Each step forward was excruciating. It stole the breath out of his lungs. It wasn’t just his legs — his back tinged with soreness, his hips ached. Leta was right: he really needed to move more.

“Halfway there,” she said at his side.

Painfully out of breath, Fiearius couldn’t help but mutter, “Oh for fuck’s sake — “

“We can take a break.”

Fiearius snapped, “No. No. Let’s just — get this over with.”

Hours later, or so it felt like, Fiearius’ hands gripped the edge of the counter. Pain lifted from his feet as he leaned all of his weight on it. Then, he let out a crazed, breathless laugh.

“And to think, I used to dominate track races in high school. Just look at me now. A whole day to walk twenty feet.”

“You’ll get back there,” Leta assured him, her voice relieved. “It just takes time. And hey — you’ve earned this.”

Using the sharp edge of the counter, Leta propped up the bottle of beer and handed it over with a flourish. Fiearius snatched it out of her hand and glared, but then he took a long, achingly cold swig and his eyes closed in utter satisfaction. Motivation, indeed.

He lowered the bottle and released a long sigh. “So. You’re an expert in teaching basic locomotion, huh?”

“Actually, no,” said Leta, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the counter. “But a good friend of mine is. Daelen Orsada — we were lab partners through med school. He’s got a lot of experience in physical therapy. He’s agreed to fly out here and lend a hand as well as coaching me in the meantime. Between the two of us, you’re bound to get back on your feet eventually.”

“Another doctor? One is enough, thanks,” he sighed, as Leta smirked. “And since when are you so optimistic?”

“Well, the way I figure, things can’t possibly get much worse around here,” she noted, and then reached for the other beer and took it for herself.

He laughed in agreement. “That bad out there huh?”

“Things are better, I suppose,” she mused, tilting the bottle against her mouth for a drink. “Cyrus is doing really well. He’s really coming into his own as the Dionysian’s new captain.”

“Hey, I’m not dead yet,” Fiearius grumbled. “Still my ship. And you got loverboy all checked in with Carthians, yeah?”

“Corra and Finn took him there two nights ago, yes.”

Fiearius couldn’t help but notice Leta took a much longer, indulgent drink at the mention of Ren. And she didn’t elaborate.

“Well, great,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Maybe we’ll both get back on our feet.”

“That’s the idea,” Leta agreed quietly. “So — how’s it feel to be out of that bed?”

Taking curious note of the sudden change of subject, Fiearius took a deep breath and looked down at his legs, still sending throbbing pain up every nerve.

“Kinda like I’d prefer you to amputate right about now.” He cracked a smirk. “But less so than before. So I guess that’s progress.”

“That is progress,” said Leta, genuine relief touching her voice, and Fiearius thought perhaps she was deciding to spare him her clinical questioning for once. But then she said, to his shock, “And how about the nightmares? Still having them?”

He lowered his beer and balked. “Nightmares? How’d you — ?”

“I saw you,” Leta admitted quietly, looking apologetic. “I saw you thrashing in your sleep.”

He considered the visions, memories, hallucinations, whatever they were, and he realized he could still see the dark alleyway in the corners of his vision, closing in on him. Hastily, he clamped his eyes shut and answered, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re still there.”

“What’re they about, exactly?”

Fiearius slowly opened his eyes to find the infirmary still the infirmary and let out a sigh of relief. Before it could come back, he forced himself to focus on Leta, repeating her words in his head thrice before he was able to answer.

“Satieri, mostly,” he muttered at last. “Internal Affairs jobs. Some mine. Some…not mine.” He fell quiet, recalling the images of blood-splattered walls and fresh corpses.

“But they feel real,” he added suddenly. “All of them. The ones I remember. And the ones — planted there, I guess? I forget where I am. And when I am. Who I am…” He furrowed his brow and looked down at his hands. “One moment you’re here and the next, it’s another life. For a while there, I couldn’t get back to the right one…I got so caught up in the others, I just…couldn’t see the way out. But. It’s getting easier now. To differentiate. I think, anyway…”

Leta went quiet, regarding him closely — too closely — with a frown on her face.

Fiearius recognized that look. It was the look she gave right before she prodded him with a needle or pushed medicine on him.

“Lemme guess,” he muttered, “you gonna go write that in your doctor diary now?”

