-Sage-

“Leave. Me. Alone.” I said through gritted teeth, trying to push past Cole and into the damp, stone hallway that would lead me back to my room: the one solace I had. It was my sanctuary for my mind and my thoughts. A place to recover from a day’s toiling under the oppression of fifty feet of dirt, stone, and government hierarchy. It was a place away. 

Safe.

Safe from the constant training, safe from the eyes of the government lackies always lurking, watching every movement. Safe from the feeling of being different, broken, and inhuman. It was safe from Zack’s incessant brooding and unwarranted comments about me or other people he has to deal with. Away from the snide remarks he finds amusing but in reality are just brash and abrasive.

 I had made my room-- my government assigned living space -- my own. I found comfort in organizing my clothes and making my bed the way I wanted it. Arranging where my lamp went and how my generic, black clothes were folded. I found comfort in the small amount of control I had. 

But Cole's hand locked around my wrist, preventing me from going anywhere. His grip, while firm, was not rough but it was intrusive all the same. It spoke volumes about my place here. That he was in control. That I didn’t leave until he allowed it. I froze facing the hallway, every muscle locking. I was trying desperately to not lose it in the middle of the training hall. He didn’t get it. I needed to leave. The glistening sweat that was beaded on my skin turned cold. I gritted my teeth and tried to wrench my wrist free from his grip. He held firm. Calm, I needed to be calm. I counted my breaths: each rise was an odd number, the fall an even. Maybe if I didn’t do anything he would let me go, let me calm down. Let me breathe. 

He didn’t. 

He held on and opened his big, insensitive mouth instead. He asked a question that revealed how naive he was, how insensitive and thick and selfish he was. A question born of indifference. He asked a question that couldn’t be combated by merely counting. A question that shattered my restraint. Snapping it like a taut rubber band. He spoke the words that were my undoing. 

“What is wrong with you?”

It was a cold, clinical question; like a slap to the face. He asked the question as if he were genuinely confused. Like he didn’t know why I was angry and terrified and without purpose. That I felt lost. That I was broken. Like he wasn’t aware that if I didn’t leave now…  I would explode. 

And maybe he didn’t know. Maybe, because in his eyes, I’m only an experiment. I’m not a human but simply a lab rat, the dog that I am treated like. Maybe he didn’t know that I was capable of having emotions. 

I had lost so many aspects of my life to his experiment. My family, my passion, my ability to contribute my mind. My humanity. And I was broken and lost and angry and terrified and desperate to leave. He pushed me and I warned him. I told him in every way I could think of to leave me alone. Let me cool down. 

He didn’t listen. And so all that was left was anguish and rage boiling in my veins. 

Wrath.

I snapped. I spun to face him, faster than he could register, pointing a finger directly at his chest, wrenching my other hand from his grip. I felt my face flush with anger-- the explosive kind that cannot be stopped. A grenade that splinters whatever surrounds it. The flood gates had been opened.

“You want to know what is wrong with me, Cole?!” I whispered with an intense ferocity, spitting each word with a fire I didn’t know I had.

 “I was kidnapped by the government because apparently I’m some genetic freak. But not really because I’m even more screwed up than the rest of everyone here! I was knocked on my ass for the upteenth time because I don’t belong here. I’m treated like a defective lab rat, like a damn dog, because your father decided to play god with my genetics!” 

With each word that left my mouth Cole grew paler and I grew louder until I was shouting, and Cole… he was pinned against the wall with a morphing expression of confusion, to disbelief, to anger. I was trembling with rage, adrenaline, fatigue and whatever concoction of hormones that were flooding through my veins. 

“How do you know about my father?” He asked, his voice wavering, the words coming out broken and unhinged. This is the first time I have ever seen him lose his composure. Fear, guilt and anger danced in his sea green eyes turning them stormy and gray. A gale of emotions crashing behind his irises. 

