It had the feeling of déjà vu. But they were not in the target house. There was no hope of a friendly agent coming to the rescue. No, this was now the real thing. They were literally stuck in a dungeon, underground, with a rotting corpse. All her mind pictured were two additional corpses added to this horrible place. Panic and anxiety swelled in her chest. She shivered, cold sweat running down her back.

She shook her head. No, Chris! What are you thinking?

This was not the time to think of the worst scenario. They were going to make it out of here. They had to make it out of here! Slow starvation was too horrifying to imagine. "We're gonna make it out," she stated to herself, forcing herself to believe it. "God, help us outta here," she breathed, a sincere plea. She expected the door she leaned against to swing open right then.

Nothing happened.

"What? Are you waiting for your God to send down an angel to kick the door down?"

Chris head perked up at the scornful nature of Stevens' question. She resisted the urge to kick him. What right did he think he had to dampen her spirits farther? "What, do you have something more impressive up your sleeve?" she retorted, matching his tone.

She looked up into his darker eyes, daring him to answer. He didn't.

"Like I'd thought."

But before she could bask in the glory of her victory to render him speechless, "But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna get us out."

She huffed in an unladylike manner. Mr. Ego was in the house! Gone was her flicker of fondness for him. For a few minutes, she'd been comforted by his closeness. But it seemed his big head had swallowed up all the space. She set the golden light on the dusty ground, unable to stand being near him any longer, she retreated into the dark of the corner. Sliding down the length of the wall, she drew her knees up to her chest.

This is so immature. Her logic scolded her.

She ignored it, hugged herself to keep from shivering so viciously. Then her conscience joined in with singeing realizations. Here she was, sulking while she could at least be a helpful. But how do you help someone she didn't want to help—someone who probably didn't want her help? So she'd rather sit, falsely telling herself they'd make it out while she was wishing he'd not succeed? And then maybe give him a sucker punch for emphasis.

This time her conscience knocked her low.

Her head dropped to her raised knees. She immediately remembered what she'd done to his lip. Everything flooded back, embarrassment suddenly attacking her for his misunderstanding—and then fury. What desire forced him to come to the conclusion that she, of all people on earth, would want to kiss him? He was not ugly, but completely the opposite—but still! She defended to herself that she'd not led him on in any way. Maybe she'd stared at his lip, imagining in delight the pain he'd experience. . .

Wait, had she really desired to see him in pain? A stab to the lungs could not compare to how she felt right then at the realization. She felt sick—at herself! How could I be so—evil? What was wrong with her? God, please forgive me! her heart cried out.

But there was someone else. She raised her head. Stevens wasn't by the lantern. Had he made it out? Without her? A surge of panic and a multitude of other thoughts assailed her mind, making her disoriented. She stumbled to her feet and to the door, hoping—almost believing it would be open. It wasn't. She madly pounded on it, not caring who'd hear. Why was she here in the first place? For all her curiosity, all that was found was some dead person! Maybe that corpse would get two extra buddies! An unbidden tear slipped from her eye. She hated her job!

Warm hands ran down the length of her arms, instinctively making her stiffen and hold her breath. A million thoughts buzzed through her head, making her dizzy.

"Relax, Hopper." Like warm water over an ice-block, Stevens' warm deep voice melted her tension.

However, her relief refused to surface to her attitude. She spun around to face him. "Where were you?" she snapped. To her own surprise, her British accent was still intact.

His face was partly shadowed but she could still notice the corner of his lip turning up. "I remembered the last time we were stuck in this lame predicament. So I was feeling around for any other ways out, vents and such," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't you take the lantern with you?" Chris tried sounding irritated, not wanting him to catch on her relief.

"I didn't need to." He paused, and then added. "Besides, I didn't want to ruin your trashy mood further."

Chris dug her teeth into her lower lip. She wasn't going to go through this again. She tried looking him in the eye. "About that, I'm so sorry for my mood today," she confessed, as though to a child, "I guess I'm not getting enough sleep or something."

He said nothing while his demeanor gave nothing away, causing her uneasiness. She watched him run his tongue over his battered lip which was also a bit swollen. She couldn't stop her face from burning. "I'm sorry for that," she whispered, turning her gaze away.

..........................................................

Levi could see that she meant it. It humored him in some way. She actually felt bad for hitting him? He couldn't deny that she'd bruised his pride more than his lip. Maybe if she'd shut up he'd feel better—because he'd be right in at least one thing about her—she never took back anything she did. Shame was setting her face on fire! Without thinking it through thoroughly, he placed his hand on the side of her face, turning it to face him. He kept his expressions as blank as possible as he openly watched her turn crimson. He noticed memory filling her face. "Look at me," he said with unexpected force. She ended up glaring up at him. It was better than nothing. "You actually feel bad for that?" he asked in a gentler tone. How was it possible for her to get redder? "You got your point across faster." He was sure he almost saw her smile.

She cleared her throat, knocking him out of his thoughts. "So how are we getting out of here, by the way?" His hand dropping away, she stepped aside.

He gave her a double take at what he saw. The corner of the door had been dented. He ran his hand over the lock area. Things weren't so bleak after all. The inside of the door wasn't real solid wood after all. He glanced up at Hopper. "Your fist did this?" he asked.

She shrugged, not understanding how that helped their situation.

Levi got out his knife, new hope bubbling up in him. This would surely be a slow process, but it had the chance to work. He flicked up the blade. "I said we'd make it outta here." He'd proved it once more—nothing was allowed to stand in his way. He smirked up at Hopper, waiting for her fist to fly to his face.

She gasped, grasping at what he said. Her face lit up, her eyes glowing. "Thank God," she breathed, glancing upward and heedlessly laying her arm over his hunched form.