“What? No.” Leta bristled. But then she admitted, “Not when you’re here, anyway,” and grinned.

He shook his head, taking a longer drink. A comfortable silence fell between them until Leta lowered her bottle and said abruptly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Since when do you need my permission?”

“Why did you agree to help me?” she asked, her lips tugging toward a frown. “All those months ago. Why’d you agree to go to the Baltimore?”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. And he wasn’t sure he had an answer — at least not one he felt entirely comfortable giving. Perhaps stalling for time, he took another long swig from the cold bottle in his hand before he finally spoke. “Because I know what it feels like losing everything to the Society. And maybe I just wanted to win for once.”

She faltered for a moment. Then she pressed, “So — did we? Do you think we won?”

Suddenly, she didn’t look quite like the Leta he knew: sadness struck her face, her eyes reflecting the artificial lights overhead, as she leveled him a long, piercing stare.

Guilt stirred in his chest. It certainly didn’t look like they’d won. A month after the Baltimore and the Dionysian was still in as dire a situation as it had been before.

Somehow, he mustered a smirk. “We’re all still alive, ain’t we? That’s somethin’. And you got your boyfriend back.”

“Fiance,” she muttered dully. Then she averted her eyes to the side. “Well, not anymore. We — ended things the other night.”

The bottle of beer in his hand paused mid-way to his mouth. Shock passed through him — not unpleasantly so, but not happily, either, when he saw the emptiness in her face.

“Well — shit,” was all he could say at first. “You okay?”

She shrugged, and a sigh passed through her lips, heavy enough to stir the hair on her forehead. “What I wanted was to get him out of there alive, and we did that. But I never thought — I mean, this is just not what I expected for us.”

The air shifted between them. He felt suddenly odd. What was the right answer to a statement like that? Especially all things considered.

Half to fill the silence and half because his curiosity got the better of his tongue, he provided her an uneasy, lopsided smirk and asked, “Hope that’s not my fault…?”

To his relief, she shook her head, looking surprised. “No. It’s not. I never even told him about — ” Her eyes flashed up to his, then looked away. “Any of it. With everything else going on, it seemed less important.”

This was the closest either of them had come to acknowledging what had happened, or didn’t happen, That One Night. They’d both been quietly ignoring the fact that Leta had been in his bed, though the memory had crept into Fiearius’ consciousness on more than one occasion — like when she brushed alongside him unexpectedly, or when her eyes blazed with fire, or when her face flushed pink as she yelled at him. It was not easy to forget how close they’d been.

To hide the rather incriminating thoughts in his head, Fiearius spoke over them, feigning concern. “So just to clarify, I don’t need to worry about him dropping by to beat the shit out of me?”

Leta rolled her eyes, snorting. “Very funny. No, he ended it because of me. Something about not liking who I’ve become or something,” she muttered, and then grabbed for her beer again, rather urgently.

“Well it’s his loss,” said Fiearius fervently. Another silence unfolded as Leta drank slowly, her eyes averted. Determined to stomp it out, he asked jokingly, “So you’re single now, huh? No wonder you weren’t around yesterday. Too many dates lined up?”

He was glad to hear her laughter ring around the room. “What? No. Seriously? It’s been like a day. Although Finn has been asking me out for awhile,” she noted, sounding both amused and irritated, “so I suppose that option is on the table. For me to ignore.”

Despite himself, Fiearius laughed. “Ignore? Why? Thought you liked him.”

“I tolerate him,” Leta corrected. She looked puzzled. “What makes you think I like him?”

“You told him about the whole, y’know — “ he waved his hand vaguely at her, “dying thing. When you were sick. He knew before anyone else. I don’t mind or anything,” he added quickly. “Just figured you guys had a special bond or somethin’.”

Leta looked quite wonderfully thunderstruck. “Bond? No, no — no. No. No.” She paused, and then added, for good measure, “No. He found out I was sick only accidentally. He read a note I had lying in the infirmary that had my diagnosis on it. I didn’t tell him.” After a moment, in a much different voice, she pressed quietly, “You really thought I told Finn and not you?”

Fiearius was feeling suddenly very foolish, and particularly exposed. “Well … yeah … “

“Really?” Leta looked like she was biting back a knowing smile with difficulty.

