Eureka SeveN is the property of BONES. No material reproduced here for profit.

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"WILLIAM-SAAAAAN!"

His voice vanished into the oppressively thick fog, answered only by an equally oppressive and lonely silence. Renton could see barely more than ten metres ahead, and above him the tops of both the trees and the pile bunkers vanished into a white blanket. The air was damp and thick, but Renton felt strangely warm and comfortable.

He cupped his hands and called out for William again. Eureka was quiet beside him, lost in thought.

A few hours earlier, as they had moved across the rolling grassland a feeling of deja vu had slowly overtaken him, as if he'd done this all before. The feeling had only become stronger as the fog had enveloped them, and when they'd finally cleared through it to a lone house on the edge of a field of tall grass, he knew he was right: he HAD been here before! The field of long, unruly grass ringed by trees and pile bunkers. A solitary windmill over to one side, uttering the odd metallic creak when the wind picked up. A small wooden house nestled at one edge, looking out over the field.

It had been a way point on his journey. When he'd run away from Gekko State, alienated and unhappy with the course his life was taking, he had ended up here. He had recognised the house at once, and raced toward it.

He'd had tiptoed through the long grass gingerly though, wincing every time his foot landed on any object that felt at all vegetab-ly. William had a strange bouncing path through the field, but Renton for the life of him couldn't begin to remember it. He spent a good ten minutes trying to thread his way through the chest-high grass without treading on any of William's precious vegetables before tripping and falling over a carrot.

Or maybe it was a potato....He'd looked up to see Eureka smiling for the first time in hours, trying her best to stifle a slight giggle behind her hand. He'd scratched the back of his head sheepishly and tried to explain earnestly about the vegetables.

She'd forced the grin off her face and tried to look solemn, wagging a finger in front of her like a scolding parent. "Mmmm," she'd said, "vegetables are very important for your diet."

Did she....did she just make a joke? He'd stared at her for a second and then laughed. "Eureka, you made a joke!"

She'd blushed at that. "Was that ok? I mean, you laughed...but...." she'd looked away from him, looking heart-achingly uncertain. "Gidget said I should try and be less serious sometimes...."

Ah, crap, she's going to think I was teasing her! He'd leapt to his feet and given her what he hoped was a reassuring grin, stepping across to take her hand. "No, no, that's fine! I thought you were funny." He blinked and started to stammer. "I mean, not that YOU were funny! The joke was funny! I was laughing at that!"

He'd moved toward her without realising it and their faces were close, now. Too close. The uncertainty in her face was gone now, replaced by an expression that he couldn't name but really, really liked the look of. Her eyes were hooded and her face flushed, and her lips had parted slightly. Instinct took over and he closed his eyes as he leaned in, taking a step closer to steady himself and....

*snap*

"Ahhh! Damn, the parsnip!"

The moment past, he'd refocused on the empty house. Surely William would have heard them out her by now?

Thoughts of vegetables pushed to the side, he'd forded through the rest of the grass and bounded up the porch, into the small house where William B. Baxter lived. The tiny dwelling was exactly as he remembered it. An earthen fireplace and cooking area in the corner, a few pots and pans scattered about, cutlery hanging on the walls. A wooden table with two chairs, set for a meal. And on his left...

Two single beds. This time, though, there had been no woman lying there. No Martha, with her strange slight smile on an otherwise expressionless face, vacant eyes seemingly locked on a compac drive clutched in her hands. Nor was there any sign of her husband, a man with unkempt blond locks and a cheerful smile, having a one sided conversation as he spooned a meal into unreceptive lips. The house was small, yes, but the emptiness of it had seemed huge.

Eureka had watched him take the details in, her eyes questioning. Of all the travels he'd made after leaving the Gekko-Go, this was one place he'd never told her about. He'd missed her most of all, here. William-san had been a devoted husband and caregiver, steadfastly holding to the belief that his wife would one day awaken from the Despair, keeping her alive and nourishing her in the meantime, much the same as he tended and cared for the vegetables growing outside. At first he had felt sorry for the man, seeing him even as indulging in a slightly pathetic illusion...

