CTU: A Final Outcome

 CTU: A Final Outcome

“Hello Jack.” I whispered from behind my friend. He turned to face me instantly.

“What are you doing here and how did you get in?” He demanded at once.

I put my hands away from my torso and tried to keep my voice neutral. “Jack, I'm here to tell you that I'll be here for you as I've tried to be for the last seven years. Also, with your permission, I'll be a bit more directly involved than I was that day at the power plant.”

“What exactly does that mean?” He asked, apparently sincerely curious.

“It means I could quote to you verbatim the first conversation-slash-confrontation you had with then senator Palmer. But that would prove how deeply I'm entrenched in this, not what my intentions are while I'm here. If I'm right it was about 18 months later you were supposed to fly a bomb over the desert, George Mason took your place at the last second. He told you making things right with your daughter and continuing to lead by example were a much better indication of bravery than going out in a blaze of glory. And I don't like my hair in my eyes, can I put it in a pony-tail?”

Jack nodded and I did so. I rested my hands at my sides but I didn't walk more than a step forward. I noticed a look in Jack's eyes I hadn't seen there before. “What's the matter?” I asked him.

“For a moment there you looked like my daughter.” Was the only answer I got.

“Light blonde hair, abrupt mannerisms, I guess I'm about the same age. I swear to you this is not subterfuge. I honestly thought we'd met at least once before, in one of the really bad days you've had over the past 7 years. Or however long it's been since you met President Palmer.”

Jack sat down on the corner of his mattress.“Okay so you've basically told me the story of my life, or I bet you would if I sat here to listen to it. But that doesn't explain what you're doing here now.”

“If I'm right, you're about to have another of those really bad days. I'm not sure if it's more for you or Bill Buchannen, but I want to be on hand when and if the only two sane people I know in this business are unreachable...or unable to have their say.”

“How do you know Bill?” He asked me, cocking an eyebrow.

“I made Ryan Chappelle a promise but he died before I could keep it. It was only a few weeks after you supposedly died that I kept it...to Bill Buchannen.” I looked at my watch. “Forgive me but I have got to get out of here. Even so I really would like your permission to come back. I want to be at CTU if I have to be, and right now you are the only person who has the right to tell me yes or no.”

“Just because we've met before?” Jack stated, bewildered.

“Because you have this crazy tendency to see what really is happening a few seconds before everyone else and I have observed people would usually have been a lot faster to respond correctly, if they'd listened to you in the first place.”

Jack swallowed hard. “Alright.” He answered. “Assuming I do end up at CTU today, you can be there.”

“Thank you, most sincerely.” I told him, bowing my head.

I vanished from his sight a few moments later.

It was about four hours later. For a very brief period of time Jack Bauer had been suspected a traitor. I knew that it was only a temporary reprieve for him. Jack had been called back to CTU from a hostage situation at the airport and apparently I'd beaten him getting back to the office. It was only after milling around for about 20 minutes that I realized how badly I'd jumped the gun. I'd seen enough to have misgivings about the new commander of CTU, and I knew well enough he would take the reins from Bill Buchannen. I just wanted to be as much of a dispassionate, neutral witness to what would happen as I was capable of being. Besides, I have enough people questioning my judgment, I don't want them to question my memory or accuracy either.

“How long have you been here?” I heard someone whisper to me. I turned to see Bill Buchannen staring hard at me. He wasn't much older than I remembered him, only a few more white or silvery hairs and physically a little thicker skin.

“Sir, no one here has any reason to be concerned about me. I just want...I want to see if I'm right and to have a chance to finish what I start. Normally I'd volunteer to snap my own neck and go out of commission for a while, to avoid getting too involved or in everybody's way. But please, I need to see this through.”

My friend simply nodded and walked away. The next time I saw Bill or Jack it was from a mild distance. I don't really know how much later it was. Time gets away from me after a while. I knew I should have phased out and come back later. That's what I usually did. But I also knew that I didn't want to forget what I'd already told them today, which I would have by the time I sauntered my way back here. For once a day would be a day and an hour would be an hour. I was certain this would be my final involvement in CTU, the Counter-Terrorist-Unit, and I wanted it to be genuine.

“Bill can I ask you something?” Jack asked as he motioned his friend closer to the gray wall.

“Of course Jack, what's up?” I could tell they were both trying to whisper. It wasn't working.

“Do you know any one in their late 20's, somewhat dark blonde hair who acts like they don't even have the answers to their own questions?”

“Uh, yeah actually. She's been hanging around here since the hostage situation at the airport was resolved. And honestly, I assumed you knew her better than I did.”

“For all I know, I do. I mean she feels familiar to me, but I can't place the face. I need to verify that she knows as much as she thinks she does.”

“Jack, she volunteered to be interogated under my direct, exclusive supervision to fulfill a promise to my predecessor. I'm not going to question her honesty or her motives. I've seen the glazed over look in her eyes and sound in her voice while she's been here today. I don't know how badly I messed with her health, but for as long as she's willing to help, I say let her.”

“You won't get any argument from me.” Jack stated easily. He walked off alone.

Next thing I knew I was standing in front of Lynn McGill in holding. He was a pretty thick-framed man and a little taller than I was If it wasn't for the dark red hair, made even darker by sweat, I could have called him steel-faced. I wondered for a moment if he knew I was starring at him.

“What's so interesting?” He stated to me.

“I'm just thinking of a line from an old Robin-Hood moive.” I answered simply. “King Richard said he could have forgiven his brother and I quote 'if your treachary were only against me, not against my subjects', end quote. Why you assumed you knew more about how to get anything done than people who have been on the front lines as it were for so dang long, is beyond me. Why you thought you were the only one who could lead them properly and stop the bleeding...again beyond me. Actually both of those things are basically what a friend of mine would have called 'the logic of history'. Since when did any desk jockey accurately gauge a field situation. It isn't that you dismissed out of hand something they found and turned out to be reliable. That happens all the time. The delusion that being in a position of power means you have the courage and the perspective for that position, is a misconception that I have some familiarity with. I mean I've been around it enough times. Believe me the points will be reversed, hopefully both of them.”

