Birds do it, bees do it, even artificial human beings do it ....

"Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Acheans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving towards its end.
Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed...."

~

NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS......

McQueen Queen watched impassively as the MP's dragged a wild kicking and thrashing Hawkes from a bleeding West , barely able to rise from the beer and bloodstained floor of the officer's mess, which now more accurately resembled its name. Another argument, another racial slur. West blamed Hawkes for the loss of his fiance, an unreasonable accusation, but deeply felt nevertheless, and damn if Hawkes didn't have a three second fuse. This was a tank who wanted to fight, that's how he'd ended up in the Marines.

McQueen whispered a quiet word to a sixth MP as the five required to subdue Hawkes dragged the fighting tank past him. 15 minutes later McQueen was watching Hawkes pace the confines of his quarter like a caged tiger, lean, mean and wary. This boy was dangerous, bottled anger; it fell to McQueen to see that righteous anger directed appropriately, outwards, not inwards on himself, or his unit.

Hawkes was angry, angry at West, angry for being called a tank, angry at being sentenced to the Marines, angry at McQueen. Unable to express his anger in words, he lashed out, first on West, then the mess hall, now McQueen's quarters where he raged about, swiping artefacts off shelves, smashing things against walls until McQueen was forced to stop him.

McQueen slid himself silently from the desk upon which he was perched. Hawkes ignored him until his commander grabbed him roughly from behind.

He slammed Cooper hard against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from the boy's body. Cooper glared at him, the hurt surprised look of a second's duration replaced with a meaness born of survival on the streets. without thought, Cooper struck his superior officer, drawing blood. McQueen staggered back, then recovered and slammed Cooper against the wall again. Cooper pushed him away with a strength not even McQueen had been expecting. He grabbed McQueen and slammed him up against the wall and held him there, breathing hard, pressed up against his CO's body.

They stared at each other, long and hard, neither breaking contact. Something shifted in Cooper's expression, something animal and raw, shifting from one mode of survival to another. Still pressing McQueen against the wall with his strong arms, he dropped slowly to his knees before McQueen, as though in submission, baring the back of his neck slightly, he bent his head, then rubbed his face against McQueen's erection, tongue teasing at the closed zipper. McQueen could feel the hot wetness of that tongue seep through the material. He shut his eyes tight, pressing his head and fists back against the wall, his whole body going rigid as Hawkes teased him again.

His body betrayed him, responding, hardening. He'd wanted this, since he'd first seen Hawkes, he'd wanted this, but the regulations kept him in check. Hawkes nuzzled at him, and an involuntary groan escaped his throat. He reached down and dragged Hawkes up roughly. Hawkes struggled, and struggled even harder as McQueen placed his mouth over his. McQueen felt the fists beating against him, then the sudden, fierce response . Cooper's body slammed against him so hard that if not for the wall, he would have fallen over. He was trapped against the wall as the young lieutenant pressed raw but hungry, angry kisses hard upon his mouth, Violent kisses that drew blood, and took his breath away. Instead of holding Hawkes to him, he was now almost trying to hold him off, to grab a breath at least.

"You want this?" Hawkes rasped against his neck, gasping for air, voice an angry hiss. So, the young tank had learnt that much, at least.

McQueen said nothing, but his arms did not release Hawkes, which the Lieutenant accurately took as an affirmative. Learning to know what his commander wanted of him without words was an instinct Hawkes had hone if he wanted to survive this war. And Hawkes was a quick study, he'd been created that way.

Without a word, then, McQueen freed one hand to drag down the zipper of Hawkes flight suit, as the LT watched, and calmly pushed the material over the boy's shoulders, exposing that genetically perfect torso, the boyish, hairless chest, and the smooth stomach, a stomach unmarked by any mother. The tanks had been bred to be war machines, young gods, but the emotions, these had not been so easily manipulated under the microscope. Hawkes had only learnt of hatred, war and killing in his young life. It was the purpose for which he was bred for, but he was a human being as well, and McQueen felt it fell to him to show the boy that hands could be used for more than killing. He ran his own hand over that skin, and felt a shiver tingle through the body he held. He kissed Hawkes again, slowly this time, deeper, sensual.

The Lt almost swooned in his arms, never having received just a kiss before. All the fight had gone out of him, almost. He was no longer raging against everything. He was ready to learn, and McQueen would teach him. Touching that body, Hawkes echoed each touch, a very quick study, then began to improvise.

Stripped of their flight suits they tumbled onto the Spartan bunk, Hawkes squirming underneath, the sensation so delicious. Hawkes wanted to be on top, but this was a privilege of rank, a rank McQueen had no qualms in pulling.

He turned the young body underneath him over, trailing hot kisses all the way, until he reached his destination.

Hawkes body jerked to attention as the Colonel's mouth sealed over the button on the back of his neck, flicking it, licking it, teasing it, sucking hard upon it. Cooper's lithe body writhed as the sensations shot lightning pulses straight into his groin. Not wanting to break the sensation, but wanting more, Hawkes tore away with a groan, wrestling McQueen underneath him, his young mouth blindly seeking McQueen's like a hungry new born thing. This was all so new, so raw, so intense. He locked onto McQueen, forcing his tongue down the tank's throat so hard McQueen started to choke, grabbing the young tank by the shoulder's and pushing him back. Still Cooper came at him, hard and perfect young body rubbing and thrusting against him; it was over in seconds. It wasn't for nothing they called the marine recruits young, dumb and full of cum.

As the rush began to dissipate, Cooper began to pull away, embarrassed and half revolted by the feel of his seed cooling and drying between them, but McQueen held him firm.

He was like a skittish young animal, trapped, but McQueen wouldn't let him get away. He kept on holding him until Hawkes quietened a bit, resigned to his fate. Then, softly, he began stroking him; and Cooper lay still. McQueen could feel the muscles relax under his fingertips. He threaded his fingers through the unruly brown hair, feeling the silky threads, then caressed down that throat, across that back, and he felt the boy's body mould to his, no longer fighting to escape. It was the one thing the in-vitros could never know when they were bred in their tanks, the one thing they lacked, their tragic flaw - the gentle touch of a human hand.

~

GOD SAVE MCQUEEN

West's anger formed itself in an ugly snarl across his face.

"Well, are you going to discipline him?" he demanded.

"I've spoken to him," came McQueen's measured reply.

McQueen could see it, the silent accusation that slid across West's eyes, that his kind, the tanks, stuck together.

West had marched for Invitro rights, once, but losing his place on the Colony to politically expedient affirmative action, then losing the girl, it had hurt West. Hurt him so deeply that his every waking and sleeping moment was consumed with righteous indignation or irrational anger, and no matter how unfairly, he focused this anger on Cooper Hawkes, the Invitro who had come to represent the injustices west felt had been brought against himself. It didn't help that Hawkes liked to amuse himself by baiting West.

McQueen knew this. He knew the reasons why West behaved like he did.

West felt Hawkes was being treated favourably, and it wasn't an entirely unfounded accusation. West just wasn't familiar with the expression 'the squeaky wheel gets the oil'.

McQueen rose slightly from the edge of the desk where he sat, and was satisfied to see West move back slightly.

"In case it escaped your attention, Lieutenant, Hawkes is a damn good pilot, and we're at war. We need all the good pilots we can get. I don't have time for brawling. If you don't like Hawkes, keep it to yourself. Don't provoke him."

The last wasn't a request. It was an order.

"Dismissed." He waved West away with a slight nod.

McQueen returned to sit on the edge of his desk, thoughtful for a moment, before his door slid open again. Hawkes stood there silently. He must have seen West come out of the office.

Hawkes leant against the closed door, a pure smile lighting his face.

Just looking Hawkes stirred emotions McQueen thought he'd left behind long ago, and McQueen realised he'd made a grave tactical error, initiating such...contact...with his subordinate. He'd hoped to bind the young Lt to him, using sex to control him, unconsciously using tactics he'd learnt, long ago. But it was Hawkes, with his lean, supple body, who held the control. McQueen wanted him, and he knew it, had always known it, had wanted McQueen just as bad, but had controlled it.

With a cockiness that both amused and aroused McQueen, Hawkes, his eyes never breaking contact with those of McQueen, almost unconsciously placed his hand to his throat, sliding the zipper of his flight suit between his fingers and slowly, teasing like a stripper, dragging it all the way down to his crotch, pulling off the white T-shirt underneath, letting the material fall wantonly around his hips with an easy, dangerous sexuality, nothing adorning his skin bar his dog tags; hung low upon his chest. He dared McQueen to come to him with a look.

McQueen considered retaining his dignity for a moment or two, but then tossed it aside. He wanted Hawkes too badly. He crossed the floor and pressed the young pilot up against the door, sliding his hand past a smooth young shoulder to lock it, then sliding that hand down the hard, genetically perfect planes of the chest to circle then squeeze a nipple, before bending his lips to kiss it, suck on it.

Hawkes let a small gasp of yearning escape his throat.

Calmly taking the upperhand, McQueen slid his hand down further, beneath where the zipper ended, eliciting another gasp from his young wild card as an experienced hand brushed over, cupped , fondled and stroked what he found there. Hawkes was young, and way to eager, hardening, pulsing and coming in McQueen's hand all too quickly, covering his commanding officer with his thick, sticky essence. McQueen wasn't overly concerned, his race had been bred for endurance. He reached down to use Hawkes discarded shirt as a towel, and as he stood again he found himself the focus of the young man's curious attentions. The smugness was gone, replaced by an almost child like reverence as Cooper slid down his own zipper, pushing away the clothes, seeking out the nipples on his chest with the throwback of an instinct in-vitroes had no use for. Hands ran softly over scarred tissue, skin that had been savagely burnt away, yet healing faster, more completely than a human's ever could. Cooper wasn't repulsed, just in awe, unsure of how much he would be allowed trespass. Guiding his young charge carefully, as one would with only a semi-tamed wolf, they stepped from their clothes, McQueen pulling him to the tiny, military bunk once more. The designers of the USS Saratoga had not envisioned the sleeping quarters being used for this purpose, in fact, McQueen half suspected the bunk had been specifically designed to discourage this very activity. Designers flaws could not stand in the way of raw, animal need, however, and Hawkes was eager to demonstrate what he had just learned , returning the favour to McQueen with brisk strokes that showed the boy wasn't quite that inexperienced, and had at least been practising on one technique. McQueen smiled at the idea, his smile replaced with a wider grin as he was brought to completion by eager young hands. He pulled Cooper too him, enfolding the young man gratefully in his arms. It was his job to teach Hawkes, and he would skimp nothing in his training, especially not in this area. He would teach the Lt everything he knew, and then some, like what tongue and lips could do when properly applied.

Gently, he began to move Cooper under him, and felt the young body tense again, almost tremble, like he had before. Cooper didn't like to be touched, not without a written invitation first, but this skittishness, McQueen had thought it due to the newness of the experience, He started to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that it wasn't new at all for Cooper. He traced the faint scars that marked the skin along his back. Cooper had relaxed a little, demonstrating a trust that caused a tightness in McQueen's chest as he silently cursed the humans they served and fought for. Tanks were an untouchable caste, but for the violence inflicted upon them by human hands. It had been clear to McQueen the moment he had set eyes on Hawkes that he had survived some terrible cruelties in his six years, cruelties that had shaped him, made him dangerous, ready to hurt first, unable to recognise a friendly hand. McQueen knew exactly the sort of life Cooper had led, more than he cared to.

His ruminations had cooled his ardour somewhat, but Cooper was still eager, moving on top of him, he seemed more comfortable to be the one in control, rubbing his body against his Commander, deriving pleasure from the friction of skin on skin, excited by the feel of another body pressed against his, the smell, taste and touch of something living, something living that meant him no harm. McQueen caught his hands in that tangled hair and brought Hawkes mouth down upon his own. The taste of McQueen, his tongue sliding into his mouth, brought Hawkes over the edge again, and he lay upon McQueen, spent , until the momentum built again.

~

ARE YOU RECEIVING ME

But he raged on, grimly camped by his fast fleet,
the royal son of Peleus, the swift runner Achilles.
Now he no longer haunted the meeting grounds
where men win glory, now he no longer went to war there
yearning, always yearning for battle cries and combat.

McQueen sat forward in his seat, listening to the pilots' desperate commands and requests for help over the intercom. Another routine patrol had run smack into a pack of Chigs, and this time it was the 58th, his own Wildcards. He could not stop his hands tightening into fists as Hawkes desperately tried to dodge the bogie on his tail, not even releasing them when Hawkes managed to slip the alien, the alien ship ploughing into a sizeable junk of space debris - of which there was more and more now that they had taken their war to the stars.

McQueen almost started as Ross patted his shoulder paternally.

"You've taught them all you could. I know its hard for you, to watch on the sidelines."

McQueen acknowledged Ross' concern with a slight tilt to his head, his eyes never leaving the monitors that recorded every strike, every kill, for and against. Not all of his squad would be coming back this day. He knew that, every time he sent them out. But it never got easier. Tanks weren't supposed to care, because they had no families. But this squad had become his family. And more than that, one member, Hawkes, had become something even more. McQueen could not use the word lover. That wasn't quite right, not when it was still argued if tanks could even understand the concept of love, let alone get a handle on the emotions that went with it. It was enough to say that of all the squad, he hoped Cooper Hawkes made it back alive the most.

~

COOPER WAS A PUNK ROCKER

Hawkes clambered out of cockpits as the ground crew swarmed over it, refuelling, repairing, painting on his kills. At this rate, Wang had joked, Hawkes was gonna need a bigger Hammerhead, just to fit his confirmed kills. He was a killing machine; it was what he had been bred for. He felt McQueen's presence before he saw him, grey eyes locked on him intently from a distance. Hawkes raised his head and met his commander's eyes. Never in his short life had Cooper had someone worry about him. He allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. McQueen saw it, caught it, and almost reflected it for a moment, then sternly turned away. Cooper shrugged, turning his helmet over in his hands. It wouldn't do for the squadron leader to take him right there on the flight deck, he supposed to himself, getting hard at the mere thought of it.

"Good job," West acknowledged anaemically.

Hawkes grunted non commitedly, and West sulked at the snub to his insincere overture of friendship.

McQueen was waiting for him in the officer's mess, but Hawkes deliberately ignored him, slipping into his continuing card game instead, as though he had never been away. After two or three carefully studied drinks, McQueen took the remainder of his beer with him to the table where Hawkes sat, all too self satisfied at his winnings. The humans should know better than to gamble against a tank. Well, they would learn.

"Mind if I join in?" he asked, leaning over Hawkes shoulder, grinning as he saw the hand. Hawkes half snarled up at him, but McQueen surreptitiously stroked the navel on the back of Hawkes neck, just enough to make his point. He settled in at the table, opposite Hawkes, amused at the young man's discomfort and anxious shifting in his seat.

Hawkes leant forward, competitive gleam in his eye, as he lay down his third consecutive winning hand on the table. Wang wiped the sweat from his brow. Hawkes was cleaning him and everyone else out, and more than that, he seemed to be locked in a duel to the death with the commander, playing poker so combatively Wang almost fancied taking his ship out on manoeuvres in hostile territory for light relief. McQueen was as cool as a cucumber though, quietly winning as much as Hawkes, calmly ignoring the adversarial menace in Hawkes demeanour. McQueen was the only one Hawkes didn't spook. He guessed it was because McQueen was a tank, too.

The game ended at 3 am, Hawkes greedily scooping up his winnings and shoving them in his pockets. The whole squad would be coming to him to borrow money for the next month.

McQueen touched his arm lightly.

"Don't gloat. No one likes a winner too full of himself," he warned quietly.

Hawkes scowled in response. He broke away and stomped off to the barracks.

Hawkes didn't come that night, and McQueen went to bed, unsated. Sometime, in the dark hours before dawn, he heard his door slide open, and a body wriggle into the bed beside him. He felt the body trembling, cold with damp sweat, frightened and alone. McQueen enfolded the boy's body in his arms, drawing him to his warmth, pulling the blanket up around them, and went back to sleep. When he awoke some hours later, Cooper was gone. Whatever night terror had sent him into his commander's arms had obviously receded enough to allow a return to his barracks, where he had lain awake, alone, until revelry, listening to West toss himself silly to the picture of his girlfriend, then silently cry himself to sleep, and Vansen, across the way, stirring to the same nightmare she had everynight.

~

LIFE BEGINS AT THE HOP

Wang was reading in the officer's mess; there was no one else around, save Hawkes brooding silently to himself in the corner, glowering at the screen that flickered in front of him, barely paying attention. Funny how Wang could just feel Hawkes in the room, without even seeing him. It was just part of being a tank, he supposed. There was something about them, an apartness that was biological, not just social. And Hawkes studied aloofness didn't help, though Wang liked him well enough though, even though he doubted he'd ever understand him.

Another pricking at his spine alerted him to the presence of his Colonel. He sat up at attention, if that was possible, but if McQueen saw him, he didn't acknowledge it. McQueen instead made a bee line for Cooper, stooping to squeeze his shoulder affectionately. And Cooper looked up at the Colonel and did something remarkable. He actually smiled. Not a grin, or a smirk, but an honest, open smile. McQueen slid into the seat beside the young Lt, giving the TV an occasional cursory glance, leaning to Cooper and talking so low Wang couldn't hear. Cooper laughed softly.

Wang found it hard to return to his book, fascinated to watch Hawkes let his guard down so completely. He guessed it only made sense. McQueen regarded all of the 58th as his children, as much as he could comprehend the concept, but Cooper had always been his favourite son. And about due for some sibling rivalry, as West, strolling past, saw McQueen, and decided to ingratiate himself at his commander's table. The moment west approached, Wang saw the masks slide into place again on the In-Vitroes. Hawkes muttered something and shoved off from the table. Wang returned to his book as West pressed what he saw as a tactical advantage with the Colonel. 20 minutes later, McQueen chose to excuse himself.

Hawkes was waiting in his quarters, as promised. The very thought had kept McQueen on the edge of his seat for the last quarter hour, patiently indulging West. The Lt's smile now held more of a predatory edge.

McQueen locked the door with a soft movement of his hand.

"Well, what are you waiting for, get that shirt off, Marine." he commanded gruffly.

