Fiearius paused, clearly surprised. “You know I’m not,” he pointed out, eyeing her with interest. “Daelen’s real serious about that confidentiality thing. You don’t think he didn’t ask permission every time he sent you medical updates? Anyway, no. I’ve been clean for 38 days and I’ve no intention of breaking that streak.”

“I was trying to get off it earlier,” he suddenly went on, to Leta’s surprise. “Months ago. I only took it to get over all the ARC shit, so once that was done, I genuinely tried to quit, but– it’s just hard. Even with constant medical supervision. It’s…really hard.”

Leta found herself nodding. She could think of nothing to say, especially when he edged closer in his chair and set his eyes directly on hers.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he said, exhaling slowly. “I never meant to hurt you. I made a choice that was right for me at the time of making it. And at that time, I was desperate enough to not realize that my choice about me for me wasn’t only going to affect me.” He shrugged helplessly. “So I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about it.”

Here, he didn’t seem able to look at her any longer. “I was just afraid of losing you,” he admitted. “What we had always felt so…fragile to me. Like there would come a day when you’d look at me and realize who I am and who you are and know that you’d made a huge mistake.”

Leta didn’t realize how very still she’d grown as Fiearius kept talking. Still, quiet, as if paralyzed by the weight of his words. For several seconds she stared at a spot in the middle of the table, and then at last she picked up her gaze and looked at him — really looked at him, for the first time in nearly a month. Although he looked a little beaten up — circles around his eyes, his cheekbones more stark and gaunt — he was still very much the man she remembered, the man she’d slept next to nearly every night for half a year. And knowing that, she couldn’t bite back her confession.

“It never felt fragile to me,” she admitted quietly.

The words sat in the air heavily for a moment, until she leaned back in her seat, heaving a long, burdened sigh. She crossed her arms and went on, matter-of-factly now, “For what it’s worth, it wasn’t the drugs, Fiearius. I can live with someone who has a problem with addiction. It’s not an accident that I became a doctor — I’ve seen the worst in people and it doesn’t scare me off. That’s not why I left.” A flicker of intensity passed through her eyes. “It’s that you lied … that you thought you couldn’t trust me.”

At that, Fiearius shook his head vehemently. “It wasn’t you I didn’t trust. I–gods if there was just one thing I could take back, it’s that.” He met her stare seriously. “I do trust you. It wasn’t lack of trust that made me hide it from you. Just lack of courage.”

“Well — thank you,” she added, her voice lowering with sincerity. “For apologizing. I forgive you.”

Was their night winding down now? Perhaps it was. Perhaps this was all that needed to be said between them. They’d eaten, they’d talked, he’d apologized, she’d accepted his apology. Perhaps this was when they parted ways.

Somewhat uncertainly, Leta stood to her feet and took their plates to the sink. She wasn’t sure how to say goodbye, even just temporarily. When she turned around and her eyes set on Fiearius standing there, intense and burning with meaning, she sighed.

“Listen. I can accept that it’s — that this — that we’re over. But I can’t accept that you’re hurting yourself. If you use again, please just tell me.”

He cracked a dark, lopsided smirk, one that had won her over a thousand times before.

“Oh come on now, I would never. Only have to make a mistake twice, y’know… ”

As she picked up her bag from the floor and readied to leave, there was only one thing left to do: truly say goodbye. As they lingered near the door, Leta paused, then decided oh, what the hell and stepped closer for an embrace, which he accepted, pulling her into his chest. The warm weight of his hands on her back held her in place like an anchor.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she heard herself say quietly in his ear, a slight laugh in her voice, even though her expression was anything but comical and warm. Her forehead wrinkled with sudden distress as her chin brushed against his shoulder, her arms held his torso perhaps too tightly, one of her hands holding his shirt fabric at the small of his back. Her other hand was still knotted around the handle of her bag.

Finally, with a shaky sort of sigh, she drew away inch by inch, but then it happened: she made a colossal mistake, almost instinctively, as if she had no control over the error. She made the mistake of easing away and moving her face nearer toward his, sliding her eyes up to his, and then down to his lips. Breathing in sharply and softly, she froze.

Leta’s first thought was that Corra was going to kill her for this. But that thought grew dimmer in her mind as Fiearius met her eyes, then moved his gaze down her face. Seconds passed, and then slowly the curve of his mouth leaned in and brushed against hers in a tense, uncertain graze. She could still feel the unease between them, the uncertainty of how to move forward and how quickly. It was a slow burn of a kiss: unneedy, both of them hesitant. Clearly, Fiearius was as unsure as she was about this development.

But with a slow exhale Leta felt the tension melt from her skin. Warmth ran up her spine as the kiss began to build slowly, with more pressure and heat as his fingers curved against her back, pulling her closer. Now, the voice in the back of her mind was at war with itself. This is bad for both of us, scolded Logic and Reason. Nothing good would come of it.

