metal, and he couldn’t see what it was attached to.

“What is it?” Ray tried to peer around Flynn’s figure, but he couldn’t see much, the light in the cell kept cutting off. That’s what you get when you had a 30 second cut off programmed in to conserve the battery.

“I think this is a blast door,” Flynn knocked on the hard surface, listening for sound. There was a dull thunk.

“How the fuck would you know what sort of door it is? You better not touch it, I’ll radio Gideon and see what he wants to do.” Ray pulled out the comms unit that linked him back to Harry and through him to his superior officer.

“Solid metal all the way through? It’d have to be a blast door, or maybe an industrial bomb shelter of some sort. And fuck Gideon.” Flynn eventually found a little hatch that slid aside, revealing a locking mechanism. It was a little rusted, but maybe he could get it open. He pulled his lockpick kit out of his boot, unrolled the fabric, and started going through his picks again, looking for the right sized ones for this job.

“What are you doing? I told you to leave it alone until we can get some back up. Anyway from the looks of things, it’s pretty old.” Ray tapped the radio and held it up to his ear. He should be getting some sort of signal by now. He turned it off and turned it on again to see if that helped. “Damn thing. I must have cracked it somehow when you flipped me over.”

“Yeah, blame me. You’re totally not at fault.” Goddamn, this one was a bitch. It felt like the lock was actively trying to fight him.

“Listen, mate. I told you not to fiddle with that thing. And where the fuck did you get those tools from?” Ray pulled Flynn’s arm to see what he was doing.

Flynn yanked his arm back, still fiddling with the mechanism. “Ebay, idiot.”

Ray grabbed his arm more firmly this time. “I don’t care whether it was Ebay and you had a special delivery via pelican this morning but, for once, do the fuck what you’re told. Wait until I run back to the resort and get a proper light and a couple of the other guys. Who knows who or what is in there? And how do we know the damn thing isn’t booby trapped? Don’t forget the entrance to this opening was hidden, so someone obviously didn’t want us to find it.”

“Yeah, I take orders from you,” Flynn said, chuckling at the thought. What universe was this guy from? It was then that he heard something inside the door, a sort of deep, muffled clunk. “Holy shit. Too late now, Auntie Em.”

Ray made another despairing grab as Flynn pushed on the door. Nothing happened. “See, it’s stuck. The bloody thing looks as old as the hills. It’s probably all rusted up.”

“Give me a hand, Mongo,” Flynn said, standing up and shoving on the door with all his might. It was loose in its track, he felt it give a bit. He reached down and grabbed his lockpicking kit before resuming the push, this time really putting his shoulder into it.

Ray grabbed Flynn and tried to swivel him around before the idiot could do anything really stupid like go into an unknown space with no back up, no fucking clue what was in there and break every rule of survival that he’d ever been taught. Gideon would have his guts for garters. The blackness beyond the opening made it impossible to see anything. He tried to twist Flynn around, using the edge of the door as leverage. As he did, he felt the wall move. Ray staggered back, as what he thought was solid moved along in a track behind him. Fuck. The damn thing was a sliding door. Flynn had activated one side, but his own action actually helped rather than hindered.

“Holy shit, do you smell that?” Flynn asked. “Somebody died in there.”

“Either that or you had something revolting for breakfast.” Ray sniffed warily. There was an unusual smell about the place. Not the newly dead smell, more a musty one with lingering overtones. “Even more reason to wait until I go back and get proper gear” He turned his cell on again, but the small light barely lit up the next few feet. From the way their voices echoed, the room or whatever they were in was a lot larger than that.

“Yeah, sunshine, you go and do that. Me? I’m gonna loot.” Flynn stepped inside the opening, squinting at  the darkness. The floor felt like hard packed earth, and it seemed to have a steep gradient. Shit. He was sure he saw something up ahead though, something glass like. Did someone have a meth lab on the island? How Breaking Bad of them. A couple of inches on, though, he found some steps. Cool. No hand rail though. Did they not give a fuck about safety? Damn meth-heads.

“Fuck it, Flynn. Will you stop running off all the time.” Ray stood there for a second, poised in the open doorway. He was up shit creek no matter what he did. If he went back for help and anything happened to Flynn he’d be strung up by Gideon and that bitch, Sandra Pierce. Apparently the little punk was special for some weird reason. Beat him as to why. All he knew was they had to keep tabs on him. Monitor his behavior. At least if he stayed with him he’d have some hope of protecting his butt if the idiot got into trouble.

He took a cautious step away from the entrance. The door didn’t seem to be moving, he should be alright. Another two steps followed. Flynn was a fair way beneath him now.

“Yoink,” Flynn said, reaching up and snatching the cell out of Ray’s hand. “Go on, Lassie, go tell Aunt Rhodie I fell down a well. I’ll just be keeping this, so I can see where the steps end. Oh, and then I have to make a long distance call to Antarctica, to find out which way the water goes down their toilet. You understand.”  Flynn quickly headed down the steps, out of Ray’s reach. The man might be big, but he moved like old people fucked: slow and sloppy.

Ray lunged for his cell, but Flynn managed to evade his grasp. He’d kill the little bastard. Smothering an oath, he started jumping down the stairs, two at a time. Damn. They must have been made for midgets; his size fifteens draped over the edges. He slipped off the edge of one and flailed his arms around, trying to regain his balance. Fuck. All he managed was a pretty solid encounter with his target’s back, knocking him over in the process. They fell together. Ray’s head making sharp contact with the edge of a step on at least two occasions. Finally, he landed on something solid, and soft…. ish.

“Fuck, Mongo, what are you made of?” Flynn carped, shoving the lummox off of him. “Damn it, you’re a five hundred pound side of beef in a two hundred pound bag.” Flynn stood up, pretty sure he pulled a muscle. Possibly his entire spine. Ow. Where the hell was the phone? It had been in his hand, but he was sure it had been jarred loose during the fall. He looked up the stairs, shocked by how steep and long they were.  A grinding noise started up, like that Chevelle he had before its flywheel died for good. The light shining in the open doorway grew smaller and smaller, and then he saw the door slide shut with a final, ominous clunk. “Oh shit.”

___________________________________

Evening February 12th Rapatoka Island

Gideon yawned, stretched, ran a hand through his hair and scratched his scalp. God, what a bugger’s muddle of a day, he thought, glancing at the clock to see it was knocking on for 20:30, and he still hadn’t finished the reports. After his coffee in the afternoon with Lyle, they had parted on amicable terms, although Gideon was far from relaxed around that man these days. Lyle had a subtle sexuality that enticed, and Gideon had to admit a burning curiosity to experience that for himself. He really didn’t care about the man’s transgendered state. Gideon took folks as he found them, always providing they did the same with him and had no designs on putting a ring on his finger. If they were offering then Gideon didn’t mind taking, as long as what was on offer was acceptable to both sides—no strings, no ties, no permanency.

He got to his feet and stretched again, wondering about finding something to eat. He didn’t fancy anything the restaurant might offer. He eyed the bottom drawer of his desk. Maybe the solution in there was a better alternative? He really needed to get Miles and Gil back to Mystery. He needed their expertise, their no-nonsense pragmatism, and Miles needed to take some responsibility for that damn dog of his. It was his decision to bring the mutt, the little bugger should be under his supervision instead of getting under Aggie’s feet.

Gideon had read Eidolon’s file on Miles Sutherland from cover to cover; seemed like they had one a foot thick on the doctor. The man and his late partner, Darren Peterson, had both worked for Medicin sans Frontiers, risking their necks on the front line on more than one occasion. Finally, after six years of service in the different trouble spots in Africa, their luck ran out, and they were kidnapped by a Somalian warlord. Gideon had paused at that. It hadn’t made very nice reading and some unwanted memories of his own had floated unhelpfully to the surface.  Sometimes he wished he didn’t have such perfect recall. He knew Eidolon didn’t have nearly as much information on him, though. It would have made interesting reading if they had, but he had managed to suppress most of it. With a little help, of course, but there was no way in hell he was allowing Pierce to find out the truth.

In Miles’ case, Eidolon were able to get hold of the official and the non-official reports on the Somalian episode, both military and medical. Before being ransomed, the two doctors had been subjected to weeks of imprisonment and torture. Gideon knew what that was like. He strongly suspected that this environment wasn’t doing Sutherland any good at all. No doubt that accounted for the expression on Miles’ face when he arrived, not to mention his attitude when they brought Gillespie to him for treatment. Suddenly the doctor’s irritability and reticence began to add up.

An idea began to form. According to the psyche reports, none of the suggested treatment had done much good. Bleeding heart do-gooders were a pain in the ass, but there were a few who truly believed what they were doing was right and gave of themselves selflessly. They were usually the ones who suffered; the ones who went unappreciated by folks who were safe in their affluent homes; the ones who ended up dead or damaged in the line of duty, often inflicted by the same people they were trying to help.  God knew there were enough aid workers who had given up most of their lives to a cause that eventually resulted in their deaths, tarred with the same brush as enemies of the state. Sutherland–and his partner–seemed to fit into that category.

Unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk, Gideon withdrew the bottle of whisky he had been saving. He held it to the light and admired the deep amber glow. It was a good one; it deserved a worthy companion to share it with. Gideon stepped outside into the warm night, following the path down to the shore. Moored to the jetty, the inflatable bobbed gently on the wind-ruffled waves.  It took him only moments to untie her and jump in. He started the engine and guided the craft out into the dark waters of the lagoon; it was high time he continued his dialogue with Doc Sutherland.

@—}–}—–

Miles sat on the top wooden step of the small hospital building, enjoying the coolness of the night air. The soft whisper of wind rustling in the coconut palms was the only sound he could hear. Peace and quiet for a change. The residents of Rapatoka were a noisy crowd, laughing and joking as they went about their daily tasks, but now they were all in bed.

Gil had also pleaded tiredness. Not really a surprise. He was still recuperating, and it was taking a while. Watching the young man, his long limbs spread out on the bed, clearly visible under the light covering was too much of a temptation for Miles. Since the blow job on the beach, Lucas always seemed to pop up like a bad penny whenever they were close, so all they’d been able to do since then was exchange a furtive kiss or the occasional grope. Mind you, that didn’t prevent the promises and teasing of what else they could get up to when they finally had a bed big enough for both of them and some privacy.

Lucas, his constant shadow, sat on one of the lower steps. Acting as a watch-dog to make sure I don’t leave, or does he just like having some company, Miles wondered. The young boy’s quiet presence brought back memories of the other companion who used to sit patiently at his feet, Roofie. A pang of guilt and regret shot through Miles. Hopefully, someone was looking after his mutt.

Apart from being a nuisance when Miles wanted to get up close and personal with Gil, he didn’t mind Lucas being around. He had wanted to read him the riot act for sneaking up and spying on them while they were making love, but Gil quietly pointed out that Rapatoka belonged to the Islanders, and the lad had every right to be there, not to mention he was at the age where curiosity would get the better of him. At least Gil didn’t seem to regret anything Miles had done or said. He was more concerned about exposing a boy of that age to the raunchy sex he planned to get up to.

Not that Lucas was a virgin or anything. Judging from Caroline’s earlier comments, the sixteen year old had already been sexually involved with one or more of the former residents of Mystery Island. But youthful curiosity or not, neither of them felt right about continuing his sex education.

Sleep would be a long way off while Miles was so frustrated. Perhaps he could have read a book? Caroline offered to lend him a couple, but as Rapatoka’s only generator was linked to the hospital, to conserve fuel, they rarely stayed up for long once the sun set. Over on Mystery Island, the lights shone all night. Did the people there have any clue about the difference between the two islands? One still trapped in the third world and the other boasting all the latest mod cons. It wasn’t bloody fair. He had tried to get his point across to the Ice Queen but failed to move her; she had skin thicker than a crocodile and a smile as false.

A new sound intruded into the quiet. At first Miles thought the buzz was a large mosquito, but then it became louder. A motor, an outboard motor. Lucas stirred and glanced up at him enquiringly. The young boy no longer pretended he couldn’t understand what Miles was saying, but he still didn’t speak to him in English.

“Stay here. Keep an eye on Caroline and Gil.” Both his patients had been asleep when he came outside.

“Tommi, Jerri.”

Lucas started to get up so he could fetch the huge identical twins who acted as the island’s main enforcers and bodyguards. Miles put a restraining hand on the young boy’s arm and shook his head. The man getting out of the boat didn’t seem to be armed. He might still be dangerous, but somehow Miles knew he didn’t pose a threat. Not tonight at least.

Gideon pulled the boat up onto the sand, hoping he didn’t have to keep an eye on the damn thing. After the previous show of force, the islanders might have been persuaded to keep their hands off it. He hoped so anyway. Despite Pierce’s lack of tact, Gideon wanted to try building bridges not create gulfs. He had witnessed Sutherland at work, admired the man’s single-minded determination to save Gillespie. Gideon well knew the man was good at his job. He was also a dedicated ‘bleeding heart’, he had taken up the Islanders’ cause and challenged Pierce on their welfare. Despite Gideon’s own ambivalence toward bleeding hearts, there was a pragmatism and an honesty about Sutherland that lifted him above the majority. He had stood up to the Bitch Queen as well, which made him okay in Gideon’s book.

