HOPE...RISING

PART THREE:

Cort lay propped on his left elbow, the fingers of his right hand tracing down Rachel's collarbone as she faced him on their bed. "I really hate the thought of going back there, you know," he sighed.  But his hand kept up its motion on her body as though two entirely separate things were going on with him.  Or were they actually separate?  That he could reach out like this whenever he wanted and know for certain that she was there, beside him, where she belonged, where he needed her to be...this was how life was supposed to be.  It was at NanoCorp that all this had changed so often.  Sid and his deadly games.  Damn the robot! Transporting Cort here and there about the complex, even into the lake where he'd almost died.  Then sending Rachel off alone and very pregnant into The Quick and the Dead. He'd never forget the profound sense of loss and utter separation he'd felt upon learning what Sid had done. And tomorrow they were going back, back to NanoCorp. Even without Sid's presence looming over the complex, just the being in that place was enough to set his teeth on edge.

His eyes roamed slowly down Rachel's throat to where her satin nightgown, with its soft draping neckline, revealed the top curve of her left breast. His hand, still brown from all the outdoor work he did since buying the farm, slid under her breast, lifting it, cradling it in its satin covering. Leaning forward, using his nose, he nudged the material a bit lower, then set his lips

to the soft curve of her flesh.

“I know, my love, I do, too” Rachel whispered back, eyes closing as he did so, sinking into the curve of his arm around her shoulders.  Being at odds with her husband unsettled her and for that, thoughts were awash with memories of the chaotic time around NanoCorp, memories of desperation and confusion…which had been Sid’s intent the whole time.  She had felt like a heel the moment her request left her lips, asking they return to the heart of their rout, where Sid had  struck at their heart…heart…hers skipped a faster beat as Cort’s hand caressed her, bent over her heart, nuzzled it as home…like a wing of salvation, the vivid memory of his bending over her, satin sheets beneath her, face streaked with tears, lips burning with reunion, the beams of Mikol’s bedroom above her, and Cort tracing a heart upon her breast, murmuring joy at the return of what he had lost.  Words rose to her lips to rescind her request.  What did it matter?  Hope, that which flared into being at that moment, was theirs for the keeping now. 

But her mother-voice returned in mother-strength, instinct born of seeing a tiny thing that came from her wake up in the world and see them both as her entire world – how could she not make sure that no stumbling block, nothing out of control, happen for Hope? 

Cort did have a way of taking her mind off things, though.  She found herself grinning, fascinated by how his sun-darkened skin, the light dusting of hair across his chest, the curve of his shoulder, contrasted with her own white skin.  “I love you so much,” she told him.

But, for now, his lips were occupied with other things than words and he steadily worked his way further down, loving the scent of her, the smoothness of her skin against his mouth.  The very softness of her breast was a thing of wonder to his masculinity and he reveled in the simplicity of the fact that he had the right to let his lips wander over it as they willed.  Its round fullness filled his cupped hand but, then, moved up to slip her shoulder free from the satin, giving freer range to his mouth.  His hand slid down, curving around her hip, gently pulling her against his body. He lifted his lips only enough to murmur, "My wife," and then he loved her with all the tender strength he possessed.

They had decided to get an early start on the two hour drive into NanoCorp, driving in Caroline's station wagon with Maximus behind the wheel. He still drove gravely, his eyes carefully taking in every detail of every passing vehicle, every sign, every curve of road. Caroline sat beside him, enjoying watching him. It was just so very...Maximus.  As well it should be.

Cort was directly behind her, with Hope in her car seat between him and Rachel. When they'd pulled up at the Wells' home that morning, Caroline thought Cort had a rather contented look on his face, which surprised her, given his reluctance to embark on this venture.  For the first hour, the conversation was light and concerned mostly with horses and other farm matters both couples shared an equal interest in these days.  But as the approach to the city loomed closer,

Cort became quiet and looked out the window a lot, staring but seeing nothing.

Maximus drove past the entrance drive to the blue house where Rachel and Cort had stayed. Cort's lips curved slightly as he caught a glimpse of it through the surrounding pines.  It was

the first place that had been like a home for him after being retrieved from his movie.  It was where, under the pines, he had first loved his Rachel.  His left hand reached out over the top of the car-seat, his fingers curving over her shoulder. "Always," he whispered, knowing she'd understand his meaning.