Cooper grinned and shucked off his blue T-shirt, watching his Colonel's eyes rake over his designer body. Hands followed the eyes, and he pushed Hawkes backwards until the boy fell onto the bunk, laughing. He looked up at McQueen with complete trust, raising his arms above his head and stretching languorously like a cat. McQueen traced an absent finger around two redundant nipples and then lazily stroked the rising erection within the olive green marine issue pants.

"I want, " McQueen tried to find the words.

Hawkes held him in that steady, half lidded gaze. "I know. " he answered quietly. "I'd die for you, Sir, " he added thickly, confirming his consent.

McQueen's hand almost trembled as he touched the skin now, figuring out the logistics in his head. To have Cooper kneel against the bunk would be the best way in his cramped quarters, but that was too much of a submission, and he didn't want that. Cooper needed to learn loyalty, and trust, not capitulation. He decided he would lie against Cooper, in his tiny bunk, and take him that way. With a practised coolness McQueen unbuckled Coop's trousers, pulling them free, then stood to shuck his own clothes, climbing back onto the single man bunk that enforced close bodily contact, lying his length against Cooper's, licking his tongue down the sensitive skin, to his destination. Taking Cooper in his mouth he felt the young body react wildly underneath him, Cooper clutching at the blanket beneath them, trying to control his need to thrust into his Colonel's throat, then giving in. McQueen moved him, sliding his trained fingers around to stroke, tease, surprise and excite.

Cooper was hazed and glazed when McQueen turned him on his side so very gently, pressing against him. His arms curved around the waist, feeling Cooper tense. He kissed that throat, whispered soothing words in the ear as he nibbled and nuzzled, sucking kisses upon that oh so sensitive spot on the back of Cooper's neck that Cooper barely noticed the assault begin, and then tensed suddenly, fighting McQueen for precious moments until McQueen managed to calm him again, and distract him as he pressed further. Cooper gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out or dismay his commander. He trusted McQueen, tried to forget his past, tried to concentrate on the now. The pain eased into an odd sort of pleasure. McQueen knew what he was doing, and Hawkes gave himself to his commander. McQueen finished quickly; a warship being no place for a protracted romance, and his watch commencing in under an hour. He lay beside Hawkes for as long as the boy would let him.

~

The drops of water trailed down over the genetically perfect planes of his chest like liquid diamonds, playfully running in riverlets towards their destination. He followed their silver path with his eyes, unable to turn away.

Cooper caught West's eyes trailing down his flat stomach, so alien looking, without the human dimple at its centre. Scowling, Hawkes turned his back to West, shutting his eyes to the stream of hot water, soaping angrily at his skin, as if he could wash away the shame of his race as easily as the sweat and grime of their last mission.

~

PRIMARY

McQueen cast a glance by habit into the mess, and found it not deserted as he had expected it to be. Hunched over a computer console under the dim night lighting was Hawkes, so engrossed he started as McQueen began to speak.

"You should be in your barracks, asleep, soldier."

"Tanks don't need sleep," came the surly reply.

"Yes they do. Not as much as humans, but they do." McQueen corrected fondly, straddling the seat beside his young Lt, politely overlooking the fact that Cooper had failed to acknowledge his presence with so much as a glance, let alone a salute. He let the lapse in proper protocol slide.

He peaked over Hawkes shoulder at what he was concentrating on, and was surprised.

"Shakespeare?"

"Macbeth. Wang showed it to me. The hero, MacDuff, he's not of woman born."

"Shakespeare meant caesarean, not In Vitro." McQueen explained softly.

"I know. But he was different, and he still did the right thing."

McQueen leant forward. "Why the sudden interest."

"I want to finish high school. I'm tired of being called dumb." he responded, somewhat irritated.

McQueen knew that Hawkes meant by him in particular, and he was sorry, he'd not been aware of how deeply his little barbs had struck.

"I never called you dumb, Hawkes."

The furrowed brow refused to disappear.

"You're not stupid, Hawkes. Just young. You're only six years old after all, dammit. West has 16 years on you. You're too hard on yourself. You never finished your education, there are so many things you don't know."

"So I'm not dumb. Just ignorant." Cooper responded, disgruntled.

"Yes." answered McQueen. Tanks weren't big on mincing words.

"I know its hard. Its hard to play by their rules, but its the way things are."

He caught Cooper's face in his hands.

"You're sharper than most. Don't ever forget that."

"You think I have a chance?" he asked of McQueen, studying his eyes.

McQueen brushed a thumb over Coop's lower lip.

"Yes," he breathed.

Hawkes sat up straighter in his chair.

"Its more than that, Sir."

Uh oh, this was serious, realised McQueen.

"I want a human education, not a tank's ." Hawkes had a singleminded stubborness. "I want a college degree. So I can get promoted, after I serve my term."

"Oh," McQueen had not seen that coming.

"You can get promoted through acts of bravery."

"Maybe." Hawkes shrugged. "But I want respect. I want to be like you. You're a tank, but West and Vansen respect you."

McQueen didn't feel it appropriate to argue with Hawkes, but countered with: "So you've decided on a military career."

"Ain't got nowhere else to go. And its what I was bred for. Might as well fulfil my destiny."

"Destiny is a strange bedfellow, Hawkes."

Hawkes shrugged and smiled, more a response to McQueen's expression and tone of voice, than words.

McQueen allowed himself to share that smile.

Hawkes turned back to his console, but he could feel McQueen's heat, leaning close.

Cooper shifted in his seat, unable to concentrate. He was all to aware of McQueen's scent, McQueen's body mere inches from his. It was like when they passed each other in the corridor, or on an APC, or during a briefing, when McQueen leant over him, and he tried , really tried, not to get hard. He was hard now.

Cooper reached back and caught McQueen's hand, placing it over his erection, touching McQueen as he wanted to be touched. He felt a hand brush away the hair from the nape of his neck, exposing his omphalos to the cold night air. Fingertips danced across the skin around it, warm breath tickled over it, then the tip of a tongue flicked at it, and Cooper froze, hands flattening hard on the table as the tongue swirled around the circular ridge of flesh. He bent his head forward, baring his neck even further to McQueen, in a submissive, seductive gesture. The hot mouth engulfed his omphalos, wet and sucking, as fingers sought out his hardened nipples, pinching and squeezing. He arched up, like a rearing horse, as flames ignited his body.

"McQueen," the name caught in his throat, as he lost the ability to speak. Lost in his own pleasure, he pushed himself up on the table, against it, humping it wantonly as McQueen followed him, straddling him, his hands balling into fists as McQueen pulled his trousers down, enough to do the job. This would be quick and rough, but he had no fear. He trusted McQueen. Strangled cries fell from his throat. He tried to keep quiet, but the tight pleasure was too much. McQueen dragged him back a little, so he was half standing, half lying across the table, and pounded into him for several quick thrusts before coming. They weren't in a location where they could take time over it.

Vansen pulled from the door as Cooper slid from the table, refastening his trousers, grinning stupidly at a sated McQueen. Her nightmares had led her to walking around the ship to shake them off. She hadn't meant to watch them, but she couldn't turn away. Something primal in her responded to seeing Cooper fucked so thoroughly, sweating and straining. She walked off quickly, lest they discover her, a familiar wetness between her loins.

Hawkes continued his slide into McQueen's lap, straddling him, his arms holding his commanding officer captive as he kissed him playfully, teasing McQueen's raised omphalos. McQueen fondled Cooper for a few short minutes, watching the boy arch back, a dopey grin covering his face. Damp hair brushed his cheek.

"McQueen."

He heard his name mumbled . He let his arms tighten around the boy fondly.

~

HOMOSAPIEN

The moment the door slid shut it reopened to admit cooper. McQueen turned, surprised that Cooper had not waited the customary 10 minutes before following, but then, they'd hardly been discreet in the mess before. McQueen almost felt battered by the waves of sexual energy that rolled off Hawkes; he resisted the urge to put up the usual walls he employed during the day. Instead, he gave in to his own arousal.

In-vitros had been bred for endurance, amongst other things, and one of their envisioned functions had been service personnel, as well as soldiers, miners, cleaners, etc. Sterile, sensual and aesthetically pleasing, many tanks served that function, though no one ever admitted to sex with tanks - it indicated someone hard up, unable to find a human instead, though there were some humans who were addicted to tanks, and there were even mixed marriages, god knows, he knew that, but their artificial origins made most humans squeamish.

Hawkes had sold himself for money or survival numerous times in his young life, or had it taken from him by force, usually by gangs of disaffected youths. McQueen understood this without ever having to be told, having survived similar situations in the mines and later the marines. No one ever talked about it, but it was far from an unusual occurrence.

It made what they shared so much sweeter, that they were moved from a need of companionship and understanding, rather than raw survival. McQueen saw himself in Hawkes, and wanted desperately to guide Hawkes away from the mistakes he had made. He supposed that made him a father, as well as a teacher. But his feelings for Hawkes were far from paternal, at least within his understanding of human taboos; though such taboos held no place in tank culture, issues of blood ties having been rendered moot by their very creation and design.

~

ALPHABRAVOCHARLIEDELTAECHOFOXTROTGOLF

McQueen scrambled over the burnt wreckage of the hammerhead, fingers running over the still hot metal, desperate for a clue as to the fate of its pilot.

He heard a slight noise behind him and swung, gun ready, to find Hawkes standing there smiling at him sheepishly.

"Are you injured." he demanded coldly.

"Only my pride," grinned Hawkes, knowing the cold anger was McQueen's way of dealing with intense emotions.

Blood was seeping from a large gash on Hawkes forehead, but the young man seemed oblivious to that and any other injury he might have sustained during his crash landing. McQueen didn't need to lean close to see the pin prick pupils. He glanced back to the Hammerhead. Only a tank could have walked away from a wreck like that.

"Come on." McQueen ordered, shouldering his pack. Cooper's descent had lit up the sky like a comet, the AI's knew they were coming. A sinking feeling in his gut told him their chance run in with the Chig fighters may not have been so random after all. AI's only believed in randomness as a mathematical theorem, not fate or misfortune.

They marched across the desert in silence, rationing their water as much as their enhanced systems could take it. Finally, they rested under the cover of some rocks, like any other desert creature, as McQueen took a reading.

"Why did they choose us for this mission," Hawkes asked at last.

"Because I've got experience with the AIs, and your my best pilot and sniper. I needed a good wingman."

Hawkes shook his head.

"Its because were tanks. We're expendable."

"The military have invested a lot of money in us." McQueen countered.

Hawkes leant forward angrily. "This is a damn suicide mission, and we're expendable. That's what they made us for. Disposable soldiers - without any parents to weep over us and vote Democrat in the next election."

McQueen could hear the words of others echoed in Hawkes' voice, causing him considerable disquiet.

"Every mission is a suicide mission if you think like that, Hawkes. We've got a job to do." McQueen snapped his equipment shut.

McQueen scanned the horizon, not able to speak to Hawkes, knowing Hawkes was still bitter of the death of his sister as a casualty of war, but unable to say anything to the boy.

McQueen cracked open the medical kit, and, grabbing Hawke's face with one hand, he brushed back the hair and began applying disinfectant to the deep cut across his forehead. Had it not been for the helmet, even Hawkes' incredibly thick skull would have been mashed over the cockpit. Hawkes winced, as McQueen's ministrations were far from gentle.

McQueen wanted to tell Hawkes ; what he felt, how, when he'd seen Hawkes go down in flames it'd felt like someone had torn his heart from his chest. But the words wouldn't come.

Hawkes could see the pain in McQueen's eyes, he'd seen it often enough, scraping out of one hairy furball after another, that intense look that burned into him, the look he'd finally learnt meant that McQueen gave a damn as to whether he lived or died. Not knowing the words, Hawkes reached up and touched McQueen's face so softly, McQueen drew a sharp breath as if stung. Hawkes leant forward suddenly, kissing McQueen, sliding his tongue inside his mouth with casual ease.

The kiss blew away the rational part of McQueen's mind. React, don't think, react, the old programming screamed at him. Instead, he pressed Hawkes back against the rock wall, bruising his lips with a punishing kiss. Hawkes responded instantly, hand fluttering to his groin with a slight moan.

McQueen slapped the hand away, guiding it to his own zipper, while he reached inside Hawkes' trousers.

Several short, desperate strokes later, they fell apart, breathing hard. Hawkes wiped his hand down his trousers, playing with himself wantonly, unselfconsciously for a moment before rezipping the camouflage.

McQueen envied Hawkes that, the almost innocence of his raw sexuality, a sexuality he didn't know to hide, it was in his every move, like a panther. He didn't do it for effect. He just was. Hawkes should have been a pleasure model, not a soldier.

McQueen pulled his zipper closed and returned to business, scanning the horizon once more. Their target was 20 klicks to the west, just over those ridges that marked the horizon. An AI encampment. Their orders were to take it out.

A black plume of smoke rose from the AI base. As per orders they'd strafed the base, before Hawkes' had been shot down by t the Chig fighters Intelligence hadn't warned them about. Now they were going to clear the AI base of any surviving units, and radio for extraction and salvaging of any intact equipment (the war situation was beginning to grow desperate), all hopefully before Chig or AI reinforcements arrived.

McQueen lowered the binoculars, stuffing them away in his pack. He turned back to Hawkes, grabbed his uniform and ripped off the insignia patches, his bars, and then grabbed the dog tags in his fist and snapped them away from Hawkes' throat.

"What are you doing?" Hawkes had to ask, as McQueen repeated the same procedure on himself.

"They know we're coming. If we're captured, they'll think we're just grunts, being tanks. They'll kill us outright. If they find out we're officers, they'll torture us first."

"Being killed outright is better?"

"Yes." McQueen answered simply, checking his armament.

Without a word, they moved out.

~

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IBM

Cooper was pushed roughly to his knees, gun pointed at the back of his head. He slid a sideways glance at McQueen, in a similar position. He waited for the bullet.

The Silicates chittered amongst themselves, then one stepped from behind them, holding a torn piece of cloth in its hand.

"Colonel McQueen, I don't believe I've had the pleasure, but I do believe you have, " came a voice sickening familiar.

"It was quite a chance you took coming here."

It let the cloth drop to the floor.

"You lose."

Cooper saw McQueen's jaw tighten, ready for the shot.

It shook a couple of dice in it's hand, and dropped them on the floor.

"Oooh, today's your lucky day, Colonel. You don't get to die today.." It nodded to its accomplices, chirruping in modem speak.

"String them up."

Their hands were bound and they were wrenched to their feet, their hands pulled above their heads. Standard AI torture technique.

McQueen knew this, as he faced his tormentor with his uncompromising stare. They'd broken him once before, and he had sworn to himself that they would never break him again. Especially this model. It was a matter of honour with him.

Cooper was spun around until he faced McQueen.

"Lucky you, you get a ring side seat.

Cooper spat into the plastic and metal face and was rewarded by the butt of a rifle smacking into his abdomen.

"Such spirit. I'm touched. We know all about you, McQueen. We've been watching you. Oh yes."

The face leaned in close to his.

"We're going to kill you, piece by piece. And lover boy there, he gets to watch." Elroy-L grinned, horribly.

~

ARE FRIENDS ELECTRIC

Cooper kept his eyes shut. They couldn't make him open them. So he couldn't see. But nothing could stop him hearing what they did to McQueen, smelling what they did to McQueen.

He heard the crackle of electricity, the smell of ozone, sweat, vomit and worse, as well as the iron tang of blood. He heard McQueen's laboured breathing as he hung there, suspended like a piece of game. The electrodes were applied again to flesh. McQueen's head snapped back, not entirely able to choke down the scream in his throat.

Cooper screwed his eyes shut tight, the blue sparks still penetrating through his eyelids. He could hear McQueen snap back and forth in his bonds until the current was taken away, and the proud Marine's body swung limply back and forth, sweat dripping onto the concrete below. Again, the sickeningly sweet smelt of burnt flesh wafted past Cooper, cloying in his throat and making him choke on the bile that rose up. It was only bile now, he could only dry retch. Saliva dried crisply on his uniform. He heard the ropes strain as McQueen stirred, raising himself out of unconsciousness. Don't, pleaded Cooper silently. The electric probe crackled again.

"Where do you want to go today?" asked Elroy-L, sounding like he was enjoying himself as much as a Gameboy gone bad ever could.

~

SHOCK THE MONKEY

Vansen's k-bar sliced through the ropes that held him, but when she reached to touch him, he screamed and scuttled away into a dark corner, cowering, trembling, uttering panicked little cries.

"Cooper, " she crawled towards him, and he backed further into the corner. She could barely see him in the dark, but the brief glimpse of his eyes in the flashlight had scared her. It had rolled away, it's beam sliding up the wall, casting them in a dim gloom.

"Cooper." She approached slowly, steadily. "Its me, Shane." Carefully, she reached out her hand to him.

He shied back.

"Blanket. I need a blanket here." she called.

She was handed one almost instantly. Flashing back to capturing an injured bird once as a child, she crept up towards him, covering him in the blanket, capturing, fighting his struggles as she ripped the syringe from its plastic sheathe and plunged it into his thigh.

The effect was almost instaneous, he slumped in her arms, and she held him close.

"The Colonel?" she asked of West, who leant close to check her precious bundle.

The pallor of his face told her all she needed to know. He swallowed. "I don't know. He's still alive." was all he could say.

Shane shivered deeply, not wanting to think of losing any more family. Not today.

The medics came and tore Cooper away from her, piling him onto the stretcher.

She stood next to West, at a loss. The smell the feel of the room made her sick. She knew what had gone on here. Wang was outside, on guard duty, unable to go inside at all.

~

SEEING OUT THE ANGELS

Hawkes scowled at them and hunched over in the chair again, his eyes never leaving their unconscious leader. If McQueen had been human, they'd been told, he'd have been dead. As it was, the lone survivor of the massacre of the 127th was in a critical condition. The silicates had been both spiteful and inventive in their technique.

West objected to being pulled from the ward, shaking free of Vansen's hold.

"What makes Hawkes so special?" he demanded, angrily, face close to hers.

Vansen met his anger with a studied calm she'd learnt from McQueen.

"Cooper's walking wounded - he belongs there, we don't."

"He's our leader too," West continued, angered further by her unsubtle put down. "We all put our lives on the line to get him out of there."

"Yes, but you don't share his bed." shot back Vansen, smugly satisfied to see West screech to a halt, gasping like a guppy. It was true, he hadn't known.

