CHAPTER TEN

LEAVE IT BEHIND, PART 3

Lying helpless on deletion's doorstep left quite a bit of time in which to recall his fairly short life, Bob realized. Unfortunately, all he could dredge up were the worst details; not exactly memories he would want to relive before he was whisked away without a say in the matter. For this moment, Bob had no notion of how long he'd been drifting, alone, in nothingness.

The nightmare of Matrix shooting him had dissolved, but what replaced it wasn't much better. Bob was currently reliving some of his more unpleasant memories, and the dream-reality through which he presently drifted was none other than the Web. Bob felt as he had when Megabyte had shot him out of Mainframe less than two hours ago: scared, betrayed, angry, alone; and pain began to seep through his body.

Not the pain, Bob silently pleaded. He'd never felt that sort of agony before that second, and it remained seared into his memory.

The sensations passing over his body felt like only a slight tingle, but all at once something pricked his skin, drawing energy. Another something pricked him again, and another joined the first two, until Bob felt as if a million tiny creatures were feeding off him.

Something huge, bigger than all the little creatures combined, slashed a fiery claw across Bob's chest, and he struggled to bite back the scream that had been building up in his throat.

Waves of heat swirled across Bob's dangling body and slowly began to curl around first his legs, then floating upward. They wrapped around his chest as snugly as a wool blanket, and twenty times as hot. Already Bob was sweating and feeling very uncomfortable. His discomfort soon turned much more critical as the painfully hot waves slipped around his neck like a noose and forced their way into his nose and mouth. Bob let out a gasp that was quickly smothered. He struggled to take in a breath, but the burning air scorched his lungs and left him wheezing.

Bob found, to his total horror, that he was encased in stifling heat as a bun was stuck in an oven. He labored for breath, but the heat nearly suffocated him. His arms and legs ceased their flailing and his breathing slowed to a dangerously shallow rhythm. He didn't want to fight, when it was entirely useless.

The heat encasing his body tightened, squeezing Bob to the point of being unable to breathe. Then, a force under his feet suddenly propelled him upward, through multicolored swirls of energy, past red and purple clouds, until he was going too fast to pick out individual colors.

This isn't right, Bob thought blearily as he sped upwards with all the force of the pod that had launched him into the Web in the first place. He was able to recall his first second in the Web with a stark clarity: he had almost given up fighting when his Guardian programming had reminded him that he hadn't trained at the Academy for so many hours, hadn't dedicated his life to the Guardian Collective, to die in the Web. Furthermore, Bob knew that he couldn't let his friends — especially Dot, mostly Dot — be deleted because he hadn't returned to save them. Bob had then battled his growing exhaustion and broken free of the Web's scalding hold. Every new jolt of pain on his suddenly exposed skin had given him energy to continue. He had used that same boundless energy to survive in the Web for an entire hour.

Now, far away from his memories of that painful, terrifying second, Bob found himself in Mainframe's Core Control Chamber. Looking around him, he recognized the sputtering controls and the red beacons that represented the dying sectors of Mainframe. All this breaking down, and he was the only one who could save them.

User, it was hot in here. Bob felt that stifling panic again, as unbearable heat pressed in from all sides, threatening to overload his already fragile body system. He'd told Dot that he could survive the Core's sheer power longer than a normal sprite, but Bob expected that after too much exposure he too would be deleted.

Bob immediately got to work, manually turning dials and flipping switches, working to keep each sector alive as swarms of deadly pixels ate their way through every cement street, every steel building, coming ever closer to the soft, vulnerable sprites and binomes who cowered in fear.

It was hard work for Bob to keep his mind focused on the task at hand while the smothering heat closed in around him. Soon the muscles in his legs ached from leaping from platform to platform, and his fingers were stiff from punching in the many combinations. His vision blurred momentarily, and Bob stumbled over his feet. He blinked rapidly to keep himself awake, but darkness pressed heavily against him. He took one more gasping breath and slumped to the floor, exhausted beyond his limits.

