SPACE: Above and Beyond

No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended. The Characters and situations of the TV program "SPACE: Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.

For Space fans, everywhere.

Losing My Religion

DEMIOS

Nathan leant back on his rifle, watching as Hawkes surfaced, scattering silver water everywhere, the liquid adding an almost preternatural sheen to his golden body. It was a perfect body. West felt himself drawn to watching it, like a fine work of art by an old master, as Cooper unselfconsciously washed himself. They were all physically perfect, InVitros. Nothing was left to chance or haphazard clumsy matings. They were built and designed to be strong and beautiful, and out of jealousy they were shunned and despised for their artificial origins. Living dolls, he'd once heard them call. And Hawkes was better looking than most, a god amongst gods. There was something raw and dangerous about him that only heightened his aesthetic appeal.

Nathan shifted his gaze from Hawkes to the horizon again, shifting uncomfortably as his unsated desires prodded him again.

This was the first opportunity they'd had to bathe in weeks. Shane had sent the two of them out on a wide perimeter patrol, Cooper being a one man squad, and Nathan being the brains behind the operation. They'd found this perfect little lake, relatively unscarred by battle. Cooper had cheekily tossed his rifle to Nathan and all but dived right in, barely waiting to shuck his grimy fatigues first.

So here they were, Nathan serving as guard duty as he watched over his young Adonis splash and play in the water like a porpoise.

Cooper hadn't liked going into the water at first, it was a Tank thing, he said, but the war meant their was no time to coddle soldiers, so he was thrown in the deep end, discovered a natural affinity, having spent half his life immersed in an In Vitro soup, and had surpassed them all in aquatic ability. It was an InVitro thing. Anything a human could do, they could do better. It was small wonder these superior beings were hated and despised.

Nathan didn't hate Hawkes, inspite of their early animosity. Quite the opposite. Their verbal and physical battles had been nothing more than a protracted foreplay, a weird sort of mating dance that had culminated in the ex rent boy showing Nathan exactly what he had done to survive on the streets of Philly one night in the showers.

Nathan had been shocked at first, having promised himself to Kylen, and Kylen alone, the infidelity of the act had rocked his moral values. Hawkes didn't see any problem, he didn't have a moral background to rebel against. Hawkes' tongue eventually overcame any objections Nathan had, and they had had fallen into a pattern of relieving each other's physical need. Just something they did, brothers in arms, just another way of looking after each other under fire.

Of course, Nathan allowed himself to romanticise it, in moments of whimsy.

He dragged his eyes from Hawkes again, scanning their surrounding's, listening for that peculiar noise the Chigs made. He was too tired to be on edge though. They hadn't run into a live human or Chig in days. Just watching Hawkes, he was like a child, so innocent, so completely unaware of how very beautiful he was.

Cooper finally wearied of his ablutions, the novelty of cold water wearing off, and he began to slog back to the shore, striding confidently from the water, stark naked, towards Nathan. It was a breath taking sight, the morning sun still sparkling on that perfect skin.

He shook himself like a dog, sprinkling West with a fine spray o water, grinning at the yelp he got in return. He pulled his trousers on, without bothering to dry himself further, and caught the rifle West threw him, watching as West, self consciously, began to strip. As usual, Cooper didn't know any better to politely glance away, and his clear blue eyes zeroed in on West's obvious arousal.

"What you been doing, West?" he asked, half curious.

"Watching you."

A frown, then a stunning smile crossed his face.

"I do this to you?" he had to ask.

"Yeah" West admitted in a small voice, turning a fine shade of crimson.

Cooper grinned, shoulder the rifle over his naked chest, and knelt to engulf West in his hot, liquid mouth without preamble. That was Cooper, always straight down to business. On a buyers market, this would cost him five to twenty dollars. It was a sign of Cooper's affection that he did it for free.

Cooper pumped him as his tongue worked him like a maestro. God, west thought inwardly, I'll never be able to eat an icecream cone again, as he watched Cooper go down him. Cooper began pumping him as well as licking him, several long, then short hard strokes later and he came, spilling over Cooper's lips and fingers.

Almost boneless, he sank to his knees, supported by Cooper, grabbing the Lt by the shoulders and kissing him deeply, tasting his own seed on Cooper's lips, diving his tongue in, tasting it all.

The shot ploughed into the ground beside them, blasting rock and dust over them. Cooper spun, firing off three shots, then leaping onto the nearest still kicking Chigs, slicing two open, drowning the third, despatching the three man patrol in almost as many seconds.

He turned back to West, concerned, smeared with mud, Chig slime and human blood. It wasn't his, it was Nathan's.

Nathan touched a curious finger to the long, bright red slice along his upper arm. The Chig had missed, but must have kicked up a stone. It wasn't deep, didn't even really hurt, just bleeding a lot for show. He was lucky.

"You were supposed be keeping watch," Hawkes chided, effectively hiding his anger under a rush of adrenalin. He was learning to control that temper more and more.

"I can't help kissing with my eyes closed," Nathan disarmed him further.

"Well, I guess this is what Bogus meant when he said one day we'd get caught with our dicks out."

They were both guilty of letting down their guard. McQueen would chew them both out for a week if he knew. Of course, he wasn't going to be told. This little incident would be nicely fudged over in their reports. Cooper, if the need required it, could manage some pretty effective snake oil, to save his arse.

Cooper waded into the edge of the lake again, washing the Chig spoodge off himself. It would start to burn after a while, and leave a rash. They'd learnt that pretty quickly.

He looked up expectantly towards Nathan.

"What are you waiting for, West." he prompted. "I ain't walking down wind from you for the rest of the patrol."

"Thanks," he grinned, shaking his head.

He walked down to the edge of the water, toeing it nervously, all to aware to the green frothy sludge forming a slick upon the water around the drowned Chig.

"Don't be such a wuss, West," Hawkes taunted, this time a little more impatient.

West waded in up to his knees. He paused, like a kid in a wading pool, the flesh on his thin frame breaking out in goosebumps.

Hawkes chambered his rifle, assuring West he was on guard.

"Just a lone patrol. We'd be arse deep in Chigs other wise. They were probably more surprised to see us, why their first shot went wild."

West waded him hip deep, shivering.

He could feel his balls crawling back up into his stomach. Good thing Hawkes had given him the blow job before, and not after. Damn InVitros must be able to tolerate colder water, too. Cooper had made it look like so much fun. He glanced nervously at the slick again, then half heatedly began to splash water over himself, before deciding to bite the bullet and submerged himself. He emerged, cold, wet, half blinded with water streaming past his face.

"Just don't whiz in the water," Hawkes warned, mischievous grin on his face. "Cause you know, in the amazon they've got these fish that'll swim up your dick if you pee in the water. Who knows what they've got on this planet. You know they never brief us much more than don't drink the water."

Nathan blanched, glancing nervously at the open cut on his arm, splashed a bit more water under his arms, and retreated, to Hawkes laughter.

He shot Cooper a deadly glare, pulling his trousers back on, then softened as he remembered the first time he'd heard Cooper laugh, watching Cooper all but fall to his knees with a fit of the giggles. He'd never thought InVitros could laugh. He guessed they usually didn't have much reason too. He wished he had his helmet here so he could throw a could helmet full of water over Hawkes. As it was, he had to limit himself with cupping handfuls of water from the lake and tossing it in his general direction. They continued this animated waterfight until they tired of it, their situation, their tiredness and hunger, intruding.

Cooper swung the rifle over his shoulder and they set off in a companionable silence on their patrol, noting the location of the lake. Any water was better than dehydration, and their supplies were beginning to run dangerously low, even with the scavenging, like carrion beasts, from the bodies of the dead. Bullets, too, were becoming scarce, hence Cooper, 'the best shot on the 'Toga"', having custody of the rifle. The moved more carefully, more warily, their run in with the Chig patrol putting them back on edge once more.

"Was that true, about the fish," asked Nathan, boredom creeping in very quickly.

"Yeah," Cooper nodded.

"Where the hell did you learn that?"

