4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

- 0 0 : 0 6

  

- 0 0 : 0 6

SHE IS THE first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

Seated by his bed, she's studying a strange object in her hands. She flips it over, fiddles with a few buttons by the side, then holds it up to the sunlight. Intrigue dances across her features; she looks stunning under the first rays of morning light, and he hesitates.

Is this a dream?

He's had so many of her that he can no longer be certain of what's real and what isn't. Of what's in the past and what's in his present.

As if on cue, she glances up. Her eyes brighten and a smile leaps across her face. Quickly, she sets the device down on the drawer, then shifts to sit on the edge of his makeshift bed. "Good morning," she says softly.

He swallows, still unsure. Please don't be a dream. "Morning."

"Just morning?" she teases, with a quiet laugh. "What does a girl have to do around here to get you to say good morning?"

He falls silent, not knowing what to say. But he doesn't have to. Her hand rises to his face; her fingers brush his hair out of his eyes in a gesture so tender that it makes his heart ache. Then, slowly, she lowers her head and kisses him.

His eyes drift shut. What makes a person real? Is it the sound of her lovely voice, or the scent of her lingering on his skin? Is it the sight of her, incandescent under the light, or the feel of her beneath his fingertips? What else is there?

Oh, that's right.

Taste.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he kisses her back-eagerly, nipping at her bottom lip to seek for access. She grants it, and he sweeps his tongue in, tasting the bittersweet tang of coffee on her. His hand comes up, his fingers curl around the nape of her neck to pull her towards him. She follows, keeping one palm steady on his chest, her hair falling like a curtain to shield them from the rest of the world.

When at last she makes to pull away, he can't help stealing one last kiss before letting his head fall back against the pillow. Distractedly, he thinks of covering his damn erection, then remembers she's seen him-the other him-naked anyway.

"Good morning," he murmurs, still fighting to catch his breath. "Brilliant morning. Fan-fucking-tastic."

She pulls back with a satisfied laugh. "It is a good morning. Do you know why?"

"Tell me."

"You-the other you-has successfully created Antigen V."

He stares at her. This shouldn't come as a surprise. She had, after all, predicted that it'd take a day or two for his other self to create the new Antigen. But to have it come true is unsettling. It brings him one step closer to the present. There, where he had lived prior to the time-jump. There, where the Dark Ages had come to an end.

There, where I can never find you.

"He worked through the night," she continues. "He'll have to recreate the Antigen tomorrow, and send off the first batch the day after. I made him promise not to work on it until he caught some sleep." Her eyes are warm with affection as she gazes down at him. "You did it. You saved the world. And I am so very proud of you."

"But I didn't do anything."

"You and him are the same person," she points out, "or did you forget? His achievements are yours and your decisions are his. If you hadn't come back in time with the right Antigen, he wouldn't have figured it out. If he hadn't worked so hard to create it, you wouldn't have had the Antigen to begin with. It's a loop, see?"