He wanted her to stop. “Whatever, it’s not unreasonable,” he muttered, quickly draining the rest of his beer. He let out a sigh and thudded the bottle back to the counter, where it looked particularly wrong beside all the medical tools.

“You know,” he muttered, almost accusingly, “most doctors don’t give their patients alcohol.”

Leta shrugged one shoulder in a tired sort of way. “I guess I’m not most doctors.”

“Nah,” he agreed, casting her a smirk. “You’re really not.”

She smiled slightly, shaking her head. “C’mon. Let’s walk you back.”

Dripping water hollows out stone — not through force, but through persistence.

Fiearius stared at the words on the wrinkled page, completely unsure what he had just read. So he read them again. And once more. Still, nothing.

Fiearius had confessed to his brother the day before that he’d been having trouble focusing and staying in the present moment. Time was slipping away from him. His surroundings made little sense.

Cyrus hadn’t been able to conjure a real solution to the problem, but he had handed him a small red book entitled The Little Book of Ancient Wisdom. “Maybe you just need something to exercise your mind,” he’d suggested. “This should do it.”

So far, Fiearius had managed to get through about twenty pages of quotes from authors long dead and the only thing it had done was make him feel like he was back in school and failing terribly. As if he didn’t already have problems reading, the phrases seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Frustrated, he moved onto the next one which read, “Not to unlearn what you have learned is the most necessary kind of learning.”

Feeling like the book had now taken to mocking him, he snapped it shut and pushed it aside. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling lights flickering above him.

It was quiet this morning in the infirmary. He hadn’t seen anyone since the night before when Cy had brought him dinner. Richelle had dropped off his breakfast before he woke up and he could only guess it was Finn that had come by after to rearrange the eggs into a lewd shape. But for the most part, he’d been alone. He hadn’t even seen Leta since before they’d left to Carthis nearly two days ago.

Though he couldn’t blame her. She was probably tending to Ren now that they were on Carthis. Naturally, he’d be on the backburner. But it was fine. He was getting better, wasn’t he? And besides, this wasn’t exactly the kind of place girls like her should hang out. There was no telling what could happen. Or who might saunter around the corner of the dark, shady alley, a knife in his hand and malice in his eyes.

Fiearius gripped the knife tighter and looked back at the streetlamp overhead, just barely casting a sliver of light onto his black-cloaked figure as it buzzed incessantly. Gods, it was loud. And getting louder. So loud it began to hurt his ears. But no, it wasn’t the buzzing that was filling the alley, was it? It was the scream. The scream he desperately tried to quell, clapping his hand over his mouth as he dug the knife deeper into the man’s chest.

And then it was the buzzing again. Just the buzzing as he stared down at a corpse he barely recognized, blood still pooling out below him. Fiearius glanced up to find another figure standing in the light at the end of the alley. He knew it should be Dez, but it wasn’t Dez. The figure was faceless and shouted something unintelligible.

“Jowan Tardi, age 46,” Fiearius responded without hesitation. “Knife-wound to the chest. Discovered dead in the alley behind 896 Gordy Way, October 9th, 1860.”

Behind him, a door, unattached to any wall, swung open and the clicking of shoes on pavement met his ears. Turning, he watched emptily as Leta marched towards him, her step full of purpose.

When she reached him, she put her hand on his blood-soaked arm.

“Fiearius?”

And suddenly Fiearius blinked his eyes, the nightmare came crashing down and realization flooded his senses: he was in an infirmary. On a ship. His ship, the Dionysian. Which was on Carthis. In 1861. Cold sweat touched his skin and suddenly Leta was standing beside him, her head tilted at him curiously.

For a moment, she was all pale lines and emerald green eyes. He blinked her back into focus.

“Are you alright?” Soft skin — the palm of  her hand — touched his forehead. “You look pale. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, though he didn’t brush her away until a second later.

She noticed the book at his side. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “Have you been reading?”

“Sort of,” he muttered. “Did you know water dripping is like a force of persistence?” She glanced at him, puzzled. “Yeah I didn’t get it either. By the way, this is what Cy does when you ask him to look after me for a day: gives me books with useless sayings. Possibly the first time I’ve ever missed your treatment plan.”

Leta abruptly put the book back down and looked up at him.