Wordlessly, Rachel bent her head and pressed his fingers between her shoulder and cheek, smiling back at him.  Regardless of what had happened at NanoCorp, the memory of that night would always shine for them.

In the two hours of their trip, Hope had practically conked out almost as Maximus pulled onto the freeway, slept until they were about thirty minutes away, and begun a long slow protestation of wet diapers in a fussy voice that Rachel had dubbed the “old engine siren” – a crankiness that wound itself up over several minutes into a full-throttled wail if ignored for too long…which precipitated a quick rest stop for everyone to get out, stretch their legs and let Rachel change the diapers.  From there, Hope kept them all entertained with her own observations, culminating in blowing raspberries for the sake of doing so.  

Everyone was quiet, though, as they climbed out of the car after parking in the main lot, their heads turning invariably to the four-story wall of green glass rising before them.   Hope seemed stunned by the light glinting off the building, as it was a bright cloudless day.  She stared up at it and pointed at it once, but remained silent. 

“Terry said to go on up to his office,” Rachel commented, as they paused to wait for her and Hope.  Cort took the bag and the five of them made their way toward the front.

Almost with the opening of the door, a whoosh of air brought back memories: the way the air inside smelt after the glass had filtered the sunlight into the main lobby, the sounds of people chatting with the receptionist, or the sounds of footsteps on the flagstone floor, the suspirating sound of the air conditioner as they made their way through the first section of the building and into the center atrium.  More than a few people caught them as they went, exclaiming over

Hope and trying to catch up on news with the four of them.  Rachel could see the set of Cort’s jaw grow tighter and tighter and she knew his thoughts were to go in and come out as quickly

as possible.  

Absolutely everything seemed to go all tight in him as he walked through the building, distractedly letting Rachel stop and greet people she knew, people who wanted to chuckle Hope under her chin.  He didn't really look at the people, his eyes were locked on Hope's little face. She seemed both curious and confused by all the new colors, new faces, new voices. Her life so far had mostly been spent out in the country where she usually saw no more than her parents, Maximus, Caroline and Hank, the man who worked on Caroline's property.  He liked that.  Right now he didn't like all the reaching hands, the fingers trying to touch his baby girl.  How long, how many minutes would they have to spend inside this horrid place?  He was ready to turn and leave right now.

He felt Maximus' hand on his shoulder, his fingers tightened just enough to say, I'm here. 

For that he was glad. Maximus hated the place as much as he did, having been kept in Sid's inner compound in a manner very like a lab rat. Lips pressed almost whitely together, he turned slightly, dipping his head in acknowledgement of Maximus' unspoken gesture.  Maximus nodded almost imperceptibly in reply as the two men continued side by side into what was, for them, enemy territory.

John Biebe waited in a doorway for them to pass, glad for the rare sight of two of his counterparts.  He, too, well remembered what Sid had done in experimentally transporting

Cort here and there in the complex, an experiment that amounted to nothing less than torture. "Good to see you, see both of you," he said, holding out his hand in greeting.

Cort paused, shaking John's hand. "You, too, John.  Be better some other place, though, you know."

John nodded.  "I do," then added, "Terry's waiting for you up on the fourth floor. Take the elevator if you'd like to avoid all these folks."

Cort looked back at the small crowd that had gathered around Rachel and Hope, effectively blocking their way. "Excuse me," he said firmly, making his way through them and, with an

arm around Rachel's shoulders, guided her unapologetically toward the elevators. "Let's not keep Terry waiting," he offered as his excuse.

Maximus merely smiled slightly and held the elevator door open. He still didn't like elevators. There was something just not...right...about tight little boxes that closed on you and took you places.  Stairs were much better.

Caroline, always aware of his discomfort in them, pressed close to his side. He smiled down at her.  She was the one who had always smoothed his way for him into this strange new world where he found himself. Looking up, she found his warm gaze on her and smiled back, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Rachel watched Hopes face as they entered the elevator, giggled as the baby’s eyebrows knit together, knowing something different was taking place, then eyes widening as the doors slid open again to reveal a different floor.  Hope actively looked at everything around her, turning to peer over Rachel’s shoulder as they left the elevator, then turning again as Lori, the secretary greeted them.