“I’m not stupid Cole,” I spat his name like it was bitter poison. “It started when Gemma called you by your full name. That's when everything began to make sense. You have it all here. Your own lab and projects. You walk around the Bunker like you own everything, like you know everything. Strutting through the damn tunnels like you chiseled them with your bare hands. I figured there had to be a reason. And there is. You are closer to this than everyone else here. You showed me my records. Remember that, Cole? I do.” I continued to list everything that has been on my mind. Everything that I had been pushing down into the black abyss came flowing out from the dark. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. I probably sounded like a lunatic. My voice grew louder and more frantic. 

“Dr. Young. That name sounds familiar doesn’t it? It’s your father, Cole. It’s not a secret anymore, huh? I know that your father is the reason why we’re all screwed up. Why we’re all locked in a freaking bunker with deranged government soldiers.” 

“Is that why you are always in your lab? Trying to figure out what dear old daddy did to us? Trying to figure out why he didn’t tell you, why he didn’t proudly share his successes as a mad scientist?” My words dripped with animosity and I knew I was just being malicious at this point, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel just a small part of what I was feeling. I wanted Cole to get angry. I wanted a fight. And Cole obliged me because in that next moment it was I who was being cornered. 

“Yes.” he spat viciously. “You are right again Sage. So smart. If I remember correctly you were the gifted one, weren’t you? Some even called you a genius. It must be hard for you, not to be the center of attention.” I gaped at his words. Were.  Like he knew that my life as a budding scientist was over, that I could never go back. And it did hurt. I wasn’t needed, I wasn’t appreciated. He made it sound like a bad thing. Like I was a spoiled child needing constant approval from others. That I viewed my intelligence as some sick way of feeling good about myself. He continued, obviously not done. 

“Yet, for all of your intellectual gifts you missed one crucial factor. Specifically your mutations. At first I didn’t understand why my father chose you. You are genetically modified by my father's hand, yes, but there wasn’t a lot of promising data that would guarantee you would be a good candidate. He always went through the genetics of every potential child for modification and on paper your original genetics didn’t lend themselves to being anything special.”

 “My confusion only grew when we spent that lovely day together testing your phenotypes. The ones that you didn’t express. None that were characterized by the G.E.H. mutations anyway. So I did some digging. Turns out mommy and daddy were having a hard time having kids and the kicker was, the kid that they did manage to conceive would be too weak to survive long outside the womb. They must have been devastated. And desperate.” No. No, he didn’t, he couldn’t have. No. 

“Your father knew my father from school. Knew the kinds of things he was researching. He asked for my father’s help. My father, while reluctant, decided to help a colleague and so together they made you what you are. Your father is the reason why you are not human.” I shook my head in disbelief, my face twisted into a grimace. No, it couldn’t be true. I felt tears well in my eyes. The sense of betrayal forming in my gut, twisting in my heart. 

“But that’s not all, Sage,” Cole said as an odd sort of quiet seemed to settle over him. Probably getting some satisfaction watching my world being demolished by his hand.

 “Do you really want to know why you’re not expressing the phenotypes?” He paused for some sick dramatic effect. I couldn’t breathe. When I didn’t respond he told me anyway. “Your father, once again, Sage. Dr. Andrew Boltzman, the culprit of all you are. He fed you genome suppressors so you wouldn’t find out what he did. You want someone to blame for being a freak? Blame your father, not mine.” I felt all the air knocked out of me. We were both breathing heavily and beet red with emotion. 

My dad. Emotions and thoughts swirled together and I couldn't tell where one started and the other ended. It was like a light inside me was quenched. Flickered and sputtered out. The warmth, the spark that kept me going-- It simply winked out of existence. 

In its wake, an icy darkness gathered. A void of black velvet that wrapped itself around my senses, wound itself through my soul and around my frozen heart. I was numb. From my toes to the top of my head, inside and out. Even the ever present roaring of my thoughts were hushed until only a dull hum remained. Like the ringing in your ears after an explosion. The kind your brain fabricates to stimulate itself, to fend off insanity. I was in shock. And despite it all, I was able to stumble around Cole, who just stood there watching me darkly. He didn't try to stop me, and I wish he hadn't earlier. I would have stayed in control. I should have been able to stay in control. 

