Four Changes Ago

by DuAnn Cowart

They were playing in the water four Changes ago, she remembered. Four Changes ago they'd been dunking and splashing each other like children, gleefully reveling in the sheer physical sensation of clean water and smooth bodies and air that blessedly didn't smell like sulfur. He had reached for her, and she'd slipped out of his arms, laughing, and then-

She took another step up the steep barren hill, bittersweet memories pouring over her like flames. This is stupid, she told herself angrily, pushing matted red hair out of her eyes. Keep walking. Don't think about it. There's nothing you can do. Keep going.

It was good advice, she knew, trying to rationalize herself out of the trap she'd laid. The past was dangerous as quicksand, seductive as a song, and if she let down her guard just a bit it would come pouring in and overwhelm her. She'd spent the last four Changes trying not to do just that. In fact, ever since the Universe went crazy and reality began ripping itself inside out it was more important to focus on the present, the now.

It went far beyond the last four Changes. It was better not to even remember what happened Before. She knew she shouldn't dwell on how her team had simply been enjoying a night off together in Officer's Lounge when the air turned crisp, sharp, and then blossomed into a shuddering golden fire that tore all reality apart at the seams. She shouldn't remember the look on her friends' faces as they, along with every other living creature in existence, were swallowed whole by the first of the shifting Changes that would rend the Multiverse asunder.

It was better not to think about how in the middle of all that horror she had instinctively held so tightly to the man laying on the couch beside her, and he to her, that when the sudden acid blackness swallowed them it spat them out as one into a lunatic world born anew, a world where order and reason were subsumed by the unpredictable Changes that shuffled reality like an obscene card game.

That was the First Change, though by no means the worst one. That one had deposited them into the heart of a volcano- and heat held no fear for either of them. In the twenty-two Changes since then she'd seen far, far worse.

That was how she numbered her days now, by the Changes. No other time had any meaning since the world- or parts of it- had begun with unpredictable irregularity.

It was like the Viewmaster toy she'd played with as a child- with one click of a button the slideshow picture of a forest became a beach then a mountain then the plains, one right after the other with no melding or merge in between. Unlike that simple device, though, here there was no explanatory button, no rhythm or purpose or meaning behind the Changes. Sometimes- sometimes- there were very, very subtle warning signs, just enough so a perceptive person could prepare enough to possibly stay alive.

And sometimes there weren't, she thought bleakly, then drew in a deep breath and continued hiking up the hill. She ruthlessly surpressed the urge to fly, to give in to the fire inside her and allow it to take flight. She didn't. She didn't take to the air anymore if it could be avoided. She was afraid if she did, she'd lose all control and fly right into the sun.

So instead she walked, concentrating on the difficult trail, focusing on each next step. There was no sense reminding herself of what she'd lost. She'd met too many people who'd gone mad from wallowing in the past, too many who had lost all grasp of reality in the face of the ever changing horrors that were their daily lot. Whatever it was that caused the Changes had happened, and those who survived just had to deal with it.

Before, she'd lived to help others. Now she just tried her best to live, to jump through whatever hoops destiny presented. Destiny. She smiled humorlessly at the word. For some reason, it made her think of a night, seven Changes ago, when she was still a they.

They'd been hiking across the desert then, too, she remembered, when they'd seen a spot in the distance, a spot that had slowly turned into a man. He'd been some sort of SPB, that much was certain- he had cybernetic enhancements all along one side and still wore a ragged uniform, though she didn't recognize the colors. He was very tall, and still well-muscled for all the obvious toll that hunger had taken on all of them. Long silver hair streamed down his back, and she didn't know if it was that or his proud bearing that made her think of Nikolas. She remembered hurting then at the thought of Winter, gone, but she hadn't really known pain then.

The man had first greeted them in a flowing liquid tongue that she was told sounded remarkably like Gaelic. The stranger- Nathan- had soon reverted to English, and after realizing they meant him no harm had offered to share provisions with them in exchange for company throughout the night.

She was ravenously hungry, so she agreed readily enough. Her lover was suspicious, as was his nature, but even though he needed no such nourishment he was acutely aware of how very thin she'd grown during the months since the world had ended. He'd accepted gruffly, with thanks, though she could see it pained him to rely on a stranger to provide for her when he- when they- could not.