"What?!" he all but squeaked.

"Oh great," she smirked. "Now we can add homophobia to your xenophobia."

'Tanks don't have the same biological imperatives we do, because they're sterile." Damphousse explained to the stricken West. "They're sensualists, but they can't breed. They were designed for pleasure. They don't have any sexual identity, because of they way they're created. They don't have a mother or a father - its just different for them."

"I knew Hawkes was getting it somewhere, " Vansen picked up the story, omitting how disappointed she'd discovered herself to be when Hawkes had suddenly dropped his quaint but well meaning pursuit of her. "He'd sneak in and out during the night." They didn't have to know that she spent most nights awake lest the nightmares come again. "And then I saw them, once, together." They'd been sharing a stolen kiss, quick, but deep and passionate, heavy with promise. Vansen hadn't stuck around to be caught watching, though she could never forget what she saw, the rawness of it, understanding finally how a race as despised as the tanks were still used as service models. But there had been genuine emotion in the kiss, and suddenly everything had fallen into place. McQueen wasn't just Hawkes' teacher, mentor, father, protector, he was also his lover. Damphousse and Wang had come to similar conclusions on their own, and one night they'd discussed it, deciding ultimately that it was a good thing that Hawkes had someone. They'd all grown fond of the difficult and moody tank, in spite of themselves.

West's expression had grown bitter, realising he'd been left out of a big secret. His face screwed up in distaste at the very thought of those two tanks...he shook the image from his mind.

"Leave them alone, West." Vansen ordered, and left the matter at that.

~

IF YOU LEAVE ME CAN I COME TOO

Hawkes watched his stricken commander with the unwavering and stricken attention of a loyal dog, desperate for the slightest flicker of life in his master. But there was none. McQueen looked so pale, his skin almost as ashen as his hair.

Cooper bowed his head, unable to extinguish the anguish he felt.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded, mumbling gruffly under his breath, embarrassed to give voice to his fears, but unable to hold them in any longer. "Don't go away."

He forced himself to look up once, quickly, but McQueen was still unmoving. Hawkes hunched forward again, in obvious distress.

"Vansen once asked me if I'd ever lost any one close. I couldn't answer her. I'd never had any one close. But I've got you now - and I don't want to lose you. I'm scared..." he hugged himself tighter, unable to finish.

"Its okay to be scared," Came the rasping whisper.

Hawkes head shot up, and he saw McQueen watching him with a weary affection.

"I don't want to lose anyone close." he repeated.

"This is war, Marine," McQueen reminded gruffly.

Ignoring the words of the old war dog, whose bark was always much worse than his bite, Cooper, with no thought to protocol, military, social or medical, almost fell onto the bed, clutching at McQueen, startling McQueen as he leant in to almost crush the Colonel in a hug, the way Shane hugged him when he was feeling lost or alone.

Cooper released McQueen, but continued to lie against him, somehow needing the physical contact. McQueen's arm slid over him with a gentle squeeze, and everything was okay. For the first time in his short life, everything was okay. Hawkes fell asleep almost immediately, exhaustion finally claiming him. He'd sat by McQueen's bed for five days straight without rest or food.

"Filthy tanks, " spat an orderly as he walked by, cursing the sight under his breath.

McQueen wouldn't let anyone remove the boy, either, not even when Commodore Ross stopped by, a little rattled by the sight of the Lt curled asleep in McQueen's hospital bed.

When he woke 15 hours later, Cooper still refused to leave McQueen's side, returning to his sentry duty in his seat, overly protective and wary of every approach, even Vansen's.

"Hey," She knelt beside Hawkes' chair, smiling softly, her every gesture carefully non threatening, realising the young man was still wired, still ready to kill to protect his Colonel without a thought.

"You missed breakfast, again. I saved you some." she offered up a small container.

Hawkes looked at it dully.

"You've got to eat, Cooper."

She looked at McQueen for support.

"That's an order, Lt." he grunted, and was rewarded with a maternal beam from Vansen.

"What about mine," he demanded gruffly, pushing himself up on the bed.

Vansen flashed him a grin, cheeky this time. "Oh, I didn't think you'd be up to mess slops, Sir."

"Its got to be better than what they feed me in here. Even a tank could get food poisoning."

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, waiting for Hawkes to finish eating, watching him take every mouthful.

They were good kids. McQueen could see he'd had left the squad in good hands, had he not pulled through.

"Have they told you when you'll be discharged, Sir?"

"Soon. We tanks are fast healers, if nothing else." He replied, his smile masking what Vansen knew too well herself, the physical wounds were the least of it.

~

EVERYBODY'S HAPPY NOWADAYS

Hawkes waited wearily for the door to slide open on his darkened barracks. The dark was suddenly replaced with a light snapping on. Acting on reflex, he wheeled back, straight into a body he knew was McQueen's, effectively blocking his exit.

"What is this?" he glowered at the expectant faces of the 58th.

Damphousse stepped aside to reveal s small cake alight with 7 large blue candles.

"Its your birthday." she smiled shyly.

Hawkes' scowl darkened.

"Ain't my birthday," he snarled. "I wasn't born. I was decanted."

"Not of woman born, but born nevertheless," Wang tried to reason.

Cooper recognised the quote, and let his hackles down a little.

"Your friends wanted to show you how much they care, that they're glad to have shared part of your seven years. Don't spoil it for them." McQueen warned softly, a hand squeezing his shoulder, thumb brushing across the raised ridges on his neck, moving him forward slightly.

Hawkes had sat through enough of the other squad member's birthdays to know what was expected of him, and what to expect. It was sort of like Christmas, only they were celebrating his birth - his own - a day Hawkes had never felt much reason to be pleased about.

Hawkes quickly fell into the mood of the party though, eagerly tearing into their gifts, hard won and sparing on a battleship in the middle of a war zone.

McQueen watched the younger Invitro, again feeling a slight pang of jealously, at Hawkes' innocent joy upon opening the presents, and the sense of family amongst the 58th. A sense of family he often felt improper to indulge in, or felt he had to exclude himself from, being their CO. But this was important to Cooper, the first birthday he had ever celebrated. His shy awkwardness told the rest of the 58th that much, and he could see Vansen's face tinged with empathy.

Wrapping paper was ripped away, revealing a book, a CD, and Vansen's gift, mysteriously boxed.

He opened it up and held it up, curiously. West recoiled in horror while the other three cracked up, evidently all in on the conspiracy.

"What is it?" he asked of McQueen, who coloured deeply and cursed his young charge once more for skipping his formal education.

Taking it from Cooper's hand, he leant close and whispered it's purpose into his young lover's ear, and just what he might expect that night, watching Cooper blush beautifully,; unable to resist teasing the Lt, he flicked the switch and brushed it softly across the nub on his neck.

Cooper squirmed and ducked away.

West was really going to be sick now. Damphousse lit up in revelation.

"That's where you're ticklish?!" she exclaimed.

Cooper glared, protective hand cupped over the sensitive area.

"Yeah," he muttered. "All tanks are. Well, most."

Vansen hid a grin, sliding her glance from Cooper to McQueen and back again. The thought of the Colonel having a ticklish spot was just too much to take in.

McQueen packed the toy away, and against better judgement, let Cooper wield a knife in order to hack into his cake, the faces of his squad lit by the candles. He wished he could preserve this moment, his family, happy, forever.

~

THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT

West woke with a start, hard and unable to stop his hand sliding down to complete his need, spilling his seed into his hand as he bit back the dream that came to him unbidden and left him like this, spent but unsated. Every night it came, this yearning for a lover he knew would never be his. He rolled on his side, fighting back the tears of shame and disgusts. For it wasn't Kylen he dreamt of in his arms, writhing under his hard body, it was Hawkes.

~

HANDS UP WHO WANTS TO DIE?

Hawkes had not been the same since his return from his black ops mission. It was more than just the haircut. He'd never told the rest of the squad, but they knew. Cooper had vanished in the middle of the night, and returned several days later, sighted in the medical wing undergoing a procedure, returning mysteriously to their quarters once more under the cover of darkness with skilled ease, and a small white bandage adorning his scalp. In the morning they'd woken and found Hawkes, a changed man.

Something had profoundly affected Hawkes, yet he couldn't talk about it. Few soldiers ever did. He withdrew from Vansen. He withdrew from McQueen.

His visits to the Colonel's quarters became more and more infrequent, and when he did show up, it was out of animal need, nothing more. McQueen felt that any living body would have done for Hawkes. Hawkes had become cold, singleminded, alone. McQueen could see it, Hawkes was becoming himself

~

COOL FOR CATS

The Marine sneered across at the 58th and began in a loud voice:

"I could never serve with a tank. Damn nipple necks have no place in the military. You can't trust them to watch your back. They know nothing about real soldiering, they're bred to be cowards."

Cooper's hand tightened around his beer, his glower deepening.

"Coop, don't," advised West.

"Its just BS." supported Shane.

The drunk Marine staggered over to their table, back up by his mates.

"Well, if it ain't the tank loving 58th. You actually let your mascot drink at the table with you? And out of a real glass, too. You sure he wouldn't be more comfortable lapping it out of a bowl on the floor."

"Cooper," hissed West, the anger rising from the young man beside him almost palpable.

The Marine leant forward.

"Tank lovers' got no place in the military either." he snarled. And then he spat on Cooper.

That was it. As one, the 58th rose up from their seats, and an all on marine brawl was in full flight, chairs flew back, punches and kicks thrown with near deadly accuracy as the 58th defended the honour of their unit.

Cooper reeled back, tasting blood on his lip.

"Dammit, I got tank blood on me," the Marine complained, wiping his hand on his uniform.

Cooper scowled for a moment and then flattened him easily, one drunk human no match for an angry tank. He watched the 58th wrestle with their aggressors, detached for a moment from the fighting. They weren't fighting for him. Not for the insults against him, but the insults against themselves, the slur on the unit.

"Attention!" demanded McQueen striding into the mess, and the 58th froze, mid punch, watching as MPs scurried in the quell the brawl.

"I ain't never gonna take orders from no tank," muttered the marine, wiping blood from his face.

McQueen's impassive gaze fell upon him.

"On your feet soldier, or you'll be up on insubordination charges."

The Marine reluctantly dragged himself to his feet and snapped off an ill mannered salute.

McQueen ran his eyes over his crew, checking for visible injuries and attitude. Marines had to blow off steam ,but this had been nasty. His eyes rested on Cooper, who caught his gaze for a moment, then turned away, sullen. The barbs always hurt, and Hawkes had yet to develop as tough a hide as McQueen. Cooper's political disenfranchisement was becoming dangerous. Both he and McQueen were already under intense scrutiny by the powers that be.

He caught the young marine for a quiet word as the MPs cleared the area. Hawkes turned back to him, all attitude and aggravation.

"Tank pride is one thing, but activism is dangerous." McQueen warned.

"What would you know about pride," Cooper sneered. "You're too busy kissing the human's arses..."

"Its not like that. I do my job, that's my pride. As an In Vitro, I have to do twice the work to be considered half as good. But I made Lt Colonel, dammit. And I don't want to be the only one, an anomaly." he added meaningfully.

"Ain't worth it," muttered Cooper. "I'll always be something disposable, not real, flesh and blood. Not to them."

"Its not like you to give up."

"Just facing reality."

"Coop," McQueen began softly, but Hawkes was too bitter for that, and pulled away, preferring to wallow in his own apartness.

McQueen let him go, and worried for the brooding young man. He knew Cooper had been reading invitro rights rhetoric over the Space Net, the words and slogans fell from his lips, not just the words of the political wings either, but the bloody slogans of the activist units, the terrorists that had sprung up in small pockets of violent revolt wherever tanks were worked in large groups and terrible conditions, the dissatisfaction spilling over into anything from strikes to open revolt and bloodshed. Cooper was aware of all of this, and the young man was beginning to listen to and believe the heated words of his in-vitro brethren. The holding of such extreme political beliefs did not sit well with the military, and Cooper, with his record already tinged with subversion, was being watched very carefully. McQueen had tried to warn him, but though he was Hawkes commanding officer, he had also become a paternal figure, and representative of the system Cooper was trying to rebel against.

~

BOYS DON'T CRY

The 58th could only stand helplessly by as Hawkes' bunk and possessions were pulled apart, even his mattress shredded.

The Monitors rifled through all of Hawkes possessions, confiscating all his papers and books, even his CD collection as containing damning evidence of Hawkes' fith-columnism in the form of tracks named Anarchy in the UK and Eton Rifles.

"Hey, what the hell -" began Hawkes, before he was slammed up against the wall by two burly MPs and cuffed.

"What the hell - " he struggled, turning to see McQueen.

"Colonel!" he pleaded, fear in his eyes; but McQueen schooled himself not to betray the slightest emotion.

"McQueen -" Hawkes called, panicked, as they dragged him off down the corridor.

"Sir!" demanded West.

"He's been taken for re-education," McQueen informed them, watching Cooper struggle all the way down the corridor, twisting to cast hurt and frightened looks in McQueen's direction.

"How can you just stand there and let them take him, Sir," demanded Vansen.

"I have no choice." McQueen answered sadly, resignedly. "I warned him. They monitored his e-mail and found him in receipt of some seditious messages from known tank activists. Hawkes record -" he bowed his head. "I had no choice."

He was hanging by a thread himself as it was. It was all there in their accusatory glares.

"Clean that mess up." he ordered, and turned on his heel.

The door his quarters slammed shut, none too soon. Tyrrus Cassius McQueen leant back against it weakly and did something he thought he'd never do. He wept. And then he did something he always did, he drank.

~

TALKING TO A STRANGER

Hawkes was returned to the 58th five days later. Re-education normally took only 48 hours. He must have been hard to break, but he had been broken. For there was a stranger now living inside Cooper Hawkes' body. The light in his eyes had died. It spooked his old friends to go near him. And for McQueen, there was nothing. Not hate, or betrayal, just nothing.

McQueen cursed, not because they had destroyed his lover, but a perfect fighting machine as well.

He lay awake at night, unable to rationalise a world that could do that to another living being. A world that he would have died for. He began to wonder who the real enemy was.

He'd sen it happen before, even seen it happen to people he cared for, but somehow, this hurt more than all those times before. With all the shit he and Hawkes had been through, sometimes the question would come to him, unbidden in the middle of the night - what was he fighting for?

~

DANCING WITH THE REBELS

They ambushed him in a stealth attack borne of the ferocity of too many missions in their young lives, holding him down on the bunk, always surprised by the inhuman strength in his limbs as he tried to resist them.

McQueen flicked open his field knife, leant in and performed the crude surgery, removing the implant he knew had been left under Cooper's scalp by the Monitors. He dug it out with the tip of his knife, flicking it on the floor where he crushed it with his boot.

Cooper struggled some more, head twisting around, eyes flashing with anger.

"What the fuck are you trying to do? Scalp me?" he demanded, voice rising a pitch when they wouldn't let him up.

McQueen let the hint of a smile curl the corner's of his mouth. That sounded more like the old Cooper. With a nod he gave the signal that his squad should release the young tank. They stood back, watching warily as Cooper sat up, putting a hand to his head and actually looking startled to see his finger's come away red.

"Is he okay?" West asked, looking ready to subdue Cooper again at the word.

"Almost." Informed McQueen. With surprising speed he leant forward and pressed Hawkes back with a harsh kiss. The boy struggled, resisted, then suddenly responded, McQueen felt almost giddy, aware of the emotions and memories that welled up and burst through the barriers they had placed in Cooper's mind.

"McQueen?" asked Cooper, confused and subdued when he was released.

"They brainwashed you ,Coop," explained Wang.

"We had to break the programming" added Damphousse.

McQueen's eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how you feel about Tank rights. I feel the same. But we're Marines. We can't, we just can't take part in any political activity, even a political discussion. Its just too dangerous for us."

"Its not fair."

"Who said life was fair, boy."

Cooper hung his head. Something tore at McQueen's heart, fear or grief, he wasn't sure which. Part of him knew Cooper would always be lost to him, that this would tear them apart, that the Military's clumsy handling of the boy's political beliefs had alienated him from the Corp, from the humans, from McQueen, whom he had called a traitor to his own kind more than once.

He had a real gut fear that Cooper's action would bring him to the attention of the Monitor's Commission. Cooper had told him about the murder of the Monitor, but that was the least of his worries.

The Invitro program had been all but shut down, unborns shipped off to the highest bidder, the Monitors uncaring and unemployed, until of course, the war, and the assassination of Chartwell.

Suddenly, howls of citizen and media outrage led the conservative government to create the Monitors Commission, a quasi government body very much in the mould of the Department of Indian Affiars in the 19th Century. It was the Commission's charter to keep the populace safe from dissident invitros. This they achieved by intimidation, relocation, interrogation, torture, execution, starvation, indoctrination and various and sundry other abuses of human rights, but as the tanks weren't considered human, the United Nations turned a blind eye to breaches of every convention on the book. Laws had been passed banning gatherings of more than three In Vitros, either in a house or on the street, pro Invitro rights supporters and documents were branded as UnAmerican. The Commission was as cold and dark as any regime ever seen on Earth, and McQueen knew that if Cooper came to their attention, he'd never see the boy alive or whole again.

Worse, as young men and women enlisted, IV production was once more commercially viable to fill essential though downgraded positions for the war effort It was a safe bet the recently born Invitro's were receiving a new brand of loyalty testing and indoctrination.

Oh brave new world, he thought, that has such people in it.

~

SCREAMING JETS

Shell fire lit the cave briefly. Vansen recoiled from the alien gravesites.

"They won't come in here," Cooper affirmed, pacing the confines of the tiny cave.

"Is it just me, or are they using that fear stuff again," she asked of him.

He didn't answer. She could hear him moving, smell his sweat, but she couldn't see him in the dark, except for brief flashes of light.

The lights. They're coming.

She felt his hand cover her mouth. She hadn't realised she'd screamed. He held her until he was sure she'd be quiet when he took his hand away. He was still holding her, and felt her tense as a flash of light ripped through the cave again, the blast shaking dust over them. He coughed.

"Damn thing's gonna bury us alive," he muttered.

Another explosion rocked them, and they hugged each other tighter.

"We're going to die here," she panicked.

"No," he insisted.