“Well good, because it’s back on now. It’s time to get moving again, captain.”

Fiearius raised his eyebrows, unsure if he even wanted to know what that meant.

“You’re going to walk,” said Leta briskly. “Get out of that bed and really walk. It’s been too long. Here, I even brought you some motivation.”

Leta crossed toward the counter and pulled something out of her knapsack. With a soft thud of glass meeting counter, she placed two dark bottles atop the surface in his line of vision.

Beer. She’d actually brought beer. He hadn’t been near it in over a month and he could practically feel his mouth watering.

But then his eyes moved back to Leta and eyed her skeptically. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Yes,” Leta said bluntly. “Yes I am.”

He shook his head in disapproval, but then he noticed the particular shining, inviting label on those bottles. Thra’ki Brew, the best from Satieri.

“Hang on. How’d you know my favorite beer?”

Leta lifted her shoulders in an all-too-innocent shrug. “If you want one, all you have to do is walk from the bed, to this counter. And then you can have a beer.”

Possibly she didn’t realize how much she was asking. The wounds behind his knees had closed, but the injury was far from healed. She was asking him to scale a mountain, or move the Dionysian using only his hands. He gaped at her.

“You sure you don’t want to give me alcohol before you make me do this?”

Leta joined him at his side, grasping his arm to help him ease down. Groaning, he shifted his legs to the edge of the bed, inch by inch. Palms flat against the mattress, he gingerly lowered his bare feet onto the cold metal floor, wincing at first only at the temperature. But then pain gripped his entire bottom half and he could hardly breathe.

“This — this ain’t happenin’, kiddo,” he informed her. “Not today…”

Naturally, Leta persisted.

“I know it hurts. A lot. I can see it. But you have to do this, just a little each day, starting now. If you don’t, your gait parameters will suffer. That means when you are fully healed, you still won’t walk correctly or efficiently. And you want to be able to run again, don’t you?” she said earnestly. “And strut and swagger around like you used to? And dance with women in bars? And sprint off to escape in the Dionysian?”

Fiearius stared at her. Her shining eyes were so sincerely hopeful in this moment, it was almost hard to look at her. “You are a cruel monster, you know that?” he growled, before readying himself to try again. As he started to lower himself once more, he sighed, “The things I’ll do for a beer…”

Leta caught his forearm, her fingers closing around his tightly just as his feet found the floor.

“One hundred kilometers away,” Finn shouted over his shoulder at Cyrus. “Ninety. It’s comin’ in fast, Cy.”

“I know! Just keep giving me its location!” Cyrus snapped as he dug through a mess of wires in the darkness — all the overhead lights had shut off, plunging them into shadow. The life support still hummed quietly, but the alarms had all gone silent. The room had filled with nothing but nervous anticipation and Cyrus’ own heart racing as fast as it ever had. And occasionally, the sound of Finn’s voice.

“Eighty,” he read off, jerking his knee up and down in anxiety. “It’s the Imperium. Heading up our starboard side.”

“Shit,” Cyrus growled and added quietly, “Well at least they’re not firing anymore…”

“Yeah, because we’re not moving!” Finn pointed out. “Sixty,” he read as Cyrus fumbled with a connector. “Cy, it’s closing in. What the hell are ya doing? We’re sitting ducks.”

“Just one more minute,” Cyrus grunted, ripping one of the wires out of the panel and tossing it over his shoulder.

Finn watched the trajectory of the wire in mild horror. “Are ya sure we don’t need that?”

“Location!” Cyrus growled again.

“Thirty,” Finn answered obediently.  “One shot at this range? We’re gone. I don’t know what you’re planning, but — ”

“Just tell me where it is.”

“–we don’t have a lot of time–”

“Where is it?”

Finn didn’t respond. The whole bridge went quiet. So Cyrus asked again, “Where is it?!”

“Take a look.”

Frustrated and panicked as he was, Cyrus spared one glance toward his pilot and then froze in horror. Just outside the bay window was the shimmering black mass of a ship, a silver librera emblazoned across its bow. It seemed to be staring straight at them, entirely still, just waiting for them to make their move.

“Not to rush ya or anything but…” Finn prompted quietly, but Cyrus was stunned in place. What the hell was it doing? If the ship was hailing them, they’d never know with the COMM line disconnected. But he got the strangest feeling it had no interest in contacting them. He got the sensation that it was sizing them up. Just watching to see what they’d do.

