Rating: NC17

Spoilers: None

Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

E-mail: cmbower@ennorath.net Comments are always welcome

A week later, the 58th returned from a grueling ground-pounding mission. Everyone had taken some sort of light injury, keeping Adam busy. Silver had decided to accompany the squadron, needing to kill some Chigs up close and personal.

Silver let the squad disembark first, feeling weary. Then she heard the excited thrilled voices. Standing in the door of the ISSAPC, Silver saw him, standing straight and tall, vital and alive, surrounded by his kids.

She nodded to him and reported to the commodore. "Well, he's back. And definitely in one piece."

"It's good to see him."

"Yes, sir. I'll have a mission briefing for you in the morning if you don't mind, sir."

"Very well, Colonel."

"Night, sir."

"Night, Colonel."

Four hours later, a knock on her hatch dragged Silver from her sleep. "Who's at my hatch?"

"Colonel McQueen."

"Just a sec." She staggered over and opened the door. "Come in." Silver dropped down into a chair. "Yes?"

"I wanted to say thank you."

Looking up at him, Silver felt her heart pound harder. Damn, how she wanted him. "So, what's on the agenda?"

"The commodore has agreed to let me lead the next ground mission in a week."

"You're welcome to it."

"I'd like you to stay on the Saratoga."

"Fine."

"Again, thank you, Silver."

"You're welcome." Her heart stopped.

Silver locked the hatch behind him and let her tears fall, silently.

The 5-8 were two hours into their next ground mission when Silver approached Commodore Ross' quarters with a heavy heart. The last seven days she had been virtually ignored by the squad except for the trio. She knocked and entered as he called permission.

Glancing up, Ross couldn't help reacting in surprise at the obvious sadness in her eyes. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not really, sir. I came to say good-bye. I've enjoyed working with you, sir."

"Good-bye? But-"

"They don't need me any more, sir. McQueen's back in harness and going strong. My job is finished here."

"But you haven't said good-bye to them!"

"I did before they left. They just don't realize it yet."

"But-"

"They don't need me any more, sir. He doesn't need me now. And I sure as hell don't need to sit around, feeling sorry for myself. It'll do none of us any good."

"My god! You're in love with him, aren't you?" It clicked into place at last.

"Before I even came here. I wanted to get him into the regeneration program. I wanted to give him back his life. And I was foolish enough to hope I could somehow be a part of that life." Silver shrugged. "I was wrong. When all I got was a simple thank you and not a damn thing more, I knew I had to leave. I waited until they left on a mission. It'll be easier this way. Hell, I don't think they'll even notice I'm gone. The trio will, but they are now a part of the 58th. They can't come with me."

"Silver, don't just leave. Wait 'til they're back."

"I wouldn't be able to do it then, sir. And, I've already got my new assignment." Silver withdrew an optical disc from a hip pocket. "Sir, I have three personal requests."

"Ask."

"Please make sure that what's left in my quarters is sent home to Earth. I've left gifts for people. What's left is for my daughter and my family."

"Of course."

"Make sure no one mistreats Adam. He's really worth his weight in gold."

"Not a problem."

"And please... send a retrieval team for me in three months." She handed him the disc. "That's where I'm going. Don't bother trying to decode it. It won't decode until the three months is up. I'll do my best to be alive."

Ross closed his hand around the disc. "Silver-"

"Your gift is in my quarters, sir, on the bed. Thank you, and it's been a pleasure. Good-bye." Silver saluted him and spun on her heel.

"Silver!"

Back rigid, Silver walked out of his quarters and closed the hatch behind her. She fled down the corridor and was out of sight by the time Ross wrestled open the hatch.

"Oh, god, Silver, watch your back."

A single Hammerhead left the Saratoga and slipped into the warp hole nexus ten minutes later.

Ross received word just before dinner that the 58th's ISSAPC was preparing to dock. He went to their quarters to wait, having left word that the entire squad was to report to their barracks, including McQueen. For three days his worry had festered, building into a kind of rage.

The 58th started to enter their quarters, tired, pleased, and somewhat puzzled. They were surprised to find the commodore waiting for them.

Ross ignored them, waiting for one in particular.

When McQueen entered on the tail of the squadron, Ross reacted, rising and slamming McQueen into the wall.

Caught completely off guard, McQueen could only stare at the man he considered a friend. "Sir?"

As the 58th stood, stunned by the attack, Ross growled, "Dammit, McQueen! Didn't you do anything during the week you were back to let her know she was a part of the unit?"

"Sir?"

"When you came back, how did you thank Silver?"

"I said thank you, sir."

"And then you ignored her, didn't you?"

"Sir, I-"

Ross' rage lifted McQueen off his feet, hands wrapped in the flight suit front. "Did you ask her advice?" He banged McQueen against the wall. "Did you even try to make her feel a part of this unit?" And again. "Did you even try to express the gratitude you owe her for what she gave back to you?" And again. "Did you?"