When Bob had fallen unconscious that second, he hadn't remembered hitting the floor or being lifted by Matrix and AndrAIa and carried back into the War Room. Now, in his hazy mind, instead of losing awareness Bob found himself still very awake and face-down on a cold metal floor.

With a low groan, Bob laboriously pushed himself to his feet. "Bouncing through memories sure isn't easy on the body," he commented wryly, feeling the need for a touch of humor in this situation. He paused in mid-grin, suddenly, and said something again. It only confirmed his suspicions: his voice was lighter and younger, therefore belonging to the whatever-hour-old sprite he had been a number of hours ago.

As he stood, a gasp dropped from his lips, for the room in which he stood was painfully familiar, so much that his entire being ached as his mind dredged up the horrible memory that accompanied this room.

It was the Viral Deletion Chamber in the Supercomputer, and the last time Bob had been here, he had been a brash, foolhardy cadet. User, if only he could take back what he had done on that second!

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you here for quite a while longer, Cadet." A wry female voice spoke from one corner of the room, and Bob nearly snapped his neck by whipping it around to see the speaker. He knew that amused voice anywhere, but Bob had never expected to hear the voice or see the its owner again.

Of course, this war was entirely made up of unexpected things and sprites Bob didn't think he'd ever see. His core-com leapt into his throat when he saw his former teacher and friend, but it was quickly washed away by an overwhelming wave of cold guilt. The word that emerged from his tight throat could have been an awed whisper or a pained moan: "Dixon."

He tore his gaze from his supposedly dead mentor to look down at himself, and he was shocked at his own appearance. This memory was from several hours ago, but Bob stood in this dream/memory looking as he presently did. His skin was sickly, pale and flickering, and he wore his silver Glitch suit. The armor around his stomach was blackened, and the metal had melted and cooled in a grotesque, twisted image. Bob realized that the ache he had felt in his core-com was actually from the festering wound in his abdomen.

Dixon shifted her position from where she lounged against a console. She crossed her arms over her chest, and her lively, intelligent eyes regarded Bob with profound thought and deep interest, at the same time.

Bob managed a trembling smile, which he saw mirrored on Dixon's face a few nanos later. "I guess . . ." he started to say. "I guess I've crossed over from memories into something entirely different and random."

Dot pushed herself to her feet and glared defiantly at the life support system Bob had been hooked up to preceding the festering of his wound. Another wave of helpless sadness overwhelmed her anger, and Dot's core-com constricted painfully. From her position near the doorway, Avi watched wordlessly. In the short time she had known him, Bob had been kind to her; she had grown to like the blue Guardian. Now, she was facing the worst part of war: losing someone close.

A cold state of no emotion settled over Dot's body. This was getting to be too much for one sprite to possibly handle. First, Matrix was nearly sent over the edge by the Infection, and now Dot had to be faced with the fact that Bob hadn't gotten any better and had a slim chance of recovery. The fever continued to grip his body in a steel hold, and it showed no signs of letting up. Dr. Qwerty had informed her that the infection in Bob's wound should go down soon, but so far nothing had changed.

Nothing ever changes, Dot thought unhappily. Bob could just stay immobile for the rest of his life. Oh, User. . . .

I need to get out of here, she decided. Tomorrow, I can check on Bob again, and — She knew that she would find the same sprite clinging to his life, but at the moment Dot couldn't battle through her increasing grief. She would deal with tomorrow when it came. For now, she needed time alone; to cry, to mourn, to plan.

She started for the doorway when deafening klaxons blared throughout the building. Dot recognized the alarms from the Principle Office back at home and knew that they signaled only one thing: a prisoner was escaping from the system. And Dot didn't have to be psychic to know exactly who was escaping. From what she head learned about Matrix's time in the Games, she was surprised it had taken him this long to get out of the jail.

Oh, sure, Dot thought bitterly. Add some more stress to my second, why don't you? She hurried toward the doorway, her mind already formulating how she would find the chief of security and get a ship to chase after her incriminated brother.

