David stood in the dimly lit passage, gently knocking on Breanna's suite door. She had disappeared earlier, leaving him to wonder if her disappearance had something to do with her talk with Cara. She had looked upset, pale and edgy. Everyone chatted, played games, had a drink or two, but Breanna had not reappeared. Worried, he knocked again, tried the door and found it open. Slowly entering, he took a moment for his enhanced eyesight to adjust to the darkened room.

"Breanna? You here?" he called softly.

Soft shuffling came from an oversized armchair across the room, facing one of the windows. Breanna huddled against the massive curved back, her legs tucked to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her head leaning into the corner of the raised back. She sat, staring at the starry sky outside the window.

"Breanna?" he said, kneeling in front of the chair, "you okay? You disappeared earlier and didn't come back."

"I'm fine," a breathy, warbled voice replied from the shadows, "you can leave now."

"Do you need anything?" he recognised that slight warble; Tina sounded similar when upset. He would bet a cheesecake Breanna had been or was still crying.

"I said I'm fine," she repeated huskily, "thanks for checking on me. You can leave."

Yep, she was definitely crying.

"Why are you crying?" David knew he should leave, but something about how she cried tugged at him.

"Just leave me alone," she murmured, "go back to whatever you were doing."

"That sounds like an order," he whispered, "you know I don't do well with orders. You want to tell me what upset you?

"No, go away."

"Can't do that," he sighed, "I guess I'm going to have to get tough here."

Standing, he scooped her into his arms, turned and sat with her on his lap. She stiffened instantly.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Strange as it may sound," he said, "comforting you."

"Why?" she whispered.

"You're upset," he gently ran his thumb over her wet cheeks drying tears, "upset needs comforting."

"Why do you think I need this?" she huffed.

"You don't know it," he gently brushed her hair from her face, "but you do."

Holding her as the silence stretched and she relaxed against him, sighing as his warmth seeped into her cold limbs.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For?"

"Just sitting with me," Breanna sniffed, "you probably think I'm weak."

"Not at all," David whispered, "even strong, independent people need to release emotion from time to time."

"You sure about that?" he felt her glance at him.

"Pretty sure," he chuckled, "you've kept everything together for a long time Bre."

"How would you know?"

"If you haven't noticed," he grinned in the darkness, "I've been around for the last few days."

"So?"

"You have not once raised your voice in anger. You have this way of commanding a room without even having to try," he shrugged, "personally, I think everyone is petrified of you. Waiting for you to get angry and punch their lights out."

Resting her head against his shoulder, she chuckled, "Maybe you are right."

"I know I am," he said, stroking her shoulder-length hair, "you just need to recognise that fact."

"Really?" she said, raising her head to meet his gaze through the darkness, "you think I should recognise it."

"You know that you should," he grinned, the flash of white gleaming in the dark.

"You ready to come downstairs and get this tactical team going?" he asked.

She hesitated. An unnatural action for her. Something held her back from using the potential seen in the last few days.

"I..." she sighed, "I can't lead this team. It should be either you or Clio."

"Why?" he frowned at her words, "this is your talent, Breanna. You are a natural leader and decision-maker."

"No," she shook her head, pushing off his lap, moving away from him, "don't say that."

"I am saying that," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs while he tried to figure out what had made her so edgy, "I've seen you in action."

"This..." she waved an arm generally toward the door, "... is not as easy as going in with a handful of people and stopping a maniac from hurting more people."

Standing, David found a lamp and switched it on. Instantly Breanna turned away, allowing her hair to fall, hiding her face.

"Breanna?" David stopped in front of her, "look at me."

She didn't move or acknowledge his presence. Gently lifting her chin, her eyes remained lowered. Patiently he waited until she looked directly at him. The haunted expression took his breath away. The tear ravaged face showed the anguish of a past filled with mistakes and demons.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"You don't need to know," she stepped back, shutting him out.

"Breanna," he followed her, "talk to me."

"No," she swivelled on her feet and stalked toward another window but changed course when he followed, "stop following me."

"Stop running," he followed as she paced away from him, then suddenly stopped.

