Disclaimer: all the rights to the characters/universe belong to Epic, of course.

CHAPTER 1

She was gasping for breath. Running full speed. Her legs burned, but she didn't dare slow down or look back. She could hear the gunfire behind her, and almost feel the bullets whizzing past her head. She knew she was out of ammo, so she tossed her lancer to the ground and dove into cover. Across from the concrete slab she had scrambled behind, she could see the rest of the squad, or rather, what was left of them. There was so much blood. She could hear someone gurgling and shuddering. Wiping the blood from her face, she squinted into the dust that had been kicked up to see Dom crawling towards her, blood trickling from his mouth. She tried to call out for him, to beg him to stay still, but it was too late. A locust was above him, and pressed a shotgun barrel to his back. The crack was deafening, and she couldn't hold in her screams. The locust whipped its head towards her and growled, setting her in the gun's sight. She reached frantically for her sidearm, and drew it, aiming straight for the grub's head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sam found herself staring at Damon Baird. She was in her own bed, home on Azura.

"Do you mind?" He said, trying to keep his voice even.

She glanced down to her hand, which apparently had a mind of its own. In her half-sleep state, she had managed to pull her pistol from under her pillow and had it pressed firmly into his gut. Her hand was shaking, and she could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. Holding the gun in place, she glared at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing, blondie?"

He snorted. "I guess I have a death wish. I thought I heard..." he hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. "...someone talking. Came to check it out. Can you move your gun, please?" He had slowly moved his hand to the barrel, gently pressing it away from him.

She replaced the pistol under her pillow and propped herself up on her elbow, trying her best to wipe her face without making it painfully obvious why. "Do you see anyone in here talking? I think you were just trying to catch a glimpse of my ass."

He chuckled softly before stepping back and sitting in the chair near her bed rolling his neck to crack it. "You wish."

Sam narrowed her eyes at him, and nodded her head towards the door. "I don't remember asking you to sit down and join me. I'm sure there's some bloody machine that needs fixing, or a bolt that needs to be tightened."

"Look, just because I made the mistake of coming in here doesn't mean you have to be a bitch. I'm not the one who was screaming like a little girl-"

"Excuse me? Now you look." She sat up and pulled her blanket tightly around herself.

"Whoa, Sam...Come on. I wasn't trying to...I mean, I just wanted to make sure..."

"Make sure of what? That I wasn't being murdered? It'd just make your life easier." She watched as Baird went quiet and stared hard at her, clenching his jaw. "Just because you've never given a shit about anyone, or anything that wasn't made of metal doesn't give you any damn excuse to come in here acting like a bloody hero because I had a fucking nightmare." She could feel herself trembling, reliving part of her dream in the back of her mind as she kept her eyes trained on his. He swallowed hard and looked down at the floor.

"I miss him too, Sam." came the subdued response. Shocked by his admission, and the surprising intuitiveness, her eyes widened and she felt her jaw hanging slightly open. The silence hung heavily in the air for a few minutes as they deliberately avoided eye contact. Sam finally looked over at Baird, his head hanging down with one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and found herself wondering just what his motives were for coming in to check on her.

"How long could you hear...I mean, was I really..." her voice trailed off, lost in her embarrassment and sorrow. She felt guilty for snapping at him, and ashamed of her emotional outburst. It wasn't like her to let one dream affect her. Had she woken the whole floor? He kept his head down, and spoke softly.

"It wasn't that bad, really. I was on my way to my room and I thought you were crying. I was going to just wake you up," he chuckled softly and looked up at her "but then you tried to shoot me." She smiled, despite herself, and shook her head slowly.

"You're just lucky I woke up before I pulled the trigger."

"I'm surprised that you decided not to." He said, as he stood and started for the door. Before she realized just what she was doing, she reached out and caught his hand. He stopped dead and slowly looked down at her hand, grasping his firmly.

"Would you...I mean, I know it's late, but I don't exactly plan on sleeping anytime soon. Do you want to stay for a while?"

He turned slowly to face her, his face entirely unreadable. For a brief moment she felt she had made a terrible mistake. This was Damon Baird; Callous, uncaring smart ass who took any sign of weakness as an invitation for endless torment and teasing. What was she thinking? She let go of his hand, only to find it stayed in place. His fingers were lightly wrapped around hers as he visibly struggled for words.