McQueen could only stare at Ross, slowly realizing what he had done.

The stunned expression in McQueen's eyes answered Ross and he vented his ire, punctuating every word by slamming McQueen into the wall. "You god damned, stupid, thoughtless, son of a bitching, jackass of a tank!" He pulled McQueen down and snarled in his face, "Do you know what you've done?"

Tossing McQueen aside, Ross turned to the 58th. "Did any of you bother to make her feel like a part of the unit?" At their guilty expressions, Ross growled, "For three months she led you, fought beside you, bled with you. She gave you back McQueen. And you couldn't even let her be one of you."

Rubbing his head and shoulder, McQueen rose from where he had been tossed.

Ross' rage died as he swept the room with contemptuous eyes. "I'm disgusted with the lot of you. You broke her spirit with your disregard; you broke her heart with your pettiness." His shoulders sagged and Ross turned to the door.

Finch sat on her bunk. At what she found there, Finch screamed, "No!" and collapsed to the floor. "No!" she keened over and over.

St. John took one look and crumpled down beside her, his arms around her, trying to comfort.

"What?" demanded Hawkes.

Russell turned from his bunk and taking precise, controlled steps, he stood beside Finch and St. John. Despair filled his voice and eyes as he answered Hawkes. "She took the job. Took the damned job. She wouldn't take it as long as we needed her." The color drained from his face.

"So what's got you upset?"

Russell slowly faced Hawkes. "She left-" He couldn't force the words out and merely gestured to all the bunks.

Hawkes ran to his bunk. He held up the six CDs, going through them. The three he had really liked were there. The rest were ones she had recommended to him.

Silently, the rest of the 58th went to their bunks.

'Phousse found a collection of Shakespeare with a small box sitting on top. Written on it was 'Happy B-day, 'Phousse.' "She remembered my birthday was next week." Inside was a hand embroidered silk scarf.

In her bunk, Shane found a battered first edition of Boelcke's Dicta. She picked it up as the treasure it was.

West picked up the copy of Moby Dick, running his fingers over the leather binding. Opening it, he discovered a note inside the front jacket. Try not to become Ahab. Live your life. Take what comes and enjoy living. Silver.'

Hawkes asked, "Why?"

"They're parting gifts, son," answered Ross from the doorway.

When Hawkes shrugged, not understanding, Russell recited dully, "When a warrior does not expect to return, he gives parting gifts to those he cares for. They are to serve as remembrances."

"What is this job she took?" demanded Shane. She almost recoiled at the pain in Russell's face.

"They needed someone to penetrate deep into Chig space, to gather information. She always referred to it as crossing the River Styx."

"That's insane! It's a suicide mission!" declared 'Phousse.

"That was the job they offered her before she came here. She turned it down at the time. She said she hoped never to have to go on another covert mission. She said if things didn't work out here, then if they still needed her to go, she would."

McQueen flinched when Russell stared at him. He could see the life draining out of the Invitro, replaced with emptiness.

"We didn't go to her that last night!" sobbed Finch.

They had gone to the pre-mission party, McQueen remembered. Silver had been there. He had seen her several times. But as he thought about it, she had ghosted, watching, but not participating. And then she had left and he had not even noticed when.

"When does she come out?" McQueen forced himself to ask Ross.

"Three months, if she's still alive."

"We'll bring her out."

"You have to earn it." Ross pointed to the three newest members to his squad. "You keep them alive and willing to go, and I'll consider it."

"Yes, sir."

Sickened with himself, McQueen bolted for the door. He ran through the corridors, heedless of who he bowled over. His quarters; he had to see if she had left anything. The door had been locked, but she would have found a way around that.

Still locked. McQueen hastily unlocked the door and entered. Nothing appeared disturbed. A step in and he found it hard to breathe as he spotted the two stacks of books in the desk chair. Slowly he picked up the shortest stack. A note stuck out of the top book. 'For Wang. Tell him I'm sorry. S.' The books were on astronomy, Shakespeare and philosophy.

McQueen set the stack on the desk and sank to his knees beside the chair, turning the chair so he could see the spines of the books. He read them from the bottom up. The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Hobbit, the collected Horatio Hornblower stories, and the collected works of Lewis Carroll. His hand clenched around what lay on the topmost book. Dog tags. The tags in his hand, McQueen bowed his head, the tears running down his face. He remembered how she would touch him, never pushing, banishing headaches, waiting for him to say he was ready. He remembered how she had eased his pain in Medical after Danson had used him so violently.

"She had me send what was left of her belongings to Earth." Ross stood in the doorway.

McQueen slipped her dog tags over his head. He would return them when he brought her out of hell. "Adam? Did she take him?" There was hope she would still be alive if the AI had gone with her. He tucked them under his uniform.

Ross shook his head. "He locked himself in her quarters the day after she left."

McQueen lurched to his feet and ran, desperately, to Silver's quarters.

The door was unlocked. "Come in, colonel."

McQueen did so, turning on the light.