Cooper shrugged.

It wasn't unusual for him to sprout this and other little gems. Cooper's knowledge was eclectic, at best. A patchwork of things he'd been taught, things he picked up. His InVitro brain was like a little sponge, with photographic retention and a seemingly limitless capacity. They were designed like that, complex neural pathways laid down while still in the tank. Cooper had missed out on four months of formal education, and Nathan was beginning to suspect those four months had dealt with integrating into society. Cooper could name all the rivers in the world, but he had no idea about complex social rituals like gift giving. Not that many InVitros were on the receiving end of anything that wasn't violent or repressive, he mused sadly.

Cooper turned back to glance at him, noting his silence. Nathan glanced away slightly, and Cooper didn't push it. Cooper had finally learnt that lesson. Don't push West, cause he turned nasty when cornered. Just how nasty had surprised Cooper, never suspecting West had that much fight in him. Damn knocked the wind out of him on Mars. Caught him by surprise. Earned himself a wary respect from Hawkes.

It was growing darker, colder, the sun setting all too quickly on this planet. Short days and long nights. Cooper paused to pull his shirt back on, the view of his bare muscled shoulder's West had been sub consciously enjoying disappeared under the drab olive. West had pulled his own shirt back on several klicks ago.

Cooper's trained eyes scouted for a possible campsite, finding a little hollowed out ditch that would serve as a makeshift foxhole, should they run across anymore Chig patrols. It met with West's approval, and they moved off. West marvelled at Cooper's sharp little eyes. Everything was just so much shadow to him.

They settled down for the night, the usual game of rock, scissors, paper sorting out the roster of watches. Cooper gathered up a few pieces of brush to use as covering, camouflage and a tiny bit of warmth, open fires being a definite no no.

Cooper stretched out his long length, tired, hungry.

"West," Hawkes broke the silence. "You remember when Wang gave that tag of yours to McQueen, cause he'd always be there for us?"

"Yeah," answered West glumly.

"Well, where the fuck is he?" demanded Hawkes, naked hostility in his voice.

"He probably got orders to pull back. You heard the message. They were under attack."

"Yeah, but it's been four fucking weeks, man. We're going to die here. If the Chigs don't get us, starvation will."

"Cooper," Nathan sighed.

Another thought struck Cooper, this one even more terrible.

"What if he's dead. What if the Saratoga hasn't come back for us cause it's space debris, like the Eisenhower." He turned his eyes, full of fear on Nathan. "What if we're all that's left?"

Nathan shook his head.

"Shane's still sending reports. She'd know if they weren't being received."

"But she hasn't heard from McQueen. What if he's dead?"

Cooper was like a dog with a bone when he locked onto an idea.

"He's not dead, Cooper," sighed Nathan, as though dismissing monsters under the bed for a six year old, and just about as effectively.

Cooper settled down to a sullen silence, chewing on the idea, heart sick.

Nathan knew, McQueen was more than just a CO to Cooper. He was a father, brother, teacher, friend and lover, Cooper having casually offered his favours to McQueen as well, and in spite of regulations, he was 99.9% sure McQueen had accepted the offer. Who the hell wouldn't. Well, except Vansen, but that was a whole other kettle of fish. Vansen the ice queen, she was called behind her back, by just about every male on the Saratoga she'd rebuffed, which was just about all of them. Shane was a whole chapter of intimacy hangups by herself. McQueen, well, still waters ran deep. West knew he'd been married, knew he had liaisons. The man wasn't an island, just a very discreet one. Though how he managed to keep Hawkes discreet was something else again. West could still be mortified by Cooper getting frisky in public. He didn't know why. It was just that everyone knew about Kylen, he just didn't want to tarnish her memory by openly flaunting the fact that he was getting off with his best friend.

He shivered.

This planet, at least the landmass they were stuck on, resembled nothing so much as the deserts of the south western United States. West half fancied the diner at the base like any found on Route 66. As hot as it got during the day, the temperature just dropped at night.

He noticed, with only mild annoyance, that Cooper was neither shivering nor had that perfect skin broken out in goosebumps.

Only human, he moved in closer, snuggling against that warm, hard InVitro body. He knew Cooper wouldn't mind. They'd been stuck in enough fox holes and trenches together in the last few months to place human need above social niceties.

Cooper relaxed back against the dirt wall of their little haven, having lost and taken the first watch. They'd sleep for a few hours each, then march again, under the cover of darkness. Nathan heard Cooper pull down his own zipper, and a soft grunt issue through his lips, and he realised Cooper was playing with himself again, just like a cat he had once owned, cause there was nothing better to do. West couldn't believe that Hawkes would still do that so openly, but stuck out here, there was no point in scolding him.

Cooper was an abused child. Vicious and suspicious, he'd slowly lost his razor sharp edges, mostly, but at times, he could still be so openly sexually provocative, often without realising it. Growing up in the facility, and on the streets of Philly, he'd learnt real fast that sex was a commodity he could trade in. It could buy him food, safety, a place to sleep, less punishment, survival. He'd wasted no time in offering himself to Vansen and West, recognising them as the leaders, and McQueen too, before he'd even been given command of the 58th, just because he was an older, higher placed InVitro.

Cooper knew all about sex, but nothing about making love, nothing at all. Now wasn't the time to start teaching him, though.

West replaced Cooper's hands with his own, sliding up and down the large, hard shaft. His own arousal kicking in, wanting more, he twisted around until he was straddling Cooper. Still stroking him in a steady rhythm, he was no able to lean forward and kiss him deeply, feeling that hardness press against his abdomen, against his own hardness. He pulled Cooper's shirt up and kissed kiss way across that still weird looking flat stomach, so alien without the navel he'd learnt to expect. He dipped down to suck upon Cooper, but knowing he couldn't take it, pulled back and performed the last few pumps with his hand, Cooper's thick, voluminous seed spilling over his fingers. He bent to lick at the few stray splashes across that abdomen, then kissed Cooper again.

Cooper pushed him back slightly, sitting up.

"Do me." he asked simply, eyes dark with hunger.

With a complete lack of romance, he dropped his trousers and turned to brace himself against the dirt wall, fingers digging into the soil, arching back, a groan escaping his lips as Nathan probed him cautiously with one finger, then two, touching him with a fast learned expertise, then sliding his semen slicked length into Cooper's body. Cooper was dry, but took him easily, hardly being a virgin, and Nathan was long and thin, like the rest of him.

Cooper tugged at himself, pushing himself back onto West. It was over too fast for both of them, but probably just as well, as Cooper slumped into a post coital numbness, the desired effect, but completely unable to take on a Chig in hand to hand combat, at least for a few minutes before he recovered. InVitro recovery times and stamina was something else Nathan jealously regarded. Cooper could ride him sore all night, if he wanted to.

"Want some?" Cooper asked.

Nathan shook his head. He was well sated, exhausted. Maybe in a few hours, he'd let Cooper return the favour. For now, he settled down against Cooper's chest, listening to that steady, genetically engineered heartbeat, all too aware of Cooper's scent, his sweat, his semen, oddly InVitro, from a slightly different internal chemical balance.

Cooper just watched the horizon, not making the slightest move to cuddle the human who slept against him. Such a motion was just not in his nature. He'd never known the touch of a mother. The only instinctive social behaviour he'd learned was to offer his arse or his fists. Affection was never on the agenda. McQueen was the same. They never reached out to touch.

USS SARATOGA

: "I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But before God...I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use til urged, nor never break for urging...I speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true...If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a solder; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love?...Now beshrew my father's ambition! he was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies I fright them...thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better. And therefore tell me...will you have me?"
Henry V

McQueen sank down onto his bunk, exhausted.

He glanced across at his desk, and grabbed up the picture of his wife before lying down.

He still loved her, for what it was worth.

He was fighting for her, he told himself. Fighting so she would be able to live, and live in peace.

