Across from him, Daelen simply watched, patient as ever. For a long moment, as Fiearius tore through the infirmary, back and forth, back and forth, he said nothing. He just watched. It was only when Fiearius finally stopped, dead center, feeling his foundation starting to crumble, that Daelen spoke.

“Captain,” he began slowly. “I know that this is a frightening prospect. I understand. But I need you to understand what’s going to happen if you can’t sever your dependency on this drug.” Daelen took a deep breath. “It’s primarily affecting your liver, kidneys and nervous system. If your liver starts to fail, you’ll become jaundiced, weak, you could become disoriented or slip into a coma. If it fails, you will die. If your kidneys fail. You will die. But most concerning of all, what you were taking has started to affect your nerve endings. If this continues, you could lose feeling to your extremities, become paralyzed, epileptic or even lose mental stability.”

Fiearius could do nothing but stare back at him, entirely speechless.

“Now I get your hesitation, I do. But captain, this drug will be your end. It may not be immediate, it may not even be for a decade, but if you keep taking it, it will kill you. And it will not be pretty. It will not be painless. And it will not be dignified.” He approached Fiearius and lifted his brows at him. “I can’t force you to do anything. But I know what I would choose.”

He didn’t make it sound like much of a choice. Fiearius was still stunned to silence when Daelen put a tablet in his hand. “Here are your test results and a basic treatment summary for typical withdrawal symptoms. Look through it. Research it on your own. Make your decision. If you do choose to go through with the detox, and I hope you do, I suggest you come clean about it now.” He grasped Fiearius’ shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “She deserves to know.”

– – – –

It was odd to be on this side of an examination, Leta thought, swinging her legs back and forth on the bench as Daelen finished tending to her. He pressed a stethoscope against her back, the buds tucked into his ears as he listened to her breathing. Satisfied, he stepped back and slid the device to rest around his neck.

“Well whatever happened to you while you were unconscious, it doesn’t seem too invasive,” he said, peeling the latex gloves from his hands. “Besides the puncture wound on your neck, I see no other signs of contact. Do you feel any unusual pressure or pain anywhere?”

“No, nothing. I’m even sleeping well again,” she said, thinking briefly of the previous night she’d spend with Fiearius at the hotel. After a moment, she muttered, “So they really gave me the ARC treatment, didn’t they?” though she was quite sure she knew of the answer.

“Signs point to yes. There’s definitely traces of something in your blood and it’s not something I recognize.” He crossed the white tile floor to examine his console screen. “I’ll have to do some research before I can confirm the compound matches what’s been identified as ARC, but as of now?” He glanced back at her. “I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

“Do you think it’ll have any long-term effects?”

“It could,” Daelen admitted. “The dosage you were given was clearly quite small given how little is left and I predict it will physically be out of your system in no more than a few days, but as far as lingering mental effects?” He shrugged. “It’s hard to say.”

Leta heaved a sigh, but forced any dark thoughts from her mind. She’d made it back from Vescent relatively unscathed — really, what more could she ask for?

In a tone that was more cheerful than she felt, she pushed down from the bench and said, “Don’t suppose you usually get patients this interesting everyday, do you, doctor?” She smiled. “How are things going on the Beacon, anyway?”

“Oh, quite well.” He turned away from the console. “The crew likes to keep me busy. Captain Corra in particular has a tendency to demand infirmary care for such little things as minor bruises. Though I’m beginning to suspect she’s more interested in the conversation than the bandages.”

“She tried to get me to take that position,” Leta remembered. “And move over here with her.”

“You’re welcome to take the offer, there’s certainly plenty of space for the two of us,” he mused, gesturing at the massive infirmary around them. “Though the Dionysian might fare better with you rather than without.”

“I always said I’d leave the Dionysian only when I was really ready.”

“So not yet then,” Daelen prompted, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well … if and when you ever are, I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we’d be happy to have you. Now, just give me a minute to clean up a little and then we’ll go over the test results together.”

He stepped towards the counter to clear away the medical supplies, but Leta rolled her eyes. “Please, I can read a test chart,” she said, crossing toward the console screen herself.

