My Saviour

[Oxidizer]

Story Title:My Saviour

Type of Story S/M Fic - 2 Parts

Main Characters Eve Jacobsen/Zoe McCallister, Tracey Thompson

Rating A (SC)

Genre Angst/Romance

Warnings Explicit themes

Summary To know the complexity in a relationship, you have to go back to the beginning.

-Only You Can Set Me Free-

"Are you sure about this?" Tracey asked hesitantly as she sat on the bed in Eve's cell.

"Relax," Eve reassured the slightly older girl as she held her hand. She was trembling, clearly nervous of what they were about to do. "It's perfectly safe."

"Pricking your finger is perfectly safe, slashing your wrist is just plain dangerous." Tracey eyed the razorblade that her best friend held dangerously.

"You want to be sisters, don't you?"

Tracey stammered nervously. The blade's glimmer reflected in two crystalline green eyes. "Yeah, of course I do, its just..."

"Then stop complaining." Eve interjected. "It's going to be fine."

"You better know what you're doing."

Eve rolled her eyes playfully. "Trace, I'm training to be a nurse, sure the resources in this place are a bit discouraging, but I know what I'm doing. Now give me your arm."

Tracey held her arm out and twisted it, opening her hand, palm-side up. She grimaced as Eve drew the blade across her wrist, a fine line of red fluxed.

Eve sighed deeply to brace herself as blood began to ebb and pour from her wrist, startling Tracey, who was the opposite of Eve; unfazed.

"Eve." She warned sternly.

The youngest of the two looked up at her flippantly and smirked. "Your turn."

"I-I don't know."

Eve snapped. "Don't wuss out on me now! You wanted this as much as I did."

Tracey inhaled deeply to brace herself. "I know. Okay, I'm ready. Do it."

"This might hurt a little."

Eve pressed the blade against Tracey's wrists, her face cold and emotionless; blank. Tracey looked at her and then back down at her wrist worriedly; she held her life in her hands.

Tracey grimaced as the cool metal of the blade pressed firmer; harder, against her skin, breaking it and drawing blood. She closed her eyes and cringed as her best friend slit her wrist.

"Open your eyes." Eve demanded in a soothing voice.

The brunette did as instructed; opening her eyes slowly, not sure what to expect, she glanced at the open wound and a weak smile played across her lips. "Wow."

Eve held her hand gently and pressed her wrists against Tracey's, their wounds clashed, blood merged. They were as one.

"See?" Eve smiled tiredly. "That wasn't so bad. We're sisters now."

Tracey looked up at Eve as she placed her breakfast on the table. All of the other troubled youths were making a noise in the background; talking aggravatedly amongst themselves. The brunette's eyes quickly darted to see her new-born sister's wrists, a bandage wrapped around the wound. Dried blood stained the white fabric.

"My wrist is itchy." Tracey deadpanned. Her attentive gaze drawn to her similarly dressed wrist.

Eve chuckled. "Mine too, don't worry."

"But if our cuts get infected or something..."

"Trace, I told you; we're fine. Can't you see? It worked." Eve reassured the eldest girl. "We even have the same feeling in our wrists. We're connected."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, I'm sorry, I just..." Tracey frowned in confusion at Eve's stare, she looked at her expectantly, before turning around to investigate. "-Jezebel."

Jezebel Tennant, the detention centre's most influential dealer; raised an eyebrow in the girls' stunned response. "Tracey, Eve."

"Hi."

Tracey blinked. "You got what I asked?"

"Heroin, spoon, tourniquet." Jezebel replied flippantly. "Now have you got what I asked?"

"The phone cards are hidden under my pillow."

Jezebel placed the instruments of Tracey's future high on her lap and smirked. "Lovely doing business with you."

"Likewise," Tracey smiled somewhat brightly. Finally something to look forward to.

Eve watched as the drug dealer disappeared to trade favours with some other girls before narrowing her eyes into Tracey. "You know, Trace, there are other ways of being happy other than using drugs."

"Oh, yeah?" Tracey chuckled humorlessly. "Name one."

"Me."

Walking across the landings, Eve drummed her fingers along the railings until she came to a gradual stop outside Tracey's cell. Grinning from ear to ear, the blonde peered her head around the corner; scanning the cell for her surprise attack stance on her big sis.

"Trace?" Eve blinked when she stepped over the threshold, walking further into the grey room only to see the brunette lying on the bed with her back faced to her.