He was out here, slaying the dragons for her. He'd won her over, like any knight, by his heroic deeds, and his courteous manners. But he had no idea of romance. He could wash the dishes for her, take out the trash, show his love for her by his actions. But it wasn't enough. He couldn't give her the soft words, gentle touches, spontaneous caresses she desperately craved and needed, to take away the pain of the cruel words people said to her in her work, on the street, in shops. He couldn't fill the isolation she felt after her friends and family cut her off, for marrying outside her kind.

He was built for action, war and deeds, not words and pitching woo. His clumsy attempts at love were just not enough.

He put the picture down, face down, and thought again of another reason to fight.

Destiny, pride, purpose. Or maybe just for the kids he loved, that he'd left on that rock, to die.

Hawkes. He closed his eyes wearily. He was fighting for Hawkes.

DEMIOS

Cooper was sprawled across the chenille covered hotel bed, his wrists tied to the single bar bed head by his socks. He was barechested, the golden, perfect skin flowing smoothly over hard muscle, the unmarked abdomen planing down to the tiny tufts of curled hair just visible through his partially unzipped Marine issue pants. His eyes were bright with nervous anticipation as he watched Nathan prowl the room, waiting.

At last Nathan climbed aboard the bed, straddling him, bending down to plunder that mouth, his cold metal dog tags dragging across that perfect chest. Cooper fought to plunge his own tongue into Nathan's mouth. Nathan let him, for a moment, then drew away, kissing and licking along that perfect jawline, still smooth, then down the throat, pausing to suck upon his Adam's apple. He slid down to languorously tease first one, then the other little hard nipple, taking them between his teeth, applying the slightest pressure. Raising his head to observe the reaction, and smiling, nipped his way down across that perfect stomach.

Cooper squirmed, raising his hips desperately, pleading with Nathan with his eyes to engulf him in his hot, slick wetness. His arousal strained at the material. He whimpered as his hips ground under Nathan. Nathan wriggled tortuously, but refused to satiate his lover. He hadn't kissed, licked and bitten his way across that flawless flesh. And he was hungry, so very hungry.

He lowered himself down again, dog tags clinking against Cooper's, sucking upon that perfect throat, trailing his tongue up along that perfect arm, then dipping his tongue into Cooper's armpit, tickling him, delighted to watch him squirm.

Those blue eyes caught him, drawing him back to that impossibly handsome face.

I could never get drunk enough to tell him just how very beautiful I think he is, he thought to himself, wistfully.

He was ready to explode, just by looking at that face; like a champagne super nova, as the song went.

Slowly, so very slowly, he lowered himself down onto those waiting lips.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, tugging at it, dragging him back to consciousness.

He blinked and found himself staring into those very same blue eyes. It took him several seconds to realise where he was, and with that realisation came the knowledge he was cold, cramped, hungry, tired and fed up.

"Your watch," Cooper announced, almost brightly, bemused to watch Nathan's struggle to focus himself.

Cooper, damn him, seemed to survive perfectly well on very little sleep, whereas Nathan was sour and bitchy if he didn't get his full eight hours, which was practically every day.

"You interrupted what could have been a really good dream," he groused, struggling into a seated position.

"What about?"

"You."

"You dreamt about me?" Hawkes almost squeaked.

"Yeah, we were making love."

"Oh, sex," he tossed off.

"That's not what I said. I said making love," Nathan repeated churlishly. He smiled somewhat dopily at Cooper. "I can't help it, but I think I'm falling in love with you."

Cooper just stared at him, then looked away crossly.

"Well, don't." he growled.

"I know, I know. You said you were a heartbreaker and life taker. I understand that. But I can't help the way I feel, and I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

He swung his gaze full onto Nathan.

"Just drop it, West."

"Why, what are you so afraid of? Felling? Getting hurt? What?"

"You," he muttered, unable to look at Nathan now. "I can't give you what you want, what you need. I don't want to hurt you."

"Well, that's a start," Nathan acknowledged softly.

"How?" Hawkes demanded.

Nathan grinned. "In bootcamp, you kept trying to kill me."

"You were an arsehole." That wicked grin crept back. "You deserved getting the crap kicked out of you."

"So did you."

They shared an easy smile, and then the silence fell uncomfortably between them.

"I'm sorry, Cooper. I won't push. But I think you are capable of giving, and receiving. You can trust me. I won't hurt you. I'm not out to get you."

Just for a second, those blue eyes met his, soul to soul, and he saw right into the heart of Cooper Hawkes, and then it was gone, buried under layers of gruff attitude.

Nathan settled back, smiling to himself. Where there was the smallest spark of light, there was hope.

"Do you think they're all right?" asked Damphousse quietly.

"Of course they are," Vansen snapped, causing Damphousse and Wang to exchange a small look. She ignored them, and buried herself in the job of cleaning her rifle.

She hadn't wanted to send them out on a long patrol, but she's been left with little choice. She had to give Hawkes something to do. Hawkes was as frustrated, tired, desperate and frightened as the rest of them, but he lacked the polite niceties required to hide it. His emotions were raw and on the surface, and she grown sick of breaking up violent brawls between him and West or Wang.

West had dared her to secure Hawkes loyalty by taking what he offered her, but she refused to accept his loyalty on any other terms except respect. She knew Hawkes wanted her, but the last thing she needed was a handsome and dangerous man child bound to her at the hip. He'd love her with the obsessive passion of a teenaged Romeo, and she didn't need that. She didn't want anyone being dependent on her, not now, not ever, though in truth they were all dependent. So long as she was his commanding officer, Hawkes would never dip in the pool of Shane Vansen.

They trudged along, just below the edge of the ridge, a tired wariness wearing them down, walking on auto pilot, yet alert for the faintest sign of a Chig.

Nathan was glad to have Cooper here with him. He might not be as good a conversationalist as Wang, but he was one hell of a soldier, his superior senses and strengths pulling their fat out of the fire each time, knocking Nathan to the ground and silencing him, hiding him from Chig patrols Nathan would have walked right into in his exhausted state.

"Gonna spend the rest of my fucking life on this dirt ball." Hawkes muttered angrily, picking his way down the ridge with easy sure footed steps while Nathan stumbled and grasped at crumbling earth behind him.

"This isn't exactly how I envisioned my career, either," rejoined West.

"Wasn't it? I thought you signed up to go be stranded on some dirt ball a million miles from Earth."

"Well, when you put it like that," Nathan grinned. "But I never dreamed I'd be in the damn Marines." He sent another spray of rocks and dirt skittering down. Hawkes turned back and glared at him, shouldering the rifle purposefully, reminding him there were Chigs still about.

Nathan ignored him. He wasn't a mountain goat. He could only get down this ridge one way, and it was going to be with more arse than class.

"Hawkes, what would you have done, if you hadn't joined the Marines?"

"I didn't join. I was sentenced" Hawkes reminded him bitterly.

"What would you have done if you hadn't been assigned to the 58th," Nathan continued stubbornly. Getting conversation out of Hawkes was like pulling teeth sometimes.

"I'd be dead." Hawkes answered simply.

"Really?" asked Nathan and Hawkes just grunted.

"I was made to be a soldier, so I'd end up dead. I flunked out, they wanted me dead. I ended up on the streets of Philly, I nearly ended up dead. So if I'd stayed on the streets, I'd end up dead. When they caught me, they could have sentenced me to death, or jail, the mines or military - just the same as a death sentence. I was born to die, West. So no, I don't have any career aspirations."

"You're not going to die, Hawkes." Nathan assured. "What are you going to do when you're sentence is up."

Hawkes swept his dark glare away from West, across the valley. "Got nothin back in Philly. Stay in, maybe, like McQueen. He does all right, for a tank." Cooper spat the last word, remembering with enhanced clarity Nathan's racist rumblings about their CO, even though that had been many months ago.

Nathan gave up and fell into an unhappy silence, realising Cooper just wasn't in the mood to talk to him. Cooper had been shitty all day, openly hostile towards West at every opportunity. Just because West had let slip how he felt about Hawkes. That was the only thing he could trace Hawkes' dark mood to. At least, it was the only thing that occupied Nathan's thoughts. Hawkes was being hateful, and Nathan could have despised him for it, but he wasn't going to let Hawkes' win, not this one. As much as he wanted to knock Cooper to the ground and grind that arrogant face into the dirt, he still wanted to knock him to the ground and grind himself against those wonderful hips that moved so gracefully as he hopped down some rocks to wait impatiently for West to catch up.