"I'm not running," she gritted her teeth, fisted her hands, rounding on him. He was unprepared for the ferocity of her advance. At least she was showing some raw emotion. Not the well managed stuff on display since he had dropped through her window.

"No. You don't need to know," Breanna spat, "these people don't need to know, and they sure as hell shouldn't be so prepared to put their lives in the hands of someone like me."

"Then whose hands should they put their lives," he pushed. He was so close to the reason Breanna was out of reach and what stopped her from being the leader everyone needed, "should it be in my hand? Clio's hands? Tania's hands?"

"Any and all of the above," her voice rose in raw anguish.

"Why?" frustrated anger clashing as he pushed, "what makes us any different from you?".

She stood in front of him breathing hard, anger spitting from her chocolate brown eyes, tears welling and coursing unheeded down her cheeks. She was the most beautiful woman he had seen, and he couldn't let her slip into the waiting crack.

"Why?" he repeated softly, gently reaching up; he cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb wiping away tears on her cheek. "Make me understand why anyone but you would be better to lead."

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes against the tears. He pulled her against him and held her as she cried against his shoulder. Silently giving her strength, wishing he could help her, he could figure out what it was that had cost her so dearly.

"I can't let what happened before happen again," she whispered raggedly, "I won't cost them their lives. They need someone stronger."

David blinked quickly as her words raced a chill through his body. Only one incident on record where the entire team's lives were lost, including the commanding officer, came to mind. No one found or to be brought to account for the actions that caused so many disappearances. Could that missing officer be Breanna? Breathing in, he frowned as doubt and indecision battled.

"Breanna, what are you saying?" David asked, not wanting her to be the officer.

She pulled away from him, wiping her face in her hands, sniffing as she fought for control.

"It happened years ago," she whispered, "I headed a team of specialists. I moved on intelligence from my commanding officer. Intelligence I didn't trust, and it turned out to be bogus. I disagreed with the command, but I didn't fight hard enough to change it. I … I lost everyone."

"How come you're alive then," he didn't want to hear but needed to know, "how are you standing here, and everyone else is dead."

"I don't know," she said miserably, "there are fragments of memories when I have nightmares, but nothing clear. Somewhere in my memory, I know they are not dead."

"What was your first memory after the incident?"

"Waking up in Darcia's facility," she turned to look at him, misery etching her face. "David, how can I lead these people when I don't know what went wrong before?"

"I can't answer that," he sighed, "but one thing I do know, right now, downstairs is a group of people terrified out of their minds. No one understands what they have been through or going through or will walk them through new discoveries when and if that happens. The only person that has been there for them is you. You are the one who gave them a place to heal, recover physically and emotionally, maybe even mentally. You are the one who has given guidance and true, strong leadership. Now you want to walk away from all of that when you have shown them what real choice is and leave them drifting...." he shook his head, "... what are you teaching them now?"

"You don't understand," she shuddered, "what if it happens again?"

"You're scared," he said flatly, "you are scared of the unknown, of taking a chance on something that could be an opportunity to put the past right."

"I am terrified of hurting anyone else," she whispered.

"No," breathing heavily, trying to control the rising anger, David paced away from her, "that may be what you think. From where I'm standing, you're telling this group of people that you don't value them as you made them believe you did. You speak of courage and teamwork. You talk of being there for each other, but when the chips fall… you hide. Think about this, Breanna … how do you know it wasn't your fault, that maybe you were set up. Maybe your CO was working with Darcia, as many have been. You talk about not hurting someone else. What are you doing right now?"

"David ..." he heard her gasp as he opened the door roughly, slamming it behind him. He needed air. He needed to punch something. Heading down the stairs, David found a small home gym. Pulling off his jacket, he activated the treadmill and began running; this would be a good start. His mind reeled, his heart angry and hurt … for Breanna. Punching a button on the treadmill, he ran faster until sweat dripped from him, and his chest heaved painfully. Finally, David stepped off and headed for the door. It was time to have a chat with Michael. There could be no surprises. Instinct and intuition screamed; not everything had been Breanna's fault. He smelt setup and scapegoat.

He shook his head. He was angry that Breanna was hiding, but he was angrier that she allowed this to dictate, throwing everything away. Part of him felt like part of the rejected parcel, and surprisingly that hurt.