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Chapter 21: Picking Up the Pieces

"I've been told dreaming's free; Think I'll go back to sleep..." -Jerry Cantrell

Brian paused for a moment to wipe the errant film of sweat from his brow, the large workbench in the shuttle's small machine shop filled with the multiple projects he had taken on. Cast aside in the corner were the remnants of the advanced armor two of the mercs had worn, large sections removed with one of the fusion cutters he had found to make improvised trauma plates for his armor. It had taken him nearly a full day to figure out how to use the tools in the alien craft, supplementing them with the ratchet and screwdriver set he had taken from the Humvee.

The past few days had been very busy ones. The fancy medical machine that was busy keeping Krystal alive hadn't been able to wager a good guess as to how to work on humans, but the Simian race option seemed to be the best fit. After some warnings about overexertion and the fact his 'bodily fluids' might give off a peculiar smell for a few days while the nanites broke down the bullet the Sharpclaw put into his side, he figured he needed to get all the stuff he could back together.

Some of it went smoothly; the recovery of the Spellstone and whatever equipment he could scavenge off the dead mercs was about the easiest part. In addition to the laser pistol he stole, another one was recovered from the merc pilot he had shot. Other than that it was the same strange Soviet bloc hardware they used. One AK74 and one RPK74, a couple of what looked like oversized Makarov pistols, and a smattering of ammunition for them. Their markings left no doubt as to their origin; an outfit called CDI had stamped the designation PR74 and HPR74 on the receivers. That puzzled the Marine; they had lasers. How in the Hell did they manage to get their hands on the Kalashnikov design, and why in God's name would advanced aliens prefer them to rayguns? The only major differences were the addition of accessory rails similar in nature to what he had on his M16 and the ridiculously complex rangefinding scope on the Dragunov.

The other chores he had to do didn't go quite to plan. Learning to pilot the assault craft the mercs left behind reminded him of one thing: he had picked the Marines over the Air Force for a very good reason. There was a basic manual he read up on before attempting it, but not after bashing it a few times against the high rock walls in the mine complex in which they had landed. He counted the fact he hadn't rammed Krystal's shuttle as a minor miracle. Either way it was pretty badly wrecked by the time he landed it. Moving Krystal to the shuttle and scavenging what he could in the way of supplies had been pretty easy by comparison.

Either way he had lost track of time. At least three or four days had been spent in the machine shop, repairing and augmenting his gear. He emerged only to eat and check on Krystal; her condition was slowly improving as the wonder kit did its work. The original estimate as far as when she would be up and about was wildly inaccurate; although considering her very close brush with death it was amazing she was still alive. A small part of his mind decided to speak out, suggesting the fact that the feverish pace he had adopted was solely because he needed to keep his mind off of her fate, leaving it to the machine to do the job he couldn't possibly accomplish. That somewhere beyond the gruff exterior and the emotional rollercoaster he had ridden the past several months there was a part of him that cared for her as more than just an ally of circumstance.

He pushed past that as if he were swatting an annoying fly. There was work to do. His M14 was disassembled in front of him, following the schematics in the field manual he had taken when he was issued the rifle from the armory at the base all those months ago. The problem he was experiencing was quite evident; the Sharpclaw club he blocked had slammed right into the receiver, denting the guide rails, magazine well, and the magazine he had been using. It would take hours of careful, painstaking work to straighten out, although until Krystal woke up he had the time. She was far better qualified to fly them out of there.

The sensations were almost indescribable. Krystal was floating in an impossibly dark sea, completely devoid of all sensation. The only thought that crossed her mind was 'what happened to me?' It remained unanswered. Her only memories before that were brief flashes of fear, excruciating pain, more fear, anger, and desperation. Then, the darkness which currently enveloped her. Another thought. 'Am I dead?'

If so, where was she? Was this the Void? Had she somehow committed a transgression against her ancestors, damning her to this place? Wasn't she supposed to live among the spirits of her loved ones, free of the pain and strife of the mortal world? Spirits existed; she was a Channeler, after all. Where was hers?

Snippets of the memories she experienced started to flash by at a frightening pace. Her ordeal as a mere kit, tied down to a stone slab as her own high priest stabbed her through the heart with something. The memories of another Cerinian, experiencing the pain of being shot by men like Brian... her own experience being shot. The golden flash as a rush of newfound power coursed through her body, a desperate attempt at saving their lives from the ones who sought to kill them. It was all a complete mess, yet somehow she understood. She pressed further, pushing out with her mind until a bright flash of light and the sensation of having a body returned to her...

There was no sound past a dull ringing noise; the world beyond reduced to a slow motion blur. The immediate sensation of something moving her body of its own volition sparked a mild, distant curiosity; was this another dream?

