Airport

The slight change of pressure went unnoticed, but the faint lurch in her gut is what told Caroline the plane was descending. She snapped out of her haze of boredom, accidentally jerking her earbuds out of her ears and wincing as the drone of the engines in the air violently replaced the calming sound of ocean waves breaking against a rocky shore.

It wasn't that she disliked flying, or traveling, not in the slightest—the rumbling of the turbines simply had a disquieting effect on Caroline and she preferred to be as calm as possible. The book in her hand lay open, unfinished—she returned to the page she left off at and replaced her earbuds, settling back down into a bubble of comfort while she waited for touchdown.

Stepping off of the plane and waiting for her luggage, the dark-haired woman looked very small and slightly lost—she wasn't normally seen in such casual clothing, to say the least. A zip-up hoodie, blue jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt bearing a certain iconic cube from a popular videogame was not normally in her chosen wardrobe, but Caroline didn't want to spend any more time than necessary going through security and in no way would she cherish being even slightly uncomfortable on the four hour flight from New York to Colorado.

Finally, with slowness unrivaled by molasses in the middle of January, her luggage appeared around the bend and Caroline retrieved it with a scowl. She was behind, she was late… her flight had gotten delayed, they hadn't picked up the phone…

The moment she emerged out of the terminal, however, her face broke into a grin of relief as she saw her brother, tall as ever, holding up her very sleepy-looking niece while her nephew picked at the corner of a homemade sign. It was her niece that saw her first, a yawn being cut through by an excited shriek of 'Auntie!' that quickly attracted the other two's attention.

Donovan sprinted to her immediately, abandoning the sign at his uncle's feet and grabbing Caroline's waist in a giant bear hug.

Her brother had picked up the sign and quickly caught up, towering over her at 6'4" and smiling warmly, pulling his little sister into a hug. "Hi C."

"Hi Matthew," Caroline replied, giving his torso a quick squeeze before breaking off and stooping down to give Donavan a hug. Gracelyn had perked up a touch, baring a gap-toothed grin although she still rested her head on her uncle's broad shoulder. "And hi, Gracie. I missed all three of you. Where's your mother?"

"Mommy's out," Gracelyn yawned. "Gramma says she wen' out this morning but she'll be back later."

The dark look on Matthew's face told her otherwise, but Caroline just smiled and said "I can't believe how big you two have gotten. Let's head home, shall we?"

They broke apart and Donovan immediately latched onto Caroline's luggage, insisting that Uncle Matt had told him that gentlemen always offered to carry a lady's bags. With a light laugh Caroline let him take it, the twelve-year-old eagerly lugging the small bag behind him as he rambled about school while Caroline attempted to catch up with her brother. He seemed amicable enough, but Caroline couldn't help but notice the steady limp in his left leg, the stiffness of the knee.

The house was a small, quaint two-story number with a porch and carved columns supporting the overhang, one of several on a quiet street about a thirty minute drive from the city. It was nice, and peaceful, and there were actual woods in the backyard instead of a closed in fence of dead grass—the trees and what remained of their leaves were painted in the bold colors of autumn, a welcome sight after the constant gray-and-gunmetal of the city. The door swung open and Caroline caught the tired eyes of her mother and the warm, broad smile and open arms that always welcomed her home.

"Caroline, sweetheart, come on in. Welcome back." Caroline squeezed her mother tightly, taking note of the new crop of silver in her mousey brown hair, the deep creases at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

"I heard you got a good job working at a law firm," she said gently, and her mother smiled.

"Yes, yes I did, but it's not important. You had a long flight, sit down, really. I'll make up some coffee."

"Got it, Mom." Matthew was already at the coffee pot, filling it with water. "Put your feet up, you've had a long day too."

"Thank you, Matthew." Susannah Johnson looked all the world like a dishtowel, used and wrung out until its vibrant colors had faded but sitting here with her, Caroline could find the bright spots of color that still persisted—her mother's bottle-green eyes, Caroline's eyes, the family's eyes, shone back at her with a worn out but welcoming smile. "I'm so glad you're home, Caroline."

"I'm glad to be home." In a way it was strange to see her mother up and smiling again, like a rusted old teakettle being cleaned and brought back into the light; somehow, under the years of arguments and the grime from the courts, her mother still found a way to shine. Caroline slumped into a chair opposite her mother's and smiled wearily. "They've been working me hard in New York and my flat was way too small. Real estate is a nightmare up there."

