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The California morning sun gloriously brightens Addison and Ben’s apartment. She’d been dreaming of him. Her arm reaches to curl around his chest, and feel his warmth.
But Ben has been gone for two years.
Even in the months before, she was only seeing him in the imaging chamber. She couldn’t touch him, or have dinner with him, or share a life with him. For a third of that he didn’t even remember who she was, and he never recalled all of their life together. It was an odd kind of loneliness.
But for the last two years, there hasn’t been a trace.
Addison steps into the closet to dress for work. In one half the closet, there are his clothes, gathering dust like a forgotten knickknack. She can’t quite bring herself to put them away.
She scrounges a small breakfast out of the fridge. The jar of kimchi is there. She’s eaten kimchi and thinks it’s fine, but it’s not something she seeks to eat on her own. She certainly couldn’t eat it now without melting into a puddle. Does kimchi go bad? It’s basically rotten cabbage. But his other favorite foods have all spoiled and gone in the garbage. It’s the only thing left in the refrigerator that’s his.
And then it’s off to work. Mrs. Shepherd from across the hall says hello. Addison used to talk more with the older woman, until the time she asked why that nice young man didn’t come around any more. Addison told her that he was on a government mission, and had gone missing in action. This was entirely accurate, and Addison didn’t mind that it gave Mrs. Shepherd an understanding that was quite far from the truth.
Since then, Mrs. Shepherd has seemed to be afraid to talk to her, to say the wrong thing. Being emotionally fragile is bad enough; to have others treat you as emotionally fragile, as a delicate flower that could be broken by breathing too hard, is arguably worse.
*****
Addison is a trained leaper and an experienced hologram; with no leap, there’s nothing really for her to do at the project. She occasionally has to call her old Army friend Tom, now a Big Deal at the Pentagon, to fix a bureaucratic problem when Magic runs out of juice. Tom lost his wife a few years ago, understands her predicament, and saves the program’s bacon constantly. But it’s only a phone call every couple of months.
To avoid going crazy, she’s started helping Ian. Ian is the physics brain; they’re the one that has to do the math to figure out what happened, particularly with Ben gone. They think that Ben leaping into the accelerator during the fight with Martinez messed up Ben’s planned trajectory through spacetime, but the math is hard. If Ian can figure out where to look, the search will go much faster.
So Addison has learned a little bit about keeping Ziggy running, so Ian can focus on the hard math. She’s not really cut out for sitting behind a laptop, and being a glorified intern is more than a little soul-destroying. But Ziggy is the one crawling all of spacetime to find Ben, so maintaining Ziggy is really important.
Every day has been the same for a while. The team is looking for Ben, and they’re still basically at square one. Occasionally Ian has new theoretical models that he tries out; they try to explain the models in staff meetings but no one can understand them, much less provide helpful feedback. But Ian is as desperate as anyone to get Ben back, as they are his best friend, and feel responsible for sending Ben on this journey in the first place.
Addison has begged Ian to forgive themselves more times than she can count.
***
But this morning, Magic calls a meeting. His expression is grim. She knows that Magic has essentially lost a son, but bless his heart, he does not let it show. He thinks he has to be strong for the people who, he believes, have it worse. Like Addison. Where he puts the grief, she does not know.
“How was Washington?”
“I have bad news”
Everyone waited for Magic to continue.
“There’s no good way to say it… They’re cutting our budget.”
“Cutting it by how much?” Ian asked.
“All of it.”
Ian is shocked. “But what about Ben!”
“We can’t find him, or even provide proof he’s still alive.”
“But what if he’s been out there leaping for years, wondering why we’ve abandoned him? He’d be stranded and alone forever!” Ian’s face is stricken.
Jenn chimes in, already wallowing in cynical resignation. “They left Sam Beckett behind. Why wouldn’t they leave Ben?”
This conversation goes on a while longer, but Addison is no longer listening. She stares straight ahead, mind spinning. She can’t even form a thought. It is pure panic and emotion. She had gradually come to terms with the possibility that Ben might not return, but This Was It. Final. The last possibility, to zero. Even if Ben somehow turned up, there would be no one here to see it.
Ian is making some sort of point when Addison blurts it out.
“Put me in the accelerator. I should leap.”
Everyone is startled by the interruption.
“It’s what I’m trained for.”
Magic’s expression softens. “Addison, I can’t let you do that. It’s not going to work.”
“It might work.”