"Wang!" Vansen's sharp reminder redirected his attentions from his beaten paperback to his sentry duty. Grimacing with as fed up an expression as you were ever likely to see on Paul Wang's face, he put the book away and checked the chamber of his rifle.

He never wanted to be a soldier. All wars were over, according to the politicians. He'd signed up so the government would pay his tuition fees. The moment he was qualified and done his time, he'd intended on getting out - immediately. He'd never counted on being stuck in a war with a race of blood thirsty aliens. No one had. He'd gambled and lost. Instead of studying for his degree, he was stuck here, fighting for his life. He sighed and kicked at the planet as though it were the source of all his woes. He hated it here. He hated everyone. And most of all, right now, he hated Vansen.

Cooper winged them easily, but Chigs were hard to kill, wearing that armour. Thank fuck, at least, they were lousy shots. Cooper piled on, tearing his two Chigs to shreds like a frenzied Jack The Ripper, expending pent up blood lust and anger in a frenzied haze of killing and destruction; cutting, punching, pulling, tearing, wrenching.

West stumbled over his fallen enemy, methodically slicing across the join in the helmet with his K-Bar like he'd been taught, falling back on his arse as a jet of methane gas punched up into the air in a visible plume. He shook his head, spitting slightly to get the taste out of his mouth. Worse than Cooper on cabbages.

They checked the Chigs for anything interesting they might have been carrying, but they were just poor grunts like themselves, abandoned here as the battle had moved to Ixion, who'd had the misfortune to run across a black-ops trained InVitro in a bad mood.

Nathan was the cause of that bad mood, though he couldn't remember what he and Cooper had originally disagreed about, though it didn't have to be anything major, they were both so touchy these days. Cooper had been especially prickly after Nathan's declaration the other night, at pains to keep Nathan at a distance, and remind him, at every possible juncture, that a street kid from Philly had nothing in common with, or to offer, a middle class guy from small town Americana.

They rolled the bodies down into a ditch and continued their march.

At least the Chigs didn't need burying with their dissolving trick. Only their armour remained.

Thank Christ he'd been stranded on a planet with a breathable atmosphere was all Nathan could think of as he dispassionately watched the Chig helmet roll down the hill.

: "Cause I'm stranded on my own
Stranded Far from home"
The Saints

Everywhere in the shadows were horrors; dissolving Chigs, soldiers without limbs, without faces, half rotted, half burned.

Cooper clung closer to McQueen.

"Make it go away. Make it go away," he pleaded.

He looked up, and saw not McQueen's face, because McQueen didn't have a face anymore. He was a mouldering corpse; skull showing through rotted flesh.

Cooper scuttled back to the other end of the bunk.

"Stay away from me!" he screamed.

He kicked out, and McQueen's lower leg went flying. Then as he watched, the rest of him just exploded, into tiny bits, pelting him.

"Ow, goddammit, Hawkes, shut the fuck up."

Nathan held his hand over Hawkes' mouth. He'd bitten down on it, without realising. He could taste Nathan's blood in his mouth.

"Hawkes, get a grip." West ordered. He pushed Cooper away angrily, inspecting his hand for a second before picking up the rifle again, making sure for the 100th time a round was chambered.

"I wish to God tanks didn't dream. You scream like that again and you'll bring the Chigs down on us, if you haven't already," he hissed.

Cooper sat hunched over, rocking himself, like an autistic child.

"What was it?" Nathan asked at last, after several minutes had passed and no Chig patrol had ambushed them.

"Saw McQueen. He was all rotted and burned. He was in an explosion. He just blew up." Cooper's voice was thick and heavy. He kept rocking himself.

"It was just a bad dream," Nathan tried to soothe, not sounding very encouraging at all.

Alone in this alien night, so far from help or home, he wondered if Cooper was right. He wondered if Cooper had some sort of connection to McQueen, a connection he could no longer feel, like when he tried to reach out and feel that Kylen still existed, somewhere out there, in the universe. Maybe Cooper had felt the severing of something that he dreaded to feel, had yet to feel. He wondered if there was such a thing as a psychic tank.

"You know, they tried to breed tanks with psychic abilities," Cooper startled him by answering his thoughts.

"Maybe I'm one of them. Maybe I know what happened to McQueen."

"Nah," Nathan tried to kid. "It was just a bad dream," he reaffirmed.

Cooper was studying him, with that unblinking InVitro stare.

"Do you have bad dreams, about her?"

Cooper could never say the name. Neither could McQueen. It was like an InVitro failing; they never bothered to remember things one normally considered important.

"Yeah," Nathan admitted, unusually candid. Cooper's ruthless honesty and hunger to learn broke through most of Nathan's barriers. It was those intense blue eyes, hanging on his every word. Cooper knew more about Nathan than even his own brother had, not that that would mean anything to Cooper.

"Bad ones?" Cooper pressed.

"Yeah," Nathan admitted, though not really wanting to get drawn out into a discussion of his own night terrors. Not out of here. Not without a campfire and marshmallows at least.

"Sucks," Cooper decided, sounding a little more like his normal self.

But he couldn't get the image of McQueen being blown apart out of his head.

Nathan stood back and let Cooper rifle the corpses for supplies, rations, bullets, anything that was useful. Hawkes went through the dead man's pockets with a deft and cunning skill, so fast and thorough, and with such a complete lack of squeamishness, that Nathan suspected Hawkes had done this before, and not just on this planet. Who was he kidding; Hawkes' had probably had to do this heaps of times before to survive on the streets of Philly. Probably rolled a few drunks for a few dollars. He just couldn't imagine what Cooper's life must have been like. Watching him strip the corpses for anything useful gave him half an idea, though, and it chilled him.

Cooper sat back on his haunches, picking through his haul.

"Six rounds. Half a pack of chewing gum."

"Peppermint?"

"Spearmint."

West shrugged.

Cooper held up a strip of silver foil covered condoms, grinning.

"Great. Now I won't catch anything off you."

"Hey!" Cooper shot back, offended.

"What else," asked Nathan, still a little too uncomfortable to inspect the pile for himself.

"Some freeze dried whatevers, water, nothing else worth carrying." He indicated a pile of personal belongings, including a football.

Nathan either didn't notice or didn't comment on the money Cooper had pocketed.

Cooper stood and tossed Nathan a field shovel. Cooper couldn't see the point, dead was dead, but Nathan wanted them buried before the Chigs found them. They had been somebody's sons and daughters, after all. Maybe that was why Cooper couldn't understand.

Nathan broke the ground with his shovel. Cooper would always join in, and he would try to ignore looking at that lean muscular body as it moved, and try to ignore the effect it had on him. It just seemed inappropriate, somehow.

Nathan picked up the football, playing with it, it felt so normal, and so weird, so desolate, so far from home.

"Guess these guys won't be needing this anymore."

"We don't need it either," muttered Hawkes, who seemed to be carrying everything, because a King always outranked a Jack, and he was going to thump West the next time he reminded him of that fact.

Nathan was still engrossed with the ball.

My brother and I used to play a game, you had to try and make it o the five yard line, the other guy would try and stop you."

He looked appealingly to Hawkes. "Want to play?''

Cooper dropped his pack to the ground resignedly. Anything for a quiet life, knowing West would bitch and moan about this for hours until it was out of his system. Maybe days.

Nathan had never been run over by a Panzer tank, but he guessed that was something very similar to getting tackled by Cooper Hawkes.

"Hey, West, you okay?" Hawkes poked at him as though he were dead. He blinked and realised he must have passed out for a few seconds. He tried to sit up, and everything rocked, as though he were sitting in a row boat and not on dry land.

Nathan giggled breathlessly.

"Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive..."

"What?"