“I was thinking this was merely stream of consciousness abuse, now I'm thinking you actually have a point to make.” Lynn stated pointedly, and he took a breath. “But I'm not sure what.”

“You have a decision to make about your own legacy. Or you will fairly shortly, if I'm right. I think you'll be able to do more good from here than you, personally would have done from Bill's office. If I'm right and you are faced with that choice, make the right one; be remembered for IT, not this other stuff.”

As I left holding I noticed another visitor. This one at least half a decade older than the last time I'd seen her. The years of both experience and regret were evident in her face. I assumed correctly it was Kim Bauer. Even if I hadn't seen her up close almost seven years ago, I saw in an instant why Jack had told me I looked like his daughter. Other than her hair was a much lighter blonde than mine, and much better kept, I didn't see as many physical distinctions as I'd assumed would be there.

“Why are you starring at me like that?” She asked me as she walked down the hall, toward the stairs to the conference room, and thus a little closer toward me. I found my answer in a moment.

“I'm not sure I can count on my memories, but they tell me I can trust you. And that has been a rare thing around here today, trust I mean.”

“You're no more an agent than I am.” She told me curtly.

“You were here though weren't you, as an agent? Salazar's and Saunders?”

“What of it?” She asked me in an even more clipped tone.

“I remember four very bad days that happened in this place.” I told her calmly. “But ever since what happened after the last one..I just needed to know that I could trust my memories if nothing else. I'm never conquered by them, but sometimes I... You have places to be.”

By now of course most people had noticed me flitting about. Only Chloe and Audrey had even asked about me. Audrey asked Bill, Chole asked me directly. Fortunately enough all hell broke loose right about then. The nerve gas that was the true cause of all the distress and distrust of the day had finally been released at the headquarters of the brave and the loyal. I made a mad dash to the conference room and pulled my head down, putting my hands over my neck as I had in a tornado warning. Everything went dark.

“Karen Hays.” I mentioned weakly as I walked through the door to Bill Buchannens' office. “I'm not going to make as much of a scene as I did last time I saw that face, or when...Lynn made this exact mistake.”

“And why not, exactly?” Miles Pressman asked me bluntly.

“For one, I follow the lead of the people I trust. Jack is in the field and won't learn of this nonsense for a while. Unlike earlier today Bill Buchannen seems to be following your lead fairly willingly. Far more to the point however, I trust you will have ample time to see far more clearly than you do right now. I mean to see this place, its people and the situation in this city far more clearly. And along with that, to see who you will need to trust or rely on for both a swift and accurate conclusion.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Bill mentioned quietly.

“Sir, in one sense of the word, you do; that's my point. I have more confidence in you and Jack than in anyone who steps into this office and five minutes later assumes they know the ropes. That said...”

“What is it?” Bill Buchannen asked me in a voice more gentle than any I'd heard that day.

“I have what might be an extremely odd request. You and Jack are the only ones here who would listen to me, like who ever have done. And as I said, Jack's in the field. If you're leaving as well, even for a couple of hours, I'd like to come with you.”

“Why would you do that?” Bill and Karen asked me at once.

“I think I've explained why pretty thoroughly if anyone was listening. Besides, it'll be better filling in the blanks when I'm as lucid as I am.”

“On one condition.” My friend stated. I nodded. “Stop calling me 'sir'; my name is Bill.” I smiled as broadly as I could, and nodded deeply. “Then come on.” He motioned me down the stairs and out the doors. I was respectfully silent until we were outside the building. Once we'd gotten into his car and he was driving us to his home, I decided to offer an explanation.

“I'm used to flitting in and out of a place, only staying for a few minutes, even at CTU. I've been on the scene today since before President Palmer was shot. Which means snapping my neck to give myself some peace might be inevitable. Until that happens, if there is anything I can do to help, anything I can say to fill in the blanks, I'll do it. It'll be my last hurrah and my magnum opus all in one.”
“Why do you even do this?” Bill asked me in a somewhat weak voice.

“I think I should answer a far more specific question, which I think is closer to your intent. If I don't repeatedly go over a memory while it's fresh in my thoughts, it bleeds and drains into 'the past'. My personal history is for the most part not worth remembering. It's the details away from home, like the days I remember here in LA, that keep me going. I'm not saying I can keep them separate and saved. Even most details of what I told Jack this morning are already fading. But I know I was there. I'm pretty sure Jack and I had met before, years ago but that doesn't matter. I am being given a chance to be a stronger part of this than I ever could have before.” All the sudden a light bulb lit in my mind. I turned and all but growled. “For God's sake I volunteered that night. I was keeping a promise. I'm not holding it over you, why should you hold it over yourself?!”

“I can't help thinking I did more damage to your mind or your brain than to your body.”

“Whatever my doctors think is wrong, my mind split into pieces long ago. Because of that the drugs had similar but not typical effects on me; my brain chemistry is already abnormal. That expereince 18 months ago solidified my adventures as fact and opened my mind to how mentally ill I already was. I'm not dying any faster now than before. If I ever do go non-compos mentos, it'll be because I've been willing myself to live beyond my time, until the time came I was willing to die. Again, since way longer ago. Let yourself breathe.”

I decided I'd let the rest of the day play out as it had before. I remember one final conversation I'd had at CTU, when Miles Pressman betrayed his direct superior to throw in with the president. My message to him was simple. “That just means you'll fall right along with him.” I can remember even Jack was confused at my stubborn belief that they could still pull this off. I know for a fact that they did. Not remembering anything else about that conversation, which would happen a few hours later and was a trip I took months ago, I decided to let things remain as they had been. I didn't want to assume I knew any better now than I did back then. But I was wrong, at least about one thing. That wasn't my final foray into the business of Jack Bauer and CTU. The next time I saw Jack's face was over 18 months later for them. The only thing is that adventure, from my perspective, began much earlier...and not in the United States.