He felt himself grow hard at what she'd just said. He locked his jaw. He stuck his axe-strength blade into the wood, creating a crevice. He snuck a glance at the woman leaning over his shoulder, unexpected warmth washing over him. There she was, her mouth silently moving as she spoke to some power-hungry guy in the sky. He took in her features for some time—and looked away, disturbed by her action. "You ever heard about giving credit to where it belongs?"

He felt her arm leave his shoulder—and whatever had come with it.

.......................................................

Chris had no idea what he meant. Somehow it felt misplaced to the situation. What had she said? All she remembered was thanking God—strangely enough for him—Stevens. In such a short moment, she saw him differently. He was full of determination—determination she didn't think she had. She needed him—maybe not so desperately, but she did in this case.

Maybe the wrong wasn't fully on his side. Maybe some was on hers. She knew so little about him. That moment in the park as he drew her near, she'd seen a dark memory burning in his eyes. His reaction, however, she'd never understand. Claustrophobia was completely uncalled for, but she could sense he was greatly affected by the tunnel. Even the first day she met him, she'd seen something in his eyes—before it would die away.

Standing a few inches away from him as she held the light up as he chipped and chiseled at the wood, she allowed all the negative shades she saw in him fade.

Lord, help me always see Stevens through Your lenses, not mine.

.......................................................

"I was giving credit to where it belongs."

Levi's knuckles whitened around the handle of the blade. Hopper's tone was so matter-of-fact, it angered him somehow. "Don't tell me you see God working on getting this dang door open."

She said nothing for a while. "Well, then, thank you Mr. Stevens for your hard work. You're a star!"

Her British accent was making him raw. "Never say something you don't mean." He paused, and then added, "I'm not in a mood for sarcasm either."

"I meant all I said," she retorted. "It's just that you seemed to be forcing it out of me."

He turned to face her full on. "Then what was the 'Thank God' for?"

Her eyes searched his—before she let her gaze drop. "That's personal."

He turned to the door once more, not feeling any better. Why did she have to remind him of someone else? "You like having a power-hungry tyrant over you? Controlling everything and always telling you what you can and can't do?"

She leaned her side against the wall and chuckled in good humor. "He's far from a tyrant. And when it comes to control, well, I think the things He allows always lead to good."

Good. That was the one word he wouldn't use for the things God allowed. "Well, then I guess disease, war, and death are good, ha?"

She said no more, allowing his thoughts to take him away for a while:

Pulling up in front of the huge house, Levi didn't know whether to thank his ride or break his nose. The party had started an hour ago! And this was going to be the last one he'd ever experience in high school. He slid out of the front passenger seat and pounded on Chris' window from the outside.

He raised a dark eyebrow, rolling it down. "Yes, crybaby?"

Levi threw his fist forward. Chris caught it and proceeded to twist it. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop! Please!"

He let go—and slapped his friend across the face.

Levi swore viler than he ever had.

"My point exactly."

Levi broke out laughing for a reason he was hazy on, the side of his face stinging. Chris let his signature half-smile escape. "Respect your substitute driver, amigo."

"Yeah? What makes you think I need one of those?"

Chris' dark eyes turned darker, turning the humor dry in Levi's deep blue orbs. The hold of his eyes spoke volumes.

Levi knew Chris hated these types of things, but he prodded him anyway—like he always did. "Don't talk bad about something 'til you've tasted it."

"You dragged me once before."

Levi waved him off. "Yeah, but you hardly stayed ten seconds!"

"Well," Chris leaned his arm over the steering wheel, "thank God I didn't get drunk like you. Or my mom would've beaten our dead bodies to whipped cream."

He scowled, but a malicious grin pulled at his lip. "Shut up! Your mom didn't stop you from bungee jumping last month." Chris ran his fingers through his shoulder-length ebony hair, hiding a grin. "Come on, dude! If it's that Christian thing, one night wouldn't hurt."

He gave him a dirty look. "You sound just like Emilia."

Levi bit his lip, hearing music blaring from the house, peeved that there he was, trying to persuade his friend to join him. He was going nowhere. The fact that Chris had mentioned the girl who'd been fawning over him in that way told him the game was over. He hated losing. "I guess it's your life. Spend it on a tyrant who insists on controlling all you do."

Levi caught the pain in Chris' eyes—but he knew all too well who they were for—him.

Too bad he didn't have time for a sympathy stroke.

Then his mind transported him a little farther, mere flashbacks.

The explosion was deafening, the orange glow all that filled his vision.

Chris lay lifeless.

Shots tore the flash at his shoulder. . .

He dropped his blade, his knees giving way beneath him. A groan from the depth of his being escaped, the feeling of the explosion tearing at him.

............................................

Chris had never felt anything like it. The ground had trembled beneath her and her ears had blocked off. Her chest had tightened, preventing her from breathing.

Levi crumbled to the ground with a growl, his eyes wide and crazed. She sunk to her knees in front of him. His steeled eyes locked on hers, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "What was that?" Chris managed to whisper.

His wild eyes took in their crumbling surroundings. He wet his lips, his trembling hand closing around the handle of the blade. For now things were stable—but was he?

Chris reached out, closing her hand around his. "Let me take over." He didn't seem to be looking at her, even though his eyes were on hers. "I guess I will."

He didn't object. She had no idea how to hold the thing properly, but she drove herself on, thankful that he'd gone far already, the metal of the lock visible. She worked on widening it—before she sliced her finger.

So, here we are in the new year! I'm sorry it had to wait for the second of Jan, but the first was so busy, I couldn't get to it.

Random fact:

This is only the twenty-second chapter on my computer files. ;)