“Leta.” His voice was raspy and dry, unused for days. His eyes scrutinized her face. “How — “

Before he could properly voice his myriad of questions, Leta angled her forehead against his, and then her lips were pressed onto his, softly but warmly, relief pouring out of her and into him, until she knew it had been a few seconds too long and she broke away.

“We have to go,” she breathed shakily, fumbling now to get Ren’s arm around her shoulders as she hurried to a stand. “Can you walk?”

“Leta.” Ren was having a most difficult time pulling himself into the moment, out of the haze. “How’d — I can’t leave, we can’t make it past–“

“No, no, we will,” Leta hastened, and there was a note of hope in her voice now, her breathing still shaky from the threat of tears. “I’m not alone. We just have to hurry — “

Mercifully, Ren seemed to be gaining more consciousness and movement in his limbs as Leta drew his arm around her neck and hurried to the door.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Thump.

Fiearius spun around just in time to see the agent’s figure land heavily on the hangar floor. From where he was standing at the base of the Dionysian’s ramp, he couldn’t see which of his helpers from above had fired the shot, but he’d have to remember to thank both Corra and Finn later. They were likely the only reason he was still standing at all.

The ‘grab the biggest gun on the ship and cause a distraction’ plan had started out rather well, mostly because the biggest gun on the ship was a monstrosity Corra had affectionately named ‘the Crowd Breaker’ that effectively fired an array of ten rounds at once in practically every direction. It wasn’t built to do that. But apparently she’d broken it at one point and that was the miraculously positive result.

The Crowd Breaker and Finn’s rifle had been enough to fight off the initial wave and, he presumed, buy Leta and Cyrus the time they needed. Now, however, the inevitable had occurred: Fiearius had run out of ammo.

Wham.

Fiearius stepped back as another agent stumbled and fell to the ground.

Fortunately, the Crowd Breaker wasn’t just a great gun. It was also a pretty fantastic battering ram and he’d made good use of it in simply swinging its length into his attackers’ faces. Face after face after face. It seemed the Baltimore agents were following an order to simply overwhelm him until he could be captured. Alive.

Not a single one had fired at him which could only mean one thing: someone on this ship knew about the Verdant CID. Someone knew he had it. And someone knew that some poor prison ship agent shooting him down would only cause more problems. Someone knew he had to be kept breathing.

But who that was couldn’t concern him for the time being. For now, he had to stay focused. Focused on the man’s face in front of him as he knocked his teeth out. And the next who got an elbow to the gut and the butt of a gun to the forehead. It was becoming mechanical at this point, like some rhythmic dance that was slowly wearing down his energy. He couldn’t stop, he had to keep going until the ground team returned, but dov’ha ti’arta, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Nor was he the only one doling out injuries.

There was blood running down his temple from a blow he couldn’t now remember. Someone had dug a knife into his shoulder right before Finn took him down. There had been a few seconds when enough of them had managed to restrain him long enough to put some mounting bruises on his ribs. But the pain of the wounds, even the worst of it, was drowned out by adrenaline. That is, until all of a sudden, he felt a sharp burning tear across his legs.

Before he even had a chance to reconcile what had happened, he found himself crumbling to the floor, his joints no longer willing to support themselves with the fire now racing through his nerves. There was blood, he realized with a start, looking down at his legs through vision that was starting to become fuzzy, lots of it. He could feel the warm stickiness spreading quickly and coating his skin.

A familiar scream sounded from above the ship and a familiar voice shouted something directly behind him, but he couldn’t understand any of the words. It sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. Far off, distorted. His weapon was wrenched out of his hands, an effort he couldn’t even fight.  A figure’s shadow spread over him from just above on the ramp. And slowly he became aware that the reason this had happened, the reason he had fallen, was a deep gash on the back of his legs, right where the joints met. And he knew exactly whose blade had made the cut.

