HOPELESS

By Stacey and Jo

Part 2:

Bud couldn't sleep. He hadn't expected to, though. Ross seemed to be staying put in the recliner, at least. Man probably had a lot to think about himself. Cort was his main worry at present. He hadn't had any real medical care, just that quick exam by Canfield, but no tests to determine how badly he might have been injured in his fall on the rocks in Australia. He stilled himself, listening closely to Cort's breathing. No, he hadn't slipped into unconsciousness. The sound of stifled sobs was all too clear in the wee hours. Damn! How much could one man be expected to handle? Bud knew Cort had loved Rachel with all his heart and soul and few men had more heart or soul than Cort did. And Hope. He couldn't imagine the toddler as a woman. How would they find somebody when they didn't even know what she looked like? She'd be with Sid. That's how.

Cort lay on the couch, his face pressed into the back cushion. Every nerve in his body was raw, tense, and the tension only served to make his head hurt worse. He knew he had a concussion. The pain of it was all too familiar. His mind went back to the time in the B&B north of Bozeman, Montana, when Rachel had tended him all through the night. He could almost feel her cool cloth on his face. No, that was merely the wetness of his own tears. He couldn't seem to keep them contained. The sounds, though, he held desperately inside himself by clamping his teeth down until they ached.

He replayed their first days together back in Redemption, when he had felt so lost and alone, so completely without direction and she had come and anchored him so he had not been carried off in that roaring river of his loss. He remembered when she first said, "I love you"...how it startled him by its unexpectedness... and what it meant to him. Was it...what?... just this morning he'd seen her face as she caught sight of Sid and Hope on the far side of the  ravine? He'd never seen her face look quite like that, not even in all the things they had endured together. She seemed to lose all awareness of the ravine at her feet as though all that existed was Hope, grown-up Hope, in the clutches of that soulless maniac. And then... at the bottom.  Oh, God, she lay there at the bottom and he had to get to her, had to even though he could tell she was gone. A hoarse moan rose up his core,  so powerful that even his locked jaw could not prevent its escape and he pressed his face tightly into the pillow, not really caring if he could breathe or not, but only that the sight, the last sight of Rachel's face be wiped from his mind.  No, he wanted to see her as she sat feeding him lukewarm soup in Horace's boarding house or as she looked with the moonlight sifting through the pines around the little blue house where they'd first made love near the azaleas. But the blood would not go away, would not leave him alone, and in the midst of a spreading puddle of it was Sid's mocking laughter.

Alex lay quietly awake in the recliner, listening to the stifled sobs coming from the man on the couch across the room. His head throbbed and he was pissed that he was being kept there against his will, though secretly, a part of him was glad of it. No better way for a reporter to get the whole story than to become a part of it, he couldn't help but think to himself. Still, he tried to think of a way he might get past that big goon stretched out across the floor by him, blocking the front door. Deciding against it, he settled back in the chair and tried to get some sleep, though his thoughts about the past couple of days' events plagued his mind.

He'd experienced his share of hell back in the war, and since then had seen a lot of weird shit after meeting Myra down in Mexico, but this... this all was just... science-fiction, little-green-men, monster-under-the-bed weird! Despite all he had heard, all he had seen, Alex was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that here, in this house... in this very room, in fact, there were men that, despite their slight difference in age, hair, and dialect, were very nearly identical. So much so, Alex couldn't come up with any other explanation than that load of crap tale they tried to explain to him about them all being pulled out of movies. And this fellow, Sid, that they kept talking about... why would he do such a thing? For what purpose did it serve him to pull them all out like that? They had said he'd been in a movie, too, and found a way out. Was he one of them? Was he created by the same actor? Oh shit! The actor! Their creator! Did he know? Did he have a... hand in all this? Or was everything just some weird, fucked up dream he was having? Did Myra slip him some of that voodoo priestess, mumbo-jumbo magic gourd juice shit of hers? All this swirled around in his mind as he finally, in the wee hours of the morning, drifted off to sleep.

