Evenfall (139 page)

He made his way to the ground floor and as he glanced through the small window in the door, he saw that there wasn’t even a receptionist desk in the lobby. If it could even be called a lobby. The room was completely empty save for some kiosks of unknown use and it had a North and South exit, both of which were most likely guarded at all times. The Agency guards were not typically very bright but he doubted they were stupid enough to just let him waltz by without questions.

Irritation and impatience burned through him as he figured out an alternate plan and found himself running back up the stairs, all thirteen floors, as he headed for the roof. Despite the fact that every building on the compound had a different purpose, the schematics of each was generally the same. He assumed that like the other buildings, this one had rooftop access which was granted by the keycard and he was right. He got onto the roof without further incident and slunk low, noting that it was dark outside which made it easier for him to blend with the shadows. He made his way to the far side of the roof, closest to one of the large overhanging trees and climbed over the edge as he contemplated the distance between the ledge and the nearest branch.

It was a huge oak tree and the leaves would provide him ample cov— Leaves? Hadn’t it been fucking November when they’d infiltrated the convention center? Sin stared at the tree in confusion and for some reason he began to wonder if he’d imagined the whole assignment in Monterrey. Maybe he’d been injured some other way and that had been nothing more than an extended dream.

The thought disturbed him and he made the leap to the branch without further consideration. His head swam but he ignored it and caught the branch before climbing down the tree with surprising spryness. He jumped down the remaining distance and crouched in the shadows as he tried to figure out who he could trust on the complex; as he wondered who would even tell him the truth.

He began moving on autopilot, feet taking him wherever his mind had apparently directed them to go, and he found himself taking a meandering, alternate route that took him out of view of the main buildings and patrolling guards. He wound up in front of one of the nicer residential buildings which had two guards posted in front of it just like all the others. However in this case, one of the guards had apparently abandoned his post to talk to a female staff member on the other side of the building and the second guard stood there calling out to him in annoyance.

He doubted the man would just let him wander into the building without a lot of questions which, given the mood Sin was in, would probably result in him breaking the guard’s nose and he didn’t want to make more trouble for himself until he found out what he needed to know.

So he waited. Lurked was probably a more appropriate word, as he crouched barefoot and half dressed in the shadows, waiting for someone to make a move. Finally after ten minutes of watching uncomfortably as his shift partner bullshitted, the second guard left his post and stalked around the building to break up the grope-fest. Sin moved fast, faster than seemed possible considering his disorientation, and was inside the building before the guard even reached his partner.

He once again bypassed the elevators in the building and his bare feet pounded up the stairs two at a time as he ran up to the top floor. When he finally arrived at his destination he was sweating and dizzier than he'd been before, as he leaned heavily on the wall for support. His heart was racing, his head spinning, and he felt like he was going to be violently sick. He pushed it all out of his mind and knocked on the door once, twice, and the third time his fist just slid down the door with a strange, dragging sound as he nearly lost his balance and fell over.

He braced his hands on the sides of the door, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping his head tilted down as he tried to catch his breath. The dark spots that drifted across his eyes were getting worse and he didn't know if he'd be able to stay on his feet for much longer. It was embarrassing feeling this weak but at the same time, he didn't really think it had anything to do with his actual strength so much as it had to do with the aching in his head.

For a long moment nothing happened and he just stood there panting harshly but then the door swung open and Carhart stared at him incredulously. "Wha--Hsi--what?"

"Wh--" The sentence ended up being lost in a fit of violent coughing and Sin leaned heavily against the wall as he squinted at the General. "Where's Boyd?" he grit out finally.

Carhart continued to stare at him in disbelief, not seeming in a rush to answer the question. Sin growled impatiently and fumbled with the gun that was stashed at the small of his back but the end result was extremely unimpressive as he finally did lose his balance and wound up falling forward clumsily. His vision dimmed and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He was vaguely aware of strong arms catching him, lifting him up, and even though he wanted to protest, everything went darker and he slipped into unconsciousness once again.

==

The smell of food and the sound of a softly spoken conversation woke him up.

"--sorry but something came up, Morgan."

He opened one eye slowly, preparing for another assault of white fluorescent lights but was relieved to only see the soft glow of a lamp. He opened his other eye and stared blankly at the ceiling as he once again tried to remember where he was and what the hell had happened to bring him there. He was laying on something soft and comfortable and he vaguely realized that it was a bed. And there were pillows.

"I know, but what do you want me to do? I said something came up. You know how it is."

Who the fuck was Morgan?

He dragged his eyes slowly away from the ceiling and took in his surroundings; from the large bed and the furniture, he gathered that he was in a bedroom. There were pictures on a desk but his eyes wouldn't focus enough for him to figure out who was in them although he did note that there was a gun and a clip next to the lamp. The room was immaculate but not Spartan; it looked lived in, comfortable, but everything obviously had a place and was put in it.

"Listen, I don't have time for this. I said sorry, I don't know what else you want me to say.”

Carhart.

Sin made a face and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position as he tried to figure out why he was in a bedroom that apparently belonged to Carhart.

His eyebrows drew together and he slowly got to his feet, ignoring the spinning and the nausea that wouldn't leave as he stumbled to the door. There was a hallway and the hallway had hardwood floors which eventually turned into soft carpet as he entered the living room. He stared at it blankly for a moment, taking in the overstuffed couches, stereo and wide screen television, discreet decorations and the overwhelming neatness of the room. There was a stack of magazines on a coffee table, which appeared to be old copies of Guns N' Ammo and American Rifleman, and he had no doubt that they were most likely put in order by date and issue number. The room itself was painted beige, although the majority of the furniture was dark earthy colors and it was far larger and nicer than his apartment was.