"You," he grinned dopily, as Cooper's anxious face eclipsed the sun.

"Sorry, man," Cooper offered.

Nathan held up his hand and shook his head slightly, which in his current condition was an achievement on par with reaching the summit of K2.

"Not to worry. Completely my fault. I forgot to add that you should try and stop your opponent without actually trying to kill him." He had forgotten Cooper was trained to kill, not play football. He was lucky he was still breathing. But, shit, he wished he could play Cooper's agent and sell him to one of the major teams. InVitros were banned from amateur sports like the Olympics, but anything goes in the professionals, and InVitros had slowly began to infiltrate the ranks, at first cosmetically altered, then openly.

He grinned up at Cooper. "What would you say to playing Wang and Phousse when we get back?"

"Do you think Shane will let us?"

"Not a chance," Nathan admitted, sulking.

"Want to play some more?" asked Cooper brightly, having gotten a tiny taste of the game.

"Nah, I think I'll just sit here for while."

Nathan rotated the football loosely in his hands.

"You know, I should take you back home with me, if we ever get back to Earth."

"What, so you can show me off to your parents?'

Nathan grinned. "No. So I could show you home movies, of me and my brother, playing this."

"So I'd know what I'm missing," Hawkes' voice and expression turned nasty.

"No, that's not what I meant," Nathan made a deliberate effort to sit up properly.

"I wanted to share it with you, so you'd understand."

"Oh," Cooper tossed off, not looking at him, not really interested.

Cooper left Nathan sitting there and started to wander off, of notorious short attention span, but was brought up short by the sight of the shabby piles of dirt marking the last resting place of the dead marines. There but for the grace of...well, he didn't believe, but he knew how very easily that could have been him and West lying there, rotting under a thin covering of dirt.

"Visit distant and exotic planets, and die there," he muttered sarcastically.

He turned back to West.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Who."

"McQueen."

"We don't know that."

"He ain't come back for us. McQueen would never leave us behind like this. That's proof enough for me."

Nathan tried standing, but decided against it.

"Hawkes, maybe if he had orders..."

"Orders to leave us here?"

"Yeah, maybe. You heard Ross. They were taking heavy hits up there."

Cooper glanced up to the sky.

"He'd never leave us. He's dead."

The alternative was unthinkable to Cooper. To be betrayed by McQueen would be to shatter his infant world view irrevocably.

Cooper turned, a weary, angry expression on his face. He knelt down in front of West, grabbing him by the shoulders, hard, forcing him back against the ground. He straddled him, pressing him against the ground with a kiss bred of equal parts anger and terror. Within two feet of the graves of fellow marines they had violent, brutal, forceful, powerful, life affirming sex.

USS SARATOGA 1900 Hours

McQueen stopped, mid order, his whole attention drawn to Vansen's voice which broke through on the radio, his body following, leaning tightly against the rail as she gave her report.

Hawkes and West still hadn't reported in.

Ross saw McQueen's head bow, his whole body sag.

Dammit, Ty, he thought, you knew you'd have to lose them sometime.

That was the whole problem. McQueen had sent soldiers off to die before, and he adapted, not really understanding the loss. He had never before ordered a loved one to his death, and Ross could see all too human pain and loss written plainly across his friend's face.

DEMIOS

Hawkes set the rifle down.

"What about Chigs?" asked West.

"Chigs have already been through here." Hawkes indicated the last three Marines they'd buried. "They won't be back, not with the bodies here," he reasoned.

Tired, he sat down.

West shrugged and sat down beside him, flipping open the palm top.

While West hunched over, triangulating their position, Cooper leant back against the slope, naked to the waist, catching some rays. He had such a languid ease, an animal grace, that just stretching out was a sexual gesture.

He slipped a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them on.

"where did you get those."

A couple of dead guys ago," Cooper shrugged.

Nathan screwed up his face in distaste.

"Hey, he had no more use for them," Cooper reiterated.

Cooper had no problem with picking dead pockets. Probably where he got that ring. He really was an alien, Nathan mused. Different race, different culture, different class.

Cooper had pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his lips.

Nathan leant over and plucked it out.

"Don't do that."

"Why?'

"I don't like the taste."

Cooper shrugged and tossed away the packet.

Unable to resist, Nathan straddled him, kissing him, looking up and sharing Cooper's smile.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, before embarking on slowly nibbling his way down Cooper's chest and abdomen, to unbutton his fly, going down on him.

Cooper twisted his head to the side as Nathan tongued him, grimacing.

Nathan looked up, and paused to smile. He loved those little expressions Cooper made when he gave him a blow job, trying not to cry out and give away their position. He was the only person to have seen Cooper like this. He'd given Cooper Hawkes his first blow job. He knew Hawkes and McQueen had a thing, but knew Cooper was the bottom man in that. It was a power and authority thing. McQueen was his CO, he was an older tank. It was programmed so deep not even Cooper could buck it. But he and Hawkes were equals, after a fashion, though Cooper would automatically default to the natural born's leadership, unless he was horny, angry or both.

Hawkes came with a strangled grunt. Nathan unbuttoned his fly and moved his fly and moved up to fuck Hawkes' mouth, thrusting in and out until he came. He rolled off Cooper, buttoning his fly.

Cooper sat up, spitting Nathan's seed onto the ground, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Charming," Nathan teased.

Cooper leant back, then tensed. Grabbing the rifle, he rolled on his stomach, hushing Nathan and bringing the rifle to bear.

Moments later, Nathan too heard the clicking Cooper's sharp little ears had picked up. They lay close to the ground but they were too exposed, in more ways than one. The Chigs appeared over the top of the ridge, but Cooper had popped them off with three shots before they could react.

They waited, breathlessly, but no more patrols appeared, and Cooper lowered the rifle a little.

"Jesus, West. You're fucking gonna get us both killed."

"You didn't say no," Nathan shot back crossly.

Cooper kept watch, brooding.

"You're the one who decided to stop for a while," West accused.

"This ain't a forced march. Mad dogs and Englishmen," he muttered. "Besides, you looked beat."

"Oh yeah, and who died and made you super marine."

"The guy who started the IVA program," Cooper muttered.

There was little reply to that, but Nathan never knew when to shut up.

"What were you made for," he asked, bluntly.

"Black Ops," Cooper mumbled.

"Shit." was all Nathan could say.

"I flunked out though. I asked too many questions."

They lay together in an uneasy silence, adrenalin still high.

Cooper slid another look across to West. It wasn't like West to screw around, not like this, and he still looked like crap, breathing too fast, even now.

Cooper on the other hand was alert, but reasonably calm, though still horny. Cooper had the hormones of the average teenaged male; in other words, he had sex on the brain, constantly. He'd told West most tanks did, without the chemical contraceptives that killed their sex drive. Cooper had said that he'd been born ready, and Nathan believed him. Though it disturbed Nathan to know that moments later, Hawkes' virginity had been taken by a Monitor pumping him until he ejaculated, laughing that everything was in perfect working order.

West was just glad they hadn't been issued with remote cameras on this mission. He would have liked to have seen McQueen's face when Hawkes' first real moves on him had been inadvertently televised back to the Saratoga.

USS SARATOGA 2300 HOURS

Ross watched the knowledge of what he had done eat away at his friend, piece by piece, day by day, like a corrosive acid of the soul, and there was nothing he could do. He shared the guilt, the blame; their tainted his hands, too.

Strategic withdrawal, the brass called it. A better opportunity to defeat the enemy, McQueen had rationalised. He'd only seen the coloured markers on the monopoly board at the time. It had been all academic to him, like playing a game of battle ship.

Only this was real. And far away, fighting, dying, struggling to survive, were McQueen's kids, five souls McQueen had been foolish enough to let himself care about.

God, but Ross hoped the day wouldn't come when the radio would remain silent at 1900 hours. As hard and unfeeling as McQueen tried to be, Ross knew it would destroy him. Losing his wife had all but destroyed him. Losing his kids would certainly destroy him.