Maximus did not sleep, either. He could not forget how lost, how helpless Caroline had looked there in the crowd after the Tigris fight. There was no one in all of Rome, in all the entire Empire, that she knew, that she could turn to. Not even... him. That galled him the most. That he, in the film, did not know Caroline, would have no idea who she was, where she came from, what had happened with her and who had done it to her. And, worse, he knew that if she tried to turn to that Maximus, he was more than likely to hurt her terribly by his complete unawareness of who she was, of her love for him. He could barely endure the thought of what it would be like for her to have that Maximus look at her with no light of recognition or love in his eyes. Sid had done his work well this time. But...then, there was Cort. He had lost his beloved with the certainty of never getting her back. He, himself, at least had some hope for holding his Caroline again, as futile, as feeble as that hope might be. And he would never give up, never stop, until he'd found some way to get to her. Not ever.

Terry drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the night, thoughts of Rachel, Hope and Caroline tormenting his mind. Dee, on the other hand, was asleep nearly before her head hit the pillow. Terry looked over at her - her body pressed up against his. "Sweet dreams, Nolia, luv," he said softly into her ear, though he knew surely after all they'd been through, her dreams would most likely be anything but sweet.

He sighed heavily, wondering how the hell any of them were going to get through all this. None of them had any idea of how they were going to get Caroline out of the movie, let alone get Hope back from Sid.

Sid. That slimy bastard had gone too far this time. If... no, not IF, but WHEN... yes, when he found Sid, he'd tear the bloody nanotech's innards out piece by piece... that is, if Bud or Maximus didn't beat him to it.

He couldn't help but to think back to when Sid had first pulled him out of his movie, torn apart the only life he had known. He'd had a hard time dealing with it, dealing with the fact that everything he'd thought was true and real in his life had been merely a lie... a fabrication made for the amusement of others. Each time Sid had another character ripped from their movie,

it got harder and harder for Terry to go along with him. He, Bud and John had merely been biding their time until they could eventually take Sid down. Well, they'd tried to do just that, and apparently they'd failed... miserably. Because of them, Caroline was now stuck in the loop

of Gladiator. And Rachel... oh Christ! Rachel... his friend... was gone, her daughter now in the hands of her murderer.

And now, it seemed, Sid had lied to him about Terry being the first pulled out. Alex was living proof of that. Just how many more poor bastards were out there, anyway... lost and alone, confused as to who they were and how they got there? Tormented by the fact that they'd lost everything and everyone they knew in their lives? Terry didn't know what was worse, the knowing of how he came to be or the not knowing... sometimes ignorance is bliss, he surmised, wondering how he'd have reacted if Sid had just dumped him off on the side of the road the way he had apparently done to Ross. Would he be better off? Would any of them be better off?

Caroline watched, crouched behind a low wall as Cicero spoke with Maximus in the gladiator practice yard. His expression as he looked through the bars at Cicero was so warm, his handclasp so full of gladness, of true friendship.  She closed her eyes a moment, the love she felt for him welling up her tear ducts. Waiting, she didn't need to hear what they were saying. She knew it by heart, word for word. It always tore at her, how hopeful he was in this scene, hopeful that his army might actually be waiting for him, that freedom might actually be gained. But she knew better, knew where the Maximus of the film was inexorably headed, time after time after time, even if he did not.

The Maximus back in her world, though, he knew. "Oh, Maximus," she sighed.  She could not, however, not love this Maximus before her. He was the precursor of the man who loved her. If not for this man, then that man would not exist. That he was here made her feel less alone.

Cicero left hurriedly on his mission to deliver Maximus' message to Lady Lucilla.  Maximus stood by the bars a while, watching him as he melted into the crowds, then began to turn away. Caroline stood, stepped out from behind the wall. "Maximus!" she called, her voice urgent with the need to stop him.

He saw a slender woman dressed in the garb of a servant coming toward him. He paused only because she did not have the look of the whores who crowded about him whenever he walked in the streets going to or coming from the great arena.  Standing silently, curious, he waited as she approached the bars.

"You know my name?"

All of Rome knew his name by now, she mused. "Yes," she nodded, her mind racing. What to say? How much to say?

"What is it you wish of me?"

"I...I...wish...."  Damn! Tears welled up, spilling over, and she couldn't talk.