“Shall I remind you how big of a breach of confidentiality that is?” he called back to her as he washed his hands, but he made no motion to stop her as Leta touched her fingers to the screen. “I guess you are going to take that ‘doctors are the worst patients’ cliche to heart.”

“Ha, ha,” said Leta dryly, before focusing her attention on scrolling her medical chart. What she found made her stomach knot in unpleasant surprise. According to the screen, her blood pressure was dangerously low (and then dangerously high); her temperature was feverish; she was having difficulty breathing and was at a near-constant risk for seizures.

“Wait…this is — this doesn’t make sense.”

“Hm?” said Daelen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“These levels are–this can’t be right. I thought you said I only got a small dosage.”

“You did,” he said, frowning.

He walked over and joined her at the screen as Leta went on, “Then how are my levels so dramatically off? ARC shouldn’t be able to do this. Especially a small dose. Why is it like this?”

And then just as Daelen arrived at her shoulder and went very still, Leta noticed the name emblazened at the top of the screen: it wasn’t hers.

“Leta…” said Daelen quietly, warning in his voice.

“This … this is Fiearius’ chart.” Leta rounded on Daelen at once. “What’s going on here? What’s the matter with him?””

Daelen drew his eyebrows together, clearly troubled. “You know I can’t discuss my other patients with you.”

“Daelen, we’re not in the clinic anymore,” said Leta sharply. She could feel her heart beating fast. “Tell me what’s going on with Fiearius.”

“Leta,” said Daelen, throwing an uneasy glance at the screen, “you shouldn’t even be looking at — “

“Fine,” Leta snapped. “I’ll talk to him myself.”

Without a backwards glance, she stalked from the room to find Fiearius.

An hour earlier, Fiearius had been in the Beacon’s infirmary, leaning against the counter and nervously tapping his fingers against its surface. Despite Daelen’s instructions, he refused to go anywhere near the infirmary beds. He’d lived in one for nearly a month and he had no desire to repeat that, even if that meant irritating the good doctor.

After they’d returned from their stay at the hotel, he’d dropped Leta off at breakfast with Corra. Corra had been more than happy to take her off his hands and Leta, in much better spirits today, seemed glad to be in the company of her friend as Fiearius attended to an important meeting he couldn’t get out of. He’d failed to mention who the meeting was with and where.

But that didn’t make him less nervous about being caught. “Can we hurry this up by any chance?” he muttered as Daelen stood at the console, tapping away like nothing was wrong, the bastard.

“Afraid not,” said Daelen simply. “It takes what it takes.”

Fiearius groaned and pushed himself from the counter, taking to pacing around the room. “I thought you already did the blood test thing. Why do you have to do it again anyway?”

“I need to monitor any changes.” He glanced back at him. “You haven’t been using, correct?”

“No of course not,” Fiearius growled, rolling his eyes. “Not since you gave me those meds.”

“So you think they’re working then?”

Fiearius hesitated. Sure, they’d worked for three days. But he could do three days on his own, that part was easy. Even with the meds, would he still be alright when the fever started? Or the vomiting? Somehow he doubted it, but nonetheless he muttered a flippant, “Yeah, probably.”

“That’s great,” Daelen said cheerfully, but with a certain tone that made Fiearius think he knew he was lying. “Though it will still be a lot easier if you can tell me exactly what you were taking.”

It was probably the tenth time he’d asked and yet still Fiearius couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Something about saying the word out loud, about telling this doctor, made it seem so…final. It felt like leaping off the edge of a cliff. So yet again, he deflected. “Can’t you just figure it out? With science or whatever?”

“I have theories,” Daelen replied, undeterred as ever, even as he cast Fiearius a pointed sideways glance. “But facts are a lot more useful.” Fiearius met his stare head on before scoffing indignantly and needing to look away.

Just then, the console Daelen was working on made a ding. “Ah, there we go,” he chimed as Fiearius slowly drifted towards him to hover behind his shoulder. On the screen was a chart, but it meant very little to him. Numbers and letters he didn’t recognize, an array of illegible information. Daelen easily scrolled through it, making a few thoughtful ‘hm’s’ as he went along.

Finally, Fiearius couldn’t take it anymore. “Well?” he demanded.