The air was hot, thick with the metallic stench of blood and smoke; tainted by a sharp, somewhat familiar scent she couldn't place, yet a term popped into her mind: Smokeless powder. She didn't have time to mull upon that meaning as the world revealed itself to her sight. Bright, blazing sunlight doused a very barren, sandy area; the likes of which she had never seen on Cerinia. She had heard of deserts; even listened to some of Maloc's trader friends talk of a planet whose desert spanned its entirety, but she had never seen one until now.

A vehicle identical to the one Brian had been using stood tens of meters away, completely destroyed. It was the source of the stench of burning, along with the three men in clothing almost identical to her ally's. They were sprawled upon the ground, unmoving and bleeding, being attended to by two humans with serious expressions on their faces.

The sight of the broken bodies provoked emotions. Fear. Cold, calculating rage. Strangely enough, concern and compassion were buried deep inside all of it, providing a motive for a mind determined to kill those who had deigned to harm his fellow warriors. Her arms moved of their own accord, clothed in the same strange, mottled fabric of Brian's uniform. Her hands were encased in thick, black gloves, grasping the same type of blaster rifle he taught her how to use. Her focus was clear; she was experiencing one of his memories. Just like the other visions, she was a passenger in his body, observing the horrors that he had gone through; the experiences that made him as surely as the ones she endured had made her.

"Lancing, get your ass to cover!" The voice sounded as it had come from a few kilometers away, despite being spun around to stare right into the face of another soldier. She couldn't see his eyes past a set of sunglasses with a highly reflective finish; instead she could see a confused expression on Brian's dirt-caked features. "We're going to provide cover fire for the corpsmen. Let's go!"

She glanced down to see the rifle much more clearly, yet even she could tell it was severely damaged. A thought rang through her mind; the voice behind it clearly Brian's. _Completely fucked. Stock's snapped in half. If I fire that, the buffer assembly's going to fly right out of that channel._His voice carried out, barely audible over the ringing. "My rifle's FUBAR, LT! Gonna need a weapon!"

The man pointed towards another dead body several yards distant. A wave of revulsion washed over Krystal as she saw the extent of damage the once-living human had been subjected to. The unfortunate soul had been subject to the wrath of Brian's angry comrades, marking him as an enemy combatant before he had been torn apart by their crudely effective projectile weapons. Lying next to him was another rifle, scarred and battered by a mixture of combat and age. The handgrips and shoulder support were made of wood and not sleek plastic, but even to her untrained eye it looked exactly like the weapons the Lylatians had been using.

The point of view bent downwards, glove-covered hands grasping at the weapon. After it had been picked up one of the hands patted the corpse several times, locating a few of the curved 'mags' that fueled the human weapons. These were tucked into his pockets, after which he stood up.

Yet, as suddenly as her senses had switched to Brian's memories they were torn away, a bright flash of light replacing the strange scene. A dull ache spread through her body, followed by a vicious stab of pain in her chest. As the scene faded away and her eyes snapped open one final thought rang through her mind, still in Brian's voice. Need to keep these assholes off our guys. Make sure they can get back home...

Krystal was awake, simultaneously overjoyed that she was alive and wishing she wasn't. Her entire body felt as if it had been thrown off of Kliefer Mountain in her absence, despite the fact she was in her bedroom on the shuttle. The soft mattress underneath and the luxurious pillows cradling her head only served as a mild comfort. Her body was rebelling against the treatment it had gone through and the dim lighting revealed she was completely alone, except for some large machine perched on a cart next to the bed.

"Please remain still for post-treatment examination." The voice from the machine startled her. A humming noise ensued from it for a moment, after which the mechanical speaker resumed. "Patient is conscious and alert. Vital signs nominal. Current recommendation is for little activity and as much rest as possible. Please refrain from high-stress activities for a minimum of two weeks if at all possible. Any remaining nanites in your system will be deactivated within twenty-four hours. A summary of patient injuries and complete assessment will be available below."

With a groan Krystal sat up, the sheets cascading from her body. Her ears flared scarlet in a deep blush as she realized that she had been undressed at some point. Did Brian...? A brief, fleeting sense of anger crossed her thoughts, but was quelled instantly at the sight of her fur. It was a complete mess; large portions of her coat were completely matted through with dried blood and some strange gray substance. She attempted to reach out towards the machine with her left arm. The pain caused her to wince but it worked, felt more as a deeply-seated soreness than anything else. The device's holopanel came to life, complete with a mass of Lylatian medical terms she tried to understand.

The story became clearer over the next few minutes. The simple fact was she had been nearly killed. Brian somehow found the machine that had saved her life, carrying her back to the shuttle in the process. He hadn't abandoned her. He had managed to save her life once again. A sobering thought hit her; the absolute knowledge that she might be the only one of her race still alive, stranded in an alien system with strange cultures and traditions. She took a deep breath, wincing as her chest protested the action.