And then suddenly it wasn’t. Two weapons ports opened up on either side and started to beam with light as they loaded up.

“Never mind, now I’m rushing you!” Finn yelped, shaking the controls desperately to no response. “Cyrus!”

Cyrus didn’t bother to respond. He practically fell back into the electrical panel and went straight for the piloting controls, jamming the wire back into its place. It wasn’t quite ready, but–

“Go! Now!” he shouted as the screens beneath Finn’s fingers switched back on.

“Fucking finally!” he yelled, shoving the ship forward just as those lights came barreling towards them.

The black ship disappeared out of view above them as the Beacon shot downward away from it, faster and faster. The inside of the cabin started to shake violently, the clatter almost deafening.

“They’re locking on again!” Finn warned.

“Just keep hitting the main thrust!” Cyrus shouted over the racket, stumbling over to the nav console and tumbling into the seat where he splayed himself out in relief. “We’ll be out of range soon.”

“Out of range?” Finn repeated incredulously, “How fast are we–” His eyes dropped briefly to the screen beside him. “Holy shit. Two hundred kilometers. Two fifty. Three?! How did you–”

“Well I siphoned all the ship’s power into the engine’s backup generator to overload the –” Cyrus started to explain, but Finn cut him off.

“Never mind, I don’t care,” he sighed in exhaustion, leaning back in his seat. “Just glad it worked. Y’know, Cy,” he mused, “you could give Fiear a real run for his money.”

“If he ever gets back on his feet, I’ll be sure to tell him you said so,” he grumbled as he tiredly swiped his hand across the nav console before him. “For now, let’s just get to Carthis.”

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

Snowflakes drifted slowly from the night sky, like falling ashes. Leta stood on the frozen ground beside the Beacon’s ramp, letting the frigid breeze pass through her limbs. The cold almost felt good — refreshing — after ten hours of urgent travel. But they’d made it: the Society ships had not followed them here.

“So this is Carthis,” said Ren at her side, breaking the stony silence. His breath turned cloudy in the air. Leta could feel his eyes on her. “And this is — what? Goodbye then?”

“Something like that,” Leta muttered. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy. “For a little while.”

Below the docks, a mile into the city and through the Carthian gates, were the rehabilitation facilities. Corra and Finn would take him there without her.

“I’d come with you,” she reminded quietly, “if I could.”

“I know.” Somehow, Ren almost smiled. “I know you would. But it’s better if you don’t.”

A heavy laugh escaped her lips. “Better for who?”

“Both of us. I need to get well, or so you keep telling me. But especially — especially for you. You’ve got a life put together now, one that doesn’t involve hunting me down. So I won’t take your time from you anymore. And I — if you’re at peace with all this,  then — “

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Leta knotted her scarf between her hands, then released it. “This? Us.”

He went quiet for several seconds, which Leta had to interpret as a yes.

Surprisingly, she did not feel loss plunge through her, nor grief. What she felt was tired — like she could lay down on the ground and sleep right there.

“I wish,” he murmured, “that I could make things right between us.” He took a step closer in the snow and grasped her wrist. “Because you did — you saved my life. You saved my life and I don’t know how to repay you.”

Leta could think of nothing to say. Exhaustion was tugging at her eyes.

“Just get better,” she managed at last, looking up. “Alright? Get better, so we can at least see one another.”

Behind her, she heard dueling footsteps: Finn and Corra were coming down the ramp, both of them ready to leave with Ren. Corra leaned in and whispered, “You okay, chika?” as she walked past.

“I think so,” Leta heard herself reply, as if the words were not her own, but she knew them to be true somehow. “I think I am, actually.”

“It’s a short walk,” said Finn, turning his wrist over and glancing at his watch. “Shouldn’t be long, and we’ll let you know when we get there, alright?”

Ren squeezed her hand for several more seconds, then locked his gaze with hers and nodded as he walked backwards a few step. Leta’s eyes were dry as she watched him turn and fall into step with Corra and Finn, disappearing down the path, out of view.

Leta darted down the stairs of the Dionysian. Overhead, deckhands pounded the floor, running around frantically in preparation for take-off, but she went straight to her quarters, stricken with worry at what was next.

