Your Impossible Love

Body Head

Maya's POV

Turns out, running from a government conspiracy in November was a spectacularly bad idea.

"Please tell me you see that cabin," I said through chattering teeth.

Carter squinted through the snowstorm that had come out of nowhere—because of course it had. "I see something. Could be a cabin. Could be a bear den. At this point, I'll take either."

We'd been hiking through the Appalachian mountains for six hours after ditching our car at a ranger station. Julian's intel said there was a safehouse up here, off-grid and stocked. What he'd failed to mention was that it required a goddamn expedition to reach it.

And that a freak snowstorm would hit in the middle of our hike.

The "cabin" turned out to be exactly that—a small hunting lodge that looked like it hadn't seen human life in a decade. But it had four walls and a roof, which made it the Ritz as far as I was concerned.

Carter forced the door open. Inside was dark, musty, and freezing—but at least the wind wasn't trying to murder us.

"Check for supplies," he said, his voice rough. "I'll get a fire going."

I found blankets, canned food, bottled water, and—thank God—a first aid kit. By the time I'd done inventory, Carter had coaxed a fire to life in the stone fireplace. The warmth was immediate and glorious.

"Okay," I said, setting down supplies. "We've got enough food for three days, water for five if we're careful, and—Carter?"

He'd sat down heavily on the floor, leaning against the wall. His face was flushed, his breathing labored.

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"You're a terrible liar." I crossed to him, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead. "Jesus Christ, you're burning up."

"Just cold from the hike."

"That's not how fevers work." I started pulling off his jacket, checking his injuries. The bandages over his ribs were soaked through—not with blood, but with something else. Clear fluid. "s**t. Your wounds are infected."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine! You're septic, you i***t!" I grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out antibiotics. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Because we were running for our lives?" He tried to smile. "Seemed like a bad time to mention I felt a little off."

"A little—" I stopped myself from yelling. Getting angry wouldn't help. "Take these." I handed him pills and water. "All of them. Now."

He did, then leaned back, closing his eyes. "Sorry. I should've said something earlier."

"Yeah, you should've." I started cleaning his wounds, rewrapping them. The infection wasn't terrible yet, but it would be if we didn't handle it. "You need to stay warm and rest. The antibiotics will kick in, but your body needs to fight this."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're soaked through too. You'll get hypothermia."

He had a point. My clothes were wet from snow and sweat. Already I could feel the cold seeping into my bones.

"I'll change," I said. "There's got to be something here."

I found old clothes in a trunk—flannel shirts, thermal underwear, thick socks. Men's sizes, too big for me, but dry and warm. I changed in the bathroom, my fingers so numb I could barely work the buttons.

When I came back, Carter's eyes were closed. His breathing was too fast, too shallow.

"Carter?" I shook his shoulder gently.

"Mm?"

"Don't fall asleep yet. You need to change into dry clothes."

"Too tired."

"I don't care. Up. Now."

With effort, I got him stripped down to his boxers—trying very hard not to notice the way his muscles moved under skin, the scars that told stories, the fact that my half-brother was objectively built like a Greek statue. Not the time, Maya.

I got him into dry thermals and wrapped him in every blanket I could find. But he was still shivering. The fire wasn't enough.

Elena's voice echoed in my head from her journal: Bonded pairs exhibit physiological responses to each other's distress.

I could feel his fever like it was my own. Every spike in his temperature sent alarm bells through my system. This wasn't normal concern. This was something deeper. Primal.

The Protocol at work.

I grabbed more blankets and lay down beside him, wrapping us both in a cocoon of fabric. Body heat. Basic survival.

That's what I told myself as I pressed against his back, sharing warmth.

"Maya?" His voice was slurred. "What're you doing?"

"Keeping you alive, soldier. You're welcome."

"S'not appropriate."

"Neither is dying of fever in a mountain cabin, but here we are."

He mumbled something that might've been agreement and pressed back into me. Even through the layers, I could feel the heat radiating off him.