“Well.” Daelen turned to face him. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. Which would you like first?”

It was a question Fiearius never found comforting. “Bad, I guess.”

Daelen began to pace a slow circle around him. “The bad news is that your blood levels haven’t changed as much as I was hoping they would and your vitals are starting to weaken. You’re in the beginning stages of withdrawal and the medication you’ve been taking seems to be having no effect.”

Fiearius stared at him, feeling suddenly numb. “No effect? At all?”

“I’m afraid not. Whatever dependency you’ve developed, it’s stronger than the medication to battle it. We could keep trying it, but I doubt it’ll be effective.”

“So…what does that mean?”

“Well that’s the good news,” Daelen went on. “You’re not my first addiction patient and you definitely won’t be the first that I’ve helped through withdrawals. The Beacon is well-stocked with painkillers and fever reducers and I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way to make the detox process as painless as possible.” He smiled what he must have thought was an encouraging smile and laid his hand on Fiearius’ shoulder. “We can get through this.”

This. Get through Flush withdrawals. The thought made a shiver run down Fiearius’ spine. He couldn’t remember the brunt of them from the first time around — he’d been completely delirious. For a week. But he could remember the time going in and coming out of that week and he would take getting beaten, shot, electrocuted and partially set on fire over going through that again. And here was Daelen telling him he could ‘get through this’.

Of course, this had always been the plan, hadn’t it? He had been trying to get off this shit for a while now, of course, he’d known, eventually it would come to this. But up until now, it had never felt very real before. He’d never made it past the first few days before he’d given up. The horror of it had stayed safely at a distance. But now he could feel it staring him right in the face and he was unable to look away.

Daelen, however, had already moved on. “Now, by my estimates based on these readings, we have a couple of days before your symptoms amplify. In that time, we’ll work together to map out a plan. You’re likely going to be bedridden for some time and it’s essential that I’m with you through the process so we’ll have to discuss ship arrangements of course.”

Ship arrangements? Gods, what the hell was he getting into? Thoughtlessly, he took a few steps back and sank onto the edge of the infirmary bed. Suddenly, recovery seemed huge and overwhelming, like he stood at the base of a mountain.

He couldn’t do this. What was Daelen talking about? He couldn’t do this, but Daelen just kept going on.

“–and I’ll also need to know in advance any allergies you might have. If you’ve taken anything else recently? If you can give me a sample of the drug, I should be able to create a more comprehensive treatment. We should also discuss with Leta if she’d be willing to–”

That was where Fiearius tuned out. Leta. He could already imagine her face, horrified, when she found out. And she would find out. She would see. She would know.

“I can’t,” he said suddenly, standing up and shaking his head. Daelen stopped mid-sentence and stared. “I can’t do this. I can’t go through the withdrawals. Everyone will know.”

Daelen regarded him with calm, polite interest. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Yes, I’m afraid there’s little chance this can be conducted in secrecy.”

Fiearius just continued to shake his head, pacing the room furiously. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. She can’t find out.”

Hours later, long after they’d checked into their hotel room and gone to sleep, Fiearius cracked open his eyes and half-scowled in confusion. The room was shadowy and dim, but he felt immediately that the space beside him in bed was empty. In fact, he realized as he scanned the room, the whole room was empty. Leta was missing.

With a jolt of panic, Fiearius sat up. In one motion, he threw his hand to the bedside table, grabbed his pistol, and launched to his feet. She was gone. How was it possible? How had he lost her again?

He’d stalked halfway to the door when he heard movement from the bathroom. Heart hammering, he pivoted to the door and pushed it open. The scene that met his eyes made him halt in place and exhale in relief.

Leta blinked at him curiously from where she was comfortably sunk into a steaming hot bath. Murky soapy water went up her collarbone, and she was leaning back against the porcelain, her long legs angled over the lip of the tub.

“Are you alright?” she asked blankly, sitting up and making the water splash around her. “Fiear, why do you have — ?” She flashed a look at the gun in his hand.

