I tried to busy myself by going on and getting a new journal because the other one is almost full, but that's not the only reason I decided to just disappear into the base's store for a few hours. Last night was . . . a bit of a wild ride, so to say.

Last month, I was sentenced to three weeks on an orbital hospital station because I threatened to hit Bishop, our android, during a mission to the frozen hell of LV-400. As soon as I was released, we got a task to the equally hellish moon of a gas giant that some say is the same location the Seegson station Sevastopol used to be. Some business with pirates getting their hands on some floating debris that could prove useful to Weyland-Yutani. That was all we were told, and after spending some time with the nutty-but-nice Doctor Delhoun, I've found myself thinking way too hard about the things we do.

Anyway, we spent about a week on that moon. The atmosphere was not breathable, so we spent a week in bulky suits. All I kept thinking about were the silver flowers being studied on the hospital station, and how I made the mistake of going near them-twice. These flowers aren't harmless little daisies. They give off a hallucinogenic fume that'll restrict your breathing and eventually kill you if you don't leave the area in time. I was thinking about how often I had a mask strapped to my face or machinery stuck in me. I know I was in the spacesuit longer than I was in a hospital, but the nerves and fear and memories were beginning to piss me off.

There were other little tasks we did, and we caught a break yesterday. We were dropped off on Earth, at a good-sized base a hundred miles off the coast off the northeast coast of Australia, and I made the decision to talk to Vasquez. Alone.

I waited until the other Marines left the mess hall, and then approached Vasquez. We really didn't get the chance to talk ever since my sentence was up, so this came as a bit of a relief. I mean, we talked during missions and such, but not like this. "Hey, you got a minute?" I asked.

"What for?" she replied.

"Well, we haven't seen each other in awhile, and I was wondering if we could just . . . sit and talk."

"You're not gonna cry, are you? I don't know what they did to you when you were gone, but I sure do hope they didn't make you a crybaby."

I shook my head. "Trust me, honey, I am not a crybaby."

Vasquez sighed. "Alright, Drake, what do you want?"

I leaned in to whisper. "Is your door unlocked at night?"

"No. It never is. Why?"

I glanced around again. "Let me come by around twenty hundred hours."

"I thought you weren't interested in sex, Drake."

I coughed, trying to tell her to keep her voice down. "I never said that."

"You did after the first time."

I snorted. "That's because it was my first time. I didn't know what I was getting into."

"Then, why do you want to do this, Drake? Is it because you were lonely? Now you're just oh-so happy to see me that the first thing you wanna do when we're alone is fuck?"

"Vasquez-"

"I don't want to hear it." She pointed in the direction of her bedroom. "Go on. Let's get it over with. May as well do it now rather than wait."

"Hey, we can-"

She put a finger to my lips. "I would rather do it now than sit and think about it so morons like Hudson can sense that we're up to no good. Do you understand what I'm saying, or am I speaking in Spanish to you?"

I grinned. "You only talk Spanish when you're angry."

"Don't make me slap you. I actually missed you, and slapping Hudson just wasn't the same."

"Wait . . . you slapped Hudson? I thought that was reserved for me."

"I thought it would make me feel better. It didn't, so, be happy. Besides, I'm going to have sex with you. Doesn't that say something?"

I shrugged. "Alright. Makes sense."

"Good. Oh, and wear protection. There's a difference between fun and stupid."

I lay in bed with Vasquez thinking about what I had just done. Frankly, I harbored little shame, considering we both agreed to it. I glanced at her, and she was smiling at me. A sarcastic smile, but still.

"Are you proud of yourself?" she asked.

"Uh, that depends. Was my performance-"

"Your performance was fine. I meant your decision to do that." Vasquez sat up, looking at me. "Honestly, though, what does this . . . say about us? We've been keeping this a secret from everyone. We like it that way. It's not like we're going to come out and tell everyone we're seeing each other. We-"

I shrugged. "What's the big deal? Nobody knows."

"Well, do you think we're taking anything forward? Do you think we're always going to be . . . that pair of soldiers who do shit like this behind everyone's back, or do you think there's something else out there for us? I know you're sick and tired of not getting paid enough."

"Of course I am, but we requested to be put in the same unit together for a reason. We both came from nothing and have something that's been working out great for us, even if the pay does suck. Come on, our . . . relationship isn't about this. I don't know why you're so frustrated about me asking to do this."

She sighed, rubbing her face before lying back down. "Drake, when you were gone for those three weeks, we did get the occasional report on you and how you were doing. One morning, I woke up and Bishop told all of us that something happened on the hospital station and you almost died. He didn't specify what exactly happened, but he did say that you were lost once and they had to bring you back with a defibrillator. That got me thinking about us and our friendship. What would I do without you? We've been through so much together and it's almost as if we've become a part of each other. Now . . . you're back and you don't seem to want to take anything forward beyond what we've already been doing for a long time."

"That's because it's not possible. Honestly, everything that happened to me on that med station was a new experience for me, and I kinda have this sense of relief that I was able to do something . . . different. I'm back in the Marines, and I ready for things to get back to the way they were. Just us, kicking ass, and maybe doing the occasional crazy shit behind everyone's back."

Vasquez glanced at me, breathing another sigh. "OK. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was being silly about the fact that you almost died. Don't get me wrong, Drake, I can function perfectly on my own. Our experiences together don't matter. I'll do especially fine on my own if the last thing you do is forget to think before you speak."

"I thought before I spoke."

"Clearly, you did not."

"Hey, listen, I-"

Someone knocked on the door, and we heard Bishop say, "Vasquez? Can I come in?"