“It’d be a wild shot. And there won’t be anyone here to support you on the leaps.”
Ian disagrees. “I’ll work here for free. I’ll get some dumb job and work on this every other waking hour.”
“Me too,” Jenn adds.
“I would do it for nothing, too,” Magic replies, “but it’s more than us. There are dozens of people that keep this place running. And we use about as much power as a small country. We can’t get that for free, even if the Pentagon would let us keep using their property.”
Addison just stares at the floor, a tear dribbling down her cheek. Ian gets up to leave, and gives her a tight hug. “I’ll find a way,” he whispers. She doesn’t acknowledge him.
The two of them now alone, Magic’s voice is anguished. “I’m sorry, Addison. I can’t… we can’t lose you, too, and that’s what we’d be doing if we sent you in there.”
She nods weakly and goes home for the day.
*****
Sometimes she has an imaginary conversation with Ben. She wants to find a reason to be mad at him; it would be so much easier if he’d leapt not to save her, but to get the glory himself or to hang with his buddies in the past, or something else selfish.
“Why didn’t you tell us why you had to leap?”
“Future Ian said there was a mole. I couldn’t trust anyone”
“You couldn’t trust me?”
Ben has always – had always – had a reckless streak. Though sometimes annoying, on their better days it complimented her natural caution very well. His biggest and last risk on Earth was the one she didn’t get any input on. And it sucks. Addison is a woman of action, and she is a passenger in her own life. It makes her furious at no one in particular.
Maybe she needs to take charge again.
*****
Magic has taken the team out to dinner to commiserate. Addison had declined, and no one dared challenge her. So she knows that no one is around when she slips into the office.
She finds her old leaper suit. It was fitted three years ago, and she is silently thankful she hasn’t eaten her way through her ordeal, because it is tight. She is also thankful she knows her way around Ziggy now, because she can activate the accelerator.
As she understands it, it is possible to “aim” the accelerator at a specific point in spacetime, but it’s like trying to hit the bottom of a riverbed: you might get close, but the current will keep you from hitting exactly where you intend. She’s not really sure where to go. Ben’s last leap was Los Angeles in 2018, so she considers trying that. Maybe Ben is also not far from his last leap. But no, she doesn’t set a target. She is relying on whatever force guides the leaps to take her to him. It owes her.
She finishes configuring the accelerator and stands in front of the hatch. She pauses for a moment, but there is nothing for her here. She pushes the button to open the hatch, and beholds the accelerator, in all its magnificence: beautiful, a technical marvel, once her future, and a menace that took away everything she cared about in the world.
Unfortunately for her, Ian had left dinner early.
“Addison! No!”
They grasp her around the waist a few feet into the chamber and drag her back out.
“Let me go!” she chokes through tears.
“This isn’t going to work,” Ian explains, also on the verge of tears. “Trust me, I know this system better than anyone. We will just lose you too.”
“I have to try!”. She collapses backwards onto the floor.
“I know, honey.” Ian crouches down and holds her tight. Addison sobs uncontrollably. They close their eyes as she finally casts out years of hoping. Ian is crying too, but doing a slightly better job of holding it together. Their best friend did such a good job in finding a partner in Addison. To see the relationship end like this is too much for them.
“I will figure something out.”
It’s then that Magic and Jenn return, thanks to Ian’s message. Magic sits down on the floor and takes a turn at cradling Addison as she wails on his shoulder. It is not graceful or dignified. It is pure despair.
Magic waits a long while. “Maybe we should have a funeral. We need a way to process this,” he offers.
Addison is just beginning to put herself back together. She nods between tears.
“C’mon, let’s get you home.” Ian helps her up, gesturing to Jenn to help get her there.
Magic takes Ian aside. “Maybe one of you should stay with her tonight. In this state…”
“You got it, Magic.”
“I’ll call around tomorrow morning. She might need to spend a few days in an institution. Get some professional help.”
Ian nods. It pains both of them to see Addison, maybe the mentally strongest of all of them in happier times, reduced to this state.
*****
With the team gone, Magic retires to his office. The pain is overwhelming. He is responsible for these people, and they are his family. Ben is gone, Addison is destroyed, Ian is headed that way. And Sam is no closer to home.
He gets the bottle out of the cabinet and pours himself a shot. The pain is too much, and he has to do something to keep it under control.
And it’s then that he puts his head on the desk and finally allows himself to grieve as well.