It took her several minutes to get up, extract an IV lead from her arm(that much she knew from the manuals Maloc forced her to study) and stumble to the room's attached refresher. The facilities were by Lylatian standards modern and luxurious; perfect enough to enjoy a nice, long, well-deserved bath. The water stores were plentiful, which came in useful as she ended up draining the tub several times; the crimson-tinted liquid a painful reminder of the events she barely survived. The pain gradually lessened, but the vixen understood very well she had limits for the time being.

After a quick use of the drying chamber next to the bath, Krystal finally turned to the mirror. The vixen who stared back at her was barely recognizable. She had lost weight, due to the arduous Trials she endured as well as the ordeals she went through on Sauria. When had she eaten last? She wasn't sure. Three reddish-pink spots she hadn't noticed before stood out perfectly; one marked her left shoulder and two were prominently placed upon her chest. Her fur hadn't started to grow back in yet, and would likely show the wild, off-color pattern scars from severe injuries typically left behind. The story was the same for the twin furrows that stretched across her stomach; a present from General Scales.

The one deviation that she wasn't expecting was the crimson cross-shaped symbol on the snow white fur right above her heart. She had the mark for as long as she could remember, but hadn't it been the same cerulean shade as the rest of her fur? Did this have something to do with the vision she experienced earlier? What could it have meant?

Looking up she noticed the most startling change of all: her eyes. Her emerald gaze was gone, replaced by pools of pure aqua. Krystal blinked once, then twice. Confusion set in, spurred onward by a memory of her mother. Several years before she caught her mentioning something about missing her beautiful blue eyes; was this what she had meant?

Yet, most disturbing of all was her expression. In addition to the scars and changes she had lost her confident posture; her sure-footedness gone with the weights placed upon her shoulders. In her place stood an exhausted vixen on the verge of defeat; the total lack of emotion on her features, a completely motionless tail and a tired slouch replacing her usually regal demeanor. Her eyes, despite the striking color, were dull and disinterested. This was not the Krystal she remembered. The Krystal she knew was rapidly disappearing; the confident, determined Council Potential and Guardian being replaced by a vixen who was unsure of her future. Had she been meant to die? Would she even survive Sauria? Did any of her family reach safety, or was she the last Cerinian left? Was Fate simply giving her a cruel reprieve from the horrors everyone else suffered? That was a question she had no answers to.

The gnawing ache of hunger pushed past the dull pain that radiated through her entire body. She stifled a growl of annoyance as she hobbled into her room, looking for something she would be able to wear. Her flightsuit was nowhere to be found and most of her clothes had been left behind on Cerinia. She settled upon an old sleeping gown that had been her mother's; lightweight yet ornate in design. She couldn't stumble into Brian wearing just her fur.

The interior of the ship was lit only with a diffuse glow; enough to see by but not much else. The complete lack of activity or sound was not lost on her; a slight spike of frightened concern welling up inside her heart. Where was Brian? Taking a deep, somewhat painful breath she reached out with her senses. The normal 'fog' around her perceptions had been lifted, as if the experience of almost dying had mysteriously augmented her abilities. Brian's thought patterns flowed into her mind; a fuzzy vision of the workshop in the lower level of the shuttle flashing before her eyes. She blinked; that hadn't happened before. She had some training, but not enough to discern someone's exact location that quickly.

Her steps were shaky and unsteady, but she made it down the flight of stairs without incident. The door to the medbay was shut; a brief prayer of thanks uttered under her breath as she passed it. She didn't need any more reminders of what she had been through. Gingerly she pushed the door to the engine room open, the soundproofed area giving way to throw a wall of chaos at her.

For a split moment it sounded like random noise, yet after a split second it changed pitch and purpose; it was music. The singing carried out, the voice filled with a mixture of passion, anger, and despair; the words echoing in her ears. _"All my life I was in the cold, now I find I feel nothing more. Leave me to learn, leave me to hurt; now I'm not so invincible..."_Beyond that her senses were screaming the same emotions at her. They weren't her own; they were raw, festering sensations that nearly overwhelmed her. It took her a moment to block herself off from them; two very valuable pieces of information gathered in the span of a few confused seconds.

Firstly, her senses were somehow far more sensitive than they ever had been before. While her abilities as a Channeler made her very valuable to Cerinian society, her telepathic abilities had been rather weak compared to those of her parents. While her mother had respected her privacy, Krystal hadn't ever been able to keep up a mental block around her. Somehow, her recent ordeal had increased her sensitivity far beyond what she thought her capabilities reached. It frightened her. Also, the overwhelming emotions that had come through belonged to Brian. She hadn't been able to read him that well before; relying more on his similar yet alien mannerisms and what he said rather than his surface thoughts. Her every instinct screamed at her to tread lightly. Instead, curiosity pulled her forward.