"I can only imagine," Susannah said, the smile never leaving her face. "Your room is the same as always, the—"

"Second door on the left," Caroline finished. She reached out and took her mother's hand, squeezing it gently. "I missed it here. It's peaceful."

Matthew interrupted their thoughts with the coffee. "You still take it black, C?"

"Black as midnight in a thunderstorm."

"With or without lighting?" Caroline gave her brother a look, raising an eyebrow at his feigned expression of innocence. He was like her, dark haired with their mother's green eyes and smart—not in the same way Caroline was smart, but clever in other ways, such as the precise way to annoy his little sister.

They stared at each other for a moment before Matthew burst into laughter and started pouring the coffee into mugs. "Can't concentrate when you've got the mom look on, C."

She stamped her foot and crossed her arms indignantly, looking rather like a child having a tantrum. "I don't have a mom look," she muttered, the smile creeping back onto her face when her mother laughed.

"Caroline, don't ever underestimate the use of a 'mom-look', as your brother put it. You never know when you might need it." She sighed and settled back into her chair, accepting her coffee from Matthew—a milky tan from cream and sugar. "You told me on the phone you got assigned a new project?"

Caroline stared into her own cup, a brown so dark it was almost black. Taking a sip, she smiled. "Yeah, I'm really excited. I'm—"

The oven beeped and startled her from what she was about to say, and her mother rose to her feet. Matthew waved the two women down, yelling, "Mom, seriously. Put your feet up, you're not allowed to work today," over the screeching of the timer. The sound of bubbling cheese filled the air as he pulled out lasagna.

"I made your favorite," Susannah said gently. Caroline grinned.

They were halfway through dinner when the front door slammed open and a light giggling filled the air. A woman, brown-haired and green-eyed like Caroline's mother stumbled in and roughly dropped a purse onto a chair in the living room, wobbling into the kitchen and turning wide-eyed with surprise.

"Hello, Abigail," Susannah sighed, picking at her serving of lasagna with a certain sudden weariness.

"When'd you get here C?" Abigail leaned against the counter, off balance due to a mixture of the stilettos she wore and obvious intoxication, an uneasy smile that was offset with the look of confusion on her face. Matthew stabbed his lasagna with a bit more force than necessary, Donovan paused from shoveling his second serving to mumble 'hi mom' through a mouthful of food and Gracelyn waved, a piece of garlic bread wedged into her mouth.

Caroline, though, put down her fork and tilted her head slightly—observing, like she always did. "I got here about an hour ago. Where were you?"

A sour look crossed Abigail's face and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Out. You know, having fun. Not that you would know."

"Tomorrow is Thanksgiving," she replied icily, picking up her fork again and neatly severing a corner of her lasagna and pulling it to her mouth. "Usually people use that time to get closer to their family. I wasn't aware that you going out and getting drunk endeared you to the rest of us."

Abigail had always been easy to provoke, but this—this was too easy. "You always do this," she snapped, stamping her foot onto the tile and wobbling from the effort. "Every time you come home you just pick a fight with me. Why are you such a bitch?"

Caroline said nothing, shooting her mother an apologetic look and busying herself with the lasagna. Abigail grunted in disgust and wobbled upstairs, slamming the door to her room behind her.

"She's still mad at me, isn't she?" Caroline's question was quiet and her fork twirled a string of mozzarella. The kids looked at Caroline with wide, expectant eyes—they were confused. Why wouldn't they be? This—this wasn't a discussion to have with the kids around.

"Donavan, didn't you tell me on the phone that your new favorite game was Clue?" Caroline smiled at her nephew, who promptly dropped his fork and nodded vigorously. "Why don't you and Gracie set it up? We could all play, that would be fun." With a wide grin of delight Donavan cleared his plate and took up his sister's, who promptly shrieked in delight and scrambled off to the living room.

"The court found her unfit." Matthew put down his fork and rubbed his temples, sighing. "Your testimony was what sealed it, I think. Mom signed the adoption papers six months ago. Abby is… hurt."

"That's what I thought." Caroline sighed and ate another bite of lasagna. "It's better for the kids."