Glancing around, Gideon decided to make for the dark bulk of the hospital building first. Before he could move, though, a figure detached itself from the shadows and walked toward him. The shape could only belong to one person. He tensed momentarily then mentally berated himself. He had to stop seeing hostiles behind every bush. This wasn’t Iraq.

“What’s wrong?” Miles eyed Gideon warily. Although they’d spent hours in the cockpit together during the seaplane flight, and then Gideon had donated his blood to Gil to help the man get through the surgery, Miles really didn’t know much about the man. Only that he worked for Eidolon and seemed to think guns were the solution to everything.

“I come in peace, oh Great White Chief…” Gideon intoned. He chuckled and held out the bottle. “I bring fire-water… Actually,” he dropped the humorous front “I was looking for a chat, and someone to share a drink with?”

Miles raised his eyebrows. The man had at least four bodyguards at his beck and call, plus who knows how many other people on the island by now. The seaplane had done plenty more trips since their arrival. “What? You didn’t want to share it with Ms Pierce?”

Gideon had to laugh at that. “Ms Eidolon might think she’s some kind of…” he paused. What the hell does she think she is? He sighed. “Not sure what she thinks she is really, but whatever it is, she’s the last person I would want to share this with.”

“I can relate to that. A first class bitch if ever I saw one. What have you brought with you then? Some Johnny Walker Gold Label I hope?”

“How does twenty-five year old single malt sound, old man?”

The ‘old man’ jibe stung for a second until Miles suddenly remembered the guy was a Brit. Most of the time Gideon’s accent seemed non-existent, but he’d lapsed into his more natural speaking voice when he’d made that remark. Miles could just picture him in a pub in Camden Town, downing a few pints of Guinness before heading off to the soccer. “Anything would be better than Lipton and out-of-date instant coffee. Did you bring anything to drink it out of, or should I fetch some medicine glasses?”

“Alas, the butler didn’t pack the cut crystal. Wouldn’t have survived the journey.” Shit, if they went up to the hospital, he’d lose his chance to speak to the Doc alone. “We can always share.” Gideon opened the bottle and held it toward Miles. It wasn’t the right way to drink the good stuff, but it would have to do.

The rounded sides of the inflatable made a comfortable perch as they sat side by side and passed the bottle back and forth in silence for a few minutes.

“Ah, that was worth waiting for.” Gideon let the liquid burn a trail to his stomach, allowing him some time to consider the man beside him.

“Somehow, I don’t get the feeling you came all this way just to share your whisky with me, excellent though it may be.” Miles reluctantly passed the bottle back and wiped his lips. Since giving up the grog in an effort to lose weight he’d almost forgotten how good it tasted. “What’s on your mind?”

“First, how’s Gillespie doing? We’ve not been in touch since.”

“He’s doing fine…. “ Miles’ eyes lost focus for a moment, and Gideon saw what could be a slight flush rising to the doctor’s cheeks, a slight darkening of his flesh in the moonlight, but Miles shook himself and finally gave his report. “I’m satisfied with his progress. He’s back on his feet anyway.”

“Good, that’s very good. Look, there was another reason I came here…” Gideon took the bottle back again and sipped it. “I have something I want to…discuss with you. We didn’t get much chance to talk when you were dealing with Gillespie. I read your file after…”

Miles stiffened; the warm whisky in his stomach immediately turning into molten lava. Shit, was his ulcer flaring up again? “And…” He couldn’t prevent the anger from seeping into that single drawn out word. Pierce had made a crack back in Haven Falls about his failure in Somalia. Yes, he’d failed. Failed to be strong enough for Darren’s sake. Was this man going to rub his nose in it yet again?

“My apologies if it makes you uncomfortable.” Gideon noted the tense line of Miles’ jaw, the rigidity in his body, the wariness in the dark eyes. That had hit a nerve. More than one, to go by the reaction. “You should know, I’ve read everything Eidolon has on all of you.”

Miles snorted. “What they have on me will hardly be a secret. The press didn’t get all the details, but from the looks of things Eidolon seems to be able to prise their tentacles into every hidden crevice.” He refused the bottle the next time Gideon offered it to him. His liver had already had enough, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach any more reminders of Eidolon or any of its employees. He pushed down on the edge of the boat and started to stand.

“Miles, I know you have no reason to trust me, but don’t go. I’m not here at Eidolon’s behest. I’m here because…” Gideon sighed. “I’ve been in your position. I understand…”

“How can you understand?” In the silence, Miles’ response, unnaturally loud in the quiet, sounded more like a shout. He walked a few steps along the sand and stared across the water at Mystery Island, barely able to keep a check on the anger that made him want to lash out sometimes.  “Have you ever caused the death of the man you love?” He glanced at Gideon. “Or the woman?”

“If I said it wasn’t your fault, you’d not believe me. Would you?”

“No. I’ve been told that many times lately, but nothing alters the facts. If I’d been stronger, he’d be alive today. Simple really.”

“Miles…” Gideon paused, flexed his shoulders and winced. “Damn…My shoulder has been playing up…” He chuckled. “Think I might need a doctor. Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help me though.”

“Bullshit.” The implication that he might withhold treatment because of who Gideon worked for actually made Miles madder than any implication he’d made earlier… the half-joking jibe about age and his failures. “After a lifetime dealing with casualties from both sides of the battlefield, you think I’d refuse treating your injuries if you needed help? What’s wrong?”

“It’s an old injury; maybe nothing you can do at this late stage.”

A sudden memory flashed through Miles’ mind of his stand-off with Gil back at Haven Falls when the injured Jason Biggs had refused treatment. Army shit. Gideon had obviously seen action. Probably been wounded at least once. “One of the legacies of being soldier, I would imagine.” He turned back to contemplate the way the three-quarter moon shone on the ripples of the lagoon; the waves were smaller now the wind had dropped. “Comes with the territory,” he added softly. Hopefully Gideon wouldn’t detect the sarcasm in his voice. He found it hard to sympathise with people who believed that conflict could be cured with guns.

“Would you take a look anyway? In case?” Gideon stood and turned on the spotlight perched on the front of the boat’s awning, angling it to shine downwards.

“Do I get to undress you, or do you think I have X-ray vision?” Miles smirked at Gideon. He wasn’t bad looking in a blunt, macho way. Not really his type though. Nothing like Darren or even Gil who were just downright beautiful.

Gideon laughed at Miles’ comment. “That’s a leading question, doc, should I ask you what colour underwear I have on?” He stripped off his shirt. “Or even if I have any. Most folks assume I go commando.”

Miles gave a quick smirk at the joke and moved to stand behind Gideon, making sure his body didn’t cast a shadow. “What happened?” The skin on the soldier’s left shoulder was puckered. Ugly. Cheloid scarring had built up around the wound site. He twisted the man around slightly and looked at the opposite side. Gideon just caught his eye for a second and then stared straight ahead, probably remembering the incident that caused it: a small bullet wound, neat in comparison, only inches above his heart. Miles grunted in recognition. The one on the back was the exit wound. A high calibre bullet from the looks of things, the wound had healed untreated. The guy was lucky to be alive.

He fingered the rough skin for a minute. Why hadn’t the man tried some of the newer remedies, silicon strips and creams that would reduce scarring no matter how old it was? This was just what he could see though – the surface. Who knew what the tissue inside his shoulder was like. He twisted Gideon around further so he could see the rest of his back. Raised welts stood out. The guy had worn a black T-shirt on the plane and he hadn’t seen any of these, but their precise criss-crossing placement could only mean one thing.

Miles turned away and barely managed to resist throwing up the expensive whisky he’d just drunk. He retrieved the bottle from the seat where Gideon had placed it and unscrewed the lid. The large gulp helped to settle his stomach. Seemed like hair of the dog was working tonight.

Gideon reached for his shirt. “I’m sorry, Miles, but I wanted you to know. I’ve read your file, I know all about what happened to you. Now you know why I understand.”

“Sorry? That’s my line. No, I’m the one who should be apologising.” Miles shook his head and handed Gideon the bottle after taking another swig. “At least the bastard who did the same thing to me made sure he didn’t break the surface of my skin. You need someone to rub oil into those. There are ways to reduce the scarring.”

“You assume I want to.”

Miles glanced up, alerted by the change in Gideon’s voice. The softness he’d heard during the apology had been replaced by bitter certainty. He could relate to that. “Ah,” he sighed. “I think I’m beginning to understand. It’s not only the torture we have in common, more the need to remember.”

A bleak stare met Miles’ gaze. “Three of us were taken.” Gideon settled himself down on the edge of the craft again and pulled his shirt back on. “I was injured, but the others wouldn’t leave me. Sure, I got medical treatment, enough to make sure I survived. I can’t tell you much, official secrets crap. We weren’t officially there. Suffice to say, I’m ex-SBS. You’re an intelligent man; you can imagine what kind of missions I went on.” Gideon watched the doctor’s face as he spoke; a flash of something—disgust?—appeared and vanished almost instantly. “The men who were with me, we’d been in the regiment since training. I knew them both well; we were drinking buddies. Our captors thought they might get a better result by making us draw lots. I was the lucky one, if you can call it that. I got to live.”

Miles winced and returned to sit beside the still figure who was again clutching the bottle of whisky, but this time his knuckles were white with tension. I got to live. He knew just how that felt. The guilt, the remorse, wanting to turn time back or slip into an alternate version of the universe. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“They threatened that unless I told them everything they wanted to know, they would shoot my friends. Of course, I didn’t tell them anything. The irony was I didn’t have much to tell, but I wouldn’t have, even so. So, in my case I got to see my colleagues executed in front of me.” Gideon glanced out across the lagoon again and took a hefty gulp of the whisky. He didn’t share with Miles how it felt to see someone’s brains blown out in front of him, specially someone he knew. They weren’t in an I’ve seen worse than you competition. His eyes lost their focus for a moment as he silently drank to the men he had known. It didn’t help to know that neither of his fellow soldiers had blamed him. He had, at least, shared a last glance with both of them. Their eyes had told him all he had needed to know.

The tragic story triggered memories Miles would rather forget, but it was good to be reminded he wasn’t alone. He waited while Gideon swallowed his whisky. He could tell that the man beside him was still deeply affected by the incident. Soldier or not, he was still a human being. The trouble with the world was too many people believed violence was the cure; in fact it was usually the cause of the problem.

Gideon turned and placed a hand on Miles arm. “Miles, when I said none of it was your fault, I meant it. My mates’ deaths were not my fault. I could have made something up, I could have lied. Maybe it would have worked, maybe it wouldn’t, but if our positions had been reversed, they would have done the same thing. ” Gideon expelled a gusty sigh and sat back, taking another pull on the bottle. It gave him a moment to think. “I know all the arguments, believe me. Why were we there? We had no business to be; it was their country, we were invaders, heard it all. Fact is, we were following orders. That’s what we signed up for; that’s what we trained for. War is like that, ugly, as you know. Point is, the fault lay with the men who chose to do that to us. They are to blame. The blood is on their hands. I might feel survivor’s guilt that I’m alive and my mates aren’t, but I didn’t pull the trigger. I have no guilt over what happened to me and neither should you. Fuck it, we were trained to deal with shit like that, you weren’t. I know how hard it was on me even with all my training. I keep these scars to remember how fucking short life is, not just to remember the people I served with.”

“And those physical scars don’t cause you pain? Stop you functioning at a hundred percent? Seems a bit stupid if they can be fixed.” Miles thumped his chest with a closed fist. “My scars are in here, and you can’t get at those.”

“You know, in the old days, if a soldier transgressed, he was flogged, and the transgression was done with…I know you’re not a soldier, but if you feel you fucked up…”

“I’ve tried that, doesn’t work, or are you offering to wield the whip? If you’ve read the report you must know I get turned on now by a bit of kink.” Miles knew he was being stroppy, but he didn’t care. Too many people were trying to ‘fix’ him; that was half the problem. “Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to say. Rationally, I agree with you. Trouble is love ain’t rational.”

“I know love isn’t rational; if it was, it wouldn’t be love, would it?”

Miles studied Gideon’s face for a while and wondered whether the man had ever been in love, and if so with whom? Maybe he was married to the job. A lot of soldiers were. Finding it hard to let go of all the adrenaline and excitement and that thrill of just surviving each encounter. “Thanks for the whisky.” Holding the bottle up to the light, he wasn’t surprised to discover they’d managed to polish off half of the contents. He handed it back to Gideon without regret. Alcohol wasn’t the cure either. He’d tried that and failed abysmally. All he’d done was put on weight and rip holes in his stomach lining. He’d probably be feeling the effects there tomorrow.

Gideon sensed the conversation coming to an end. There was more he wanted to say, to offer. At least he’d made a start at building bridges, with Miles at least. “Well, is there anything I can do to help? You know, if you need a drinking partner, someone to listen, a firm hand perhaps…?” A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

Miles raised his eyebrows at the last offer. Was the man serious? Now was not the time nor the place to find out, but he’d store that suggestion away in his brain. As for things he needed. “Maybe I’ll take you up on the offer later, but now you mention it, there is something you could do to help. Not me, but the islanders. I told Pierce what I wanted her to send over: a couple of wheelchairs and some of the equipment that came with the seaplane. You know… stuff that was supposed to be used for disaster relief.” He let the sarcasm shine through his words. He’d taken ages to calm down after his encounter with the bitch.