He knew better now. There were certain ties between two people that made no sense unless you were one of the bound. William and Martha. Norbu and Sakura.

Eureka...and me?

It had not taken long for him to realise that William and Martha were not in the immediate area. Eureka had wanted to stop, to take a moment's pause, but he cajoled and wheedled her into heading back out into the mist.

How long had they been out here, now? He hadn't bothered to check when they had started, he realised, so his watch wasn't of much help. He figured a couple of hours, at least. There was no sign of anything much in the mist - pile bunkers, trees, and the remains of William's village. The earth had shifted, crunching and churning the small collection of houses into an eerie ruin.

"WILLLLLIAAAAAAAAAAAAM-SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

Silence.

He put his hands on his knees and bent over, suddenly tired. The mist and the strange mixed forest had grown cold and forbidding, and he felt drained. What had happened to William? To Martha?

"Renton." A warm hand was on his shoulder, and he turned to look back up at Eureka. She wore a sad expression.

"I don't know where your friend Baxter-san is, Renton. I....." she paused and took a breath, seemingly unsure of what to say. "I think we should go back to the house and take a break. Please?"

He couldn't argue with those eyes beseeching him. Shame bubbled up in him - he'd dragged her around in the fog for hours without rest. They probably both needed a break. The events of the last day - the last few days, weeks - they'd been caught up. There had been no chance to rest or pause as their lives and world lurched from one crisis to the next.

Not saying anything, but hoping his eyes and his smile were enough to convey his unspoken apology, he took her hand and led her back through the mist toward the house.

* * *

"...and so William bounced through the grass there like it was full of traps! He looked like a sort of weird magician, with his staff. It looked a bit like a small pile bunker. I saw him tap one over there," he gestured with a wave to the forest of metallic poles in the distance, "and then BAM! They just started falling over!"

They sat together on the porch in the fading light, watching the sun on its lazy journey toward the horizon, as Renton regaled Eureka with his memories of William Baxter. She had been content to listen to him, as she often did, with a gentle smile and patient interest. It occurred to him that he'd probably told her some of this before, in the calm after the storm of Ray and Charles Beams. She had yet to interrupt, however, so he continued to rattle off his memories as if Maurice, Maeter and Link were his rapt audience.

He was glad for the ability to just talk - it helped take his mind off things. There was a shadow behind Eureka's eyes, something distant and troubling. Every so often he would glance at her and pause his tale, the question 'what's wrong?' on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask.

She would come to him if there was something on her mind, wouldn't she?

Wait, maybe she was unhappy and HE had done something. Like in those magazines Matthieu and Doggie gave me! He felt a flush creep up his neck at some of the...other...contents of those magazines, but hadn't there been stuff on a woman's mood? Dammit, why can't I remember more of those 'how to be a good boyfriend' articles?

THAT suddenly derailed his train of thought. Boyfriend....I guess that's what I am, huh? I mean, I think I am. Aren't I? She said she loves me, and she's kissed me, and I guess we sorta saved the planet together. And we've got kids! Even if we haven't done.....that!

Yes, another part of his mind chirped up, but aren't you just assuming these things? Didn't Doggie tell you that girls like to be asked about this sort of thing? Maybe THAT is why she's distant! You need to ask her out, like, properly!

Yes, the main portion of his mind agreed, we'll go for it! She won't say no.

Right? Dammit, I wish Doggie was around! He's all smooth and stuff with Gidget!

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing to launch forth with all the - limited - eloqence he could muster, but before he could even open his mouth he felt the soft weight of Eureka's body against his side, and her head settling into the crook of his neck. Her hand slid under his, fingers interlocking with hers almost of their own accord. Whatever speech had been in his brain evaporated in the face of the warmth and comfort he felt with her there. It dawned on him, slowly, that whatever was troubling her, something as mundane as a label wasn't it. Eureka had never been like that.

