Half Truth

"That's not fair," Eli teased. "Keeping a man from his popcorn." He tried to make light of the whole thing, but the look in Scarlet's eyes warned him that he was getting awfully close to a line he'd never crossed before. Her backing away from him a little just confirmed it, and the glint of humor in his eye faded.

"I'm not lying," he insisted. "Everything is fine. I got work breathing down my neck, and this whole thing with Alec is doing a real number on Ryan. I'm just trying to stay on top of it all." Whether or not he was lying, there was something he was leaving out. Something about his vague answers that made his reasoning seem flawed, and he knew it. But he wasn't going to discuss it further. He could talk to Scarlet about anything...except this. It was his own fault that he'd taken that phone call when she'd been within earshot. He'd always been more careful than that, but after such an emotional day, he'd let his guard down too far.

He reached for the open bottle of beer he'd been nursing all evening, and took a swig before trying to pull Scarlet close again. Anything to change the subject. "Popcorn or not, you're still the most comfortable couch buddy, so what say we finish this movie, huh? And then watch another one so I don't have to move."


Ryder just continued to hug Thirteen close. “It’s okay. Shhh.” 

He led her into the living room where he made her sit with him and he gently wiped some of her tears with his hand. “Hey…look at me.” He leaned his head down until he could see her eyes. “You’re okay. You’re safe now. It’s okay to be scared – you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He offered her a gentle smile. “Even the strongest freeze sometimes, and you’re far stronger than you think.”


“Garret, can you hear me?” 

The words sounded muffled and far away. The voice was unfamiliar, and the room felt so hot. Garret flinched only when his eye was pried open and a bright light shone at his pupil. He tried to fend off whoever was leaning over him, but found both wrists and ankles restrained. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, and a wave of dizziness produced a verbal complaint that only came out as a groan. 

Rick prepped a needle and gave Garret another shot before replacing the cold compress on his forehead. Three days, and his body was still revolting against the lack of drugs. Rick couldn’t help but wonder what kind of cocktail the Agency had developed to bring on such severe withdrawal symptoms. 

“How’s he doing?” Reese stepped inside the infirmary. 

Rick shook his head. “Not good. His body’s going haywire, and there’s only so much I can do.”

“Is he going to be alright?”

Rick folded his arms and looked back at Garret’s writhing form. “I hope so. I’m just trying to get his fever down at the moment. I hate to say this, but if he was lying, and the Agency really did send him here, they risked killing him. And as important as Carson says he is…I’m just not sure they’d do that.”

Garret tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy. He squirmed in his restraints, unable to get his bearings. All he wanted to hear was one voice. All he wanted to feel was one person’s touch. He had to fight…he couldn’t give up…not now. He’d come too far. He had to keep fighting.

Reese pursed his lips as his mind reeled. What was the truth? “Has he said anything at all?”

“Nothing that makes sense, and half the time it’s in German.” 

“Great.” Reese rolled his eyes. “Okay. Well, do what you can and let me know if anything changes.”


Carson lay on his back on his bed, his eyes roaming the ceiling of the small room. The last few days had been hard. Not just because he was still helping hunt for Alec’s killers, but because he’d refrained from contacting Misty. It was torture, but he’d known not to call her right away, lest it seem he was smothering her. Had he waited long enough now? It felt like he was playing a high school dating game all over again. 

Finally, he reached for his cell phone on his night stand. It felt kind of funny just to text, but…maybe that would cause the least amount of stress. He thought for several moments before typing.

Though wounded on the battlefield, soul in pieces, the warrior’s pulse still pounds. Not for himself, but for the conquering queen – she who won his heart so long ago. For but one glance he holds on, surviving only for a single moment.

After hitting send, he typed another message.

Go out for coffee tomorrow night with me?