"I know. But that doesn't mean that Abby does." Donovan darted back into the kitchen and Matthew smiled, telling him that the grownups were talking and would be there in a minute. With a groan Donavan disappeared back into the living room. "I wish you were around more often. They need someone to look up to."

"I'm hardly a good role model." Caroline continued picking at her lasagna, a frown working across her face.

"You're too hard on yourself." Matthew finished his lasagna and picked up his plate, looking over at Susannah in worry. "Mom, come on. You haven't been eating well."

"I'm just tired, Matthew." She smiled but kept picking at her lasagna.

He left and Caroline was alone with her mother once again. The silence stretched between them, near tangible.

"Mom, you shouldn't feel bad for what you did. Gracie and Donavan need someone stable in their life."

Susannah took a small bite of her food. "It broke her heart, Caroline."

"You practically raised the kids anyway. They belong more to you and me than they do to her."

"That was you, Caroline. I was too busy with work." A small, quiet laugh—those weary green eyes looking far older than they had an hour ago. Perhaps the lines were more pronounced; perhaps the energy that had filled them when Caroline stepped through the door had simply vanished, sucked up by the sponge that was Abigail. "When am I going to get some grandchildren from you?"

Caroline shrugged. "I haven't found the right guy, Mom." It wasn't a lie in the conventional sense. There was too much risk associated, letting someone get that close—too much pain associated. They'd use her if she didn't use them first, and she couldn't risk becoming like her sister.

Stabbing her lasagna, Caroline's eyes narrowed. She'd never risk becoming like Abigail.

With a sigh Susannah took another bite, seemingly determined to eating the already small portion she'd cut out for herself. "I just wish you were home more often. The kids are always so excited when they get to spend the summers with you."

A smile returned to Caroline's face and she reached out to squeeze her mother's hand. "I know. I'm glad to be home."

"Are you doooooooooone yet?" Gracelyn stomped into the kitchen with her hands on her hips, a huge scowl on her face.

They were in the thick of the game when he called. Ms. Scarlett (Gracelyn) was in the parlor, violently accusing Colonel Mustard (Matthew) of murdering poor Mr. Boddy with a rusty pipe and Caroline's phone went off, fanfare blasting wildly and snapping each of them out of the game. Caroline grinned sheepishly but frowned when she saw the name on her caller ID, muttering 'skip my turn' as she quietly excused herself from the game.

"She wants a divorce," Jonathan Strahm said softly, voice low and mournful with just a twinge of pain.

"I'm so sorry, Jon." The two of them were friends, of a sort, having met in college and hired by the same company—placed in different divisions. Occasionally Caroline had lunch with him and they discussed their work, which is how they'd discovered they'd both been assigned to the new project. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No. I just—I don't understand why. There was nothing I could do about it," he muttered. Caroline could almost see him on the other side of the line—tired, probably nursing a gin and tonic from the slight slur of his words and rubbing those lovely blue eyes behind his square, wire-rimmed glasses.

"It's not your fault that she miscarried."

"No, I know. I know, I just… Am I interrupting something? I don't want to interrupt anything, I know you were excited to see your family." He was pacing, now—the phone shifted against his cheek and she could hear the tap of shoes on a bare wooden floor, clear though the slight static of the phone line.

"Oh, oh you're fine. They won't miss me, I was winning anyway." They burst into laughter in the other room and she smiled faintly, brow knitted together with worry when Jon sighed on the other line.

"I'm sorry I called you. I just needed to tell someone and they're asleep over at home. Can't blame them, its 3 AM over there." A pause and a shift as something brushed against the speaker—probably his hand, rubbing his face. "Bloody stupid time differences."

"Its fine, Jon. Really, I don't mind." She never minded, not for him. Caroline sat down, chewing on her lip. "You've got enough problems."

"No, I should go to bed. I've made enough of a fool of myself to you right now." He laughed, uneasy and hollow—she could practically see that smile, weary but warm. "Shame on me, harassing beautiful women over the phone when I'm drunk. Goodnight Caroline."

"Night Jon." He hung up and Caroline rubbed her temples for a moment, a sigh working out of her mouth despite the blush that colored her cheeks. He's drunk, Caroline. He didn't mean it.

She wanted it to, though.

She returned to the game and was shocked to discover that her character (Mrs. Peacock) being accused of hanging Sir Boddy. "Serves me right to trust you vultures."