She was trembling, he could feel it. It was so unlike Shane to show fear. She clung to his steady strength, unable to see his restless nervous eyes tracing the walls of the cave, almost certain its dimensions were shrinking.

"They'll find us," he assured, as much to himself as her.

"And if they don't."

"Don't."

"If the Chigs come..." she left the rest of their suicide pact unsaid, knowing he understood.

He thought of killing her, and thought of death again, her body pressed against him. No, this body was warm, this was Vansen.

A shell crashed before the mouth of the cave; they fell backwards, showered in rocks and dust, clinging to each other. Another shell shook them. Vansen wanted to scream, but Hawkes' mouth covered hers, hot, alive and desperate.

Numb with animal need, as the cave shuddered about them, they tore open their uniforms, locking limbs as the ground rumbled beneath them, thrusting as the air tore apart with Chig weapon fire, arching and sweating as the sky lit up, powdered rock sticking to their skin, the smell of death and sweat filling their nostrils, the taste of skin and blood and sex filling their mouths.

Cooper's shoulder knocked into her as she tried to pass him in the APC. His whole body was wired with anger, his glare could have cut through her like a buzz bomb.

"It never happened, right?" he hissed, certain of a second rejection.

"It happened." She stated simply, taking satisfaction in his confusion.

She pulled him close and gave him the briefest, yet passionate kiss, startling not only Hawkes, but Wang and Damphousse, who'd glanced up from the radio to observe the exchange, before letting him go.

She continued past him, saying no more to him on the flight back to the Saratoga, but she did allow herself to sneak the occasional look; at those arms, those strong shoulders, that tight butt, the tiny navel on the back of his neck. She rolled flat onto the bunk, unable to sleep.

From a bunk across the way, Cooper's eyes never left her, his young face curious, yet calm.

~

WHEN I DREAM

Cooper woke with a start, and found a hand on his shoulder. It was Shane's.

She smiled apologetically.

"I guess In-vitroes really do dream, because you were having a hell of a one. I can tell."

He blinked at her.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I wasn't asleep."

She reached forward and tenderly brushed over his sweat sheened brow.

"Bad?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, not meeting her eyes.

She stroked down his cheek.

"If you like , I could held you until you fall asleep again. I used to do it for sisters."

"I thought you were tired of looking after people."

"I can make exceptions." She smiled.

He returned her smile, showing his dimples.

To his surprise, she slid onto his bunk with him, gathering him in her arms, sliding her hand up and down his spine until he finally relaxed against her. Her hand trailed up, and out of curiosity, she ran a fingertip across his omphalos.

"Don't," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Its like me touching you here, " He brushed a thumb across her nipple, which puckered under his touch.

"Its a turnon." Those dimples again.

He shifted against her slightly, and she could feel his hard on pressing against her thigh.

She ran a fingertip along it.

"You don't want to do that," he warned softly.

"Yes, I do," she murmured thickly, and circled his naval with her fingertip.

His hot mouth covered hers, and she welcomed his thrusting tongue. He tried to roll her under him, but she pulled him under, rising above him.

He pushed up her singlet, reached up to kiss her breast. she arched back, out of his reach, then bent forward, to kiss him. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, as she began to rub against him. The friction of their clothes added to the pleasure, and they came, hot and wet. She sank into his arms and they curled together, as much as they could. He didn't remember falling asleep.

When he woke again, she was in her own bunk. He frowned, but she smiled and winked at him, and he brightened, before settling down to drowse again.

~

LIVING ON THE CEILING

They clung to each other nervously, each having little enough experience of zero gravity that they feared if they let go, they'd never connect again. Undressing was more an act of comedy than romance, until Cooper pushed back Shane's singlet and sealed his mouth to her breasts. She clung to him tighter, wrapping her legs around his tips. He tensed for a moment, almost skittish, fear in his blue eyes, but burning desire soon washed over the fear, and he bent his head to her teats once more, sucking one, then the other, with a skill Shane marvelled at, considering he'd never had a mother. She wondered where he'd learnt how to do that. He slid down, trailing perfect kisses down her abdomen, lingering over her naval, curious, then sliding lazy kisses over her thighs, before his tongue found her deep, slick secrets. Shane arched, throwing head back as he held her tight, saying a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had taught Cooper this little trick. She moaned low in the back of her throat.

Cooper raised his head, eyes worried.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," she gasped. "You're great."

He flashed her a cocky grin, watching her twist and turn as he teased his fingers in her velvety sweetness, dipping in and out until she could stand it no more, screaming: "Now!"

Obediently, he entered her, pulling in and out, burying his face against her throat as they spun together.

He was still thrusting inside her when they began to gently float to the ground. He rolled her underneath him, and finished it.

They lay there together, panting and touching until the buzzer sounded, indicating their time was well and truly up. They dressed in silence. She watched Cooper lace his boots automatically, and forced herself to speak lest he take her silence the wrong way.

"You were fantastic."

He shrugged.

She knelt forward, her face close to his, taking his hand in hers.

"Its been a long time since anyone cared enough to make me feel that good." she re-emphasised.

A shy smile crept across his face.

She kissed him on the forehead, then stood, tying her hair back.

He left first, then she, not daring to steal a glance back at the other.

McQueen marched down the corridor, fixing his expression, as though the war with the Chigs solely occupied his mind. Sometimes he could almost fool himself that it did. Sometimes.

Cooper met Shane again in the showers. They were the only two there, but dared not. She closed her eyes, but was not surprised when strong, confident hands slid the soap across her shoulders and down her back, massaging the skin softly. She smiled. His touch wasn't possessive, but it was familiar. as he washed her, he worshipped her, sliding the soap over her skin, attending to every inch with reverent care.

Oh, Coop, you are a rare diamond in the rough, she thought.

For all the prejudice in his young life, he was completely unaffected in expressing himself sexually; words, expectations didn't get in the way. He only had to react, to his needs, her needs. His fingers told her more than words ever could. She leant back against him, allowing herself a contented smile. She had never felt this good, this at peace, never, but in the circle of his arms.

McQueen cast furtive glances in their direction in the Officer's Mess. He sat alone at the bar, nursing his scotch, while Cooper and Shane sat together, laughing.

They didn't look at each other as lovers, but there was a companionable affection, as though they shared a private joke. Shane was letting Cooper read a letter from one of her sisters, explaining it to him. Cooper was supplying blunt but amusing answers and Shane was laughing, the idea of using Cooper's suggestions to shake up her sister holding sly appeal.

~

THE BACK OF LOVE

"I don't want him hurt."

"Sir?" Vansen couldn't believe she'd just heard those words.

"You and Hawkes. Don't think I don't know. It's a Commanding Officer's job to know everything that is going on his squad. I want you to know this much, Lt. I don't approve. But I can't stop it. And not for the reasons you think. Human and Tank relations, they don't work. There's too much prejudice. I know this." he emphasised, grey eyes like ice.

"Sir, I don't think its fair to judge Cooper and I by your own past experiences." Her eyes drifted to the photograph on the table. He tracked her eyes and slammed the photo down with such a slap Shane almost jumped.

McQueen turned on her, his face inches from hers. "If I see anything, anything that shows this relationship to be disruptive to the unit and your duties, I'll put a stop to it, do you hear me, Lt?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" she snapped back her answer.

He studied her for a cool minute, watching the sweat break out on her forehead. Anyone else would have buckled under that stare, but not Vansen. Nor Hawkes when he'd dragged him in here and given him the same message. Maybe, he thought. Just maybe.

"Dismissed." he stood back enough to let her inch her way out of his cabin.

Shane leant against the bulkhead outside McQueen's hatch, drawing a shaking breath. She'd just stolen the CO's boyfriend from under his nose. Not the smartest career move she'd ever made.

~

STRANGE LITTLE GIRL

Damphousse leant close across the table.

"So, girlfriend, what's the deal with you and Coop?"

Vansen blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Damphousse looked suitably chagrined.

"What, you think I'm deaf? That you don't wake me up in the middle of the night, going at it like rabbits."

Vansen coloured deeply.

"We tried to be quiet," she offered.

"Yea, but is he any good?"

Vansen blushed again. "He's..." she just smiled, beaming, at the memory.

"That good, huh."

"If I have to face a Chig bullet, I'll think of how he made me feel, and I know I'll die smiling, " she affirmed.

Damphousse refused to believe he was that good.

"What's it like - are they - you know..."

"Vanessa! You've seen him take a leak in the field. He's human, for God's sake. Its that kind of talk that pisses him off. He's human. He's just been selectively bred, that's all."

Damphousse sat back, studying Vansen.

"Sounds serious, girl. Is it?"

Shane shook her head. "I don't know."

"Do you want it to be?"

Vansen looked up, unable to answer.

~

HOW SOON IS NOW?

Vansen sat in front of the vidphone, smiling at her sister.

"Is that him?" gasped her sister as the most handsome young man she had ever seen approached from Shane's rear. Shane, sensing Cooper's approach, grinned and nodded.

"My God, Sis, you did good." her sister approved.

Cooper grinned as he heard this, sliding his arms around Shane, he touched the top of her head with a kiss.

"Hey, Cooper," greeted Lauren.

He grinned wickedly, and leant around to give Shane a real kiss in front of the monitor. All Laura could see was the back of his head.

"Oh, god, he's a tank! Shane, are you crazy!" came her sister's anguish howl.

Cooper almost dropped her.

"You didn't tell her?" he demanded.

Shane was torn from her sister to Cooper.

"Coop, I..."

"Yeah, right," he snarled, and stalked off.

Shane glared at her sister.

"A tank, god, Shane, " continued Laura, unabashed.

Shane found him standing on the flight deck alone, staring out to the stars. She started to walk towards him, but his body language told her to keep her distance.

"Cooper," she began.

"Save it."

"I was going to tell her."

She saw his whole body coil with anger, his back still to her.

"Yeah, you had to pick your moment to break it her that you were screwing a tank. She must think you're really desperate."

"What my sister thinks is not important."

"Isn't it?" he accused.

She fell silent, ashamed of herself, ashamed because it was true.

She raised her head and took a few steps closer.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know you, my sisters don't. I wanted them to judge you for who you are, not what you are."

"I am a tank. I'm sorry that's not good enough for you."

"That's not what I meant. I wanted them to like you."

"Because they won't like me if they knew I was a tank? "

"Cooper...."

" I never knew you were that much of a racist, Shane. What, you think tanks don't have feelings, too?" He looked at her, and his pain was so clear she cried in sympathy.

"Its not like that.." she pleaded. "Cooper, I love you!"

He stopped, looked at her, an shook his head.

"I...I"" he couldn't get the words out. He just turned his back on her and stalked away.

Cooper sat by himself in the mess that morning, giving off such an aura of hostility that everyone, in including the Colonel, kept their distance. Shane couldn't eat. She could feel McQueen's eyes boring into her like lasers, full of silent fury and accusation. She had done this to Cooper, and nothing, nothing she could ever say or do would heal this wound.

~

THE QUIET LIFE

"You're not human, Cooper. You never were and you never will be." McQueen railed.

"I'll get the surgeons to cut it off. They can do that."

"You'd mutilate yourself like that?" McQueen was almost horrified. "This is a ship of war, Lt.. Cosmetic procedures are against regulations."

The boy before him was all seething anger and self loathing. He'd thought they'd come so far, but here was Hawkes, ready to fight and kill anything that crossed his path, mean and mistrusting like a beaten dog, like he'd first been, when McQueen had first seen him. That rage was best directed at the enemy. McQueen thought of sending the boy on a mission, away from Vansen, but worried that Hawkes might not come back, such was his state of mind. Cooper had come to him for comfort, but there was nothing he could say. He'd tried to warn Hawkes, and his 'I told you so' had almost brought down the boy's wrath on himself. He caught Cooper and pinned him against the wall. He should stick to his own people. It was the way of things.

~

TO CUT A LONG STORY SHORT

Hawkes ducked down in the foxhole as another enemy mortar lit up the sky and pelted him with mud.

His first taste of command, and he fucked up badly. Assigned to lead a small crew of Canadians and Invitros on a bombing raid over enemy territory, it had turned into a suicide mission. The Chigs had strafed the sky, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. The ISSV steered like a cow in the thick atmosphere, they'd had no chance. Shot down behind enemy lines there only chance rested with the radio man, from the New Jersey facility, getting their location out to any friendly who was listening in. Trouble was, Chigs monitored all allied frequencies. Every time they sent a mayday, hellfire rained down on them.

They were scattered in several ditches, cowering from the artillery fire. He peered across the tiny stretch of no man's land to the hole where the radio man and one of the surviving bombardiers had dug in.

"The aerial's bust. I've got to get to higher ground if they're ever going to pick up our signal."

"Negative. You'll only draw their fire."

"I don't see any other way, Lt."

"Negative." Hawkes repeated, but he knew he was talking to dead air.

Between the flashes of mortars he saw the radio man shrug on the heavy pack and make a break for it. He got a good six feet before he was cut down, his friend going over the top to reach him. Hawkes fell back in the mud in dismay as he saw the blinding flash of a buzz beam, the screams of the Canadian never reaching his ears over the renewed shelling.

~

Multiple body bags were unloaded from the ISSV as Shane watched in a numb haze. She had no way of knowing whether Cooper was amongst them, until he was rushed past her on a stretcher, smothered in blood, tubes and bandages. She felt a terrible wrenching inside, and realised in that instant she would mourn very deeply if Cooper Hawkes died. She tried to tell herself it was the need for sex, for a friend , that had brought them together. But now, with the emotions that tore free inside her, that felt like they'd burst from her thin fleshy shell, unable to be contained, now she knew that she really did love the son of a bitch, and she did not want to think of a day without that annoying, moody, highly sexed, stupid tank in her face and in her life.

~

BLUE MONDAY

Cooper turned his head slowly on the pillow, so his eyes full of fury bore into his Colonel.

"How can you just stand there like that," he accused McQueen. "they were tanks. We were all tanks. You sent us out to be slaughtered. Judas sheep." he snarled.

"It wasn't like that Hawkes. You had a vital mission to fulfil."

"Yeah, as cannon fodder."

"You don't think I'd deliberately send you into the line of fire, Hawkes."

"Don't I?" his voice cut across the room, McQueen visibly recoiled as though struck.

"I would never -" he started, but decided better of it.

Hawkes turned his face away, upset.

"I'll come back, later," McQueen sounded retreat.

Hawkes didn't turn back to see him leave.

When he finally did look back, it was Vansen who waited in the door way.

"Hi," she smiled.

He scowled.

"What do you want," he slurred.

"I wanted to see you. I was worried. I wanted to know..."

"I screwed up, okay!" he yelled at her. "My first command and I screwed up."

"No, you didn't." she came close to his bed, ignoring his anger. "I've heard you're up for a commendation."

"For what. It was a suicide mission. They're all dead."

"Not all of them. God - Cooper - I thought you'd been killed."

"I wish I had."

"Don't say that!"

"What do you care!" he screamed.

"I care!" she screamed back at him. "I care too much, you arrogant tank!"

"That's all I am to you - a tank." he sulked. "Is that why you fucked me, out of curiosity?"

"I was curious ," she answered him honestly.

"I'm not a fucking science project."

"You're somebody's fucking science project," she matched him glare for glare, then just laughed.

"What," he demanded.

"You. You're so damn proud, Cooper. I came here to apologise, and you won't let me. I'm sorry, okay. I'm really sorry about before. I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did."

"I know that." She sat up onto the bed, now that he had calmed somewhat. He was still too weak to sustain that level of anger for long.

"You mistook my intentions." she began softly. "I'm not ashamed of you. I was ashamed of my sisters, of what they'd say. I was trying to acclimatise them. I wanted them to like you first, then I was going to tell them."

"I thought you didn't care what anyone thought."

"I don't. Its just..." she searched for the words. She took his hand gently in hers. "I wanted us to try and be a family. I know you lost your sister and I thought, maybe, you could share mine."

He studied her face, but said nothing.

"Don't get all mushy on me, Hawkes," she swore, letting his hand drop and getting off the bed.

"You could learn forgiveness." she shot over her shoulder.

"Shane, don't go," he asked, quietly.

The look in his eyes compelled her back to her place by his side.

"You know, " she began softly, "You should learn to be a little more tolerant. Not everyone is a racist. Not every action is racially motivated. When people get pissed off with you, its not always because you're a tank, its because you can be a real arsehole at times."

"Thanks," he acknowledged.

"Cooper, when I look at you, I don't see a tank. I see the man I want to marry."

His eyes locked with hers, unsure of what to say, or do. He only knew how to react. He pulled her down and kissed her.

The medlab was dark. He couldn't see. He was only aware of a weight on his chest, he couldn't breath. Hands pinned his shoulders to the bed, thighs squeezed his rib cage. Long hair brushed his face.

"Shane," he rasped.

A pale face bent close to his, her cold breath mingling with his. He saw deep into her eyes. It wasn't Shane.

"No!" he screamed, fighting her.

"Still no pulse."

"Okay. Again. Clear!"

"Get off me!" he screamed. He grabbed her wrists, pushing her back. With all his strength, he reached up and struck her hard across the face.

The nurse fell back, clutching her hand to her bleeding nose.

"Somebody hold him down! Bloody tanks." swore the doctor. "Well, I guess this one is back amongst the living."

Hawkes was breathing hard, eyes wide, shot full of adrenalin.

McQueen rested his damp forehead against the wall, aware of the hammer of his own heart. Thank God he'd checked on Cooper in the middle of the night, drawn to him, unable to resist.

~

GENERALS AND MAJORS

McQueen faced his commanding officers, fists clenched in a barely controlled white hot rage.

"Was Lt Hawkes' unit deliberately sent into a hot area," he demanded.

"Lt Colonel, it is not your place to question military tactics."

"It is when you waste good men, men we can't afford to lose."

"Some missions, nevertheless vital, do entail higher casualty rates."

"Are those higher casualty rates more acceptable because it was an invitro unit?"

"Not all of the unit was invitro. There were members of the Canadian forces as well."

"This Colonel is very aware of the past and present military practice of using Allied troops as diversionary wings, Sir."

"What are you implying, Ty, that we'd use Canadian and Invitro soldiers as cannon fodder?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking, Sir. Did you deliberately send those men out to be killed."

"This is war, Colonel." came the reply.