The Countess blocked the doorway before Dot could get through. "I'll go," Avi offered. Dot nodded, her face shining with weary thanks, and watched the Countess flee the room and race down the halls. She could hear Avi shouting for a guard escort, and the slowly fading clangs of booted feet hurrying down the hallways.

Her original intent not forgotten, Dot averted her attention from the prone figure on the hospital bed. Only a moment later, it was snapped back, when the life-support machine let out a sharp beep. Another beep followed the first, and another, steadily growing stronger and louder. Dot stopped short in the doorway; her breath caught in her throat, and her core-com seemed to stop beating; she didn't think she could deal with another false hope, but —

Dot spun around and hurried back to Bob's bedside. The monitor that displayed his vital signs used to show a straight line interrupted occasionally by tiny blips. Now, however, the monitor was going crazy; bright green lines darted up and down rapidly to the beat of the beeping. Dot risked a glance at Bob and was shocked to see that his skin was returning to its normal color.

Finally, Dot's logic sharply poked her muddled brain, and she recovered from her shock enough to jump up and run to the communicator on the wall. After hurriedly calling up Drs. Qwerty and Leonor, she rushed back to Bob's side and gripped his hand. "You can do it, Bob," she whispered, her voice shaking; she tightened her hold on his hand. "You've come too far to lose it all now."

"An accurate observation, Cadet," Dixon commented with dry humor. "I see they've taught you well.

"Long time no see," she continued, sweeping her eyes over his form with interest. "What have you been up to?"

Bob shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "Protected a small system from two dangerous viruses for a few minutes, spent an hour in the Web, merged with Glitch. You?"

A shadow of a grin crossed her lips. "What do you think I've done besides getting deleted? Believe me, it's nothing interesting."

"Well, at least you'll have a companion to share the non-fun with," Bob offered. "`Cause I'm not going anywhere else."

She shook her head before he had finished. "About that – As much as I'd like to spend eternity debating moral issues with you –" Dixon cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but that's a lie. To spend eternity with you would be the worst torture I can imagine. Plus, you've got the makings of a real family, all who love you." Bob could have sworn her voice softened. "It's not your time to go, Cadet."

As she spoke the words, the colors and shapes of the scene around them blurred together, but the sounds of machinery grew louder and louder. Dixon didn't move, but suddenly the distance between her form and Bob's had doubled, then tripled. Bob struggled to stand still, but some sort of force had clamped on to him and was dragging him away from this scene. Memories shoved past him, and he was jerked so hard that the breath was whisked from his lungs.

He was afraid. He didn't want to leave this place; he was secure, with his mentor and friend to watch over him.

" . . . Dixon . . ." His own voice was so faint it was nearly swallowed up by the increasing noise, by a loud, intrusive beeping that pounded throughout his entire body.

Dixon slowly shook her head, her short magenta hair swishing around her face. "I'm sorry, Bob," she said softly, and it was the first time during their exchange that she'd called him by his first name. "It's not your time."

Bob shook his head in wordless protest, his hands scrabbling futilely to grab hold of this memory and stay – he just wanted some security, a reassurance that everything was stable.

As if reading his thoughts, "You have to go back," Dixon ordered. "It's your home. Don't forsake it for me. And that's an order, Cadet!" Her last words faded away as he was violently yanked from his memory, back to the world and to Dot.

"Miss Matrix," Dr. Leonor greeted her as he rushed into the room, looking disheveled and panting as if he had run down every stair in the hospital. Dot reluctantly dropped Bob's hand and moved aside so the doctor could inspect him. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and chewed her lip as Dr. Leonor hovered over Bob's solidifying form and constantly checked the machine beside him. The erratic beeping slowed to a regular rhythm, and so did Dr. Leonor's movements, until he finally stood up, wincing as he stretched his sore legs, and stepped aside. Dot rushed to the bed and fell to her knees. She looked up at the doctor, wondering what had gone on in those few milliseconds.