The children giggled shrilly and Caroline showed off her cards, a smug smile on her face.

She got a text a few hours later when she went to bed, this time from a Richard—she'd known him in high school, a big-time jock that, unsurprisingly, still lived in the area. 'so I hrd ur in town,' he'd written.

'I'm visiting family,' she replied, a scowl working across her face. I don't have time for this. She tossed the phone on her bed as she changed, pulling off her T-shirt and bra and tossing them to the little pile her pants had already made. Pulling a baggy t-shirt over her head, she scowled when the phone buzzed again.

'o cool. U wanna hook up?'

Caroline chewed on her lip for a moment, thinking. It wasn't an odd request from him when she came home and most times she was happy to oblige, but…

'Not this time. I've got my eye on someone.'

'lol sure. w/e. u cuming over 2mrow?'

'First, I was serious. Second, it's thanksgiving you prick.'

He sent her another couple of texts, each one getting more and more lewd and insulting until Caroline turned off her phone.

She deleted the texts she'd read and the six she hadn't the next morning, a faint touch of disgust curling her mouth. However, she had much more important things to attend to.

"Alright, Gracie, now we have to roll the crust." Her niece looked up at her expectantly and Caroline smiled, her hands guiding her nieces with the rolling pin. "We want to get the crust thin and even, but we don't want to work it too much. If we do it'll get tough and gross."

"Like this?" Gracelyn pushed down with the pin and stretched the dough, creating a sharp slope and translucent area where it was pushed too thin in contrast to the solid branch of creamy brown.

"Close. Follow what I do." Caroline guided her niece with the proper pressure, hands over her niece's much smaller ones, and together they rolled out a decent crust. Caroline cut it, peeled it up and draped it in the pie tin, hands smoothing and scalloping the edges of the crust. "Do you have the filling, Gracie?"

"Got it auntie!" The girl was at her side with the pumpkin mixture, beaming, and together they dumped it in the crust.

"Perfect." Caroline scraped the remainder of the filling into the dish and set the pie aside. "Come on now, we've gotta get the apple pie done too."

She noticed Abigail standing in the entrance of the kitchen, watching her daughter and her sister roll out the next crust for the apple pie. Caroline stared back for a moment, resuming when Gracie noticed her Auntie wasn't helping and sharply chastised her by slapping her hand. "Pay attention, Aunt Cici, we need to get this exactly right!"

"Right," Caroline said, resuming working with the dough as Abigail disappeared around the corner and headed back upstairs. "Now this one we have to make a top for, too."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now should we do cutouts or make it a fancy lattice?"

The day went by in a blur of cooking and baking—Matthew and Donovan handled the mashed potatoes and tended to the small turkey in the oven, Caroline baked rolls and Abigail emerged from her room in time to help their mother with green-bean casserole. Finally the turkey was carved, the sides passed around the table and they began to talk.

"What's this new job you've been talking about, C?" Matthew passed a basket of rolls across the table and Caroline snatched one as it passed from hand-to-hand.

"Oh, right." She buttered the roll and set it aside, grabbing the salt shaker and attending to her woefully under-seasoned green-beans. "I got assigned to go to Antarctica. There's some problems with the native emperor penguin population, they want me to take a look. Fix things."

"Really?" Susannah put down her fork, beaming. "When do you leave?"

"Practically as soon as I head back, in a couple of days." Caroline grinned sheepishly and took a bite of turkey. "I'm flying down to South America and then we're sailing to the base."

"You'll be there for a while." Matthew gave himself another heaping serving of potatoes. "When are you getting back?"

A pause, uncomfortably so. "A little before Easter."

The table went quiet, but what hurt was Susannah's face, which had gone from bright and open to closed. Disappointed.

"You're missing Christmas?" Gracelyn stopped playing with her potatoes and stared at her aunt, a heartbroken look on her face.

"I wish I wasn't," Caroline said gently. "But I can't leave in the middle of the project. It's—it's important." She finished off her sentence lamely and busied herself with some casserole.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Matthew asked Donovan about the project he was doing for school, and they busied themselves in conversation once again.

After pie had been served Caroline volunteered to help Matthew with the dishes and they sat in the monotony of washing for a few minutes. "Do you really have to miss Christmas?"

"I need this project." Caroline's face was grim, sad.