In the farthest corner of the room sat Adam, a pistol in his right hand and something gold dangling from his left. "I hoped you would come. I wanted to tell you something. I initiated a virus in my secondary and tertiary memory cores. No one will ever know from me what she is."

"Adam? What are you saying?"

McQueen could hear despair in the AI's voice. "I could not help her. There was nothing I could do for her and she thanked me any way. I could not help the only person who ever saw me as something other than a machine."

The pistol lifted.

"No!" McQueen lunged for Adam.

The pistol fired.

McQueen grabbed the oil-covered form. "No! Adam!"

"Good night, sweet prince," whispered Adam. "She loved you."

Oil stopped pumping, servos ceased moving, and the light died from the cross haired eyes. The object held in the left hand dropped to the floor.

McQueen held an empty metal body. Gently, he laid Adam down. He snagged the object from the floor before standing. The gold Celtic cross bit into his hand as he stared down at the dead AI.

"Damn! He was worth three doctors." With a sigh, Ross entered. "He deserved better."

"The 58th Air Cavalry squadron will return her to the Saratoga, sir."

"I already told you the condition for that, colonel."

"Yes, sir." McQueen straightened his body. "The 58th will retrieve Col. Silver."

"Tell me one thing. Did you even think about really thanking her?"

Shame bowed McQueen's head. He forced the words out. "I was too wrapped up in being back. I intended to, I really did. It just got pushed to the side."

"I expected better of you, Ty. Of everyone in the 58th, I expected you to remember what it is like to be used and shunted to the side." Ross leaned against the wall.

McQueen's head snapped up. "I didn't use..." The look on Ross' face warned McQueen not to lie, to either of them. Head dropping, McQueen admitted, "Yes, I used her." He slowly met Ross' unforgiving gaze. "I intend to make it up to her."

"She has to be alive for that to work."

"She will be."

"You deserve disciplining." As McQueen stiffened, Ross continued in a soft, level voice that told McQueen how disappointed the man was in him. "I could yank the 58th from you, but that would be too cruel to them. No, I think this needs to be something just for you. I want your word, McQueen, that you will accept whatever private discipline measure I decide on."

Terror coursed through McQueen at the words 'private discipline.' Memories of natural born men inflicting their own brands of private discipline on his helpless body over the years coiled in his mind.

Ross recognized the terror and guessed at the cause. "McQueen, look at me. See me. Remember who I am. Have I ever truly hurt you? Before today, any way."

McQueen's head jerked side to side. His eyes were wide in panic. When Ross gently touched his arm, McQueen shuddered and pulled away.

Exasperated, Ross grabbed McQueen by the chin and forced McQueen to look at him. "I swear it will be private, there will be no sex involved, and no blood. I am not a damned Monitor. I am your friend and your commanding officer. I can't just let this go. This is unacceptable behavior. Trust me, McQueen. I will not truly hurt you."

The terror receded somewhat and McQueen managed a curt nod. "What... what if... if I can't accept it?"

"Then you will come up with a suitable punishment. But I think I have one in mind that will serve. If we start it and you truly cannot finish it, then you can tell me to stop. And we will try a different approach."

"Really?"

Ross nodded. "My word."

More of the tension drained from McQueen. "Then I will accept your discipline. My word."

"Report to my quarters in an hour, clean, and not in your flight suit. I want a regulation shirt, t-neck, t-shirt and real pants. Shoes, no boots."

McQueen nodded.

"Have Adam taken care of properly before then."

"Yes, sir."

Ross left.

When the door shut, McQueen collapsed to the floor, trembling. He couldn't shake the memories of whips, chains, tasers and vicious gang rapes that others had considered private discipline. He knew that his friend would not resort to any of that, but it still took nearly ten minutes for him to collect his composure and feel able to walk the corridors.

The hour up, McQueen stood before the commodore's quarters, inwardly shaking. He had showered until the water ran cold before dressing. A tremor coursed through him as he raised his hand to knock.

"Who's at my hatch?"

"Col. McQueen, sir."

"Come in," came the order.

McQueen entered the commodore's ample quarters. Normally, the familiar sights would have quieted McQueen; soothed his nerves, but he could not relax. Ross was not in sight and his sense of panic grew. He stood at attention in the center of the room.

"At ease, McQueen." Ross stepped out of the bathroom, straightening his uniform. He could see the terror in McQueen's eyes and body. Sitting down in the chair before his desk, Ross said, "Open the top dresser drawer. Bring me what you find there."

McQueen obeyed and stared at the paddle. He swallowed hard before picking it up and bringing to Ross. He knelt before the black man and bowed his head, forcing himself to submit.

"Do you know what punishment I intend to mete out, McQueen?"

"Y... yes, sir. A spanking."

"Have you ever had one?"

"No, sir."

"It is not intended to be brutal, McQueen. I want you to remember that. A proper spanking is humiliating and painful for some time afterward. Will you trust me to administer this spanking properly?" Ross lifted McQueen's head up by the chin.