Nathan was a telekine, it turned out. A gifted one, even, able to alter the molecular structure of matter, reanimating it into any form he desired. They'd watched, awestruck, as Nathan had scooped up handfulls of sand and straining with effort, transformed them into steak, into bread, into blessed beer in, of all things, *frosted* mugs.

Cold beer flowing in the desert. That had won him over more than anything short of ending the Changes could, she recalled with something almost like a smile, remembering how he'd quaffed down glass after glass of beer, shivering with the sheer joy of it, cajoling the stranger for more. As for her, she'd eaten so much she'd become embarrassingly sick.

The man called Nathan had watched impatiently as they gorged themselves, then when they were sated began talking urgently with them long into what passed for the night about the Changes- or what he called Shifts. He spoke for hours about prophecies and time travel and destiny and an Egyptian monster and something called the Twelve, and some way he'd figured out to reverse the Changes-

Grateful for his assistance, they had tried to help as best they could, but from the first fevered words it was obvious the poor man was insane. Controlling- even reversing the Changes? Sheer craziness.

He was persuasive, though. She'd caught herself actually holding her breath, praying for a moment that what he said was right, that the Changes *could* be reversed, that they could one day go home. . . Embers of the idealism and hope that had once burned so brightly in her had just began to flicker when stark realization came crashing down.

Nathan had been sitting across the small campfire, eyes aglow with fanatism. She'd studied him closely, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of his words, and slowly the pieces started to fit. The farfetched story, the classic messianic complex, the madness glinting in his eyes- it was textbook.

They'd lived through fanciful adventures Before, and the Changes themselves were evidence enough of a world beyond their own, but time travel? Destiny? Prophecies?

She'd glanced at the man sitting crosslegged beside her, and he'd nodded imperceptibly, and brightly colored fingers laced in her own squeezed slightly in response. The man was insane. She remembered closing her eyes and looking away, unable to bear the terrible bright hope in the stranger's eyes.

Hope didn't belong in this world.

He *was* crazy, she'd decided, but he was kind in his own way, and he was so broken, so alone. . .

Alone. She shuddered as she crested the hill, her shadow falling long and thin across the ground.

"Why are yeh tellin' us this, mate?" Her lover had asked him quietly, in an unreadable voice he had rarely used even Before. One strong arm wrapped protectively around her thin shoulders, and he pressed on gently. "We've never heard of any of this and, I'm sorry to say, we're not in yer bloody Twelve. What can we do t' help?"

Glowing golden eyes had studied both of them in turn, and then broad shoulders slumped despondently. "You can't," he'd murmured quietly, in a voice so full of despair she felt her heart would break for him, for them all. "You can't. I'm sorry I bothered you- This is my fault. They're gone, she's gone, and it's all my fault."

There was nothing to be said to that, and the rest of the night had passed without comment. Full for the first time in weeks and utterly exhausted from days spent trekking across the desert, she'd curled up by the fire and slept, trusting the man beside her to be her sentry. He had, for like the rest of his physical needs his desire for sleep was all in his mind, and that could be controlled- to an extent, anyway. She'd found him absolutely uncontrollable at times.

When the morning came, Nathan was gone, although their packs were stuffed with rations and a few precious cans of beer. Despite his generosity, neither of them were particularly sorry to see him leave. It was obvious that underneath the thin veneer of lucidity the man could break at any time, and they couldn't afford that. Only fools squandered precious energy on mindless battle anymore.

Besides, something about the big man had made him nervous, he'd told her later. She'd laughed at him then, she recalled, made some silly, teasing joke about his perceived inadequacies- at which point, laughing himself, he'd felt honor-bound to prove her wrong.

They'd laughed so much Before, and even after the Changes laughter had flowed even in the chaotic world they'd been thrown into.

She hadn't laughed in a long, long time. She turned her face towards the sky, feeling scorching heat impotently burn into over her fair skin. Without her abilities she would have long since been boiled in her skin, but even exhausted and depleted as she was her seedling biology protected her against the worst of the changes in temperature. It had saved her life more than once, and she trusted it would do it again. Truth to tell, she was really beginning not to care either way.

She picked her way across the top of the hill, spotting a cluster of weathered oak trees in the distance. It was a perfect resting spot, an oasis of sorts, she thought as she trudged the last few steps towards the straggly copse of trees.