"We need you here at home. The kids need you. Mom needs you here." He sighed, handing Caroline a pan. "She can't—she can't rely on me."

"How has your therapy been going?" It was an abrupt change of topic but Caroline didn't want to discuss this any further.

"…Not great." He stiffened and leaned on his good leg, the one without the knee full of scar tissue where the pieces of shrapnel had been. "I keep having flashbacks and the medication they give me makes me a zombie. I don't take it unless I have to and apparently that's not good because they want me on it all the time. It really fucking sucks."

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be. It's not your fault." He reached over and squeezed her far shoulder with a soapy hand, affectionate. "I'm just worried about you, C. I'm worried about the family."

"I know. This'll be what I need, you know? To get out there, get the big companies to recognize me. Get in on some important research." The last dish passed through her hands and she yawned—the kids were watching a movie with their grandmother and Abigail was…somewhere, probably in her room. "I'm going to go to bed. Jet lag and all."

"Alright." Matthew kissed the top of her head, pulling her into a hug. "Just… take it easy. Okay?"

"I'll try and get some off time, but it's iffy at best."

"That's fine. Goodnight."

The rest of her break passed quickly. Too quickly, and then she was back at the airport, at her flat long enough to change into more travel clothes and eat before she got back on a plane to Argentina—her clothing for her stay had already been sent ahead. She met Jonathan at the airport—he looked lost and a bit hungover, but his face brightened slightly when she stepped through the gates. "Hi Caroline."

"Hi Jon." They hugged for a minute, Jon squeezing perhaps a bit tighter than necessary. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired." He smiled sadly but gestured to the terminal behind them. "Shall we?"

The eleven hour flight was uneventful—Caroline and Jon sat in the business class, Jon staring out the window and chewing a piece of gum while Caroline read, finished her book and started on the next one, all but ignoring the in-flight movie. When they landed it was already late—they ate dinner in exhausted silence before retiring to their adjacent but separate hotel rooms, already dreading the three-and-a-half hour flight to Ushuaia that they had scheduled the next morning.

The time difference took a toll, leaving Caroline and Jon to fumble with their coffee and breakfast before they headed back to the airport. The flight to Ushuaia seemed to drag on forever but finally the plane touched down and the two were able to collect themselves and their carry-on bags and board the ship. Their luggage had been shipped ahead and awaited them on the boat, in addition to two separate sets of gear for the polar climate, necessary if they were to leave Antarctica in six months with all their extremities still attached. With a certain queasy vigor, Caroline popped a pill of Dramamine and bundled herself up on deck, watching the horizon obsessively.

The two were given fair warning before the boat made port at McMurdo Station and Jon assisted a very wobbly, ill-looking Caroline onto the ice. A person presumed to be a human being under the layers of clothing, slightly crusted over with ice, waited alongside a helicopter that rested uneasily on the ice. "Welcome to Antarctica," the man said, a heavy Russian accent betraying what nation had sent him for the project. "We fly to the base, yes?"

Thankfully it was a short flight. The helicopter touched down and, finally, they stepped into the research outpost.

"You two must be Dr. Johnson and Dr. Strahm." A very toothy man shook their hands vigorously when they stepped inside, ice crystals flaking off their jackets as they looked around through ski goggles at the frigid landscape. "Dr. Holt, at your service." Caroline perked up immediately at the name: the name that graced the bottom of her invitation to the base and signed the checks that had brought her down here. "You two must be tired. Long trip."

"You could say that," Jon muttered as he pulled off his ski goggles, sending his glasses askew. He looked and sounded exhausted—a feeling Caroline mirrored perfectly.

"Your bags have already been taken to your rooms," Dr. Holt said smoothly, before gesturing to a door to the left. "You'll leave your gear here. Don't want puddles all throughout the halls." He folded his hands behind his back and watched the two with a predatory gaze. "Please, relieve yourself of your gear. You each have a locker preassigned and an ID for the station inside."

"Oh." Caroline somehow managed to tromp into the gear room, finding her locker smack dab in the middle of the row—thankfully, Jon's was right next to hers. Peeling off the knitted cap that had destroyed any hope of her hair looking presentable for the director, she hung it from a hook in the surprisingly spacious interior and grimaced as she began the arduous process of getting the thick parka off. "They didn't tell us we needed to bring shoes."