"Ty," Ross tried to soften the blow.

"You're taking this too personally. Hawkes is a marine. He's not your son. And even if he was..."

McQueen turned on him, eyes cold fire.

"Hawkes is irrelevant. It is not acceptable to use invitro platoons to draw the enemy's fire."

"We know that, Colonel McQueen. Each tank costs a lot of money to make, and that expense has to be reckoned in to the battle plans, as is the cost of all army equipment." Came the reply from the war council.

Ross waited for McQueen to go ballistic, but, even more frightening, McQueen buried his rage, saluted and left, leaving the general's and majors to mutter amongst themselves.

~

LOVE WILL TEAR US APART

Cooper slipped from the bunk, wandering restlessly around the darkened cabin. He paused in front of the framed photograph, studying it.

"That your wife?" he asked of McQueen who now stood behind him, moving to put the picture away.

"Yes," he answered coldly.

Ignoring the tone, Cooper wanted answers, taking advantage of their intimacy.

"She leave you because you were a tank?"

"Uh huh," answered McQueen, resting his head against Cooper's shoulder, his arms sliding around his waist, trying to coax he boy back to bed.

"was it because of what people thought, you know, about you and her."

"Cooper, enough. I don't want to talk about this." The command tone crept into his voice.

"Shane asked me to marry her."

He felt McQueen go as straight as a ram rod, pulling away slightly. McQueen had not anticipated that.

"What did you say to her," his CO asked thickly.

"Nothing. I needed to think about it."

"It won't be easy."

Cooper acknowledged that truth silently.

"War is no time for a marriage."

"Yeah, but West waited, and look what happened to him. The way this war is going, we'll end up widowed before we end up divorced, anyway. We want to take a chance."

"That's AI talk."

"Maybe they've got the right idea."

"You want my blessing?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

McQueen brushed his lips across that shoulder, now realising this was the last time.

"Do you love her?" he had to ask.

Cooper thought for several beats, then answered.

"yes."

~

HEART OF GLASS

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," announced the Chaplain, hardly hiding the disapproval in his voice.

Shane and Cooper kissed, careful not to clip each other with the brims of their dress uniform hats.

Shane withdrew, flushed slightly, smiling at her new husband, then turned to grin at Damphousse.

McQueen raised his glass.

"To the bride and groom," he toasted, his eyes never leaving Cooper.

The lights in the mess suddenly turned red, sirens announcing an enemy raid.

"No," pleaded Shane.

The 58th were scrambled. Cooper tore himself quickly out of his dress uniform. He looked to Shane, and stared; what she was wearing under her uniform was definitely non regulation.

"I wanted to surprise you," she shrugged.

His eyes raked over the sheer lace teddy.

"Cooper, you're staring," she teased. "Don't you like it."

"I like it," he answered gruffly, zipping into his flight suit.

"Come on, get going," commanded West.

They ran onto the flight deck. Wang and Damphousse were already in their cockpits. Shane caught Hawkes and pulled him back for the briefest kiss.

"For luck," she explained.

A smile twitched his lips, then he was walking away from her to his cockpit.

"Hey, Vansen, let's go!" West reminded her.

Cooper grinned, facing down the Chigs.

"Lets Rock and Roll!" he declared, switching on his CD - loud. He thumbed his fire button.

"Hawkes," Vansen's voice came over the com. "Don't make me a widow on my wedding day."

"Not a chance," came back the cocksure reply.

"Quit the skip chatter," came West's terse direction.

"Let's go," ordered Vansen, and the 58th swung into battle.

On board the Saratoga, McQueen listened as tense as ever, the brief flicker of a smile from West's rebuke now gone as if he'd never existed.

"Shane - on your six!" came Hawkes' frantic cry.

"Can't shake him!"

"Juke left!"

Hawkes fired, and the Chig fighter exploded, its tag team mate slamming into the explosion and blowing apart.

"Thanks, Hon!" came Vansen's reply.

"My pleasure, Darlin," Hawkes' voice came back, still a little ragged.

"I'm gonna puke in my helmet," kidded Wang.

"Shane!" came Hawkes' voice again.

"Already on it!"

Ross stood next to McQueen.

"They're doing fine, Ty. If anything, I'd say their teamwork's improved. Hawkes' and Vansen are in synch, its lifting everyone's game."

McQueen said nothing, concentrating on the battle, listening to the pilots over the comm, noting to tell them to keep to essential communication only.

They stood on the threshold of the dimly lit, deserted mess.

Vansen sighed and shook her hair free as Hawkes righted a chair.

"Some wedding, huh," commented Hawkes sarcastically. "Are they always like this?"

"Not always." Vansen grinned.

"I've never been to a wedding before. This would have been my first. What do you do?"

Shane grinned at him.

"Well, traditionally, you don't run off into battle."

"I guessed that much." came the sarcastic reply.

She took his hand and led him over to the table, still set for the wedding feast.

"First, the bride and groom are usually toasted with champagne."

Cooper grabbed a bottle and two glasses. With swaggering grace he popped the cork, and filled two glasses with the frothy liquid. He offered one to Shane. They raised and touched their glasses, never breaking eye contact.

Hawkes knocked several glasses back. Shane began to suspect an unusual tolerance to alcohol, until he sank into a chair, pulling her into his lap. They laughed and kissed.

"Then what?" he asked.

"They cut the cake."

Ignoring the cutlery on the table, he slipped free his k-bar, and together they sliced the cake open. He roughly sawed off two chunks, which they fed each other, somewhat messily, giggling.

"Then what," he breathed, breathless from tasting her lips, wet with champagne and icing.

"The bride and groom dance."

"Oh," he bowed his head.

"What."

"I don't know how."

"Its all right. I'll show you."

She took his hand as they stood, and gently led him through a silent, clumsy waltz.

He leant close and nuzzled her earlobe.

"and then,"

"And then, they go to consummate the marriage."

"Uh huh," he smiled.

They danced a little more, Cooper liking the simple act of just holding her.

In the shadows, McQueen turned away sadly, overwhelmed by memories.

Shane leant against him at the open hatch of the 58th quarters.

"You're bunk or mine," she joked wanly.

There were precious few billets for married couples on the battleship, and they were all taken. None would become available until one or both of the occupants were killed. It was an uncomfortable thought.

"Mine," decided Hawkes. It was in the corner, slightly isolated, where they were less likely to disturb the others.

Somewhat clumsily, they shed each other of their flight suits and boots.

Shane sat on his bunk, Cooper still kneeling before her, having removed her boots, holding her feet as though he'd never seen them before. He began a slow massage. The champagne had made her warm and giddy, and now she was wet, ready. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close. He kissed along her long legs, until he found the tiny little snaps on her teddy, and released them. She tipped her head back, hissing as he dipped into her heat.

He felt her come, and raised his head, smiling.

She reached down a hand, and he took it, climbing up onto the bed and mounting her. He teased away the straps, suckling her breasts. He kicked off his shorts and slid into her.

"Oh, yeah," he gasped, enveloped by her.

Shane twined her legs and arms around him, letting him enter her deeply.

"I love you," she half wept.

"I love you," he half grunted, beginning his slow, slick thrusts.

West rolled on his side, holding his pillow over his head. They'd go on like this for hours. Tanks never tired, and Vansen was insatiable.

They woke, late, and found their barracks deserted. The 58th had gone. But on the table was a bottle of champagne, two glasses, red roses, and two small bowls containing strawberries and cream.

Shane sat up, holding her head for a moment, then all but pounced on the red fruits.

"Strawberries. How the hell did they get strawberries."

"You probably don't want to know," drawled Cooper, arm draped over his eyes.

Shane dipped a strawberry in cream and teased his lips with it. After a few seconds he rose to the bait, sinking his teeth into the ripe flesh. Shane leant forward to lick the cream from his lips, then fed him the rest of the berry.

She opened open the champagne and offered him a glass.

"Hair of the dog?" she grinned.

He sat up to accept it. She slid up against him, cradling the bowl of strawberries protectively in the crook of her arm.

Wang glanced at his watch when they walked into the mess.

"Looks like you win, Vanessa," he grinned. "We had a bet on what time you two would surface," he explained.

Hawkes tilted his head as if he couldn't believe it. "Glad to be of service."

"Thanks for this morning," Shane breathed, still glowing.

"Coffee?" Damphousse pushed a cup towards Hawkes.

"Yeah," he grunted, slumping into a seat. Shane sat beside him and his arm slipped around her almost automatically.

McQueen suddenly came up in their sights, all business.

"I never got the chance to congratulate you last night," he began tersely. "It won't be easy. You're chosen a hard path But I know both of you, you're strong." he added

"Thank you, Sir," accepted Shane, somewhat flustered.

Cooper pushed a chair out with his boot.

"Join us, Sir?"

McQueen considered for a few beats, then grew stern.

"No...thank you," And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

Hawkes followed McQueen's retreat with a look of frustrated expectations, as though he hadn't expected such a brutal rejection. Like a child, Cooper had wanted his cake, and to eat it, too. Paul realised with a sinking feeling in his gut that the triangle that had emerged, far from being amusing, could be dangerous, with Cooper unwiitingly driving a wedge between Shane and McQueen.

Wang half grinned, in spite of Hawkes' glare. It wasn't like the rest of the 58th didn't know what was going on.

~

FACIST GROOVE THANG

McQueen put his book down, annoyed at the interruption.

He pulled open his hatch, surprised to see Ross there.

"I'm sorry, Ty," Ross began sadly, before stepping aside to reveal three government men in dark uniforms.

"Colonel McQueen, come with us." they directed.

McQueen leant forward and glanced at the men in dark suits.

"You can't do this to me. I am a free man. I served my time in the mines. I joined the Corp and have served my country with honour."

"Honour, Colonel McQueen? What would a tank know about honour?"

"I am a Colonel in the US Marine Corp."

"That is under review."

"Damn you. Is this a court martial or a loyalty test?"

"Both."

"What are the charges."

"Sedition."

"What?! On what grounds."

"A very detailed report. You've been under observation for sometime, Colonel. You must have known."

"Who - Sewell."

"No."

"If this is a court, I demand to see my accuser!"

The men in black conferred amongst themselves. Beyond them, in the shadows, through the mirror that was a window, McQueen saw a silhouette, and knew it. Cooper Hawkes.

He sat back, dismayed. If they had Cooper, they had everything. They'd had a deeper hold on Hawkes' than he'd thought, so deep, so buried the boy probably didn't even know it.

McQueen bowed his head. He'd been set up, by an expert, and he barely knew why. A second shadow hovered over Cooper. McQueen studied it, so he would remember it, and when he got the chance, he would destroy it.

"Colonel McQueen, how do you answer to the charges that have been brought against you."

McQueen leant forward, fire in his ice cold grey eyes.

"I will not answer you. " he began in an even, though angry voice. "I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered."

~

Cooper just stared at McQueen, unable to fathom what that look of utter cold contempt meant, and what he had done to deserve it.

"What?" he asked, bristling with attitude.

McQueen just snapped. He slammed into Hawkes, smashing him up against the wall, slamming his head back again and again. Cooper, taken by surprise, couldn't defend himself, as McQueen's strength struck into him again and again. He slid down the wall, trying to push away McQueen, but still the Colonel pounded into him.

Cooper recoiled like a frightened child, not understanding, then pain ignited his anger, and he struck back, sending McQueen sprawling back across the floor.

Cooper rose up, unsteadily, eyes flashing, and approached McQueen, moving in for the kill.

"Cooper - no!" cried Shane.

Only the sound of her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"He ..." Cooper began at a loss.

"He's your CO." Vansen reminded, but it seemed so pointless; Cooper standing there, bleeding and dazed, McQueen half sitting, bleeding from a split lip, Cooper's blood on his hands.

"What is this, Colonel," she demanded, trying to keep her voice neutral but failing.

"Yes, Colonel, explain," added West, interjecting as a neutral party.

Shane left the hardline to West, and adopted instead the role of tending to her husband, supporting him, dabbing at his cuts.

"He's a traitor," McQueen muttered. "Betrayed me, a fellow officer, betrayed the Corp, betrayed his own kind."

"I never, " wailed Cooper.

"You reported to them, you spied on me..." McQueen's accusations continued.

"No, its not true."

"Ask Ross. He was at the hearing." McQueen stood, wiping his bleeding lip on the back of his hand.

"I would never ..."

"They got to you, Hawkes, Used you, and you let them."

"No!"

"They planted something in your brain..."

"Then take it out!" cried Hawkes.

"Colonel," interjected Shane, "If Cooper was programmed, not aware of his conditioning, you can't hold him responsible for his actions."

"Get it out of my head!" Cooper demanded, terrified.

He lay on the operating table, electrodes attached to his skull.

McQueen, Vansen and West looked on. He trusted them, he'd insisted on their presence, to make sure it was done right. Ross, too, was there, uncomfortable with the idea that a member of his crew had been so used, and unsure the cure would be effective.

Shane held his hand tightly, up till the last moment when they pulled her away, when the volts arced through his body, and his head snapped back, a silent scream blocked out by the rubber bit in his mouth. West held her tight, lest she scream also. It didn't stop there. They shot him full of drugs, until he was in a receptive state, unsure of his own identity.

McQueen watched, and found the whole procedure, distasteful.

The psychiatrist questioned Cooper in a slow, deliberately even voice that grated at McQueen's nerves, questioned Cooper like another loyalty test, trying to find the key, the location of the secret commands in Cooper's mind, to disarm and neutralise them. He watched Cooper being pulled apart like a jigsaw, and doubted, like all the kings soldiers, that they'd ever be able to put all the pieces back together again.

Eventually, it was over, and Cooper was resting, unconscious in a hospital bed, Shane never leaving his side.

The boy looked so damn innocent.

~

"Yes, Vansen, what is it," McQueen didn't even bother to look up from the book he was studying.

"Sir, you told me when I married Cooper I'd have a childless marriage. You were wrong."

He looked at her now, stunned. She almost wished she'd brought a camera.

"You're pregnant." It was a statement, more than a question.

"Yes, Sir."

"Cooper's."

She hid her umbrage at the suggestion.

"Yes, Sir. Believing he was sterile, we didn't..." she shrugged. "It was a shot in a million, Sir."

"How many weeks."

"Twenty."

He started, then composed himself.

"You realise your grounded."

"yes, Sir."

"West will have to be honcho."

"Yes, Sir."

He was surprised, he'd expected protest.

"Hawkes is the better soldier, but he has a problem with giving and following orders, and thinking things through. Tanks are trained to react, not think. Hawkes is better than most, but still, this is war,"

"I know, Sir. Cooper isn't ready yet, not to command the 58th. And it would seem like nepotism."

"I'm glad you understand. Anything else?''

"No, Sir," she answered with a slight smile.

~

McQueen knew this wasn't a planned pregnancy, but he really worried if Shane and Cooper had thought through all the problems. He remembered the bitter, terrible arguments with his wife. McQueen had been a slave. Indentured service they called it, but that was just semantics. He'd earned his freedom, like a medieval serf, but he was never looked on as a free man, he had none of the rights of a free man, he could neither vote nor own property. And if he'd had children, if he could have children, they would have shared his status, regardless of how they'd been born. Invitro was a legal and social label as well as a fact of birth. He'd been created and owned mind and body by the Invitro Program, just like Hawkes. He wasn't a person, he was product. His DNA was copyrighted at the patent office, just like Hawkes'. Technically, Cooper and Shane could be sued for breach of copyright, by the very act of their unauthorised reproduction. He doubted such a matter would come to court in this time of war, but it was on the books, and that was enough. Some considered he and Hawkes to be no better than the genetically engineered tomatoes they served in the mess. It was his burning purpose in life to prove them wrong.

He scowled out of the window at the passing stars. He hoped Cooper and Shane were strong enough to make this marriage work, but he knew just how hard it was going to be. He'd thought himself strong enough to make his marriage work, but he'd failed.

~

Shane leant against the wall of their quarters, arms folded, uncomfortable still with their undivided attention.

"I wanted to tell Cooper this privately, but as it affects the unit as a whole... I'm grounded. West is honcho."

The 58th descended in a clamour.

"What? How? Why?''

She waited for a break in the storm.

"I'm pregnant." she answered.

Cooper looked completely bewildered.

"Cooper, you're going to be a dad," Damphousse felt she had to explain it to him.

"I know that. How..."

"How do you think?" Shane replied, smiling as he blushed.

He ducked his head. "I was made in a factory. Never really thought about how natural borns were made. Never thought you'd make a person without planning to."

It touched Shane, that he couldn't get his mind around a child just happening, not being made to serve a function. She sat down beside him, taking his hand and touching it to her abdomen.

"You have a daughter growing inside here, in utero. She's going to be natural born."

He half smiled. "I've read books, but," he touched her again. "In there? Its so small," tying text books to reality was a jump he was having trouble mastering.

"You'll see, Coop. She'll get as big as a house," West teased, to cop a frown off Shane. He grinned in response.

"And I'm not going to hold her in for 18 years," she added, smiling softly.

~

Cooper nestled against her, gently massaging her back, softly running a hand over her swollen stomach, both grotesque and beautiful at once, still in awe of the idea that their child was growing inside her.

"Will my child be natural born?" he asked, looking nervously to McQueen.

McQueen couldn't face him. "No." he answered. "Technically, she will be natural born. But legally, she'll still be considered a tank, or worse, a half breed. She'll have a difficult life."

Cooper had that beaten child look again. "You think we should have terminated the pregnancy then?" he asked. "How could we?" he asked further, becoming a little more agitated. "Could you have, if it was your kid."

McQueen's whole body tensed, the only outward sign of how deeply that question had ripped into him. "No, " he answered, his voice thick and gruff. "But my wife, she ... she wasn't as strong as Shane, her love wasn't as strong as Shane's is for you, and the child."

~

Shane nearly killed herself, insisting her daughter been born naturally. They wanted to cut the child out of her, but she refused, sweating, in agony, but determined, it was so important to Cooper, that his child be natural born, so she would share none of the stigma of his own birth.

Shane pushed, griping his hand so tight she was afraid she's break it, but he never complained. Finally, her child slip free. Cooper watched, curious as the doctor cut the umbilical cord, the child taking its first lungful of air, and screaming. He scooped the tiny thing into his arms, away from the doctors, protecting her.