"Yes, sir." McQueen couldn't help his body's trembling.

"To be done properly, you need to strip completely. I want to be able to read your body language. I don't want to drive you into a panic because of your stubborn nature. I will be giving you twenty five strokes." Ross released his light hold on McQueen's chin. "When you're ready," Ross said firmly. "Put your clothes on the other chair."

It took McQueen a moment to gather himself together. When he moved, it was swiftly before he could change his mind. He rose and stood before Ross, his hands unbuttoning his shirt while he stared at the wall above Ross' head, unconsciously staying within reach of Ross. Slipping out of the shirt, McQueen folded it neatly and set it on the leather chair. He changed directions, removing his shoes and socks, tucking them up under the chair.

As McQueen started to pull the white turtleneck over his head, Ross could see the tremors coursing through the man. He waited until McQueen had placed the shirt on the chair neatly before grabbing McQueen by the belt and dragging him down and forward onto his knees. Automatically, McQueen bowed his head. "Listen to me, McQueen. I am not going to beat you indiscriminately or throw you on the bed and fuck you, no matter how tempted I might be. I am going to do one thing and one thing only. I am going to give you a well-deserved spanking. Now, I am not going to make you get dressed and start over, but I do not want to see you reacting in fear of me. It is a spanking, nothing more. And I want you focused on what is happening here and why. I do not want you thinking about what some damn pervert did to you in the past. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." McQueen's voice was low.

"Look at me." As McQueen obeyed, Ross gripped his chin. "I know damn well what that head bowing means, exposing your neck navel like that. Don't you ever do that to me unless you fully intend for me to make love to you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

The panic had retreated for the time being, Ross could see. "Continue when you are able." He leaned back into his chair.

A deep breath and McQueen rose, still in reach. Steady hands stripped the white t-shirt off and folded it.

The scars that covered the pale skin drew Ross' gaze. He wanted to run his hands over them. His nostrils flared as he ruthlessly crushed all thoughts that might lead to sex. Reaching deep into his command training, Ross compartmentalized his libido and hung the key up on an imaginary wall. He did not intend to destroy their friendship.

McQueen had unfastened the belt and started to lower the pants by the time Ross had himself under full control.

McQueen's movements slowed as he folded the pants and set them carefully on the chair.

"Finish." Ross' voice did not reveal any emotion.

Not wishing to anger Ross, McQueen obeyed and stood before his commanding officer, naked at last, only the two pair of dog tags and the gold Celtic cross hanging from his neck.

Ross rose. His hand was gentle on McQueen' arm as he turned the Invitro around and made him take a couple of steps from the chair. "On your hands and knees."

Bonelessly, McQueen obeyed.

McQueen's posture was not quite right so Ross nudged his knees further apart with a foot. He saw the tension tighten the body before him. "I'm just positioning you properly. I don't expect you to relax completely, but stop tightening up so. You're going to get hurt that way."

McQueen nodded briefly and strove to relax his body several notches. He reminded himself that Ross was a friend, that Ross was not going to really hurt him. It helped some.

Placing a hand on McQueen's lower back, Ross crouched beside McQueen. "If it becomes too much, tell me. I don't want to hurt you." As McQueen nodded, Ross added, "Keep count, with cadence. It's twenty-five." Ross rose.

"Yes, sir." McQueen's voice was almost normal.

The whistle reached McQueen's ear an instant before the shock of impact. A gasp escaped McQueen before he could control it. "ONE!"

Ross kept an even rhythm, several seconds between each hard blow. He paused longer at the fourth.

"FOUR! I LOVE THE MARINE CORPS!"

After the twelfth blow, Ross let his arm dangle and ran his free arm down from McQueen's trembling shoulders to lower back. "Easy. Take a few deep breaths." The effort McQueen made not to cry was transmitted through his entire body. "Ready?"

A curt nod answered him.

At twenty, Ross paused again to rest his arm. "Breathe, McQueen." He asked softly, "Do you need to stop this?"

McQueen shook his head.

"Are you ready?"

McQueen shook his head again.

Having a good idea from the heaving of McQueen's chest as to why McQueen did not want to continue, Ross said, "Stopping because you're trying not to cry is not valid. Crying is good for the soul. Stopping because the pain is too much is valid. Which is it?" He did not figure it to be the pain that was truly causing McQueen to cry. It would be humiliation and the shame at his actions tearing McQueen apart.

"Continue, sir," sobbed McQueen.

"I asked you a question, McQueen."

"Crying, sir," whispered McQueen hoarsely.

"Very well. Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

McQueen was openly sobbing at twenty-five. His body shook with the force of his sobs and he was taken completely unawares by the next blow. McQueen yelped in pain.

"Good. That's the last one." Ross tossed the paddle on the desk and crouched, lifting McQueen's head by the chin. "Do you know why I gave you an extra one?"

McQueen could only shake his head.