"Feel any better?"

Sin nearly jumped out of his skin, which was irritating as all hell, and glared up at Carhart who had apparently been watching him from the archway that led to the kitchen area.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, staring at Carhart strangely. He'd never seen the man in anything other
than
his usual fatigues; it was rather odd to see him shirtless and barefoot in baggy faded jeans. His hair was uncombed, spiky and he was leaning against the archway in a casual manner that was completely unlike the usual ramrod straight way he held himself.

Carhart raised an eyebrow at him and almost seemed amused by the question. "Well, I live here."

"Oh." His eyebrows drew together once again and he stared at the room in confusion. "Well who the fuck is Morgan?"

"A woman."

Sin went back to glaring at Carhart, incredibly annoyed by the amused expression on his face and the complete lack of decent answers that he was receiving. "What woman? What the hell is going on?"

"A woman who was going to be coming over tonight if you hadn't suddenly crashed the party," Carhart said slowly, amusement leaving his expression as concern replaced it. He took a step towards Sin, who automatically took a step back, and stopped. "You came over here, Hsin. Remember? You showed up at my door and passed out."

"Don't talk to me like I'm fucking stupid," Sin muttered as he rubbed the back of his head and tried to remember why he was here.

"You swear a lot more than you used to," Carhart noted mildly.

"Well what do you expect? You had me pretending to be a fucking id--" He stopped in mid-sentence and once again, everything came flooding back. The assignment. Monterrey. Jason Alvarez. The convention center. "Where's Boyd?"

Carhart considered him for a long moment, hazel eyes studying him calmly before he shook his head. "I'm not answering that until you stop looking like you're about to fall on your face."

An annoyed hiss and Sin once again reached for the gun but it was no longer there. He aimed an accusing glare at Carhart instead.

"How are you going to get answers if you shoot me?"

"I wasn't going to shoot you," Sin snapped. "I was going to--"

"Menace me?" Once again, the other man seemed amused.

"Just te--" Before he could finish the sentence, an overwhelming wave of nausea overcame him and he scrambled over to the waste basket that sat next to the coffee table and began vomiting into it violently. The only thing that came up was liquid and acid before it eventually turned to painful dry heaves. After what seemed like an eternity, he pushed himself away from the garbage and collapsed onto the carpet before rolling onto his back. He panted harshly, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed himself to stop being so fucking weak. He needed to find Boyd. He needed to remember what had happened. He needed--

"Please, just tell me where he is," He said hoarsely, hating how pathetic he sounded but not able to stop it.

After a moment, he heard the sound of feet walking around the apartment before Carhart crouched down next to him. "Sit up, if you can."

Sin opened his eyes and stared at Carhart, hating the concerned look the man was aiming at him, but deciding not to say anything about it. He slowly pulled himself up and eagerly drank the glass of water that Carhart pressed into his hand.

"Before we have that conversation, I have some questions of my own," Carhart told him calmly.

Frustration welled up inside of him and Sin barely stopped himself from punching the man in the face. "I don't-- Just fucking tell me, is he alive? Did he escape? Did any of that shit even happen? Was there a mission in Monterrey or was it all some fucking dream I had while I was in a coma?"

Once again, intense hazel eyes regarded him calmly before Carhart inclined his head. "I see." He stood up and held out a hand, pulling Sin to his feet easily. "For now I will reassure you that he did escape Monterrey and as far as I know, he is still alive. However I refuse to tell you anything more until you look stronger and I get some explanations of my own. You're not the only one who has been in the dark for the past six months."

Relief flooded through him at the knowledge that Boyd had escaped but it was quickly replaced by confusion, astonishment. "Six months?" Sin stared at him incredulously. That would explain the leaves on the trees. "Why--"

"You had severe head trauma, or so I was told," Carhart replied as he wandered back into the kitchen and resumed his cooking. There were two large pots on the stove and the smell of the food made Sin's stomach growl violently. "Connors did not see fit to inform me of the true extent of your injuries however he did tell me that if you were to flat-line once again, nothing would be done to revive you. For the past several months I'd come to the conclusion that you had died or that you were brain damaged, because that is what I was led to believe." He glanced at Sin out of the corner of his eye, a strange expression on his face, and began dishing out two rather large bowls of what appeared to be rice and stew.

The bowls were set down at a table in the kitchen and Sin sat down, eating ravenously and at an alarming speed. Carhart watched with an almost endeared expression on his face and when Sin finished his own bowl, Carhart pushed the second one towards him.

"Eat as much as you want but don't force yourself or it will make you sick."

With a distracted nod, Sin worked on making the contents of the second bowl disappear as quickly as possible. It felt good to have solid food in his stomach after what had most likely been months of a liquid diet from his IV. After a few minutes he pushed the empty bowl away and sat up straight again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He noticed the half-smile on Carhart's face and waved him off.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"Good." He slouched down in the chair, feeling almost uncomfortably full, and stretched his legs out in front of him as he stared at the General silently. It was more than a little odd to be sitting in the man's kitchen, eating his apparently delicious home cooked food and seeing him behave so casually. For years he'd only ever encountered Carhart in a professional setting but now as he regarded the handsome man in front of him, it was hard to equate this with the General that annoyed him so much sometimes.