This, however, had meaning and substance. He was here with the girl he loved, who cared about him enough to sit like this with him, listening to him ramble.

They sat like that for a while, till the sun's disc was merely a sliver of light in the distance. Renton felt languid, unwilling to move, content simply to sit there and savour the sensation of her body so close. It felt...right.

"Renton?"

A lazy "Mmmm?" was the only response he could manage.

"You said Baxter-san had a wife here."

He remembered a pretty woman with brown hair, breathing so slowly he had wondered if she was even alive. Martha, who just sat there clutching at a compac drive while her devoted husband tried to keep her alive and himself sane.

"Yeah. Martha. He had found her during a battle, I think. He brought her here to get away from it all, to show her where he was born and grew up. He was a soldier....but I think he just wanted to escape from it all, to find somewhere where they could both have a bit of peace."

Eureka was silent for a while, as if in thought. When she spoke again it was barely a whisper against his neck.

"Martha-san used to have Despair, didn't she?"

Something in the way she said it set him on edge, and the previously warm feeling was gone. Had he mentioned that to her? He must have done, at some point.

"Yeah, she did. She got it just after they arrived, when William found his village destroyed by the coral."

"When you left...where did you go? Do you have an idea of where we are?"

He pondered that for a while. Gianas was the nearest close city, but that would've been several hours by ref board, across some fairly wild terrain. To get there from here...

His stomach suddenly felt like lead, the reality of it washing over him: they were probably several days walk from the nearest city, with no way of contacting anybody: not to mention no guarantee that anyone would have the slightest clue where to start looking.

Eureka, though, sensed the change in his mood and placed a hand on his cheek, gently bringing his gaze to meet hers. "It'll be alright. We can stay here. There's food growing there, and we have shelter and water. We can just stay here, for a while. I....I don't think Baxter-san will return soon, anyway."

She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his, and he wrapped his arms around her. A while? He could stay like here, like this, for all time. Her last comment about William not coming back didn't seem to matter, suddenly. Not when she was this close and he could feel the warmth of her breath. Taking the initiative this time, she leaned up and kissed him, and then nothing more needed to be said that evening.

* * *

The man with the mop of black hair marched with steely determination down the corridor. Passers-by would have probably noticed that he was young, especially for someone wearing the rank insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel, and that he carried two bulging briefcases.

They would definitely have noticed the way he suddenly stopped, took a close look at his surroundings, and then did an abrupt about turn and marched back toward the nearest wall-map, some thirty metres back. Upon reaching it he placed one case on the ground, pulled out a small sheet of paper, and then spent the next few minutes peering back and forth at the two guides. This not getting him anywhere, he scoured the hallway until he found a hapless-looking guard.

"Corporal!" The guard snapped to attention and eyed the man warily as he approached.

"Yes, sir?"

"Ah, at ease. I need your help with something. I need to get to section 6-B - how much farther down the hallway is it?"

The guard went a bit pale. "6B, sir?"

"That's right. My new office is there. Says so right here on this order and building guide."

The guard studied this for a few moments, silently cursing his luck. The last time he'd pointed out something like this to an officer he'd had his leave cancelled.

"uh, begging your pardon, sir, but you're in 3G at the moment."

"3G?"

The guard gently pried the plastic map transparency and rotated it 90 degrees, before flipping it over. "Here, sir. Goes this way around. And on this side. You need to head up three levels, then take the third corridor here."

"Ah. I see. Thank you, corporal. Dimissed." At this, the Corporal fired off the best salute he could manage and beat a very hasty retreat.

Newly-promoted Lieutenant Colonel Dominic Sorel stuffed the map back into his pocket and resumed his wanderings. This was a stupid building, anyway. And why did the wall-maps need so many colours?

* * *

An hour later he staggered into the hallway bearing the 6B sign, the two suitcases in his arms feeling like cinderblocks. Damn the general! This sort of thing was perfectly consistent with Jurgens warped sense of humour. He realised, belatedly, that if he'd bothered to inspect it closely it was even the old man's damn handwriting on the map directions. He recalled the events of two nights previous.