Inside, Ren was pacing the floor.

“What’ve you been doing?” she demanded at once, breathless and angry as she flew into the room. “You didn’t do anything else did you?”

“What do you mean?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. This was the expression he wore when, in their old life, they got into debates: he would try to run over her emotions with logic.

“Leta,” he went on calmly, almost scolding her, “I was helping — “

Leta could not keep her voice down. “By contacting the people who want us dead?!”

With a growl in her throat, she turned on her heel and marched back into the hallway, hardly able to look at him any longer. It wasn’t his fault he was unwell, she knew that, but the sight of his mildly puzzled, concerned expression — like she was a misbehaving child — was infuriating.

She started down the hallway and he followed behind, spouting questions in an impatient voice.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “Tell me, where — “

Leta was actually going to the infirmary to check on Fiearius, but Ren didn’t need to know that. “We’re going to get you help,” she said. “The ship’s taking off right now, we’re leaving to get you help.”

“Help? I don’t need help!” He stepped forward and grasped her wrist. “Leta, you just need to listen to me. For once. You need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Leta repeated, slowing to a halt. “How can I? After what they did to you? After all this time?”

“Leta, I’m the same as I’ve always been.” He laughed sadly, once. “It’s you. I hardly know you.”

In the dim light of the hallway, Leta searched over his face in disbelief, hardly able to grasp his words. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what he even meant.

Quickly, she stepped back and withdrew her arm and steered herself toward the staircase.

Ren started to yell her name, but he was drowned out: suddenly, the metal walls shook violently, the floor slanted sideways and terrified yells filled the ship.

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

“I guess they weren’t bluffing!” shouted Finn over the blaring alarms. Bright red emergency lights flooded the room and the whole cabin was shaking. The black of space was flying past the window.

“So, just how bad are we?” Finn called to Corra who stood shakily over the stats console, her eyes wide.

“What?!” Corra cried, baffled by the flashing screen before her eyes. “I don’t know how to–what does this–?!”

At once, Cyrus was at her side, grasping onto the edge of the console for dear life and peering down at the flashing diagram. “Minor hull breach on Deck G!” he shouted out, scanning through the diagnostics screens. “Just auxiliary controls. We’re okay!”

“For now,” Finn told him. “They’re readying another shot.”

“Can you scatter their lock-on?”

“Tryin’!” Finn jerked the controls sideways.

As the ship began to shudder louder and Cyrus could feel the sway from Finn’s erratic maneuvers, he turned to Corra who looked both terrified and desperate to act. Cyrus was more than happy to provide her a solution. “Get down to the lower decks. Check on the crew. Get everyone onto the Dionysian and seal her off. Just in case.”

She gave a quick nod and fled from the room. She had only been gone a second when suddenly the ship shook violently again. Finn cursed from the pilot’s seat, but Cyrus’ eyes went straight to the diagnostics. “Just a scratch!” he called. “No breach. Keep it up.”

Finn let out a rather tortured laugh. “Oh-ho, you say that like it’s easy.”

Cyrus responded with a tired smirk of his own, but this was no time for laughing. He glanced down at the radar. All three ships were closing in. The Beacon was fast, but if they kept taking damage, she wouldn’t be fast for long.

The ship shuddered again as a burst of white light flew past the bay window and kept flying out into the endless black before them.

“Little close for comfort!” Finn called, his voice straining with hysteria. “Say, you don’t have any genius ideas on how we’re gettin’ outta this do ya? Sure would be nice right about now…”

Cyrus paced the floor. He knew about this ship. It was an older model than those he’d worked on, sure, but he’d studied vessels just like this. He knew this ship. He knew he could solve this. He had to.

“Weapons!” he said at once, pulling his hands from his hair. “She’s gotta have some weapons on her. We can fire back.”

Finn released one hand on the controls for but a moment to tap a command onto a nearby console. “We surely can’t. Weapons, Deck G…” he grumbled and then let out a yelp, seizing the controls once more as another blast narrowly missed contact.

Growling at himself, Cyrus dug his hand frustratedly in his hair. “Can we pull a slingshot? To lose them?”

