Since getting out of a sleepless bed, R.J. had been running through a tally of lasts. The last drive down the 101. The last time walking through the Aira atrium. The last time getting scanned at security. And the last, slow ride down, in the industrial elevator. However things turned out this morning, it would be the last time R.J. ever did any of these things, which had become intimately ingrained in his routine.
He just hoped a last breath wouldn't make it onto his list.
Four years ago, he was the victim of a plot against The Music Box; today, he would be the perpetrator of one.
The last time someone tried to interfere with the Agency, everyone of them was carried away in a body bag. Or in a plastic bin. The darkness clouding his mind became a little stormier at the thought of the container of incinerated remains.
And these were trained soldiers that failed. R.J. was nothing but a middle-aged biologist. What chance did he have?
What choice did he have?
Standing in the elevator, R.J. ran his hand over his gut. The scar was undetectable under the cotton of his shirt, but he could still sense it. Long after the pain was gone, he was aware of its presence. It had nearly killed him, and now the nickel sized circle of white flesh marked him like a mystical symbol. It was a sign on his skin linking him to his own mortality.
"Who told you to play the hero?" Nikki had asked, leaning over him in his hospital bed after giving him a kiss on the cheek.
When he was out of critical condition, the government had moved him from the Air Force base to a private hospital in the city. Maxwell had spent days debriefing him on the attack and coaching him on his cover storybefore the transfer.
"I didn't. Believe me, I was no hero. They shot me before I could turn and run."
"Poor, baby," Nikki said running a hand through his hair. The words might have sounded condescending in a different tone but they held only tenderness.
R.J. detesting lying to her. It wasn't even his lie. Wiley or some Agency propagandist came up with the story about a group of activists who had broken into Aira Cosmetics in protest of their cruel animal testing. The militant group set off a bomb in the lobby and used pistols to fire some warning shots at the night staff. A stray bullet happened to catch R.J., while he was working late.
The government's version of events bore little resemblance to the full on assault by paramilitary mercenaries, but no one ever questioned the flimsy story, no matter how often he repeated it.
Nikki sat down in the chair beside his bed. "I told you we should quit our jobs and move down to Mexico. But you had to be an ass and breakup."
"I was an ass."
"I know." Nikki folded her arms the tenderness was gone from her voice.
Neither of them said anything for a while. Only the noise of the hospital around them kept the room from growing deathly silent.
"How have you been, Nikki?"
Her body tightened up. She pressed her arms closer against her chest. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't called in over a month. I had to hear that you were in the hospital from the TV. Do you really care how I am?"
"Of course, I do."
"In that case, I'm lousy. Yeah, I know you've been shot and you've got me beat there. But my job sucks. My rent is late. And I can't stop thinking about my ex-who's a total ass. Did I forget to mention that?"
"I'm sorry. I've made bad choices."
"No. You don't make bad choices, R.J. You just don't think about anyone else when you make your choices. You said you were leaving me because it would be best for me. Don't you think I should have had a say in that?"
"I'm sorry." Her words echoed Mila's from years ago. You think you have noble reasons to do the shit you do. You call it self-sacrifice, but it's nothing but selfishness.
"I made a mistake leaving you."
Nikki pulled herself off the chair and hunched beside him. Her hands enwrapped his. "Let's just leave." Her voice a soft but urgent whisper, as though there was a looming threat about to crush them both. "Tell the people you work for to fuck off. And I'll tell the people I work for to go to hell. Then let's just leave and start all over somewhere fresh. Someplace where we can be who we want to be."
"I'd like that," R.J. said. "As soon as I'm back on my feet, we'll go."
But by the time R.J. was ready to be discharged, he had realized how unrealistic those dreams were. It was a fantasy that he could leave The Music Box and his responsibilities.
Nikki was furious with him. He had tried to make it up to her with money for the restaurant. Or maybe, he had given it to her to ease his conscience. Either way, she let him stay in her life, even if he only stayed at the fringes. But he knew it had nothing to with his gift. Her reasons were her own and inscrutable to him after the way he had treated her.
And now, he really was going to leave all this behind, just not with Nikki.
A little longer and this life would be over.
It took every ounce of willpower, not to check his watch every thirty seconds.
Time seemed both infinite and fleeting. R.J. almost didn't know how to fill the two hours before he had to get Amy out, but at the same time he was constantly aware of the seconds being lost forever.
It was crucial that he get Amy up to the Security Center for 4:55 a.m. The Sunday night shift would be wrapping up. It was the least desirable shift of the week and all the experienced security staff left it to the junior team members. New guards were always being filtered in as others transferred or were promoted out. They weren't nearly as familiar with The Music Box staff. Some had never even seen all the people who worked down in the bunker. Getting through while they were preoccupied with going home was his best chance. It would also get Amy out of there before Barbara Gracie showed up to take her OC duties.
R.J. headed to his office to scour it for anything that might give the slightest clue to where he was heading. He was tempted to collect the things he'd miss and pack them up to take with him. Personal items had built up over the years, and there were reams of notes and diaries with thoughts and findings. Then there were the videos documenting Amy's childhood. But he had to travel light. Nostalgia was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Before getting started, he picked up the phone and called O'Bree in the Observation Center. "Hey Colin, I came in early," he said. "Why don't you take off for the night? I'll take care of things."
With the phone back on its cradle, a vision played in his headof O'Bree clearing out and leaving Amy unattended . R.J. took a deep breath and began to systematically ransack his desk.
Here he was playing the hero again. Who said you could do that?
The last time things hadn't turned out so well for him. Had he done nothing, he might have made it out unscathed that day. And had he done nothing, it wouldn't have changed anything. That was the insidious knowledge that tormented him-the haunting fact that lurked beneath his scar. His actions had accomplished nothing.
Sure, he stopped Aikman and Miller, but the Air Force tactical team would have gotten them, if he didn't. Now, he had two people's blood on his hands for no good reason. And Amy...
He had been trying to save Amy, but in the end it was up to Amy to save herself. He just hoped he could do more for her this time.
***
Author's Note: Apologies for the short (and possibly redundant) scene this week. The last thing I wanted to do was slow down the posting pace of TTWB2 on this particular chapter, but something came up that absorbed most of my writing time this week. It will also take up a lot of that time for the next few weeks, so I'll still post on Fridays but they'll be short scenes like this one.
I'm working on an exciting new project that I am unable to reveal at the moment, but expect an announcement next week. It might mean that TTWB2 will slow down for a bit but only because there's about to be some whole new stuff by me on the WP.
Anyway, I know having these chapters come out in dribs and drabs can be frustrating and I am sorry for it.