After a detailed inspection to ensure that she wasn't walking into an ambush, she collapsed at the bottom of the largest tree, resting in the shade. Pressing her spine against the tree trunk, she reached into a pocket of the oversized jumpsuit she'd liberated two Changes back and pulled out a treasured package of beef jerky, tearing off a small bite and swallowing it down with tiny sips of precious bottled water.

I'm so tired, she thought, and leaned her head back against the tree to stare blankly at the empty field at the top of the hill. Weakened by exhaustion, lulled by the soothing sounds of the rustle of the leaves of the tress, she closed her eyes, allowing her mind to finally rest.

She had a moment's velvet peace, then out of the blue memory stabbed her like a knife. She struggled for a moment, then finally surrendered as memories wrapped themselves around her weary mind like blanket, warm and soft and smothering.

It had been Paradise.

Five Changes ago, she and her lover had stumbled onto a perfect beach. It had been so completely, utterly beautiful, she remembered. The colors of that unearthly tropical scene had stood out in perfect clarity. The water and sky had been an amazing crystal blue, just a half-shade brighter than it had been half-remembered reality.

She closed her eyes, probing at the memory like a wound. The white sand at that shore had glistened like diamonds in the incredibly normal sunlight. Even their torn, bedraggled clothing so carefully folded by the shore gleamed like jewels in the white sand.

They had found Utopia. After Changes and Changes of hells, they had finally stumbled upon a garden of delight. They had lived there for almost a month, swimming, splashing, making love on the beach. They hunted and fished, and she lived off of the fruit of the beach. He didn't have to eat anything, but he did anyway, just because it was there and he could.

Looking back, she supposed some part of her had begun to believe that it could be permanent. She should have known better.

They had been swimming naked in the sea when the Change hit. This one gave no warning. In less than an instant, the clear blue sky erupted in a frothing sheet of silver flame that ripped open the world, wringing out the air around them like a wet cloth before turning reality inside out to Change the land around them from a tropical paradise into a frozen wasteland.

Only reflexes honed by years as soldier saved her from breaking every bone in her body when the wave spat her roughly out on the now icy shore. He hadn't been that lucky. She had watched, horrified, as the fading silver strip of energy took his body and twisted, stretching him out like apple taffy before snapping back in on itself and dropping him from the sky to land crumpled on the earth only a few feet away.

She scrambled to him, unconsciously increasing her body temperature to ward off the worst effects of the now biting cold. The icy ground melted underneath her, leaving a trail of rapidly cooling water behind her as she crawled to his side.

He was curled in fetal position, but when he heard her call his name he rolled over on his back, one arm reached out towards her, the other pressed tightly against a gaping tear in his side.

There had been words then, she remembered, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many nights she lay sleepless straining for the memory, she could not recall what she said, what he said. All she could remember was the cold certainty in his eyes as he saw soft green gas swirl out from the gaping wound he was trying so desperately to staunch.

She immediately put her hands on the wound, instincts taking over. She applied pressure as she'd been taught in training so many years ago, but the forcefield that made up his skin seemed to buckle underneath her calloused hands. Frantically, she'd looked around for something to bind it with, but there was nothing. Everything they had, everything they'd built had been destroyed in the blink of the Change.

They were completely and utterly alone. Despairingly, she had tried to use her own powers to cauterize the wound, but that just made it worse as the heat catalyzed the plasma and increased the rate of expulsion.

He was bleeding to death. No matter how hard either of them pressed against the opening, no matter how hard he strained to manipulate the forcefield to heal itself, molecules of sentient gas still seeped through their fingers. The patches slowed the progress of the gas, but it was still wafting into the air, bright jade green against a cold grey sky.

The image slashed through her mind like razorblades. She bowed her head, pressing tightly closed fists against her eyes as she now willingly gave herself over to the memories that burned like wildfire, experiencing them if she were once more there with him, watching him die all over again.

It'd only taken minutes for him to fade away. During that time, they tried everything imaginable to save him and more, and when it was obvious that nothing was working, shared a lifetime's worth of secrets, made a lifetime's worth of plans. He'd even laughed, she remembered now, and made lewd jokes about duct tape and her blowing him back up even as he watched himself fade away, one hand pressed tightly to his side, the other clutching hers like a lifeline.