“A full turnaround?! In a beast this size?” Finn laughed again, loud and humorless. “Cy, come on — “

“No, no, no,” Cyrus snapped at himself, ramming his palm into his temple. He could do this. He could figure this out. It was right on the edge of his vision, he just needed to hurry up.

The ship made a sudden lurch and the alarms overhead got louder.

“Cyrus!” Finn shouted.

Maybe it was the jolt or the panic or perhaps just desperation setting in, but suddenly it clicked.

“I’ve got it!” he cried, darting towards an electrical panel at the side of the bridge. “She’s got a 8000B series core,” he explained as he ripped open the panel. It was a mess of colors, barely organized into their respective categories. Whoever had been in here last had left it in disarray. But disarray was something Cyrus was more than familiar with. He started digging through them. “They’re perfect for manual re-routing. I built the Antigua off an 8000B base.” Unceremoniously, he ripped a wire from its socket.

“No offense, Cy,” Finn called through gritted teeth, “But right now I really don’t ca–Uh…we’re slowing down!”

“I know,” Cyrus called back, disconnecting another set of wires.

The pilot consoles in front of Finn shut down instantly. “Uh…Cyrus–” he began.

“I know!” he said again, snipping one last set before glancing over his shoulder. “Just hang on. And get ready.”

– – – – – – – – – – – –

“Look, we don’t have time for this, okay?” Leta growled through gritted teeth as she stormed up the stairs, Ren on her heels. She had to make sure Fiearius was alright and then she had to head to the bridge, but Ren was proving himself sharper and more forceful than he had in a month. It was a shame he’d picked this moment to truly come alive and argue with her; she would have welcomed the liveliness otherwise.

But instead —

“How about you talk with me, Leta?” he called after her, yelling over the noise of the trembling ship — it hadn’t stopped shaking since the first hit. “Okay? Talk with me instead of, say, Fiearius, for once — “

At that, Leta spun around. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she cried, but then, her voice faltered weakly: perhaps she didn’t want to know what he meant by that, either. Her expression fell toward despair and she turned forward again, but Ren was far from done.

“You won’t tell me a damn thing about what’s going on, but you sure seem fine talking to everyone else on this ship. How about you clue me in? Instead of treating me like a mental patient.”

Leta couldn’t help the words that flew through her mind: but that’s what you are.

Finally clapping a hand over her eyes, she stopped in place. “What, Ren?” she breathed. “What do you want?”

He halted, studying her face harshly through the shadowy darkness and noise. “I want to know,” he muttered, “what’s happened to you. You keep saying I’m different. But you — “

“What do you mean?” asked Leta sharply. “What, just because I don’t buy the Society bullshit now?”

“No. Not that.” He shook his head, looking pained as he steadied his voice, eerily calm. “Leta. Look at yourself. You live on a ship that earns livelihood from stealing from the poor. You let all your friends on Vescent think you were killed or dead. You keep guns under your bed — ” He exhaled sharply, “ — and I know you’ve — gods, I don’t want it to be true, but I know you must’ve killed — “

He broke off, shaking his head. “I never asked you to do this for me. Any of it. I’d never want you to kill for me. Gods, when I heard you were on a pirate ship, I worried about you being hurt. I never worried you’d become one of them.” Pity filled his eyes. And he wasn’t finished. “And that captain,” he said softly, “that you seem to admire so much, that you risked your own life for, can’t you see that he’s a cold-blooded m — “

“Enough!” Leta gasped, pressing her palms into her eyes. It felt like she was being assaulted on all fronts. “Enough, Ren!”

The hallway went quiet, save for the rattling of metal pipes overhead.

“See? You’ve changed,” said Ren quietly, accusation sharp in his voice, “and you can’t even see it.”

Leta pulled her hands away from her face, anger boiling beneath her skin.

“I spent the last year,” she breathed, “doing what I needed to do to survive. That means I made a lot of difficult choices. Alright?”

“It’s not alright.” Ren looked positively startled, as if the sight of her alone alarmed him. “I don’t know who you are anymore. And I don’t like who you’ve become.”

The words went through her like a knife. But then her defenses rose.

“Well this is who I am now,” Leta snapped, “like it or not, so maybe we’re just wasting our time, thinking this can still work between us.”

Ren lifted his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t considered the idea until now, but found it mildly interesting.

“I think maybe we are.”

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