Approaching cautiously, Eve's smile slowly began to fade as she turned her best friend over, placing her hands on her shoulders to maneuver her.

Gasping as she saw her face; a whitest shade of pale, and her lips violet, Eve jumped back in shock. "Oh my god, Trace!"

Hesitant at first as to whether or not she should move her, Eve waved it off and did what her instincts and the medical training screamed at her to do. She gently pulled the eldest girl from the bed, knocking her pillows on the ground for a soft landing, and removed the syringe from her arm.

She examined the needle and frowned; it was completely empty. Throwing it aside, she quickly removed the tightly tied tourniquet from her upper arm; allowing the blood circulation to ebb and flow, letting the strap fall to the floor.

"Please wake up," Eve cried as she held Tracey's unconscious and dead-like face in her lap. "I need you."

Brushing her hair from her fringe, Eve was about to let her head drop on to the pillow as she called for help, but Tracey coughed; she was alive.

A euphoric smile invaded Eve's otherwise sullen facial expressions as she continued to stroke her only friend's hair. "Okay, stay with me, alright?" Tracey nodded groggily, her head so weak and unbalanced. "You're going to be okay."

Tracey murmured as her eyes fluttered. A single word escaped her dry and cracked lips weakly. "Promise?"

"I promise, now stay with me." Eve reassured her. Her voice to Tracey was becoming disembodied and her face distorted, slowly blacking out. "Don't fall asleep, Trace."

Tomorrow

"You had me worried there for a second." Eve smiled ruefully as she sat at her friend's bedside and held her hand, in the hospital wing of the detention centre.

"Yeah, about that," Tracey's voice was a dry rasp. "I'm sorry."

Eve's hold of the brunette's hand grew tighter; she looked up from the touch and looked Tracey in the eyes. "You weren't trying to do anything stupid were you?"

"Are you kidding?" Tracey chuckled humorlessly, instantly regretting it when her sore throat seared. "Of course not, I'd never leave you."

"Good, because you're very special to me." Eve revealed with tear-laced eyes.

"And you're more than special to me," Tracey smiled tearfully. "You saved my life."

Eve giggled sullenly. "What are sisters for?"

"My little angel."

"That's cute," Eve mused. Quickly remembering, she snapped out of her sullen/blissful mood. "Oh, I almost forgot, Jezebel's been taken care of."

Tracey sat up and blinked in concern as she asked slyly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing that'll trace back to us." Eve reassured her, squeezing her hand comfortingly. "Relax. Rest."

"Thank you." Tracey smiled earnestly.

"You're welcome."

1/2

[Oxidizer]

-You're An Angel Without Wings-

The heavy beats of Hexedene's Breathe shook the foundations of the apparently disused warehouse. Ravers danced as they posed with glowsticks.

Senior Detective Tracey Thompson scanned the maniacal crowed as she stepped forward, inching past crazed clubbers and taking in the enthused and drug-enhanced smiles. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed exasperatedly. "I don't think he's here."

"What makes you so sure the dealer's a he?" Detective Christian Reinhart shouted over the thumping tune, making his voice heard as he walked further in the crowed with his colleague.

"I don't know," Tracey shrugged half-heartedly. "Just a figure of speech, I guess."

Chris eyed up the crowd and grimaced. "Well, we might as well bust this thing up. Just in case."

"Yeah, by the look of things, its about to get out of control." Tracey noted the alcoholically-influenced boy get rowdy with his mates by the DJ who spun his decks regardless.

Detective Reinhart smirked. He couldn't care less whether the rave was out of control or not, ruining people's fun and tainting the atmosphere with misery was his idea of fun. That and nailing a hooker from behind in his police car, but that was a different scenario. "Let's do it."

Tracey nodded to the undercover officers that stood in wait. They fanned out; three marched towards the DJ and told him to stop the music, while two others turned the lights on.

Disgruntled moans echoed around the hollow building as the disappointed and once-active ravers grumbled, rubbing their sore eyes as the light was too bright. Squashed plastic cups and spilt drink all over the floor.

"Alright, kids, playtime's over!" Tracey clapped her hands together, standing in the centre of the warehouse with Reinhart at her side.

As the ravers regrouped and assembled at the door, making their hasty exits; few of them having to be escorted outside by the officers for kicking off; someone from afar watched Senior Detective Thompson eagerly. Their maniacal stare burning into her like coal.