The angry, dark song faded from the set of speakers hanging from the workbench in the corner. Brian was perched on a tall stool, slumped over the station; somehow sleeping amongst the piles of tools and equipment strewn all about. Krystal stood still and silent for a few moments, the music switching to a very soft, sad, slow instrumental piece; eerily reminiscent to some of the great Cerinian tragic epics despite the completely unfamiliar instruments and melodies. The haunting chorus echoed in her ears: "Turn it off if you want to; switch it off, it'll go away..."

She took a few tentative steps forward, the music and constant hum of the engines muffling her already quiet approach. Steeling herself against the emotional onslaught she weakened her block, Brian's emotions once again assaulting her mind. The undercurrents of anger, rage, despair, and hopelessness were trying to add themselves to her own. She had a better grasp on herself than that, although it only served to illustrate that he felt the same way she did right now. The cause of the onslaught was as clear as the stream that ran through part of her parents' property; he was dreaming of something quite disturbing. Images flashed past her eyes, a soft sigh echoing past her lips as she took a few steps forward.

Something didn't feel right. His dream had been shattered into a thousand pieces; fragments of memories which drifted away like leaves in a stiff autumn breeze, leaving behind a feeling of jumbled, confusing anger. The only replacement for those shattered thoughts was a simple request, soft and tickling at his ear. 'Please, wake up...'

Despite fighting it, despite only sleeping for a couple of hours after an eighteen hour stretch at the workbench, his eyes snapped open. The familiar confines of the engine room surrounded him, although the warm pulse of breath on his cheek and the gentle pressure on his shoulder told him the big question running through his mind the past few days had been answered.

His response was automatic; as he blinked away his sleep-fogged gaze he lifted his head slightly, immediately coming across the worried gaze of a pair of pale aqua eyes. Krystal's fur was slightly damp and she looked far better than she did when he brought her into the shuttle; that alone spoke volumes. Even more disturbing was the nagging thought something was happening; something he just knew he wouldn't like. The suggestion deepened, a dawning realization coming to his mind: she was somehow looking inside his head, and she was ashamed of that fact.

"You were dreaming of her again." The non sequitur shook him out of those thoughts, a new one taking place in the confines of his head. She had just barely recovered from being shot multiple times, and she was worried about him? How did that work?

The completely confusing way to wake up notwithstanding, he wasn't mentally armed well enough to answer that. Sitting up straighter, he regarded the fact that his vulpine ally was clothed with a very flowing robe of a very light turquoise color; it looked more like nightwear than anything else. Still, he managed to fish for some words to explain his surprise. "You've been brought back from the brink of death by technology I barely understand, and you're more interested in what I've been dreaming about?"

Krystal paused for a moment; as she spoke Brian realized how dry and hoarse her voice sounded. It was as if she had been drinking sand for the past several days, although even he could tell she was in no shape to be up and around just yet. "I owe you once again, Brian. Please let me help the only way I know how? We've talked about this before. Dwelling on your former lifemate will only bring you pain."

The Marine arched an eyebrow as his mind kickstarted itself; a task made significantly more difficult by a decided lack of coffee. "I don't even remember dreaming about her. Do we really need to talk about the details of my impending divorce right now?"

The vixen nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the stirring Marine. "You're letting those thoughts consume you, Brian. Between thoughts of her and your concern for my safety you haven't had much room for anything else. You wake up even more tired than you were before you went to sleep, right?"

He opened his mouth, preparing a retort which stopped well short of being spoken. She was right, as painful as that truth was to admit. Fragments from dreams over the previous few days danced around his head like a morbid collage; visions of his wife in the arms of another man mingled with those of Krystal gasping her last breath in his own. It was as if she could...

"I can't explain how, but I am receiving your thoughts very clearly." Her interruption derailed his train of thought. "I'm trying to make sense of it myself, but I think we can both agree that the past several days haven't been easy ones for us." The vixen offered a pained smile as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Only then did he notice he didn't bother to shrug away from the contact.

"Well, you killed three of those mercs in one blow. Shot something out of your staff that simply disintegrated them. It looked like something straight out of a movie, until I looked over and saw they had shot you." Brian blinked back the sickening memory. "I thought you were dead." The words flowed like water after that, prompting a torrent of fresh emotions attempting to overwhelm her. Her senses, unused to such an assault, struggled to separate them from her own. He told her everything, from managing to kill the Galdon with his recently acquired blaster to finding the machine that saved her life.

"I just don't know, Krys." Brian's voice mirrored his exhaustion and confusion. "My mother is a trauma nurse, someone who deals with people who have suffered severe injuries. By our medical standards there wasn't much they could have done to save you. I know this is some sort of nanotechnology, but this is way beyond the scope of what humanity has accomplished. Faster than light travel is as easy to these people as a transcontinental flight is for mine. Laser pistols capable of hurting creatures with enough natural armor that bullets just bounce right off. These Lylatians have technology that my people can only speculate, so why are..."