Struggling to regain his senses, Fiearius managed to slowly look up to face the triumphant figure standing above him. Though Desophyles Cordova has always been an inch or two shorter, he nonetheless consistently dwarfed Fiearius simply in breadth alone. He was the one man Fiearius would never challenge to an arm wrestle. Not just because he was obviously stronger. But because he knew every single way in which he might cheat.

“Well,” he began, straining to keep his voice conversational, despite the searing pains he was beginning to feel all over his body. Apparently some of those hits had been a little harder than he’d thought. “Fancy running into you here.”

But Dez wasn’t paying him any attention. He was standing there, holding up the long straight blade that bore a fresh sheen of blood and admiring it thoughtfully. For a long moment, he said nothing. Until at last he asked, as casually as someone who’d just sat down to dinner with an old friend, “Didn’t you used to mock me for bringing this on missions?” He glanced down at Fiearius now, his dark eyes sharp and hollow as ever. “Bit ironic, isn’t it?”

Fiearius was in no laughing mood. He was starting to feel faint and though his arms were still managing to hold him up, they wanted to crumble any minute now. Even so, he forced a bitter one-note chuckle and growled, “Hilarious. So they’ve got you serving–” His breath choked in his lungs, “–on TTDs now? Kind of a downgrade.”

“They told me it was a useless gamble to wait here,” Dez remarked absently as he began wiping the blood from his blade onto his shirt. “They said there was no way you’d do something so stupid as to waltz right onto a Society prison ship of all places.”

Suddenly, he glanced down at Fiearius as though only just realizing he was there. A slow smile pulled across his face as he crouched down beside him and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. Fiearius struggled for his arms not to give way from the weight. “But they don’t know you like I do,” he said quietly. “They don’t know your weaknesses.” Dez sighed heavily and put his hands on his knees. As though scolding a child, he shook his head and said, “What did I always tell you about pretty girls?” His smile shifted into a sympathetic frown “They’ll only cause trouble.”

Fiearius met his stare calmly, though he was anything but. His thoughts went to Leta and Cyrus, out there on the ship with no idea what they were going to come back to. It hadn’t worked. This whole thing. He’d failed. And all at once, Dez put a hand on his forehead and shoved it backwards into the floor.

As he felt his mind start to dip into unconsciousness, he saw Dez stand up over him. “Forget the ship, find the others,” he ordered to the agents still hovering around the scene. “They’re here somewhere.” He glanced down at Fiearius, his expression cold as ice. “Someone take this one to a containment unit while I prepare my ship.” And the last thing Fiearius heard as his vision turned to black was, “We’re going home.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“She deserves to know, Fiear,” Cyrus said coldly. Fiearius groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead. Twenty minutes ago, he agreed. Now?

“Does she though?” he asked grimly. “Does she really?” Before Cyrus could even answer, he growled, “And you know she wouldn’t take that as an answer anyway. She’d just go–I don’t know–try it herself and get killed.”

“So what, you’re just going to never tell her? Keep leading her on thinking you’ll help when you won’t?”

“No,” Fiearius snapped sharply. “I will help.”

Cyrus’ eyes widened. “Oh I see. You’ll just get yourself killed in her place. Great idea.”

“I don’t really have another option, Cy.”

“You mean besides just talking to her like a normal human being with decent communicative skills?” He shook his head. “You can’t step foot on that ship and come back from it.”

“Maybe,” Fiearius admitted with a shrug.

“Maybe?! You mean probably.” Cyrus rolled his eyes and held up his hand as he grumbled, “I don’t want to know what happened, really I don’t, but please tell me you’re not set on this out of spite.”

Fiearius glanced over at him, raking his hand through his hair. “No,” he decided firmly. “Maybe when I walked in the room…a little. But. No.” He looked away and stared solemnly at the floor. “It’s not spite.”

“So it’s stupidity then.”

“What?! Hey–”

“Trying to redeem yourself with a noble sacrifice?”

“Cyrus–”

“Or do you really just care about her that much?”

