He carried the darkness with him as he walked down the hall, stepping on his own shadow as its fingers wound themselves around his heart and tightened their grip with every breath that held back a cry.

They soothed loss with responsibility here...pain with obligations. He hadn't expected them to be compassionate, and they weren't. He wanted them to leave him alone, but of course they didn't. Like parents who give their child a new toy to replace the one that broke, they tried to shift his thoughts from her by giving him a new recruit...a distraction.

He had glanced at the file, not really seeing it. His tired eyes picked out only certain words...Homeless. Murder. Life imprisonment. Female. They hadn't even asked him if he would take it, they just gave. He knew he didn't have a choice either way, but sometimes it was nice to pretend.

His footsteps echoed in the empty hall, his legs moving from reflex, knowing where he was supposed to go, and taking him there. His mind had shut down, every inch of him numb, exhausted. He was tired of playing soldier. Tired of pretending there were no cracks in his tarnished armor...and that he was untouched by the pain of death. Of his child's death. Of his wife's death.

He had come so close last night. So close to losing control...to just letting go...He knew he wasn't going to heaven, and he was already in hell. He had held the gun to his head. The gun they had given him. He had held it to his temple, and stared at the stranger in the mirror that he used to know and couldn't recognize anymore. In that same mirror he could see their bedroom behind him, the bed they had loved eachother on. The promises they had whispered to each other when they were afraid the words would break between them if spoken too loudly. Like a secret..."I promise to love you forever...""I promise I'll never leave you...""You are my heart...""I am yours..."

Stupid promises. Impossible to keep here,where forever might be an hour or a second...where you owned nothing, not even the gun you killed with. Impossible to keep here, where hearts can freeze like water in the Arctic and shatter. She had broken her promise to him first. She had left him, and forever wasn't as long as they had hoped it would be. She had taken his heart with her.

Stupid promises. He had repeated that to himself over and over again while unconsciously moving the nose of the gun in circular motions against his temple. His fingers had curled around the trigger, but the warning click had snapped his eyes open, and with shaking hands, he had reset the safety catch and set it down on the edge of the sink. It slid into the bowl, scraping down the porcelain. He had backed away from the sink and turned of the light in the bathroom so he could no longer see the stranger...their promises...His death. The strength left his body, and he had fallen to his knees on the hard wood floor. After a while, for what seemed like the first time in months he had fallen asleep.

He came to the door and pulled the card-key out from his pocket. In one practiced swipe of his arm, he slipped the card through the lock. It opened with a familiar click, and the door hissed across the immaculate floor as he stepped inside.

The whiteness of the room blinded him, from the floors, to the ceiling, to the figure on the cot. All white. He stepped farther into the room. The drugs hadn't warn off yet. The Material was still sleeping. He surveyed her body, making mental notes. Tall...Good upper body strength? He admired the curves of her shoulders, and his gaze traveled down to her forearms. No track marks. That surprised him somehow. He looked into her sleeping face.

The circles under her eyes stood out like angry bruises on her pale skin, and her parted lips were cracked, and bleeding slightly. She looked to him like some wild slender-boned animal cut down from the sky only to be pinned down to a slab by metal cuffs for inspection. She looked like she was about to be dissected. Her angel hair was spread out over the steril pillow like a torn halo.

She looked young. Innocent. It didn't touch him. Innocence is just a mask of sleep. It covers the wearer like a blanket. It's not to be trusted. She was no more "innocent" than he. He pulled the syringe from his other pocket, and slid it gently into her exposed forearm. He unlocked the restraints around her wrists. He sat in the chair beside her bed. He waited.

The drug worked fast. Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes tangling with the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She blinked once, twice, at the ceiling, trying to shake of the disorientation.

"Good Morning" His voice crept across the room like a criminal. Her head shot to the side towards him. In one instinctual motion, she pushed herself off the bed away from him, and fell against the wall, into the corner. She stared at him warily through the curtain of her hair. He paused, assessing the situation, before saying cautiously, "I'm not gonna hurt you..." Her eyes slowly left his face, and traveled about the room like a trapped animals'. Her voice was soft, and held unshed tears when she finally spoke...

"What is this..." He moved closer. She shrank further back into her corner. She wasn't reacting the way he had expected. She was terrified.

"You're...not in prison anymore..." He paused, searching her face. "The world thinks you're dead - suicide..." He withdrew a photogragh from his inside breast pocket and held it out to her. "...This is your funeral."

She took it from him carefully, her fingers almost afraid to touch it. Again he studied her as she held it to her face and gazed at it dazedly. His mouth felt dry.

"Row 8 plot 30." He knew he sounded heartless. She began to cry softly to herself, and her voice cracked with pain...

"My momma...didn't come...?" There had been no one at the funeral according to Madelaine. He didn't know what to say. He began to back away, to give her space, and she embraced the photograph like a cherished object, like an anchor, and slowly sank to the floor. He chose to ignore the feeling in his chest that told him he should go away and give her a chance to get her thoughts straight... to get her emotions in order and under control. He was very uncomfortable. But Operations was waiting for his report, and he paused tactfully before beginning again.

"We've decided to give you another chance...This is where you'll train...This is where you'll learn...And after two years, if all goes well, you'll work for us." He said the words mechanically, as though he were checking off a list...He had heard the same speech so many times before...it was seared into his memory.

Why...me?" He stared at her and answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"A woman with your looks who can kill in cold blood..."

"I didn't! I didn't kill anyone!" She almost screamed at him in her desperation. The whole scene was unsettling. She wasn't reacting at all the way he had thought she would. He was thrown off balance. He didn't like that. He moved to the door, turning his back on her dismissively, consumed with the feeling that he just had to get out. He searched his pocket for the key, and heard her coming before she reached him. He effortlessly blocked her first, then second swing, before tossing her over his hip, and pushing her to the floor. HE held her body down with his. His hands were locked around her wrists on either side of her head. She didn't bother to struggle beneath him, but stared up at him defiantly. Her eyes were blue. She smelled clean...like soap...He shook himself before almost drowning in the angry tears in her blue eyes, and said condescendingly to save himself...

"When you attack someone from behind go for the kidneys..." his lips almost brushed against hers when he spoke, he was so close..."...It disables and they can't fight back..." He pushed himself off of her and stared down into her scowling face. He pushed his hair behind his ears distractedly, breathing deeply."Consider that you first lesson."

"I don't want them, I don't want lessons!"

"We start tomorrow morning at five a.m." He went on as though he hadn't heard.

"And if I don't want to?"

He swung open the door and stared into her eyes. She was still on the floor where he had left her. "Row 8 plot 30."

It was cruel. He knew it. He didn't care. He slammed the door shut behind him, and stood on the other side a moment. He closed his eyes. The darkness in the hall was comforting. He took a deep breath and turned briskly on his heel once again decorating the silence of the hall with his footsteps...

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