"Its okay," he soothed. "I know what its like, its okay."

"You remember your own birth!" Shane gasped, still ragged but horrified.

"Uh huh," he nodded, as if it was common place.

She looked at Cooper with new sympathy. She'd not known that. It was one blessing, that humans forgot the trauma of their first breath.

~

Cooper snatched up his daughter from Shane's arms, snuggling into her baby warmth, before slumping into a chair beside his wife, babe gurgling happily in his arms. Kate sat up brightly and watched the rest of the Wild cards fall in at the table with wide eyed fascination. As weary as they were, each of her adoptive Aunt and Uncles still had energy left to dote on her as a round of drinks was ordered. Wide blue eyes watched everything with a slight frown.

Vanessa giggled, knowing that expression so well.

"She is so much like you, Coop," she breathed.

There was a lot of Shane in the tiny face, but it was Cooper's eyes, Cooper's curiosity, that watched their every move.

Cooper kissed the top of his daughter's downy head softly, still amazed at a living being created by him and Shane, not some technician, her genotype a random combination of her parents, her tiny features, a person, rendered in miniature.

~

He leant against the hatch to their tiny quarters, just watching her with the child, a tired smile touching his lips.

"What?" she asked, fondly irritated.

"Sometimes..." he began, in the embarrassed tone he adopted when forced to explain himself. "Sometimes I don't know why. Its like this judge told me I had no choice. Then I see you and her, and the rest, and that's why." The smile twitched, awaiting her approval.

She held her hand out to him.

He swung himself off the wall, sidling up to her, almost shyly, then he kissed her, sliding his tongue in, just like he had the first time. Cooper always kissed like that. He'd even kiss a complete stranger like that. He didn't know there were different types of kisses. It was kind of cute. And he hadn't been wrong, that night on that flight to Mars. She had wanted him. Just not that fast. Cooper hadn't known that certain social rituals had to be performed first, like a bumble bee dance, before mating could begin.

She pushed him back, hurt confusion clouding his face.

"Shower first." she instructed.

He looked down at himself sheepishly, covered in grease, sweat, mud and blood. He was a mess. With a cheeky little boy grin he left her, to return very shortly, she knew.

She held her daughter up, still amazed at the miracle. She had mated with Cooper, after all. He was a fertile invitro, one in a million, the sterility treatment either having not taken or not been completed before he'd left the facility. It was part of the defectiveness that had also resulted in his questioning mind. Cooper was smarter than the average tank, and it had caused him nothing but problems. Like the words of that old Models song he liked so much: "If I was more stupid, I'd have no problems at all". Cooper was smart enough to realise how much his life sucked, and to want more. Was it TS Elliot or that Pretenders song that said "All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Cooper had made it to the stars. That was a good start, she smiled.

Rock and Roll and sex, two of Cooper's more abiding interests. And the drugs, well, Cooper was genetically predisposed towards certain chemical compounds. It wasn't a choice. He had receptors hotwired into his brain, for the opiate of the masses. It was the way the monitors controlled invitros.

Their hatch opened, and he was sliding out of his uniform, and onto the bed with her and their daughter, already at attention. She handed the child across to settle her in her crib, and he bent to kiss her breast, still surprised when he tasted her. The first time her milk had flooded his mouth, he'd drawn back like a startled puppy, a look of utter confusion on his face. He knew what had happened, he just hadn't expected...that. She smiled, ruffling his hair. It was like having two children. She'd joined the Corp to escape her role as parent, yet she found herself playing parent not only to her family, but the whole 58th. And it wasn't so bad.

~

Hawkes wrenched himself free of his cockpit and began a deliberate march towards his living quarters. He'd seen that Chig fighter go in, and only duty had kept him in the skies.

"Hawkes, no," McQueen tried to hold him, but Cooper wrenched himself free, shouldering his way up the red lit passage ways, almost mindlessly scrambling over hissing pipes and snapping wires to reach his destination. Nothing could stop him. Not until he reached what had been the tiny quarters he'd shared with his family.

McQueen would never forget the scream that tore from Cooper, raw, almost inhuman, like a knife down the corridor to spear McQueen where he stood.

~

"I want to see them." Cooper demanded sullenly, eyes burning. He swept that intense gaze onto McQueen again, appealing. "I want to say goodbye, cause I'll never get the chance once you shoot them into space, unless I fly right into them."

McQueen bowed his head.

"Let him go," he ordered, and the Morgue attendant let Hawkes pass. McQueen followed him. He didn't want to, but felt someone should watch over Hawkes, and he was the one to do it.

They were laid out on silver racks with the rest of the dead. Shane almost looked like she was sleeping, the terrible third degrees burns from shielding her child hidden now that she lay on her back.

He stroked her hair back from her face fondly, half a smile coming to his lips.

"It wasn't easy being married to you," he began, unselfconsciously. "You were always yelling at me for doing the wrong thing, cause you wanted me to know the right thing. I never had a best friend before, or family, someone who wasn't afraid to love me. Oh, Shane," he began to break up, but controlled himself. "I'm going to miss you." he struggled.

He turned to his tiny baby daughter; unmarked, the smoke had choked her. He brushed his fingertips softly across her head, fingering the fine baby hair, unable to speak, a grief so intense even his face was unable to show it.

Almost horrifying McQueen, he picked up the dead infant in his arms, cradling it, kissing it's head tenderly, then turned and placed the child in Shane's arms.

He looked up at McQueen.

"I want them buried together. They shouldn't be alone." he asked of McQueen.

~

Cooper struggled with his dress uniform. It wasn't like he hadn't worn it before, just that his hands were shaking so much, he just couldn't.

"Here," West's soft voice surprised him, as nimble fingers finished the buttons and adjusted his collar.

"Shane always used to..." Cooper began, tears welling again.

"I know," West's voice cracked. "I miss her, too."

~

McQueen's eyes never left the Lt, as the fell into formation behind the coffin.

"... Captain Shane Vansen, and her daughter, Kate,"

Cooper's face was like stone, but he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face. The Chaplain kept staring, like he'd never thought a tank capable of crying.

"...and we commit their bodies to space."

McQueen and West both looked to Hawkes, but the young man was a statue, watching silently, at attention, as the remains of his wife and child were shot into space.

"Shane always thought the AI's would get her," whispered Wang sadly to Damphousse as they stood down.

"I know," replied Vanessa in a quiet voice. Both looked to Cooper, who seemed to stand there, at a complete loss, until West grabbed his arm, and guided the stricken marine towards the tavern.

~

Ross drank his scotch neat. It burned on his lips, but it wasn't enough, not today.

"That child had no place being here on a battleship, in the middle of a war, Ty," he reminded.

McQueen bowed his head, fishing amongst Ross's belongings, unable to face his oldest friend.

" I offered a transfer. It was Vansen's choice to stay on board and take administrative duties. They were going to send the child to be raised by her sister, when we got back to Earth for furlong. It was important for Cooper to get a taste of what it was like to be a father."

"And you, too." Ross added, knowingly.

McQueen nodded tightly, accepting the truth.

~

McQueen watched Cooper for a long while, struggling over pen and paper, trying to write a letter home to Shane's sisters.

When he couldn't bear it any moment, he rose and gently closed his hand over Cooper's.

"I can write to them, if you want, " he offered.

"No," Cooper snatched his hand back, glaring at McQueen with such hostility he forced the Colonel into retreat.

Later, when West came into the bar, McQueen was surprised to see Cooper gather himself up then slump into a chair before West, pushing the letter across the table towards him.

"Read it."

"Coop, I don't know," West began shaking his head.

Cooper hunched forward, as though cold, unprotected.

"I don't know how to write those things. But I've seen you write. I want to know if it sounds okay to a human."

Cooper's eyes, were desperate, angry, and pleading at the same time.

Carefully, West picked up the letter and began to scan it.

'There isn't any easy way to tell you this, Shane and Kate were killed while the Saratoga was under heavy enemy fire. I'm really sorry. I loved Shane and Kate, more than anyone knows. I never thought I could love another person like that, until I met Shane. I never knew it could hurt this much, to lose her...'

Nathan looked over the top of the letter.

"its fine, Coop." he assured. He thought for a moment, then eased a folded wad of paper from his pocket.

"I wrote a letter too. Would you mind if I sent this,"

Coop shrugged. "Go ahead. It might sound better coming from someone else." He knew Shane's sisters had never quite gotten over the fact their sister had married a tank, and bred with one.

The two men fell into silence.

~

West climbed up the gantry, knowing Hawkes sat up there, alone, staring into the blackness of space, not seeing the billions of tiny lights.

"Coop, what are you doing up here?" he asked, before his eyes fell on the gun and bottle of scotch. "Oh."

"Go away," snarled Hawkes, fist curling tighter around both pistol grip and bottle neck.

West considered a tactical fall back for a second, then pulled himself up the last rung onto the platform.

"No."

Hawkes scowled at him.

"Leave me alone."

"No." West insisted, becoming emboldened with his stubbornness. He came and knelt before Hawkes. "Shane wouldn't want this," he reminded gently. "She'd want you to live."

"I don't want to live," Hawkes cried back, grief shredding him apart. west almost recoiled from the raw pain he saw, Hawkes unable to mask it, unskilled at dealing with such utter desolation.

"Coop, don't," pleaded West. "I don't want to lose you, too."

That brought Hawkes to a screeching halt., studying west suddenly, as though seeing him for the first time, not with a sneer, but with new understanding.

"Is this how it felt, losing Kylen and Neil?" he asked.

Nathan bowed his head.

"Yes. Different and the same. I don't know for sure if Kylen is dead, not knowing is the worst, and I've never lost a child, but yeah, it hurts the same."

"Does it go away?"

West shook his head sadly.

"The pain never goes. You just learn to live with it, like the ache from a broken bone," he put it in terms Hawkes could understand.

"I never knew it would hurt this much," Hawkes whispered, crumpling.

West had seen the invitro arrogant, angry, scared, happy, but he'd never, ever seen him like this, defeated. It wasn't like Hawkes. Carefully, he took the gun and bottle from his hands, then gathered him up in his arms, an instinctive reaction to seeing another living being in so much pain. Some people said tanks weren't human, but the hot tears that fell against his throat were very human. Cooper shuddered in his arms, clawing at his back, desperate for comfort as he gave into his sorrow. west soothed him, sadly remembering how many times he'd seen Shane do this, smoothing her hand up and down his spine, like he was a child, afraid of the dark. Cooper began to run out of tears, not sadness, just tears, breathing raggedly as West's fingers stroked over his hair, his shoulders, the raised flesh upon the back of his neck. He shivered.

"Sorry," west offered.

Cooper calmed a little bit, and West continued his soothing strokes, returning occasionally to the omphalos, curious to see Cooper's reaction, becoming warm as Cooper's body pressed more and more against him.

Cooper looked up at him with such innocent, curious eyes; West touched his mouth to Cooper's, the briefest experimental kiss, Cooper's lips opened under his, and West tasted him, then drew back suddenly.

"I'm sorry, oh, God, Coop, I'm sorry, I never meant, " he stammered.

Cooper was still in the circle of his arms, not moving.

Nathan couldn't trust himself, and began pull away. Cooper caught his hand.

"Don't let your need to be decent make you leave me alone," he pleaded quietly. "I don't want to be alone. Please."

West sank back down, not really able to meet Cooper's eyes.

"I'," but Cooper burrowing into his arms stopped whatever mild protest was on his lips.

He drew Cooper up a little, enfolding him in his arms, touching his forehead to Cooper's, and they sat together in a companionable silence.

McQueen watched them from below, one hand flexing into a fist and then back again.

~

McQueen stormed over to their table, tearing the bottle from Cooper's hand, frowning at how little was left.

"I think you've had enough, Marine." he began coldly.

"Colonel," West leapt to Hawkes' defence, but was silenced with a glare that could have turned a sun to barren, frozen ice.

McQueen slammed the very nearly empty bottle down on the table.

"On your feet, Hawkes." He ordered.

Hawkes tried to push himself up from the table, without much success.

Furiously, McQueen pulled him up almost by the scruff of the neck, and proceeded to frog march Hawkes out of the bar, watched angrily by West who knew exactly what was going on.

Cooper turned on McQueen the moment the hatch was closed, laying into him with fists and angry bitter words, trashing McQueen's possessions as he raged around the room like a human tornado, too drunk to actually connect any real accuracy or strength to his blows, otherwise McQueen would have been in real trouble.

McQueen caught the flailing fists, then caught Cooper in his arms, wrestling them both to the ground until he was on the floor, holding the hysterically sobbing boy in tight in his arms.

"Hawkes, dammit, if you don't snap out of this they'll section 8 you. I heard Ross talking about giving you the procedure. They'll brain wipe you, boy, and you'll lose Shane and Kate forever, do you want that? Answer me? The only place they live right now is inside you. If you don't pull yourself together, they'll take that away from you. Do you want that, Hawkes? Do you?"

"No," Cooper whimpered.

McQueen relaxed his hold a little, becoming more tender, less restraining. His chin brushed across Cooper's hair.

"I know you miss them. I miss them too. But the time has come to move on. I'm not asking you to forget them, but you've got to try and grab hold of these emotions, and control them."

"Can't" Cooper gasped.

"You've got to, Cooper." He began to stroke his hair softly.

"I, I wish I was like you, and not feel anything."

McQueen drew back a little.

"I feel, Cooper, I feel," he assured thickly. "But I also know that trying to numb yourself with alcohol and god knows what else isn't the way," he lectured, knowing full well that the glazed look in Cooper's eyes was not solely the product of fermented agricultural products.

He felt Cooper wilt slightly in his arms, giving up.

"Hawkes," he began, not wanting the boy to roll over, either.

"Tell me what I can do to help you," he asked, sounded more cold and harsh than he'd meant to.

Hawkes considered the offer for a moment.

"Fuck me, " he decided miserably, in a small voice.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Hawkes nodded against his chest.

Hawkes didn't want it gentle and loving - he wanted it hard and cruel, and McQueen was more than ready to oblige, breaking the boy to his will, in a silent rage over the needle tracks on Cooper's arm, brutal over the boy's lack of strength.

~

Cold grey eyes glared at the pounding on his door.

"Who." he demanded.

"West, Sir."

"Go away."

"Its Hawkes, Sir. I want to know he's okay."

With a silent oath, McQueen pulled open the hatch and let West see.

Behind his shoulder, lashed to bed, was Cooper Hawkes, pale, sweating, shaking, on his way down, very badly.

"He was using," McQueen accused, meaning West should have kept a closer eye on Cooper. McQueen's very attitude was territorial. West had failed to protect Cooper, and now McQueen had resumed that role, thank you, and West's services were no longer required, no matter what Cooper may have thought on the matter.

McQueen watched him, arms folded.

"Will he be okay?" was all West could ask.

"I hope so. I want to know who the hell brought that crap onto this ship in the first place."

"I'll look into that, Sir," West promised.

McQueen didn't even bother to acknowledge him, slamming the door shut in his face. McQueen would nurse Hawkes through his cold turkey, then track down the source of the drug himself, and nail the bastard.

Worse than that, West thought miserably, McQueen knew. He knew.

~

West was almost half amused. Hawkes, who could face down a squad of Chigs with the most unbridled blood lust, was decidedly nervous and twitchy in the presence of West's mother. He guessed she had that effect on everyone. Maybe they should send her up against the Chigs. But then he stifled that thought as soon as he thought of it, remembering his brother.

"I'm sorry about Neil," Mumbled Hawkes, ill at ease.

West's mother accepted the condolences somewhat awkwardly, not entirely thrilled to be playing host to an Invitro. She was superficially polite, and they both knew it.

"Nathan tells me you've lost family, too. I didn't know Invitros had family."

The terrible, stricken look passed over Hawkes face, and Nathan found himself boiling over in anger.

"Don't..." he started, but Cooper cut him off, meeting West's mother right in the eye. "I've lost my sister, my wife and my daughter as casualties of war. My wife and daughter were natural born," he added, proud and bitter.

West's mother backed down, but dinner was a tense affair.

West found Hawkes sitting out on the front veranda alone, watching the sky fall slowly into night.

"I forget what sunsets look like sometimes," Cooper began, sounding more like Shane than himself. It struck Nathan with new pain.

He sank down on the step beside Cooper.

"Thanks for coming, he offered. "I know its been difficult, but thanks."

Hawkes shrugged amiably. "I'm your wingman," he replied simply, a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. Besides, he knew West would pay him back when they moved onto San Diego, and his Sister in Law's. They'd agreed to offer moral support to each other in these painful visits, and then, they'd planned to go surfing. It was Cooper's dream, and Nathan was content to tag along.

Nathan found himself lying awake, unable to sleep without the feel of the Saratoga's engines under him, or the sounds of breathing from people around him. Funny, how he'd thought he'd never learn how to sleep in a room full of people. Now, alone in his own room, the silence drove him to distraction.

The door cracked open for a second, and a shadow slid in, moving towards the bed with deadly stealth. He didn't even tense though, laughing softly instead as Cooper snuffled into the bed beside him like his old dog used to.

"God, Cooper, what if my parents hear you, or find you in here..." he started.

Cooper's grin was magic.

"So... don't make any noise."

And Nathan had to bite down on his pillow as Cooper pulled his boxers away without any ceremony or preamble.

~

Nathan leant over Cooper, propped up his elbows, dotting his face with affectionate kisses.

The door to his bedroom suddenly swung open, and there was his mother, holding his breakfast. The colour drained from her face almost instantly.

She backed out of the room, without a word. Then Nathan's brother John was there, staring through the door.

"Do you mind?" Nathan demanded, and his brother obediently closed the door.

"I gotta put a lock on that door." he grinned. "Didn't seem much point when I was going to Tellus."

He grew sad and wistful again. He rolled off Cooper and slid out of bed, snatching his clothes from where he'd piled them on the floor.

Nathan spread the jam across his toast, uncomfortable in the brittle silence.

"What you saw..."

He began.

"Don't." His mother held up her hands, warding off what he had to say.

"You should have knocked, you know, " he chatised mildly. "And, well," he didn't know where to start. "It just happens, Coop and me. We need each other, I guess. He's my wingman, I trust my life to him. And you've got to understand about Cooper, he lived his life on the streets before joining the Corp, as a prostitute. Sex means as much as a handshake to him. Its just his way. Its just the way he expresses himself. That's not to say Cooper isn't very important to me, he is. He's the most important person in the world to me. I've lost Kylen and Neil; Cooper's become best friend, brother and lover to me, all in one person. I need him. I like to think he needs me. And I know I could die tomorrow in this war, and like hell am I going out with blue balls."