“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”

Miles glanced back at the hospital. Lucas was still sitting on the step, eyeing them warily. “The younger islanders need assistance. Non-stop games of pick-up rugby are well and good, but they have too much time on their hands; they need their brains stimulated as well as their bodies. I’m also concerned that if they’re not kept busy they might be tempted to visit Mystery Island, and given Pierce’s reaction, that would only lead to trouble.”

Gideon nodded. In light of the White Witch’s reaction he had to agree. A thought occurred to him. The teacher, Aiden whatever-his-name-was. He was at a loose end, moping about something. He was taking his enforced stay on the island much harder than the others. As a teacher, he would have more than enough experience of dealing with young people. Maybe, Gideon thought, I can persuade him into helping here, jolt him out of his depression. “And what about you and Gil? Isn’t it time you came back to Mystery Island?”:

“I suppose so; I miss Roofie. The silly mutt’s sort of grown on me.”

“He’s a character alright, but he needs his master. My lads have grown quite attached to him, I think he might be missed if we sent him over here, but he’s getting under people’s feet. The Akita is a bit like his owner, a little too quiet, whereas Roofie is up for anything…” The inference was not lost on Miles as Gideon began to push the boat back into the water. “And for the record, I never say anything I don’t mean… Sleep well, Miles, I’ll see you soon.”

Miles just nodded and took over the pushing as Gideon jumped in. He stood there for a while, watching as the boat sped out of sight, back across the lagoon. Should he take Gideon up on his offer of a firm hand? The man looked like he could deliver on his promises. The skin on his back tingled with anticipation.

Tonight, he’d learned a lot more about the man who had brought them to the island than he’d expected. The details had been gruesome, but in a weird way they stopped him from feeling so alone. Most of the other people around here didn’t have that sort of dark past. The water rippled around the bottom of Miles’ legs, chilling him. No, he was wrong there. Flynn obviously had a past full of darkness. Lyle had secrets he preferred to keep covered, so finding that Gideon also had terrors that no doubt kept him awake at night shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise. Life was like that; the longer you lived, the more likely it was that shit happened. The important thing was to learn from the past and move on.

Silence descended once more as the sound of the boat’s motor diminished into nothing. Miles turned and walked slowly back up to the hospital with only his thoughts for company. Lucas had disappeared. Already in bed most likely. Miles yawned. That was where he should be, he’d had precious little sleep of late. He sat on the stairs and brushed the sand off his feet, surveying the primitive huts and buildings that had been his home for the last few weeks. Despite the fact that he enjoyed being amongst the friendly natives, maybe he should follow Gideon’s suggestion and return to Mystery Island. He couldn’t speak for his fellow ‘refugees’ from Haven Falls; they would have to sort out their problems in their own way, but it was time he took responsibility for his own. Roofie for starters. Miles wasn’t needed on Rapatoka anymore. Carolyn was well enough to resume her role and with Aiden’s help, the children would be better educated and kept out of mischief.

Miles stared toward the flickering lights on the other side of the dark lagoon and thought about the circumstances that had brought him to this island paradise. Gideon had hinted that he should give Eidolon a second chance, and he respected the man enough to know that at least his heart was in the right place. The prospect of being trapped on Redemption Reef didn’t fill Miles with so much dread now that Gil was firmly lodged in his heart and by his side. It remained to be seen what sort of life they could build together, but even if all he did was ensure that the Rapatokans didn’t suffer from the organisation’s presence, he would feel he had accomplished something. Still championing the underdog, Miles? Darren’s voice sounded in his head, clear as a bell, amusement tinged with pride, and was that an approving Woof he heard from the other side of the lagoon? Miles smiled, dusted off his hands and went inside to be with the man who had given him a second chance on life and love.

____________________________________________________________

 Mystery Island, 12th February

“Good morning, Mr Sterling.” As always Sandra Pierce never failed to address him with slight emphasis on the mister, as if to remind him he held no military rank here on Mystery. He forced a smile and offered her a seat.

“Ms Pierce. Always a pleasure. How are you this morning?”

“As you ask, I have to say I’m disappointed that things are not moving faster. The ship is delayed and the builders seem to be on a go-slow….” He tuned her out as she sat there listing her grievances. He might challenge her one day to find something she actually liked, if only to prove she wasn’t the cold-hearted insensitive ice-queen he thought she was. Then again, he’d better not hold his breath. In his opinion Narnia had gotten the better deal.

“I’m sorry to hear things aren’t going to your satisfaction. Afraid there’s nothing we can do to hasten the ship’s arrival. It’s pretty much in the hands of the Gods—”

“Screw that,” she said inelegantly. “It’s that bloody idiot of a captain. If he hadn’t answered that distress call, they’d be with us by now. I’m expecting a delivery, and I’m not happy about the wait. It should have been picked up when you took the plane to Eidolon base, but it wasn’t collected.”

“Damned inconvenient.” Gideon had a burning desire to ask her if it wasn’t what they were supposed to be doing, rescuing people and providing disaster relief, but remained silent. It wasn’t worth it. One day, though, he’d take great pleasure in telling her to stuff it. Nothing he did was ever right.

Pierce rose to her feet, bristling. He knew by her body language that she suspected he was winding her up, and he had her off-balance as a result. She must be itching to tell him off. Stuff that in your pipe and smoke it, my dear, he thought, and smiled disarmingly. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said, rising and shadowing her to the door. “I’m sure you’re very busy.” She nodded, once, and swept out. Gideon breathed a mental sigh of relief and went back to his desk, intent on finishing the forms he had been checking.

@—}–—}——

Five minutes later, his radio beeped. He juggled the paper pile he was sorting through, grabbed the radio and barked, “Sterling!”

“Boss? That damned kid…”

“What kid?”

“Bloody Flynn, that’s who!”

“Take it easy, Ray. What’s the matter?”

“He’s driving me nuts!”

“Ray, calm down. I’m sure you can handle him. That’s why I gave you the job.”

“Oh, I can handle him alright. I’ll break his bloody scrawny neck if he doesn’t watch out, not to mention tying his dick in a knot for good measure….”

Gideon sighed. For Bull to get upset, it must mean Flynn was a bigger handful that he had been lead to believe. “Bull, just… handle it, okay? He needs a minder. I’m up to my ears in waste paper here. Unless its an emergency, you’ll have to deal with him yourself.”

“Thanks for nothing, boss. This is serious…”

“Come on, Bull, I told you. Deal with it. If he’s still pissing you off by tonight, I’ll get Pritch to spell you tomorrow. How’s that?”

There was a heavy sigh. “It’ll have to do.”

“Yes, it will.” Gideon threw his radio into a draw and shut it pointedly, then stared into the middle distance thoughtfully. Flynn was more than just a handful, he should come with a bloody health warning.

@—}–—}——

Gideon stared at the requisition pad with ill-disguised distaste. It was filled with those shitty green forms that were the same colour as that mold that grows on bread. They didn’t quite rise above dull and boring with a touch of insipid thrown in. Damn forms. Why did Eidolon need everything in triplicate, signed in blood under a full moon with three witnesses and a DNA sample? Seemed like it anyway. To say they were heavy on the bureaucracy was an understatement. He scanned the on-line catalogue trying to decide if he should order medical supplies or leave it to the professionals.

Damn it, he really needed Doc Sutherland or Gillespie back to tell him what drugs and equipment to request. They would know what they were dealing with. It would probably take them all of five minutes to spend his entire budget while it took him hours to order a couple of hundred quid’s worth. Wondering how the paramedic was fairing under the doctor’s care, Gideon decided to call Rag in and ask him to make an order out for interim emergency supplies. After contributing some of theirs to Gillespie’s welfare, they were a tad low. As he reached in the drawer for his radio though, the telephone chose that moment to ring.

“Damn it all,” he muttered, picking it up. “Sterling,” he barked.

“Gideon?”

“Oh…Mother?”

“Yes… son, how are you?” The male voice enquired. “You sound a little tense.”

“Things are a little busy right now…” Hint, hint, he thought. Come on, take the hint, I’ll call you back…

“I won’t keep you long. I called to ask if the ship was on schedule?”

“No, sir, seems not. They deviated to answer a distress call.”

“I hope their captain is aware of the sorts of tricks pirates pull. Have you heard from them since they deviated?”

“We haven’t heard from them at all. Eidolon Central sent us a wire that the ship was going to be late, so I naturally assumed they’d been in contact. We haven’t been in direct communication yet.” There was a silence.

“That isn’t good. There’s something on that ship that cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Something I am sending to you. I’ll get on it. I’ll be in touch. Mother out.” The line went dead.

“Thanks for nothing.” Gideon frowned and replaced the receiver. What the hell could ‘Mother’ be sending him that was so damned important?

@—}–—}——

“Mr Sterling?”

“Yes, Mindy.” Gideon threw his pen on the table will ill-concealed exasperation. “And what can I do for you?” He glanced up to see the curvy brunette peering round his door as if using it as a shield. And if you’ve come to tell me you’ve broken a nail, I’ll bloody strangle you.

“Ms Pierce’s toilet is blocked again…”

“Then get a bloody plumber!” Gideon snapped. “For the Gods’ own sakes, love, do I look like I know my u-bend from my plunger?” He grinned wolfishly and watched mercilessly as she blushed a deep pink and fled. “Tell her I’m Security Chief, not a fucking chambermaid!” he shouted after her departing back.

He probably would end up unblocking Pierce’s toilet anyway. There might not even be a plumber on the island, and he knew Pierce would have a fit if he didn’t do something. Maybe that’s why she had her knickers in a twist this morning. He knew they had builders and sparks and a chippy or two, they even had roofers and solar panel fitters, but a plumber? It stood to reason that they would need one, but that wasn’t how Eidolon seemed to work. The ship was due to provide them with more personnel and equipment, so possibly one would turn up on board. That’s assuming the fucking ship turned up at all.

Damn it, he had no plans to be up to his ears in shit all afternoon. Although…. He glanced at his desk. If the amount of paperwork was anything to go by he was already up to his ears in shit. Whether there was a plunger anywhere in their tool kits was debatable, though.

@—}–—}——

“Boss?”

“Damn it, What now?”

“Sorry, Soup, I’ll come back later—”

“What did you just call me?”

Pritch went red and stammered an apology. “S.s.sorry, sir…boss, I mean…”

“Pritch?” Pritch was the youngest and most uncertain of where he stood with regard to his superior. “Explain.”

“Well, sir, you’re head of security on the island…”

“So soup is short for supervisor?” Gideon suggested.

“Er… no, sir. Not exactly. It’s…. well, the other lads… someone said that you’re the MISO— Mystery Island Security Officer—and miso is Japanese soup and… well… it just stuck, that’s all…”

“Soup,” Gideon muttered thoughtfully. “Well, of all the things I have been called, that isn’t the worst.” He grinned. “Just think, I could have been Sectional Head of International Territory or something…. Look, unless it’s an emergency, Pritch, bugger off until later will you? I’m up to my eyes here.” Pritch didn’t need telling twice. He fled.

@—}–—}——

“Boss?”

“Oh, for the love of….” Gideon muttered and closed his eyes. Today was just getting better and better. “What’s up, Harry?”

Harry Garvey came into the room, carrying what looked like a bunch of wires. “Sorry, boss, but I think we got ourselves a problem.”

Gideon’s head snapped up. “What kind of a problem?”

Harry held up the bunch of wires. “I think these have been sabotaged.” He fingered the frayed ends. “Cut with a rather blunt knife. What do you reckon?” Gideon took the wires from him, examining the ends critically.

“What did these connect to?”

“The bunch of monitors on the reception desk. It hasn’t done much damage. We have spares. We’ll be running again in minutes. Lyle is sorting it out as we speak.”

“Someone who doesn’t have much idea about technology then?”

“One of the Islanders? Who knows. Lyle is going to run through the CCTV footage of the corridors.”

“Corridors? Why not the room itself?”

“Er… we haven’t got any….” Garvey looked uncomfortable.

“What? What do you mean, you haven’t got any?”

“It’s the reception area, we haven’t finished fitting it out yet. There’s nothing in there yet.”

“It’s the entrance to the whole building. You know, the place we keep thousands of quid’s worth of gear? Why wasn’t it made a priority?”

“Boss, no disrespect meant, but we didn’t exactly expect thieves on the island. I mean, where would they go?”

“All eventualities, Harry. Cover all the possibles. Get some cameras into that space now. And while you’re about it, we’d better get good combination locks on the main doors, coded, card-swiped, whatever. Go talk to the builders about getting it done asap. We’re expecting more kit to arrive on the boat, when it finally gets here, and it all needs to be kept safe. Let’s see what we get from Lyle…”

@—}–—}——

 “Hi, Gideon, sorry to bother you.” The minute their Chief of Security looked up Lyle knew his timing sucked. Gideon Sterling looked like he was ready to strangle someone–anyone–and Lyle positively did not want that to be him. Erotic asphyxiation was definitely not one of his things. Joking aside though, he was worried and needed reassurance. Gideon didn’t look to Lyle like he would be giving much of that today, though.

“Okay, so what can I do for you, Lyle?” Gideon exhaled slowly. “Tell me you got some results on the sabotage.” This afternoon was going tits up anyway; one more interruption wouldn’t make much difference to the whole. Besides, he didn’t actually mind an interruption from Lyle Tate.

“Sorry, no, nothing. Looks like they didn’t enter the rest of the building. Must have cut the wires and run.”

“Damn, too much to hope for.” Gideon sighed, then observed that Lyle wasn’t going away. “Was there something…?”