A BAU Beginning

 I wrote this more than 7 years ago; haven't looked at it since until today. Sarah is an auto-biographical character and this was the most honest I had ever been in my writing at the time.

“Hello Sarah, this is Aaron Hotchner. It's been a long time since Compass Coffee. Now I'm the one who can't talk to anyone on my team. I'm hoping I can talk to you. Can we arrange some place to meet?”

I read these words on my e-mail around 9 at night. It's a good thing I check my e-mail three times a day. I wasn't sure what could have happened if I didn't find it in time. I wasn't even sure how long it had been since I met the man. I was not about to let go of a chance to get to know any of them better. So I replied.

“I thought it was time to renew connections. If you can come over tonight or tomorrow, I live at the Dahlia Apartments on Georgia Ave, apartment #14. We can talk perfectly at peace. Well, for my part anyway. Our phone number is 614-203-9877. Call if this works...just to let me know when you're coming.”

Thirty minutes later I heard that phone ring. It was Hotchner saying he was almost here. His voice was tired. I assumed it was as much to do with what he wanted to talk about as whatever case he had just come home from. When he knocked on the door, I walked up and opened it. I was right, he did look tired.

“Come on in.” I told him as I pulled the door open wider. He walked in and immediately sat at the dining room table. “I have some coffee made, I always keep coffee around. I hope you're alright with either milk or hazelnut flavoring though...” I stopped and stared at him. “I'm not a sycophant or whatever the word is. I just don't have guests very often.”

“I can understand that.” Hotchner replied, smiling weakly. “I'll have some hazelnut coffee, sure.”

I pulled two dark green mugs out of the cupboard and brought them full of coffee, to the table. Hotchner sighed. “I suppose it's me to say what's going on in my life, that has me so completely distressed?”

“I suppose so.” I answered softly. “I really don't know how to address you, so I'll call you Hotch...”

“Why don't you know how to address me?” Hotchner asked blindly.

“I don't remember addressing you by name. Normally I would simply say 'sir' because you're in a position of authority. But that's problematic because you are not my superior.”

“Why not just call me 'Aaron'?”

“Because I don't think anyone has ever called you that. And I don't like assuming familiarity.”

“Alright, 'Hotch' works I guess. Why do you think I'm here?”

“Best guess, an unsolved case is haunting you and it turned really personal.” He glared at me. “I know, I answered that too flippantly. Last time I saw any of you, I was about to spend 5-7 weeks in NYC with my mom. The days blur together for me after a while so I really don't know how long it's been; how much of your cases and lives I've missed out on. What I'm trying to say is can we put aside profiling each-other and lay as many of our cards on the table as we can?”

“Easily Sarah.” Hotchner replied. “And you were right. One unsolved case has come back to haunt me. I won't give you details on the killer Foyet or how he came to my attention. But I'm an obsession of his now. Haley and Jack are in, basically witness protection, so he can't hurt them. But that leaves me even more isolated than I already was.”

“You can't live your life in the present moment always dreading the outcome of the future.” I told him plainly. “I know this better than most. No matter how it ends, the best victory or defeat comes in how you live your life til that day.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean living through hell is a choice until it comes. I've gone from not caring about my day to day life because visions of fanciful futures were in my head, to not living any sort of life worth talking about because I knew the dark future that was coming. Eventually I realized that even if I was right, and all hell was going to break loose, I had no reason to live so self-contained and defeated before that defeat actually arrived. Now maybe I'm way off base, but it strikes me you could learn similar wisdom.”

“No, once again you're spot on. But it's harder than you might think to follow that advice.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Did you used to feel as alone at the BAU as you do now?”

“Why do you ask me that?”

“Being in a position of both strength and authority, you might feel inclined to seize and cling to that perception now that the other...I'm sorry, I don't mean to be sounding like a shrink.”

He stared at me for thirty seconds. “You stopped yourself from casually referring to my family. Why?”

“Maybe my perception is colored from my own experiences but it strikes me you have another family. The original 'blood is thicker than water'.” I told him calmly. He stared at me. “That saying didn't originally mean 'family is more than friend'. It was 'the blood of battle is thicker than the water of the womb'. After the civil war, soldiers on both sides found that they had little in common with their families who expected them to get over the battle return to normal life, as if literally nothing had happened. They found friendship and a sense of family with other soldiers...even those who had been on opposite sides.”

“What is it that you're trying to tell me?” Hotchner asked bluntly.

“I'm trying to say you have a family here and now: your team. But don't let go of Haley and Jack. No matter how this thing with Foyet ends, when it's gone, don't be alone. And, perhaps in conflict with my use of the saying, don't be a solider who can't come home to civilian life.”

“Alright, that makes sense I guess. But why would your experiences cloud your judgment?”

It took a minute for me to answer that. “Because when I was younger I retreated into my own mind to find friends who understood me. My family life was not worth talking about and the few friends I had at school knew nothing about it. In fact with very few exceptions no one ever asked and no one was a close enough friend that I would confide in them. When things in my life got better, when I was finally able to live with my dad and not my mom, the friends in my head were no longer healthy. Actually they probably hadn't been for a long time. I mean they were no longer welcome and no longer quiet. But their presence was the world I knew and it was hard to break out of something that had felt familiar for so long. When I sought real people to be friends, who I couldn't predict and couldn't control, which were really good things by the way and I knew it, I found I didn't have the social skills needed to make new friendships. I was even more out of place and awkward as an adult than I had been as a youth. It took meeting Spencer that day on Kansas Avenue to show me I had people who could understand me, not something I'd considered before. Or better, who could accept me without needing to understand.”

“How come you're so knowledgeable?” Hotchner asked me shortly.

“I thought I just answered that.” I told him casually.

“Alright let me rephrase that; why do you care so much?”