"His energy levels spiked," Dr. Leonor explained quietly. "Then, all of a sudden, they went back to normal." He wiped a hand over his face before returning his gaze to hers. "To be honest, I'm dumbfounded that he's still processing," he continued slowly. "There was a sudden surge of – something, I'm really not sure what. His body was barely clinging to life, and then this – this new energy went racing through him." He waved his hands for emphasis, a look of utter awe on his face as if he himself didn't understand. "But now –" Dot saw his Adam's apple bob up and down in his throat, and her own chest constricted with painful, hopeful anticipation. "Now he's going to be all right."

Dot had thought that her body was drained of all tears, but suddenly her view of Dr. Leonor was blurred by warm liquid. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she turned away from the doctor and gazed at Bob, who was now breathing slowly and peacefully as solidity returned to his skin, then back at the sprite who stood beside her.

Dot scrambled to her feet and hugged the doctor fiercely, abandoning the protocol a Command.com would use when acting with a physician. "Thank you, thank you so much," she babbled into his shoulder. "I thought he was gone – I couldn't have lived without him – but you brought him back –" Beyond those jumbled ideas, she couldn't find any more words to express her heartfelt gratitude.

Dr. Leonor was clearly surprised and uncertain of how to react. He settled for half-hugging Dot, still feeling rather uncomfortable at being embraced by a commander, then gently holding her at arm's length. "Your welcome, Miss Matrix."

Dot flushed at her momentary loss of control and hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes as she struggled to regain a shred of dignity. She stood straighter and more professionally, but her smile was of the sincerest joy.

"H-hey . . ." A rough voice, scratchy from disuse, spoke up from the bed. The speaker coughed once, then twice, and struggled to speak again. "What's – happening –"

Dot pried her hands off Dr. Leonor's arm and dropped beside the bed. Bob had barely stirred, but his eyes were open a crack, and a shadow of a smile played on his lips. "What'd I miss?" he asked in a strained whisper.

"Oh, my User – I – Bob –" Dot's voice broke on a strangled sob, and she began to weep again, louder than before, even as she tried to form words to show her happiness.

"Hi, Dot," he rasped. Dot leaned up to hug him tightly around the neck, and one of Bob's arms curled around her.

"It's good to have you back, Guardian Bob," Dr. Leonor ventured.

"It's good to be back," Bob managed to say, before another ragged cough overtook him. As he cleared his throat several times, he scrutinized the room carefully, taking in the medical equipment that had kept him processing for the past forty-eight microseconds. His sharp brown eyes caught the doctor's, and the expression there spoke volumes for what he understood.

"I'm not sure what exactly happened here," Bob said to Dr. Leonor, as Dot stared at him as if he were a ghost, "but thank you." It was his longest sentence yet, and the effect on the weary Guardian was clear. Dot sat up to look at him, but Bob's eyes were already fluttering shut. He muttered something unintelligible before his head dropped the few inches it had risen to rest on the pillow again. His arm around Dot went limp, and a moment later he was snoring.

Dot swallowed thickly and shot a panicked look at Dr. Leonor. "Is he – Will he wake up again?"

"Oh, of course, Miss Matrix," the Azraelian doctor hastened to assure her. "But he's very, very drained from the operation, and the sudden surge of energy." He shook his head again, still doubting the miracle that had occurred in the blink of an eye. "He's going to need to rest for some time."

Dot heard his words from far away. She nodded absently, her eyes glued to Bob's solidifying form. "But – he's all right?"

Dr. Leonor's lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. "He's going to be better than fine," he assured her. "Give him some time, and he'll be up before you know it."

Dot looked up at him; her eyes were filled with a vulnerable fear she hadn't shown to anyone since the second her parents were lost in the destruction of the Twin City. "May I stay with him until he wakes up?"

"Of course," Dr. Leonor answered. He seemed about to say something else, when a blue light flashed on the wall. He went to answer the message as Dot took Bob's hand in her own smaller one and gently massaged his skin with her fingers.

Dr. Leonor reappeared next to Bob's bed. "I'm needed with some other patients. I fear other victims with gunshot wounds won't be as lucky as Bob here has been. I'll be back to check on Bob again." Dot nodded; she was used to the doctor popping in and out, since he was needed in so many rooms for so many patients.