“It’s alright, I can come back. I should probably be asking Ms Pierce about this anyway.” Lyle moved to back out of the office.

Gideon sighed heavily. “It’s okay, mate, no need for you to face the bitch. She’s in the mood to make a glacier shiver. Probably something to do with the fact that her u-bend is blocked again.” He grinned happily. “I’m getting nowhere here anyway. Let’s grab a coffee.”

“That would be good. Thanks.”

Gideon had gotten used to reading Lyle, since they were still sharing accommodation. The Englishman’s body language was telling Gideon that his request was important to him at least. He had a habit of holding his head just so, and his eyes had that expectant expression, his brows drawing together making him look a little worried. Lyle wasn’t one to push things, so Gideon knew he needed someone to listen to him.

The cafeteria was surprisingly quiet when they arrived. Wherever the builders are, Gideon thought, they aren’t busy having tea breaks. Were Pierce’s complaints about the construction people genuine? The woman always seemed to want everything to move at light speed, but never seemed to do anything to encourage that to happen.

They could help themselves to coffee from the machine, but Gideon decided he was hungry as well as thirsty.  He leaned into the kitchen and yelled “Aggie!” and then rested his hands on the counter top to await the response. He was rewarded a few moments later by a voice from out the back door.

“Be right with you.”

“Okay, love, no rush.” Gideon returned to the table and sat down, propping his elbows on it and placing his face in his hands. “Oooooh God, I’ll be seeing requisition forms in my sleep,” he groaned and massaged his temples. Flexing his neck, he heard it crack rather loudly and paused, assessing whether the move might cause him pain. When it didn’t, he breathed a sigh of relief and sat back, surveying the slender man on the other side of the table. “So, Lyle,” he began. “What’s up?”

“It’s personal.” Lyle checked that Aggie wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation. “I want…need to ask…”

Gideon inclined his body forward, maintaining eye contact and presenting a concerned expression. “It’s okay, Lyle, you should know by now you can tell me pretty much anything.” Trust me, I’m a security guard, Gideon thought.

“I’m running out of T-shots. I don’t know if anyone else has ordered them, but I need you to if not.”

Gideon paused. What had Lyle just said? He put his head on one side and frowned slightly

“Pardon me? T-shirts? Did I hear that right? You’re asking me for clothes now?”

“No! T-shots–Testosterone injections–for my transition.”

Gideon couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing. “Oh fuck… I’m really, really sorry, Lyle… No, wait, I’m not laughing at you!” He reached out and laid a hand on the man’s arm as Lyle made a move to run. Gideon tightened his hold. “Don’t go. I’m truly sorry. I misheard you….” He tried to school his features into a more sober expression and failed. “Bugger it, I’m sorry but that was funny. I’m a twat, sorry…” He took a deep breath and tried again. “After the morning I’ve had, I appreciate anything that can give me a bit of light relief. Even my own screw-ups. So, how fast do you need them?”

“I have enough for the next two weeks. I could reduce the dosage to stretch it out, but I don’t really want to do that.”

“No, no, don’t do that, it can’t be good for you. Look, I’ll see what I can do to pick some up from Eidolon base when the plane flies out again. depending on the weather conditions, that will be next week. Has to be, Pierce is running low on that Polyfilla she calls make-up. Personally I think it hides the cracks.”

“Maybe we need some anti-freeze too?” Lyle suggested with a grin.

Under his hand, Lyle’s skin was warm. Gideon’s thoughts drifted and he suppressed the urge to stroke. “So, wonder where Aggie’s got to…” He rose to his feet, intent on investigating the whereabouts of the chef. He was badly in need of coffee and food. And sex, part of his brain said unhelpfully. He pushed it away. He didn’t think Lyle was ready for that just yet, certainly not with him. Although of late, sharing a room with Lyle was getting harder. Gideon had to work extra hard to not think about him, lying there near-naked, mere feet away.

The hand on his arm was still there. Gideon didn’t touch people often, Lyle knew that. Maybe he was feeling the pressure of the loneliness of command? If Gideon was reaching out, Lyle was willing to be there for him. Or maybe he was reading something into it that wasn’t there?

“Hallo, guys, what can I get for you?”

“Coffee please, Aggie, two. One black, one…” Gideon turned to Lyle. “How do take yours? Latte? Espresso? Any preference?”

“Latte please, Aggie, no sugar. I’ll have one of your wonderful chocolate cakes too please.”

“No cakes today, I’m afraid, Lyle, I’ve run out of chocolate. When’s that boat coming, Gideon? And when do I get my assistant?”

“When Hell freezes over? When Ms Pierce gets visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future? I wish I knew, Aggie. I’ve placed the request, marked it urgent, I’ve lit the blue touch paper, now I’m retiring to the recommended safe distance and waiting. In short, the boat is delayed. They  answered a distress call. Whether there is a little spare sous chef on board for you, I am not sure. If necessary, I’ll ask one of the lads to give you a hand. As to the chocolate, make me a supply list with the urgent stuff, and I’ll see if we can’t arrange something when the plane gets back, okay?”

Aggie grinned. “Okay, but I not wait forever. Aggie is viking; she get what she want or else!”

Gideon laughed and took the coffees from her. “I’ll bear that in mind, Aggie, but remember I might have to set Ragnar onto you. He’s my viking.”

“Ooo, chance would be fine thing.” She handed the coffees over and leaned on the work surface. “Another thing before you go, Gid’. When are you going to find the owner of that pest outside?”

“Pest?”

“Yes, Pest. The scruffy doggy with the appealing grin, the one who haunts my steps whenever I go outside. I’ve been feeding him since the lads told me he belonged to the doctor, but he’s forever trying to get in, and you know I can’t have that. I run a tight ship here. I would tie him up, but he runs off whenever I come near. It’s as if the little devil knows.”

Another reason for getting Miles back here, Gideon thought. “I know where his owner is, Aggie, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, just make sure he’s fed and watered and let the lads take care of him. I’ll ask them to make sure he doesn’t get inside unless he’s safely in their billet.”

“Okay, will do, boss. Enjoy your coffees, guys. I see you later; I have clean-up to do.” She rolled down the shutter with a snap. Shortly after, they heard her singing as she clattered pots into the dishwasher.

“So,” Gideon returned to the table with the drinks and sat down opposite Lyle again. “You okay, apart from running low on supplies?”

“Beginning to wonder why we’re all here,” Lyle raised a quizzical eyebrow, “I mean, really?”
Gideon fixed Lyle with an unreadable look. “Truth? I guess you wouldn’t know whether I was lying or not anyway. Adam Breslaw contacted me and appraised me that you were all in… How should I say this? He thought you were in immediate danger of being associated with the death of a dangerous man and asked me to intercede with Eidolon and try to bring them on board. He knew they were looking to provide safe havens and witness protection and wanted… I really don’t want to call you all guinea pigs; that makes Eidolon look like they don’t know what they’re doing and that wouldn’t be true. They’re good at what they do, they’ve been in the business longer than you’d think, but I suppose you are guinea pigs to some degree. Let’s say Eidolon wanted to test this place out on someone, and you were around at the right time.”

“I was promised… they said they would provide my treatments. Now I’m not sure if they’ll see it through.” Lyle sipped his coffee and gazed into his cup, a worried frown creasing his brow. “I mean, as far as Sandra Pierce is concerned, we’re just an irritation, flies in the ointment. She’d be glad to see the back of us. She hardly welcomed us with open arms in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t worry about your agreement with Eidolon. I’ve never known them renege on a deal. They are pretty strict about maintaining their rep and the CEOs are quite hot on delivering their promises as a result. Their spin doctors would have a hard time selling this outfit to the investors if they weren’t.” That’s why I’m here, Gideon thought but didn’t say. To find out who isn’t delivering. “Eidolon have a lot invested in this project. If any dirt should be thrown and manage to stick, rather a lot of money could disappear rather quickly.  And Pierce might be a first class bitch but even she has to be careful. Her perch isn’t as secure as she’d like to think. If she steps out of line…” Gideon left the statement hanging and shrugged, eloquently.

Miles Sutherland, Carter (Gil) Gillespie

___________________________________________________

5th February, Rapatoka Island

___________________________________________________

5th February, Rapatoka Island

But unless we start somewhere, we can kiss any future we have together goodbye right now….

Gil’s challenge rattled around in Miles brain. No, he wasn’t ready to kiss any future with the young man goodbye, not by a long shot. Gil wanted an explanation for his actions, his desertion, but where should he start? Usually his treasured memories, stored as vivid pictures and sounds, were too painful to put into words, but tonight Miles found his sentences formed easily, almost as if those experiences belonged to another person. Perhaps the cool onshore breeze and the gentle lapping of the wind-driven waves helped soothe his soul, or maybe it was just the calm presence of Gil, sitting beside him on the table overlooking the lagoon.

Taking a deep breath, he told Gil everything. It all spilled out, about how he met Darren at an island just like this when they were teenagers, how even though they lived in different countries, they virtually grew up together, meeting annually during shared family vacations, and corresponding via letters and then later emails, sharing every thought, every dream.

Gil winced when Miles described how he and Darren had their first sexual encounter together in a place just like Mystery Island. “No wonder you reacted when that Pierce woman gave us the last owner’s holiday brochure.” That feels like such a long time ago, Gil thought wearily. “The memories that provoked must have made coming here really difficult.” Oh, Miles, what did I do to you?

“Yeah, that’s why I refused at first.” Miles turned back to face Gil, “I wouldn’t have come at all… if it hadn’t been for you.” You always call me out for running away from things, Miles thought. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “Even though at that stage I wasn’t sure how you felt about me.” Miles paused before he added. “Not that I know any better now. I just wanted to be with you, but I got cold feet, ‘specially when I saw you kiss that policeman, and then Lyle was all over you like a rash….”

“Actually Lance kissed me, not the other way around,” Gil interrupted. “That Sheriff was a little…pushy? Nice arse but you have to be careful with coppers. They own handcuffs…” His attempt at levity was met with a smile. Gil was once more struck by how handsome Miles was when he smiled. On the surface he might appear a little rough round the edges–Gil had little difficulty in seeing Miles propping up an outback township bar–but beneath the rough exterior Gil saw an integrity and compassion that shone through.

Miles didn’t blame the cop for wanting to kiss Gil. He was finding it difficult to resist the urge now. As for the reference to ‘cuffs; he’d store that idea away for later. That’s if there was going to be a later for the two of them. “By the time I got here, though, even my petty jealousies paled into insignificance against the overwhelming feeling that Darren would appear any minute.” Miles reached out and took hold of Gil’s hand, the uninjured one. “I’m sorry.” As apologies and explanations went, it sounded terribly inadequate, but if he went into any more details, he’d probably end up a blubbering mess. Even now he was having a problem holding everything back. While Gil’s life had been in danger, he could concentrate on the young man’s health and well-being and forget about him as a person or as a lover, but now, looking at the hurt in Gil’s face, he couldn’t ignore him any more.

“I think you can forget Lance. If we were still at Haven Falls, I might have been tempted, but I doubt I’ll ever lay eyes on him again. But Lyle is special,” Gil paused wondering how best to explain how he felt about his transgendered friend. He wanted Miles to understand about Lyle but even though Miles was a doctor, and Gil trusted him implicitly, he would not break confidences. It was up to Lyle to reveal all, if he wanted to. “Miles, he’s a nice…a nice guy. I had my reasons there. Still do.” Gil grinned. “But… he’s not the one… We didn’t make any promises, honestly. I couldn’t, but I count him as a friend. I hope he still does the same with me, but that’s where it stops.”

The one…. Miles stiffened and released Gil’s hand, turning back to stare at the dark water. For Miles, there had only ever been one man, Darren. They might have enjoyed looking and wondering what it might be like having sex with other men, but that would always be as a threesome. In the end they hadn’t bothered because they were so wrapped up in each other; they didn’t have room for anyone else.

Gil’s soft voice continued. “I’m not unaware how I might seem to you… after all, Haven was a playground. I do promise you, I was careful, very careful. But I split with the only man I’d ever had a relationship with before I left home, and I was experimenting, footloose. Yet, I accused you of running away, and then realised I was doing the self same thing where Simon was concerned. The man was a pedantic bastard who used me. So… I guess I went a bit OTT.”

Realistically, Miles knew Gil had other lovers, but the mention of a name made the man seem real somehow. A growl threatened to roll out of Miles’ chest at the thought of anyone hurting Gil. “Maybe there was a degree of jealousy involved on my part. Wishing I could have that sort of relationship with other guys. Light hearted… fun.” Miles stood and walked a couple of steps towards the beach before turning back again. “To be frank, I haven’t really paid much attention to Lyle. All I saw was a pretty boy who took your eye. All I remember is that the kiss at the night club opening made me want to bash his head in. But, hey, that’s me.” Miles shrugged. “An over-intense possessive Aussie bastard. Flynn calls me Sad Max. The name probably fits.”

“Flynn has a strange brain. I think that head trauma didn’t help.” Gil smiled.

“Flynn gave me that nickname long before his fight with the little lamented undertaker!” Miles wiped his hands down the sides of his native skirt. “I suppose I owe you another apology for being jealous.” Shit, if only this sulu had pockets in it; he wanted to bury his hands away, hide them so Gil couldn’t see how much they were shaking. “I’ll back off. Sorry for coming on so strong.” Gil’s brows drew together at that.