McQueen let the tag dangle from his hand, then drop gently to the counter. He poked at it, absently, then took another swig of his scotch, wincing slightly at the burn. The shit they served in the Tavern was nowhere near as smooth as the Commodore's private stock.

He was drawn back to the tag, a picture of a man and a woman; West and the girl, Kylen. The one he had joined up for, the one he searched for.

McQueen took another sip. The Marine Corps were no place for a romantic.

But West was alright. He had a way of handling people that he, and even Vansen, lacked. His racist taunts and baiting of Hawkes had put him in McQueen's black books for a while. But lately, lately McQueen recognised, West had been a good friend to Hawkes. A very good friend indeed. A pang of jealousy stung him, as he envied the friendship they were building, something he could never have with Hawkes, for they could never be equals. He wondered what would happen, when West got promoted.

He studied the tag again, wondering what it had meant to West. Hope, maybe. A memory of things now long past; love, peace, family.

He remembered the night Wang had given him the tag. Boxing day, the traditional day of giving gifts to the poor. But they had meant something more than that. When they'd been lost, that time, neither side had given up hope. By giving him the tag, they were acknowledging his faith in them, and their faith in him, that he'd always be there for them, no matter what.

A faith he had broken.

He pushed the tag away slightly and knocked back the scotch in an angry swallow, refilling his glass.

He wasn't worthy of their faith, nor the symbol of it. He wouldn't wear the tag again, until they were safely back on board.

He realised that could be never.

In that case, he would shut his faith away, and put away the tag, forever.

DEMIOS

Cooper's scream died in his throat, as he woke with a start. The scream mutated into a low moan.

"Cop?" asked Nathan, barely visible in the gloom.

"Nothin," Cooper answered.

"Another bad dream?"

"Yeah."

Nathan could hear Cooper shift uncomfortably.

"What happens?' He tried to draw the InVitro out, curious as to what InVitros dreamt about.

"There's an explosion on the Saratoga. McQueen dies. It's always the same."

"It doesn't mean anything, Coop. It's just your anxiety expressing itself."

"They teach you that crap in college?" came back the snarling reply, and Nathan had to grin.

He heard Cooper move restlessly, back up against the rock wall. He didn't need to see the expression, to know it was there.

"it's like, he must be dead, 'cause he'd never desert us like this," Cooper reasoned. "I mean, he promised, right. He promised he'd always be there for us. When we were stuck on that ISSCV, he was on the radio to us, talking to us, all the time. We ain't heard shit from him since we landed here."

Cooper had a point there.

"When Wang gave that tag of yours to McQueen, it was like a promise, that he'd always be there..." The pain broke through his voice. "And he's not. He lied to us. He's not there. No matter what we do now, he's not there for us anymore."

"Maybe he had no choice, maybe the higher ups..."

"He lied to us, Man."

"Cooper, things happen. Some promises you can't keep."

"That how it is with you?" The voice accused out of the darkness, as hard and sharp as a knife. "That why you're cheatin' on your girl with me, 'cause you know you'll never get her back?"

"Shut up!" Nathan shot back, stung. Cooper never knew when to back of.

He leant back, biting back the tears.

"You said you promised to find her. Did you mean it?"

"Yes!" Nathan screamed. "I meant it. I still mean it. God, Cooper, you don't understand. I'll never stop looking for her, but I don't think I'll ever find her. You told me drive on. That's not going back on my word."

"Aerotech lied to you," Cooper reminded.

Yeah, they had. Promised him so much. And no matter how hard he worked, sacrificed, gave his heart and soul to the program, they took it away from him. Some suit had cancelled his hopes, his dreams, his life with the stroke of a pen, replacing him with some unskilled moron.

Yeah, he knew all about broken promises, broken trust.

God, if Cooper had known it, he'd have trotted out the promise he'd made to his parents, to look after Neil, to spite him.

Another broken promise.

"Nothing's forever, Cooper," he murmured. "Not even McQueen."

"Yeah. Life sucks and then you die," muttered Cooper, on a certified downer.

He leant against the rocks, a lost, soulless look leaching all emotion from his face. He couldn't shake the dream, or his dread at losing McQueen

Nathan crawled over to where Cooper sat, hunched over his rifle.

"Get some sleep," Cooper instructed him crossly. "Your watch is in an hour."

"I can't sleep, I'm so cold. Hold me. It's not a proposal of marriage. I'm just cold."

Cooper still looked at him.

"God, I thought I'd heard of commitment phobics, but you InVitros take the cake."

"Disposable people don't get to learn much about commitment," Cooper muttered, cutting Nathan to the core. He hated it when Cooper did that, pulled the old Orphan Annie routine. It always worked, too, damn him.

"Just hold me, please."

With a snarl of frustration and a sense of martyrdom, he slid his rifle around, allowing Nathan's bony frame to press up against him.

He pulled Cooper close to him, getting what he wanted, after all, those strong, warm arms around him.

He shivered in any case.

"So cold," Nathan shivered.

Frowning at his complaining companion, Cooper pressed a hand to Nathan's skin.

"You feel hot." he shot back, having disproved the theory.

Then something clicked over in that little mind, Cooper having a whole first aid manual buried in there somewhere.

"You're running a fever."

"I feel like shit," Nathan confirmed.

"You look like shit," Cooper agreed. He pushed up Nathan's sleeve and undid the field dressing on his arm. The cut was red, but no more septic than he would expect. For good measure, he washed the wound with a hip flask of vodka they'd found. Cooper could think of a few better uses for it than splashing it over West, but he kept his own counsel. He redressed the wound and felt Nathan's skin again.

"Maybe it's just fatigue, or a cold," Nathan thought out loud.

"Maybe it's some new Chig biological weapon," brooded Cooper, not really helping Nathan's spirits at all.

"Then why aren't you affected."

"I'm not human, " Cooper reminded churlishly.

He stomped over to his pack, pulling out the field kit, hunching down over it as he poked around, looking for antibiotics. Only one left. It would have to do.

He handed it to Nathan as he sat down, watching him with some sense of detached curiosity.

Nathan gave him a filthy look with fevered, glassy eyes. InVitros were notoriously resistant to biological weapons and infections; it was in their DNA. InVitros tended to die of blunt trauma more than anything else, as they could survive suffocation, drowning, radiation, biological and chemical weapons far more than the average human. As such, Cooper knew intellectually Nathan was running a high fever of unknown cause, but he'd never actually seen the physically effects played out before.

"What if it is something the Chigs cooked up?"

"You're letting your imagination run away with you," Nathan scolded, then grinned in spite of himself. "Never thought I'd ever be saying that to an InVitro."

Cooper glanced up, instantly striking an attitude.

"Why? You think just cause we're programmed we don't think, feel, or dream? You think we're just machines made of flesh? We have hopes and dreams, just like the rest of you. We just never get the chance to act on them. You won't let us."

"Cooper, I never meant..." Nathan tried. "It's just that, you're such a free thinker, so wild at times, you're not like any other InVitro I've ever met."

"What? I don't know my place? I don't blindly follow orders?"

"Well, yeah."

Cooper just grunted.

"Coop, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. I never said it was a bad thing. I just said you were different, very different from what I expected."

"Yeah, well the Monitors reckoned I was defective."

"Defective? What were they going to do to you?"

"Erase me."

Nathan's eyebrows shot up.

"Kill you?

Cooper shrugged angrily.

"You heard Keats. I'm disposable."

Nathan frowned. God, that time in Blood Alley, Cooper was still stewing over that.

"Coop..."

"They made me kill my sister. She was disposable, too."

Nathan sat up.

"Sister? Oh, God, Coop." All those tanks he'd been ordered to destroy. They'd been family. No wonder he'd been so full of hate, so full of anger. Cooper had lost a sibling too. Worse, by his own hand, without ever knowing her.

"Cooper, I'm sorry. Is that why you ran away from the facility? They were going to kill you?"

He nodded.

"I kept a low profile after that. For a while," he shrugged. "I thought they'd bring that out at my trial. Thought they'd sentence me to death for sure. But I guess they just must have wanted to cover it up."