Your father made you like this. Your father. Your father. Cole’s words echoed in my empty head like a broken record. It made me dizzy. I felt hollow and light and heavy and numb. I walked out of the training hall, stiff limbed and void of emotion. I headed in a direction, not bothering to look where I was going. No one gave me a passing glance as I stumbled over the uneven walkway, shivering, eyes vacant. 

My parents had always mentioned having issues getting and staying pregnant. They called me a little miracle. Miracle my ass. I’m a freak, a monster. I’m not human. Nothing I knew was ever real. I didn’t even know myself. My father. He thought that I could live a normal life. He thought that he could just lie to me about who I was, what I was. He didn’t trust me. Didn’t think it was important enough to tell me that, without some lunatic screwing with my genes, I would have been too fragile to even breathe air. My inhuman genetics- what I hate have come to hate most about myself- are the only reason why I’m alive. My stomach twisted with nausea at the thought. Wave after wave of anger, insecurity, and distress plagued my mind like an endless tsunami. 

 I wandered aimlessly until I found a door that was unlocked. The handle was slick with moisture and algae, coating the rusted metal with a thin slime. The air was thick, mildew-leaden, and smelled even mustier-- if it was possible-- than the rest of the Bunker. Damask indeed. I was almost comforted that I could find a place as horrible and dark outside of my body as it was inside my mind. 

The door creaked open to reveal an old hospital wing. Abandoned, which also felt fitting because I, too, was broken, and betrayed. Abandoned. 

Alone. 

It was more like a glorified health room. One bed with a hard blue plastic cover, a stack of blankets, some old bandages, a few empty cabinets and a sickroom with an attached bathroom in the back. Shivering, I grabbed two blankets from the stack and climbed onto the old mattress. It was as hard as the stone beneath my feet but thankfully less cold. There I laid, in the dimmest corner of the Bunker, feeling the bitter rush of betrayal. I reveled in it, soaking it in, hyper aware of every nook and cranny, every last aching speck of my being. Feeling every inch of the stabbing wound that sucked away the rest of my energy like the cold vacuum of space sucking air, heat and life from anything not tethered to the world. I tried crying, or finding my anger, but it was all gone. I was just empty and cold. There was nothing left for my shattered heart to care about. 

-Cole- 

Cole had just sat down at his desk to drown himself in his work when Gemma paged him. He was still sweaty from spending the past hour running in circles. Round and round he went, tracing the circumference of the training area, trying to make his muscles hurt worse than the aching, raging, burning in his heart. Trying to shake the words she’d spat at him. The torrent of vicious comments that came from her mouth were genuine and some of them hit home--blow after blow until he’d decided to strike back. It had taken 55 minutes of mindless sprinting before the steady pace of his footfalls, shaky breathing and aching muscles lulled him into an exhausted stupor.

 She’d figured it out. Who his father was-- which he should have seen coming. Sage, he knew, was not stupid. But she had lost it. Divulged herself with hurling unrelenting hate at him. She thought that her life was so valued and important. Enough so that she decided that she was entitled to share her grievances-- ones he couldn’t control-- with him. To blame him. He knew that Sage wanted to hurt him. Hurt him for ripping her away from her home and all she knew. She rested the responsibility of her suffering on his shoulders and the shoulders of everyone else in the Bunker. 

She wasn’t wrong about his father. His father was the one who had turned them all into freaks. But only to save each and every one of them. Yes, he did horrible, unethical things to innocent children and yes, he did play god with all of their genetics, but… there was good enveloped in the rotting carcass of what he'd done. Each and every child would have lived their entire lives with genetic disorders that would cause them suffering and the promise of a fast-approaching death. His father was a mystery, even to him, but Cole knew that there was good in him. 