“Have I given you the impression that… well, that your attentions aren’t welcome?” Gil was a little lost; it was as if Miles hadn’t been listening. “I was trying to explain that I might have come across as a bit shallow… I mean, I was playing the field. No one could blame you if you thought I just saw you as another quick shag… ”

“I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. You pushed me back a couple of minutes ago when I tried to kiss you.”

“Because I needed to tell you…” Gil took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. “Miles, I don’t feel that way about you. If you want to keep it casual, then fine. I thought maybe because of Darren, you know, you might not want….”

Miles interrupted him. “My problem was more that I felt guilty for feeling so strongly towards you. I felt like I was betraying him, his memory.” Miles stepped closer so he stood right in front of Gil. Their eyes were level, and even though no part of their bodies touched, heat seemed to join them together. He shook his head and shakily traced his finger along the edge of Gil’s jaw. “The trouble with me is that I don’t do casual. Sometimes wish I could.”

“I thought you couldn’t move past what happened. Darren said you needed to stop blaming yourself… but I saw all your photos. I wondered how the hell I could ever compare with him? You two were together for so long…”

“What photos?” Miles hand fell nervelessly at his side. “Oh, you mean all the ones on the mantle back at Haven Falls?” He gave a guilty start at Gil’s nod. After Darren’s death, Miles had spent ages staring at them, trying to supplant in his memory the image of his AIDS ravaged lover with Darren as he was before he became infected with HIV. How long would he be able to do that without the reminder? Miles sighed. The photos were probably lost now or packed away in some Federal agency store room. “Maybe it’s just as well they were left behind. I should move on.”

Miles stared into the dark behind Gil’s shoulder, almost as if he was searching for something. Conflicting emotions crossed the doctor’s face and Gil watched him warily, uncertain what conclusions the man was drawing behind those green eyes. At that moment, Gil was suddenly irrationally jealous of Darren. That a dead man could affect his chances with Miles left him feeling defenceless.

“Darren will always be a part of me, I can’t deny that. Hopefully, one day I’ll find a way to stop feeling guilty for being weak and needing him when I shouldn’t have.”

“What do you mean? How did your being weak cause a problem? You’re one of the strongest men I know.”

Miles sighed. He’d told the full story to Caroline, but he still hadn’t shared any of his past in Africa with Gil. The young man deserved to know the truth about the time they’d been taken hostage in Somalia. As he told his tale, Miles felt colder and colder. Maybe the air around him had cooled down as the night wore on, or more likely each revelation stripped away another layer of protection, leaving him more vulnerable.

Gil could see the obvious pain it caused Miles to remember and bare his soul. He didn’t interrupt and sat, listening as Miles described how they’d been held for ransom by warlords while working in Africa for an aid agency. He couldn’t help wincing as Miles recounted how he’d been flogged repeatedly. Gil resisted the urge to comfort, not wanting to distract or interrupt the flow. He had a feeling that Miles might break if he tried, and Gil needed to know what happened. Miles refused to meet his eyes, staring out to sea as if seeing the past while he haltingly described the fateful day when, after a particularly vicious session and against all their efforts to pretend they weren’t lovers, Miles turned to Darren for comfort. Their actions were detected and Darren had been dragged out and repeatedly raped by a succession of sadistic guards. It had been ages before he let Miles touch him, and by the time he did, they’d been released with the subsequent medical tests revealing Darren had contracted HIV.

No wonder Miles feels responsible, Gil realised. Various things dropped into place: the doctor’s constant apologies, his need to atone, his dominating personality. Although his self esteem was in his boots, he felt a survivor’s guilt, he was never-the-less attempting to exert his control over whatever situation he was in.  Gil began to wonder what he would be taking on if he pursued their relationship. Then he realised he didn’t care. Miles was Miles after all, the sum of what life had given him, and Gil wasn’t without his own baggage either. “We’re all products of our pasts,” he offered sympathetically.

Gil’s calm acceptance of the horrific truth made Miles appreciate the young man even more.  Miles sighed and shakily traced the other side of Gil’s jaw. “Yeah, but we should learn from what happened and move on.” The question is: can we? Can I?

“You ought to stop using that word then. Darren said that… in my…dream, whatever it was. He said you should stop blaming yourself, and you don’t have to take it like a man any more…”

“What word? Guilt?”

“Should. I should move on, I should stop feeling guilty, I should this, I should that. How you feel is how you feel, because the bottom line is, Miles, you are you. Stop apologising for that all the time.”

Miles snorted. Should? What if it’s: I shouldn’t want you so much right now that it hurts to be near you and not able to touch you? “I just hope I don’t forget the good times. I don’t want to remember Darren as he was in his last days. I want to remember him as he was in the photos I left back at Haven Falls, especially the one taken when we first met.”

“Don’t feel bad about forgetting them; they rushed us out of there too fast.” Gil watched Miles’ face. He looked wistful, a little lost. Once again Gil wanted so badly to reach out and offer comfort. “Would you do something for me? I would go, but it’s a long way back to my bedside…”

“What do you need?”

“That canvas bag of mine, the one in the locker? With all my stuff in.“

___________________________________________________

5th February, Rapatoka Island

Miles stared at Gil’s sleeping form in the hospital bed. A lone beam of moonlight shone in through the open window, caressing his face, allowing Miles to see him clearly. Neither of them had haircuts since leaving Haven Falls, and Gil’s was now much longer than it had been. A lock of hair had fallen over his eyes. Miles’ fingers itched to smooth it away, but he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop there, he’d want to touch Gil all over. Make love to him again, but this time, slower and more carefully. I should leave him to sleep, Miles thought, go to bed myself. At last everyone else had, and the hospital for once was quiet. No Caroline issuing instructions, no Lucas chattering ten to the dozen.

A week had passed since their late night whispered discussion when Gil told him he saw Darren or Darren’s ghost and Miles hadn’t had a chance to talk to Gil since; not properly, not privately. Now that Caroline was well on the way to recovery, she started to assert her presence in the island hospital again. It wasn’t that she meant to interfere, but she was one of those nurses that had eyes in the back of her head and ears tuned for the slightest signal that her patients needed care and attention.

Whenever Gil needed something, she sent Lucas to help. Even if they were mundane things like assisting him to the toilet or fixing a cup of tea. To her, these were far too trivial for a doctor to attend to, even though Miles would happily perform those services for Gil. Anything that gave him an excuse to be close to the young man.

Already Gil had become her patient, not his. As soon as she discovered what happened on the operating table, her face betrayed she knew more than she was willing to disclose about the poison. He was lucky to be alive she said. The unspoken words being others weren’t.

Miles questioned her about who could have set the trap, but she didn’t know or wouldn’t tell him. Judging by the worried expression on her face when she gave her reluctant replies, he suspected the former.

Hopefully, whoever set the trap was gone now.

Gil stirred in his sleep, his bare chest rising softly as he took a deeper breath. His eyelids fluttered. Miles started, he didn’t want to be caught staring, but lately he couldn’t take his eyes off the young man. Gil’s tale about seeing Darren startled him, not so much because they brought up memories of Darren, but because his first reaction was: I hope Darren’s tale didn’t just make Gil feel sorry for me. He didn’t want to be another of Gil’s ‘projects’.

Miles couldn’t resist it any longer, he lent over and carefully brushed the lock of hair away.

Something tickled his face. His bloody hair was growing too long, but where the fuck was he going to find someone to cut it here? Damn it, it had taken him long enough to fall asleep.The Islanders were so bloody noisy and too bloody cheerful all day long. Then when peace finally descended as the sun went down, Gil found that sleep was elusive, despite Caroline fussing about him getting enough rest.

Caroline, like nurses everywhere, was beginning to get on his nerves. Lucas… Lucas, bless him, was trying to help. Caroline and Miles had the boy acting as next best thing to a hospital orderly, helping with Gil’s every need. Something in the way he looked at Gil, in the way he stayed within Gil’s personal space a fraction longer than needful, made Gil feel uncomfortable, though.

Gil tried, unsuccessfully, to brush whatever was tickling him away and his hand came up against someone else’s. He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily, focusing on a familiar face above him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Miles tried to draw his hand away, but Gil reached up and grabbed it.

“Ow.” Gil couldn’t stop his soft protest as his injured hand dropped onto the cover. His fingers were not yet functioning properly and the nerves had twinged as if to remind him things were far from healed. They may never be, some part of his brain reminded him. It quite destroyed any joy he may have had on seeing the man standing next to him.

“Is your arm still sore? Do you want me to get you something for the pain?”

Gil was touched by Miles’ concern and shook his head. “No, just took me by surprise…” He reached out with his good hand and captured Miles’ fingers, holding slightly tighter than necessary. “Just asking it to do too much too soon I guess.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “It’s late, why are you not asleep?”

“Could ask you the same…” Miles tried to pull his hand out of Gil’s grasp, but the fingers didn’t release their pressure. How could he confess he just liked looking at Gil, liked touching him, and if he had a choice he’d be right there in bed with him? “Not tired.” Gil seemed to accept that and just nodded. “Are you sure you’re alright? I could get something else if you like. A cup of hot chocolate?” Miles tried to pull away again. Gil’s firm touch had sent a wave of energy coursing through his body. If he’d been tired before, he definitely wasn’t now. He’d probably need a lot more than a cup of chocolate himself to get to sleep.

“I’m okay, really.” Gil knew he didn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears.

On impulse, Miles leaned back in and brushed his lips against Gil’s, gently at first, but the heat searing through his body from the touch of Gil’s hand and the taste of his mouth made him press harder. Miles groaned. Big mistake. Now he couldn’t stop.

For a moment, Gil wanted to capitulate, to sink into the comfort and warmth the kiss offered, to surrender to the pressure of Miles’ mouth on his, but something stopped him. His hand came up, pressing into Miles’ chest, pushing him back. For a moment, the hurt in the doctor’s eyes was almost too much, but they needed to talk, or rather Gil needed to give voice to his feelings. It would be so damned easy to fall headlong into the distraction Miles was offering, but there were unsaid things between them, and Gil didn’t know where he stood.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Miles swallowed back the hurt that welled up in his chest at Gil’s rejection.

“Christ, Miles! Will you stop apologising!” Gil wasn’t in the mood for Miles’ self-flagellation. “We…I need to talk. I need to know…things…” he finished lamely.

Miles frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, taking care not to crowd Gil. “What do you need to know?”

An exasperated mutter came from the far end of the room. “If you two want to have a chat, how about waiting until morning or taking it outside. A gal has to get her beauty sleep.”

Both men glanced at each other and grinned guiltily. Caroline’s sleepy voice had reminded them that they were not alone. “What do you say, Gil? There’s a full moon, and it’s warm outside.”

“Are you…asking me out on a date here?” Amusement colored Gil’s tone.

“Well, I didn’t bring any wine or roses, but I could make a couple of cups of hot chocolate if you like.” Miles stood and stepped away from the bed. He glanced uncertainly at the door then back at Gil. “But we could wait until morning if it’s not important.”

“Why wait? I’m sick of being stuck in here…” For answer, Gil flung back the covers before Miles could change his mind and swung his legs out of bed. His ankle hardly bothered him; it was almost healed. If he could lean on Miles and take it slow, he knew he would be fine.

“Careful.” Miles drew Gil’s good arm up so it rested around his shoulder. With Lucas’ aid Gil had ventured out of bed a few times mainly to use the bathroom and have a shower, but he still hadn’t regained full mobility. “There’s a seat down near the water’s edge if you can walk that far.”

“I’ll give it a go.” Gil happily leaned into Miles’ support. Being close to the doctor made his heart miss a beat or two. The air was balmy outside. One of those nights where it was actually cooler outside than in. A slight breeze played off the water, carrying the tang of salt. He had to remind himself of the change of seasons here. This was the height of summer. Before he’d fallen down the hole, he’d found the oppressive heat hard to take after the cool of Haven Falls and England. Yet another reminder of how far he was away from home. He allowed the warmth of Miles’ body next to his to distract him from such thoughts and tried to concentrate on what the doctor was saying.

“You haven’t even seen anything of the island yet, have you?”

“So this is it, huh? This is Rapatoka? Bigger than it looks from the other side of the water…” Gil had seen some of the island from the hospital window, so he knew that building was part of a group that must constitute their concept of a town. Just a jumble of traditional island-style dwellings with high thatched roofs and basic shuttered windows and doors. No glass to be broken when cyclones hit and walls that were easily replaced should they be shredded by high winds.

“Yeah. Hard to imagine, but there are three hundred people living here. Most of these huts have an extended family living in them, all bedding down in one room. Lots of young kids. They run around like wild things, but what can you expect when there isn’t even a proper school.”

The fine grains of sand under Gil’s bare feet squished up through his toes. The quiet was so different from the usual sound of laughing children and women’s voices as they sat under a shelter and did their daily chores; some weaving, some washing in tubs.

Most of the vegetation was similar to that on Mystery Island. Pandanus trees with their wide overhanging fleshy leaves and the occasional palm tree. Miles led him down to a wooden table set up under the shade of one only a few feet from the waves that lapped softly over the pure white sand. Gil allowed himself a smile. He would never look at coconuts in the same way again.