"For acting like a teenager." When McQueen blinked and looked uncertain, Ross stated, "You acted like a thoughtless, hormone driven fifteen year old. An especially thoughtless one."

Closing his eyes, McQueen tried to hide his hurt.

"Look at me. I'm explaining this to you. Good. You are a Lt. Colonel in the Marine Corps. You cannot, repeat, cannot afford to act like a fifteen year old. I haven't met a fifteen year old yet who hasn't needed a good butt tanning, but I never thought I would have to give you one. I thought you were past that. Man, you're twenty years old. Now, as a Lt. Colonel, can you ignore a member of your squad?"

"No, sir."

"And did you?"

"Yes, sir."

"If it had been one of your kids, you wouldn't have ignored the signs."

"No, sir."

"But you never accepted her as a member, did you?"

"No, sir."

"Were her papers in order?"

"Yes, sir. She was officially a member of my squadron. We just didn't treat her like one. Sir, I'm sorry." McQueen's control broke and he collapsed sobbing to the floor, overcome by the raging emotions in his soul.

With a sigh, Ross wrapped his arms around the tortured soul and pulled him onto the bed. He held McQueen until the body racking sobs eased, stroking his friend like he would any child, whispering soothing words. When at last McQueen lay quiet with only the occasional body twitching, Ross raised himself onto an elbow and smiled at the fact that McQueen slept the exhausted sleep of a child. It was times like this that he remembered that his friend was emotionally even younger than the fifteen year old in his comparison.

Ross slid out of bed carefully, covered McQueen with a blanket and stripped off his own uniform. He took a shower and, back in a t-shirt and briefs, eased back down behind McQueen, pulling the blanket up over himself. This was not a night to leave McQueen alone.

A heavy weight across his chest and arms was the first thing McQueen became aware of as he woke up. He started to panic as he realized he was in bed with Ross whose arm was draped across his body.

The arm tightened. "Relax, Ty. I'm not doing anything. You need to stay with someone tonight."

McQueen struggled to regain his composure, the mask he presented the world. "Sir, I'm fine."

"Like hell. Now shut up and go back to sleep. It's only been two hours."

McQueen tried a different tack. "I haven't eaten in over twelve hours, sir."

"It's not going to work. You are staying with me, one way or another. Now I can handcuff you to me or you can accept the inevitable. It's your choice."

McQueen admitted defeat. "I will stay, sir, but you will regret it, sir. I do not sleep well under the best of circumstances."

"I know. The nightmares." Ross reached up and gently stroked the side of McQueen's neck. He felt McQueen's surprise. "I've heard you on nightly strolls. Every one knows, Ty. Some just willfully decide it is something else. Those of us who know you, we know the truth. You're a tortured soul. A soul in desperate need of healing."

McQueen buried his face in the pillow, swallowing hard. After a moment, he said softly, "Glen, I really need to eat something."

Raising himself on his elbow, Ross turned McQueen's head so he could see the pale blue eyes. "You aren't going to hold this against me?"

"I can't. You were right. I needed the lesson. And I need you as my friend." McQueen bared his soul, feeling the tears threatening to fall again.

"Thank god. I was really worried you would never accept me as your friend again." Ross smiled softly. "Don't ever make me do that again."

"I'll try not to. But I won't hold it against you if you decide I deserve it again."

"Good. Now, go get dressed and I'll show you a privilege of rank." Once McQueen had rolled out of the bed, Ross followed. He couldn't help grinning at the gasp of pain from McQueen as the colonel struggled to put on his briefs. "You'll be standing for a day or two."

Ross finished dressing before McQueen and he watched as McQueen attempted to tuck his shirts into his pants. "That's your uniform for the next three days. Unless you go on a mission."

"Yes, sir," came the subdued reply.

"Ty, it's all part of the punishment."

"I know. It just hurts like hell."

"You'll get over it faster than most teenagers. And Ty, if I ever have to do that again, I'll make you sit down for five minutes after your tanning. If you think what you're feeling now hurts, wait till you feel that."

"Glen?"

"Dammit, Ty, parents have been disciplining their children this way forever. My dad would tan my butt, and then make me sit for five minutes in a wooden chair. And then I still had to go to school and sit through my classes. Now that's punishment."

"Why do that?"

"Because sometimes it is the only way to get through a child's thick skull. As a famous comedian once observed, children are born brain-damaged. Not literally, it just seems so. Now fasten that belt. I haven't eaten since last night. I was too angry."

"I'm sorry, Glen."

"Enough. Now come on."

Ross led the way to the officer's mess. He unlocked the door and made his way to the kitchen. There he pulled out all the makings for a couple of huge sandwiches.

McQueen's gaze grew anxious as more and more items were placed on the counter.

"Don't just stand there. Wield a knife and slice the tomato. Nice thin slices."

Holding the knife Ross handed him, McQueen remembered his wife, laughing indulgently and showing him how to slice tomatoes.

"Good job. I'll be ready for them in just a sec." Ross slathered mayonnaise on three of the six bread slices and started slapping several different types of meat down on the bread. "Four slices on top of the meat," he said to McQueen.

