"I don't understand," Clementine said, for the third time in as many minutes. "We should have been caught!"

The crushing disappointment of not having a clue where Jax was didn't prevent Quentin from giving her a pointed look through the open visor of his helmet. She raised a hand to her forehead, or its general area over her own helmet. "That's not what I meant. I meant, why set up a trap if you're not going to catch anyone in it?"

"We know what you meant." Lara laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll keep trying, but if we didn't find him today, he—"

"Don't say it."

"Clementine—"

"Just don't." She slapped Lara's hand from her shoulder. "I know how things work. I don't need reminding."

Quentin hated leaving now, but it was close to two in the morning. Even with the messages he'd sent Ian, his husband was waiting for him back at the room and there was nothing Quentin could do to help here. Maybe Ian would know another way.

Clementine shot him a withering look the minute he opened his mouth. "You want me to drop you off. You made nice with the husband and Jax's as good as gone and there's no point, right?" Her face crumpled. "Get on the bike, I'll take you."

What could he do? Apologise, when that was a harsher variant of his exact thoughts? Better to not say anything at all. He'd taken two steps in the bike's direction when she stopped, a hand raised. Her eyes widened, narrowed, widened again. She seemed to be going through the gamut of human emotion, calibrating her expressions until she could display each one in turn.

"It's Jax," she said, whatever expression she'd settled on undecipherable. "He's been taken by a Tracker who has a BioSynth working for him." She gritted her teeth, her next words clearly meant for Jax, but said aloud, anyway. "I don't care if it's a trap, send me the coordinates now." And then, looking at them, "I have to go."

Clementine really should have known better than to think the Misfits, Quentin included, would let her go at it alone now, any more than they had a handful of hours before. He rode with her, the other three following behind in their decrepit car, hacked to be faster than any commercial latest model ever could; if he'd thought she'd driven recklessly before, it was nothing compared to what she was doing now. It took them seven minutes for a ride that ought to have taken at least fifteen.

"How many are inside?" The car hadn't even stopped completely before Xavier was opening the door.

"Just the fucker and the traitor BioSynth, apart from Jax." She jerked her head, not bothering to remove the helmet. Quentin hadn't either. "Third door past the stairs, let's go."

There was a window with the blinds open in the first room. The woman inside reacted to seeing five strangers run past, the limping one taking point, guns drawn, by closing said blinds and likely doing nothing else. This was a part of why Ian had been so taken in by the house, by its safe neighbourhood. Life in Lyz was nothing if not interesting.

Jax's back was to them, blocking the view of whoever was inside. Clever man. Clementine stopped them at the door, her voice a whisper. "Put away your guns before we all shoot each other in the back." They rushed to comply. "I'll have mine out, the rest of you draw yours when we've cleared the door."

She kicked the door in with her twisted foot and they filed in the room, ready to strike, but Quentin never did draw his gun.

Standing across from him, arm halfway to his boot, was Ian.

"Don't shoot," Quentin shouted, arms raised as he got between them. "That's my husband!"

The look on Ian's face as Quentin took off his helmet wasn't confusion or anger; it was relief. The others were shouting, but Quentin didn't hear a word, making his way over to Ian, stopping him before he reached his weapon with a pleading, "They're my friends."

Ian spun them around, white as a sheet. Quentin hated to see him ready to take a bullet for Quentin like that, but he trusted the Misfits not to shoot his unarmed husband in the back. He'd never seen Ian like this, so unsettled he shook like a leaf, reaching for Quentin with lips, arms, tracing the contours of his face with trembling fingertips. Repeating 'I thought I'd lost you,' over and over, and 'I got your message,' which made no sense.

It took further explanation for Quentin to realise the message Ian had gotten, the only message Ian had gotten, was the one Quentin had sent Saturday night, once Connors had captured him.

For all that the room was crowded, whenever they kissed, they were the only two people in it. What Ian must have gone through, thinking Quentin was in danger, that he'd been caught... Quentin would have been frantic if it'd happened in reverse.