The moon’s glow glinted off shards of broken shell and coral that had been washed up on the pale sand. Small waves susurated up the beach, lapping gently toward them.  A soft breeze whispered through the palm fronds, a counterpoint to the sound of the sea. There was a path of moonlight across the lagoon, and when he looked up, without the light pollution he was used to, the sky above was pinpricked by thousands of points of light. For a moment, Gil forgot to breathe it was so beautiful. It was idyllic, unreal.

The hard benches that served as seats didn’t look very comfortable and were built low to the ground. Miles perched on top of the table, indicating that Gil should sit beside him. Gil wasn’t sure how close he was meant to sit. He chose to sit a little apart and twisted to face Miles.

“This was the only place open at this time of night. I’m glad they reserved us a table.” Miles rubbed his beard. In his native dress and untrimmed facial fuzz, he felt like the wild man from Borneo again. Worrying about Gil had killed his appetite, so it was just as well he didn’t have his gear with him. Most of his jeans would fall off him now. “Lucky there’s no dress code.” The sight of the young man’s body just covered in shiny white satin boxers adorned with a red rose made his mouth dry. “Though I see you did bring flowers, well, one flower anyway.”

“What?” For a moment Gil was flummoxed until Miles indicated his underwear. He chuckled. “You mean you don’t recognise the England rugby squad badge? Miles, I’m ashamed of you…” He got up again and turned. One rose strategically adorned each side. “A mate had them made for me…”

Miles tried to swallow again as the young man beside him turned around displaying a rose on each butt cheek. As he turned back, Miles couldn’t miss the bulge that the loose material failed to hide completely either. “A thorn between two roses, hey?”

Gil groaned at that one. “Oh, that was bad, Miles…”

“Well, at least it didn’t suck.” That earned him a look he couldn’t interpret. Gil sat back down, not close enough but turned slightly in order to be able to face him. Damn, it would be much easier to talk and think if he didn’t have those big brown eyes staring at him. He would also have to keep his gaze up and not let it drift down.

“Miles, I…have to admit, I don’t know where to start.” Gil let his gaze wander. He was finding it difficult to meet Miles’ eyes even though he chose this position in the first place. He was also resisting the urge to sit closer. He missed the warmth of Miles’ body against his, but he needed to stay focused.

At first, Miles was tempted to make another flippant comment like singing the first bars of: “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.” but something in Gil’s eyes stopped him. The time for jokes was over. Talk wasn’t what he wanted to do though. Those lips he touched only moments ago were so close, all he had to do was lean forward and claim them again. The moon, the stars, the warm night air and the memory of how good Gil looked and felt that one memorable night back at Haven Falls made it difficult for Miles to think of anything else.

“What happened the other night… I have no idea what it was, dream, hallucination, real…” Gil glanced up to gauge Miles’ reaction. “but there is something between us, Miles, and you need to decide what you want. You left me… alone… you walked off alone. Darren said… you were kidnapped, taken off Mystery without your consent?”

Miles turned to face the water. His mind filled with a jumble of thoughts that he couldn’t untangle faced by Gil’s unwavering stare. The young paramedic did it all the time. Scraped away all the layers he hid behind, forcing him to confront the truth. The trouble was could Miles handle the truth? Could Gil? Before he could answer, Gil resumed speaking.

“Miles, I…this is complicated. I know that, for both of us. But unless we start somewhere, we can kiss any future we have together goodbye right now….”

29th Jan, Rapatoka Island

When Gil woke again the room was in darkness, a single storm lantern throwing a pool of light onto the side table next to the bed that Miles had claimed. A lump in the bed next door was all he could make out of Caroline. She was asleep, motionless. The others–Gideon and Ragnar–had gone, presumably back to Mystery. They had headed off as soon as the storm had petered out and their colleague had come over in the inflatable. Gil had drifted fitfully in and out of sleep all day.  Darkness had fallen again and with it’s arrival the rain had begun again, lighter than before but still annoying. It drummed on the roof to keep him awake.

Gil was still drowsy, but comfortable and relaxed, in no hurry to wake, never mind move. A small clinking sound made him turn his head, seeking the source. Miles and Lucas were in the little kitchenette, brewing up to go by both noise and motions. Gil wondered if they would hear him if he called, he could fancy a cup of tea, something familiar and soothing in a strange world. But he decided against it. He might wake Caroline.

Lucas was standing behind the doctor in the shadow of the wall, obviously waiting while Miles finished making his tea. Gil watched as Miles turned the lantern off and left the room, Lucas in tow. Gil couldn’t help smiling as the doctor and his ever-present shadow crossed the room, back toward the bed.  Maybe they were sharing it? It wouldn’t surprise him, Gil considered; after all, the lad was rather cute, even though he was young. Gil felt an inevitable pang of jealousy. Miles was right when he said the lad was barely legal, though, so such a relationship didn’t seem in character for the doctor.

As Miles reached the bed and put the mug down on the little table beside it, Gil blinked and frowned in confusion. Lucas was following close behind Miles, but Gil was puzzled. Something nagged at him. There was something wrong with what he was seeing. Then it hit him. Since when was Lucas almost as tall as Miles? Gil opened his mouth to say something as Miles sat down on the bed but the words died unsaid. The circle of illumination should have brought Lucas’ features into view but the figure standing there remained a shadow, even with the light falling on him. Miles sipped his tea, oblivious to it all. He didn’t acknowledge the figure behind him either; he didn’t say a word, just acted as if it wasn’t there. Then the figure turned and looked straight at Gil, one hand extended as if beckoning. The features of the face suddenly came into clear focus and Gil couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped from a mouth gone dry. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as Darren’s eyes looked into his and memory came flooding back.

Gil was standing watching Miles working on a patient, wondering why he wasn’t with the doctor, helping him to save a life. Another man he didn’t recognise was there instead, a blond giant bending over the prone figure on the table.

“You have a choice to make.” The voice was unexpected and made him jump. He turned to see a familiar face beside him, a face he had previously only seen in photos.

“You’re dead.”

“So are you, Carter,” Darren observed, using his given name.

“What do you mean?” A cold dread had settled in his stomach and Gil looked back at the two men working on their patient.

“That’s you they’re working on.”

I should be more horrified, Gil thought, watching as Miles and the other man stepped apart for a moment. Gil saw himself, eyes closed, features slack, lying on the table. He had seen patients like that more times than he cared to count. I mean, that’s really me…

“That’s me,” he said unnecessarily. Gil watched as Miles paused and looked at the paddles and the other man–Gil saw it was one of the men from the cricket game–shook his head. Miles looked stricken. Then the blond shoved a syringe and a bottle into Miles’ hand and Gil watched as the doctor drew the fluid from the bottle up into the syringe and stepped up to his side. Atropine? Epinephrine? His heart must have stopped. Was he clinically dead, some part of his mind wondered?

“But it’s not too late for you. You still have a choice. You could go back…”

“Back?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Darren’s voice was amused and sounded every bit as kind as Gil had imagined from the photos. Watching as Miles plunged the needle directly into his patient’s chest, into the heart muscle, was rather odd considering Gil was the patient. The other man began CPR, breathing for him, and Miles took over heart massage. Gil felt a vague tugging but suddenly he knew how easy it would be to stay here. Miles didn’t need him. Miles had gone off and left him. He was there on the island on sufferance. Gil had a momentary pang for his parents, and his brother and sister, they would miss him. But going back would mean facing pain and a long time healing, months of physio. He wasn’t stupid, he knew there might be permanent damage to his arm; he might need nerve grafts, in which case he might as well kiss his career goodbye. Did he want to face all that?

“He didn’t leave you by choice.” Darren sounded wistful.

“What do you mean? He walked off after we touched down.”

“Maybe initially. You have to appreciate that the island where we met is very like what you call Mystery Island, but later he was kidnapped.” Darren frowned. “That can’t have been easy for him either. Second time it’s happened, after all. The first time… wasn’t pleasant. You should understand, none of this has anything to do with you; it isn’t your fault. We used to work in places reminiscent of this; it’s bringing back memories better left buried.”

“Medecin sans Frontiers?” Darren nodded at Gil’s query, then he chuckled.

“Stubborn SOB when he wants to be,” the gently-accented American voice was full of affection. “But he stands for the highest good. I regret I couldn’t stay with him but… we all have a limit. I’ll be here when it’s his turn.” Gil gazed back, watching the two men work almost in slow motion, like a movie with the sound turned down.

“He doesn’t need me. He’s still mourning you. He won’t let me in…”

“Tell me something then. If he doesn’t need you, why is he working so hard to save you?” Gil looked back. Was that fear he saw in Miles’ eyes? “You should give him another chance. See what kind of a man he can really be.”

“He would do that for anyone…”

“He would. But look at his eyes, Carter. He’s afraid. Don’t tell me he feels like that for everyone. He is worth a second chance, believe me. I should know…”

“You loved him?”

“What do you mean, loved? I still do. You don’t stop, just because you move on, you know. And no, I am not giving you the secret to life, the universe and everything, and it isn’t forty two.” Darren laughed. “But you’ve already made your choice,” he said quietly. “Tell him from me now is the time to stop blaming himself. He has my blessing. Tell him he doesn’t need to take it like a man any more. He’s all the man I ever needed.”

“How about me? Do I get your blessing?”

“It’s not my blessing you need,” Darren said. “Better get a move on. They’ll have to call it soon, you know the drill.” Gil looked back, the two men had stopped to assess their patient. Miles nodded, and they resumed CPR, but it wouldn’t be long, they couldn’t keep at it forever.

“How do I…?” Gil turned but Darren was gone. He looked back, and then screwed his eyes shut. How in the hell did this work? The tugging feeling increased…
Gil gasped and flew awake, looking around wildly. Miles looked across from where he was sitting on the bed, put his mug down carefully and then got to his feet, padding across to see what was wrong. “Gil? You okay?”

“Miles…”

“I was last time I looked.”

“I died…”

“You don’t need to worry about that now. You’re back again, you’re not going anywhere.”

“No, I know… I mean, I… Miles, I saw Darren….”

Miles paused. “You what?” he asked carefully.

“I saw Darren, just now… I thought it was Lucas. You were making tea for yourself, and he was standing right behind you…” Gil explained in a rush as if he might forget. “But when you came back, he was following, and he was too tall. Too tall to be Lucas I mean… and when you sat down the light should have lit his face, and it didn’t, and then he turned and looked at me, and it was Darren…”

“You must have been dreaming, mate.” Miles tried, and failed, to stop the hairs on the back of his neck from rising.

“Did you make tea just now?”

“Yes, I did, but Lucas has been asleep all night. I’ve had no one with me. You must have heard the noise, and your eyes were playing tricks, that’s all.”

Gil sighed. “He turned and looked at me, stretched out a hand, and I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“When you were working on me, I was on that table over there.” Gil pointed. “Only it was further into the room. You had that blond guy with you, Ragnar? He was working on emergency breathing and you… you injected me, then you worked on chest compressions.”

Well, that was a 50/50 chance of getting that right, Miles thought. Gil must have seen enough crash situations to know the drill.

“Darren was suddenly standing right next to me,” Gil continued. “I was watching you working on me, and he told me I had a choice. I could go back. I said you didn’t need me, and he…” Gil swallowed the lump in his throat. “He said I should give you another chance and that you could be a stubborn SOB sometimes, but none of this was your fault.”

“Coming to Rapatoka wasn’t, but I did walk off and leave you when we landed, that was my choice. I’m sorry but…”

“It reminds you of where you met.  He told me that too.” Gil frowned. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, I think you can put all this down to another symptom of the poison from that bloody spear. Christ knows what was on it.  I think I must have been hallucinating…”

“What else did he tell you?”

“That you were kidnapped, brought here, that it wasn’t your choice… He—Darren—said… that it wasn’t the first time you’d been kidnapped? That it was hard on you, but you should stop feeling guilty, and… and that now is the time to stop blaming yourself. You have his blessing, and he said…. you don’t need to keep quiet and take it like a man any more? You were all the man he ever needed, he said. What’s that all about?” Miles’ expression was troubled. “Does that make sense?” When Miles didn’t answer, Gil added “He said he still loves you, and he wasn’t going to give me the answer to life, the universe and everything, and it wasn’t forty two or something.”

Miles gave a deep sob and buried his face in his hands. After a few seconds he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “That was one of his favourite books. Douglas Adams, Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy. We always joked about it, because we used to live in Apartment 42…”

“But…you never told me that…”

“I know. I never told you about the kidnapping either… nor that the Islanders brought me here to look after Caroline. I didn’t have a choice.”

“So, you’re saying…”

“I don’t know what I’m saying…” Miles’ voice was rough, grief giving it a hard edge. “I don’t know how you could know those things, unless someone told you. I have never told anyone, except Caroline, and I’m not even sure why I told her now.” Miles fell silent. His brow was furrowed, a troubled look in his eyes. “You ought to rest,” he said abruptly. “You’re not done healing yet.  We can talk in the morning.” Miles got off the bed and tugged the covers up again. “Do you still see him? Here, I mean?” There was a wistful note to his voice. Gil shook his head. “Okay then, you close your eyes. I’m only over there; not far away if you need me.” Gil watched him go, noting the slump of Miles’ shoulders, the weary lines of defeat. He desperately wanted Miles in his arms again, to hold him and comfort him. But now he knew what he was competing against, and even though Darren was dead, Gil was now convinced he hadn’t a hope in hell of coming close to the handsome features and that smile. Darren and Miles had grown up together and loved each other for nearly the whole of Gil’s lifetime. How does anyone compete with that, Gil thought?