“Because Spencer brought me out of a very dark pit and you seem to be in one also. Whatever other diagnosis or label might fit me, I am not autistic. I have too much empathy for people. Enough that some people thought I was as empathic as counselor Troi on Star Trek. My specific word choice and slightly literal interpretations are because of conditioning, how I grew up. It's a learned behavior not a genetic or mental flaw. I really didn't mean for this to be a counseling session on either of our parts and I'm sorry.”

“No it's, alright.” He told me in a slightly sad voice. “But I have another question for you, unrelated to anything we've said yet.”

“Then please ask it.”

“Why did you say I could come by if I came tonight or tomorrow? Why not meet halfway?”

I couldn't help smiling at that remark. I hoped it was taken as a kind smile not a laugh at irony or such. “I still live with my dad, even though he and I lead separate lives. He's actually off visiting a friend right now. If you came today or tomorrow, I wouldn't have to ask his permission. Besides which, I assumed you'd not want anyone, either my dad or strangers around for this. I was right there wasn't I?”

“Don't take this wrong,” Hotchner began slowly. “but why am I getting the feeling your knowledge of us is greater than you're indicating?”

“I thought we had stopped profiling each-other.” I told him in as casual a voice as I could. “And it's understanding not knowledge. I don't know very much about any of you. But I think I understand you well enough, even from the little contact we've had. I'm not claiming any of this is on point and I don't know until you respond how close I am. I understood Spencer after only meeting him twice and he understood me, not through knowledge or experience but from having similar perspectives and emotions. Also, you have my cell phone number now, so that should make communication and connection a lot easier. And before you ask, my mom doesn't have good internet connection and while I was there I didn't want a reminder of this life. There really is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery a time when we were happy.”

“That was meant to explain why you've fallen off the map the last few months.” Hotchner mused.

“Yeah, that.” I answered simply. “And that the proverbial rabbit hole of my life is a lot deeper than even Spencer believes. I didn't realize how oppressive it was living under my mom until I moved here and lived with my dad. I was old enough to drink and she still didn't want me making any decisions on my own, even about my own anti-psychotics. Or something as simple as drinking coffee with artificial hazelnut sweetener at a coffee and bagel place. She made a spectacle in front of our friends about how 'disappointed' she was that I would make that choice. Apparently while she couldn't be expected to read my mind and see what I'm thinking, she could also claim to know what I meant by what I said, to justify her reactions to my words. SHE is why I have such specific word choice and virtually no inflection in my tone. I went back for a visit however long ago it was and nothing had changed, except I had a clean slate for measuring what was, or rather should be considered normal. Because of which I could no longer take everything in stride.”

“I honestly don't know what to say.” Hotchner told me.

“Like I said, I really didn't plan on this being a counseling session. Or I wanted it to be me listening to you if it became one. If you trust me on nothing else I say from this day onward, trust me on that.”

“You make it sound like you're planning on disappearing again?”

“I'm not planning on it. But barring any of you calling me in for some unknowable reason...I don't think there's any reason to keep going on like this.”

“Sarah, how long has it been since you've spoken to anyone about...what you just told me.”

I had to give him the point for both perception and gentleness. Given everything I'd asked him to be a part of, even by admitting this stuff. “I never told anyone in NYC about it. I've told other members of my family, but they either don't believe me, or don't know how deep the rabbit hole goes. As I wrote in my poetry 'if they believe that all is well, then they at least are free'. So I never pressed the issue. I've told a couple of people hereabouts, professionals you know? But there's never enough time to explain anything I say, so I never go deep enough to fix or heal anything, or for my thinking, to make it worth going down this lane at all.”

“I'm sorry but I have to ask...If it's as bad as you say...if it was as bad as you say...”

“I'll never officially say anything again.” I told him shortly. “There's nothing anyone round here could do about it, and I would rather forget about it all over again. I mean the biggest concern my counselor has is whether I'll ever be able to forgive my mom. But that's the freaking easy part. Not just because I was raised a Christian. For a victim to forgive an offender is not done based on whether the offender deserves it, or even desires it. Hell will freeze over before my mom will stop talking as if this is ancient history and I need to live in the present and/or move on. It's done because the victim needs it. I can't forget about it a physical sense. Believe me I've tried. I just re-fuse to let it dictate my life anymore.”

“Are you saying if we dwell in the past there will be no future?” Hotchner quipped.

“I'm saying that being a schizophrenic or whatever is actually wrong with me isn't what needs to be corrected or fixed in my life. I've learned to live both with and under it for the most part. The best analogy I can think of is being a homo-sexual a few decades ago. People tried to either suppress it or correct it. I don't see anything wrong with it in the first place. I use what I learned while being so introspective and secluded to show empathy, build bridges of communication and see things others either wouldn't notice or would have disregarded. My greatest strength is that I don't rush into things and I always try to consider others before myself. And for whatever reason, I owe that to my mom and my invisible visitors.”

“You've helped more than you know. Thank you, for trusting me with all this.”

“Aaron, thank you for being patient with me. And you're right. The last time I spoke to anyone about this, I hadn't remembered most of it. Please, don't tell anyone else the more personal parts of what I've said. I'd rather tell them myself if it ever comes to that.”

“Easily Sarah. I better be getting home.” He drank the mug of coffee in one pull and stood up. “I'll show myself out. Good night, but hopefully not goodbye.”

“I hope not as well.” I told him cordially.

“You have a really calming way of disarming a person.” Aaron Hotchner told me with a soft smile. “Or maybe the other way around.”

I heard the door close behind him and went to the kitchen and took my evening medicine. It was the weirdest feeling in the world, not knowing what I even wanted to do next.

Nikita of OLD

  Oliver Queen and Quentin Lance meet Malcolm Merlyn of Earth 2 and call on Sasha for help

The first few lines are literally missing. I need to recreate them. Basically Malcolm Merlyn shows up out of nowhere with an increasingly freaked out look on his face and Quentin suggests they at least try to call Sasha. 12 seconds later Sasha appears; takes one look at Malcolm and says a couple of league of assassins phrases THIS man doesn't recognize. And the Malcolm Merlyn we know, would.