Sage, however, didn’t seem to see that fact. She was angry and hurt and broken-- willing to point fingers at anyone who caused her discomfort or treated her unfairly. She acted like a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum. Cole was surprised at how much Sage’s tantrum pushed his buttons. How easily she seemed to get under his skin. Even their past interactions with her cool facade and snarky remarks seemed to bother him. An itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Today she’d made him see red. The magnitude of Sage’s anger was so starkly contrasted with her normal behavior. Cool and collected. She tended toward cold and calculating, yes, but never full of wrath. He had never thought her to be so capricious. Perhaps she was better at hiding things than he had first thought. And perhaps, maybe, she wasn’t transitioning to life in the Bunker as well as he had thought either. Still, it was no excuse for how she acted. 

Tapping his fingers idly on his desk, Cole sighed and answered Gemma’s summons. 

“Yes?” he asked when her face appeared on his computer monitor, looking more fiery than usual. 

“Where are you!?” she asked with a surprising amount of venom in her voice. Her eyes danced with anger and disappointment. It made Cole sit up a little straighter. The look in her eyes was that of a mother: one who was particularly not happy with her child at the moment. Gemma had always taken it upon herself to be the mother to Cole that his own mother was not. And most of the time he appreciated it, especially when he was younger. But it was in moments like these when he wished she didn’t care about him as much as she did. 

“In my lab…” Cole replied cautiously. 

“I see,” she said, her words clipped. Cole waited for her to continue, wondering what point she was getting at. She only got mad at him like this if he forgot something important or left a mess in her lab. She hasn’t called him this angry in almost a year. “And where might Sage be, Cole?” The emphasis she put on Sage’s name told him that she knew about their fight and was obviously upset by it. He didn’t understand why. He was still doing his work and Sage was still in the Bunker. He wasn’t responsible for where she was all of the time. That was Zack’s job, actually. And it was ordered by Cynthia, who was above him in the chain of command. So technically, if she really wanted to know, she should be asking Zack. Not Cole. Cole debated bringing this point up but he decided against it. He did value his life after all.  

“Um… I would assume in her room,” he said casually. He flipped open his lab notebook to review some of his notes from the other day. He needed to get working after he wasted an hour on drowning himself in sweat and lactic acid and quite frankly he didn’t see what the big fuss was about. 

“You assume!?” She asked incredulously. Gemma’s voice rose in pitch, his only warning that she was really, really mad. He looked up from his notebook to his monitor. Looking closer at Gemma he realized that she wasn’t in her lab, but rather in a dimly-lit, crusty-looking part of the Bunker. Dark stone walls and rusted metal frames were interspersed in the background of her video feed.

“Gemma, where are you? What are you doing?” 

“I am doing your job!” she exclaimed, her face growing redder by the second. “Track Sage and come here now.” She growled, then hung up. Cole blinked a few times, shocked at just how angry Gemma was. His mind started to race, trying to piece together why Gemma would be so infuriated. He came up short when it came to a plausible explanation. So he did what he was told. Cole tapped his wrist band and typed in Sage’s identification code. A 3D map appeared of the Bunker with a total of five levels. Twisting corridors, rooms, labs and large, cavernous spaces all intertwined with little cohesiveness formed the secret, underground base. On that map Cole could see any one of the Bunker’s residents under his jurisdiction. His own location was represented by a blue blinking dot on the third level in one of the larger labs. There were a multitude of other colored dots which he promptly muted so he could see only Gemma and Sage’s location. Scanning the hologram from his wrist band Cole noticed that the two dots representing Gemma and Sage were clustered together in the lowest level in the farthest corner of the Bunker. A room that Cole had never seen occupied since he had lived here- which was the longest of anyone except Cynthia herself. He sighed and followed the yellow trail outlining the best way for him to get to Gemma and Sage. He guessed Gemma was the one who found Sage. He still didn’t know why she wanted him to come and get her, other than to prove a point that he was still unaware of. 