“No reason,” Fiearius grunted, feeling stupid as he quickly placed the pistol to the side on the bathroom counter. He had no intention of telling Leta about his moment of panic, especially when she was perfectly fine and looking more like herself than she had in hours with her cheeks flushed a healthy pink from the steam, her long damp hair loosening from its messy bun. For a moment, he just stood there in the doorway, admiring the beautiful woman bathing in the ridiculously large bathtub. Fiearius wasn’t exactly a fan of baths, but…

“That looks nice,” he remarked thoughtfully. “Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, he crossed over the floor and started peeling off his clothes.

“No, don’t, you’ll turn the water brown,” Leta protested playfully, but when he lowered himself into the warm water and joined her on the submerged bench, she immediately moved to sit between his legs and sat back against his chest, heaving a long, relaxed sigh. It was the first time she seemed to truly relax since she’d returned from Vescent, Fiearius realized, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“This is better,” she said softly, closing her eyes for a moment as she sank further against him. “Gods, when I was stuck on Vescent, this is all I could think about. Being with you again. And how I thought I might not be able to.”

“But here we are,” said Fiearius. He leaned his mouth against the nape of her neck.

“Here we are,” Leta agreed, and took a deep breath. “Tell me something good, please.”

“Good? Right, okay. Well. Nobody you know has died recently,” he said, and Leta snorted a laugh. “That’s good. From what I hear, the better candidate won the election for Governor in Tarin Proper. I reached level eighty in Spaceship Wars. There’s a meteor shower on Paraven this week, supposedly very rare, once in a century kind of thing. Oh and my brother got a girl to like him, also very rare, once in a century kind of thing.”

Leta’s ringing laugh echoed around the bathroom. “That’s not nice of you.”

“Hey, I have actively encouraged the little bastard to get himself a girlfriend for the past four years.”

“That ‘little bastard’ is your flesh and blood, you know,” Leta said composedly, elbowing him in the ribcage. “And you don’t exactly give him a lot of time and space to take women out whenever he wants … Which isn’t fair,” she added, throwing him a good-naturedly stern look. “You find the time for it.”

“Cyrus has plenty of time to take out women,” Fiearius scoffed. “You think I make him stay down in that engine room all the time? He does that to himself. He prefers doing that. I ask him to come out and experience the real world with me and he says no. Which is why I’ve got good feelings about this cute engineer girl. She lets him stay in his comfort zone and interact with women. It’s perfect.”

“Well it’s not exactly easy to meet people when you’re traveling in the middle of nowhere space.”

“Right. Which is why I prefer to kidnap my prospective lovers.”

Leta laughed. “You had no idea that you and I would end up together.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked with a teasing grin. “You were into me from the first day we met. Don’t bother denying it, there were so many clues. The yelling, the angry glares, that time you said you’d rather shoot yourself then sleep with me? We were inevitable.”

“Inevitable? Fiear, I was engaged. To be married.”

“Eh.” Fiearius shrugged a shoulder, then dropped it back into the water with a splash. “I knew it’d work out somehow.”

“And while we’re on the subject,” said Leta, a playful lilt in her voice, “it was you who was into me, not vice versa.”

Fiearius grinned. “Well can you blame me?” He leaned over to kiss her neck. “It’s not everyday someone who both pisses me off and fires me up ends up on my ship.”

“You know, I don’t know why you let me aboard at all.” Her voice grew distant with the memory — the vivid memory Fiearius shared. They first met with Fiearius atop the ramp, his arm infected, in the middle of a yelling match with his brother. He’d spared her the shortest glance before muttering fine, she could come.

“No idea,” said Leta. “I still wonder sometimes.”

Fiearius barked a laugh, but then he found himself knitting his brow with thought. He wasn’t actually sure he knew what the real answer was. He’d never liked doctors. He never wanted someone else from a Society planet on his ship. He was wary of strangers. And Leta had been all three when he let her come aboard that fateful night.

“Fever-induced madness?” he offered, but he knew that wasn’t quite it. “But — who cares, yeah? As long as you’re here now, I don’t regret a thing,” he said, leaning in to kiss the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

“Funny, isn’t it,” said Leta softly, “how the Dionysian of all places in the Span turned out to be the place I feel most at home.”

“Well she’s happy to have ya,” Fiearius assured her. “For as long as you need.”