Next came Swiss cheese, lettuce and another layer of different meats. "Damn, they're out of sweet and spicy mustard. Just have to make do with honey mustard."

"Glen."

"Don't worry, you'll love it." The mustard spread, Ross slapped the tops onto the sandwiches and placed them on disposable plates. He used McQueen's knife to cut the sandwiches diagonally before cleaning it. He pushed two sandwiches over to McQueen. "Go ahead. Start eating. You need to refuel that body of yours."

Squashing the sandwich, McQueen wondered about how it would taste. McQueen found he enjoyed the mixture of tastes.

They ate quietly, Ross sitting on a stool and McQueen standing, leaning over the counter. When they had finished, Ross reached back into the refrigerator and snagged two beers.

"Why are-"

"I informed the master sergeant when I took over the Saratoga that I sometimes want to make myself a sandwich in the middle of the night. Rather than waking up staff, I told him that I would appreciate it if the necessary ingredients were always on hand. Of course, I insure this with a bottle of seven year old Scotch every month."

"I'll have to remember that."

"Ty, what did Adam say to you? I could hear that he said something."

Staring at the counter, McQueen remained silent for a moment. Then he said softly, "Good night, sweet prince. She loved you."

Ross sighed. "It's true. She told me she loved you long before she even came aboard the 'Toga."

"And I tossed her away." McQueen sighed.

"Enough. Start thinking of ways to keep her kids alive. She left them with you because she trusts you to take care of them." Ross finished the cleaning up. "Come on. Back to bed with you. You've had a trying day."

In Ross' quarters, McQueen stood beside the bed, hesitating.

"Out of that uniform and into bed. Now." Ross removed his shirt and shoes and sat in his comfortable leather chair, pulling his guitar into his lap. He ignored McQueen and started strumming.

A few minutes later, Ross saw McQueen slide into the bed. "Go to sleep, Ty."

"Yes, Glen."

Ross smiled and turned down the lights. He played until he saw the tension flow out of McQueen's body, signaling that McQueen had succumbed to sleep. Still he played for another hour, hoping the sound of the music would hold off the nightmares.

At last, Ross rose and put the guitar aside. He slid into bed behind McQueen and straightened the covers.

In the morning, McQueen could barely move without hissing in pain. He gave Ross a dirty look as the man snickered for the tenth time. "It's not funny."

"Ah, but the way you are moving is." Taking pity, Ross stepped into the bathroom for a moment. He handed McQueen a bottle of pills. "Nothing addictive. I triple checked myself. One pill every three hours. It won't kill the pain, but will make it bearable."

"Thanks." Realizing he sounded surly, McQueen smiled at Ross. "Really. Thanks."

"Now go get yourself something to eat and tend to your kids. They're going to really need you today."

"Yes, sir."

McQueen ate steadily, making inroads in a huge breakfast while eating at the counter. The mess was almost empty. Nearly finished, he spotted a harried looking West enter the mess at a trot.

"Sir!" West slid to a stop. "We need you!"

With a nod, McQueen left his food and trotted after West, already headed back to the squadrons' barracks.

"It's Finch. She got up, started to take a shower and just froze. We can't get her to move or anything," explained West as McQueen caught up.

"Damn!"

They found the squadron in various stages of undress in the shower room, surrounding Finch, trying to make a connection.

In the doorway, McQueen asked forcefully, "Has everyone had their shower?"

"Yes, sir," was chorused back.

"Then turn off the water and everyone get out of here. Except you." McQueen grabbed St. John by the arm. "You're her lover."

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to keep everyone out of here. And I mean everyone. When I come out, you're to come in and hold her, talk to her, ground her to here. If that means making love to her, do it."

"Sir, are you - I mean, do you have any idea what's wrong?"

"Guilt. Something I know a great deal about."

"Sir?"

McQueen squeezed the young man's shoulder. "You'll understand in time. Just do what I ask, St. John. Later we will all sit down and have a serious talk."

"Yes, sir."

Shutting the door behind him, McQueen took a deep breath. He strode over until he was a few feet from Finch and stopped. "Finch, it's McQueen." His voice was low.

A slight movement of her head was the only sign she had heard.

"I know you can hear me. I'm going to take another step toward you. Aren't you getting cold? I'm going to stand here behind you. There. Now, I'm going to put my arms around you. Nothing to it, see?" He raised a hand to stroke her blonde hair. "It wasn't your fault, you know, Finch. She didn't leave because you didn't come to her that night. If she had wanted you to, she would have asked you. Isn't that right?"

A jerky nod.

"She left you in my care. She trusted me to take care of you. And I will." He pulled her tight against his body and leaned back on the wall. "Let's sit down."

A strangled hiss escaped him as they reached the floor. He felt Finch twist in his arms. "It's not you, Finch. The commodore gave me a pointed lesson last night. Just relax. Everything will be all right. I promise you I will do everything in my power to bring her back, alive. The commodore promised that if I take care of you three properly that we get to bring her back. Please, Finch, I want to bring her back. Help me do that."