In total, it took Cole about fifteen minutes to reach the abandoned room. With each level that he passed the air grew colder and heavier, and smelled more of mildew. The shadows surrounding the edges of each iridescent light grew thicker and corners grew darker. It chilled Cole to the bone and he wished he had brought his sweater and a flashlight. How Sage had found the darkest corner of the Bunker to crawl into, he had no idea. 

Once he reached the door of what appeared to be an abandoned medic hall, he took a breath, bracing himself for what he might find. 

He pushed on the rusted door which yielded to his touch with a groan of unused hinges. He felt as if he stepped into a horror movie: into the role of a character soon to be killed by an unknown ghoul hiding in the dark. 

“Hello?” he called into the dark, his voice echoing in the barren space. “Gemma? Are you in here?” Cole strained his ears listening for the slightest movement. And indeed he heard two people breathing. A familiar voice, soft and lilting was murmuring. He couldn’t make out her words but he knew it was Gemma talking to Sage. There was a rustle of fabric and then footsteps coming toward him. Gemma emerged from the dark, like a ghost appearing from shadow. She was wearing standard-issue Bunker leisure clothes. Tough, black leggings and a fitted black pullover sweater. She looked softer this way. Her hair was flowing, red locks framing her face so she looked encompassed in a ring of fire. Her eyes, a bright blue, were a living flame. They flickered and burned with fierce protection and motherly disapproval. 

“Hello, Cole,” she said cooly, despite the emotions he had read in her eyes. Cole felt her need to care for all of the residents, but she seemed to have an attachment to Sage. He also felt her anger. It was strange though. She seemed to not believe his actions rather than just disapproving of them. She thought better of him. 

“How did you find her down here?” Cole asked. He had just assumed that she went back to her room to pout. Obviously she found a different place to go and hide. Gemma’s eyes flashed with anger. 

“You know that thing around her wrist?” she asked through gritted teeth. “We all have one, Cole. It sends us messages when one of the residents’ vitals dip dangerously low. Like, for an example, when one of them runs away after a workout and is covered in sweat. Moisture that can lower their body temperature when they are in a cold environment. Can you guess, Cole, how low her body temperature was when I found her?” When Cole didn’t answer she just turned around and walked into a seperate room where Sage was sitting. Her blond hair was flattened on one side and sticking up frizzed strands on the other. Her blue-gray eyes were dull and hard, the color of old of steel. Her narrow shoulders were weighed down by the copious amounts of blankets Gemma had thrown over them. And despite their weight and warmth they should bring, her small frame shook under them. Her gaze was distant and she didn’t seem to notice him when he walked in. Gemma went to her and cupped her face with a gentle, motherly hand. 

“It was 95.4 degrees,” she said softly at him without turning around. Surprise flowed through him. That was almost low enough to be considered hypothermic. And with how thin she was, it probably was low enough for that.

“I didn’t get an alert,” Cole responded. Gemma huffed an unamused laugh. 

“Of course you did Cole. Check your band,” she said darkly. She watched his face as he went through his messages on his wrist band. There were a few annoying reminders from his mother about his research. One was a mass email about how Bunker security needs to stay a priority. Then his face fell. There were three alerts on his band. All of them from just over an hour ago. When he was running. They were marked with high blood pressure, low blood sugar, and low body temperature-- urgent. He was so consumed with trying to calm down, running himself to the point of exhaustion, that he didn’t even realize that one of his residents medically needed him. 

“I must have missed them,” Cole said sheepishly. Then he looked directly at Gemma. “Thank you for taking care of her. I will be more diligent with my responsibilities from now on.” He hoped what he had said would smooth things over with Gemma. 

“That is all well and good, Cole, but you are still missing my point,” Gemma said scoldingly. “Look at her and tell me what you see,” she commanded. He cleared his throat and watched her. He took in her overall small stature, her posture and skin coloring. 

“She is cold, dehydrated and probably exhausted,” he said simply. 

