He slept most of the flight back to Moscow. He learned early to sleep when the chance came. Because a soldier never knew when another chance for rest may return. Same thing with eating. Stick to the clock. Keep the day regular. Because someday it would all go to hell. Survive. Then get shit back to normal.

Well. Jay survived.
Did that mean shit would go back to normal?

The extraction crew that carried them out of Mexico had indeed been a ZARS squadron. Their point of return was a base in a location Jay was certain to never learn. There wasn’t much to see anyway. They were ushered out of the helicopter, given fresh clothes and offered a chance to clean up. The poking and prodding that came next took the guise of a full physical, but there were scans in the hands of the military docs that he didn’t recognize. There was quite a lot of attention paid to the hair-thin lines that crisscrossed his upper body, but they were reported as scar tissue and that was that. Jensen gave Jay the work over back at Amengual’s, so he otherwise checked all the boxes. He hoped Natalie’s physical would be as unremarkable, but he didn’t ask when they were reunited.

He was relatively quiet. Nobody debriefed him. No reports were filed. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting some officer to sweep in with questions. In fact, it seemed Scion Marveet was more interesting than a Rod of Dominion. Jay didn’t mind.

They were delivered to a military operated airport near Moscow. The men (excluding Scion) wore polo shirts and khakis pants. Jay kept his shirt taut and tucked as if he was about to be inspected at drill. He smoothed his hair to the side. He needed a cut, badly.

The morning dawn light was just starting to peek its rays through the closed curtains of the window. He was on the bed, he realized, the warmth of Valeriya and Rowan's naked bodies heating him beneath the blankets despite the chill mountain air.

The night was a jumble of sensation, of touch and taste, of tenderness and convergence. Sexual release was nothing new to him, though up until Valeriya he had lived a celibate life for years.. Lissandre. A risk he had been too afraid to ever take again, despite his surgery.
Nor was intimacy unknown. Gregorio. Jova. And now most recently, with his beloved Vale. And what they normally shared was powerful enough, the spark filled uniting of two iron willed stubborn people who found complement in the other.

But the three of them...It wasn't simply an additional person, a purely physical sensation multiplied by some constant. 3. 4. 5. 10. The number would have made no difference, despite the carnal overload. No. There was the divine within them.

And together, they changed. Valeriya had morphed, her wildcat fire and talons altered into fierce pride, as much as in Rowan as her lover as in him. And Rowan, that earthy mother goddess, seemed to root them all, encompassing and accepting as they penetrated to her core. He, too, was not unaffected, finding his pleasure not simply in the act of dominance and control. Rather, making himself part of the whole. In the process, the divine that filled the two encompassed him so that together they were a triad of souls, bound as one.

Even with the end of the magic of the night, the feel of their warmth, the firmness of their bodies called at him to stay in bed and luxuriate in the silk smooth skin and questing lips. Despite his age and their exertions, he felt rejuvenated and ready to go again, curious to see with eyes of dawn what had been wrought under a night sky.

But fate had not brought them together simply for conjugal bliss, as much as he might desire it. There was a purpose. Their shared vision, the three of them in the Garden. There had been another face, one he knew.

Almost, he regretted the need to leave his bed, to reach out across the world to the man. He hadn't realized how he had enjoyed his idyll, despite how it began. The months without the mantle of Regus had proved to be liberating, even intoxicating.

The new life he'd found- feelings he had considered no longer within his ken, a heart that seemed deadend and lifeless to all but his work now pumping joyously and filled with yearning and hope. Yes, real hope, no matter how unlikely. Even surviving the death of Apollyon, he realized, with a start. Foolish. This life was precious, and yet now he would once again root himself within the world, end this momentary freedom that came with anonymity.

He sighed as he gently slid one leg- he couldn't tell whose it was- from off his, disentangled their hands that had intertwined at his chest, and carefully rose, tmaking sure to cover their briefly exposed bodies from the chill. There was some movement and, even though asleep, they sought each other out, their two forms under the blankets merging. He smiled at the sight, heedless of the cold on his naked body, marveling at the beauty before him. Valeriya's face was near Rowan's, positioned in such a way that a single closed eye from each was visible, both as alike as they were different. The Eye.