"How positively delightful of them." Jon seemed to be in as sour of a mood as she was, shoving his parka into the locker with little hesitation. "Glad these are at least big enough to let the water drip off." He readjusted his shirt before starting on the thick, insulated pants. "Be bloody pissed if they expected us to cram that gear into a standard one."

"Yeah." Good thing her socks were wool, though she would be peeling them off as soon as she got to the room.

Without their gear it was too cold for their liking, and Holt seemed pleased. "Shame you forgot the shoes. I must assume you missed the email I sent you?"

"Must have." Jon's voice was icy and Caroline frowned slightly, giving Jon an elbow in the ribs when Dr. Holt turned away, waving for them to follow.

"Dr. Johnson—may I call you Caroline? You will be working in lab three. There's a folder containing papers detailing your duties on your desk, and likewise with you, Dr. Strahm. You're in lab five."

"Jonathan is fine," he said bitterly. His voice echoed down the stark hallways—they looked hastily thrown up, the rooms on each side "The original email said that we'd be working together."

"Ah, yes." Dr. Holt turned on his heel and faced the two, a wide smile back on his face. "Slight change of plans, lab three got a touch too crowded. Technically, you will—you're still assigned to her subjects, you'll just be working in separate labs." Stopping, he made a wide, sweeping gesture to a pair of doors on his left—roughly twenty feet apart, but obviously a connected unit. "Your rooms. Inside you'll find you've been supplied with the basics and on your desks there is a folder detailing both your duties and giving you a map of the facility." He shook Jon's hand and took Caroline's, surprising her with a kiss on the back of her hand. "Please, feel free to ask if you have any questions."

"I'll keep that in mind," Caroline said, snatching her hand back the moment it was released. Dr. Holt disappeared around the corner and Caroline curled her lip in disgust. "Fantastic."

Jon leaned against the wall and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, knuckles pushing his glasses up over his eyebrows. "Well, that's just what you needed, wasn't it?"

"I can ignore or avoid him," Caroline said with a scowl. She swiped the magnetic bar on her new ID and the door opened easily, showing her the dark interior—of course the floor would be concrete. Maybe she could get a rug shipped in. Clicking on the light she revealed an interior about as stark as the floor—a desk, cheap-looking and painted black, a thin binder full of papers resting on the surface in addition to a small electric desk lamp. Her bed rested against the far wall, barely more than a cot, currently no more than a stark mattress with a folded set of white sheets resting on top alongside a single pillow. A small end table with another lamp graced the foot of the bed, and a dresser for clothing lay beside that. Her luggage was lined up along the line of the bed, unopened. She hadn't had delusions of a comfortable, luxurious stay but this…

A mild cursing sounded from the wall she shared with Jon and she realized the walls were practically paper thin. It was the icing on the cake, really.

By the time she'd read through the binder, unpacked, and made up her bed with the quilt her mother had given her to take along it was time for dinner. She met Jon in the cafeteria, ate in near silence, and headed to bed early.

The next morning came too soon and came with her new assignment. The lab was cool, but not cold, and for good reason. "This is E-026," a mousy, brown-haired woman said, gesturing to a miserable looking Emperor Penguin. Large, irregular, circular patches of feathers were missing, the exposed skin raw and cracked. "Before you ask, no. It's not ringworm, or any other type of parasite or infection we've investigated so far."

Caroline snapped the gloves on and began her physical examination, the penguin letting out a hoarse croak but allowing her near it. "Have you taken any blood samples?"

"We've got a few, we were waiting for Dr. Strahm to arrive so he can run the tests. Here—" with that, the woman handed Caroline a manila folder off notes and a small, insulated box of test tubes, "Is everything we've collected so far. It'd be much appreciated if you could drop off the blood samples at the lab."

"Poor things must've been freezing to death," Caroline said with a sigh, lifting a wing and getting a nip from the penguin.

"Yeah, that's how we discovered the outbreak. Giant penguin kills, found the poor things dead in the ocean or on the shore."

"I think we should start with a topical cream, see the effects of that," she muttered. "I'll get a list of ingredients for us to try tomorrow."

Days turned to weeks which turned to months. Christmas was celebrated in the base with a small plastic tree and enough free time to skype family members at a scheduled time: Caroline waved hello to her niece and nephew and told them all about how exciting working in the Antarctic was, even though all her efforts to try and alleviate the suffering of E-026 (now nicknamed Diane) thus far were for naught. At the very least, Caroline and Jon had narrowed down the possible parasite to a species of amoeboid—how the creatures had managed to survive in the Antarctic, much less spread so much, was still a mystery.