But very quickly, Logic and Reason were no match for how Fiearius’ lips pressed and pressed into hers. Not for the first time, Leta silently marveled at just how good it felt, his hands at her hips and the small of her back, the expert way he held her in place. Her bag dropped to the floor at their feet and her hand went up to his neck, her fingers digging slightly against his neck.

Just as a surge of passion ran through them, Leta managed to take a hiss of a breath and regain some of herself. It took all of her effort to pull back even an inch, and it was then she realized just how entangled they’d become: her forearms rested at his shoulders, her body arched against his, achingly close. Pausing suddenly, Leta rested her forehead against Fiearius’, her chest heaving somewhat as she examined the way she was already intimately wrapped around him. She felt a surge of irritation with herself as she looked down at their intertwined bodies, but she made no motion to move.

“I — ” she stammered dropping one hand away from his shoulder. She pressed her slightly shaking fingertips against her bruised lips, in disbelief of what had just happened. And yet she was not surprised at all. Growing pale in spite of all the warmth and arousal rushing through her, Leta murmured, “Is this alright?” still short of breath.

Fiearius regarded her face closely. Then he shrugged one shoulder, leaned in and reclaimed her lips and hips and all of her and started to gently lead her towards the couch across the room.

——————–

Fiearius would have been outright lying if he’d said he hadn’t missed this. Physical desires hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind lately, but the intimacy? The passion? The spark of connection? He’d yearned for it often. Now that he’d lived out the scenario, he released a long, satisfied sigh of utter contentment. This was the best he’d felt in a month. A sheen of sweat covered his skin as he rolled over to catch his breath.

But it was then he found that this couch in the station’s lounge was not quite as wide as he’d thought. With a thud, he rolled over onto the floor.

At once, Leta propped herself up on her hand and laughed at him. “Oh come on, we’ve done it weirder places than this.”

“I’m a little out of practice lately, cut me a break,” he laughed.  Heaving a deep breath, and still chuckling, he pushed himself up on his palms and glanced over at the woman lying at his eye level. But the glance turned into a stare. Maybe it was the month he hadn’t seen her. Or maybe it was the fact that he likely wouldn’t see her like this again. But Gods, she looked beautiful. She had always been beautiful, but something about losing her made him appreciate it all the more. The perfect skin, the bright green eyes, the way her hair flowed in gentle waves around her head.

He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm, letting his thumb stroke the side of her face gently. “Should I apologize for this too?” he asked, his tone teasing, but his smile sincere. “I’m getting real good at apologies. I’m so sorry. I’m very sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” she teased. After a moment, she added, “Well I think this one is 50% my fault, so … I’m sorry too, I guess.”

But she was right: he was not really all that sorry. They were both adults, they were not the first recently-ended couple to have break-up sex. It happened, and they would move on from it. This was the final curtain drawing to a close on their relationship.

It had to be.

He watched as Leta reached for her blouse from the floor, picking it up and sliding it on over her head. Sitting on the edge of the couch, crossing her ankles a little nervously, she caught his eye and said, “So. Listen. Not that I didn’t enjoy that … ” A rather knowing pause fell. Considering she’d been writhing beneath him minutes before, seized by pleasure, he knew just how much she had enjoyed that. Flushing slightly, she went on in her usual neutral brisk tone, “But it’s probably not a good idea if we keep this up. I mean, we can’t keep sleeping together. It’s unhealthy, even for us.”

“You sure?” he asked, raising a brow at her. “You sure you wanna give this up? I mean, it really didn’t seem like you want to.” He grinned a lop-sided suggestive grin, but he knew better. He pushed himself up to his feet and stretched his arms over his head.

“I’m kidding, I agree entirely,” he clarified, his tone more serious as he crossed the room towards the kitchen, feeling suddenly hungry again. A few more empanadas sat on the counter, so he grabbed one and shoved half of it in his mouth before returning to her side and plopping down on the couch beside her, still undressed.

“This was a ‘one last time’ sort of thing,” he confirmed, nodding his head and eating the other half. “One amazing last time.” He smirked and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

As Leta stood up and finished getting dressed, she said, “So. I suppose I’ll see you around the station sometime?”

Fiearius raised a brow at her. “Doubt it. I’ll take advantage of the fancy kitchen a couple more times, but I’m outta here first thing tomorrow.”

Leta folded her arms and took a moment to study him. In a neutral voice, she said, “So you’re really not going to help.”

“No,” he said bluntly. “Are you?”

“I am. I’m providing maps of Vescent and I’m volunteering for their medical team.”

Slowly, Fiearius sat up on the couch. “You don’t — you don’t actually think this will work, do you?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice plain and even. “I do.”