"Why would they want to kill you for a street brawl, or running away?"

Cooper looked up, eyes chillingly cold.

"I didn't just run away. I killed a monitor."

Nathan went white.

"He was gonna kill me," Cooper explained.

Shit. Cooper had killed a natural born. An IVA Monitor. Jesus. He'd never realised Cooper was that dangerous. He felt like Cary Grant in 'Bringing Up Baby', discovering the leopard he held by the tail wasn't quite so tame, after all.

Hawkes grudgingly nursed Nathan in his arms, his anger slowly fading as he began to see the effects of the fever played out quite plainly upon Nathan's face. Concern for Nathan got all confused, he only knew one way to touch him, reassure him.

Cooper brushed his lips against Nathan's, then drew back, startled and worried by the lack of response.

"Sorry, Coop, but I think my sex drive left with the last temperature spike." Nathan apologised.

Cooper directly felt Nathan's softness, confirming the truth.

"I've never seen you this worried, Coop. It's kind of sweet."

Instead of smiling, a snarling rage crept over Cooper's features. He all but dropped West, stalking off a short distance.

"You think I don't feel - that I don't -" he choked on the words, unable to express them. He folded his arms around himself, full of resentment. "You think a tank can't know fear..."

"I didn't mean that, Coop." Nathan tried to apologise. "You just usually hold yourself so aloof..."

Cooper turned on him.

"What's that supposed to mean."

"That you keep your distance, that's you keep people at arms reach, always angry and skittish. You freaked when I told you I loved you. But you've betrayed yourself by your actions. You do like me, whether you want to admit it or not."

Cooper scowled, and Nathan counted that as a victory. He lay back against the ground, not really having the strength to bicker with Cooper.

"Christ, but you're touchy," he muttered. He thought Kylen could be difficult; Cooper took the cake, and without Kylen's excuse.

Cooper noticed Nathan's wilt and was back at his side in an instant.

Nathan managed a faint smile. Cooper's mood swings also outdid Kylen at her worst. Funny, how he came to compare the two. He wasn't being unfaithful, he lied to himself. The lie was easier to accept than the truth, that she was almost certainly dead, and Cooper was all he had.

The pain of that thought sapped the last bit of strength from him, and he drifted away for a moment, coming back to himself only with the realisation that Cooper was shaking him awake desperately.

"You can't go and leave me," Cooper insisted, angrily.

Nathan sighed. "Coop, I can't promise you anything."

For someone who held no fear or revulsion for carcasses, bar a normal reaction against putrescence, Cooper certainly seemed to be developing a morbid fear of losing people he cared about. Nathan realised he was probably one of the first and only people Cooper cared about, and it warmed his heart, a little. He knew he was scaring Cooper; hell, he was scaring himself. He didn't want to die out here, miles from home, or something so ignoble as a fever. He didn't want to die and leave his parents with one son, though he faced that thought a million times every day. At least he wouldn't die alone.

It was the longest night of Cooper's life, and not just because it was 28 hours long on this planet.

Nathan drifted in and out of consciousness, calling for Kylen at one point, then Neil, then his mother.

There was nothing Cooper could do except try and cool him at the height of his fever, dabbing his skin with precious water rations. Then, as the fever subsided and the chills set in, he did the only thing he could, laying atop of Nathan to keep him warm with his own body heat.

Cooper woke, suddenly aware of Nathan moving beneath him.

"Thirsty?" he asked.

Nathan nodded blearily, and Cooper pressed another water ration to his lips. Nathan had drunk all his supply and most of Cooper's, but he was alive, for now.

"I gotta go piss," Cooper announced unceremoniously, getting up and leaving West lying there, alone.

Nathan felt the sudden cold along his side, as though Cooper had torn himself free, leaving a gaping wound along his side.

He should need to go, too, but he'd expended most of the water he'd drunk in sweat.

He watched Cooper, silhouetted in the entrance of their little hollow - it didn't quite qualify as a cave - against the pale, lightening sky.

He even looked good doing the most basic things. Whoa, West, getting into a real weird area here, he warned himself.

Cooper stayed at the entrance after he'd finished, half leaning against the rock, on the look out for friendlies or foes. Nathan could tell by the alert angle of his head, that those keen eyes were carefully plotting the landscape. But there was a wistful restlessness in the body language, as though he longed to be elsewhere, as though he felt trapped here, with West. Just for a moment, he thought Hawkes would keep walking, and leave him. He knew Hawkes was thinking it. Only judicial and military law had bound Hawkes to the 58th. Now here, abandoned, forgotten, he was chaffing at those bonds, more than usual. Vansen had sent them out here on patrol, sort of letting Hawkes out on a longer leash. Of Hawkes wanted to take off, now, there was nothing to stop him, except inevitable loneliness.

Cooper was still staring at the outside world, straining at the bit. A dislike of loneliness was probably the only thing that kept him with Nathan, now.

Nathan knew if they ever got out of this war, he'd never be able to keep Hawkes. Like you could never tame a wild animal, Hawkes would be over the fence and back running with the pack in a matter of months. It saddened Nathan, but he'd be fooling himself if he thought otherwise. Hawkes would never belong to him. Never to anyone. He was a feral InVitro.

Hawkes turned and re-entered their hideout, looking somewhat defeated.

"Sorry to be a dead weight," west offered.

"S'alright," muttered Hawkes as he plonked himself down on the ground. "I'm used to carrying you."

"Arsehole," Nathan muttered.

"You'd know," shot back Hawkes, cruelly.

He got up again and paced the confines of the overhanging rock like a panther patrolling the inside of his cage.

God, he was beautiful. Nathan wanted to hate him, despise him, but that would be letting Hawkes win. The way to throw Hawkes off guard was to be really nice to him. Nathan had learnt that solidly during Hawkes' spell in detox. For days, only McQueen and the doctors were allowed to see him. Then, when he was allowed visitors, West had stayed, long after the others, and kept coming back. That, and the soul changing experience of withdrawal, had stripped away all of Hawkes' usual mean and nasty 'danger' and 'keep out' warning signs. Nathan had seen the boy beneath the attitude, exposed and vulnerable, looking so much like Neil when he'd learnt the truth about Santa Claus. They'd been like brother's, in that detox unit. Outside, Hawkes' attitude had returned, little by little, determined to keep West at arms length, almost embarrassed to be seen with a natural born friend.

Nathan still thought Hawkes had made it with that Colonel Klingman to spite him.

"If you want to go, go," he spoke at last, giving Hawkes an out.

Hawkes turned on him, wired too close to the surface, emotions all over his face.

"Can't," he accused, as though his apparent ethical dilemma was all Nathan's fault. He turned away again, but the look in his eye, the set of his jaw, his whole manner told Nathan that loyalty, self preservation, obedience and independence were warring within him.

With a little more time, maybe he'd read Hawkes as well as McQueen could.

"I don't want to be stuck here with you," Hawkes grumbled, impatient, restless.

"Would you prefer I was McQueen?" West taunted, then regretted using the M word. The source of all Hawkes' fears and frustrations. The sad irony of it, that Hawkes wanted, craved, needed the kind of emotional support from his Commanding Officer he could never, would never get, the kind which West offered freely, and found rejected.

USS SARATOGA

McQueen tossed and turned in his bunk, but it was no use, he couldn't sleep.

He lay, for the longest while, just staring into the semi darkness of his quarters.

Finally, he decided to get up and walk around the ship.

He stood there. Without thinking, he found himself standing outside the empty barracks of his squad, his children, his family.

Reluctantly, he pushed open the door, catching his breath at the emptiness. He looked around the empty bunks, remembering each of them, safe in their bunks, asleep. He paused at Vansen's, then West's bunk, but ended by Hawkes;, standing by it for the longest time, then sitting down on it.

McQueen rested a hand against Cooper's pillow, letting the anxiety well up again, that he would never see his...he paused over the word. He hadn't been a lover enough for his wife. Cooper wasn't quite his lover, yet more than his boy toy, as he'd heard West say once, when he'd thought McQueen had been out of earshot. He cared for Cooper, more than he dared, and worried for him.