The light beside Miles’ bed went out. Gil lay awake in the darkness, loss and defeat preventing him finding rest. What had he seen? Darren’s ghost? A fever dream? Hallucination? As he lay there, Miles’ gentle snoring reached his ears. It was a normal, human sound in a surreal world. It anchored him, grounded his fears and relaxed him. His eyes drooped shut. Moments later, Gil was asleep as well.

__________________________________________________________

Late night/early morning,  27/28th Jan, Rapatoka

“What’s your prognosis, Doc? Are you going to survive?” Gideon’s quiet enquiry broke into the silence that had fallen as they finished clearing up.

Miles straightened and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You look wiped out.”

Miles flinched as a warm heavy hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’ll live,” His voice was a harsh rasp. He needed a drink. “Been there, done that, as they say.” He sighed, unwanted memories dredging up again. He shoved them ruthlessly away before they could drown him. He still had work to do. Abruptly, reaction set in and he started to shake. Gideon had an arm around him before his legs gave out, and he was guided to a bed.

“Sit down before you fall down and take a minute,” Gideon advised quietly. “Rag can carry on with the clean-up.”

“I’m fine,” Miles growled.

“Get some rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone. We can watch him for you.”

“To be perfectly frank, I’m still worried. We took what precautions we could, but performing surgery like that in conditions like this is far from ideal. I’ve left a drain in and given him antibiotics, but he’s not responding as he should. When his heart gave out….” Miles shuddered. “He ought to be airlifted out to a hospital on the mainland…”

“No can do,” Gideon insisted. “I wasn’t lying for Pierce’s benefit, you know?” He gestured toward the window. Rain was already pouring down outside and the wind was whipping through the trees again. “There really is another storm front on the way. This is just the leading edge. Everyone is battening down over on Mystery. I’ve left Garvey in charge over there and we’ll just have to ride it out here until Clarke can can make it back in the boat. That should be early tomorrow, always supposing the Met boys are right and it blows itself out by then, but while we’re stuck here, we might as well all get some rest.” Gideon glanced toward the kitchenette. “I could kill for a cuppa, though,” he said eagerly and then frowned. “On the downside,” he added thoughtfully, “it gives the White Witch time to throw her weight around, although hopefully she’ll be as pinned down in her bure by the storm as we are here…” On cue, a rumble of thunder reached their ears, and lightning flashed through the windows. “Thar she blows, Capt’n,” Gideon grinned.

Miles stared over at the still unconscious form of Gil on the bed. Between them, Rag and Miles had brought him back from the brink a couple of times. “From the sounds of things he fell a fair way. As far as I can tell, he isn’t bleeding internally, but a normally fit and healthy man shouldn’t have reacted like that. I was all ready to blame you, you know. Wondering if my trust was misplaced. For a while there I thought he must have reacted to the wrong blood group or some other factor, but that takes days to happen, not minutes. The trap must have been coated with something. I checked with Caroline, and all she could tell me was that the natives use toxins on their spears to kill fish quickly. They get them from one of the local cone shells. She didn’t think it would be strong enough to kill a man, though. After all, they have to eat the fish afterward….”

“Perhaps he had an allergic reaction?” Rag suggested, turning up with a tray on which three mugs steamed invitingly.

“Who knows how long the bloody thing had been there or even who put it there. Might not have been the same poison as the one they use to kill fish.” Gideon took a mug and sniffed appreciatively. “Ah, tea. You’re a life saver, Rag. We should get some food inside us, I could murder a curry. Could the toxin have changed over time?”

“Possibly. Who knows. We don’t even know which one it is. And how the bloody hell do you propose to find a curry over here?”

“Is the toxin still in his system?” Rag asked as he rummaged in another bergen for something. “He was in that hole for a long time, overnight at least. The stuff on the end of that spear had more than enough time to get into his bloodstream.”

“I flushed the wound out as well as I could after removing the spear. But that’s just a part of the problem. The extraction itself was a bitch. I won’t know for a while whether I was successful or damaged some nerves in the process. Nerve damage takes a bugger of a long time to heal too.” Miles tried to imagine how Gil would react if his arm was permanently affected. Anyone with his degree of devotion to his job would be devastated. If he regains consciousness. No, when he regains consciousness, not if, Miles reminded himself. He wouldn’t allow himself to think in any other terms. He turned to face Gideon. Eidolon might be full of shit, but the big man had proved his worth a couple of times over. His offsiders had been a big help, too. “Thanks, mate. Thank your men, too, would you? First off for not trying to pull the spear out, and then, helping during the operation. Rag, you were great, thanks.”

The man nodded and smiled.

“Where in the blazes does that name come from, anyway?”

“It’s short for Ragnar,” the big man said, amiably. “Swedish father, English mother. There you go.” He held up the results of his rummaging. “What do you fancy? Irish stew, chicken curry or Lancashire Hotpot?”

“Pardon me? You’ve got food as well?” Miles stared incredulously. “What the hell are you guys?”

“It’s nothing special, I’ll warn you,” Rag grinned. “It’s survival rations, you rehydrate it with boiling water. You can eat it, but it tastes like shit.” This last was uttered in a fake Crocodile Dundee accent.

Miles waved his offer away; food was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He stared after the blue-eyed blond as he walked into the hospital kitchenette. He wasn’t just a pretty face. For a second there before Gil’s heart restarted, everything Miles had ever learnt or done just seemed to fly out the window. If it hadn’t been for Rag’s calm actions and prods of what they should do next, Gil might have died.

Now his legs were a bit steadier, Miles stood and checked all Gil’s vitals again. “He needs more rehydration.” Miles checked the level in their last drip bag. “Trouble is, there’s not much IV fluid left as I had to use so much to flush out the wound.”

“Coconuts,” Ragnar said succinctly.

“I beg your pardon?” Miles wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“Coconuts, we’ve got plenty here. You could set up a coconut IV,” Rag repeated.

Gideon saw Miles’ blank look. “You’ve never heard of that one? In an intact coconut, the fluid inside is sterile. Shove a needle in through the soft eye, fix it to an IV line with a drip chamber and Bob’s your uncle. Instant rehydration.” Miles was looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “Promise you, it works. Rag can show you while Lucas and I boil some water, then we can all eat something.”

“Okay, you’re on.”

It did work. They sent Lucas out to gather a few husked coconuts and Rag showed Miles how to hook one up to an IV line.  Gil immediately started to respond better as the rehydration took effect.

@–}–}—

Consciousness was vastly overrated, Gil decided. He was awake, in pain, feeling nauseous, cold and thick-headed.  He kept his eyes tight shut, he had no wish to see the dark, the hole, his arm… Abruptly, he remembered people, voices—Lyle’s?—movement, flashes of lucidity in an otherwise delirious fog. Panicked, he jumped, eyes flying open, whole body tense and shaking. Pain assailed him from somewhere, sharp and hard, unyielding. He gasped and grunted, and felt a weight pressing him back to the bed.

“Easy, my friend, take it steady.” The oddly-accented voice was calm and reassuring, even if it belonged to a complete stranger sitting beside him on the bed. The blond giant had one big hand pressed firmly on his chest. “You’re safe…”

“Gil, rest easy, you’re in hospital,” Gideon reassured, looming over the bed, gaze fixed on their patient’s troubled brown eyes. “You’re safe,” he reiterated. “We found Miles. He’s here, he’s going to look after you. You need to rest now, come on, relax…” Gideon kept up the monologue of reassurance, easing Gil back onto the pillows.

“Miles…” Gil’s memory was playing tricks. They couldn’t have found Miles, Miles was lost…

Miles was shaken awake from a deep sleep. Gideon was gazing down at him, a hand on his shoulder. “He’s awake…”

“Huh?” It took a second for Miles to work out where he was and who was speaking. As soon as memory returned, he swung his legs out of bed and rushed to Gil’s bedside. It seemed that his heart wanted to burst out of his chest. He’d had to keep such a tight rein on his emotions, now hope was on the horizon he almost became dizzy with relief.

He stared at Gil for a couple of seconds, noting the eyes flickering behind the closed eyelids. Relief became guilt as he remembered how he’d treated the young man after their night of glorious sex. He almost felt ashamed to touch him, but he needed to reassure himself that he would live.

Gil felt the hands on him, exploring, examining… That hurt. “Ow.” He was ashamed at the whimper that escaped as the fingers touched a sensitive spot. His arm felt as if it was on fire. His head was throbbing, and there was a dull ache behind his eyes. His whole body seemed to be sore, bruised. He felt pathetically weak.

“Hi, mate, how are you?”

Gil’s eyes opened and focused on the doctor as he sat on the bed. “Miles…I’m dreaming… or dead… “

“You very nearly were.”

“Oh fuck… it’s real…?”

“Take it easy, stay calm. There’s no need to get upset now, you’re safe.”

“Roofie…”

Roofie? The man’s barely conscious and already he’s thinking about someone or something else. Miles gave a wry smile and shook his head. “He’s okay. Gideon told me that the mutt found his men, apparently did the whole Lassie thing. They found you down a hole…”

“Roofie was down the hole…”

Miles looked puzzled.

“I was looking for you…” Gil explained. “Along the beach. Roofie barked and…I couldn’t see him. Then I fell through the leaves. Roofie was down there and I managed to boost him up and out before I collapsed. I thought he might piss off again and forget me…” Like you did, Gil thought, but didn’t voice.

“So, you were on a mission of mercy?” Miles flinched at the wary look that crossed Gil’s face when he made his flippant comment. “Sorry, I always seem to say the wrong thing where you’re concerned, don’t I?” He brushed a lock of hair away from Gil’s face and stared down into the brown eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. “Thank you for rescuing him,” he said softly, and thank you for rescuing me, was the thought that immediately followed, but he couldn’t express that conclusion yet. One day, if things improved between the two of them he might actually be able to say the words to Gil out loud. The conviction that the young man had saved him from a life of misery was growing stronger day by day. He hadn’t felt this alive since Darren died. He shook his head and laughed. “Anyway, trust Roofie to survive. Smart little mutt. Gideon’s men brought you over here. I had to stay to look after Caroline.”

“Caroline?”

Miles indicated the lady in the bed next to Gil’s.  She’d gone back to sleep, her face relaxed and serene. “Caroline is a native of this Island.” Miles explained about her sojourn in New Zealand and her injuries. “She’s seen the big wide world and come back here. Personally, I can’t say I blame her.”

“Why, Miles? Why did you leave…?”

Miles winced at the hurt he detected in Gil’s voice. “It wasn’t exactly by choice. Look. we’ll talk later, when you’re feeling better.” He needed to tell Gil how he felt but now was not the time nor the place. “Right now, you need rest. When you’re stronger, we can talk properly, in private. I think I need to explain some stuff. Now, are you in pain?”

Gil paused before nodding. “My arm feels like it’s burning. My head… aches. I’m sore…”

“Obviously you’ll have pain from the operation. We had to make a pretty deep cut to extract the spear. The thing was covered in these narrow barbs. It is a pretty diabolical weapon; once the shaft penetrates the victim, the barbs in the tip are released, much like a spear gun but on a smaller scale. We couldn’t just push it through though as there were other barbs going in the opposite direction.”

Gil looked sick. “Sounds great…”

“Then to complicate matters, when the barbs came out they brought with them a toxin. I suspect it’s from one of the cone shells found in the area. Each species has a different method of action, basically they are neurotoxic peptides. They’re pretty deadly things at the best of times, with no known antidote.”

“So…how long before I’m back on my feet…?” Gil hated how tentative his voice sounded but that comment about “deadly things” with “no known antidote” scared the shit out of him and Miles’ next words did little to reassure him.

“It’s going to be a case of wait and see, I’m afraid. In the meantime I need you to tell me each and every symptom you have. No great heroics, please. If it hurts or it itches, you tell me, right.”

“Right…” Way to go, doc, Gil thought. Great beside manner.

“I mean it, Gil. Any symptom you have might relate to some different effect it’s had on your system. We don’t know what it is or how it works, but believe me when I tell you, you nearly died. At least twice. Your heart went into shock.”

Gil couldn’t prevent the anxiety from showing on his face. “But I’m okay, right? This isn’t going to be permanent? I mean… it’s not killing me slowly, is it? You know, liver or renal failure? Cell breakdown? All I need is a strep or staph infection from it…”

Sometimes ignorance is bliss, Miles thought. Gil was a knowledgeable medic who couldn’t be fobbed off with bland reassurances. Maybe he’d divulged too much information, but Gil would expect to be told the truth. “I won’t lie to you, I have no idea what this stuff does, so don’t expect miracles. Your vitals are stable right now, so my guess is you’re over the worst. I think all the factors conspired to weaken you. You knocked your head as you fell, you lost quite a bit of blood, and you were exposed to the elements all night. But you just lie there and let someone else look after you for a change, right?” Miles stared at Gil, trying to assess whether the man would do what he was told for once. “Right?” He repeated.

“Right. If I have to…”

Miles smiled at the young man’s grudging response. In a way he looked forward to the opportunity to spoil someone again. “Warm enough?” Gil nodded. “Okay, let’s keep it that way.” Miles drew a blanket over his patient’s legs and sat down on the end of the bed.

“Now, I want to introduce you to your new nurse. Lucas!”