Dr. Leonor clasped Dot's shoulder, and she looked up at him questioningly. "We're through the worst of it," he assured her. "Everything looks to be okay from here on."

Dot managed a smile for what felt like the first time in hours. The doctor released his hand and trotted down the hall to the lift.

Romy sighed and leaned her head against the cool wall. One hand cradled her stomach wound, but already the gunshot wound had faded until it was almost invisible.

Stripe spared a glance from Dot to evaluate her companion. "Feeling better?" the older Protector asked.

Romy grinned. "Much better. Bob's a real fighter. Even at the end, when I thought I'd waste away with him, he made a huge comeback." Her eyes were closed, but she opened them now, and her eyes were bright. "We're going to be okay."

"I told you," Stripe reminded her. As steely as she tried to act, she gave into the temptation to smile. "Something's finally gone right in this war," she said. What followed was a contented, untroubled silence, until Romy suddenly broke it. "You can go now, you know."

"Excuse me?" Stripe blurted, completely perplexed with Romy's out-of-the-blue comment.

"Bob and I are going to be okay," Romy went on without answering, "but he needs you now."

"Who?" Stripe demanded, rapidly becoming exasperated; Romy was acting as if whatever she knew were common knowledge, but Stripe had no idea in hell what her companion was talking about.

"Rasta Mon, of course," Romy said. She shook her head. "I am smarter than you all would think. Things are rough for him, and he really needs you right now."

Stripe shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Her core-com screamed the same truth, but she couldn't bring herself to ever admit needing the obnoxious, loud-mouthed Raster Monitor.

But if he needed her, there was no way she could turn him down. Why, whenever he flashed those soulful black eyes at her, Stripe couldn't resist —

All right, that's crossing the border between friends and another thing very swiftly, Stripe rebuked herself. She shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner and said aloud, "Fine. But don't do anything while I'm gone. On second thought, don't let Bob do anything. He needs to recover. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah," Romy muttered, waving a hand at her to go. "What with Dot and you, poor Bob's going to be smothered."

"Better smothered than sorry," Stripe called as she melted into the air.

Protectors' powers could only reach so far over time and space, and since Matrix was nearly at the other ends of the Net by now, Rasta Mon was stretched about as far as a Protector could be. He and Stripe were able to meet in their own universe, however, at a spot located between them, to alleviate the strain for both.

Rasta Mon's head was bent, and his entire figure looked somber as Stripe cautiously approached. She had never seen him look so remorseful as he did at this moment.

"Hey," she called softly, and he slowly lifted his head, though his expression remained neutral. "How are you?"

A smile flitted over his face, but it was bitter and crooked. "I'm just alphanumeric," Rasta Mon answered with all the sardonic bite he could pull together. "My Protected is officially psycho, and he happens to be paving his way through the opposite corners of the Net, bent on getting as far away from everyone else as he can." He groaned, and his form flickered suddenly, like a scratchy hologram on the blink. "Even now I'm barely staying together, if you'll excuse the minor pun. But wait, there's more! Matrix is also infected by Daemon, so that bitch will have another slave to do her dirty work — which started with the shooting in Azrael, I might add." Rasta Mon sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "How're you, Stripey?" He suddenly winced and muttered, "Sorry. I forgot you don't like to be called that."

At that moment, Stripe couldn't have cared if he called her the Word (another story for another time). With all the gentleness she could muster, she laid a hand on his arm and squeezed reassuringly. "It's all right, Ras," she murmured, pleasantly surprised when his eyes locked with hers. "I'm here." What's that supposed to mean? her practical self questioned. How can you change anything?

I can't, but I can be there for him, Stripe retorted. If she had felt like being amused, she would have laughed at the argument going on inside her processor.

Rasta Mon was staring at her with the strangest look in his eyes. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Stripe dropped her hand, but he grabbed it quickly, and she didn't do a thing to pull away.