They were an odd couple, the two of them: a grizzled old ship's captain and a naive young intelligence officer, both destined to serve out bland and thoroughly unmemorable careers, until destiny had tapped them both on the shoulder and told them she had other plans for them. They'd spent the last five months in each other's company, and dealing day-in day-out with the squabbling princelings of the tower states had forged a deep bond between them. The achievement of their goal after so many months of negotiation, bargaining, offer, counter-offer....it was all concluded, at last, and that meant one thing: time to get absolutely hammered.

Which was how they found themselves in yet another bar (the third for that night, by Dominic's count), slamming back funny little glasses with syrupy stuff in them that seemed to burn terribly on the way down.

"Tch, will you stop laughing? I don't really find that funny." Jurgens stared morosely into his shotglass while his subordinate continued to giggle like a schoolgirl.

"heheheheheh...." Dominic wheezed. "sorry....uh, hehehe, General." Dominic tried and failed to sound respectful. "General, SIR. Hehehehehehehe. General Jurgens, Surpeme Commander of the...hic!... 'Defence Force of the Commonwealth of Tower Republics'."

The giggles continued.

"Hehe...I just loved the looks on those old goats faces when you got up there to accept the appointment. You realise that they're probably not going to print what you said in the history books, sir. I mean, "there aren't going to be any more of these 'secret planet-destroying plan' bullshit episodes on my watch" isn't what ...hic... they're going to want kids to read at school..."

Dominic was swaying a little bit on his stool, the effort of remembering the quote clearly straining his ability to remain upright. Jurgens just looked into his glass again and chuckled. History? Yes, history would remember the formation of the first unified state on the planet since their ancestors had left, so many generations ago. History would probably be written about how noble the founders of it were, to put aside their differences after Dewey's coup, all that sort of crap.

Jurgens scoffed at that. He'd basically forced their hand, pointed out that the vast majority of the military forces still remaining on the planet listened to him, and were the only thing keeping the tower states from being swallowed in anarchy. Not to mention that the military was the one coordinating relief operations and rebuilding in the wake of planetwide devastation. The little laughing monkey on the stool - who at that moment was eyeing up another shot with exaggerated suspicion - had been his unofficial aide and partner-in-crime, always able to conjure up some sort of relevant statistic about the numbers of people rendered homeless by asteroid strikes or the monetary resources of each state, and what would be required for funding this and that and the next thing...

Oh yes, he and the monkey weren't done yet. If the history books were going to write paeans to General Juergens, he'd make sure credit was given where credit was due.

Dominic had somehow managed to get to his feet and had ambled right up to the old man, wrapping his arm around him with inebriated familiarity. "I have to say, Cap- uhhh, General, that it has been good working with you. All joking aside."

"I'm going to miss ...hic... it, actually." Jurgens could see through the drunken solemnity that the kid wasn't just trying to be polite, either. They'd seen a lot together. You don't share the credit for the dawning of a new era everyday, after all.

He flashed a wolf-like grin at the young man, who developed a bit of nervous sobriety, and fished around in his pocket for some papers. He hadn't actually MEANT to do this here, but why the hell not?

"Ah, well, Lieutenant, it just so happens that apparently this fancy big job I just got means I get to have all sorts of fresh-faced underlings running around doing my bidding, and I need a person who can organise them. A chief of staff for my headquarters personnel. Someone I can trust and rely on."

Dominic's eyes had taken on the look of the hunted. Jurgens adopted a conversational tone and ploughed on.

"I had a conversation with a young lady about it - pink hair, named after a flower. You've probably met. Anyway, your name came up, strangely enough. We agreed it was an excellent choice. I wanted to promote you to Major, but she said there was a Central apartment she had her eye on and a Major's salary was a touch low. Hard bargainer you've got there, kid." Jurgens reached into his pocket and fished out a small plastic packet. "So we agreed on Lieutenant Colonel."