"Go home!" Chris concluded as Tracey stifled a yawn.

"This is useless!" Tracey exclaimed as she and Reinhart entered the city police headquarter offices. "We're never going to catch our guy."

Chris chuckled at his colleague's surprisingly rattled tone. "Just give it time, okay? Whoever's doing this will slip up."

"Time?" Tracey raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Something we haven't got a lot of. The case closes in a week and we're as close to catching the dealer as we were when it first opened two weeks ago!"

"Relax."

"I can't!" The senior detective exclaimed agitatedly. "It's driving me mad."

Chris' tone became more serious. "Tracey, feel free to tell me to butt out, but why is this so important to you?"

Tracey chuckled humorlessly. "Let's just say that drugs and I have a complex relationship."

"Ah, gotcha." The dark-eyed detective clocked on. "Using or dealing?"

"Using. Sometimes both." Tracey scratched the back of her head awkwardly. Her sleeve falling further up her arm as she held it at an angle. Quickly noticing, she pulled it back down; her scars were momentarily exposed. "Anyway, it was a long time ago."

Chris watched on with a somewhat apologetic look as he observed Tracey stifle the second yawn that night. "Yeah, I'm pretty tired too. How 'bout we call it a night? Sleep on it and get back on it in the morning on a clear head."

"Sounds bliss." Tracey grinned bemusedly with a worn-out face. She looked like she had been smoking whatever it was those kids at the rave were passing around.

Chris smiled at her and sighed heavily. "Night, Tracey." She smiled back as he switched off the lamp on his desk, before zipping up his jacket and leaving the office. His silhouette outlined in the doorway, as Tracey turned around to gaze her final goodbye of the night, from the light in the corridor.

"Night." Tracey smirked as she heard him leave. Her apparent tired eyes soon awoke; it was obvious she just wanted him to go. She had other plans that night.

Tracey sighed deeply as she slumped on the stall at the bar. There's No Tomorrow by Clan of Xymox pumped from the sound system; the speakers vibrated as clubbers danced in perfect synchronicity to the flashing strobe lights.

"Detective Thompson." The man from behind the bar smirked as he shook a cocktail mixer. "We've missed you."

"Hey, Monroe, how you doing?" Tracey turned around, tearing herself away from admiring the dancing eye candy to face him with an enthused grin.

The barman shot a smile her way. "Alright thanks, you?"

"Same old, same old." Tracey mused sullenly. "Got any alcohol going?"

Monroe stopped dead in his tracks at what he was doing and narrowed his eyes dangerously with a playful smirk. "Tracey, I'm a barman, I'm behind a bar; I think its safe to say that I have a lot of alcohol going."

"Right." The off-duty detective deadpanned. "Long day."

"Usual?" Monroe raised an eyebrow, holding a tequila shot in his free hand.

"Thanks."

The pretty boy slid the glass across the smooth surface of the bar, aiming it her way. Tracey nodded her thanks as she collected, getting up from her seat and moving through the manic crowed to find a discreet seat.

Coming up victorious, Tracey quickly scurried to the vacant table in the corner and set her drink on the polished surface. Just as she thought she had some peace, a figure loomed over her.

"Evening, Tracey." The platinum blonde beamed.

Tracey looked up and almost leaped up from her seat. "Liberty!" She exclaimed gleefully. "How've you been? You look great."

Liberty Hardy, shareholder of the club, grinned brightly. "I've been enjoying myself." Glancing over at the barman, she shivered in ecstasy. "Monroe's very... enthusiastic."

"You and Monroe?" Tracey almost choked on her drink.

"We're not an item." Liberty explained flippantly. "It's just random horniness and mass amounts of alcohol. Trust me."

"Uh-huh."

Liberty tore her eyes away from Monroe and glanced at the shady-looking woman looking their way before resuming her attention on Tracey. "I think you could get lucky tonight; that woman over there's been staring at you since you came in."

Tracey glanced over as discreetly as possible. "Really? ...Not that I'm interested or anything."

"Mm-hmm." Liberty replied mischievously. Obviously not wanting to prevent certain occurrences from happening, she walked off; waving without so much as looking back. "See you later, pussy liquor."

"What the..." Tracey chuckled to herself and turned around to look for that mysterious girl who was watching her, sighing ruefully when she noticed that she had gone. And just when she thought her night couldn't get any more surreal, an all too familiar voice called her name.