Cooper, listening just outside the kitchen, grinned at that one, dimples showing.

West's mother was still looking suitably horrified when Cooper made his entrance. Nate glanced up with a warm smile.

He slid into a chair beside Nathan, a little uncomfortable, but following his leader into whatever firefight he chose to engage, even a domestic one.

Nathan fastened the saddle bag on his Norton tight. Now his Mother's lips had pursed further, unhappy with the idea of him riding across America on that ancient... thing.

He stood, wearily.

"I told you, Cooper's never been outside of Philly. He wants to see some of the country before, you know." he shrugged. "He got the idea from reading Keroac. I promised him we would."

~

Nathan shook of the dust off the highway as much as he could before heading into the run down highway bar, followed as always by his wingman. Cooper peeled off however when he saw the old juke box in the corner, and bent to feed it some money, unintentionally giving the whole bar a good view of the back of his neck, selecting some old classics he had a passing familiarity with.

Satisfied, as the sounds of The Clash echoed around the room, he pulled up a stool beside Nathan, who was already nursing a beer.

"I'll have what he's having," stated Cooper amicably enough, but a snarl crossed the face of the bar man.

"We don't serve your kind here."

Cooper's whole body language slumped, resigned, and he began to slip off his stool, to wait for Nathan outside, but Nathan caught his arm.

"What?!" demanded Nathan of the barman, angry at his attitude, and Cooper's. It wasn't like Cooper to accept a racial slur without a fight.

"Tanks - we don't serve them here." The barman repeated, in case Nathan had somehow misunderstood.

Nathan pushed himself forward, snarling and angry.

"My friend is a Lt in the 58th, US Marine Corp, he was decorated for acts of bravery in The Battle of The Belt, he saved your sorry ass, now you serve him, damn you!" he hissed.

"Nate, don't," Cooper pleaded.

But Nathan had that do or die look on his face again. "Serve him."

The barman complied and put a bottle of beer in front of Cooper.

Cooper picked it up, almost putting to his lips, then, never breaking eye contact with the barman who watched his every move, tip it up on its end and let the beer spill out over the counter.

"You son of a bitch," started the barman.

Cooper let the bottle drop and leant close. "I never had a mother to insult," he reminded in that dangerous voice Nate remembered from basic training. Hawkes turned to him. "Come on, Nate, lets get out of this shit hole."

Nathan shoved away from the bar. throwing down money for the two beers with suitable contempt.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there were still places like that," he offered to Cooper outside as they straddled their bikes.

"There are always places like that," answered Cooper sullenly. "Especially now. I can die for my country, but I can't vote." He kicked his Norton into life, his mood colouring his actions and telling Nate to drop the subject. He found Nathan's born again In Vitro rights sentiments quaint and annoying at best. Right now, he just wanted to forget about it, to lose himself on the highway.

~

Cooper lay staring at the stars of the night sky, wondering if he could see the orbiting Saratoga, but not really caring one way of the other. He was still emotionally drained from his visit to his in-laws. They'd been quite okay, sympathetic, even. His sad little letter had made some sort of impression on them, and they never questioned the validity of his grief. They were still grieving, too, and understood, like Nathan. Just understood, without words. But seeing his niece, so like his own daughter, that had almost ripped him apart. And then Lauren had given him the disk. She knew all his pictures of Shane and Kate had been destroyed in the fire, his only remaining images had been the ones the rest of the 58th owned. Shane's sister had meticulously copied everything Shane had ever sent her, and stored it all on disk, for him. It had been a wonderful. precious gift, but the first few images had ripped the scabs off his grief, and he'd all but had a complete breakdown on the spot. Had it not been for Nate, he probably would have. It was too soon. He had to get out.

So here they were, camped on the beach, the cold sea breeze chilling them in spite of their fire, veterans enough to still be jumpy at every rustling bush, every fallen star that streaked across the sky.

He took another drag of his hand rolled cigarette and passed it across to Nathan (another present from Shane's sister).

"You okay, Coop," Nathan asked after a while, propped up on one elbow, watching his friend by firelight.

Cooper nodded. The rhythmic crash of the waves and narcotic had lulled him into a more peaceful state. The pain was still there, but at a distance.

Nathan passed the cigarette back. Cooper took another contemplative drag.

"I wish the pain would go." he spoke at last. "I'm tired of it. But it just won't go. I don't know how McQueen does it."

"Does what?"

"Push the pain away, so it doesn't matter anymore. I don't know how. I've tried, but it keeps coming back."

"Maybe you should see one of the shrinks when we get back."

Cooper grunted.

"Tanks aren't considered a priority, or hadn't you noticed. No one care what we think or feel. When we don't react like we should, the pump us full of chemicals or burn out bits of our brains. No thank you."

"They can control how you think with drugs?"

"We were made that way. That's how they got me during that loyalty test."

Nathan considered this, watching Cooper drag on the cigarette again. At least self administering the drugs gave him some control, he thought.

Cooper passed up the cigarette again, still warm from his lips. The thought sent a heady warmth to his loins. He leant down and lazily kissed Cooper full on the mouth.

Cooper snuggled into the crook of his arm, more cold on the inside than out, needing a friend more than a lover, which is why he turned to Nathan. McQueen cared, but he had never allowed himself to grieve, and expected no less from Cooper, with no apology.

Nate laughed softly, Cooper clumsily groping at his crotch, too stoned to manage much more. Nathan rolled Cooper under him, and kissed him again, undressing him with languorous delight, trailing fingers and lips over smooth skin and perfect muscle. Cooper smiled as Nathan sucked on his nipples, first one, then the other. Nathan made love to him like a woman; McQueen always took him like a man.

He sighed as West went down on him, in a kind of distant, dreamy way he felt his desire stirring, warming to Nathan's touch. Nate teased him, preparing him, sliding in and out as he sucked. With a soft moan, he began to roll on his side, but Nathan held him where he was.

"Want to see you," Nate half grunted, sweat damp hair sticking to his forehead.

He entered Cooper like that, from the front, like McQueen never did.

Cooper watched through half slitted eyes, as West impaled him, thrusting blindly, coming with a powerful shudder, then finishing Cooper with his tongue and hand.

They lay together, bathed in the firelight, the breeze sliding across their skin, but neither could feel its chill.

"You want..." Nathan began, but Cooper shook his head slightly, closing his eyes. No. He couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He could give himself up, but he couldn't, just couldn't. A slow tear fell from the corner of his eye.

"Coop," whispered Nathan, dismayed, gathering his friend into his arms.

~

The lone figure stood at the edge of the waves, staring out into the distance, not seeing the seagulls that wheeled above, or even the distant battleship moving across the horizon.

Clad only in a black wet suit, the collar stopping just before the nub on the back of his neck.

"Looks like some good waves, " Nathan broke the silence; Cooper's blue eyes drew back into focus.

"Yeah, " he answered thickly.

Nathan heard the tone of voice, and looked away uncomfortably.

"Going in?" asked Cooper.

Nathan grinned and shook his head.

"No. I don't think I was cut out to be a surfer. You go, I'll watch," he offered.

Cooper was a natural. Bred to undertake any physical activity, even surfing, Nathan found him awe inspiring to watch. On the waves, lost in concentration on balance, face shining with pure joy and exhilaration; he was poetry in motion as he slid down the curl, the same wicked grin as when he bore down on a pack of Chigs. Cooper could only find expression in his actions.

He was still learning the rhythm of the seas though. Nathan stood as Cooper wiped out badly, wave after wave crashing and dumping on him, washing him up on the beach like so much refuse as Nathan ran down to him, turning him over, pulling him up as he gasped and coughed.

"Fuck, " Cooper groaned. "Its like being born." He hacked up a little more salt water.

Nathan grinned, realising Hawkes was okay if he could bitch about it. But he was still a little woozy, having been pounded into the surf and tumbled like a pebble, and sat, hunched over, catching his breath.

"Damn stinkin' tank. What are you doing surfin'. You should be in the army, fightin'. That's what you were made for."

Hawkes' head snapped up.

"Coop," Nathan warned. He hadn't seen or even heard them. It struck him as odd, that his reflexes should have failed him. He couldn't be that soft after 3 days of R&R, no way.

"These beaches aren't for tanks. You shouldn't even be down here on planet - you don't belong here."

Nathan saw it, a second before Coop sprang up, the narrowing of his eyes that indicated his buttons had been pushed, condition red.

They never knew what hit them. It was all Nathan could do to drag Cooper off them before he killed them.

"Lt- stand down!" he ordered, the command in his voice only reaching Hawkes, making him pull up automatically.

Nathan's dog tags had swung free as he'd pulled Hawkes back.

"You're soldiers?" asked one of the men, wiping away the blood that refused to stop pouring from his nose.

Nathan straightened, looking down on them with contempt. "Marines." he corrected. "And why the hell aren't you enlisted?" he asked, tiredly.

They scrambled away like a pack of dogs, unable to answer.

Cooper was hunched over again, his face now dark and sullen.

"Can't believe I'm fighting for jerks like them." he muttered.

Nathan slumped in the sand beside him.

"Not for them. For your niece, for Shane's sisters, for John, and my parents."

What small joy Cooper had found in the waves was now gone. He sat hunched over, unmoving, all afternoon.

Nathan was at a loss. Cooper needed help. But he was right. Being a tank, they'd use crude surgery on him rather than counselling, to make him a complacent little drone. Nathan wouldn't let him risk that. He'd seen what they could do to Cooper before. Never again, he'd promised himself.

Cooper didn't offer to help Nathan collect driftwood for the fire as the sun set, or eat anything of the provisions Nathan prepared for their evening meal.

Cooper's face was illuminated as he lit up the joint, dark lines under his eyes. For the first time, Nathan thought, Cooper really looked older than his years, tired and jaded, not young and innocent as he used to, when he let his guard down.

He offered it to Nathan, but West declined.

He watched Cooper take a deep drag, worried.

"You know how an animal will gnaw its own leg off, if it's trapped, in pain, " Cooper spoke, for the first time in hours. "I wish I could do that, with whatever it is inside that hurts. Maybe I should get my brain wiped."

"No," West's eyes screwed tight. "Not that. Trust me, you don't want to do that."

"I can't live with this." The pain edged his voice, cutting into West.

"Don't say that, " West begged, gathering him in his arms. He thought this trip would be a rebirth for Cooper, a time to do what he wanted, away from the Saratoga, away from McQueen. But it was turning sour.

McQueen. West felt silent anger at the name. They were rivals, after a fashion. McQueen loved Cooper, in spite of himself; West knew McQueen loved Cooper more than anyone else on the Saratoga, more than anyone else in a long while. And that scared McQueen. So he was cruel to Cooper, hard on him, cold, tried to push him away, and then snatching him back when he pushed too far.

McQueen was messing with Cooper, unable to sort out what he wanted, and it was the last thing Cooper needed.

Nathan touched his lips to Cooper's hair, holding him protectively. It was his conceit that he believed he knew what Cooper needed. A brother, a lover, a friend, like Shane had been mother, sister, lover, friend to him.

The smoke wafting up from Cooper made him slightly warm and giddy. He flopped back on his sleeping bag, taking Cooper with him. They just lay together, as he tracked a tiny dot in the sky that he knew was the Saratoga.

McQueen stared out of the window, down onto the blue planet below. The blue planet he had sacrificed for, bled for, was willing to die for. And down there, somewhere, was Cooper Hawkes. He pressed his palm to the window, feeling the heat drain out into space. What he felt for Hawkes, scared him.

~

Cooper threw his gear on his rack, shaking his head like a dog with fleas. "I've still got sand in my hair," he announced incredulously to Nathan, grinning at the idea. Hours ago, they'd been lying beside the ocean. Now they were heading out into deep space again. His eyes suddenly caught the gear on the bunk opposite his, and he stopped, colour washing from his face, life leeching from his eyes.

"Coop," Nathan started.

"Hi, Lt Dart, just transferred in," a cute and perky young blonde tried to introduce her self.

Cooper just stared at her like she had spiders growing out of her head, and then tore himself out of the barracks.

LT Dart looked to West, at a loss.

Nathan shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

"I'm sorry," he apologised for Cooper. "Its just that, that bunk you're using, the person you're replacing, Captain Vansen, she was, important to us. Cooper especially. She was his wife."

"Oh." Dart considered this. "An invitro Captain?" she had to ask.

"No," Nathan shook his head slowly. "She wasn't an invitro." He slunk off to find Cooper.

"Give Cooper time, " Damphousse advised. "He's still mourning. He's just not ready to see your gear on her bunk, to face the fact that she's gone, forever."

The gloom that had haunted the 58th since Shane's death settled in a thick, dense fog once again.

~

Cooper tore into the tavern, desperate to get drunk, real drunk, real fast. West almost slammed into him as he pulled up short at the wall.

Every flyboy's bar had one, a wall covered with pictures of dead heroes. He seen it before, hardly glanced at it. He hadn't expected to see Shane or Kate up there. Especially not Kate.

"They wanted to put her photo up there, " West explained quietly. "Her death affected a lot of people, you know. It kind of reminds them of what they're fighting for, of the children back home."

Hawkes couldn't speak, just stared at the framed photographs of his dead wife and daughter.

"Come on, Coop, " West dragged him away by the arm to a table in the far corner, away from the wall, and ordered enough alcohol to achieve Cooper's objective of numbing himself to the grief that overwhelmed him again.

Nathan watched painfully, as his friend fragmented, then tried to pull himself together again, fragmented again, and so it went, and he didn't know what to do.

~

Cooper looked up from his beer, animosity in his gaze as it swept up McQueen.

"One thing I want to know. Shane was on duty that day. Why was she in our quarters when she died."

McQueen looked like he'd been slapped.

"Because I ordered her there." McQueen answered, irritated.

"Why, " Cooper persisted, West edging nervously closer, unhappy with Cooper's line of questioning.

"Because she was worried about Kate. She wasn't doing her job. I relieved her of her duty so she could make sure her daughter was secure. "

McQueen leant close, anger clearly just below the surface.

"I know where you're going with this, Hawkes, and I wouldn't advise it. How dare you accuse me of that. I send men and women to their deaths everyday, and it never, you hear me, never gets any easier. And I loved Shane like a daughter..." his words came out a beat at a time. "And I loved Kate like a grand daughter. And I would never have done any thing to hurt them. And I would never have thought you capable of thinking of that. Who have you been speaking to? West?" he accused, and Nathan almost shrivelled under that laser glare.

"No." Hawkes stated darkly.

He and McQueen shared a final, foreboding look before McQueen broke off and stalked away, and Cooper returned to sulking in his beer.

"Coop, he didn't," Nathan began, but Cooper wasn't listening. He was looking for someone to blame. West knew it, McQueen knew it, even Cooper knew it. It was just too terrible a thing to have happened to just simply call bad luck.

~

"Who's at my hatch."

"West, sir."

There was a long pause, then a weary: "Enter."

Nathan pushed the hatch open and entered McQueen's quarters. He looked around nervously. He didn't want to be here.

"What is it, West," asked McQueen, not terribly interested.

"Cooper, Sir."

That caught his attention. Just the slightest shifting of posture told West he now had the Lt Colonel's full attention.

"You can't let him fly, Sir. He isn't ready. He's still messed up."

"How so." Those grey eyes were now focused solely on him, and Nathan winced a little under their scrutiny.

"You damn well know how, Sir." Nathan's anger tore free, and McQueen almost relaxed a little, slipping into a more paternal stance.

"What happened on planet," he asked quietly.

"We went to see Shane's sisters."

McQueen nodded. He'd thought that a terrible mistake.

"They weren't mean to him. Quite the opposite. I think that threw Coop for a loop, to be admitted to the family in such a difficult time. But it was seeing his niece, and knowing what he could never have with Kate, and then Lauren gave him a disk of all the pictures Shane had sent, it was too much for him. He began grieving all over again, really hard this time. Its been like that for the last week. Every thing reminds him of Shane and Kate, he spends all his time drunk, stoned or crying, and nothing I can do or say can pull him back. I'm losing him, Sir. I've lost everyone else, I don't want to lose Cooper too. I'm asking for your help."

"What can I do?" McQueen asked, actually at a loss though his tone belied that.

"Just be there for him. Like you were for me, when I thought the 58th..." he couldn't finish. "He needs you, Sir." Nathan found himself admitting. "Please..."

McQueen's eyes held him softly, new understanding behind them. He'd not been aware Nathan's friendship with Cooper ran this deep, not when he remembered pulling them off each other in vicious brawls less than a year ago.

~

"Hawkes."

Cooper lay on his bunk, face to the wall, not moving. McQueen could smell the odours of alcohol and more rising from the boy. He wanted to drag Cooper from that bunk and beat some sense into him, but that wouldn't work. West was right, what Cooper needed was tea and sympathy, as best as he could give it, express it. He hoped it would be enough.

Pushing himself away from the hatch, he drew up a chair beside the bunk, and sat down, hunched over towards the boy, unsure of what to say, ill at ease, but knowing he had to be here, and cursing himself for being such a coward that he'd not been here until now. He'd been there for West, when they'd both been mourning the loss of the 58th. He didn't know why he'd kept Cooper at a distance. Maybe West was right, he'd been far more jealous of Shane and Cooper than he dared admit to himself, and had been unconsciously punishing Cooper. Just looking at the utter defeat and misery in every muscle of the boy's body was self recrimination enough. He'd done a terrible thing, he realised.

"Cooper," he began again, more softly.

"Go away." came the muffled reply, Cooper's face hidden against the pillow.

"No." McQueen answered simply. "You've got to let them go, Cooper. Let them go. Or they'll drag you down with them. I don't want to lose you, Cooper. I don't think Shane would have wanted this. You know this. Its time to let them go."

"I can't," came the reply, voice strained with tears. "Can't forget them."

"Nobody's asking you to forget them, Cooper. But its time for you to begin living again, and go on living, with us. Let the dead go, Cooper. You don't belong with them."

"Cooper," he reached forward and squeezed the boy's shoulder softly.