It was unnerving to hear her say the words. He knew Leta: she never said anything she didn’t mean. She was sharp. Unafraid to say no. She’d also been to Vescent and seen the worst of it, and yet she still believed it could be fixed? His mind started to race.

“Look,” he said after a moment. “I’m all for their noble cause, don’t get me wrong, but what makes you think they can do it? Carthis doesn’t have the best track record against the Society y’know. They’ve been fighting–and primarily losing–for decades. The Society’s got better tech, better trained people, not to mention a home-team advantage.”

“I know.” Leta nodded at him, unblinking. “That’s why we need help.”

Expectant silence filled the room. Then she reached for her bag, slung it over her shoulder and headed for the door. Out of habit, Fiearius stood to his feet, pulling his clothes on as he followed after her into the hallway.

“So — back to the pirating business then?” she asked, turning back once last time. “Smuggling weapons? Stealing cargo? Punching thugs?”

Truthfully, Fiearius hadn’t thought that far in advance. But it seemed safe to mutter, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“That’s surprising,” she mused, her voice thoughtful. “Back on the Dionysian, when we were planning those raids on Society ships … I know it really empowered you.”

The way she regarded him then made discomfort stir in his chest, though he couldn’t rightly place why. He forced an uneasy smirk. “Did Gates put you up to this?”

In a plain voice, she said, “No. It’s just a surprise to me is all.” As she adjusted her shoulderbag and walked away, she added, “I’ve just never known you to back down from a fight.”

Gates sighed. “Captain, regardless of what you think of us, I need you to consider the ramifications here. You call yourself a traitor, a coward, you say it was all an accident, perhaps it’s true. Perhaps you don’t deserve to be the inspiration of the revolution. But if you join with us, if you stand up and fight now, it would not be an accident. It would not be an act of cowardice or fear. It would be an act of bravery and solidarity, that would change the lives of millions of people for the better. Fine, you’re not a grand revolutionary, I accept that. But with the chance I’m giving you, you can become one.”

Fiearius stopped pacing. His eyes were fixed on his feet. It was like a hurricane had been set off in his head and he couldn’t contain it. He couldn’t see through it. He almost felt like he couldn’t breathe.

When Gates spoke again, his voice was calm, quiet, soothing. “I understand this is overwhelming. Perhaps we should recess for now. I’ve had accommodations prepared for you in the C deck. Take the night. Think it over. We can talk again tomorrow.”

Fiearius frowned. “I have a ship, I don’t need your accommodat –” he began, but Gates cut over him.

“Give me one moment, I need to make a quick call and then I’ll have someone take you to your room,” he said as he turned his attention to his desk.

Suddenly too exhausted to protest, Fiearius numbly drifted back towards the door. It slid open and he re-entered the dim lobby, barely aware of where he was or what he was doing here at all. Everything in his head had just shut off. Stopping the Society, liberating Vescent, symbols of the revolution? It was way too early for this. It would always be way too early for this.

He was so lost in his own head, he didn’t even notice that the man in the center of the room at  the desk apparently had company. And that the company was now staring at him. And then he did notice. And if he’d felt breathless before, he felt practically pummeled now. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“Leta?” said his voice without his consent.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Around them, the lobby continued to bustle with activity: cadets beelined through the room, console screens flashed, an officer barked an order over the intercom. But Leta heard and saw none of it. She felt gutted, her eyes going round as she absorbed the sight of Fiearius. He did not, Leta noticed, look like himself: the usual glimmer of mischief was gone from his eyes. His cheekbones stood out more sharply than usual. His shoulders slumped, and his clothes hung off of him; he’d clearly lost weight that he did not need to spare.

As her shock began to fade (of course he was here, it was only a matter of time before Carthis called on him too), a certain rigidity came to Leta’s stance, as if she were ready to defend herself: her spine straightened and her mouth tightened with distaste.

“Fiearius.”

Slowly he took a few steps towards her, dragging his hand through his unruly hair. Through a deep breath, he said, “You look…well…”

You don’t, she almost said, biting the words back in her mouth. He’d made it through the withdrawals, clearly, but not unscathed.

“So,” he said sharply. “What are you doing here?”

She lifted her gaze to study his face, and it was then she decided to take a stab at being civil. No reason to open hostilities just yet. Actually, she was afraid if she did start to tell him, to really tell him and show him what she was feeling, she would not be able to restrain herself. It would all flood from her, unstoppable and unrelenting, and he would know just how much he’d hurt her.

And she could not allow for that.

“Helping research the lock-down on Vescent,” she said bluntly, shifting on her feet. She adjusted the satchel over her shoulder. “The Beacon dropped me off about a week ago. And Ren invited me. When he found out what the Carthians are planning, he vouched for me. He’s here on the station too.”