“Tahir al Safir. It means 'the canary'. Whatever the translation of 'The Magician', he would not recognize it. And I'm inferring Malcolm that you have not heard of Captain Quentin Lance?”

“Not by that salutation no.” Malcolm very awkwardly admitted.

“So I take it he is from the same Earth as..” Quentin began. I did not let him finish.

“He could catch a ride home with ol' Harry Wells if he wanted. Speaking of which, I should be getting you home pretty soon. And our Star labs is the best way to do that.”

“Excuse me, 'our' star labs?” Malcolm mused.

“Parallel Planet development. Alternate versions of Earth that occupy the same place in space but they each vibrate at a different frequency so they can't see one another. Each earth separated from the other by essentially a veil of perception. Lots of people have doubles as I would call them, the word most people use is dopplegangers: Individuals who ARE the same people but lived different personal lives. And sometimes don't even have the same surname.”

“Simultaneous realities in parallel places.” Oliver repeated. “Barry Allen is the Flash here and a good friend of mine. His team deal with parallel Earths all the damn time. STAR Labs is their home base. Sasha do I assume correctly you can, essentially breach him over there?”

“That's the thing, I can only travel to places I've seen with my own two eyes. If I took him with me, I could only go to Central City...and he'd be pretty much lost. But what I can do is take him to our star labs and Cisco could breach him there.” I winced. “Vibe, not Reverb, TRUST me.”

“Good to know.” Malcolm said with a light touch of sardonic humor.

“I take it on Earth 2...” Oliver prompted.

“Caitlin was a meta-human baddie who proudly called herself Killer-Frost. 'Reverb' as he called himself was her...was a dark-side of the Meta-Force version of the man we know.”

“Earth 2 must pretty much suck.” Quentin said wholeheartedly.

“It did for a long time.” Malcolm agreed. “Things are better now. And I'm getting the impression that is somewhat due to the heroes of your Earth.”

“Harry Wells came here to help US fight Zoom. Flash and Friends, including Wells, took the fight to him. But seriously I'm using a compensator here that does NOT last long. We really need to get you home.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Oliver stated with a kind of forceful kindness.

“It means I have more in common with the Legends than I did the last time you saw me.” I said shortly. “Oliver, I never got to say congratulations. I am both elated and ecstatic for you. I'm pretty sure, as far as what's happening right now I'd just say 'second that' to literally everything Quentin is trying to tell you, so I won't bother trying to give you my perspective, okay?”

“Listen I...What's THAT look on your face.” Oliver queried.

“Next chance you get ask a true science nerd that might be considered to have an iron skeleton what is needed to 'ret-con' someone. Malcolm will need such a device.”

“Who's a bigger science nerd than flash and friends?” Quentin joked.

“I take it you don't mean that speedster Barry was chasing around last year?”

“Savitar, no. By the way did you hear the story on that one? Okay getting back on track, I meant Ray Palmer. But Cisco's enough of a Whovian he might get the reference. It's just Rip had a very useful little...Barry Allen is a speedster. He and his friends are all scientists in various fields. Cisco is the most nerdy, unconventional of the group. He's as familiar with popular and antiquated science-fiction serials as he is anything to do with meta-humans and techno-mechanical things.”

“Okay then yeah...not Reverb.”

“He's dead, by the way Malcolm. Doctor Wells from your Earth is on ours now. We call him 'Harry' to keep...to distance him emotionally from the serial killer who has his face.” She looked around herself for a moment. “You know Malcolm is looking at two ghosts to your one right now?”

Oliver walked up to Malcolm. “The Malcolm Merlyn we knew is gone. For most of my life I hated-slash-didn't trust him. I've something I need to say, for my own sake. Can I say it to you?”

“I suppose so Oliver.”

“I wish we'd had more time to get to know each-other. You always did what you thought was right. You died, saving your daughter...and my sister. If it had come to it, I'm sure you have done the same on your Earth. Here, you were a member of the League of Assassins. That's what Sasha was referring to earlier. But most of it was a matter of perspective. And in the end, you were a good man.”

“We must have had as complicated a relationship on your earth as I would to my Oliver Queen.” Malcolm said in an awed voice. “Though presumably for a very different reason.”

“Can't argue with that...with any of it.” Quentin intoned. It was a weird feeling. If he hadn't joined the league of assassins, the Malcolm Merlyn they knew would have never been considered an enemy. And it would have been easier to see that Malcolm was always a father first, before any other consideration. A stranger, indelible reality, a duality of purpose and identity he know felt for the Earth-2 version of his own daughter. And he he was talking to a very real, very equal version of Malcolm Merlyn that had never taken that dark path. “Thea was always as dear to you as my daughter is to...”

“Stop it alright? Just STOP!” Merlyn cried out. “I don't want to hear all these personal details of my alternate life okay!”

“That sounds like a pretty good piece of advice Malcolm.” Sasha said kindly, but firmly. “And I know Oliver agrees with you. But regardless of how this happened or what would happen if you stayed, I cannot let you hang around here, I have to get you home.” She looked around the room, her eyes taking special note of the look on Oliver's face and the weight of time on Quentin's. “For reference and to confirm something I should know by now...is Harry the resident Wells for team Flash this year?”

Oliver Queen smiled faintly. “Genius with the glasses, lack of social skills but true-hearted and brave? Won't shut up without help, at least on science-y stuff and thinks aloud in circles? Yeah he's around...Why?”

“It means the universes timing kind of sucks, but is perfect at the same time. I can get Malcolm home from the breach room, without explaining this all over again to Flash and friends.”

“Wouldn't they be just as pleased to see you as we are?”

“They never got to know me...I've only been inside STAR labs once in my life before now.”

Five seconds later Quentin Lance and Oliver Queen were alone in the bunker.

“Uh not to tempt fate or anything but what was she referring to?”