McQueen was taken aback, not expecting the sudden ferocity of Cooper burrowing into him, the burning need for human warmth in the hands that clutched at him. Cooper buried his face against McQueen's shoulder, his hands dug into his back.

At a loss for several seconds, he found himself doing what he wanted, rather than what should be expected from a CO. Don't think, react, he reminded himself, and enfolded Cooper protectively in his arms, tightening his hold as though he were literally dragging the boy from the River Styx, wet and choking like the day of their birth, holding onto him so he wouldn't slip away, holding tight so he knew what life felt like.

Lt Dart found Captain West standing guard at the hatch to the 58th quarters.

"Can't go in there," he advised.

"Excuse me?"

"McQueen and Hawkes are in there."

"So?"

Nathan looked exasperated.

"Look, McQueen is having a discussion with Hawkes, okay. Just give them some privacy."

Lt Dart looked him up and down and then stalked off in a snit, wondering what bug had climbed up his arse.

McQueen emerged 15 minutes later, and after a brief glance towards Nathan which was little more than a curt nod of acknowledgment, strod off along the corridor.

Nathan peeked in the barracks, and found Cooper sitting on his bunk, rummaging through a footlocker - Shane's. He saw Nate and actually smiled, showing dimples. His eyes were red rimmed from crying, but there was life in them once more.

He paused, turning a half burned teddy bear over in his hands.

"I think I should send this stuff to Lauren," he decided. "She can keep it, I'll decide what I want to do with it, later. I can look at it, but I can't get rid of it."

"No one's asking you to." West sat down on the bunk beside him.

"No one's asking you to forget about Shane and Kate. But,"

"I've got a job to do." Hawkes nodded.

Nathan could hear the echo of McQueen in Hawkes words. Well, whatever it took to drag Hawkes from his grief.

He handed the burnt bear to West and delved into the foot locker again.

~

McQueen looked up expectantly when he heard the brief knock on his hatch. He put his book away. He's been expecting Hawkes, sooner, rather than later, reading the need in Hawkes' eyes when he'd offered him comfort before. Things couldn't be the same between them, but he was ready to welcome an older, wiser, melancholic Hawkes into his arms.

Cooper wasted no time, almost climbing, clawing his way on top of the Colonel as soon as the door closed behind him, trailing burning kisses across McQueen's face, his fingers pulling down on the zipper of McQueen's flight suit, tugging anxiously at the material, making impatient little whines in the back of his throat, not able to strip McQueen quick enough.

McQueen held Cooper's face in his hand's for a moment, studying the face he had grown to cherish, before letting Cooper descend upon him once more with hot, unsated kisses, grinding him against the floor of his quarters, supple body rising and pushing against him with need.

McQueen woke suddenly, pupil's dilating as he saw Cooper standing above him; he was blinded by the glare as the gun fired.

Ross threw the report down on the desk in front of McQueen, his expression a wart between anger, disappointment and sympathy.

"You really want to file this report, Ty?" He asked, using the intimate pronoun to indicate that this discussion was off the record.

McQueen said nothing, his features as immovable as the stone on Easter Island.

"You really expected anyone to believe that Lt Hawkes' weapon accidentally discharged whilst he was cleaning it - in your quarters- seven times."

"That's my report." McQueen affirmed, shifting uncomfortably. He reached for his glass of scotch, the pain killers wearing off. Ross was surprised McQueen had even taken the pain killers, but the bullets through his shoulder and thigh had torn muscle and grazed bone, he knew they must hurt, hurt a hell of a lot. Damn proud bastard had checked himself out of the infirmary almost immediately, but had since holed himself up in his quarters, drinking and brooding.

"Ty," Ross tried again. "If that boy tried to kill himself, or you, I want to know. Its my ship, dammit. I've got to know."

McQueen sipped at his scotch, then put it down with a barely hidden wince.

"I know Cooper, " he began. "I saw his eyes when he pulled that trigger, and it wasn't Cooper."

"Are you saying somebody got to him again?"

"I'm saying he's still under someone's control, and all the loyalty testing in the world won't tell you who, because that's how they got him in the first place."

"I don't like what I'm hearing, Ty."

"That's because its the truth."

Ross considered this.

"I wish I could help you, Ty, but without evidence, when Lt Hawkes is recovered enough, there will be a formal enquiry. I'm, sorry, Ty."

"He will recover?" McQueen asked, his voice betraying a concern that saddened Ross further.

"I'm told he's been moved from a critical to satisfactory condition. He's expected to make a full recovery."

McQueen bowed his head, grateful for small mercies.

"You want to protect the boy, get me evidence of this conspiracy of yours." Ross advised.

Hawkes' blue eyes narrowed, taking in the sling on McQueen's arm, and the obvious discomfort in the man's face as he perched on the side of Hawkes' bed, thumb brushing over Hawkes hand unconsciously, almost desperately.

"They say I shot you?" Cooper asked, sounding so surprised, innocent and confused.

"Yes. You don't remember."

Cooper shook his head slightly.

"Its okay," McQueen soothed, voice as smooth as silk. "You weren't yourself, otherwise your aim would have been better."

"Am I in trouble?" Cooper had to ask.

"Yes," answered McQueen, traces of anguish buried in his voice.

Both men fell silent, unsure of what to say. McQueen held Cooper's hand, letting his action speak for the words he couldn't find.

Ross barely had enough time to look up at the enraged McQueen that stormed into his quarters before bits of machinery were tossed onto his desk before him.

"I wouldn't touch that, Sir," McQueen warned as Ross reached towards the VR gun from the Officer's mess.

"It's coated with a reactive chemical that's absorbed through the skin. Its what Monitor's use to control tanks. I'm not sure what effect it might have on a human." He almost spat the word.

In all the years he'd known McQueen, Ross doubted he'd ever seen him so damned angry. No, he had, but it had been a long while. He fooled himself into thinking McQueen might have actually been mellowing.

"This is how?" he asked.

"Part of it."

McQueen switched on a hand held TV monitor. "This was in the game." He pressed playback. Flashing up after each successful kill in the game, was a picture of McQueen, amongst others, with a soft, hypnotic message that he must also kill these targets.

"They hot wired this into his pleasure centre." McQueen accused. "You're in there, too, Sir." He added.

Ross didn't hide his concern.

"Has Hawkes been deprogrammed."

"For now."

"Now we know the how, but we need to know who."

McQueen's face was set with righteous anger even further as he slammed down a blow up of the circuits.

"That chip there, shouldn't be there, according to the schematics. Take a look at the manufacturer."

Ross, sinking feeling in his gut, didn't really need to, already knowing the name he would read there. Aerotech. The multinational company with fingers in so many pies, they'd made the AI's, and the war machines to fight them, just as they'd sent out the Colonies, and the war machines to revenge them, as well as being a majority shareholder in the Invitro program. They'd programmed Hawkes like a clock radio. Well, they'd made a mistake. No one messed with anyone under Ross's command on his ship. No one.

It should have come as no surprise to McQueen that his evidence of the conspiracy vanished almost simultaneously to Ross receiving directions that no investigation into the incident of Hawkes discharging his weapon would be required. The only acceptable outcome of the entire incident was that Cooper seemed to have no real lasting scars, either physical or psychological.

~

"Juke it! Juke it!" screamed Hawkes over the intercom.

West ducked and weaved but the missile zeroed in on him and exploded up his right thruster, throwing him forward so hard he thought his teeth would jar loose.

"West!" Hawkes screamed.

"Got my thrusters, and stabilisers." West's voice came over the intercom, buzzed with static and sounding slightly punchy. "I've got to take her down."

"West, that planet is hot."

"No choice. I'm a lame duck. I don't wanna be a sitting duck."

West's Hammerhead angled itself down towards the planet.

"I'll cover him," Hawkes advised, and his hammerhead dipped down to follow West's, leaving the dog fight to the rest of the 58th.

Nathan's weapon's were out, the whole system was shutting down; Hawkes flew around him, firing off angry shots at any Chig who dared to cross their path as they entered the atmosphere. Nathan's plane skidded about, almost flipping over.

"Hold it steady!" Hawkes demanded.

"Can't," Nathan grunted back, it taking everything he had to hold the joystick steady.

The atmosphere buffeted him, rocking him back and forth, if he'd had lunch, he would have lost it, but Nathan never ate before a mission. He was sweating, he tried blinking it away, the coolant system was offline as well.

"Coop, I've got bad news."

"What now."

"I don't have any landing gear."

"Great. Hold on, I'll try and attach the grappling hooks."

They'd only done this manoeuvre once during basic training, and had never practiced it since then, Chig weapons usually not leaving enough of a hammerhead to scoop up with a butterfly net. Hawkes flew up over Nathan, matching his speed and altitude.

"Hold it steady, West," he grunted.

"I'm trying, but she's going on me, Hawkes. Hurry up or I'm gonna be one big smear across the horizon."

Cooper released the hooks, they snagged West's hammerhead neatly. West felt himself jerked back suddenly, and let out his breath a tiny bit.

"Hold it steady," repeated Hawkes.

But West's ship skipped and skidded all over the place, ripping free of the grapples.

"Crank the chicken switch!" screamed Hawkes over the intercom, and watched helplessly as Nathan's ship separated, both sections tumbling to the ground, ploughing across arid acreage.

"West! West! West, come on, fuck you, answer me!" he demanded, but only static filled his ears.

When he found the wreckage of West's cockpit, there was no body in it, which was a good sign, unless the Chigs or AI's had beaten him to it. Kneeling down, he saw that the ground was disturbed, and spotted with blood. West had left a trail, indicating his direction, which meant he was alive, but injured severely enough to not be able to cover his tracks completely.

Hawkes hitched up his pack and began to follow the trail. Seconds later he was face down in the dirt as a volley of heavy artillery exploded around him. The cockpit took another hit, peppering the hills with shrapnel. Hawkes bit down as he felt a piece of burning metal slam into his calf. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled for better cover, never losing sight of the trail Nathan had taken. For each break in the enemy's fire, he rabbit ran across the unfamiliar terrain, diving for cover where he found it, ignoring the blood that filled his boot.

He found Nathan lying in a ditch, a makeshift fox hole, pale and sweating. His leg was obviously broken leg, doubled over, not even bothering to check if Hawkes were friend or foe.

"West, Oh, damn," muttered Hawkes, realising how difficult it would be to carry West out without covering fire. They were essentially pinned down.

He handed Nathan his water bottle, hoping they could hold out until help arrived. McQueen would come. He knew McQueen would come.

Nathan didn't reach for the canteen Hawkes proffered, and, growing concerned, Hawkes scrambled down closer, leaning Nathan slowly back.

Nathan's hands were clutched across his midriff, and they were caked with mud and blood.

"Nate, Oh, fuck," was all Hawkes could say when he pulled back one of the hands and saw.

"Shrapnel," Nathan answered, almost ashamed. "I looked up to see you land, the same moment they fired on the cockpit. I'm sorry, Coop," he offered.

"No, Nate, don't you leave me, " Cooper insisted, distress in his voice.

"I'm cold," Nathan complained.

Hawkes scrambled over to him, pulling him into his arms, leaving one hand free to hold the small sidearm, knowing it wasn't much to defend themselves with, in any case. AI or Chig artillery, it was hard to tell. Save the last bullet for yourself, McQueen had told him. He thought of that as he looked at the gun in his hand.

"Get out of here, Hawkes. That's an order."

"I'm not going to leave you!" Hawkes snarled back.

"I gave you a direct order, LT."

"And I guess I'm disobeying it, Captain. A Marine doesn't desert his buddies."

And that was the end of the matter. Nathan never expected the tank to leave him, he was too loyal a friend for that.

Nathan shivered against him. Hawkes kept his eyes on the horizon, not wanting to look, not wanting to know that Nathan was holding his insides in place with his own hands. To see Nathan's face, to see Nathan's eyes was to see that Death had already claimed him.

He felt the rattle when Nathan slipped away in his arms. No sound as such, just a slight shudder, and then complete stillness, and he knew he was no longer holding his friend, but an empty shell. He let Nathan's body drop and now peeped over the edge of the ditch, swapping his gun to his left hand. There was no time for sadness. That would come later.

Blinking, through the dust kicked up by the shells, he saw a lone female figure walking towards him. As she drew closer, he saw it was Shane. She smiled, and held out her hand to him. In her other arm, he saw that she held Kate, cradled in the crook of her arm.

He glanced back to Nathan's body for a moment, then to the AI patrol that had him pinned down, and then back to Shane. There was nothing but love in her eyes. Slowly, he stretched his hand up to hers.

McQueen wrenched the APC's door almost off its hinges, scrambling over to the foxhole as Wang and the rest of the 58th covered him. What he saw drew him up short.

West's body was cold, he'd been dead several hours. But Cooper; Cooper was still warm and supple, blood still oozing from his wounds. He'd not been dead more than 5 or 10 minutes. If they'd been a few minutes earlier...McQueen felt the knowledge knock him down to his knees

"A black cloud of grief came shrouding over Achilles.
Both hands clawing the ground for soot and filth,
he poured it over his head, fouled his handsome face
and black ashes settled onto his fresh clean war-shirt.
Over powered in all his power, sprawled in the dust,
Achilles lay there, fallen...
tearing his hair, defiling it with his own hands."

~

"My dear comrade's dead -
Patroclus - the man I loved beyond all other comrades,
loved as my own life - I've lost him - Hector's killed him...

...My sprit rebels - I've lost the will to live,
to take my stand in the world of men - unless,
before all else, Hector's battered down by my spear
and gasps away his life, the blood-price for Patroclus,
Menoetius' gallant son he's killed and stripped!"

"Ty," Ross' voice was laden with sadness and sympathy. He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but not this, not his old friend looking very much like a broken man. of all the times he'd been told tanks didn't have feelings, never had those words been proven more stupid and ignorant. He was still shaken by the image of McQueen being all but sat on by Wang to prevent himself slashing himself with his k-bar and committing sepuku there and then by Hawkes' body.

"Ty," he began again. "I know those boys were like sons to you, I know you loved them, but,"

"Replacements are arriving in three days. I know. You want me to pull myself together by then, to be fit for command. I've never shirked a day of duty in my life, Sir. In case it has escaped the Commander's attention, I am off duty."

It hadn't, otherwise Ross wouldn't be here, in his quarters, trying to, what, he didn't know. He should have expected this, he'd seen McQueen grow closer and closer to 'his kids' every day, he seen the formation of bonds that went far beyond the chain of command. They may replace the lost members of the 58th, but Ross knew these replacements would be soldiers, nothing more, never again McQueen's kids.

McQueen grew uncomfortable and scowled, hating himself for showing such weakness, hating himself, but unable to stop himself wallowing in his grief.

"Sir, you know damn well Cooper was my lover, please allow me the privacy to mourn him as such."

"All right, Ty. But its not like you to indulge in self pity. Rage and revenge I could understand, but this..." he indicated the collection of empty bottles, or dead marines as they were colloquially known, that littered unevenly across McQueen's usually anally neat desk. "Just how many have you had, anyway?"

"Not enough." McQueen grunted.

Ross could see he was butting his head against a stone wall.

"I lost two good men today," he reminded as his parting words. "Don't make it three."

~

McQueen took another sip of the scotch and stood looking out of the window into the blackness of space, knowing that somewhere, in that darkness, were the mortal remains of Cooper Hawkes.

Almost unconsciously, his hand moved across to touch the play button on Cooper's antique as the CD stereo. Nivana's "In Utero" album began spinning as the laser touched it and Kurt Cobain's desolate voice filled the room.

"What else should I be
All Apologies..."

~

"Enough.
Let bygones be bygones. Done is done.
Despite my anguish I will beat it down,
the fury mounting inside me, down by force.
But now I'll go and meet that murderer head-on,
that Hector who destroyed the dearest life I know.
For my own death, I'll meet it freely - whenever Zeus
and the other deathless gods would bring it on!"

McQueen adjusted the collar of his dress uniform. He pulled on the white gloves, always hating the feel of them, of what they symbolised, of why he only wore them for funerals. Funerals like this. He adjusted his cap and observed his reflection in the mirror. No emotion was betrayed in those ice cold grey eyes or on the pale skin of his handsome face. Good, he thought, just the way it should be.

"Standing round him, loving comrades mourned,
and the swift runner Achilles joined them, grieving,
weeping warm tears when he saw his steadfast comrade
lying dead on the bier, mauled by tearing bronze,
the man he sent to war with team and chariot
but never welcomed home alive again."

McQueen dragged his old foot locker from under his bunk, opening it, ready to don once more the black cloth of his battle gear.

"But now, Patroculus,
since I will follow you underneath the ground,
I shall not bury you, no, not til I drag back here
the gear and head of Hector, who slaughtered you,
my friend, greathearted friend...
Here in front of your flaming pyre I'll cut the throats
of a dozen sons of Troy in all their shining glory,
venting my rage on them for your destruction!"

~

The silicate spluttered sparks before him.

"At the point of death, Hector, his helmet flashing,
said, "I know you well - I see my fate before me.
Never a chance that I could win you over...
Iron inside your chest, that heart of yours.
But now beware, or my curse will draw god's wrath
upon your head, that day when Paris and lord Apollo -
for all your fighting heart - destroy you at the Scaen Gates!"

Death cut him short. The end closed in around him.
Flying free of his limbs
his soul went winging down to the House of Death,
wailing his fate, leaving his manhood far behind,
his young and supple strength. But brilliant Achilles
taunted Hector's body, dead as he was, "Die, die!
For my own death, I'll meet it freely - whenever Zeus
and the other deathless gods would bring it on!"

With that he wrenched his bronze spear free of the corpse,
laid it aside and ripped the bloody armour off the back."

McQueen reached down, pale anger on his face, and snapped Hawkes' dog tags from Elroy's neck.

"Standing over him, so they'd gloat and stab his body.
But once he had stripped the corpse the proud runner Achilles
took his stand in the midst of all the Argive troops
and urged them on with a flight of winging orders:
"Friends - lords of the Argives, O my Captains!
Now that the gods have let me kill this man
who caused us agonies, loss on crushing loss -
more than the rest of all their men combined -
come, let us ring their walls in armour, test them,
see what recourse the Trojans still may have in mind."

"Thestor's son, the clearest by far of all the seers who scan the flight of birds."

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