And then there were five For Amethyst Part 5 Ceilia's gaze warmed, though tears shimmered in her deep brown eyes. "That's good of you. I'll send a list of names and references by the end of the week." Was it very good of him? He wasn't so sure. In his darker moments, he'd noted that he was well on track toward exactly what he'd wanted: Charles on his long-term mission to Riga, and Mark in the program, unhindered by Madeline's objections. How many times had Chief Paulson claimed that -- however unfortunate -- the ends at times justified the means? How many times had he insisted there had to be another way? David fought back a wave of anger at Celia, but it wasn't her fault that she trusted him too much. Neither was it her fault that an alien planet wanted to conquer not just the Earth -- along with enslaving its population and taking all of its resources -- but the entire Federation. "Shall I get Mark ready to go?" Celia watched him with eyes full of understanding. David nodded, grateful for the time to collect himself. All too soon he was presented with a tired four-year-old, staring at him with naked disappointment. "Where's my mama?" Mark clutched his stuffed plane tight to his chest. For a moment, David wondered why Mark didn't assume she was still in the hospital. Then he realized those big blue eyes were still fixed on him as Mark waited for an answer. Fortunately, Madeline had offered a suggestion when David visited. He crouched and spoke to Mark at eye level. "She wasn't comfortable at the hospital. I've moved the two of you in with me." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized he'd wandered off script. Watery eyes flew wide. "And my daddy? Where's my daddy?" David fought back a groan. Under no circumstances, on pain of death, was he to deliver that news himself. He reached for the boy, but Mark slid behind Celia's legs. "Mark," she said softly, crouching as well, "Mr. Anderson's going to take you to your mom. That's what you want, right?" She stroked her fingers over the child's flyaway hair, waiting with serene patience. Mark glanced uncertainly from one adult to the other, then shrugged, still looking unsure. Celia picked him up. David rose with them, and accepted the four-year-old as she passed him over. This time he'd need no help. He'd never removed the car seat. With Mark's cheek resting on his shoulder and those blue eyes closed, David shot a look of gratitude toward Celia, then headed out. He'd heard that Madeline had the staff hopping, determined that her room would look welcoming instead of frightening. Somehow, he was dubious about her chances of success, but he wouldn't stop her from trying. It was a fifteen minute walk from the ISO building to the nearby apartment complex. After the first five minutes, David's back started to ache. Not wanting to wake the boy, he kept walking, and by the time he reached their new home his arms were screaming. Musing over the unexpected fitness benefits of handling children, David keyed in his security code, then entered the apartment. While some boxes remained unpacked, the place already looked tidy and lived in. His own furnishings had been mixed in well with Madeline's. He'd visited her and Charles enough that the combination formed an unsettling atmosphere, staring back at him in accusation. At least Madeline looked relaxed. Tired, but relaxed, waiting in the living room in a plush chair. When she saw them, she placed a finger against her lips, then gestured for David to bring Mark to her. He'd never been happier to comply. Leaving Mark to snuggle against his mother, David examined the familiar trappings of his room and the new home office. Those felt more like home. At one point in his life, he'd hoped she'd choose him, but not like this. While he'd long since accepted that his role would forever be "friend," he hadn't realized how deeply his feelings had remained, buried with no hope of revival. He had no illusion -- or even desire -- to unearth them completely, but at least he was here for her now. That was what counted. # David was still working when a shriek and a crash propelled him away from his desk and into the living room. There he found Madeline sprawled on the floor, with Mark scrabbling wide-eyed out from under her. "Mama?" Mark squeaked, shaking her shoulder. David knelt beside them, feeling her pulse. Shallow but steady. "What happened?" "I made her fall!" "She's sick, Mark," said David, keeping his voice calm as he examined her for injuries. "She's not as strong as she was. Sometimes she's going to fall." His words didn't calm the boy's trembling and tears. Seeing Madeline stir, though, had Mark whimpering and sliding close to his mother. David took her hand. "Maddie, are you hurt?" "No," she said softly, her voice drained, then turned her attention to her frightened son. "Munchkin, it's okay. I just fell." Slowly, carefully, David helped her up. She gestured toward the bedroom, so he walked her toward her bed, supporting her along the way. Mark trailed behind them, sniffles and hiccups hounding their steps. As David settled her into her bed, Mark tugged his pant leg. "When's papa coming home?" Frowning, David glanced to Madeline. Had she not told him? She just let out a sigh. "He doesn't understand. He's too young. Come, lie down with mama, Munchkin." The bed was set low for the moment, so Mark was able to scramble up next to her. Looking into the boy's liquid blue eyes, full of fear and confusion, was almost enough to make David call Charles home. Unfortunately, the price of that mission's failure was too great. If Spectra caught them unawares, many more children would lose their families, and all of them would end up slaves. One day, he hoped, Mark would understand. # David spent the next few weeks fighting. Time and time again, fought back the urge to update Charles on Madeline's condition, when it would risk the entire mission to make contact too soon. He fought with schedules, too, trying to make time for a grieving child while pushing his project forward. Then there was fighting a four-year-old who associated him with loss. As Madeline weakened and withered, Mark withdrew into himself, only coming alive when his mother had the energy to pay attention to him. More than once, looking into those sad eyes, David fought another urge: to make Madeline choose a new guardian. Instead, on the suggestion of her private nurse, he took up new reading between meetings and appointments: child psychology and grief. The reading also made it easier to fight his own dwindling spirits, and the pain of watching the only woman he'd ever truly loved fade away. And then ... it was time to turn off the machines. Madeline hadn't wanted Mark to witness that, so Celia had come to take the boy to his room, leaving David to silently witness the final moments of a life cut far too short. When the pulse monitor settled into a flat hum, a terrible weight settled over him like a shroud. It was odd that he carried so many responsibilities already, but parenthood was the only one that made him want to run screaming. Ironic, given that his project required children. With a sigh, he gave the staff leave to proceed with what had to be done, and then went to his room and shut the door. Only when he'd pulled himself together did he go to find Mark. He found the tearful boy in his own room, on Celia's lap, being rocked amongst blue sky and biplane wallpaper. To his surprise, small arms reached for him the moment he stepped through the door. Celia stood, handing Mark over with a sad smile, then stepped into the hall. Little hands fisted in his shirt. With a sniffle, Mark said, "I want my papa." "I know." Not knowing what else to do, David just held him. Madeline had always been good at shoving him into situations he'd have never entered on his own. This truly had to be the culmination of her efforts. Somewhere, one day, she'd hopefully look down and laugh. All David could do was thank his lucky stars that he wasn't expected to do this for the project's children. Him and six orphans. That would be a disaster.