Lyle Ashley Tate, Harry Garvey, Amanda ‘Mindy’ Masterson

and introducing Agnetha Jackson-Grey

_____________________________________________________

Early afternoon, 27th January, Mystery Island

Harry stood back and surveyed the room appreciatively. Everything was in place, to his and Lyle’s satisfaction. Now all they needed to do was finish positioning all the cameras and the network was done until they received the final consignment. The only worrying thing was identifying what was blocking their comms signals. If they could find that, then they were home and dry.

“Just wish I knew what it was,” he had said to Lyle when the man had come back from seeing his injured friend off. Lyle had looked subdued and Harry tried to take his mind off it by turning the discussion onto the cause of the signal damper.

“Well I suppose it could be someone intercepting the signal, or it could be more localised interference. Not really my forte.”

“If we don’t find it, it’s going to play havoc with our signals. We should maybe look at getting more equipment in to dampen the effect…?” Harry was failing in his aim to divert Lyle’s thoughts; the man was too preoccupied. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, you know. If they’ve found the doctor…”

“He looked bad, that spike… We’re so isolated here.”

“Well, it’s down to us to make us less isolated then. We’re the tech bods, we have the technology…” he intoned and grinned. “Look, Lyle… I’m used to this, to some extent. Me and the other lads, we’re ex-military, we’re used to being constantly thrown on our own resources, we’ve been isolated in much more challenging surroundings than these. Be thankful, we’ve no hostiles pointing guns at us. We’ve no severe threats to our immediate safety… well, other than holes in the ground…” Harry shrugged, “and maybe adverse weather fronts… I’m not reassuring you, am I?” He grinned.

“Not much, no…” Lyle agreed, allowing himself a small smile. “But you’re here to do your bit for island security, it’s all part of what you signed up for, I suppose.”

Harry glanced at Lyle and sighed. “We did, but you didn’t. It can be a difficult transition for civilians. One minute you’re safe, the next…” he paused. “Truth to tell, you’re not that safe. Most civilians just think they are because they are surrounded by the familiar.”

“Safe hasn’t been something I could feel for quite a few years now. Seeing Gil hurt that badly just has brought to mind how far from home we really are though.”

“I can appreciate that.” Harry smiled and nodded. “Look, we usually get together for a few beers in downtime. You’d be welcome to join us, if you like. We made sure the cooler was well stocked.” He grinned again. “I think we may manage a party one night, although there are not many girls and the gay guys seem to outnumber the straights two to one.”

“I’d love a beer. Can’t say I can make up for the lack of girls though.”

“Well, maybe we can coax Aggi into joining us. Although from what I hear, she’s a bit of a Viking battleaxe.”

“The cook? She seemed nice enough.”

Lyle knew Harry was trying to stop him brooding about Gil. His friend had looked pretty seriously injured though, and Lyle wasn’t at all convinced that Miles was up to treating the injury, not because of any lack of skill on his part but due to a lack of facilities. Babbling about the differences between civilians and ex-military was not the way Harry should be going, though. It was too much ‘us and you’. Frankly, the guy was starting to get on his nerves.

“Look, I’ve had enough of this, for now.” He gestured to the stacked up equipment. “I’m going to go for a stroll…I promise not to get kidnapped or to fall down any holes. Catch you in an hour or so, back here?”

“Sure, if that’s what you need. I’ll check out the radar while you’re gone; that way we’ll get notice of when Gideon’s returning.” Harry winked. He knew Lyle was sleeping in their boss’s room, what that meant they had already speculated on, and Harry was pretty sure he would win their little bet. He couldn’t see the appeal of the man himself, but Gideon took his pleasures where he found them. That was part of being a soldier too.

Lyle watched for the optimum moment before scooping up the materials he was going to need. He didn’t want to show his hand to Harry. There was no love lost between Gideon and Pierce, but he was less sure where the other mercenaries stood, and they might not all approve of what he was about to do.

@–}–}—

The wind was up again, for which Lyle was eternally grateful. He loathed how much sweat he was able to generate just by standing still on this island. He longed to be able to strip off his top, slap on some tanning oil and become a beach-bum-surfer-dude. He was going to have to lean on Pierce, get some answers out of her about how soon Eidolon was going to settle their debt to him. Bugging her bure was just perfect in terms of gaining the leverage he figured was going to be necessary to tie things up properly.

Trust Pierce, arrogant bitch that she is, to bag the nicest of the still-standing bures; no sharing a dormitory for her, Lyle thought to himself, as he weighed up the building to see if it was truly empty at present.

Lyle was finding it hard to make himself take the time to properly scout out Pierce’s bure; he wasn’t sure how long he had before the Eidolon big noise would return from Rapatoka. He didn’t imagine the locals would throw a luau for her, making friends wasn’t her forte. He absolutely mustn’t get caught at this stage, but he needed to hurry too so that he could set up the surveillance in her bure to get maximum coverage. He gave it five minutes, crouched in the treeline observing the low building, then scurried to the doorway of the low building. He’d expected to find the place all locked up, but it wasn’t.  Very cautiously he let himself in.

That Pierce would be careless of her security seemed odd. She hadn’t struck him as the careless type. Maybe Flynn had been there ahead of him though? That would fit. Flynn had probably already turned over every locked room in the complex; the street kid had guts, skills even, but not a lot of sense.

@–}–}—

Mindy pushed her plate away with a sigh. The food was good, better than she had been lead to believe. Listening to Sandra Pierce sniping about it, anyone would have thought it was pigswill. Mindy finished up, aware of how hungry she had been. She glanced at her watch and frowned. She had been on the go since seven that morning, finishing up the tasks Pierce had given her. She snorted softly. Pierce treated her as little more than a skivvy these days, a glorified maid.  She was an experienced PA, for God’s sake. First Pierce had assigned her to that little scumbag, Archer, who frankly treated her like she was some kind of bimbo and now she was in the middle of nowhere, cleaning Pierce’s bure…

“That was a sigh from the heart…” The oddly-accented English made Mindy look up to see a small woman in a chef’s white uniform, blond hair cut short as a soldier’s, peering at her through the serving hatch. “You are okay, Sweety?”

“I’m fine…” Mindy was a little unnerved by the woman’s stare, but her manner was kind. She reminded her of Tank Girl. “Just a little pissed off, but what’s new?” Mindy replied dispiritedly.

“Ah, Sweety, not good, not good. I’m Agnetha, by the way. You may call me Aggi if you like. The boys call me Bork…you know, like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?” She laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “Before your time maybe…” Mindy realised her look must have been a little blank. Her accent was a tad strange to Mindy’s ears. Aggi spoke with a lilt, the emphasis on the wrong part of the words. Abruptly, the woman’s focus altered and she said something unintelligible. Was that her own language? She disappeared from view, emerging from the kitchen moments later with a tray. She proceeded to collect discarded plates and cups, swiping a wet cloth across the tables with gusto. “Ach, those men! Bad enough I’ve no help here, but why can’t they clean their own mess up? But then, they’re men. I should not expect miracles.” Mindy thoughtfully collected her plate and mug onto her tray and carried them to the hatch. She felt she would be letting the side down to do anything else.

“Tack.” Mindy glanced at her. What was that?

“What did you say?”

“Tack… Sorry, I’m Swedish, I forget. Thank you,” she said. “It means thank you.”

“Oh.” Mindy smiled. “That’s okay. I guess we women should stick together.” Aggi smiled broadly.

“We should keep these men in their place,” she said with another grin, shaking her head in exasperation and waggling a dirty mug in the air for emphasis. “Military types know better, but we have civilian workers too. Not the same…” She shrugged, looking Mindy up and down. “You don’t look like a builder, Sweety, and you sure are not Military. How on earth do you fit in round here?”

“I’m…” Mindy paused. What am I? She was hard pressed to answer. “I work with Sandra Pierce…”

“Ouch, that hard-faced Tik…”

“Excuse me?”

“Why, Sweety, what did you do?”

“Er… I meant, what did you mean? Tik?”

Aggi laughed. “Oh, I believe the word means the female dog?” Mindy took a moment to process the meaning, then she laughed as well.

“Yes, Aggi, I believe you’re right with that assumption.” She frowned. “Look, I better get going or… the Tik will be back and breathing down my neck. She reached for her keys, finding they were not in her pocket where they ought to be. Then she realised in horror that she hadn’t locked the door of the bure on her way out. Damn it to hell and back, she had left her keys behind! Pierce would kill her if she got back and found out. “Sorry, Aggi, I really have to go…” and Mindy flew out the door as fast as her sandaled feet would go.

Aggi watched her go with a frown. It looks like Pierce has her claws into this one too. Damn the woman. Aggi had only met her once and once was one time too many in Aggi’s opinion. The woman was a Tik of the highest order, and one that Aggi would dearly love to see fall. Short of poisoning the woman’s chilli she wasn’t sure how that would happen, though. People like Pierce got away with murder. Gideon she could relate to. Gideon was military. So were his boys. They liked her. They were also smart enough to know that one did not piss off the only cook on the island too. Not everyone had the sense they were born with though.

Mindy ran out of the main building and took the path at a run. Pierce might already be there. Anxiety lent her speed and in no time she was in sight of the bure again.

@–}–}—

It was a nice hut, cool and comfortable. Trust Pierce to get the best of the accommodation. It looked like some of the building had been recently patched. Not all of the furniture was standard either. The bed was broader than the others he had spotted at the resort so far, and swathed in a diaphanous mosquito net. The rest of the decor was typically ‘tourist tropical’–rush, cane and bamboo. The place showed no sign of habitation, though Pierce had been on the island nearly as long as himself.

Lyle pondered where best to position his cameras and microphones. He thought about both reception and concealment, carefully considering the optimum placement. He was hoping the interference Harry had been registering earlier wouldn’t affect these gadgets, since they were going to be hooked up to a different part of the system–his own private section. He had to cobble some of the stuff together, he’d swept a random selection of gear up as he’d left the security base room—he hated thinking of it as an ‘IT’ room—so he wasn’t sure exactly what he could accomplish right there and then. It would have to do for a while though, he doubted he would get such easy access to this particular bure again for some time.

More than once Lyle froze as voices drew close, but every time they faded; just people passing by, workers maybe. His nerves were on edge though and it ate into the concentration he needed to fix the tiny cameras and microphones. He would have to hope that the cameras would pick something up. They were fixed in one position; if anyone placed anything in front of them he would be blind.  He put one in the main room, as high up as he could get it, pointing down. The other he placed to cover the door. It would be interesting to see the comings and goings and time-stamp them. He set the voice-activated microphones in the main room and the bedroom. He had a chance of getting more from them than from the cameras.

Job done, Lyle thought, casting a final glance round the room. He pocketed the remains of the equipment he had brought with him, did a final check that he hadn’t left anything incriminating behind and stepped quickly to the door.

He reached to open it, intending to peer out to check that the coast—almost literally in this case—was clear, but as he did so, the handle flew out of his grasp. A flustered young woman with dark hair and a horrified expression stood there, framed by the doorway.

“Just who the fuck are you?” Mindy’s terror that Pierce had returned rapidly changed to anger. She knew the stranger who stood in Pierce’s bure had absolutely no business being there, although it didn’t occur to her to be scared of him. Pierce scared her, but few other people could. In fact Mindy hated Pierce for her ability to do exactly that.

If looks could kill, Lyle thought, this woman would have been guilty of murder. She had an air of righteous indignation and Lyle knew he had to think on his feet before she started screaming the place down. He realised he had seen her before, she had been heading into the refectory as he had been leaving, no doubt late for her lunch. He remembered thinking she looked too neat to be part of the maintenance crews.

“Just what the hell are you doing here? Who are you?”

Lyle was stumped. He had no idea where the woman fitted into the Eidolon puzzle. He’d seen her hanging around Flynn a bit, and around Pierce. Did she know about their history? Did she have a clue who they were or was she out of the loop?

“Security. I was just making sure everything was okay here. The door was unlocked. I know Ms Pierce is off the island right now, so I thought I should check for intruders and then secure the premises.”

Lyle smiled as unconvincingly as he could manage, playing out the persona of a security specialist. “. . . And you are?”

“Amanda Masterson…I’m Sandra Pierce’s PA… but if you are security, how come you didn’t know that?” The man had rattled her, but she was unsure of her ground. She knew people had been brought in whom she had yet to meet but somehow this guy didn’t seem right.

Lyle pulled himself up to his full height of 5ft 10, looking the woman straight in the eyes, echoing the way his own bodyguard, Breslaw, had carried himself. With all the military present on the island right now he knew he wasn’t exactly right for a member of the security team, but that was what he was now all the same, and bugging Pierce’s hut was exactly the sort of thing he should be doing.

“I have a set of names, just haven’t had chance to meet everyone yet.” He pulled out his PDA and started pressing buttons, whilst making sure the woman couldn’t see the screen. “Ah yes, you check out. Thanks. Do you know when we can expect Ms. Pierce to return? They didn’t leave a schedule.” He did his best to sound really annoyed as he added the final sentence.

“Ms. Pierce—,” Mindy gave the Ms an audible capital, “—will be back when she’s done what she went out there to do.”

“She didn’t tell you either, huh? Law unto Herself.” Lyle checked his watch. “Better get on, got plenty to do today. You have a key for here, yes?”

“Of course…”

Lyle smiled, his eyebrow lifting slightly. “Better use it next time then, Ma’am. After all, you never know who might be snooping around.”