The young man's eyes went wide and he started to open and close his mouth like a guppy. "Ahh...you can do that? Sir?"

Jurgens laughed and grinned, and Dominic was reminded momentarily of a shark. "I'm finding new things I'm allowed to do every day, Mister Sorel. Apparently this positions means people listen to me." He grimaced for a moment. "Well, they listen to what Lieutenant Schneider will let me tell them. She must like you, too, since she agreed with your fiancee."

Feeling drearily sober all of a sudden, Dominic adopted a resigned pose and wearily took the piece of paper and the packet containing a fresh set of rank bars. Jurgens' mood, on the other hand, had perked up considerably, and he patted the young man on the shoulder. "Well kid, I'm feeling all cheerful for some reason! You head home, I promised your wife I'd have you back reasonably early. I'll see you bright and early on Monday morning."

And with that, he'd waved goodbye and left the sullen young man alone to drunkenly absorb what had just happened.

* * *

Roughly one hour, three wrong turns and ten flights of stairs later Dominic found himself hunched forward over his new desk. Right now his office was a cold, empty place - far larger than the sort of area he'd had to himself as a very junior intelligence officer. He was used to working in a variety of conditions, be they tiny offices in some faceless facility or in small crew quarters at several thousand metres altitude. It seemed a little strange to be unsettled so by a large, clean, well-lit office.

He even had a window! A large one at that, which gave him an excellent view of one of the park spaces that dotted the grounds of headquarters. The tranquility, the normality of watching people siting in a park, eating their lunches and talking with co-workers seemed so far away from the work he was doing. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, and turned back to the documents he'd been reviewing.

The Captain - no, he thought, that's 'the general' now - had a meeting with a noble of some sort who were nominally in charge of Jackson state, and he'd left Dominic with a pile of reports and reconnaissance images for the tower states in the area. There had been a small note in Jurgens handwriting attached to the documents, and he allowed himself a smirk in the privacy of his office.

'Dominic - I've got to go listen to some overfed moron rant about why we're not rebuilding his villa, or something. And before you panic, don't worry, this won't be like the time with 'Lord' Wrightson. Lt. Schneider gives me too much crap when I punch people. I need you to review these files though, because it looks like we've got a major refugee problem here.'

That was Jurgens to a tea these days: couldn't care less about politics or offending the upper crust, but mention refugees and suddenly there would be time and resources. Dominic knew the man well enough now to understand the unspoken steel behind this - he may not have been able to do anything to help Warsaw, but he'd be damned if he let other people endure that without someone there to help. Reviewing the files left for him, Dominic found himself in quick agreement with his boss's instincts.

The Jackson area had been hit hard by the debris strikes. Worst hit was the tower at Gianas, with the entire structure - and much of the city - having been wiped out. The analyst who had put together the file had included the most recent pre-calamity imagery, and the comparison between 'before' and 'after' was grim. The analyst had scrawled in the margins that upwards of 60% of the city's population was wiped out, which left over thirty thousand people in need of shelter and food. He'd need to make Jurgens aware of the numbers, and soon.

As he moved to tidy away the photos something caught his eye - a small area on the 'before' imagery which looked from altitude like a farm, stuck in the middle of a formation of pile bunkers and dense trees. An abandoned town, maybe? No real signs of settlement. On the 'after' image, however, it had been completed wiped out. A direct hit from debris, nothing more than a blackened crater now. It struck him as slightly strange - most of the Coralian strikes had been directed at population centres; it had not been a random bombardment.

No point dwelling on this, though. I need to start organising thirty-thousand tents. He gave the anomaly no more thought and fished around in his drawer for some requisition forms.

*

A/N: Whew, sorry about the wait, those who are nice enough to be keeping tabs on this fic. Work and illness have been conspiring against me. I've tried to make this chapter a little bit longer to make up for the wait, although I had to stop the Dominic segment from running away with the entire chapter.

Reviews, constructive criticism, thoughts always welcome.