He touched his hand to the precious few photographs that were stuck haphazardly to the wall. So few possessions for such a short life. The antique CD player he knew was the boy's pride and joy.

McQueen picked up the small stack of CD's Hawkes had collected, flipping through them.

Most of Hawkes' music was too angry for his tastes. The Sex Pistols, Ramones, Nirvana, The Jam, The Saints; screams of rage from working class boys, frustrated by a world that had no place or promise for them aside from the factory production line. No wonder Hawkes had such an affinity for these songs. But McQueen liked to think he was beyond that. Eventually he found a bleakly melodic CD by a long forgotten English band and slipped it into the machine, letting the air of post-Thatcher desolation and hopelessness wash over him.

He found Cooper's Montgomery Star, scrunched away with the rest of his things, and held it in his hands as though it were far more fragile than it was, and lay back, dangling it absently.

He remembered the night Cooper had been awarded the Montgomery Star, at his graduation. He'd been Joe Cool all night, but back in McQueen's quarters the mask had dropped away completely, because he trusted McQueen already, and he'd sat there on McQueen's bunk, playing with it and grinning like a big stupid kid, which he was.

He kept turning it over in his hands as McQueen undressed, not paying attention at all.

"I never thought they'd give me a medal," he breathed.

"I'd give you a kick up the arse."

Cooper looked up at him at last. McQueen was pulling off his tank top, tossing it aside.

"Why?"

"Because for a tank, you're lousy at following orders."

"For a tank, you sure like givin' them," Cooper shot back.

"Touche," acknowledged McQueen fondly.

He self consciously became aware of Cooper studying the scars across his chest, arms and abdomen, pain in his eyes. McQueen's near death had wrenched free a pain, a fear, a sense of loss Cooper had never known before. It hurt and it scared him.

McQueen sat down beside him and ran a finger lightly around Cooper's collar.

"Aren't you hot in that thing?" he asked.

Amazingly, Cooper took the hint and stood, unbuttoning and shrugging off his dress uniform, then tearing his tank top up over his head.

McQueen couldn't help but watch. Cooper was poetry in motion. In fact, McQueen had yet to find a poem that did justice to Cooper's physical beauty. Even Shakespeare's sonnets had let him down.

"What?" asked Cooper suspiciously, suddenly self conscious.

McQueen said nothing, just reaching for Cooper's hands and drawing him back to the bunk, pulling him down, to kiss him.

"They made me an officer," Cooper continued, as though the kiss hadn't happened. He couldn't quite believe it. "So this is okay, right?"

"No, Cooper, I'm your Commanding Officer."

"Oh." He looked downcast.

McQueen lifted Cooper's ace to his.

It was too late for that, to pull back now. He felt a connection to Hawkes that he'd never quite experienced before. He didn't understand it, but it was there.

"This is our secret, okay?" he asked of Cooper, and the boy nodded.

He sealed their union with a kiss, pushing aside all the regulations and arguments against this. He needed this, wanted this. His hands slid over Cooper's broad shoulders, up and down, then sliding down his back, then up to tease the navel on the back of his neck. Cooper groaned and tilted his head forward slightly, intensifying his kiss with McQueen, pushing his tongue in, deeper, harder.

McQueen sat up the moment he heard the hatch click, fist clenching around the medal. He relaxed only slightly when he saw who it was.

"I thought I might find you here," grumbled the Commodore fondly.

"I couldn't sleep," McQueen admitted candidly, as always looking boyish and younger than his 20 years when he faced his friend.

"I know. I worry about them too, you know." McQueen nodded slightly, turning the medal over in his hands.

"Vansen still hasn't heard from West or Hawkes," he summarised that evening's broadcast, though Ross had heard it too. He knew it was eating at McQueen. God help him, one day McQueen wouldn't hear from them at all. McQueen would have to deal with losing them then. Right now, he was barely grasping the idea that he could lose them, that they'd been left to die, defending a useless piece of rock, and it had been his idea.

Ross had watched the terrible realisation of what he'd done sink into McQueen over the last few weeks, as pieces on the chess board equated to lives - his kid's lives. The realisation had grown to los, real gut tearing, wrenching loss, and he could see the terror in McQueen's eyes. The man had never left himself so emotionally vulnerable before. He had never let himself care so much before, and had no idea what he was in for, should the 58th not make it back.

It was like looking at a dog in the pound. He just had no idea. Even now, he was struggling to come to terms with the greater good over his personal needs.

"Look at you, Ty," he sighed, as though fussing over a child.

"When was the last time you've slept, eaten, or even showered and shaved."

McQueen shrugged.

"Ty, you're not doing yourself, the Wild Cards or the war any favours by running yourself ragged. I've got a good malt scotch in my quarters," he offered.

McQueen didn't move.

"I won't let you stay here and get all morbid on me."

Cool blue eyes swept over him, measuring him, and a decision was made.

McQueen carefully tucked away Cooper's medal and stepped away from the bunk, still reluctantly.

Ross slid his arms around McQueen's shoulders, his fingers brushing against the nub on his neck, smiling.

"Come on," he encouraged, squeezing McQueen's shoulder.

McQueen smiled wanly, almost shyly, and let himself be pushed gently but firmly out of his squad's deserted barracks.

DEMIOS

"Cooper," Nathan couldn't bear the sight of the InVitro hunched over, almost choking on his fear and sorrow.

"Come here, he offered. "I won't bite," he added.

Reluctantly, Cooper scuttled across the dirt floor and into Nathan's arms.

Nathan held him, just held him, wanting to give him comfort.

But Cooper didn't understand. Touching, to him, only meant one thing. He reached up and touched his mouth to Nathan's.

"Cooper, I just wanted you to feel better."

"This feels better," Cooper murmured huskily, his hands gently guiding Nathan's mouth to his. "You talk too much," he chided. He sealed his mouth over Nathan's.

Cooper sucked along his tongue so expertly, Nathan could never forget he was a whore, and it always pricked at his middle class morality. But he still loved Cooper. He pulled away from Cooper's mouth, to nibble along his jawline, brushing his nearly week old beard, then sucking slightly upon his earlobe. Cooper arched his neck, and Nathan licked along it. He turned Cooper around slightly, reaching his target, that little nub on the back of his neck, engulfing it in his warm wetness.

Cooper groaned and barred his neck to Nathan, in a primal gesture of submission. Usually, Cooper wouldn't let anyone touch his naval. Nathan knew how sensitive it could be, and he'd seen bastards like Butts and the AI's pinch it, hard, to hurt Cooper and remind him of his place. But you could sneak it into some foreplay and get away with it. And it was sensitive. Cooper couldn't describe it - like having his tits sucked, only more intense. Nathan knew he liked it, in the right circumstances. He grazed his teeth over the edges and Cooper groaned, hips raising.

Nathan reached around Cooper, pulling on his hard nipples, until Cooper pushed him down, rolling on top of him, humping and grinding against him, his tongue diving in and out of Nathan's mouth until he came, thick and hot, in his pants.

Nathan wrapped his arms around Cooper and hugged him tight. It was the same means to an end, so long as he felt good. And they couldn't do this in front of the Wild Cards; not without the semblance of privacy, under blankets, in the head, in the dead of night.

Nathan lay back, exhausted, Cooper almost a dead weight in his arms, as the InVitro slept a dreamless sleep.

USS SARATOGA

The two men waited tensely, breathlessly for the next broadcast from the Wild Cards, hoping against incredible odds that the kids would make it on the air again that night.

"Do you think we'll get them back," McQueen had to ask.

"I honestly don't know, Ty," Ross answered sadly.

DEMIOS

Nathan watched two shooting stars streak across the night sky, and wished on them. He knew it was just pieces of the USS Eisenhower, and it somehow wasn't right to wish on space hardware, but he needed the hope. He wanted the war to be over, he wanted to get off this rock, he wanted his life back, he wanted Kylen alive. But most of all, he wished Cooper cared.

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