“He’s expecting you,” the young woman said, her own eyes wide at the sight of Maximus and Cort.  Rachel tried not to smirk, wondering how long Lori had been at NanoCorp and whether or not she’d seen Bud and John in the same room with Terry. 

“You want to peek in first, Hope?”  Rachel whispered to the baby, as she gently pushed the door open to Terry’s office.  “Tell them the gang’s all here?”

“’ang here!”  Hope obliged, pushing the door with her own little hand.

“They’re here!”  Rachel heard Deidre exclaim and pretty soon all of them were in the room, hugging and exclaiming over each other. 

“Mates, are you a sight for sore eyes!”  Terry said to both Maximus and Cort.  “Country life has been good for both you!”

"Country life was always what I knew, what I preferred to know," Maximus replied. He meant when the Army didn't call him to active duty, but his eyes roamed the walls of NanoCorp in such a way that Terry took the more current meaning as well.

"Goes for me, too," Cort added, extending his hand toward Terry. "Being back in the country really agrees with me."  His eyes met Maximus'.

“That, and the cooking,” Rachel quipped.  “Actually, its been a little too good for my waistline.  I told Cort the other day I was going on a diet.”

“Oh, well, I guess you won’t want to eat out then?  On me?”  Terry asked in challenge.

“Oh, yes, I do!”  Rachel laughed.  “I didn’t say I was going to start today!”

“We found this really nice little café on the square – small private garden area that you don’t see from the street.  It might remind you of someplace,” Deidre added, her eyes sparkling from more than happiness.  She’d hugged all of them, eyes a bit misty, had come face to face with Hope, who instantly became fascinated with the long red locks of hair, had been especially pleased when Hope leaned toward her to be held. 

"Best keep a watch out, Dee," Cort chuckled. "She's stronger than she looks and like as not will try for a few hands full as souvenirs. She has a particular fondness for long hair."

True to what her father said, Hope's little fingers instantly got a tight grip on a long, curly strand of Dee's crowning glory.

"'Air," she announced proudly. "'Ope gots 'air."

Deidre’s eyes went straight to Rachel’s.  “Such…a smart young lady…” she cooed, scarcely concealing her surprise, her gaze going on to meet Cort’s and then Terry’s.  But Hope wasn’t giving her much of a chance to follow up on that, for the child was grabbing another fistful and pulling it towards her mouth. “Ouch, ouch, Sweetpea, here…play with this…” and she reached into her blouse to pull out a carved silver disk on a heavy leather strand.  When it looked as if Hope was, indeed, distracted, she returned her gaze to Rachel, who had stood watching them, her mouth pressed in a line.  “I can see we all have a lot to talk about,” she said in general, the Alabama accent evident in those few words.

“Well, let’s get going,” Terry said, striding to the door and ushering them on their way.  “Reservations are at one o’clock and I made sure to let them know we won’t be rushed out of there.”

Before long they were driving through the older section of the city.  Old stone and brick buildings erected in the turn of the 20^th century rose up on either side of them, the street lined with aged elm and maple.  Revitalization was slowly returning a forgotten grandeur to the area, although there were still signs of graffiti and run down segments that had, as of yet, been unclaimed.   And not much longer than that, they were trailing their way through a side alley that had been repaved in brick and water fountains, and entered a small squarish courtyard that had a distinctly European flair to it.  Flower boxes filled with blooms and a small water fountain tinkled quietly near a large round table already set with plates and glasses.  A mural of a castle was painted, en fresco, on one wall, and quiet music was piped in, completing a setting of serenity and friendly comfort.

Rachel couldn’t help it.  This time it was her own eyes getting misty, for it did remind of her something: Hromada and its Czechoslovakian atmosphere. 

“Oh, it does….” She replied, when Deidre asked her.  “All that’s needed is Volos and his alchemy.  Is that sausage I smell?”

“They actually serve more continental cuisine here…roast beef, chicken, some pastas…a little bit of everything,” Terry replied.  “But I expect if you ask nicely enough they could come up with a kolcahe or two.”