“You are so blind!” Gemma exclaimed, hurtling the last word in his direction. She tore her gaze from his and looked at Sage, her tumultuous features softening into pity. “I see a girl who is upset and in shock from some delicate news she received in a horrid manner from someone who is too preoccupied with his own thoughts to bother reading someone else's! She is alone, and sad. She feels useless and not human, Cole.” She looked back at him, eyes still stern but he could see the slight glimmer of tears. Her tone was pleaful. 

“Yes, she may need food and an extra blanket, but what she really needs is someone to talk to her, someone to give her the opportunity to prove that she is useful, that she has talents. She needs a friend. Someone her age. And she sure as hell isn’t getting that from Zack. So get your head out of your ass and look at her. She is a human being with feelings. She has emotions. She isn’t just some lab rat you can use for some data.” Gemma’s words were jarring, and stung a bit, like hitting an exposed nerve. 

Yes, it’s true that all he’d wanted to accomplish was to figure out how to use the first gens to free the rest of them from the government. He just wanted to save them all, So really, Cole still didn’t see why he was at fault. She was, after all, the one who started yelling at him. 

“What about my feelings? Sage most certainly didn’t think of my feelings when she started blaming the world's problems on me. She’s the one who started it. She started yelling and accusing and pointing fingers first. Blaming the son for the sins of the father. You weren’t there, you didn’t see how she acted.”

“I didn’t need to be there Cole! There are cameras!” Gemma yelled, standing again so they were eye level with each other. Seemingly exasperated with his behavior she continued.

“And I wouldn’t be so hasty with pointing your finger at her. Did she tell you that she didn’t want to talk? Was there some communication that would indicate that she wasn’t in the right headspace to have a conversation with you? Or did you simply trample over her wishes because what you had to do was more important. Do you think she said those things on purpose or did you push her over the edge? 

“I-” Cole started, trying to think back to when he came into the training room. 

“You what, Cole?” Gemma crossed her arms, waiting for a response. 

Sage had been sitting on the training mats, fists clenched with Zack standing over her. It looked like they had both finished a grueling sparring session. Both Zack and Sage were flushed and slick with sweat. Zack had shaken his dark head disgustedly at her and walked out muttering about his mentorship being a waste of time. Sage’s eyes, filled with frustration and disdain, burned into the back of Zack’s head all the way out of the training hall. Cole had been surprised he didn’t feel it, or if he did, acknowledge it. But Cole didn’t think much of the display; simply writing it off as frustration due to Zack and Sage’s little fued. 

Sage had gotten up and dusted herself off, wiping her hands vigorously on her pants, her eyes distant. Cole had called her name, wanting to tell her about what he had found earlier that day: that their fathers had known each other. She didn’t respond to him, didn’t look at him, didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she had strode past him, clenching and unclenching her fists, blonde hair in a ponytail trailing her flushed face, bringing the scent of sweat and citrus. 

“Sage,” Cole called, following her. She'd huffed a sigh. 

“I don’t want to talk right now Cole,” she replied without glancing back at him. Her voice was strained as she made her way to the exit. 

“Sage, we need to talk,” He said, jumping in front of her so that she couldn’t leave. 

“Not right now, Cole. Move.” She was done messing around. Cole shook his head, his feet firmly planted. It had been too important to him in that moment. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” Sage had growled. And then all hell broke loose because of his stubbornness and ignorance. 

“I pushed her...” Cole said in realization to Gemma, looking down like an ashamed puppy. Truth be told, he did feel a little ashamed. Looking back, Sage really wasn’t in the right headspace for a conversation. He didn’t listen to her. And the more he thought about it, Cole wasn’t very good at listening to anyone. Including his real mother. He thought of all the times Cynthia had tried to talk to Cole, tried to protect him or help him. Everytime he had either refused or started another fight with her by throwing some awful deed she had done previously to him just to justify his own contempt for his mother. She never listened to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to listen to her. He often ignored the wisdom of Dr. Cornel and Gemma as well. They were his mentors, and even though he outranked them-- was their boss even-- they guided him through the aspects of being affiliated with a political, paranoid government project. Cole decided he would try to listen more, try to get out of his own head and look around and see what he can do better. 