“Ah,” said Fiearius, a sudden note of bitterness in his voice. “Ren. Of course.”

Leta paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just…figures doesn’t it?”

Leta narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here? Never imagined you’d align with the military. You hate Carthis.”

“I do,” he admitted easily. “And I’m not aligned with them.”

“They sure seem to think highly of you.”

“Think highly of me?” he repeated incredulously as though she were a fool for saying it. “Please. They’re just want my resources so they’re playing nice for now. Any other situation, they’d have me hanged, guaranteed.”

“They’re not bad people, Fiearius. They’re trying to help.”

“Sure. ‘Help.’ Carthis just wants to help and everything is sunshine and rainbows. I guess you would believe that wouldn’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Leta hissed. “What the hell does that — “ She halted, and laughed bitterly. “Of course you’re insulting me. You should be apologizing to me like an adult and of course, this is all you can manage. “

“Wait, hang on, be an adult?” he repeated, taking an impassioned step towards her. “You want me to be an adult? I did apologize. I did nothing but apologize, for weeks.”

Leta scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. But he wasn’t done. “All those messages you never replied to? How about the daily calls you ignored? I tried to apologize to you, but I consistently got the message that you didn’t wanna hear it, so if you’re seriously expecting me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness now?”

“Yes, actually,” she snapped. “An apology now, now that you’re not high or sick or just desperately trying your hand at damage control would be the mature thing to do, yes.”

“Of course, I’m the immature one, sure. Not like you ran off a month ago or anything. Because that was the mature thing to do.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “But of course, silly me, you’re perfect and flawless and never do anything wrong,” he muttered bitterly. “I’m the screw up. Everything is my fault.”

“This is your fault!” she cried, clasping her fingers into her long hair in exasperation. All the bitter, acidic thoughts she’d toiled with the past four weeks began to spill forth, like poison being drawn from a wound. Genuine hurt cracked over her face, but she fought it off and instead gritted her teeth.

“You made your choice and now you have to live with it. Of course I left and ignored you. What else was I supposed to? I didn’t want to teach a thirty year old man how to say no to drugs,” she heard herself growl. “I don’t want to clean up after you. Not anymore.”

“No, you’d much rather just leave me right when I needed you most.”

“You lied to me, Fiearius,” she breathed, her voice low. “After everything we’ve been through, you lied to me and listened to Dez. You chose him over me.”

“I didn’t choose Dez,” he snapped, throwing his hand in the air in frustration. “I chose sanity. And it had nothing to do with you at the time. I only lied because look what the fuck happened when I didn’t!”

“What?” Leta gasped. “You really think you — ”

But it was then that a cadet nearby cleared his throat pointedly. Looking sideways, Leta realized they had acquired something of an audience: the room had gone silent, and twenty pairs of eyes were gazing at them in alarm.

“Um…sir?” said the cadet, throwing Fiearius a nervous glance. “I’m supposed to escort you to your quarters?”

Fiearius slammed his palm over his forehead. “Right. ‘My quarters’.” He turned back to Leta and grunted, “Look. I’m sorry. That was–not exactly how I wanted this to go. Can we…talk later? Properly?”

Leta hesitated. Finally she said, “Alright,” and watched as Fiearius walked away with the cadet, disappearing down the hall.

————–

Was she making a terrible mistake?

Steeped in unease, Leta asked herself the question a dozen times as she quietly navigated the metallic maze of hallways later that night. Was she making a terrible mistake, in meeting Fiearius like this? Their first meeting hadn’t just gone poorly. It had gone horribly. His words were ringing in her ears even now, and she burned with anger, shame, worry …

Finally (after making a couple wrong turns, as she was lost in her own head and distracted), Leta found herself glancing down at the numbers she’d inked on the inside of her wrist and slowing to a halt outside a set of double-doors. A keypad embedded in the wall, and to her surprise, an armed guard stood nearby.

“Evening, ma’am,” said the man in uniform, nodding once. “Are you here to meet with Captain Solivere?”

“I — yes,” Leta said, unsure if she should have been amused or alarmed by the decorum now required to talk with Fiearius Solivere. Of all people. These professional soldiers in the military, did they know Fiearius at all? Did they know that he conducted his business from dirty bars and slums in Archeti? That he wore the same torn, dirt-streaked clothes nearly everyday, or at least until Leta made him change? That he spent half his life barefoot? It seemed so unlikely to find him here. For a moment, Leta had the fleeting thought that she was involved some kind of practical joke.

But then the doors opened. Fiearius stood there and gave her a single nod of greeting, his expression tired.