"Trace?"

Her eyes widened in shock as she turned around cautiously; almost as if in slow motion. Looking up at where the voice emanated, Tracey gasped. It was her. "Oh my god."

"Don't rush off." She pleaded as Tracey roused from her seat. "We need to talk."

"Talk?" Tracey let out a half hysterical laugh of disbelief. "Eve, ghosts don't talk!"

The blonde called her on the name she used. "Zoe."

"What?" Tracey frowned in confusion and slight anger.

"It's Zoe now." She corrected her.

"You've got to be kidding me." Tracey closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Surely she was dreaming. "Just when I thought it couldn't get worse."

Zoe stepped forward and held her friend's arm, making the detective flinch back as if in pain. A look of concern filled the sociopath's face. "Why? What's happened?"

"Where do I start?" Tracey fought back the urge to snap. "My so-called best friend, who hasn't been in touch for the past eight years, started a killing spree and is now standing in front of me 5 months after her apparent death!" She inhaled deeply to prevent herself from suffocating. Sweet oxygen. "Not to mention this mindnumbing narcotics case I'm on, which I never seem to get a break with."

"Well, it's going to take a lot of explaining for the first one, but I think I can ease your mind with the last problem." Zoe replied flippantly. "It's me. I'm the dealer."

"What the f*ck?"

"I'm sorry!" Zoe explained. Her words coming out as a muddled rush. "It was the only way I could draw you out."

Tracey twisted her face in confusion. To say she was angry at her childhood friend would be an understatement. "But why would you do that?"

"Like I said, we need to talk." Zoe huffed tiredly. "Now I'm going to ask you something, and I'm guessing you're not going to like it, but I'm giving you a choice." Tracey cringed expectantly for the inevitable question. "Your place or mine?"

Tracey pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily as she paced the living room of her small, rent-controlled city apartment. A glass of whisky in her shaky hand. "So what did you want to talk about? It's been eight years, Eve-"

"Zoe."

"-Zoe, what could possibly be so important that you'd contact me again, after all this time?"

"I need your help."

Tracey let out a half hysterical laugh of disbelief. Where did she get off? "Oh, really? With what, a new identity? A place to lay low?"

"No," Zoe replied cautiously. "Thank you. I already have those covered." Tracey looked at her earnestly. "This is about Peter Baker."

Tracey frowned in confusion. Now she was lost. "Peter Baker?"

"I hear you know each other."

"Yeah, we're good friends, but I don't see what any of this has to do with..." Tracey's jaw dropped when realization hit her. Peter and Clare were the ones who solved the Summer Bay stalker case earlier in the year.

Zoe smirked. "Exactly."

"No way!" Tracey objected firmly. She paced around the sofa in a slight panic, the whisky in her glass splashing up on her hand. "You can forget it, there's no way I'm helping you get revenge on him for the death of some other woman you knew for just a handful of months!"

"Shut up!" Zoe exclaimed defensively, too annoyed to comment on her jealousy. "You know nothing about it."

"I know you obviously got fixated on her like you did me." Tracey squinted challengingly as a way to push back the tears that threatened to sting her eyes. "Did I mean anything to you, Zoe?"

"Of course you did!" Zoe screamed. "You still do, it's just..."

"Insane?"

"Complicated." The sociopath corrected her earnestly. "I'd thought you more than anyone would understand." She lifted her forearm up, revealing the scars on her wrist. "Remember? These are a sign of our bond. You can't just betray that."

"I know," Tracey held her head in her hands and sighed ruefully. After a few moments she looked up at her childhood friend with weary eyes. "I think about it all the time, but I can't, okay? I'm not like you."

Zoe frowned bitterly. "Passionate?"

"Homicidal."

"That's rich." The stalker chuckled humorlessly. "You didn't seem too upset about it when I killed for you." Tracey turned her head to the side and grimaced; she knew what was coming and she didn't want to hear it. "Jezebel Tennant. You remember her, right? I injected her with more than enough morphine to kill, and just like your overdose, made her death look like an accident. You wanna know why? Because of you."

"You're saying her blood is on my hands?"

"I'm saying that I saved your life," Zoe sighed deeply. "Now it's time for you to return the favour."

Tracey grimaced. "What do you want me to do?"

2/2

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