Ian hadn't been alone. There was another person by the bed, putting her gun away, one Quentin hadn't noticed at first; Clementine's words took on a different meaning. 'A Tracker who has a BioSynth working for him,' she'd said. But this woman wasn't working for Ian; she was working with him. And she was the one Quentin had left behind in that garage.

Ian had released her. Proof he did see all of them as people, not just Quentin, just like he'd said.

And she'd come back to help when she'd heard a 69 had been taken. That Ian could inspire this kind of loyalty in a BioSynth he'd Tracked filled Quentin with hope that the Misfits might find it in them to forgive his husband, over time. That he might have it all, love, friendship, and a common cause, without being forced to find another group when this one fit so well.

The rest of Ian's tale was nothing short of insanity. Ian had been a part of the installation team that Quentin and Clementine had gone out of their way to avoid. He and Ulla, the BioSynth from the garage, had used it as a cover to go in and rescue Quentin. Had ended up rescuing Jax instead. Who'd taken one look at Ian and assumed this was an elaborate plot to get him to turn on everyone else.

Quentin could picture the entire sequence of events in black and white stop motion, as if he'd taken the shots with his camera. Something absurd to laugh at, not something that had happened to them, that had caused him to burst into a room ready to shoot his own husband. But it had brought them back together, in the end.

Jax's message for Clementine hadn't been a plea for help, but a warning. As if she, or any of them, would ever leave Jax behind.

This wasn't that kind of rebellion.

Quentin wished he could soothe the guilt in Ian's downcast eyes whenever he mentioned having been Jax's Tracker. It was a conflicting feeling — seeing that guilt there soothed Quentin, in a sense — but all he could do was be here with him. Every step of the way.

Other parts of Ian's tale were no less bizarre, including the fact that he'd never gotten hold of Quentin's codes before that Saturday night. Their encounter in Wave Plaza, the one that had sent Quentin on endless train rides, expecting to be taken in at every turn, had been nothing but chance.

It took Ian minutes to regain his composure, but, when he did, his countenance was serious enough that Quentin took notice.

"You can't do this to me again." Quentin felt naked under Ian's gaze, and not in the sense he usually enjoyed. "Promise me you won't leave me in the dark. You could have used my knowledge, my skills, even just the fact that I'm human and can handle the chips. If I can't trust you to come get me when you need me, I'll work alone, but it won't make me stop. Do you understand?"

Ian offered no resistance when Quentin crushed him against his chest. Seeing Ian risk his life would wreak havoc on Quentin, but knowing he'd be doing it alone, when he'd made enemies of both humans and BioSynths, was far, far worse. "I promise. Just... Give me some time to adjust to being the war machine in this relationship, alright? I'm still calibrating."

The joke fell flat, but Ian's piercing gaze was fond, his palm warm against the uneven patches of skin Quentin still had on his right cheek. "You might be stronger than I am, but you're not that. You're still the artist who sees beauty everywhere. It's just that you can kick car doors off their hinges the same way you can take pictures."

A huff of laughter burst forth from him, soothing all the jagged edges. His lips claimed Ian's again before Quentin let them slide across his jaw, close to the shell of his ear. "That's not the extent of my talents, I'll have you know."

Ian's flustered groan was droned out by Jax's, "This was the husband who wasn't too thrilled you were a BioSynth? Guess he recovered."

It wasn't forgiveness. But it was a start.

☰☱☲☳☴☵☶☵☴☳☲☱☰

Thank you for reading!

Well. If there was a way in with the Misfits, rescuing Jax and switching his chip might be the thing to make sure Ian's past doesn't cost Quentin his friends. Only the epilogue left before the story closes, and that'll be here by Friday.

As usual, if you feel it's warranted, please hit that Vote button up top. Comments are the loveliest of things.

Want to read the scene from Ian's PoV? Tune in to SynTracker, BioSynth's companion novella (link on my profile).