Celeste made her way to the infirmary, past the shameless stares of agents who knew their orders and yet were sceptical about listening to Stefan over Buckley. Surely, they had other things to do besides worry about her.

When Celeste arrived, a fear surged within her, forbidding her from opening that door. What if Gavin's injuries were worse than she remembered, worse than she envisioned? Maybe she did not have to find out. As she thought this, the door opened for her, ignoring her anxiety, and there stood Valerie, looking up from the floor as she coerced herself to wipe the unhappiness from her smile.

She greeted Celeste with a hug, "It's so good to see you."

"You, too," she replied, trying to act like this was not the first time she had ever hugged her. "How is everyone, how are you?"

"Dominick is fine. He just needs some rest, so I'm leaving him be. Same goes for everyone else, but I know you're really concerned about Gavin."

Celeste kind of hated that she could not deny it, and the smile bridging Valerie's cheeks was no help.

"He's awake. Go talk to him," she shrugged, ducking out of the medic room like a child would out of trouble. "Aimee didn't come with you?"

"No, she's in Janet's office."

"Aimee's alone?" Finn said, coming out of nowhere, in pursuit of his sister.

"She wanted to stay behind with Sylvain."

"We'll find her." Valerie bid her adieu.

Celeste watched them go, dipped in blood she doubted was theirs. They were fit, hardly injured - either that or they were expertly good at hiding their pains. Eventually, she entered the room, to swarms of nurses and wounded agents being carried to separate white linen beds that would not stay white for long. She tried not to focus on the agony she saw in their eyes, or the fast pace of everything in that room. She slowed it all down and searched for Gavin's face and gorgeous strawberry blonde hair, and then she found him. For reasons she would have liked to ignore - a core reason being that Dom was on his own bed next to him - she ran up to Gavin, like all the female leads do in romantic dramas, and then held his hand tightly. He said nothing, no cheesy expressions of affection (or whatever he had phoned her for earlier) he just smiled, and quite frankly, that was all she wanted.

She sighed, "So, you got beaten up by robots. Smart."

"Yeah, well, I'm a sucker for self-aimed torture."

"Mm, I noticed."

"Thank you, you're very observant," he said jokingly.

His teeth were streaked with red, like he had spat out whatever blood had accumulated in his mouth, but some refused to leave (she observed that, too). Passing him the bottle of water that stood by on the bedside table, she wanted to laugh at his remark, but she could barely manage a smile.

"The word is masochist, by the way," she tried to change the subject. "Someone who likes inflicting pain upon themselves."

"Dang it!"

"What?" her eyes widened as she worried she had said something wrong.

"You," he said calmly, taking another swig of his water. "Why do I always fall for the smart ones?"

Celeste tried not to blush. "Was that a confession?"

With a nonchalant smile, he answered, "It might have been."

"You're on drugs."

It sounded like an insult, but the sedatives in his bloodstream proved her statement true. Celeste took his empty bottle from him and watched him, smiling affectionately, as his body fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Aimee sat with her head in her hands, in angst formed solely by the thought of Buckley. Actually, she did not know whether she was grieving or contemplating the impossibility of his death; he would never die. It was so unfashionable - Aimee could not think of a more accurate word - for him, to die in the depths of AIM, without an audience, with hardly a cause. The war was over; it would be more like him to assure himself a way home, and then host a banquet to praise GINM's success, or his own. Maybe he had been injured, beyond the point of medical treatment. But then, if that were the case, Stefan and Gavin would not have just left him there. Maybe, Aimee had been wrong about Buckley all along.

Maybe she had to stop overthinking things.

Aimee sighed exhaustedly. Then, as if she had breathed a wakeup call, Sylvain sprung up from his position, his sudden, rapid action throwing her backwards onto the floor.

"Sylvain," she huffed, "next time, warn a person before you go all Frankenstein's Monster on 'em!"

He did not answer; a discomforting silence swept away her passionate outburst. Lying backward on her elbows, Aimee peeked over the recliner from which she had fallen to find Sylvain, when he fervently leapt over it and landed so that his heavy legs hugged her at her sides. He threw back his fist, held it in the air as if to power it up before throwing his punch, but Aimee moved her head enough for him to hit the floor instead. She fought, wriggling her mostly constricted body until she could haul him over and repeat his position. Her fingers curled around his neck whilst she tried to understand how it was that the same stranger who had selflessly saved her now wanted her dead. His eyes; they were burning red, violent, and she knew.

"Abba. She did this to -"

Sylvain's stocky hands caught her neck for a second before she punched him across the face, continuously, and then crawled away from him until she had room to stand. Whilst trying to normalise her breathing, she clutched her gun and pointed it at him, pressing readily to its unavailing trigger. Those eyes watched her again, and suddenly her gun did not have the same reassuring effect it'd had on the stairwells in AIM. So, she tossed it.

Aimee dodged him as he tried tackling her, but he recovered quickly, turning to drive her into a wall, with his forearm against her neck. She clawed at it as her sense of feeling discarded her completely, leaving her and saving itself from Sylvain. Somehow, Aimee managed to raise a leg to his gut and kicked twice before she was loose and on the ground - he was lying in semi-consciousness on the other side of one of many science-orientated workstations.

Aimee grabbed one of the numerous, heavy-looking science gizmos that had been knocked onto the floor and got up swiftly - in case Sylvain felt like jumping at her again. Her body tensed as she came around the table and into Sylvain's view. He made a sound and she started back, ducking behind the table reflexively until she was sure he would not move.

And then a voice emanated from him; Abba's voice.

"I was killed? If anyone is listening to this, I must have been killed," she began. It was a recording, all in French. "Aimee, if you are there, well, I'm glad you lived longer than I did. I hope Sylvain did not cause too much trouble; he was, however, designed to avenge me should I die. I also made him kind, smart, protective, enough to get close to a person, particularly you. I thought he might be a good bodyguard, or boyfriend, but I noticed that you have one of those now. I suppose it wouldn't have worked anyway; you never took a liking to artificial things.
"I'm happy that you found someone. Apart of me wishes that he and his father would leave you and me alone, but another part of me is glad they found you. I don't know how, but it makes it slightly easier to explain myself to you, if you know about their world.
"You probably hate me at this point, and if I was not able to change that before I died, I'm sorry. I-I started this AIM project of mine wanting an impossible lifestyle of eternal youth. I wanted to be with you and Benjamin forever, it turned into something else. I know this, but I cannot change it now. I have made many sacrifices and taken drastic measures - which brings me to you and Domino Doomsday. You may not believe me when I say this, but Mitchel Buckley came to me a year ago, for microchips. I denied having them. Enraged, he threatened to hurt you, and when I realised he was very capable of delivering on those threats, I wanted you away from them, from GINM and Americans. So, I made Domino Doomsday up. I built an army to make it believable and I gave them microchips, hoping they would come out alive.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt, but I cannot reason with Buckley. The war is unavoidable, especially since I want you here with me. Buckley wants you in America as leverage to acquire my microchips and end my organisation. You must hate me, you definitely hate me. I don't blame you," she cried hopelessly.
"If you don't already know, there's a microchip in you, too, and I watched you grow up. I've always been with you and always loved you, and I'm sorry that I failed you. I-I don't know what's wrong with me. If Benjamin is still alive, please play this for him. Love, I know I was wrong and I have a long list of mistakes, but you and Aimee are not on that list. Shut down AIM. Have good lives. Live the way we should have lived."