Lingering in place, Leta lifted her eyebrows at him, a mixture of apology and alarm stirring in her green eyes, as she offered a plain, “Hey,” that sat heavily in the air between them. She could feel the guard straightening up and watching her as he muttered sternly, “Sir — sorry to interrupt — is she on your approved visitor list?”

To the guard, he said, “It’s fine. She’s fine. Come on in.”

Feeling rather awkward, she followed Fiearius into the room and considered all the things she wanted to ask him. How could you? was among them. How did this happen to us? was another. But as she followed him inside, the question that sprang forth was, “Holy — is this is where they’ve put you up to stay?”

The lounge was luxurious, like a hotel suite. Leta turned in a circle on the shining wooden floors and gazed over the arched ceilings, the mahogany half-moon bar, the vast console system, the grand piano. What in the world did Fiearius Solivere need with a grand piano? Was this the military’s way of casually bribing him, of getting him on their side? If so — Leta could have snorted to herself — they should’ve known that wealth and a comfortable bed wouldn’t work on him.

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” he groaned, weaving his way toward the kitchen. “There’s a master bedroom, a guest bedroom, two bathrooms, one with a bath bigger than a shuttle, dining area, living room, lounging room because apparently that’s different, and the kitchen.” He gestured toward the counters around him. “Which is the one part I actually really appreciate. I haven’t had access to a legitimate grill in years. This Gates guy’s really tryin’ to sell me on this place.”

“Certainly pays to be a criminal outlaw these days,” she muttered to herself, turning around at last to face Fiearius. “Clearly I’m in the wrong line of work, all I got was a mid-range box with a bunk. What’re you — “

Abruptly, she was faced with the sight of Fiearius who was, of all things, holding out a plate full of food for her.

“I made peace empanadas,” he said. “They taste like peace. Or spinach and cheese, I can never tell the difference.”

Slowly she reached out and took one of the pastries, amusement lighting her eyes. “Is this your version of an olive branch?” she asked wondrously.

“Something like that.”

Together they sat down at the long dining room table, quietly eating, stealing stiff and amused glances at one another. Unspoken words sat awkwardly between them for minutes, until at last —

“So about earlier,” said Fiearius suddenly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, centering his gaze on her. “That was really bad. I think I’ve spent the last month imagining how that would go and how it actually went couldn’t have been further from what I was planning. I’m — really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she agreed, now openly staring at him. There was something achingly familiar about sitting across from him, sharing a meal he’d made. For a moment, her heart tinged with real longing.

But then she remembered herself. Lips thinning out, she lowered her hands from the table. “So. Are you still using?”

“Oh, Cyrus,” Daelen said cheerfully when he noticed they had company. He turned off the sink and started wiping his hands. “Just give me a moment to finish up here and I’ll get out of your way.”

Cyrus, who had accidentally frozen on the precipice of the room, looked up at him in alarm. “Oh no, it’s alright, you don’t have to–”

But Daelen, he’d learned recently, was not someone to waste breath arguing with. “Nonsense, I’m sure you two have lots to talk about, I’ll give you your privacy,” he insisted, patting Cyrus on the shoulder as he marched straight past him out the door. “Come find me when you’re finished!”

As his footsteps died out, the room was left in silence as the two brothers seemed able to do nothing but stare at one another. Cyrus could hardly believe the man he was looking at now was the man he’d seen a week ago seemingly inches from death. Fiearius was alert, responsive, healt– well no, he still looked like shit. His face was pallid, deep circles surrounded his eyes, his already unruly hair had grown into an even more unruly mess and by the looks of it, he’d probably lost ten pounds in the past month. Healthy wasn’t the right description. But ‘not dead’ was enough to soothe Cyrus’ worry.

“So you’re talking now?” he mused finally, at last stepping into the room and making his way toward the bed.

Fiearius let out a laugh that turned into a cough. “Would you rather I go back to groaning my responses?” he asked, his voice wheezy and quiet.

“Maybe.” Cyrus nudged Fiearius’ feet out of the way and lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “It was kind of a fun puzzle, figuring out what it was you were asking for.”

“Yeah,” Fiearius coughed. “A puzzle both of you kept getting wrong. I wanted morphine, not water.”

Cyrus chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry, two syllables, sounds the same. Work on your consonants next time.”

“Better yet,” Fiearius suggested, “Bypass ‘next time’ altogether.” He shook his head and ran his hands back through his greasy hair.

“Good idea,” Cyrus agreed, looking him over. “How’re you feeling?”

Fiearius paused to glare at him. “How do you think I’m feeling?” he grumbled. “I can tell you with absolute clarity that I have no intention of going through this again. Fool me once, shame on the Society, fool me twice, fuck that was a bad decision.”

“No, really? So you shouldn’t have taken Society drugs for six months and lied about it?” Cyrus gasped, putting his hand over his mouth in false shock. “I never would have guessed.”