“A year ago there was a team-up with Barry's team and mine, even the legends...that's what Ray and Sarah and company call themselves. I saw her, from a distance, talking with...someone who might well have been another version of Harrison Wells. We barely spoke...And it didn't look like they knew who she was. I guess that's because she hadn't been around before. And she was there for everyone else.”

“You mean everyone else on the team-up?”

“I mean everyone except Barry and me. Helping them, by just being there. It's...kind of her thing.” Oliver smiled faintly and forcibly cheered himself up. “Not that you need me to tell you that. Sasha told me once she was here to help not by fighting but just by being there for a friend. She said you were better at figuring that out than me.”

“I was better at listening. And if I'm not mistaken..”

“..It's time I talked with someone else, yeah I know.”

Oliver stood up to leave, ready to face the City Council. Quentin Lance looked sadly, almost longingly at the place enigmatic his friend had stood, and turned to follow his surrogate son to face the music.

Sursis Limada

Sursis Limada. The meaning of those words will become clear as you read. It's literally written into the story.

As he looked out to the approaching army, Balian wasn't sure how to feel. It was not his responsibility to protect Kerak, at least he owed the lord of that keep no duty. Reynald had been in part responsible for angering the Saracens enough to attack the city in the first place. But before coming to the holy land Balian had been given a charge to be both fearless and just and to protect the people of this kingdom. It had been his father's dying wish and did not make allowances for who to save or defend. Besides, there were too many people fleeing into the city that would be run over by cavalry if he did not at least hold the enemy off. Almaric, his father's best man trotted to be right beside Balian.

“We cannot attack that, and live.” He observed placidly.

“True.” Balian agreed softly. “But there are too many out here who will die if we don't.”

“I'm with you Milord. On both counts.”

“That may be the last decision you ever make.” He answered with a small smile.

“We've a saying in these parts that a good death is its own reward. I want to test that theory.”

“...Then let's get this over with.”...In the minutes that followed Balian led a straight line charge against the enemy host. Both lines broke apart to attack either side of the other army. It was a fight almost completely on horseback for Balian until a spear went through the neck of his charge. He leapt off just before the beast crashed to the ground. Somehow he'd managed to keep a tight hold on his sword and sliced the throat of the nearest dark-clad solider. He heard a cry, a challenge of some sort from his left and turned to face his attacker. He swung Godfrey's sword with all his might. For the second time since coming to the holy land he found himself with a challenging fighter. Not only had this man given defiance and singled him for combat, he seemed just as skilled as the Saracen Balian had fought just after the shipwreck. He didn't have time to lose himself in his memories however. Twisting his wrist he lifted his sword to the height of his opponents head. In one stroke he sliced the soldier's face.

Rather, he cut the mans cheek. The wound could not have been serious but the solider staggered back as though something had knocked the breath out of his lungs. Balian knocked the sword out of his opponents hand. In a few moments his own blade was at the Saracen's heart.

“Sursis” The man stated plainly.

“Give me a reason.” Balian said testily. At that moment he heard a cry from another Saracen solider. The man's eyes were almost frenzied. “Lays hu” The first warrior barked. Balian could not understand what the command had been, but the cavalry soldier immediately turned to fight another opponent. For a moment everything seemed silent around Balian, including the man in front of him.

The man made a few statements in Arabic, words that spread through his army like flames. Balian reckoned the instructions had been similar to the 'cease fire' order he'd given his own troops. When both messages had been carried out, Balian stood and faced the other officer directly.

“Who, which side has even won this day?” Balian inquired.

“This day is not over yet. I am certain the armies of Jerusalem and of my lord Saladin (Sa-la-ho-deen) are on their way. But this field is yours. I have no reluctance about that.”

“I honestly don't...” Balian began. His words died in his throat when the man put his arms straight out in front of him, palms facing upward. Recognition and near-joy washed over Balian's heart. He knew this man. Why he had failed to see it before didn't seem to matter, compared to meeting up with him again.

Almost as soon as he'd arrived in the desert, he'd been 'greeted' by a Saracen lord and his attendant. The lord had challenged him for possession of the horse he'd rescued from his shipwreck. Initially the man had charged Balian while remaining on his horse. On foot he'd barely stood a chance. It wasn't long into the 'skirmish' Balian declared himself the Baron of Ibelin and demanded a fair fight. After the claim was translated by his attendant, the lord obliged. A fair fight was not only deserved, it was expected. Balian won the skirmish easily. The blood from the final wound had gotten all over the servant's horse. An instant later the man was flat on his back in the sand. Walking up the stranger Balian noticed he had a young, handsome face, and strangely showed no sign of distress. He reached his hands out, with his palms up.

“I understand.” Balian responded. “It's not needful, but I understand. Get up.”

The stranger did so. It was only after he found a pack of dates and seeds, shoving several handfuls into his mouth, that he spoke again. “You have taken it very well I have killed your master.” The man didn't answer verbally, only gave him a thoroughly perplexed look. “Why are you not upset?” Balian clarified.

“We are taught nothing happens to those who believe unless Allah has made it so. I have no reason to regret my master is now in paradise. Although I could wish he had not left so suddenly.”

“I believe I understand. We can't stay out here. Take me to Jerusalem? I don't know the way.”

“I will bring you.” The man said, easily.

“How long though? I mean the journey, how far are we away from Jerusalem?”

“We should be there by nightfall.” Came the instant, soft reply.

The assertion was perfect. It was almost dusk when they trotted their horses close to the walls of the Holy City. Balian had kept side by side with his companion riding this far, but pulled himself just barely ahead of the stranger as they drew close. It was a gesture the man apparently understood as he slowed his steed and lowered his head slightly. A palm tree stood not far from the David Gate. It was a good place to rest. Balian drank a gulp of water and offered it to the stranger; an offer the man politely declined. Balian had remounted his horse at trotted several paces to the gate before he realized he was traveling alone.

“What is the matter?” Balian asked, looking back with a concerned expression.

“If it's all-right, I'll put a cloak around my face.” Came the cryptic reply.