Cort had taken Hope in his arms as they entered the restaurant. Somehow he just needed to feel her next to him, know she was close and his strength surrounded her.  He looked at Maximus, nodding meaningfully at the chair on his own left. Again the General understood and took that seat. Rachel was to Cort's right. None of this, of course, escaped Terry's notice.

Cort was relieved simply to be out of the NanoCorp complex. That the setting now reminded him of the village where he and Rachel had been married, was a nice addition and did help him relax somewhat. But only somewhat.  He knew they had to go back to the complex when the meal was over. For a moment, he closed his eyes, pressing his lips together.

"DadDa 'ick?" Hope asked, the wide eyes in her round little face filled with a rather startling amount of concern.

Cort smiled at her. "No, Hope. Daddy's ok."

"DadDa not," Hope pressed. "'Ope see."

"What does Hope see?" Caroline asked, feeling that the answer might prove to be revealing to Terry and Dee, might help them understand what Cort and Rachel were dealing with.

"'Ope see...," she reached up and touched Cort's chin with her tiny fingers, "DadDa shin 'ard."

"Shin 'ard?" Cort repeated.  Then it hit him.  He'd been clenching his teeth so tightly it had squared his jaw line.  She had noticed THAT? His gaze passed over Hope's head, locking on Terry's, silently saying: you see?

Rachel saw the same hardened look that had befallen Maximus and Cort settle as shadow on Terry’s face, the eyes narrowing imperceptibly, his entire frame freezing, understanding exactly.  It was several minutes before Terry recovered enough words to respond – the whole table was quiet as the wait staff brought their drinks, laid out the appetizers. 

“You did say this was more than a social call…,” he began, when the staff disappeared inside once more.  He sounded almost disappointed.

“Are…are there any tests…we can run…that might find out…” Rachel stammered, her voice somewhat tremulous.   

“Tests, yes,” Terry replied, almost absentmindedly.  He looked a little pale.  So did Deidre.   “Doctors who can examine her…”

“No machines,” Cort interjected, his own voice low, as if he were ready to battle for that request.  “No wires, no…contraptions.”

Terry could not respond to that right away, and he shifted uncomfortably as he processed the request.  Hope was the picture of high health, and any observations would ultimately conclude that there was nothing to worry about.  But for Hope’s advanced situation in language…? This was mental acuity and needed methods beyond what any cursory glance-over would determine.  He could see by Rachel’s husbanded breath and expression that she knew that, too; but remembering the hell they had all gone through…

He could also see by Cort’s eyes, knew by the very glint of them and his own will facing him down in the gunslinger’s expression, that Cort would not brook compromise. 

“A blood test, at least?”  Rachel posed it as a general question, but Terry sensed it was to break the tension that was now floating above the table like some unwelcome guest. 

"What would a blood test show, Rachel?" Cort asked, folding his arms around Hope. "If she's got those damn bugs in her blood? Is that what they'd be looking for? The goddamn BUGS?  Didn't that stuff that Terry brought into the film, didn't that handle the bugs?"  His jaw was working at the mere thought his girl could have been invaded by the nanobots.

"'Ope got bugs?" she asked, very aware of the unpleasant connotation in her father's voice. "Bad bugs?"

"No, baby girl," Cort replied, kissing the top of her head. "No bugs in Hope."  His eyes met Terry's again across the table, practically flashing fire. "No bugs in Hope."

Terry’s jaw worked as well, and he felt Deidre slide her hand onto his leg under the table as a hidden gesture of steadiness, glanced at Maximus and Caroline, who were looking equally uncomfortable.  Their faces – his, the other two men – they were all of them alike, copies, showed many of the same expressions, moods – but moments like this highlighted their different temperaments in acute ways.  He, the negotiator, was used to bringing down the bad news, the unwanted news, the hard-core, flat-cold news.  Tried to do so in terms that others could readily absorb with dignity, maybe even resolution and sense of control.  But Cort, whose experience outside his movie had been one moment of insecure flotation after another, did not look ready at all to hear what Terry thought about the situation.  Looked ready to face down the demon that made him an anachronism until he was flat in the street, dead.

