He looked at her quizzically. "Stronger?"
"Why can't you see it? Don't you know how much courage it takes to care? To let other human beings in? Bishop is what he is because he has no options. You had me, and Tony, and Harmony, and even Vail, dammit. You had family. We care about each other. And together, we took him apart. Why do you think that you have to do it all yourself?"
"Because…" The next thought was stuck within him. Unspeakably anachronistic. And too damned real.
Millicent's eyes softened. "Because that's what a 'man' does?" He couldn't look at her. "Well, you're not a man. Look at me! You're not a unit-you're a human being. A 'man' is just part of what you are. Don't throw the rest away, like Bishop has, Alex. Don't throw the people who love you away. Let us in."
He still didn't, couldn't, face her. Alex felt as if that void within him had suddenly widened. As if he were tumbling now, uncontrolled and uncontrollable.
A cold breeze blew in from under the dying sun, and he began to shake. "I need a blanket," he said lamely.
"Alex?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "I watched you hurt yourself with Sharon, and with Acacia, and I think sometimes that you only open yourself when you know it won't work."
The sun was lower now, and the orange of the clouds had deepened. More of them had clustered there, obscuring what little light remained in the day. "Seems like that," he said finally, almost to himself.
"Maybe I've done the same thing. And maybe that's why we've managed to avoid each other. I just wanted to say it's over, Alex. I can't sit back and watch anymore. I can't be your friend anymore-"
"Oop. Hello? Millie-"
"Not if you don't trust me enough to know that we're family! That if things don't work out between us we'll still be family. But if we never even try, it's a waste of your life, and mine, and I'm afraid that you'll go right out and find someone else to use you, Alex. Someone to make you close up even tighter." She rested her hand on his. "I won't hurt you, Alex," she said. "I'm your friend."
"Millicent-"
"I'm not finished," she said, but the anger and pain were gone. In its place was a mischievous grin, and eyes that sparkled with challenge. "I've thought about this for a long time. And what I've decided is that I love you, and I intend to seduce you. Tonight, in that four-poster bed upstairs. I'm going to lock the door, and stuff a washcloth in your mouth to muffle your cries for mercy. Do you understand me?"
"Why-"
"Am I saying this? Because if I wait for you to say it, we'll both be talking through liquid nitrogen!"
Alex's head spun. She looked so small and fierce and determined. And beautiful. And afraid of what he might say, or do, next.
Shit.
"So, mister… what do you say?"
Alex Griffin sat up and wrapped his big arms around his knees and buried his face there, peeping out between them at the sunset. The clouds had cleared, and the sun was almost down. It was only a partial disk now, but it shone as brightly as it could, even at the end of the day. It painted the sea in copper, and the beach in gold, and for a moment the air seemed not so frigid, the day not so near the night.
Alex stood up. He took her face between his hands and kissed her long enough and hard enough that when he pulled back they were both a little dizzy.
"Well, it's certainly worth a try."
"And if it doesn't work?"
He kissed her again, tasting salt and tequila. "We'll still be family."
The pink tip of her tongue darted out and wet the end of his nose. "Damned straight!" Millicent giggled and jumped off the couch. He grabbed for her. Shrieking, she eluded him and dashed barefoot across the grass to the house.
Alex watched that tired old sun disappear and downed the last of his drink in one swallow. Fair's fair. Give her a head start, he thought. The end of a day meant the beginning of a night.
He spun up off the couch and sprinted after her. And if Millicent hadn't stopped to shed her swimsuit, she might well have made it all the way to that four-poster before he caught her. Or she caught him.
Or…
Epilogue: Part Two
Quito, Ecuador, Saturday, October 8, 2059
Nigel Bishop sat in an oak-paneled waiting room, beneath a gigantic neomodernist rendition of a bullfighting scene. He hadn't studied it.
Beneath the broad double windows to his right, street musicians were playing, vying with the horns and motors of a Tuesday's evening traffic. He paid no attention.
For the first time in weeks, when he breathed or moved his face, he experienced no sharp stab of agony. He felt no gratitude.
What he felt, instead, was a niggling feeling of doubt. Somewhere, somehow, something was wrong. It wouldn't come into focus, but he was almost certain…
Bishop cursed softly. Why couldn't he see the flaw? His mind just wouldn't perform with its usual clarity and precision. When he closed his eyes he saw Alex Griffin.
He had to think…
A door opened, and a pretty, light-skinned, almost Asian Hispanic woman beckoned to him. "Senor Bishop? They are ready to speak with you."
Nigel stood and brushed invisible dust away from his coat. He gripped his suitcase with hands that were suddenly cold and wet.
There was something. He was certain of it, but but it kept eluding him.
"Excuse me. Senor Bishop?"
"Yes. I'm ready." He breathed deeply, banishing his doubts. Vague fears and uncertainties often accompanied major life events. Victory, he reminded himself, belonged to the bold.
And so thinking, Nigel Bishop strode across the threshold. "There are Paths that should not be taken. "There are Armies that should not be confronted.