Of course he'd joked. He was who he was. He'd flashed her that damn grin and laughed it up until the end, even as he made a herculean effort to hold the sentient gas that *was* him in check. It hadn't worked. Slowly, working its way through the molecules of their joined hands, the pale green gas exited the hole, making a hissing sound like air from a leaking tire. As it did so, the forcefield that defined him became looser, softer, more pliable as the gas that filled him slipped out into the sky.

If they had been back on Skywatch, the medical staff could have helped him, repaired him, just as they had the last time something like this had happened. He hadn't liked to talk about it even before the world ended, but she understood something of the pain he'd gone through when his power grew too much for his first body to contain. He'd almost died then, she knew, but he'd come back. Toshiro had somehow brought him back.

Why hadn't she been able to bring him back?

She leaned against the dry oak tree, feeling the rough bark press into her cheek. She'd been with him the whole time, kneeling impotently by his side as he bled away. Begging, cursing, threatening, pleading, she had tried everything she could to find a way to make his forcefield spontaneously repair itself.

Weak and disoriented as he was, he'd managed to laugh, eyes softening as he looked up at her tear streaked face. He tried so hard, she knew he tried, but his electrical net wasn't responding. The Change had stretched him so far that he'd quite simply torn, and the exhaustion of the life they had lived had sapped away the strength he needed to heal himself.

She swallowed tightly now, rubbing her cheek against the rough bark to allow the uneven wood to scratch her cheek. The physical pain helped dull the searing agony of images seared into her soul, though she still felt their pain like a brand. No matter how many Changes she survived, she knew she'd never fully recover from what had happened next.

Forcefield shuddering to maintain cohesion, he had lifted both quavering hands and rested them on either side of her face to draw her closer to him. Silently whispering the words he'd said so many times before, his lips had met hers and he had gently kissed her, eyes open so that the last image he ever saw would be of her face pressed closely to his.

Foreheads touching, with great effort his nervous system sent labored messages to the part of the rapidly fading energy net that served as his larnx. With his last breath he managed to whisper, in a voice so low and hoarse that she thought she'd almost imagined it. . .

"Love . . . yeh. . ."

Then the outline of the the man she'd loved collapsed into an empty bag and dissolved as the last of the sentient gas that was his consciousness wafted out into the air to surround her in a thick cloud.

Tears streaming down her face, heart pounding in her chest, she breathed in, knowing that his plasma wouldn't injure her fireproof lungs, not caring at the moment if it did. She reached out a hand, fingers outstretched, but the gas just danced at her fingertips as his essence began slowly diffusing into the atmosphere.

Naked, suddenly achingly alone, she made herself stagger to her feet. Arms outstretched, she savored his last touch as sentient gas slowly swirled around her, twining around her arms, her legs, her body, gently caressing her as tendrils of gas danced along her bare skin. She closed her eyes, shivering, and for a moment she thought she felt a point of pressure, fingertips, soft and sure, brush her lips.

She forced burning eyes open and nodded once, slowly. "Love you, too," she whispered brokenly to the green cloud that surrounded her.

There was a long pause, and the gas pulsed, a bright goldgreen glimmer, then slowly ascended into the air. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, she forced herself to watch as the soft wind pulled him away, wondering if he was gone, if he could still think, still feel, wondering if he were trapped in that form forever or if his soul could go on to wherever it was that heroes went when their time on earth was done.

It was days before she was coherent enough to wonder how the hell she'd ever make it through without him. That was Four Changes ago.

She pulled away from the tree, wiping angry tears away. Dammit, I know better than this, she thought fiercely. He's gone, and I'm here, and I've got to keep moving. I've got to keep going.

So she did, clamping down the flames that burned inside her, locking them away with the memories that she knew one day would ignite so brightly that she'd be consumed by them. One day, she knew. One day she'd burn so bright that she wouldn't be able to hold the flames back, one day she'd let her powers go just as he had and leave the shell that bound her to this insane world of Change.

One day she'd set herself free.

Just not today. A faint rumbling sounded in the distance, and her breath caught in her throat.

With a deep sigh, she braced herself against the twisted oak tree and rose to her feet to look around, preparing for the world to move around her.

Change was coming.

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