The glare deepened and then broke away as Fiearius sighed. “I was just wondering how long it would take you to get around to scolding me.”

Cyrus couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m not scolding you. I’m just pissed. I have a right to be pissed. My dumbass older brother nearly got himself killed because he was too proud and too stupid to ask for help.”

“Sounds like scolding,” Fiearius muttered under his breath and Cyrus battled a powerful urge to smack him.

“Y’know what, shut up,” he said instead, his voice sharp. “You’re lucky I’m even here. I could have just left you to deal with this on your own since you so clearly wanted to. I could have let you choke to death or starve or let your liver fail, but I didn’t. I spent the last month working my ass off to keep your crew together and your ship running and cleaning up your vomit and preventing you from cracking your head open every time you nearly fell on the floor so don’t you dare give me shit for that, shut the hell up.”

The infirmary fell deathly quiet as Cyrus’ words hung in the air. Fiearius was no longer looking at him, but down at his hands in his lap. Okay, it was a little harsh for a man only just recovering, but Cyrus didn’t take it back. He was used to Fiearius’ shitty attitude, he’d had it since he was born as far as Cyrus knew, but now? He was ungrateful now?

But finally, barely above a whisper, Fiearius asked, “Why did you?” His eyes flicked back up to him and now, they were full of guilt. “Why did you stick around? Why didn’t you just leave on the Beacon with the others?”

Cyrus felt his anger crack and start to crumble away of its own accord. He’d thought about it, leaving. For maybe a half second. But it had been swept away as soon as it had appeared. Leaving had never been an option he would truly consider.

“Because you’re my brother,” he answered at last. “And as stupid as you may be and as much as I may have wanted to, I can’t abandon you.” He met his eyes seriously for a moment and Fiearius looked back, all the pain and anguish and despair visible on his face. It was hard seeing him like this, perhaps even more hard than it had been a week ago. At least when he was sick, it was physical, quantifiable, fixable. This though…

Suddenly he felt a need to lighten the mood. “Besides,” he added, a cheerful lilt in his voice. “Your girl left you. Your friends hate you. And you just went through a month of what looked quite a bit like hell. That’s probably punishment enough. I don’t feel a need to add to it.”

Fiearius just stared at him blankly. “Thanks,” he decided was the appropriate answer. “I guess…”

“If there’s anything I’m still mad at you for,” Cyrus went on, shuffling to a more comfortable position on the bed, “it’s keeping me from Addy.”

Passing off whatever awkwardness was left in the room, Fiearius raised his brows in interest. “So that’s a thing then, is it? You and machine girl?”

Even though he’d brought it up, Cyrus felt himself go red with embarrassment nonetheless. It sounded different when Fiearius said it all accusatory like that. Especially with such established terms like ‘thing’. “W-well yeah? I think it’s a thing. I mean we talk every night. And — well I really like her.”

Fiearius cracked him a tired grin. “Good for you. So ya asked her to marry ya yet?”

Cyrus frowned. “No.”

“Ooh, taking this one slow, huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “That happened one time in a bar and I was drunk and I was kidding.”

“Sure, Cy.” Fiearius nodded importantly. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Y’know what, I changed my mind, I’m still mad at you, I’m leaving,” Cyrus decided, slipping off the side of the bed and turning for the door, but Fiearius let out another cough-laugh and grabbed his arm.

“Okay okay,” he begged, trying to hold down the choking. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave, Daelen only talks to me in really bad puns, I’m dying here.”

Cyrus looked to his brother. And down to his arm. And relented. “Fine.” He sat back down and Fiearius could not have seemed more pleased.

“So what else have I missed?”

Not much, was Cyrus’ immediate gut reaction, but for his brother’s sake, he took another pass at his memory. “Well. Eve beat me at chess. Daelen showed Rhys a picture of liver cancer and he stopped drinking. For two days. Amora started ‘Friday Feasts’ where she makes more food than any of us can eat and then whines at us to eat the leftovers for the next week. I’ve been teaching Richelle and Javier how to work on the Dionysian. They’ve got quite a knack for it actually. When Nikkolai’s not getting in the way. Oh and I made enough credits fixing the other ships in the dock to keep us running for another two months.” He grinned proudly.

But Fiearius, it seemed, was not as impressed with Cyrus’ accomplishments. He was watching him with a kind of anticipation that made him nervous. It occurred to him that news of the Dionysian’s crew was not the only news he was looking for. He almost expected it when Fiearius asked, “How’s Leta?”

At once, Cyrus wanted to change the subject. But despite the pit in his stomach, he knew Fiearius deserved an answer, even if it was, “Eh…she’s good I think. Fine.”

Fiearius nodded slowly. “You’ve talked to her?”