“That's fine. But that's not what I mean.” Balian said shortly.

“Please, let it wait until we are safe, and a good way inside.”

“...All-right.”

The city of children and soldiers that was Jerusalem sprawled out before them. After passing some pottery stalls and more than a few fruit and herb sellers, Balian stopped in front of a water trough. The stranger dismount and patted the neck of the steed he'd been riding. After rummaging around in his sack he found a carrot stub to offer the beast.

“...Either you hide your feelings well or your people are not as passionate as we are led to believe.” Balian said suddenly. The stranger looked ready to smile. “I meant to explain my last question. I don't know much about life here but it IS strange to me...I don't even know your name?”

“I am called 'Nassir'...It means 'champion' or 'supporter'. What do you intend to do with me?”

“I can't ask you to follow me.” Balian replied thoughtlessly. “I go to the mound at Gethsemane. I am Godfrey's son, the baron of Ibelin, yet I'm a stranger here. I don't know what following me would mean for you. Will you be all-right on your own?”

The shock on Nassir's face was considerable. “I...yes. Your style makes sense now. Your fighting style I mean. It was unlike anything taught here. That last move in particular. I admit, I do not understand why...” His words failed him completely.

“Why I refuse to take you with me against your will as a slave, a prisoner or some such mess? In the village I'm from...I was not a slave but I had no other status that meant anything. I will not use a title I'm not sure I earned to make anyone feel inferior. Go in peace...What was the name of the man I killed?”

“His name was Mummad-al-Fais.” Nassir answered easily, mounting his own horse, and smiling.

“Please believe me...I hope he is in paradise now.” Balian offered simply.

“Thank you for your kindness.” The man answered. He raised his hand, palm up, and rode away.

“This explains a lot.” Balian said simply. It was not a joke, though Nassir smiled softly.

Almaric walked up and stood aside Balian. “I don't mean to tempt providence but, what has happened?”

“More to the point, what happens now?” Balian asked of Nassir. The man did not verbally respond. He gazed at Balian with intense, almost piercing eyes. “...I guess we wait and find out.” Balian suggested.

Saladin and King Baldwin of Jerusalem met in the middle of the field. They stood on their horses, not too far away at Balian's left. When the parley broke, Saladin rode his horse to greet Nassir.

The sultan dismounted quickly and walked straight up to his subordinate. Nassir placed his hand across his chest, with his fingers close to his shoulder and made a bow.

“One would expect greater losses from a battle such as this.” Saladin said in Arabic.

“I owe my freedom if not my life to this man.” Nassir replied. “I have for some time. Once I realized the commander I was fighting here, was the man who'd set me free...” He paused his words a moment, twisted his wrist and pointed to the cut on his cheek. “I do not see how I could have done otherwise.”

“Who is this man?” Saladin inquired, clearly interested.

“Balian of Ibelin, the son of Godfrey, and his heir.”

Saladin bowed his head a moment, sorrow for Godfrey's passing. “I did not know he had a son.”

“When I had Mummad al-Fais challenge who I thought was nothing but a lost traveler, the fight was less than fair until the stranger declared himself a lord. Mummad al-Fais lost his life in the skirmish. I was asked to take the lord to Jerusalem, once there, HE,” Nassir indicated Balian with his hand and with his eyes. “asked me to go my own way in peace. I can only assume Godfrey has passed his sense of justice and honor on to his children. And I must do the same.”

There was enough power in the last few words that, though he could not understand them, Balian lifted his head and stared with wonder at Nassir. 'I better ask him about that later...If I get the chance.” He thought.

“There will be no battle today. And I hope not in our lifetime. Will you let me take the others back?”

“If you refer to Nassir's soldiers, I will not keep them from you. I only hope God himself will make some great good come from this day. Beyond not leading us into pointless war.”

Saladin glanced at his friend before looking at Balian. “That is a thought we all share. Peace be upon you.” The Saracen king spoke a phrase in Arabic, remounted his horse and rode away.

Balian stared at Nassir, who stood motionless beside him. “Should you not follow him?”

Nassir stared at him with wide eyes. “If I have any sense of faith and honor, no!” Balian's jaw dropped. “You must see I offered a truce because I owed you my freedom. The hope and expectation I have is not just from that mercy. It is the work and will of our kings and leaders that the peace we have maintained these six years remains, and that is because of you. It is the same sense of justice and honor you showed when we first met. If you'll have me, I'll not leave your side.”

Balian seemed torn between embarrassment and elation. “What is the Arabic word for 'friend'?” He asked plainly. Nassir didn't seem to understand the question. “I do want you by my side. But only if you are truly by my side, not walking behind me. Do you understand?” Nassir dropped his head and raised it again. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable. It's just..Back home I was always told 'God moves in mysterious ways'. It seemed like just another way to tell us we had no idea what God was like or what he would have us do. I think I understand better now. He brought us together that day. No matter how it came about, He wanted us to meet, so something could change. You asked for a reprieve by that word instead of 'grace' or 'mercy'. I never had the chance to tell you what I sought here in the Holy Land. I won't search so hard after today but...if there is anything more...If our ideas of God and of other people our anything alike...”

Nassir cupped his hand over his own mouth. And when he'd pulled it back he was smiling broadly. “I would be a fool to think our meeting again and as equals was anything but the will of Allah. I never knew others were taught this. Our word for friend is 'Sajiq'. Since you seem to prefer it, I'll try to be more a friend than a servant. I would prefer it also. I would be happy if I could follow you, no matter what that meant.” He caught his breath and looked around, almost nervously. “I realize how absurd that must have sounded. But I've searched for a new way to live all of my life; I didn't care the hardship or strangeness. And I would be hard-pressed to find a MORE different life.”

I Will Stay

A story that needed to be distinguished - set apart- away from all others like it. And so I named after Nasir's express thought on the matter. For nowhere else does that thought and desire shine through so completely than in this version of the story.