By the time January had ended Caroline had become an expert at either deflecting or avoiding Dr. Holt, speaking to him only when discussing an experiment or in passing on such occasions where she was trapped and conversation couldn't be avoided. He seemed to pick up on her frosty demeanor, though, and soon Caroline found that the hungry glances, the conversations loaded with suggestion were gone, replaced with a friendly, if somewhat distant, interest in her work.

Jon, on the other hand, she spoke to more frequently—his proximity to her room compensated for the distance between their respective labs and they spent hours discussing the research, their experiences in Antarctica, their lives. Gradually, Jon began to smile more; he began to laugh at the offhand joke, to dive into his research with enthusiasm rather than letting it be a day-to-day monotony of work.

On the 14th of February, Caroline found herself bursting out of the lab after another late-night check on Diane, nearly humming with excitement. "Jon," she said, knocking feverishly on his door, "Jon, it worked, open the doo—"

The door swung open and Jon was immediately startled when she hugged him. "It worked! It worked, we thought we'd just alleviated the skin conditions but we have feather regrowth and—"

"That's fantastic!" Jon was beaming and he hugged her tight, a laugh of relief erupting from his throat. "It worked. I can't believe it."

"Neither can I!" She was babbling now, practically, thrumming with energy. "I'm so glad Susan let me take a look at her notes on E-013 because I needed that connection to try out the topical salicylic acid cream along with the antibiotics and we have no idea if we've cured it or just alleviated the symptoms but—"

He hugged her again and Caroline went quiet, a giggle of excitement escaping her throat. "Yeah. Sorry, I'm just—excited, is all."

"Don't be sorry, love. You've every reason to be excited." He looked tired, almost—was something wrong? She should've asked him that first. "Would you mind coming in for a minute? I need your help with something."

"Of course." She stepped inside his room, basically furnished the same as hers but for a few personal differences—instead of a quilt, a thickly knitted afghan, a picture of the sea instead of a picture of family. On his desk there was a stack of papers—from where she stood she read the title, the first paragraph. A divorce settlement.

"I've already read through it, but I need a witness," he said softly. "I—I got faxed it this morning."

"She wouldn't wait until you were back in the states?" That just seemed cruel.

"I don't really care either way. We could do it in person or we could be on other sides of the world—it's still over." With a sigh, he shook his head. "It had been for a while."

She watched him sign and signed her name as well, watching the ink dry on the tail of her 'n' in silence.

"It's strange, how easy that was," Jon said finally. "You'd think it'd be more difficult to destroy something like that. Instead all you have to do is sign your name."

For a moment—a long, quiet moment—he just watched her, letting the silence sink into their bones. Then, as Caroline opened her mouth to suggest that she should go, he darted forward and kissed her. It was soft, gentle even, but there was an underlying want, a need. Desire.

Caroline was taken by surprise, to say the least. Her hands acted of their own accord, one lacing through his hair and the other journeying to his waist, but her mind wasn't so cooperative. Wasn't this what she wanted?

The hand on his waist traveled up to his chest, gave him a gentle push away. Jon watched her again, those beautiful blues looking lost. "I—I'm sorry. I should've—"

"No, it's not what you think." Caroline crossed her arms, eyes on his shoes—searching for solace away from the look of hurt on his face. "I don't want to be a rebound girl, Jon. I—I care about you. And if you hadn't just signed your divorce settlement I'd still be kissing you. But if you're going to choose me, I want it to be because you want to." A pause and she swallowed—this wasn't fair, it wasn't supposed to hurt. "Not because you're lonely."

She and Jon stood in uncomfortable silence, but finally he nodded. "I'm sorry. That was—it's unfair to you."

"Just give yourself time to think. That's all I ask."

With a soft smile, he gave her a tight hug and nodded again. "I'll do that."

Three months later the two boarded an airplane in Buenos Aires, destined for the States. For the first time in years, though, she left the earbuds and book in her carry on as the plane turned away from the airport, finally leaping into the air—instead she focused on Jon's fingers, laced through hers, because as long as he was with her everything would be all right.

And it was.