"Sam, I don't know...I don't, I meant I can't, er...I'm not...I'm not good at this." He shook his head and averted his eyes, hesitant to admit the possibility of being less than an expert at something. She tugged his hand lightly and patted the empty space on the bed by her legs.

"No one can be good at everything, Baird."

He sat, stiffly, finding his eyes once again on his hand wrapped around hers. She seemed so delicate and fragile, a far cry from what he was used to seeing on the battlefield. But the war was over, and no one would ever be the same. Gears were real people, with real fears and real feelings. He took for granted the sound sleep that always found its way to him, and tried to understand what it must be like to fear one of the most basic human needs; sleep. He suddenly found himself wishing he knew the right words to say, or thing to do to allow the small, tan woman before him the comfort of peaceful sleep. He felt foolish even thinking this way. It wasn't like him. Somewhere Cole would be proud.

"At least I'm good at sleeping." He said, unable to avoid the sarcasm that always filled his mind, and acted as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. Sam smiled slightly, and patted his leg with her free hand.

"Maybe that's one thing you can finally say you do better than me."

"Shit."

Anya rolled over and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, habitually patting the space next to her, feebly hoping that Marcus was still there. The past two weeks he had barely slept, and it seemed every time she woke up, he was off sitting by himself on the balcony, or just on the edge of the bed. Baird had joked before that if they ever made a statue of Marcus Fenix, he would have a finger pressed to his ear and a frown on his face. Now, they would have to model it after his new fixed position; sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

Tonight was no different. Searching the dimly moonlit room for the source of the noise that woke her, Anya found Marcus, as usual, sitting with his legs over the side of the bed, head in his hands. Sliding across the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder and rested her head against his.

"Bad dream?"

"Hmm." came the grumbled reply.

Anya sighed heavily. She knew expecting any real words from him was foolish, but there was a part of her that vainly hoped that one day he would surprise her.

In the days since the war ended, she could count the amount of times Marcus spoke, unprompted, on one hand. He would respond to questions with as few words as possible, and she couldn't remember the last time he actually held up his end of a conversation. It seemed as though some part of him decided that there was no need in going through the motions anymore. When he wasn't helping rebuild the hotel, he sat in their room, usually alone. She made a point to bring him food, and check in on him, but she knew only time would help. There was certainly no forcing him into talking. If she had learned nothing else about him, that was it.

Marcus rubbed his hands over his face before returning his gaze to the glass doors leading to the balcony. He had never been one for expense or fancy furnishings, but considering this hotel was built for the wealthiest, most intelligent people on Sera, there was certainly no expense spared. When Anya had showed him this room, he would have flat out refused to sleep here if she had given him the choice. Not that he had been sleeping much, anyhow. Most nights he spent out on the balcony, staring out into the ocean. When he did sleep, it was restless and hardly worth the effort. He moved to take one of Anya's small hands into his own, and shook his head slowly. "They should have been here to see this, Anya."

Squeezing his hand, Anya moved to his side, wrapping her free arm around his lower back. She knew not to press him, no matter how much she thought it would help. She simply said "I know." before letting them shift into the comfort of silence that typically hung over the room.

Minutes passed before she could feel the need for sleep overwhelming her again. Though her mind had gotten used to functioning on little to no sleep, the old habit died hard when she found herself in a real bed with no threat of locust looming over her. For over seventeen years she learned to forsake sleep in favor of manning a radio for over eighteen hours at a time. Now that the war had ended, and it seemed the world was at peace, everyone was allowing themselves the luxury of regular sleep. Sure, most of the Gears had nightmares, but after what they had witnessed, who wouldn't? One night she went on a midnight run for coffee and was not at all surprised by the amount of noise she could hear coming from the rooms. Although not all of it was the product of nightmares - there were certainly other ways Gears fresh out of war were choosing to spend their nights.

At any rate, she knew her body was aching for the bed she had come to almost love since they began sleeping here just a few days ago. Azura had been the safest, most logical place to stay, at least until they figured out a solution to the fuel problem. They could certainly be much worse off than a posh hotel built on a tropical island. As she pulled her hand from his grip, she inched her way back to her side of the bed. Tugging his shoulder gently, she coaxed him into returning to his space next to her. She pressed herself against him, resting a hand on his chest. She knew he wouldn't sleep easily, but she hoped that the tiny bit of comfort she could offer would be enough to at least help him rest.