"Why are they using weapons that your people designed?" Krystal finished for him, the intertwined memories still quite fresh in her mind. She understood his reaction to the Lylatians, now. "I can't answer that for you. They were sent here to kill me. But why? I..." She paused, the words stopping before she could get them out. Her expression became pained as she looked away, tears clouding her vision. "I... I'm likely the last of my kind left. Why would they kill every one of us? What did we ever do to them? They traded with us! They befriended us!" A growl came to her lips as she turned away, the frustration, grief, and anger she had been trying to keep inside venting to the only one that knew what happened. "We had no part in their damned war! We took no sides, we weren't ever affected by it until now!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off before he could do so. "When does it end, Brian? When will they be happy? When I'm dead? When they've cleaned every last bit of my kind from existence? For whatever sort of horrible reason they saw fit to kill everyone I knew!" Even though she turned away he could see her shoulders hitch. She was trying hard not to break out in tears.

"Damn it, Krys." His voice was surprisingly gentle despite his words. "They told me why. One of them tried convincing me to kill you, promising me a lot of money. He said you were some sort of key in bringing some guy named Andross back to life. I don't know who he is, but they were scared of him. Scared shitless." She turned to face him, unable to hide the tears flowing down her cheeks. It caught him off guard. The pain and grief in her eyes were all too human.

What she said was enough to cause his heart to shatter. "Why didn't you? Did you ever realize that perhaps that was supposed to happen? Maybe I wanted a quick end to all this grief? Everyone I knew is now in the Beyond, Brian. My friends, my family, everyone! Do you understand how much it hurts to not be there with them? I..."

"Yes, I do understand." Surprisingly, despite the rude awakening his voice was almost calm. "Yes, I know my family and most of my friends are alive. However, they think I died on some battlefield. They don't even have a damn body to mourn." The Marine glanced up, his eyes locking onto hers. "We've both lost everything. My ending up here after getting zapped by some sort of superweapon. Your entire people killed off by some seriously sick fucks. Those assholes coming after you armed with these AK knockoffs. None of this bullshit makes sense.

"I told you a few days ago before all this happened, that I have your back. I meant that. I know you're probably reading my thoughts right now, but I was afraid to lose you. You're the only one I can count on out here, and that means a lot more than I've been letting on." He paused for a moment, reaching up to wrap his hand around hers. For a moment they stood there, each of them wanting to say more yet unable to find the words to do so.

Krystal's voice pulled his thoughts from the music still flowing from the speakers he had rigged to the workbench. "I wish fate would have made our meeting a better one, Brian. There has been too much pain and suffering. Not just for us, but for everyone. Despite coming from a world far removed from mine, you have the heart of a Guardian. You have risked your life to save mine, and it's a debt I'm not sure I can repay."

"You've done the same for me, Krys." With those words he stood up, pulling the cobbled-together headphone cord connecting his media player to the makeshift sound system. He gave himself a quick once-over; he was still in a set of dingy fatigues, worn and torn by numerous battles. He hadn't shaved in several days, and he was starting to look more like a hobo than a professional soldier. He'd have to remedy that. "We both need some time to regroup. Why don't I grab a quick shower and we can discuss this over something to eat?"

The shower had done a bit of good, waking Brian from the fog that came with his routine over the past few days. The ritual of getting ready for the day(despite the local time being around the early evening) was getting him back into the swing of things. His wounds were healing nicely, although he did have to be careful about sudden movements. He would be adding a few scars to the collection, however.

The young soldier was also finding out the hard way that his supply of usable clothing was diminishing quickly. The sets of fatigues that came close to fitting him were either torn or badly bloodstained, which left him with his small selection of civilian threads. The base CO had been thankfully lenient on wearing civvies when off duty, although what he had was still a bit more suitable to wandering around Iraqi heat than battle.

The outfit was simple; a pair of nice bluejeans paired to a gray T-shirt. On top he opted for an old linen aloha shirt; white with a muted tropical pattern silkscreened on. That had been his dad's, purchased from a trip to Hawaii they had went on when he was a little kid. He kept it as a good luck charm, but for now it was about all he had. As he glanced in the mirror he noticed his hair was getting a little too long for regulations, but considering there wasn't a chain of command around to bother him about it he'd let it be.

Even with civilian clothes he was well aware that they were still in a potentially hostile area. While locked in the shuttle he made sure to carry two weapons. The old Colt was strapped onto his right thigh, and his new laser pistol was secured in a crossdraw position on his left hip. His reflection made him look a little like a cross between a Wild West gunfighter and a clean-shaven Thomas Magnum, but what the hell, he decided.

The Marine's stomach grumbled as he walked out of his chosen stateroom. He was sure Krystal was also hungry; at least he would be if he hadn't eaten in a few days. They still had a few MREs left, and for once he had the opportunity to kick back, relax, and let go of a little of the stress he was holding onto. Despite the odds they were still alive, and that was something to be thankful for, right?

