Hello! Sorry about the long wait. There have been some big changes in my life recently. I am now the temporary guardian of my little brother. It's no surprise I have no time to write, while I attempt to settle into a new routine and rearrange my life around him (with absolutely no regrets). I will apologize in advance for the slower than usual updates. Right now he is the most important aspect of my life. Thanks for the patience!

This chapter is mostly a filler, an apology of sorts for the long wait.

Rita woke up screaming. Images tore at her consciousness, images of her death, of Ca ge watching her with anguish in his dark eyes. She relived her death over a dozen different times, through eyes that weren't her own. His feelings of despair, grief and pain overwhelmed her. There were too many memories to process, the emotions associated with each growing stronger with every ensuing moment. Sadness falling into despair, fear evolving into grief and heartbreak. Cage became another person before her eyes, the tearing ache of overworked limbs, the fine balance he'd kept for so long between hope and despair, the trauma he suffered, both mentally and physically as he died numerous times in quick succession. But worse was the obsession he gained with Rita herself, the need to save her, the desire that chipped away at his willpower, that urged him to taste her lips, just once, just once before they died yet again. The possession he'd begun to feel for her, the jealousy that warred with guilt at her openness with Dr. Carter and MSgt. Farrell. She should be troubled, should be sick with pity and even fear, as she was faced with Cage's mindless focus on her. And yes, she felt a bone-deep pity, but it was overshadowed by shock. On closer inspection, she realized with rising horror and fascination that William Cage loved her. He loved her, and she'd felt nothing for him in turn. Nothing except a self-enforced indifference that occasionally morphed into annoyance when he stared too long. And now she knew why. Why his eyes followed her when she was doing something as simple as gulping down water from a bottle, as simple as eating rations that tasted like sawdust on her tongue.

Rita barely made it to the toilet in time, the meager contents of her stomach emptying into the porcelain bowl with a sickening splash. It was only then that she acknowledged the pounding on her door, the panicked cries of Cage himself. And her first thought was not again. She waited anxiously for the blaring alarms that would indicate that time was up, but there was nothing to do but wait for another death. A quick glance at the alarm clock that rested on her bedside table indicated that it was barely 1 in the morning, her alarm set to go off in less than four hours.

She thanked Farrell silently for the seclusion of their rooms, the discreet distance placed between their facing rooms and the other pilots. She felt a flicker of amusement at all the times she'd pounded on Cage's door, on the reason why the action had started to seem strangely familiar, unsettling as the knocks seemed to echo in her head. She'd been picking up hints from Cage for weeks, perhaps slipping through cracks during the drift, memories that clung to her subconscious that she'd been able to ignore. The nagging feeling of déjà vu should have been the first internal alarm, but Rita was a master at self-deception. She'd forced herself to be, after suffering heartbreak one too many times when someone she hadn't wanted to care about died.

"I-I'm coming," she managed to croak out between chapped lips, her throat sharply painful with a need for water. Rita felt light headed as she rose to her feet unsteadily. She shut her eyes against the sudden bout of nausea, the flickers of memories that tried to intrude to the forefront of her mind. When she felt that she could move without throwing up, she leaned carefully, turning the tap on and gulping down water until she was coughing it out.

"I'm coming!" she announced once again as the pounding continued incessantly.

Rita barely avoiding getting hit in the face by Cage's knuckle as he attempted to knock as she opened the door. Rita glared at him, yet shifted awkwardly as she watched his gaze travel anxiously from her eyes down the length of her body. She could no longer deny that he looked worried, that the relief he felt was too immense for something as simple as a nightmare. She flinched as his hand reached out to her, settling with a painful grip around her arm. He shook her once, the tension relaxing from his shoulders as he touched her bare arms. And Rita could read the thoughts in his head as if they were her own. She's safe, she's real, repeated as a mantra in his head as Cage composed himself. This wasn't the first time he'd assured himself she was okay, though it was the first time in this particular situation. It was odd to see both sides, to know what he was thinking simply from the look in his eyes. The painful relief in his eyes was awkward for her to see. She didn't want this knowledge, she didn't need the added complication that Cage's feelings for her created.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily. She sighed at Cage's flinch, aware that she was responding unreasonably when he was only showing concern. But at that moment she hated him, and herself. Hated him for the added complication to their already tumultuous relationship. She desperately wanted to return to yesterday, when she'd been able to ignore Cage, when she'd been convinced that she didn't care for what he wanted, what he felt, whether he lived or died. It was a callous outlook but it had helped her survive.

Cage flinched, stepping back. "You were screaming."

"And?"

Irritation flickered across Cage's face. "And I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Rita spread her arms out, gesturing once at herself before dropping her arms. "As you can see, I'm fine. No need to be banging at my door in the middle of the fucking night."

Cage froze at her hostile demeanor, taking in her hunched shoulders, her defensive posture. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it and shut it with an audible snap of teeth. He turned abruptly and walked to his room, closing his door. The soft click of the door seemed too final for Rita. He hadn't deserved her ire, and perhaps was wondering what he'd done to receive such a hostile reception. But then again, maybe he'd guessed the reason. Rita thought of going to his room and apologizing but she was still processing his memories, still attempting to cling to some distance.