“Yeah, a few times,” Cyrus admitted, feeling a bit like he’d done something wrong. “She’s just helping out on the Beacon. She’s alright.” He wasn’t sure if he should, but he added after a moment, “She always asks about you.”

Fiearius lifted his brows in recognition of the statement, but he said nothing else. Cyrus was left with the distinct feeling he’d somehow just struck him in the chest.

“Oh, also, I’ve been monitoring your messages,” he said suddenly, desperate to leave this topic behind. “It’s mostly notifications that you’re losing your Spaceship War? A few messages from Quin and some others asking what the hell is going on. And there was one this morning, I didn’t get a chance to read through it, but it was from an Admiral?”

Fiearius finally looked back at him, frowning, confused. “I don’t know any Admirals.”

“I didn’t think so.” Curious now what it could possibly be, Cyrus crossed the room to pick up a tablet Daelen had left sitting on the counter. Skimming through it, he eventually found the message he was looking for. “Yeah, here, Admiral Gates,” he read before looking up at Fiearius who just blinked back at him and shrugged.

His brother carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the tablet as Cyrus handed it to him. He squinted at the screen and muttered, “Captain Soliveré, I hope this message finds you in good blah blah blah, okay, we’ve heard about your many exploits against the Society and want to commend you in boring boring, ah here we go. On behalf of the Carthian Military Council–” He looked up at Cyrus in alarm and then back at the screen. “–I would like to extend to you and your crew an invitation to our station located at the attached coordinates. We have much we’d like to discuss with you and a cause I think we can both agree is worthy of our attention. Sincerely, Admiral Gates.”

After finishing the message, Fiearius sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Cyrus too, who was leaned over his shoulder to peek at it himself, was stunned by the contents.

Finally, his confusion got the better of them. “Why the hell does the Carthian military want to talk to us?”

Fiearius glanced up at him and back at the screen, then shrugged again.

It wasn’t a very satisfying answer. “Well…are we gonna go?” Cyrus wanted to know.

Still, Fiearius said nothing. He seemed to read the message again. And then he looked up at Cyrus, his expression more perplexed as ever, and said, “Considering we’ve got no other prospects right now? I guess I don’t see why not.”

“Well … I’m flattered, Corra.”

“No,” she said sharply, pointing her finger at him. “You’re not. Just — don’t even — ugh.” She suddenly drew her knees up to her chest and buried her head in them.

He could think of nothing to say, nothing to alleviate the awkwardness in the room. It was true that Finn was spending three nights a week in her bed, but she’d always made it clear that was where their relationship stood: the bedroom. They had fun, they laughed, they drank together, and then she kicked him out in the morning. It was an arrangement, casual and easy, and that was that.

Right?

“Corra,” he said at last, his chest twisting: was he really about to hurt her? It had never occurred to him that he had that power. “You’ve no idea how much I respect you as a captain. And a friend. But I thought we set ground rules between us, didn’t we? And you know me,” he laughed sourly, “you know I can’t do commitment right now.”

“I know that,” she said into her knees and let out a snort. “Believe me I know that.”

“I’m — I’m really sorry. I had no idea you… you’re not hurt by this, are you? By me?”

Corra snorted again and looked up at him pathetically. “I’m not hurt, I’m just embarrassed.”

She cracked a weak smile, and Finn, glad to follow suit, said,  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, a lot of people can’t help falling in love with me.”

“I didn’t say I was in love with you,” Corra groaned, rolling her eyes. “I just–look, you’re really fun. And you make me laugh. I like being around you. So I just thought, y’know, if I’m ever gonna learn how to trust someone enough to have a more serious relationship, maybe you’d be a good candidate, that’s all.” She shrugged helplessly.

“Hey, I like being around you too. But … if you want to try out dating,” Finn said, “and you think I’m a good candidate? Oh you — you are just so wrong about that, captain.”

To his relief, Corra laughed. “In retrospect, it was a pretty stupid idea. But, hey, I like what we have right now, really. So if that’s all you want, that’s fine. Please don’t feel bad and please let’s not make a big deal out of this.” She cracked him a lopsided grin. “I can just as easily conduct my great dating experiment elsewhere.”

“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” he muttered, though he meant it. “You deserve a worthy contender.”

“And I will make it my personal goal to find that person. As long as you agree to keep me company on my my many lonely nights in the meantime.”

“That,” said Finn, allowing himself to grin in spite of his guilt as he threw an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, “I can do.”

Corra giggled and stretched out her arms in front of her. Then she seemed to remember something significant and eyed him seriously. “Oh and — I know you don’t think so but… you’re a good guy, Riley. Really good. So forget Elsa. She doesn’t even deserve you anyway.”