Finally, Cyrus looked over at him, tilted his head and waited pointedly for an answer. He got none save for an averted gaze. “If you do, you shouldn’t be planning a suicide mission then,” he concluded at last. “You should just talk to her. Tell her the truth.”

Fiearius simply glared at the floor and shook his head and Cyrus groaned. “I don’t see why you can’t just be honest about it when–”

“Because I know what it’s like, Cy,” Fiearius interrupted at once, finally looking up at him with a cold hard gaze. “I know what it’s like to lose the person you care about more than anything and to know that no matter what you do, no matter how far you travel for however long, you’ll never see them again.” He paused and looked away again. “And I don’t want her to go through that. I don’t.”

Cyrus it seemed didn’t know what to say. After a tense silence, Fiearius spoke again, more calmly. “She has a chance. It might be small. But it’s a chance. If it were Denarian–” he swallowed hard, “–if it were my son? I would do anything. Absolutely fucking anything to get him back. So I get it. And I’ll do it. Because I told her I would. I gave her that hope that it could be done. And I won’t take that away from her. I can’t.”

A long silence passed between them. Fiearius rested his head in his hand and finally let out a confused, quiet laugh. “I guess Aiden was right. I am doing this for the wrong reasons.”

Cyrus looked down at his hands and then slowly up at his brother. “Sounds like a pretty right reason to me,” he commented with a shrug. The two siblings stared at one another thoughtfully until Cyrus cracked a weak smile and remarked, “Well. Impossible, right?” He turned back to the console with the blueprints. “We’ve done impossible before.” He smirked again. “How bad can it be?”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

For most of the day, Leta kept to herself, pacing her room, attempting to read, anything for a distraction. She knew she owed Fiearius a conversation and she spent hours rehearsing it in her head. I’m really sorry this happened, she’d tell him. I’m really sorry that I let things get out of hand …

She’d keep a safe five feet from him. There was no chance of this happening again, no temptation, no more slip-ups. No more late-night talks. No more story-telling with no one else around. No more whisky. After dinner, she vowed to do it. After dinner she’d find him to talk.

When she stepped into the mess hall that evening, she was startled to see most of the crew crowded inside already, filling the tables. No one was eating, but murmuring curiously and staring at the entryway expectantly.

“What’s going on?” she asked the room at large, slipping through the door.

“Cap’n called us all here for a meetin’,” grunted Rhys from his table. “Dunno why. Come have a seat, Luna.”

“Leta,” she corrected automatically, lowering into a seat beside Corra, who shrugged at her, equally as confused.

Seconds later, Fiearius materialized in the doorway. The crew hushed at once. It occurred to Leta there had never been anything resembling a formal meeting led by Fiearius in all her time aboard.

But it was clear now: something was off. Something was different. His expression was grave as he paused in the doorway, massaging one of his fists in a thoughtful sort of way as Cyrus hovered behind him. For the briefest of moments, their eyes locked from across the room, but then he moved his gaze to the side and addressed them all.

“At 1800 hours, the ship’s setting off for its next destination,” he said, his voice oddly calm. “Most of you, however, won’t be on it.” He waited a moment for the confused looks and hushed whispers of confusion to pass before continuing. “We’ll be heading to the prison ship TTD Baltimore to retrieve one of its prisoners.”

Shock hit Leta’s chest. She could feel Corra looking at her in surprise, but Leta didn’t move. She felt paralyzed and dizzy. They were going after Ren? Now? After all this time?

“It will not be safe,” Fiearius went on, not looking at her, but the whole crew, “It will not be easy. And I will not put any more people than are necessary in the line of that danger.”

With his audience once more completely captive to his word, Fiearius began to take paces across the floor, weaving his path in between the tables and speaking as clearly as he could. “Most of you will be departing over the next hour with any belongings you feel you need. There are arrangements already made for your lodging in the city. Give them my name, you’ll all be well taken care of. The only people I need on hand are myself, the first mate and the doctor. If you’re not one of those people, time to start packing.”