He waited, cocking his head now, uncertain as to the cause of her tears.  The woman looked at him with a most peculiar expression in her eyes.

She gripped the bars, white-knuckled, to support herself. "Are you ill?" he asked.

"I...I'm lost," she replied, not taking her eyes off his, drowning in the simple fact they were HIS eyes.

"Lost in Rome? From where have you come? Where is your master?"

"I have no master," she answered, biting her lip.  "And I come from...so very far away."

He studied her garb again. "You cannot be a freewoman."

"I am," she nodded, shaking loose the tears her lower lids had so far contained, allowing them to spill freely down her cheeks. "These clothes are not mine. They were...forced...upon me by, by an evil man who wishes me harm."

"Why have you come to me? I am nothing more than a slave who can offer you no assistance."

"Commander of the Armies of the North," she whispered.

How did she know that? Ah, yes, he himself had spoken the fact of that aloud in the arena, had he not?  "No longer," he said softly. "All that is gone as though it were another life."

"I...I, too, have had my other life ripped from me, Maximus."

He narrowed his eyes, still having no real idea why she had sought him out, what she wanted from him.  "What do you mean?"

She licked her lips, almost trembling at the nearness of his presence, at her uncertainty of what to say. "I am from another land, a distant place, and was transported here against my will."  She almost smiled.  "Not lying wounded beneath a hyena, I must admit."

"You would know of that...how?" he practically spat.

Oh, God, how had she let that slip out?  Should she backtrack...press forward?  She had no idea of the right path to choose.  "I... I...," she hesitated.

"HOW?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure I can...explain."

"Try."  He placed his hands over hers on the bars, pinning them. The woman would not leave until he had answers.

He was touching her! Oh, God, he was touching her! Even though there was no love, not even friendliness in his hands, his flesh was still atop hers and the feel of it, the familiar electricity that always shot between them on physical contact was consuming her. Lifting her eyes to his, she dropped all barriers, and everything she felt for him lay wide open and visible.

He was taken aback, released his grip, and took a step back.  "Who ARE you?" he croaked.

"Caroline, Maximus. I am Caroline."  She knew it would mean nothing to him, could mean nothing to him, but she wanted him to know her name, at least to know her name.

"Caroline?" he repeated.  "I know no...."  But she had gasped, had sunk to her knees in the dust, her forehead resting against the bars.

He crouched in front of her, lifting her chin gently with one hand. "I do not know you, Caroline."

"I know," she choked and a huge sob ripped through her frame. "Oh, God, Maximus, I know you don't."

"Why do you cry then, my lady?"

"Be...because I know you, my lord, and you do not know me."

"You cannot know me, lady.  We have only this moment met."

Her sob broke itself on a mirthless laugh. "No," she corrected, "you have only this moment met me. For me...it is otherwise."

"You speak in riddles."

She nodded helplessly. "I know no other way.  I...I fear...driving you away from me."

"Why? How could you do that? I am not yours to keep, nor are you mine."

Huge tears tracked down her cheeks.  "I am, Maximus. I am yours."

"I do not think so, lady."

"Not yet."

"What?"

"I am not yours...yet," she sighed.

He smiled almost tenderly.  "You speak of things that cannot be. I have much I need to do, must do, things you cannot understand."

"You will kill him, Maximus. You will."  She did not add, and he will kill you as well.

His gaze grew sharp again. "Who?"

"He whose life you have sought since that awful day in Spain, perhaps since that day in Germania when Marcus died, was murdered," she amended.

"You... know?"  His mouth had dropped open somewhat.

Mutely, she nodded, studying his startled eyes. His glance then shifted quickly from side to side, needing to ascertain if anyone were close enough to hear their words.

The similarity hit her so hard she forgot herself again.  "Just like in the holding pen," she blurted, "after you found out who Lucius was."

"Enough!" shouted a Roman guard, walking up behind Maximus. "Get back to your practicing, gladiator!"

Maximus stood, turning to face the man. "Proximo promised me my pick of females tonight if I won in the arena today. I have chosen this woman."  He twisted enough to look back down at Caroline. She knew too much. Way more than anyone had any possibility of knowing. He could not simply let her melt away, not with all she was aware of.