– – – – – –

“So you two are really a thing now, aren’t you?” Leta couldn’t help but ask as she smirked at Addy, who sat across from her on the medical bay counter. Although romance was the absolute last topic Leta wanted to discuss these days, even she had to admit how meltingly sweet it was to see Addy flush pink and become suddenly very interested in the stethoscope sitting on the counter.

“I guess we sort of are,” said Addy, nervously tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. She’d come to Leta in the medical bay just for a routine check-up, but ended up staying to visit and gossip.

Leta could only imagine how Cyrus was taking his newly-minted relationship status. When he wasn’t stressing about his brother, he was probably floating on cloud nine.

“Although I’ve no idea when we’ll see each other again. I’ve never done a long-distance thing before. Do you know when we’ll be near the Dion — oh.”  Addy clapped her hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot. Here we are, talking about me and the Dionysian when you just went through a break-up — “

“Trust me, I’m glad for the distraction,” said Leta, snorting and waving off her concern. “Besides, I can’t avoid the Dionysian forever. And I don’t want to — I miss Cyrus too.”

 She heaved a sigh. Just then, the doors swung open and Alyx popped her head in.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, doc, but you’ve got an incoming call. System’s reading it as unidentified so I’ve no idea who it is. Want me to dump it?”

“Unidentified call?”

Considering how many security hurdles Cyrus put the Dionysian through, there was no one else it could be. No one else would know to reach her on the Beacon. And Cyrus always called Addy first, not her. And she’d already talked to Daelen this morning. Which meant …

“No, I’ll take it,” she said at last, feeling oddly decisive about this. Addy threw her a hopeful look. She had to talk to Fiearius again eventually, didn’t she? “Patch it through to my quarters, please.”

Upstairs in her room, Leta inhaled a deep breath, lowered to her chair and reached for the communications console screen. Whatever Fiearius had to say, she would let him say it, quickly and succinctly so they could get this confrontation over with. It was inevitable, after all; he’d tried calling her nearly every hour for the first week she’d been gone, but those calls had petered off as he got sicker. This was the first she’d heard from him since, and there really was no avoiding this man. He seemed to take up more than his share of the span. She switched the dial to take the call.

“Fiearius. Hey. Listen — ”

But it wasn’t Fiearius’ gruff familiar drawl that filled the line. It was another voice, curious and puzzled.

“Leta?”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “Ren?” she gasped. “What the hell is — are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Gods, every time I call you, you think I’m on my deathbed. Though I suppose I can’t blame you for that,” he added, his voice warm and friendly. Clearly he had no idea that Leta’s heart was hammering in her chest, nor that she was experiencing not relief, but a rush of disappointment that it was not actually Fiearius on the other line.

Recovering herself, Leta managed, “What’s going on?”

“Sorry to track you down like this, especially out of nowhere,” he said, inhaling deeply. “But I’ve got a proposition for you.”

– – – – – –

As Cyrus made his way down the stairs towards the Dionysian’s infirmary, he wasn’t sure what he should expect inside. It had been nearly a week since he’d visited his brother. Daelen had assured him that Fiearius was nearing the end of his recovery and insisted Cyrus take some time away from the sickbed. “For your own health,” he’d said. “I’ll tell you when he’s better.”

And this morning, apparently, he was better. Cyrus couldn’t even guess what that meant. ‘Better’ didn’t seem that hard in comparison to the writhing, screaming, delirious mess Fiearius had been for the past few weeks. The echoes of his desperation still haunted Cyrus on quiet evenings sometimes. The fear that this was the end, despite Daelen’s assurance otherwise, still hadn’t quite faded away…

But he was ‘better’. Right. That was something. Finally things could be looking up and Cyrus was starting to be hopeful that they might at last be leaving this planet after their extended stay. Not that it was a particularly bad planet. The tropical city of Kaadihn had actually been quite a sufficient host. There was plenty to do both in work and entertainment, the climate was a nice change from their usual backwater stops and the locals hadn’t once questioned why a crappy out-dated space junker was sitting in their docks for a month. Still, too much traveling had caused Cyrus to grow weary of even the best locations quickly and as he stepped through the door of the infirmary, he couldn’t help hoping ‘better’ meant ‘able to fly the ship elsewhere.’

It only took a moment inside the dim medbay to notice the change since he’d been here last. It was cleaner, for one. The counters were now free of the many bottles of medication that had scattered them before. It was calmer, too. Instead of rushing around the place like a madman, Daelen now stood by the sink rinsing equipment as though he had all the time in the world. And most miraculous of all, it was quiet. In the center of the room, Fiearius was leaning back in the hospital bed, not screaming, not shouting, not flailing nor groaning nor sounding like he was barely crawling his way out of hellfire. No, he was just leaning. And when he saw his brother, he even almost smiled.