Hours passed. The storm raged outside. The fire crackled. And I held Carter while he trembled through fever dreams.

He talked in his sleep. Fragments of memories. "Don't make me do it... they're my team... please..." Then, softer: "Maya? Where's Maya?"

"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm right here."

His hand found mine, gripping tight. "Don't leave."

"I won't. I promise."

Somewhere around midnight, his fever broke. The shivering stopped. His breathing evened out. And finally, he slept peacefully.

I should've moved away then. Put distance between us. But his hand was still holding mine, and the storm was still raging, and honestly?

I didn't want to.

For the first time in my life, being close to someone felt right. Safe. Like coming home to a place I'd never known I'd been searching for.

Dangerous thoughts, Maya.

But as I drifted off to sleep, wrapped around Carter like I belonged there, I couldn't bring myself to care.

CARTER

I woke up warm for the first time in days.

And aware that Maya was plastered against my back, her arm around my waist, her breath soft against my neck.

My brain did a quick inventory: Fever gone. Body aching but functional. Wounds healing. And Maya Cross using me as a personal heater.

Not the worst way to wake up, all things considered.

"You awake?" I asked quietly.

"Mm-hmm." She didn't move. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck, but better than yesterday. The antibiotics worked."

"Good." She paused. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again."

"I'll try not to get septic infections in the middle of life-or-death situations."

"Appreciate it."

We lay there for a moment, neither of us moving. Outside, the storm had passed. Weak sunlight filtered through the window. We should get up. Make plans. Keep moving.

Instead, Maya's fingers traced patterns on my arm absently. Not s****l. Just... tactile. Like she needed to confirm I was real.

"Carter?" Her voice was small. Vulnerable in a way I'd never heard from her.

"Yeah?"

"Last night, when you were fevered, you kept saying my name. Asking where I was."

"Did I?"

"Yeah." She pressed closer. "Even unconscious, you were looking for me."

"Maya—"

"I felt it too. Your fever. Like it was mine. I could feel when it spiked, when it broke. That's not normal, Carter. That's the Protocol. We're connected somehow."

I turned in her arms, facing her. Her green eyes were troubled, searching mine for answers I didn't have.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"I don't know. But I think..." She bit her lip. "I think the bonding is already happening. Not the weapon part. Just... the connection. We're being drawn together whether we want it or not."

"And if we fight it?"

"I don't know that either." She touched my face, her palm cool against my cheek. "But I'm starting to think fighting it might be worse than giving in."

My heart rate kicked up. "Maya, we can't—"

"I know. I know all the reasons why. But tell me honestly: can you feel it? This pull between us?"

I could. God help me, I could. From the moment she'd walked into that cell, something had clicked. Recognition. Connection. Like finding something I didn't know I'd lost.

"Yes," I admitted.

"So what do we do?"

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Julian.

Found Mira Webb. She's in Seattle. Also, Grace is looking for you. Be careful.

I showed Maya the message. She sat up, the moment broken.

"Seattle. That's where River Song is too. Aquarius." She was already moving, back to business. "We kill two birds with one stone. Find our sister, recruit the tech genius."

"And deal with Grace wanting to kill me."

"There is that." She started packing. "But hey, what's one more person trying to murder you?"

"Is it weird that I find your optimism comforting?"

"Probably. We're both deeply damaged people."

I laughed, then winced. Ribs still tender. "Fair point."

We spent the day recovering, eating canned soup, and going through Elena's journal again. Reading her words, learning about the mother we'd never really known. She'd loved us. She'd tried to save us. And she'd died for it.

"We're going to make this right," Maya said, staring at a photo tucked into the journal. Elena, young and smiling, holding a baby. One of us. "For her. For all the kids they've turned into weapons. We're going to burn the Protocol to the ground."

"Damn right we are."

That night, we slept in the same cocoon of blankets. Not because we had to. Just because we wanted to.

And if that made us weak, if that made us vulnerable to the Protocol's manipulation, I didn't care.

Some things were worth the risk.