The guard motioned to another one who was outside the bars, indicating he should bring the woman.  Rather roughly, the man hauled her to her feet, shoving her along toward a locked gate. The first guard grinned. "You could do better than that."

"This is the one I want," Maximus answered quietly.  "This one and none other."

Alex shifted a bit in the recliner, then opened his bleary eyes. Sunlight was streaming through a crack in the shades letting him know it was finally morning. He looked over towards the couch at the man who was lying there - his back towards him, though he could tell he was still awake. Shit, poor bastard must not have gotten a moment of sleep, he thought to himself, moving the chair into an upright position and stretching his sore back. He glanced over at Bud, who was still sitting in front of the door, glaring at him.

"Morning, sunshine," Alex grinned, "any  chance a fellow can get a bite to eat around this joint?"

"You expect room service, do you?" Bud growled, getting to his feet then going over to check on Cort.

"Cort?" he said softly. "How's the head?"

Cort turned slowly, revealing a ravaged face. "Hurts," he replied, stating it very mildly. "But it's not goin' to stop me from doin' anything I need to do today."   When Alex moved again, Cort looked at him. "Alex, you might as well get used to it. When you know a thing, like you've just found out, you can't unknow it."  His eyes moved back to Bud.  "Unless a warp drains your memory, that is."  He was thinking of when Mikol warped him into Kamen and how Henri had had to explain the whole coming out of a movie thing to him all over again.

"No warps," Bud rejoined. "Not any more."  Why had they thought it would be such a damn good idea to destroy all warp capability? They didn't know Sid had evolved to the point where he didn't need a machine. Simple answer. Ignorance.

"Not sure if I'll ever get used to this... whatever the hell this is," Alex commented, now wondering if this was actually an alternate universe that Myra had zapped him into. He pulled out a cigarette from the pocket of his coat and lit it up, taking a nice long drag on it before exhaling the smoke. Ah, that felt better.

Terry heard voices coming from the living room and opened his eyes. He leaned over and kissed Dee gently on her cheek, causing her to open her eyes and sigh happily. "Morning," she told him, with a smile.

"Morning, luv," he replied, caressing her shoulder. The others seem to be up now, we should get a move on, too. Lots to do today."

"Can't we just stay here... in bed... for the rest of our lives?" she whined grumpily. Terry shook his head, and reluctantly she dragged herself out of bed and quickly pulled on her clothes. Neither of them was looking forward to what was ahead of them, but knew full well there was no avoiding it - not if they wanted to get Caroline and Hope back - alive and in one piece.

"Morning everyone," Terry said, as he headed into the living room. Dee was still yawning as she followed behind him.

"Morning, Terry, Dee," Bud acknowledged.  "Keep an eye on our 'guest' and I'll go rustle up something to eat."  He stood in the kitchen, splashing water on his face from the sink. Had he slept at all? He didn't think so, sure didn't feel like he had. Some new start in the morning.
 

All night he'd been aware of Cort's loss, of his pain. He'd been there right from the beginning when Sid had first warped the unconscious man into NanoCorp and he'd been rushed into surgery. He'd been in the operating room in full mask and gown to observe the process.
 

And Rachel, she'd been there, too, almost collapsing when Cort had gone into cardiac arrest. Their whole history as a couple, well almost all of it, had been made an agony by either Sid or Mikol.  Mikol, at least, was dead. Too bad Sid was still alive, if you could call the awareness of a pile of metal junk 'living'.  What did he want with Hope, what would he do with her now he had her? Make her into some female reflection of himself? The very thought made Bud shudder and he splashed more water in his face.

Maximus came soundlessly into the kitchen. "Long night?" he asked behind Bud, startling him so that he turned, his face still dripping water.

"One of the longest," Bud nodded, grabbing for a towel.

"I know," Maximus agreed. "I did not sleep."

"Looks like a longer day, then, for all of us," Bud sighed.

"You are making breakfast?"

"Going to try. You want to help?"

Maximus thought of sitting in Caroline's pink house, watching her scramble eggs or make pancakes. Would she find any food where she was now? Where would she sleep?  Silently he nodded and withdrew a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. "Caroline always said scrambled for a crowd was the easiest way to handle it."