“However, I also would like two more able gun hands,” he went on suddenly, his eyes drifting vaguely towards Corra and Finn. “But considering the risks, I’m not asking. If anyone feels compelled to volunteer, let me know. Otherwise.” His eyes swept back across the entire room. “The ship will return here for you ideally by the end of the week. If it’s not back in a month?” He raised a brow at them curiously and shrugged. “Might be time to find a new ship.”

“If anyone has any questions, please direct them to someone who is not me,” he finished shortly with a bitter smirk. Then he turned to Cyrus. “Let’s get her started up, shall we?” He patted a wall of the ship affectionately.

As he turned to leave the mess hall, Fiearius glanced over his shoulder once more, scanning the room before his gaze found Leta’s. He met her eyes and gave her one slight nod — as if they’d agreed on something, something unspoken — and followed Cyrus downstairs.

Corra raised an eyebrow in concerned. “You alright over there, chika?”

“I don’t — I don’t know,” said Leta honestly. “I don’t think so.”

Leta stepped fully into the room, closing the hatch behind her as she lowered to the edge of Corra’s bed slowly. Corra perched on a rug on the floor, scooted towards her, curious and eager.

“Something happened last night.” Leta swallowed. “Between Fiearius and I.”

Immediately straightening up in defense, Corra looked suspicious. “What kind of something?”

The words were met with a heavy silence. The moment Leta muttered, “he kissed me,” Corra’s eyes went round.

“He what?!”

“Well — we kissed. It wasn’t just him. We both did.”

“Wait, what?” Corra gasped. “Explain. What happened?”

Leta pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I had to ask him something — ” When Corra flashed her a perplexed look, Leta went on,” — about the deal with Dez. He was in his room, I went up there, and then we started talking. About nothing. And everything.” Her chest clenched, but whether it was out of trepidation or tenderness, she couldn’t be sure. “And one thing led to another and we kissed.”

Corra blinked her eyes slowly, at a loss for words. “I’m confused. Why would you–you wanted to kiss him?”

A long, telling silence followed. Corra seemed to interpret it and her eyes widened even more. “So what does that–does that mean–” Slowly, she looked up at her, the most subtle of curious smiles starting to form on her face. “Do you have, ya know…feelings for him?”

No, said the voice in Leta’s head at once. No, of course not. Fiearius was crude, loud, arrogant and selfish. He got her into trouble more than he ever got her out of it. And she was engaged. She’d made a commitment to someone who was kind, generous, thoughtful …

But the words in her mind did not match the words that she exhaled weakly.

“I think maybe I do.”

Corra’s mouth fell open out of shock — and also, Leta realized, some kind of delight.

“Oh man, really?” she breathed in excitement, as if this were the most juicy piece of gossip she’d ever heard.

“But I — I don’t know,” said Leta quickly. “This is bad, Corra, and honestly? I’m probably just acting out of loneliness. I haven’t seen Ren in … “

“You know, I had a feeling he had a thing for you,” Corra went on briskly, ignoring her, “but I didn’t think it was mutual. I guess I shoulda seen it coming though, the way you two act and all.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring? That meant people had noticed the particular way she and Fiearius exchanged sidelong looks at dinner. The particular way they laughed at one another and then yelled at each other seconds later. The particular way she battled feelings of envy — actual, horrible envy — when she glimpsed him flirting with women in bars.

Guilt churned Leta’s stomach, and she put her face in her hands.

“How long’s this been going on?” Corra demanded suddenly. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

Leta could only guess. “Because I didn’t want it to be true?”

“Yeah, can’t say I understand your taste much…” Corra muttered, smiling. But the smile faded. “But what about Ren?”

“Corra, I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” Leta breathed fiercely into her hands. “I miss Ren so much. I don’t know why I’m — why this is happening. And I don’t know what to do about it, except pretend this never happened.”