"You realize we're calling each other by these cute nicknames and not getting on each other's nerves, for once?" the red-skinned Protector murmured with a touch of his old humor.

Stripe swallowed, and his eyes flashed. "Yeah," she whispered.

"And are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Rasta Mon persisted. Stripe couldn't answer that, because if she told him the truth it would ruin the steely, unapproachable demeanor she had spent generations perfecting. What scared her the most was if she were to let Rasta Mon see the soft, vulnerable side of her.

His eyes searched hers with an unfamiliar fierceness, and some of her true feelings must have surfaced, because Rasta Mon kissed her swiftly and warmly. His sudden action startled Stripe, but before she could pull away his arms had encircled her and pulled her tightly against him. After that, she was lost.

Well, not quite. When Rasta Mon broke away, Stripe managed to wriggle out of his grip. She backed up several feet, panting, her eyes wild and frightened. "What the hell was that?" she gasped, scared and happy at the same time.

Rasta Mon couldn't help but grin. It seemed he still had that "shock/confusion" effect on the ladies, and he was proud of it. His sudden switch to cheeriness only infuriated Stripe, but the next thing he did shoved aside her irritation to make way for total perplexity.

"I love you, Stripe," Rasta Mon declared. "I've loved you since the first four minutes you refused to acknowledge that I existed in the same Net as you. I've loved you even before you were in the slightest bit friendly towards me."

"You — you love me?" Stripe echoed, absolutely dumbfounded. Now everything's gone down the drain, her sensible side spoke up while the rest of her remained in a state of shock brought on by happiness and relief. Since she had been granted the ability to become a new Protector, to take the name and identity of one stony woman called Stripe, she — Danni, she had been a long time ago, before one mess-up cost her the lives of herself and her Protected — had worked to keep up a suitable appearance. She had pledged never to be close to any other Protector or sprite, and she had kept that promise. Only, a fellow Protector had made it his job to approach her and finally goad her into a strange, sarcastic friendship. Now, said Protector loved her, and all Stripe could feel was an overwhelming joy. She wanted this, she knew.

But she didn't deserve it.

"Stripe?" Rasta Mon asked cautiously. "Stripe, you haven't said anything for about two milliseconds. What's wrong?" He expelled a deep breath, suddenly worried for the Protector he loved.

Stripe blinked furiously and refocused her gaze on sweet, carefree Rasta Mon. User, she really did love him, she realized. It was too bad he could never know. "I — I have to go," she murmured, backing up toward the portal back to Azrael.

For every step she took backward, Rasta Mon took one closer to her. "Whoa, Stripey, what's wrong?"

She halted and glared up at him, glad to feel anger surge through her body. It gave her an excuse to be irritated with him. "That — this is wrong, what you're doing," she snapped. "And stop calling me Stripey."

Then Rasta Mon understood — or thought he did. "Was there something wrong with me kissing you?"

"Yes!" Stripe yelled. "How could you do that?" How could you — when I'm not the least bit deserving of your endless love?

"Well, excuse me," Rasta Mon huffed, feeling a bit miffed himself. "And here I thought you liked being kissed."

"What ever gave you that idea?"

"Maybe the fact that you didn't pull away," Rasta Mon shot back. "I thought we loved each other, Stripe."

"We do, it's just —" Stripe abruptly clamped her lips shut. "What I mean is, you do, but I —" Great, now I can't even bring myself to lie to him.

"You're running hot and cold on me, and I don't like it," Rasta Mon said, his voice suddenly dangerously quiet. "Which is it?"

"It's nothing," Stripe hissed, turning her head away from him so he couldn't see the pain in her dark eyes. "Just drop it."

"No, not until I understand what's wrong with you." He attempted to approach her again, but Stripe disappeared before he could reach her. Rasta Mon curled his hands into fists and shouted at the air, "Is this about you not loving anyone?" Stripe was still in the realm with him; he could feel her presence although he couldn't see her. "Why is that, Stripe? Are you afraid? Bitter? Heartbroken? Come on, tell me!"

