Page 23 of Not With the Eyes

"Oberon!" Scones grabbed him by his arms, shook him, then pulled him close. "What in the world is wrong?"

"You wouldn't understand. I had one job, one fucking job in this place, and now my chance is gone forever." Oberon tore away, in too much pain to tolerate attempts to comfort, sinking to his knees, hands trembling in his lap. "The only place it could be is here."

Dixie frowned, then said hesitantly, "Then I'll have it, darling. I took damn near the whole archive and transferred the whole damn mess of it to Byron."

"It won't be there," Oberon said bitterly. "It doesn't—"

"Don't say it doesn't matter when you look like someone has died," Scones cut in, voice harsher than Oberon had ever heard it, like he knew all too well how Oberon felt. "What's wrong? What were you looking for?"

Oberon broke, tears streaming down his face. "Me. That's what I was looking for. The fucking Dogs wiped out my existence. Everything about me. I never existed so far as the world is concerned. Including—"

"Including all pictures of you," Scones said, his voice breaking. "Oh, no. Oh,no.I thought—"

"You thought the same thing as everyone else," Oberon said bitterly, looking down at his hands.

Dixie stared between them, bewildered. Nearby on a stiff-looking sofa, Rodeo was fast asleep. "What am I missing?"

"Shifters don't have a 'default' form," Oberon replied, still speaking dully to his hands. "Once we come into our powers, our default setting is a blank slate. A creepy nothing that none of us likes to use. I no longer remember the 'me' I was before my life was literally destroyed in a fire. It's been so long that I've forgotten it. My last chance to getmeback was the hard file somewhere in this building."

"Well shit," Dixie said. "We're on lockdown for at least seventy-two hours, but once Byron clears everything and re-establishes communications…"

Oberon shook his head, pushing to his feet and justgoing. Where, he didn't fucking know, there weren't a whole lot of options. All he wanted was to be alone.

Opening the first door he came to once he was away from the others, he slumped in relief to see he'd found a bedroom. It wasn't much, just a bunk, dresser, and desk, but it was all he needed. He stripped off his stolen gear, sat down to remove hisboots, then stripped down to boxers and tank top and finally sprawled on the surprisingly comfortable bed.

It was over. He'd never get himself back. Herself. Themself. The person he'd been when he'd fallen in love, gotten married, and had three beautiful children… was gone. Forever. Unless some random individual somewhere in the world somewhere happened to have a screenshot or newspaper clipping of him that had missed the purging of his existence, no image of him remained anywhere. Even if someone did have a random missed clipping, so what? Oberon would never know them, never find them.

His old self, that woman he'd loved being for so long, was really and truly gone.

How long he lay there, Oberon didn't know. It seemed like forever had passed, and only mere seconds, when the door opened with a soft hiss. Dragging his head up, wiping his messy face, Oberon stared blearily at Scones and rasped out, "What?"

"Can we talk?" Scones asked, and if Oberon didn't know any better, he'd swear Scones sounded scared.

Sighing, he heaved himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wiping uselessly at his face.

"Here," Scones said, sitting next to him on the bed. "Thought you might need it." He handed Oberon a hot damp cloth that smelled faintly of some piney soap.

"Thanks." Oberon cleaned his face and set the cloth aside. "What did you need to talk about?"

Scones looked at him, then looked away. "I, uh, I need to say I'm sorry. I didn't know you couldn't— I had no idea you were looking for a picture— I wasn't trying—" He bent his head, bracing it in his hands. "Fuck, I'm screwing this up."

"Screwing upwhat?" Oberon asked. "It's not your fault. You have nothing to do with this, and it never occurs toanyonethat shifters can't remember every single form they change into."

"No, that's not what I mean— I mean, I didn't know that, and I feel stupid given I should have, after everything I've learned, everything I've done over the years, but I— That is— I mean— Goddammit, why is this so hard?" Scones dragged his hands down his face and stood up to pace restlessly around the room.

Oberon was getting a headache, but whatever was wrong had Scones in knots, and that troubled him far more than a headache. "You're not making any sense. What has you so upset?"

Coming to halt, Scones stared at him, eyes full of anguish, face lined with so much pain that Oberon hurt just looking at him. "I didn't know. I swear to you I didn't know that's what you were looking for. If I'd known—" He shook his head, then took a deep breath and stepped forward, dropping to one knee as he reached into his jacket.

Pulling something out, he presented it to Oberon. "This belongs to you. Just please,pleasedon't go back to hating me. I don't— I won't ask for anything else, but please don't hate me again."

"What…" It was the leather fold from the hotel room, the one that Scones had been so strangely possessive and defensive about.

Hands shaking, Oberon took the fold and opened it—and burst into fresh tears as she took in her own long-lost face, in her wedding gown she'd been so proud of. She shifted without thought, the picture enough to stir long forgotten memories, all of it coming back to her.

Standing, she hastened into the bathroom and stared in the mirror at a face she hadn't seen in decades. Had been certain just seconds ago that she would never see again.

As she settled into the form she'd missed so desperately, though, one question clanged in her mind like alarm bells.

---