“Aw, hey, c’mon,” said Corra gently, getting up to sit beside Leta and leaning her head on her shoulder. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just had a real crazy year. I mean, you’re on a pirate ship in the middle of nowhere, you’ve been shot at, captured, this ship could go down any minute and to top it all off, you’re here because you lost your fiance. I’m pretty sure anybody with even the tiniest of hearts could forgive you for getting a little emotionally confused.”

Leta mustered a watery sad smile. “I think you’re going a little easy on me, considering I just technically cheated on my fiance.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes, willing away the scene entirely. “I just really shouldn’t care about Fiearius like this.”

At that, Corra murmured thoughtfully, then decided, “Yeah probably not, he’s kind of a jerk,” and cracked a mischievous grin. After a pause, she tilted her head. “So what’re ya gonna do?”

With an enormous effort, Leta slid her hands from her face. “Same as before,” she breathed. “This thing with Fiearius — whatever it is — it can’t change anything. I’m going to get Ren back.”

“Yeah?” Corra offered an encouraging smile that faded just as quickly as it had come. “Does Fiear know that?”

“I’ll tell him if I have to,” said Leta quietly, hoping very much she wouldn’t need to. “It’s always been this way. It’s why I stayed aboard, he knows that. It’s not as if — it’s not like I’m picking Ren over him, it isn’t like that.”

Corra grimaced. “He might not see it that way…”

“Well he has to. I’m engaged.” Leta forced her expression to harden, although she crumbled almost at once. “Gods, I shouldn’t even be thinking about this — or about him — “

“Hey, no,” Corra scolded at once. “It’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Ya can’t help the way you feel. And you guys have been through a lot together. Can’t fault ya for getting a little swept up in it.”

Leta didn’t want to admit it, but after a long, worried pause, she confessed, “I think I’m a lot swept up in it.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“No, that’s definitely the only other entry.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Cyrus stared up at his brother blankly. “I’ve been reading ship blueprints since I was six. I’m sure.”

Fiearius cast him an annoyed glance before rolling his eyes and deciding not to care about Cyrus’ attitude for the time being. The judgy glares his little brother had been giving him since he’d learned to walk were bad enough. He didn’t also need the snarky know-it-all demeanor. As if everything else wasn’t enough.

“Thank you, little brother, for your expert opinion,” he barked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the metal wall.

Cyrus, however, was unapologetic. “You’re welcome,” he replied bluntly. “I’m serious though.” He started drawing lines around the blueprints with his finger as he spoke. “They’ve got this hangar that’s big enough and versatile enough to accommodate any needs they might have, they don’t need a ton of entry points. Anything that comes in, comes in through there. These hatches,” he circled five more points on the map, “are only there to satisfy emergency protocols. They’re probably sealed shut from the inside and even if they’re not, there’s no way you, on your ship or any ship can reach it. This whole section right here,” another drawn line over the screen, “Visibility points. Even with a cloaking device, they’ll just look out the window and our cover’s blown.” He grimaced thoughtfully and looked back at the screen. “They’ve really got this place locked down…How has anyone else broken out?”

Fiearius sighed and gazed at the screen emptily, an image he’d spent far too long staring at over the past few weeks and one he’d probably be staring at even longer for the upcoming ones.

“They haven’t,” he replied shortly. At Cyrus’ look of surprise, he went on, “Not since the modern ships. Not a single breakout. Across the board. Totally clean.”

Cyrus frowned. “I can see why…” he muttered, sparing one last glance at the prints.

“It’s impossible,” Fiearius told him expressionlessly, utterly numbed to the concept by now.

“Have you told her that?” was his little brother’s quiet, hesitant response. The hard look of defeat Fiearius gave in return said it all. Cyrus frowned up at him and sighed, “You need to tell her.”

At once, Fiearius shook his head. “No.”

His frown flattened into annoyance. “No?” he repeated bluntly.

“No,” Fiearius said again.