The dining room area was just past the kitchen, which he stopped at to raid the cupboards and refrigerator(or at least what he assumed was one; it kept things cold). Krystal was already there, sitting at the large, ornate table that was bolted into the floor. It looked like oak, although he didn't know enough about wood to really know the difference. The vixen turned around from the datapad she had been pursuing, offering him a tired smile and motioning him to sit next to her.

"You look good." Her voice had softened a bit, yet still belied her exhaustion. "I'm sorry for earlier. The loss of my family is still a heavy burden on my mind." She glanced at the military food packet containers, then to the large green box Brian was setting on the table. "What is that for?"

"We've been through enough crap to last a lifetime, so I think we've earned a few brews and some downtime. I hate to put this planet's plight aside for a little bit, but we're no use to these people wounded and broken. Let's take a couple of days to heal up, sit down, and talk about things. Not this piecemeal stuff we've been doing, but, uh..." he paused for a moment, just letting the words come out in a torrent "...I think we could use the time to get to know each other better." As he said that he set his music player next to the box, connecting it to the pair of miniature speakers he had carried around. Having some sound to break up the silence was refreshing, and provided a link to a home that he may never see again.

Even with his emotions laid nearly bare to her, the statement caused her to blink. Yet, a ghost of a smile remained on her features as she watched him set up the meal packets to cook in the strange heat-producing bags that were provided. "That would be good, Brian. May I begin by asking what these are?" The vixen pointed toward the green bottles he had set out. "You called this 'beer,' right?"

"Yeah. It's a common alcoholic beverage on my planet. You may or may not like it, but, well..." once again he was trying to come up with words to describe events that simply came naturally to him. The natural order of things wasn't exactly that easy to explain to someone who had never experienced it before. "... culturally, sharing a drink like this with someone denotes a certain type of bond, a kinship if you will. Honor and tradition, you could say." With that he used the opener he usually had tucked into his wallet to pop open the bottles; the carbonation starting with that familiar _hiss_as a small amount of white fog escaped.

Krystal took a tentative sniff, wrinkling her nose. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, other than it didn't smell that great. "You drink this? I don't mean to be rude, but it doesn't smell that appealing. It's fermented, yet it smells nothing like ranot."

"Ranot?" Brian queried, taking a swig of cold beer for the first time in months. Despite the knowledge that this was the only case of Heineken within astronomical distances, he wasn't particularly worried about saving it. It wasn't like it was gold. "Some sort of drink from your world?"

"Yes." Without explanation she stood up and left the dining room. He noticed with a bit of concern that she was favoring her left arm. Yet, at least she was alive. So much for the whole Robinson Crusoe bit, surviving off an untamed land and being left to contemplate his life's path in peace. Instead, all of this happened. There hadn't been much time to think about it before all this; now he had the chance to be alone with his thoughts without risking his life doing so. The adage that boredom was a luxury was all too true.

The Cerinian returned a moment later, carrying two large bottles. It looked like some sort of wine or liqueur; he was surprised he had missed them when looking for supplies. His curiosity was soon sated, however. "My father started to hide these after Maloc found them. He can be a bit of an untamed spirit at times." The bottles fit the ship's decor; they had to be some sort of sculpted glass and likely worth a decent chunk of change.

"Can't blame him. I was a bit of a handful before joining the service." That brought more thoughts to his mind. Those nights spent out at the quarry off of 72nd, usually with friends, other times with Erica, drinking beer or whiskey snuck out from under their folks' noses. He was hardly a choir boy, but other than some stern warnings from his father's deputies of the 'I was a teenager once so I know how it is, but don't let your old man catch you sneaking booze' variety, he made it into adulthood relatively unscathed.

"May I ask why you decided to become a soldier?" Krystal inquired, taking the stopper off of one of the bottles. She had located a couple of glasses in the kitchen, both of which she filled. This wasn't characteristic of her, but ranot took part in many Cerinian traditions as well. She wasn't allowed to partake as a condition of her position as a Guardian, yet it was generally used in rituals celebrating lifedays and important holidays. The scent of Brian's 'beer' vaguely reminded her of it, and perhaps it would be polite to partake in his ritual as well. She took a sip and couldn't hold back wrinkling her nose, earning a chuckle from the Marine as a result.

"It's a long story, but the short of it is that I was in college at the time... eh, specialized schooling. I hadn't picked a specialization yet; I was trying to decide between manufacturing and computer systems, both interests of mine, but our country was attacked. Thousands died. We found out very quickly who did it, and I felt a duty to aid my nation. I signed up for the Marines, like my uncle had done in a previous war, and there you have it." Following Krystal's lead, he sniffed at the glass she had set aside for him. It smelled pretty good; light and a bit fruity. He took a tentative sip, nodding in approval. "I don't normally like stuff like this, but it's pretty good. This is that ranot you're talking about?"