What he had been waiting for happened. Finch started crying, the all out entire body sobs so similar to the ones he had shed the night before. She turned in his arms and he suppressed a groan at the resurgence of pain the shifting of weight caused. Finally, to ease his pain, McQueen stretched on his side back to the wall, still cradling the crying Finch. The memory of Ross' voice speaking softly to him while he lay in the man's arms prompted him to do the same to Finch. He stroked her hair as he recited Shakespeare sonnets.

Her sobs slowed down and she lay quietly in his arms.

"Better?"

"Y... yes, sir."

"It's all right. As someone told me recently, crying is good for the soul."

"But sir-"

"I have no intention of discussing whether or not we have souls on the shower floor, lieutenant," McQueen stated firmly.

Finch wriggled around and gasped as she saw the state of his uniform. "Oh, sir, your uniform. It's soaked all down the side."

"And my socks and shoes are wet as well. Good thing I have another pair of shoes. I'm not looking forward to breaking this pair back in once they're dry." He gave her a quirk of the lips and was rewarded with her very brief smile in return. "Will you be all right now?"

"Yes, sir." Finch moved away from him.

"Good." With a groan, McQueen rolled onto his hands and knees. He surged to his feet and staggered. Recovering, McQueen held out his hand for Finch. As she took it, he said, "I'm sending St. John in. Take your time. And pray we don't have a Chig attack."

"Yes, sir."

He scooped up a towel from the floor and tossed it to her. At the door, McQueen hesitated for a second. "Finch."

"Yes, sir?"

"We will bring her back."

"Yes, sir."

A nod and McQueen opened the door.

St. John slipped in and shut the door.

"Where's Russell?"

No one remembered seeing him that morning.

"Shane, stay here and make sure they aren't disturbed. The rest of you search the ship, quietly. But find him." Alive, McQueen wanted to stress, but he followed the squadron into the corridors.

On an impulse, McQueen returned to Silver's quarters. The door was still unlocked. Adam's body had been removed and taken, he hoped per his orders, to the morgue. The oil stained sheets and blankets had been removed. Not that it had mattered to the young man curled up on the floor.

Ready to deal with anything from irate to comatose, McQueen sat on the bed and gently shook Russell's shoulder.

Slowly Russell uncurled and sat up. He stared at McQueen's shoes. "Your shoes are wet, sir."

"I know. I had to help Finch. She wasn't ready to leave the shower."

"She was close to Silver."

"So are you. Seven years builds a lot of memories."

"Yes, sir."

McQueen tilted the young man's head up so he could see the red head's hazel eyes. "It isn't your fault, or Finch's or St. John's. If it is anyone's fault that she left, it is mine. I knew better. I just didn't act on it. But I intend to get her back here. I'm going to need your help though, when the time comes. Will you help me?"

The hazel eyes studied him and McQueen remained still, knowing the young Invitro was trying to read the strength of his conviction.

"All right."

"Let's get back to the barracks. Everyone's out looking for you."

McQueen left Russell with Shane at the barracks and went to his quarters. Before he changed clothes, he got an intraship com line and ordered the 58th to report to Debriefing Room 4 in an hour. Stripping out of his uniform, McQueen found he was soaked to the skin down his right side. With a curse, he divested himself of his remaining clothes and resigned himself to the pain of getting dressed again.

McQueen was waiting in the briefing room when the 58th entered. He acknowledged their salutes and gestured for them to sit down. Instead of his customary perching on the desk, McQueen stood before them, hands behind his back.

"First, I am not talking to you strictly as your CO, but as a member of this squadron. Second, Commodore Ross was right last night. Our actions toward Col. Silver were reprehensible. She was a member of this squadron and we treated her like dirt. I want an explanation from each of you as to why you did so." He hesitated and forced himself to say, "And I will tell you mine."

They could hear his shame and shifted uneasily in their seats.

"I'm serious, people." McQueen focused his gaze on Shane. "Shane."

She couldn't keep her eyes on his. "Sir, I don't think this is a good idea."

"And you think causing a fellow officer to believe she had no place with us is."

"No, sir. But... I don't know, sir."

"Answer my question, Shane. Why did you treat Silver badly?"

It took Shane a long moment before she risked glancing up at his stony face. His eyes, though, shone with the pain he felt. "She... she wanted you, sir."

"And this is bad?" He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I didn't want any one hurting you, sir."

"Am I incapable of taking care of myself, Shane?"

"No, sir. I just don't want to see you hurt. Most women don't see you as a man. They see you as a tank. I wanted to keep that from happening."

"And Shane, did you get the feeling from Silver that she saw me as a tank? Or as a conquest? Or as just a temporary fling?"

"No, sir."