I WILL STAY

“You asked its permission.” Balian said suddenly. Nassir looked up startled and, if possible, intrigued. “The only way we could make this journey is if your master's steed accepted you and you asked its...approval I guess, without trying to buy his acceptance.”

“Yes. I...must admit you surprise me.”

“I am the baron of Ibelin. But until Godfrey found me, before my father came to France looking for me I was a blacksmith in Niece. I know the behavior of horses.”

“I, should give them a little something.” Nassir prompted. Though he intended it as a question.

With Balian's nodded approval the stranger took a couple of broken carrot pieces from his satchel and handed one to each horse. He patted the steed's neck for a moment and then looked down, sadly. “Forgive the intrusion but are you...like Godfrey?”

“I'm not sure honestly. I only knew him for a short time before he passed on. Why do you ask?”

“Godfrey was one of the few Christian lords we respected for his conscience and principles, as much as for his skills as a warrior or the honor due his rank. Sala-hodeen himself would respect him as..” He looked almost frightened and stopped himself. “I am sorry. I know you must feel overawed as it is.”

“It's quite alright Nassir. I'm going to miss you.”

The shock on the other man's face was considerable. “Where am I going?” He said in a rushed voice.

“I have a new life to live. I am not certain  what to expect but I cannot ask you to be a part of it. You should go, be about your business...be with those you care for.”

“Forgive me but are you jesting with me?”

“No why would I...Why would anyone say that in a jest?”

“Why would you let me go?” Nassir responded instantly. Slowly he explained, unsure the mysterious stranger to these shores understood what was going on. “Sir, this is your prize of battle. I was the servant of the man you killed in fair combat. I am your prisoner...your SLAVE should you wish it.”

“Nassir, I understand the custom of position. But why do you offer this? Is it because of my rank, or simply that I won a fight against your old master, who happened to be a knight? How much is my rank and how much is that I won?"

'You truly must be a stranger here' was the look on Nassir's face as he explained hat it really was entirely in Balian's hands what happened to him, in part from their understanding of fate, chance destiny and the balance of the world. The turning of fortune's wheel. But also that Nassir himself was the servant of the man Balian had killed in fair combat. Balian had more than earned the right to decide his own fate. That Nassir's willingness to become his 'prisoner or slave' was a willing, if not entirely freely given offer; expected to be given Balian because of his rank. “That said I must ask: What do you intend to do with me?”

“I will ne-ver own another human being. And I refuse to make you pay the price for your master's choices. I was little better than a slave myself before Godfrey...before my father found me my life changed very much overnight. We left for the Holy land together but he did not survive the journey that brought me here. Regardless of how this came to be, I will not have you following after me because of who my father happened to be. This new life was thrust on me; I've done nothing to earn or prove my rank as a knight. I have done nothing to deserve the admiration I see in your eyes right now. Go in peace.”

I categorically refuse the allowance, I do not deserve it and I will not claim it. Nassir, until a week ago, I was not a man of rank, and have done absolutely nothing to deserve that honor. I will not use a title I have not earned to make any man follow after me. As far as your being my slave, I will never keep one nor suffer any to be kept if I can change it. This world, being a lord and having recognition is as foreign a world to me as the Holy Land and Syria itself. I do not deserve your admiration. Go in peace.

“I cannot Milord.” Nassir said slowly but firmly. “ALL is as God wills it; I truly believe that. I cannot see how the two of us could have met at all unless Allah wished it so, unless God himself brought us together. At any rate, I am not permitted to leave your side. I refuse to leave a stranger to Jerusalem alone in a sea of faces.” Nassir smiled thinly. “No matter what life will be like, it will be worth living.” he quipped, looking vaguely mystical. “Call me a servant or a protector if you want; it would not be far from the truth. But no matter what else my life is now, it is bound to yours and not out of compulsion, I assure you. Inshallah."

"God wills it?" Balian guessed.

"More like God wills it...so it is."

“I'm not going to dissuade you from this, am I?” Balian said with a soft smile. Nassir shook his head slowly. “Then so be it. But I will insist on one thing. Do not call me 'sir' or 'Milord' My name is Balian and that's what you at least should call me.”

“Very well....Balian.”

Written to be read aloud.

Balian had been met in the city streets by three of his father's men: Almaric, who seemed to have been one of Godfrey's most trusted soldiers. Lenard, a young man with red hair on his crown and above his lip, and a Spaniard who was called Ruiz, and said very little. Of course the first order of business had been to confirm Balian had indeed known Godfrey and carried his sword for a good reason. The second was sorting out why he traveled with a Saracen servant.

“Nassir asked to follow me and I accepted his help. There is nothing more to it than that, nor should there be.” Balian replied tersely.

“Nassir.” Lenard said with an ill-favored glance at the man. “What kind of Chevalier DeGuise actually chooses that name?”

“None.” the man answered simply. “My master, my old master called me that as a job description. And I answer to it easily, far more easily after yesterday because now I asked for the position.”

“What are you discussing?” Balian all but demanded. I am asking you Almaric more than the others.

Nassir raised his left hand in a 'if I may' gesture and the solider, Almaric nodded his assent. “The word NASSIR mean 'champion or supporter'. It made sense to me that Mummad al-Fais would take to calling me that: I was his closest companion when he had no other support with him. But three days ago I asked to be your guardian and chose to stand with you, no matter what. I do not foresee myself changing my mind, and unless I do, I have no reason to use a different name for myself.”

“Nassir, if any of your equals met you in the market place, what would they call you?”

“My name is less a choice than 'Nassir'. To be clear, my master did not replace one identity with another. He simply called me Nassir as a term of endearment. I was 'Imad' to people who knew me well. But please, if I have any say in the matter NASSIR is what I wish to be called. It always has been.”

“I am sorry for my assumption.” Lenard said softly but clearly.

“And I am sorry if I've made you doubt yourself.” Balian said, agreeing with the man.

“I hope I may still count on your friendship, now that I know you are not actually afraid of me.”

“A reminder of humility, and antidote to arrogance?”