"She was right," Bud smiled. "I'll get bread for toast."
 

Alex sat finishing his cigarette, watching as Terry and Dee sat chatting with Cort over on the couch. Thinking to himself that it was probably safe for him to get up out of the chair and stretch his legs a bit now that the big angry goon had gone off into the kitchen, he slowly stood up and began pacing around the room. Damn but it felt good to get up and move around a bit, though his head was still throbbing somewhat. Absently, he reached around and rubbed it a bit, noticing a large bump had formed where he'd hit the floor the night before.

When he caught Terry's gaze, staring intensely into his eyes, he grinned cockily, then dug into his pocket and pulled out another cigarette and lit it. After taking a long drag of it, he exhaled and said, "Something sure smells good in there. Don't know about you all, but I could eat a horse about now."

Dee just sat quietly glowering at him, while Terry grinned back and said, "Think Bud will manage to find us something a bit more edible to eat than that." He turned his attention back to Cort, wondering if the poor lad had managed to get any sleep at all during the night.

"How's your head this morning?" he asked him, concerned that he'd refused any real medical attention.

"Concussion, Terry," Cort supplied. "I don't even have to wonder about it any more, not after all the blows my skull has taken."  At Dee's expression, though, he added, "But I'll be all right." He looked away and under his breath muttered, "I have to be."  Then turning back to
Terry, "Any news from Cody?"  He figured Terry would know what he meant. Had Rachel's body been found? "I'd like," he paused, unable to speak for a moment, cleared his throat, and continued, "I'd like to bur... for her to rest beside Henri."  Then it hit him Glen needed to be told.  How was he going to say such a thing to Rachel's father?  "Glen...." he whispered.

Shit! In his grief Terry had forgotten all about notifying Rachel's family. "Of course, he should be notified at once," he said quietly. "As for Cody, no word yet. I'll try and reach him after breakfast."

"Cort," Dee said, placing a hand on top of his, "would you like me to make that call for you to Glen?"

"Thank you, Dee, but no. I should do it myself." He sighed, wiping a hand over his eyes as Terry handed him his cell. He knew the number so punched it in, closing his eyes as he heard the ringing. "Glen?"

"Cort! Son! I'm so glad to hear from you! Don't know what time it is in Australia, but I don't care. Just so good to hear your voice. I can't tell you how worried I've been about you three since you had to leave the country. How is everybody? Can I talk to Rachel?"

"Glen," Cort continued, his voice deadly flat, "I have news. Don't rightly know how to say this to you. But...."

"Hope? Did that bastard get his paws on my grandbaby?"

"She's no baby, Glen. Not any longer."  Well, Glen's mind had gone to Hope, so he'd just deal with that first, work his way up to Rachel. "You know how fast she was growin'?"

"I sure do. Bet it's hard keeping her in shoes, eh?"

"She's a woman, Glen. No easy way to tell you. Something Sid did triggered a response in her nanobots and... and... she's a woman. All grown."

"Grown? Like, what, like 10, 12 years old?"

"More than that, Glen. I mean an actual woman. I only got a brief glimpse of her before...before...anyway, I just saw her for a second and at a distance, but she looked like she might be in her early 20's."

"At a distance? What the hell do you mean, Cort, at a distance?"

"Across a ravine. She was on the other side of a ravine in Cathedral Rocks National Park."

"Why? Why was my granddaughter across a ravine from you, Cort?"

"Sid.  Sid had...taken her, Glen."

There was a silence on Glen's end and Cort visibly sagged as he waited for his father-in-law to speak.  "How'd you let that happen, Cort?"

Oh, God! He couldn't bear it. His hands trembled so that the phone slipped from his grasp and bounced on the carpet. How HAD he let it happen? He didn't even know.  Blindly he took the phone when Terry proffered it again. "I...I don't know, Glen. She was there one second and then Sid... Sid... took her. Like she was sucked away from me by some tornado or something. She was just... gone."

"Then what?"

"We tracked her, Rachel and me, we tracked her through all these boulders and brush and... then... there she was across the ravine... with him. And she was grown and... and...," he moaned, "lookin' at Sid like he was God Himself."