Rita was afraid. Of Cage, of his feelings, of her own. His thoughts were clouding her mind, the ache of need he felt whenever he was around her was contagious, her skin itching with the need to touch him. It wasn't desire, it wasn't love, was fast becoming a necessity, plain and simple. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, already too long after a few short weeks. She wanted to touch his cheek, stroke the tempered line of his jaw to ease the clench of teeth. She wanted to touch her palm to his chest, to feel the skin warm and slick, his heart beating strong against her palm, proof that he yet lived. It wasn't desire and it wasn't love, but as much as she resisted, Rita was afraid that it could become either, or both.

And still she knew nothing about him, nothing except that he held secrets that weighed heavy on his conscience. That he loved her with a startling desperation, and that his love for her was blinding him to everything that was important. He wanted to stop the Mimics to ensure her safety, to save the world from an inevitable end. But he put her safety above that goal and it needed to stop. Rita fell into her bed with a heavy sigh, wondering once again why her life was so complicated. She fell asleep with Cage on her mind. It was no surprise that she dreamed of him the rest of the night.

XX

Rita's reaction times were slow, her mind weighed down by what had happened the day before, what would happen again today. If Cage noticed, he chose to ignore it, his own attention focused internally.

"I'm sorry Cage."

He was startled out of his contemplation by her voice. He didn't pretend to misunderstand what she was apologizing for, waving off her remorse as if the incident meant nothing. The old Rita might have accepted his apparent indifference, but then the old Rita wouldn't have reacted so strongly in the first place. She knew how much her actions had bothered him, had hurt him.

"No Cage, I'm sorry…for everything."

He flinched, sighing at the determined set of her shoulders. "I'd wondered….you remember?"

Rita nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to run fast and far away from the wounded expression on his face. "Some of it, enough of it. How did it happen?"

Cage smiled bitterly. "Right to the point then?" Rita nodded once. "I don't know. I explained about the blue Mimic?"

"But…how did this happen?"

Cage shrugged helplessly. "I know as much as you do. I have no idea how the Mimics work, how they function, where the hell they even come from."

Rita frowned, her eyes brightening in sudden thought. "Dr. Carter! He's been studying the Mimics as much as he's been able to under the current circumstances. Maybe he could shed some light."

"It's worth a shot. I'm tired." And he was, so tired of being the only one who knew what was going to happen, the only person who carried the weight of their inevitable demise.

"I know." Rita showed her sympathy by placing her hand on his shoulder, hoping that he knew that she understood more than anyone else ever could.

XX

To say Dr. Carter was shocked by their bombardment of information was underwhelming in the extreme. He spent minutes explaining to them that what they proposed was impossible. It was only Rita that could finally get through to him, with sharply spoken words and a firm shake or two of his shoulders.

"Cage isn't lying. I've seen what he's seen, through the drift." Rita insisted.

Dr. Carter ran his fingers through his hair haphazardly, his expression conveying his disbelief. "What you see during the drift is subjective. Nightmares appear just as real, as vivid as memories. Maybe you thought-"

"I know what the hell I saw Carter." Rita gestured at Cage. "He's been living through hell. His memories are worse than any nightmare you could envision." She could see Carter was ready to deny the truth again. "Damn it Carter! I'm not crazy."

"I never suggested you were Rita." He glared at Cage. "Him, on the other hand…"

Cage glared at Carter, throwing his hands up in defeat. "He's not going to believe us, Rita. He never believes me. No one does."

Rita lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Cage scowled. "I've tried explaining, to Carter, to Farell, even to General Brigham. It's no good. At best, they lock me up. At worst…" Cage shuddered. "At worst, they dissect me."

"They what?" Rita hadn't gotten any of those memories, but she felt suddenly queasy at the idea that they'd ripped Cage apart, and for what?

"Trust me, it's not pleasant."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Rita demanded.

"What if you remembered? What if you didn't believe me and remembered that?"

Rita stared at Cage with pity, understanding his fear, and feeling sick that he thought that she could ever do anything to hurt him, even indirectly. "Cage, I would never have turned you into Brigham."

"Both of you are clearly under a lot of stress. Perhaps I should recommend you be taken out of rotation, at least for a couple of weeks." Carter suggested with the most soothing tone he could summon, praying that Rita didn't punch him for the recommendation.

"Haven't you been listening to a single word I've said? We don't have a couple weeks, Carter! We don't even have a couple of days."

"Rita, you can't expect me to believe a word of this without a shred of proof." Carter sighed in frustration. "Granted, we know next to nothing about the Mimics, about any potential abilities they may possess. That doesn't mean I can believe that they can somehow start the day over on your word alone."

"Hands behind your back." Rita demanded. Carter listened, afraid she was going over the edge. "Hold up whatever number of fingers you want. You'll believe me next time."

"Rita, this is ridiculous."

"How many fingers?" Carter rolled his eyes in exasperation. "How many fingers, Dr. Carter?"

He pulled them from behind his back, waving two fingers at her. "Are you happy?"

"Not even close." Rita muttered.

The alarm started to blare, Cage closing his eyes in resignation. Rita swore viciously, already shoving Carter towards the terminal that controlled Gipsy.

"Time to suit up, Cage. We'll figure out the rest next time."

Cage nodded, trying his best to quell his nerves. "Rita?"

Rita turned towards him. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

She nodded once, promising herself that this time, Cage wouldn't be alone. Not at the end. "It's going to be okay," she reassured him.

Cage smiled ruefully. "It isn't, but that doesn't matter." Now that you know.

Rita offered a smile of her own. "I know."

I realize I'm terrible at ending chapters. Thanks for reading!