Krystal nodded, picking up her own glass as she did so. "This isn't something I usually do, Brian. Ranot is something we use on special occasions such as holidays or important days such as a lifemating or lifeday. As a Guardian I'm not really allowed to have it." She took a sip, nodding at the far more agreeable taste. "However, I'm intrigued at why you decided to join your... military? This was part a duty to your family as well as your... nation? Who attacked your people? What happened?"

Brian took a moment to compose himself, the two drinking their respective beverages in silence while their meals cooked. The memories flooding his mind were so strong he had no doubt she could pick up on them, but exactly how to explain it? "It began as an ordinary day. I was in the living room, getting my stuff ready for school, and..." He recounted everything about a day that had started out so mundane and liable to be forgotten, yet turned into a horrific event that shocked his country to the very core. He left nothing out. The fear, anger, and uncertainty that welled up through him. The sickening feeling as one of his classmates found out his sister had been killed on one of the planes. A few of his uncle's friends at the Pentagon getting seriously injured.

As their food finished cooking he took it out of the heating bags, opening both with a practiced tug before passing her portion over. She offered a pained smile in return, yet remained silent as he continued. "The people responsible for doing all that took very public credit for it. Once that became knowledge, I signed up. My reasons? The video clips all over the damn TV. Seeing thousands of people dying, larger than life, repeated so often that it was just drilled into everyone's head. Maybe I fell for all the flag-waving and speeches, but I wasn't willing to sit idly by while people died for all this bullshit. So, I signed up. Got all the spiel handed to me. Freedom this, hearts and minds that. We got over there, and? Rocks. Just rocks."

"Rocks?" Krystal inquired as she scooped the last spoonful out of her meal packet, chewing the semi-bland alien food with disinterest as her attention focused on her companion. He took the time to open another bottle, taking a long draught out of it before he continued.

"Yes, rocks. Imagine an area filled with rocks and dirt. Small villages with people whose cares didn't extend beyond their fields. None of the modern conveniences we took for granted. They lived in huts that had been occupied by their families for hundreds of years. Hardly anyone other than your fellow Marines speaks your language. Usually, none of us knew how to say anything more than 'hello.' Instead of bringing freedom, it was as if we were alien invaders.

"Half the time we were cooped up in our firebase, performing drills or doing something menial. Other times we were sent out on patrols. Boring, mind-numbing work, but you had to keep your guard up all the time. You hoped you wouldn't get attacked. You hoped the people you walked out with came back alive and in one piece. What I told you was just the tip of the iceberg."

Krystal sat there as he continued, pausing only to refresh her glass of _ranot._His tales stabbed out at her; beings so willing to do violence towards each other over minor differences in their faith. Men being killed right in front of him. The vision she saw earlier was only a fraction of the horrors he had gone through... and somehow survived. She hardly noticed that she poured another glass, then another; the hazy fog drifting over her senses cutting out some of the scattered images bouncing around his mind. Idly, she chided herself for not practicing the techniques for curbing her abilities.

She never admitted it to Brian, but her talent in the Art hadn't been that great. She had to strain to pick up even surface thoughts. Whatever happened to her after she had been shot awakened something in her; removing a veil over her abilities she never even knew existed. Yet, she was thankful the ceremonial wine was able to give her some relief from the frightening images that were flowing through his thoughts. He didn't have that luxury. She had to do something. Hesitantly, she reached across the table, her fingers gently wrapping around his wrist as she lifted her gaze to meet his. "You saw them dying. I can see their faces. I..."

Brian cut her off. "Krystal, what are..."

She responded in kind, keeping her hand where it was. Not backing away was important, not when he needed her. "I'm sorry, Brian. I'm trying to understand your world. The only way I can is through you. With what you have experienced, I understand why you dream like you do. Pain, death... hardship. While Cerinia was no stranger to wars, the Elders mended our differences by starting the Council. Yes, as a Guardian I was taught to take lives much as you have been, but we also held that life is sacred. As a soldier, it is understandable that you can lose that. You have to see your enemy as something less than yourself, even if it means losing a part of yourself in order to survive."

He was literally speechless. He wasn't sure if she had lifted that from his head or not, but the concern in her expression was genuine. It had to be. Civilians just didn't get it. That was a major part in why Erica distanced herself from him. It wasn't like he could talk to her about it. She couldn't understand what it was like, some of the things he had done for the sake of protecting his friends or himself... or the innocents caught in the crossfire. But, Krystal somehow did. She wasn't a soldier, but she wasn't a civilian either. "I don't know what to say, Krys. I really don't. It's hard to put into words what I..."