His smiled deepened as the omen worked its way from heart to groin. He dressed quietly and closed the door behind him and retrieved his wallet. A secure channel opened, he sent the message.

It was time to talk to Patricus.

(Some modding of vale and rowan sleeping. Hope that's ok.)

@"Valeriya"
@"Rowan Finnegan"
@"Patricus I"

The unanticipated convergence of fate’s roads left Sören pensive.

The hostel he chose for his second night in the area was only a short walk from the lake, tucked up away from the road in a spit of grass and trees. A set of rustic log buildings comprised a mixture of private rooms and dorms around communal kitchen areas, and it was serviceable enough -- in fact recommended from several local’s lips when he asked, though it was not the only reason he’d picked it. Sören ascended to the lofty heights of the rich and elite when it suited him, but he did not ever shun humble living. Often he actually preferred both the anonymity and vagrancy of more simple means, especially when on the road. He travelled light, nothing of value sequestered in his single bag of luggage, though wards would protect from prying hands on matter of habit and principle, should anyone think to take a rummage.

It was not where the thieving artist was staying anyway. The island Thalia had meandered to upon first arrival was too small for the distance he preferred to keep between them for now. The whimsy of her travel made no sense to him, and the forced blindness of his self-imposed quest to follow irked his preference for control. So too did the stranger’s advice back in Moscow linger -- an unusual affliction, though he would not call it conscience. He had not confronted Nimeda in the dream; a pointless endeavour. Neither had he yet approached her waking counterpart. She would fear a spectre risen from her sketchbooks, and he did not intend to scare her unless he divined providence in it. For now he only brooded on the decision left to be made.

That, and the additional complication. Or intrigue, perhaps, since he did not believe in coincidence.

For it seemed Elias Donavan’s water monster was also here.

The banya was a small but welcome addition to the hostel’s limited services. The benches were currently empty, with only the sizzle of steam for company. Heat loosened muscles tight from travel, a pleasant indulgence to balance the intensity of his deliberation. A towel wrapped Sören’s waist. He leaned his forearms on his knees where he sat, ignoring the faint tremor of pain in his temple. Ephraim’s interference was never far from consideration, but he’d grown used to the faint gnaw. His eyes were closed, breathing deep to shuck spirit from flesh. Perhaps there would be answers in the dream.

The door slammed, and Danika startled awake.
“Huh? Who? Where am I?” She sat up on the wobbly cot in the corner of her lab. Her eyes squint in the bright lights that flicked on, and memory fuzzed recognition.

A technician rounded the bench, but after a greeting, went off to check the sensors on their cold fusion box. Danika hadn’t left the room all day (and night) and apparently was still there the next morning just in case something went wrong.

“What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes to the crunch of yesterday’s makeup under her knuckles.

“Seven o’clock, Dr. Zayed. Do you want me to bring you some coffee?” The technician leaned to check the array blinking alongside the box.

Danika stood. Her clothes were wrinkled, but nothing that a spritz of water and a few seconds under the hand-dryer in the bathroom couldn’t fix.

“How’s it look?” she said, peering alongside the technician. In his white lab coat and neatly cropped hair, it was he who was frequently mistaken as the senior researcher for weeks until everyone recognized the eccentric scientist for who she was.

He shrugged, nodding approvingly. “Actually, I can’t believe it’s held stable for more than five minutes let alone all night. You were right. I am sorry to have doubted,” he said.

“Of course I was right. Don’t beat yourself up. Some people can’t fathom this level of theory.” She cued up a holoscreen and began to make notes. The technician scratched his chin idly, seemingly just standing there. “Well?”

“Ma’am?”

“Coffee?”
“Oh, yes ma’am.”

Just before the door closed behind him, Danika yelled out after him. “300 milliliters with two and a half sugars and 28 milliliters of creamer exactly.” She was sure he heard, so she waited patiently for his return.

Home...

The back stairs to his small room above Kallisti was quiet, but everything was moving in the front. There was no way he could pull a shift and no way he was going to be functioning once he landed in bed. Healing was hard on the body.  And Morven had healed more than a minor injury.  The new arm felt strange and Nox pulled it off setting it on the desk in his room.  Nox wove a little water and filled his lotus bowl to a line he'd been monitoring.  He tried not to let it below that mark. Nox didn't want to kill the flower.