“Finally, you idiotic boy!” Gemma patted him on the shoulder. It felt more like a punch to the gut but he was glad for the wake up call. “Now make it right,” she said briefly and left the room. 

“Wait,” Cole called after her, “Where are you going?” Gemma didn’t turn around before answering.

“To go and do my job now that you’re here doing your’s.” And with that she was gone and Cole was left with a shivering, broken Sage. He paused with his mouth open for a moment before chuckling to himself. It was just like Gemma to leave him to clean up his own messes. Like a good mother she turned him in the right direction and let him learn his lessons like a big boy. 

Cole looked at Sage. She was still shivering, but some color had come back into her cheeks. She was fidgeting with her wrist band, the black silicone sticking to her damp skin. Her thin fingers hooking under the band and pulling only for the band to snap back onto her wrist. Cole knelt down next to Sage and gently took her left hand, the one with the band on it. Sages blue-gray gaze locked on Cole, stiffly watching every movement. He could tell that she didn’t want to be anywhere near him but she didn’t have enough energy to fight him anymore. Before he logged onto her band he noticed that she had a rash-- or some sort of irritation from the silicone band being on her skin. 

“When did this appear?” He asked, his brow furrowed, looking more at the irritated skin. He pulled the band up in different places and noticed a uniform line of splotchy red had appeared, encircling her wrist. She went to pull her arm away and he let her. Her dull eyes trying to focus on the red eruption on her skin. Sage shrugged and said quietly,

“A couple of days ago, maybe.” Her voice was as dull as her eyes. The hollowness in which she replied pulled at something in his chest. From the way she was fiddling with the band earlier, he suspected that she was the main reason why the redness appeared. 

“Does it bother you?” Cole asked gently. She glanced at him warily, probably unsure of why he cared. Another stone of guilt settled in his stomach and her gaze. Yeah, he did have a lot to amend for.

“Sometimes, but most of the time I don’t really notice it,” Sage replied looking down at her wrist where it lay in her lap. Cole nodded.  He wanted to change so he decided to start with helping Sage. 

“We can do something about that.”  Cole said, watching her to gauge her reaction. She nodded simply, still staring at her lap. 

“May I?” Cole asked, his hand outstretched. She stared at him warily again then held out her left wrist. He took her hand gently and logged onto her band by scanning his fingerprint on the small, metal gold square wrapped around the band. Checking her vitals he noticed that her internal body temperature had raised from hypothermic to chilled to the bone. Her heart rate was quite low along with her blood glucose level. She needed to get out of this frigid hell and eat.

Cole met Sage’s eyes, which had never stopped watching him. He let go of her hand. Gemma was right to drag his sorry ass down here. This was the least he could do for Sage. 

“I’m sorry, Sage, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t listen. There is no excuse for how I acted toward you,” Cole admitted. His voice was barely more than a whisper in the dark. Sage’s gaze bore into his own, reading his face. A long, tense pause followed, only to be broken by a small, wary nod from Sage. Cole, relieved, stood up and held out a hand for her to take. 

“What do you say we get you some food and warmer clothes,” he proposed, hopeful that she would recover. They still had a lot to face. Sage needed to train, and Cole-- well, he needed to figure out how to bust them all out of this oppressive government hellhole. There would be no easy way out, but Cole could start by making sure they were all united. Sage considered his outstretched hand and then took it. Her hand was small and cold, but her grip was firm. It was strong. She was strong, Cole realized. He smiled a little to himself as he helped her stand. On shaky legs, she spoke to him in a voice that wasn’t distant or hard. It was determined. 

“Alright, let’s go.” 

“Let’s go,” Cole agreed, and hand in hand they left the darkness together to make their way back to the cafeteria. A truce. And maybe, Cole hoped, a tenuous friendship.