She panicked a little, and shoved me out of bed, hissing, "Hide! Get under the bed, now!" As I forced myself under the bed, she called, "You can come in, Bishop."

"Were you . . . having a conversation with someone in here?" Bishop asked as he opened the door.

"No. Why?"

"Huh. Thought I heard Drake in here with you. Maybe I need to have diagnostics run on me. Anyway, Apone said to tell everyone that we've been invited to a military banquet tomorrow evening over in Brisbane, Australia."

"Aren't those things for officers?"

"It was something about getting to meet other platoons and discussing combat strategies, also procedures regarding your designated artificial person."

"Fine. Don't expect me to get dressed up, though."

When Bishop left, I crawled out from under the bed. "Military banquet? That's not gonna go over well."

"Not like you have a choice," Vasquez replied.

"I'm not getting dressed up, either."

"You are getting dressed up, Private!" Apone shouted at me in the morning at breakfast. "All of you sweethearts are getting dressed up! We want to look good, look like we care about not just the Colonial Marines as a whole, but about ourselves and how we present ourselves to others as well."

"Can I wear a pink bowtie, Sarge?" Hudson asked.

"No, you may not! Sit your ass back down, Hudson."

At this point, I was thinking about how I'd rather have Winnie, Delhoun's Annexer, watch me sleep than get dressed up for a banquet. "Fuck this," I grumbled.

"What was that, Drake?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Good. I want all of you gentlemen to go get measured and get yourselves in a nice new set of dress blues. Ladies, if you wanna wear a dress, it better be appropriate, because I am not having you embarrass me or my Corps tonight."

Basically, getting measured for dress uniforms was no different than when doctors were poking at me the morning I left the station. It was irritating. I hated it. Hudson was no help considering he made fun of everyone. I knew deep down he cared, but he was trying too hard in making people feel better about this.

The thing about dress uniforms is that wearing them is the only time you get to show off any medals you received. I don't have any, and seeing guys like Hudson, Hicks, and Apone wearing them fostered a twinge of jealousy in my gut. Even Vasquez has a medal for marksmanship, but she's not wearing it tonight because she's in a dress.

I could tell she wasn't too happy about it. It's not in her nature to get all dressed up and pretty. I figured the least I could do was not be a pain in the ass and tell her that she looked pretty-in the nicest way I could.

We caught a brief moment alone about fifteen minutes before we were going to fly out to Brisbane. I saw Vasquez looking at herself in a mirror, and she didn't do half-bad with choosing her evening dress. Dark-green actually looks pretty good on her. At least, I thought so.

Then again, we still had the issue of our little fight last night. I felt my stomach sink as I approached Vasquez, hoping she'd put our problems aside for the next few hours. "Hey," I said, trying to sound somewhat encouraging, "you look nice."

"Thanks." She looked at me. "You look like you got a broomstick shoved up your ass and taped to your spine."

I took a breath. "Well, thanks. It's very hard to slouch in this uniform."

"That might be the point, you know."

I made an effort to smile, occasionally looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was trying to walk in on us. "So, um . . . are you looking forward to this?"

"Drake, are you stupid? No, I'm not looking forward to this. It's just a big show where we stand around and look pretty and the only people who get to talk are guys like Apone."

I shrugged. "Maybe there'll be food, and hopefully it won't be leftover rations somebody dug up in a storage unit." My stomach grumbled when I began thinking about the fresh, hot breakfasts Delhoun would make just about every morning. There was always coffee and rare gems like bacon and peanut butter and fruit, and Delhoun once made a spiked citrus drink.

"Go ahead, Drake, keep hoping."

Her tone was a little sarcastic. I got the feeling she was still upset about last night. "Vasquez? Are you . . . still angry about some of the things I said last night?"

"No, not at all. No, I'm just going to shove all that under the rug. I'm just going to throw away all of our past experiences, and I'm going to pretend I never met you."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Would a 'sorry' help?"

"No. It would not."

"Would a speech about how I'm sorry I didn't have a sappy conversation with you before sex about how much I missed you and how when I was laid up in hospital I was thinking about you and Hudson and Apone and Hicks and Bishop and everyone else who's cared about me and how they would've been devastated if I actually died?"

Vasquez looked away from me, but I could still make eye contact with her through the mirror. She knows I don't lie to her. I may cover up some stuff regarding my emotions, but that's it.

Then again, we're both terrible when it comes to expressing how we feel about each other. It comes from being in juvenile detention facilities where any expression of emotion is a sign of weakness. It was how we survived.

Author's Note: I contemplated doing one of these in both of my previous entries, but decided against it because it didn't feel professional. However, I figured I'd give a short little note here because I want to thank everyone who's been enjoying my work. It's nice to see people who appreciate good writing and are invested in the story.

Drake's a fun character to write, and, yes, to quote one of the guest comments on "Boreal Nightmare," it's a pity he wasn't explored further. I actually had a question about seeing Drake in a novel featured in a YouTube video (search "Xenobucket 3", or go to Alien Theory's channel, if you're curious to see it), and having those two minutes of hearing someone agree with me that a story told completely from Drake's perspective would be interesting has been a major driving force behind this series. I hope to continue it with several more short story to novella-length pieces, but I don't want it to get boring or repetitive.

This story in particular will be a primarily "human" one-focusing more on internal conflict and the development of several aspects of the relationship of Drake and Vasquez. I personally feel they had a romantic relationship of some sorts, and may have tried to hide it over the years from everyone around them. I think exploring that in a mature, emotional (with a tiny bit of fluff) way makes for an interesting story.

Enjoy. - Cat