“Cort…” Rachel intoned weakly, but then the waiters arrived with their food and the group fell silent again.  That at least gave them time to tuck whatever hasty words had risen to their lips and replace them with food, which soothed tempers better than any assurances he could give…but it was the women at the table who took up the chit-chat, whilst he, Maximus, and Cort remained silent.

It also gave Terry a chance to watch Hope more.  Yes, he could see why Rachel and Cort were

so frightened.

Hope ate her lunch seated still on Cort's lap.  She was into finger foods that she could stuff into her own mouth. She already had several little teeth and liked eating much better when she could do it all by herself.  She dribbled a bit down her chin and onto Cort's pants, but he seemed unaware, quietly cutting his meat, chewing silently, his eyes turned inward, his left arm always returning to curve around Hope's middle.

What he was seeing were his last moments on his Grandmother's farm as he simply walked away with nothing, into the desert to shoot rattlers. He wanted to do that now. Sit somewhere quiet, alone, and aim his gun at the blasted bugs Sid had invented.  Rattlers...bugs...always something that threatened those he loved the most. He'd killed the grizzly that had attacked Rachel, killed the snake that had taken his Grandmother from him. How did one kill the damn bugs, though? WERE there bugs in Hope's blood?  He began to wonder now, began to need to know now.  His arm tightened.

"DadDa 'queeze," Hope puffed.

He blinked, loosening his grip.  "Sorry, Little Darlin'," he said.  "Daddy's thinking too much."

The women, who had been chatting about everyday things in an attempt to provide some sense

of normalcy to the meal, paused, as all eyes turned to Hope again. "DadDa 'sink much," she offered. She twisted her little body to the side, reaching up a hand to touch his chin. It was, somehow, a rather mature gesture, the way she did it, the way she moved, the look on her face.

Cort looked down at her then at Rachel. "I want to be with her," he said, his voice barely audible. "I don't want some doctor taking her off into another room somewhere. I want to be holding her hand."

“Of course, dear love,” Rachel crooned, reaching out to caress Hope’s head, then Cort’s shoulder.  Her eyes were definitely moist.  Seeing the intensity of his protectiveness and love for his daughter was one of the most exquisite things she cherished.  “Of course.  No one would dream of separating you two.”

“Maximus, Caroline, I understand you may be interested in raising horses?  And have you finished that painting you were working on when I was last there?” Deidre asked, to cover the silent sigh of relief from Terry.

Maximus cleared his throat a bit, pulling his eyes away from Hope. "This is true, Deidre. We have much pasture-land where we live and the barn is very large. I have been investigating what is available in good breeding mares."  He looked at Caroline, feeling somehow awkward speaking at the moment about horses when he knew everyone's mind was on another topic.

Caroline, ever sensitive to what he was thinking, knew he wished her to continue and so she added, "I'm almost done with the painting.  I find I spend so much time outdoors with Maximus these days that it takes me longer to finish any art project. But I love it...the being outside more, I mean."  She really meant it.  Walking or riding beside him, even just watching him do the work he'd taken on around the farm, any or all of it was a joy to her.  His company meant more to her than any other thing in the world. Her eyes turned to his face. She didn't mind who saw what was so clearly writ in her expression.

Cort, though, seemed oblivious of anything else but his present concern. He looked at Terry. "Can this thing be done today? This afternoon? I don't want her around NanoCorp any longer than necessary."

He had been remembering everything connected with the place, all the pain, all the loss. And he had been remembering Henri, the slender Frenchman who'd become his surrogate father, the loving, generous man whom Sid had poisoned.  His eyes fell from Terry's, turned to Rachel. "I wish Henri were here to do the test. I wish..." his voice trailed off, and he blinked hard.

“Me, too,” Rachel agreed.  “He’d be so proud of you…and he’d have done anything for Hope.”

“When we are done here, we’ll head back and you will have the best of our doctors at your…swift…and ready disposal,” Terry assured, smiling warmly at them.   He would have offered anyway, whatever it took to give them the security they needed – and he was glad Cort would allow him to do something to help.   “There’s a lollipop with Hope’s name on it, anyway,” he added, with a wink at the child.

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