"Do you honestly think she wanted me?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, I do. I found out last night, too late to do anything about it. Shane, she loves me. She loves me enough to send me to Earth so I could come back here to try and get myself killed along with the rest of you." McQueen realized he was clenching his fist and slowly lifted it up, staring at the blood in his palm.

"How do you know, sir?"

McQueen glanced up at 'Phousse. "The same way you do. What she left behind. She cares for all of us despite the way we treated her at the end. She left me some of her most prized possessions. And then, there was something Adam said."

"Where is Adam?" asked West. "No one's seen him since we got back."

"I regret to say, he killed himself last night." As they sat in stunned silence, McQueen sighed. "He told me that she loved me. He was upset about the fact that he couldn't help her."

"You were there?"

"Yes, Coop. I was talking to him. He had a pistol in one hand and her cross in the other. When he had finished telling me what he needed to, he shot himself through his main memory core." McQueen knew that a great many people would be shocked to hear him referring to an AI as a person. But he truly believed that Adam had been a good AI.

"But his other memory cores can take over. He could be restored," 'Phousse stated.

McQueen shook his head. "He created a virus to wipe his memory cores. Adam did not want to live without Silver here." Looking at Shane, he asked softly, "Adam loved her as much as he could love a human. His death is our fault."

"I'm sorry, sir." Shane lowered her gaze. "I just wanted to protect you."

"Sir, you're bleeding."

"Yes, Nathan. I know. It's a small price to pay. What's your reason, Nathan?"

West fidgeted a minute. "Honestly?" When he saw McQueen's nod, he said, "I saw her as a threat to your position, sir."

"Why?"

"There isn't any other squadron who has two COs."

"So, the Wild Cards are special."

"So special that people hate us," muttered Hawkes.

"Your turn will come, Cooper." McQueen looked at West. "You treated her badly because you thought she was trying to take my place."

"Yes, sir."

"And what if I hadn't been able to return to space? I would have been locked to a desk back on Earth. Who would have led you then? Did you think about that?"

"Shane would."

McQueen shook his head. "You would have been reassigned to some other officer who most likely wouldn't put up with your antics. Did you think about that?"

"No, sir."

"If accepting her meant that I could stay, wasn't it worth doing?"

"Yes, sir."

"But still you didn't."

"Not fully, sir."

McQueen nodded once. "And when I was back, you didn't bother with her any more."

"Yes, sir."

"Cooper."

"She wasn't you. How could she understand me?"

McQueen sighed. Hawkes had been easy for him to reason out on his own. "She had an entire company of Invitroes, Cooper. She knew what it's like for us. Probably better in some ways than I myself do." He looked up at Phousse. "Your turn, Vanessa."

"Sir, I felt a bit like Nathan and Shane. I mean, she obviously wanted you and it looked like she wanted your place."

"So basically all of you are telling me that you were jealous of her. And considered her a threat to me. But none of you thought about her motives deeply enough. She told you all her position on the first night, didn't she?"

"How do you know that, sir?" asked West.

"When she revealed the regeneration option, she mentioned having talked to all of you about her plans. It wasn't like her to hold you in the dark. She had to wait until I would listen to her without throwing her through the wall." He managed a chuckle. "She told me that you were all suspicious of her motives and possibly jealous of her as well. She certainly hit that one on the head." McQueen rubbed the bloody marks in his palm.

Shane rose. "Sir, you should treat -"

"Shane, I don't need protection. I am able to survive any mistakes I make in a relationship. I may not survive what others do to me physically, but relationships won't destroy me. And folks, I think I want to try this relationship. If I can get her back alive. Will you help me?"

Stiffening to attention, Shane said, "Yes, sir."

One by one, the 58th stood and said, "Yes, sir."

He waved them back into their seats. "I said I would give you my reason. It is quite simple and two fold. I was scared and I buried my fear under the joy of being back with you, whole. I allowed myself to focus on you and ignore her so I would not have to face my feelings about her. I haven't had a lot of luck with people throughout my life, so I unconsciously decided to shut her out rather than take a chance. That's it in a nut shell."

McQueen sighed softly, still rubbing his hand. "When we get her back, we have a lot of emotional baggage to cut through. Hope you're ready to deal with it." He straightened, resuming his role as CO. "Now, listen up. This is also a mission brief. Is anyone unable to fly?"

"No, sir," was chorused back.

"Good. At 1330, we will start patrolling the outer edge of this system." He had not been happy about finding that the 58th had drawn the duty.

"Sir, will you be flying with us?" asked Shane.

"Yes. Lt. Russell will be my wingman. Our objective is to scout and report any enemy movements. Do not fire unless attacked."

"Damn. That takes all the fun out of it."

McQueen allowed himself a quirk of a smile. "I know, Hawkes. But it is imperative that we gather information for the fleet. And return with it. The Hammerheads will be outfitted for a long patrol." He ignored the groans. Twelve to eighteen hours in a Hammerhead was not his idea of fun either especially now. "The furthest planet, Hades, is our starting point. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Dismissed."

Next : Chapter Six
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