Her other hand reached across the table, emboldened by the warm glow of the _ranot_she had partaken. Her fingers traced along his cheek, marking the passage of an old scar. Expecting him to flinch or push away, she was surprised when he didn't. "You are a warrior, Brian. As such, you carry many wounds. Not only on your body, but in your mind and heart as well. Your lifemate, instead of reaching out to you and attempting to heal some of these wounds, pushed your arms away and sought out another." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts; collecting the courage to say what was on her mind. "I know I am young, perhaps younger than you are. Yet, I know the pain you feel is undeserved. You didn't give up on me, and I owe you my life. Our future is uncertain, but we've survived so far. We may be warriors from different worlds and peoples, but I feel as if we've bonded in a way few can ever understand." Biting back a wave of nervousness, she offered her question to the air between them. "Perhaps, when this is over and you are willing, I could help heal some of your wounds as you have mine?"

The soft music carrying over the speakers punctuated the moment. She had reined in her abilities as much as she could; his answer had to be one that came from the heart, uninfluenced by anything she might accidentally cross over to him. What she was asking was unnatural to her; flying in the face of her upbringing and status as a Council Potential and a Guardian, yet at the same time it felt... right.

Brian's eyes remained locked to hers as his free hand went to grasp the one that was currently tracing the thin scar he took from mortar shrapnel a little over a year ago. Instead of pushing it away his fingers wrapped around hers, giving a gentle squeeze which was returned. A sheepish smile sprung to her lips, which was likewise returned. Part of him wondered why he was considering this, but it was canceled out by another, larger part that simply asked him when the pain and struggle would finally end. Hadn't he lost enough? "I've trusted you this far, and we've come out alive. I think you've earned enough trust for me to try."

They sat there in silence for several moments, unwilling to let go. They were unsure of what the future would hold, other than a harsh, life-or-death struggle that they consciously decided to put off. Yet, maybe that was the lesson that was so desperately trying to make itself known; the only thing keeping them alive was that trust that was finally coming through. Perhaps simply being allies of convenience just wasn't enough.

It was Krystal who acted first, pushing away from the table to stand on feet that suddenly seemed shaky. She took a few tentative steps around the ornate furnishing, crossing over to him despite the fog overwhelming her senses. She reached out for his hand, motioning for him to stand up. As he did she stepped in closer, winding her arms around his waist and burying her muzzle in his shoulder. "Thank you for everything, Brian. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. It has been a difficult journey, yet I am grateful for your presence."

"I can say the same for you, Krys." In response he drew her closer, blinking as she started swaying in time to the music that softly carried through the room. It took him a moment to recognize it. "Ironic, this."

"What?" She glanced up at him, a confused expression growing on her features as she started to move around. Once again his musical selections weren't close to what she was used to, yet it had its own charm. It wasn't the harsh, artificial 'grunge' that seemed to suit him. She wasn't paying too much attention to the lyrics, other than the voice mentioning a lady in red.

"One of the first times I danced with someone was to this song. First kiss, too." That night felt like it had happened several lifetimes ago. That was his freshman year of high school, and the name Michelle Stockard came to mind. He had dated her for a red hot minute before Erica. Still, compared to his time in the Marines, a divorce and being dumped on an alien planet, those memories seemed distant and foreign. "Are you sure this is what you want, Krystal?"

She nodded into his shoulder, memories of her own coming to mind. They weren't pleasant ones. Compared to Koleth, Brian's demeanor was far more respectful and compassionate. Yes, he was overcoming problems she still couldn't quite fathom, yet his actions carried a certain sense of honor behind him. Despite the odds stacked against them and the slim chances for their own survival, she felt safe with him. "I am."

Brian's expression mirrored Krystal's confusion as her ears folded backwards, shifting around to nose against the side of his neck. She pulled back after a moment, her nervous expression bridging the boundaries of species and culture. "I... I know we have done this before, but..."

"...this is different." He finished for her. Gingerly, as if he were handling a priceless sculpture he let his hand fall on the side of her muzzle. His fingertips traced the downy softness of her fur, picking up the subtle hint of her warmth. For a moment he took the time to look at her, seeing the person beneath the gulf of differences that somehow no longer really mattered. His bond with Erica crossed his mind for a split second. Yet, what he had been through with Krystal eclipsed the high school dances and dreams of owning a house in Maine. They had fought together. Bled together. Nearly died together. Just like being out in Iraq, there were no guarantees. Life was short; frankly he was tired of not being able to live it.

He pushed all that aside as his fingers tilted her muzzle upwards. He moved closer, closing his eyes as his lips gently pressed against hers. Krystal's reaction was immediate; her arms gently drawing him closer as she pressed into the kiss. Her narrower muzzle and vulpine features made things slightly awkward, yet she didn't seem to mind at all.

Their impromptu pairing lasted for a few brief seconds, yet for each of them it felt as if a lifetime had passed. They remained in each other's embrace, Krystal glancing up to Brian with a smile and a slightly mischievous twinkle in her eye he had never seen before. "I believe I've thoroughly violated half the Council tenets by consorting with you." As Brian blinked at her and prepared a flustered response she pressed forward, her lips barely brushing against his as she spoke. "I thoroughly enjoyed doing it."