The healed arm felt cold without the wrapping of the prosthetic, but Nox was too tired.  He fired off a text before he sat down

@"Raffe" Wake me up when you are free. Have something to ask and show you.

Nox kicked his shoes and jeans off and crawled into bed leaving enough room for Raffe to join him if he wanted.  It'd become his habit, if Raffe let him sleep Nox would end up sneaking into Raffe's bed. The comfort of the other man let him sleep -- the nightmares warded by his body warmth -- at least that's what Nox told himself.  It had nothing at all to do with the fact he missed him -- nothing at all.

Nox closed his eyes and was instantly asleep...

Continued from here...

...feed terminated
...initiate reboot
...feed not found
...operator not found
...analyze last feed
...analyzation complete: termination event possible
...execute Spice Girl Protocol

Spice Girl Protocol.  The drone called Dave awoke from sleep at the command and detached himself from his perch on the hall’s ceiling.  Battery 100%  His flight path arced downward and into the safe house’s main sitting area, kitchen, dining room, office...scanning.  One bunkroom, another bedroom and another.  Occupant, 1; Jacinda Cross.  He increased altitude and activated his projector.  A blue, six-armed, dog-like cartoon alien appeared.  Dave’s speaker emitted a knocking sound since he’d break himself smashing into the door physically.  “Hello?”  The voice that called out belonged to the woman Cross knew as Amy Pond.

Routine.  It could be a comfort or a killer, depending on the person or circumstance for sure.  Order, chaos, time, purpose...these were all necessities in the wild world of rambling and things to contemplate as one is held captive by the decision of Fate.  Death.  What was death?  Nothingness?  Life then was what, the opposite?  And who had the answers?  Why wouldn’t they share?  Selfishness?  An old pact, ancient and secret?  What the hell was the point of it all?

The message was like all the others, nothing had been different.  Copy and paste.  They called and Nika, their weapon, dutifully answered.  Like she always had.  The drop was set in dense forest.  Romania or Ukraine?  The mountains and woods presented a rolling terrain welcomed for the challenge it offered and already she had crossed and recrossed the old borders so many times she’d stopped glancing at the HUD to see which country she occupied.  Old-growth trees grew up rather than out, no doubt compensating for their thick numbers, toward a sun that seemed farther away somehow.  It would get darker quicker here which wasn’t a problem really, just food for thought.  The length of the hike wasn’t abnormal either, especially for the times.  Gliding into this mess had been impossible for a couple of reasons.  Clearly the trees would have none of it and then her bosses were a paranoid bunch.  The exact location of the drop was only revealed by proximity.  As in you had to just fucking find it.  Sometimes that was rather maddening.  Whatever it was she was supposed to retrieve though had to be at least marginally portable as she was already two hours into this hike.  That put it in the middle range of the goody drops on the all-time list.  So, not bad.  Yet.

The micro drones cast a net around her.  Eyes and ears.  Still she used her own senses, only glancing at the HUD if something interesting popped up.  Which nothing did and that was great.  Time was passed singing to herself, mostly old cartoony songs from the stuff her parents had watched as kids and she was able to tuck her love interest neatly into a corner.  That Liv was there at all was significant.  A brief picture in minds-eye drew a dimpled smile.

Thirty minutes later saw a slight opening in the trees.  A squat camouflage polymer case beckoned.  Nika took a knee and the code she was given parted the lid.  There was a small hard-shelled pack, which she slung onto her back, no questions asked.  Why would she?  It wasn’t the first time.  She clicked the chest strap closed with one hand and reached for a box of what she assumed were the latest anti-evil darts.  Please and thank you.

The explosion, small and focused, caught her unaware.  Despite dampers and the armor of her helmet and face shield, the flare from the surgical blast did it’s job.  Nika staggered backward at the force of the concussion and fought to regain her footing.  A sustained ring drowned out all other sound and time.  The flash had birthed a million suns flaring bright yellow and blinding white before fading to black again.  She felt her boots on the rough ground as she backed away from the case.  One step, two.  Then the surface was smooth.  Made.  She reached out.  Where the forest air should be, was, only moments before.  Her gloved fingers touched glass and the world exploded into light.