"Where did he take her?"

"I don't know, Glen. I don't know what happened with them because... because... Rachel..."

"Rachel what, Cort? What are you trying to tell me?"

"She... she tried to get to Hope. Just stopped payin' attention to where she was standin', Glen, and lunged right off the edge."

"She's hurt? You're telling me my daughter is hurt? How badly?"

He couldn't say it. He simply could not say it aloud to Glen and his head was about to burst with the added tension of the effort. Unseeing, he thrust the phone toward Terry.  "P...please...," he gasped.

Terry nodded. He was surprised Cort had been able to hold it together long enough tell him as much as he had. Taking the phone in his hand, he held it to his ear, "Glen? This is Terry..."

"Terry? What's going on? Where's my daughter?" Glen asked, frantically.

Terry sighed, "I'm afraid there's no way to sugar-coat this, so I'll just tell you... Rachel's... dead, Glen. Rachel's dead."

"Dead?! My... daughter? Dead? No! No, this can't be... this can't.... be...," he moaned.

Dee stifled a sob. Hearing it the first time was hard enough, but hearing it out loud again... with Cort here by her side, was nearly too much for her. She covered her face with her hands, wishing she would suddenly wake up and this would all be over, be nothing more than a bad dream.

"I'm so sorry, Glen," Terry told him, managing to keep his own emotions at bay at the moment. "It was quite sudden. Sid had somehow gotten Hope, Rachel and Cort saw them... across the ravine. Apparently, Rachel didn't even see the ravine... stepped right into it. There was nothing Cort could have done to save her. She... um... she was dead probably as soon as she hit the bottom."

"Where is she now?" Glen asked through his sobs.

"I asked a friend there to recover...um... to find her and have her body brought back here for a proper burial.  We'll notify you when all the arrangements have been made."

Glen let the line go quiet for a moment, then said, "Terry... promise me... promise me you'll find my granddaughter and bring her back home safe. Promise me that you won't let that bastard, Sid, get away with what he's done. Terry, promise me!"

No matter how many times Terry had done this, no matter how many people he'd had to inform that their loved one was dead, it never got any easier, and this time with Glen was no exception. Rachel had been like family to him... and having to inform her father of her death was... well, probably one of the hardest things he'd had to endure in his life.

"I promise," Terry told him, "None of us will rest until it's done."  With that said, he hung up the phone and stuffed it back in his pocket, then looked at Cort. "None of us will rest... until it's done," he repeated, quietly, looking him in the eye.

Cort looked ready to fold.  Bud stepped up, taking him by the shoulders, trying to get him to lie back. The man's face was a mask of emotional and physical pain.  "Rest, please, Cort...just a bit, ok?"  Bud looked at Dee. "Could you wet him a towel with cold water?"  It was so feeble, but was all he could think of at the moment. 

Cort allowed Bud to press him down onto the couch. There was nothing left in him to resist it.  "How'd you let that happen, Cort?" he kept mumbling over and over and over.

Maximus pushed forward, crouching beside the couch. "Listen to me, Cortland Wells," he said in his full General-voice. "You did not LET it happen!  It happened because of Sid, not because of anything you did or did not do. Understand that! This is not your fault! It is not!"

Cort seemed to be fighting to keep his eyes open.  Mental exhaustion combined with his worn and battered body and he could no longer keep awake.  "Rachel..." he moaned.  Then suddenly his lids jerked open and he grabbed the front of Maximus' shirt. "I promised her, Maximus," he choked. "I promised her I'd never let go. Never!" 

"You did not let go, my brother," Maximus soothed. "Sid took her. There was no letting go, only taking."

Cort stared up into Maximus' face, blinking hard. "Only taking?"

"Only taking.  Rachel knows you did not let go. She knows."

Cort lay back then, closing his eyes, making little sighing sounds drowned in unshed tears. Maximus tucked the wet towel around his head and in a moment or two, Cort drifted into sleep.

Maximus shifted his gaze from Terry to Bud to John, who was standing behind Bud. Alex he did not yet include. The General's eyes flashed with deadly intent that he had no need to verbalize, not to these men. 

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