Stripe appeared near the portal to Azrael, and Rasta Mon rushed toward her. He jumped in front of her, cutting her off from the portal. "Come on, Stripe, I've known you for nearly two generations. You can talk to me!"

"Just leave it alone, Rasta Mon," Stripe snarled in a low voice. A moment later, she turned invisible to his eyes.

Rasta Mon placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the seemingly empty realm. "You know, Stripe, you're a lot like Dot, and that is not meant in any way as a compliment," he muttered to her, wherever in the room she was. From behind him he heard a tinkling of bells, and then Stripe's presence was gone.

Rasta Mon swore under his breath. There was no doubt about it; she was back in Azrael.

Bob had drifted off to restless sleep only half a micro after he had awoken. Dot knelt by his bed, refusing to leave the room until he woke again. She had come too close to losing Bob, and she wasn't about to risk that again.

Dot's eyelids sagged, and she leaned her head on her elbows wearily. It was getting late, her mind reasoned, and her body needed sleep. But there was no way she could leave Bob.

A soft groan emitted from somewhere on Dot's right. Her head snapped up hard enough to hurt, and she watched anxiously as Bob's eyes cracked open for the second time that second, and his lips lifted in a slight smile. He swallowed several times; he opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry from disuse. "Dot?" he finally croaked.

"I'm here, Bob," she whispered, her voice shaking. Bob lifted one arm to hug her awkwardly, and Dot slowly stood to better wrap her arms around him. The moment she felt his warm, solid body next to hers, her control dissolved and she wept uncontrollably into his flimsy hospital gown.

Bob returned her hug as best he could and kissed the top of her head, breathing in Dot's familiar scent; User, how he had missed that, and everything else about her. "I love you, Dot," he whispered, his voice still hoarse and rusty.

"Oh, User," she sobbed, hugging her arms even tighter around the Guardian.

Stripe, invisible to all sprite and binome eyes, materialized on a nearby chair and watched the two sprites. Rarely seen liquid shimmered in her eyes.

A red hand reached over her shoulder and drew her to its owner. Rasta Mon kissed her cheek, really just a light fluttering of his lips, and whispered, "Don't you want love like that?"

Stripe couldn't fight him when he acted so tenderly. She resigned herself to the knowledge that their love was meant to be, and that Rasta Mon was the one sprite she couldn't push away. She leaned back against Rasta Mon's body, silent tears streaming down her cheeks as he kissed her swirl of brown hair. For an unknown period of time, they sat together in the first real peace either had experienced for hours.

The fog of happiness was blown away by present reality far too soon, unfortunately. Stripe straightened and asked, "How can you be here, when it's too far for you to travel?" she asked, as she looked back at Rasta Mon. She gasped when she saw his face; only the barest flicker of red color indicated that he sat beside her; he looked like a sprite who had been partially erased by a magnet.

"I'm stretched to my limits, believe me," he assured her with some humor that Stripe hadn't realized she really longed to hear. "But that means I can hold out for only a little longer. Now, let's do this scene again and try to get our lines right: I love you, Stripe."

"I love you, Rasta Mon," Stripe answered solemnly. Her entire core-com seemed to lift with those words, and she felt freer than she had since Danni Cee had been erased and Stripe had replaced her.

Rasta Mon's form shuddered, and he nearly blinked out. After a moment, he managed to speak again. "Matrix is raising hell in tons of other systems; and like I said, the poor guy's infected. He really needs a certain sensible Protector to set him straight."

Stripe nodded and gazed into his eyes, feeling sad at the realization that she wouldn't see him for a while, when she had just discovered how much she cared for him.

Rasta Mon bent to kiss her again, though it was nothing more than a soft brush of his lips on her own. Stripe shut her eyes and savored the feeling; when she opened her eyes and looked around, Rasta Mon was gone.

A tall woman standing in the corner of the room pumped her fist in the air. "Yes!" she hissed in elation. "Stripe and Ras, Bob and Dot." Romy sighed happily and slid to the floor, still grinning like a happy idiot. "If only every second were like this."