Stiles stretches as consciousness returns. He hates the moment of coming out of hypersleep. The feeling of disorientation and grogginess always leaves him defensive and slightly fearful. His dad had solved the problem by making sure he had a familiar scent to wake up to – his pillow. But that talisman was long gone ... lost in the explosion that had claimed the Beacon Hill. Along with his father. Stiles sits up and steadies himself by listening to the chatter of the Marines coming to around him.

On one side, a curvaceous redhead lies with her hair neatly trimmed in military code and somehow still fashionable. Looking to his other side, Stiles feels his heart stutter when he sees the tall dark haired man that had situated himself in the sleeper unit beside his own. The woman beside him sighs.

"Ah, Derek ... always a pleasure to wake up to your smiling visage," she says, her voice full of sweet venom.

Stiles watches green eyes look up and blink blearily at the woman. A tired roll elicits a delightful giggle from the woman and Stiles forces himself to look away, mouth dry. He pulls off the bio-sensor pads and eases out of the sleep chamber. The floor is ice-cold … the company sees no reason to heat the floor of the sleeping chambers in anticipation of the comfort of awakening sleepers. On commercial ships like the Beacon, it cut into the bottom line and that was unacceptable. On the Sulaco, this military vessel … well, Stiles figured it was more or less the same thing. Final line on the bill needed to be as small as possible. The Marines could bring their slippers if it bothered them. He stretches to his full height, reaching for the ceiling before looking at the oncoming sergeant. Stiles misses the way the dark-haired soldier beside him swallows hard and licks his lips at the sight of Stiles' exposed torso.

The sergeant's eyes glimmer slightly in the overhead lights and Stiles remembers that this soldier has had his pupils repaired with bio-ware. Sergeant Deucalion smiles but there is little humor in it as he rallies his troops with a crisp British accent.

"Alright my little sweethearts ... what are we waiting for? Breakfast in bed perhaps? Today is another glorious day in the corps!" Deucalion's voice echoes in the small chamber. "A day in the Marine Corps is like a day on the farm – every meal is a banquet! Every paycheck is veritable fortune! Every formation is a parade! By God, I love the corps!"

Stiles sighs and heads out of the room to his locker. There's a reason he never joined the military. He doesn't see the dark green eyes that follow him.


Stiles ducks around a brunette who's got the same short hair as everyone else and is doing the fastest series of pull-ups he's ever seen. She flashes him a blinding smile as he moves by. He misses again the look the dark-haired Marine gives him as he walks in his t-shirt and boxers to the locker assigned to him at the beginning of the trip. He ignores the banter of the other soldiers around him. Stiles just hopes all this is a mistake and his biggest nightmare isn't about to become reality.


The Marines are a trained unit that has seen several tours together. They know each other and they trust each other … they might not like each other, but that doesn't matter on the field. Only that the gun you need at your back is there.

Jackson Whittemore watches Allison Argent do her usual pull-ups. He admires the muscle definition. Lydia Martin, his on-again/off-again fuck-buddy joins her and Jackson's eyes widen at the visual treat. His buddy, Danny Mahealani , laughs beside him and shakes his head.

"Hopeless, Whittemore. Hopeless."

Jackson grins and pulls on his fatigues. "I don't limit myself like you and Hale … all the flowers need me."

"Did you seriously just make a pollination joke?"

Jackson snickers. "Busy bee, that's me."

Allison glances over at Stiles as the young man dresses. She frowns and looks at Lydia while they continue their mini-workout.

"Who's the pale-face?"

Lydia shrugs but they both turn and stand when another female voice speaks up. Erica Reyes, their dropship pilot, is pulling on her flight suit over curves many men wanted to explore. She smoothed back her blonde hair and explained.

"Supposedly he's a consultant or something … says he saw an alien once."

Jackson snorts. "Whoopdee-fuckin'-doo … like any of us are impressed."

"He's pretty," Lydia says with a mischievous smile. Jackson's smile falters but he recovers with a snort and roll of eyes.

Allison laughs softly amused at Lydia's sense of humor. They are the smartgunners of the team … a partnership that requires near-complete synchronization of movement to work smoothly and accurately. Erica chuckles and shares a high-five with the other two. They are the only three women on the team but they are not treated less for their gender. Other Marine teams tease that the three badass bitches of the often-called Wolfpack unit actually had the only balls. None of the men in the Pack dispute the barbs – to a man, they all them owe their lives to the three for one reason or another. Jackson teases Lydia and gets a playful smack to the cheek that makes him grin again. The teasing goes on and no one notices the young man slip out of the locker room. No one but a certain green-eyed Marine.


In the mess hall, Stiles gets a cup of coffee and sits at the table with Lieutenant Harris and Peter Hale. He hears the raucous outbursts from behind him. A glance over his shoulder shows a younger man Stiles had noticed earlier playing a game of pinfinger with the Marines. The young man has his hand over Jackson's and he begins slowly before picking up a faster rhythm. Stiles smiles faintly at the rising shout from Jackson. He turns back to his breakfast and glances over as the young man sits at their table. Stiles is sipping on his coffee when Peter says something.

"Ah, young Scott … I thought you never missed," Hale comments.

Stiles looks over and feels his blood freeze in his veins. A thin line of milky white fluid squeezes from a cut on the young man's … not young man … android's fingers. Stiles jerks back and looks at Peter accusingly.

"You never said there was an android on board! Why not?!" Stiles barks.

Peter flushes red and looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I – I honestly never thought about it, Stiles. There's always a synthetic on board for missions like this."

Scott looks over. "We prefer the term 'artificial person'

Peter nods. "Right."

"Is there a problem?" Scott asks innocently.

"Yes … uh, Stiles' last trip out … the syn—artificial person malfunctioned. There were, um, deaths and a few deaths involved," Peter explains.

Scott blinks and looks at Stiles in shock. "I'm really surprised to hear that. Was it an older model?"

"Yes, Hyperdyne Systems 120-A2," Peter replies.

"Oh … that explains it then. The A2s always were a little 'twitchy'," Scott turns to Stiles. "You know that couldn't happen now, right? Our behavioral inhibitors won't allow me to harm or, by omission of action, allow to be harmed, a human being."

Scott offers Stiles the cornbread that the human slams out of his hand. "'Scott' is it? You just stay away from me … got it?"

Scott looks at Stiles for a moment and then nods. He gets up and leaves immediately. Stiles stares at his eggs. This mission just got better and better.


In the hanger, the Marines gather in a loose-knit group to be debriefed. Stiles stands with Harris, Hale and Deucalion. He feels small and out of place amidst the better built bodies of the Marines. And every time he looks back, he sees the dark-haired Marine with green eyes watching him intently. It was unnerving, but Stiles couldn't say he didn't like it. Harris clears his throat and starts his speech.

"Morning, Marines. Sorry we didn't have time to brief you people before we left Gateway – "

"Sir?" Jackson asks.

"What is it Hale?" Harris snaps.

"Whittemore, sir," Jackson corrects. He jerks his thumb beside him at Derek. "He's Hale."

Stiles frowns and glances over at Peter. The older man nods slightly. "Over-eager nephew … but I suppose if this is what makes him happy …" Peter says disdainfully.

Stiles raises his eyebrows but he smiles.

Good for you, handsome, Stiles thinks. He looks up and the inscrutable green eyes are watching him steadily. This time he holds the look until the man glanced away to what Jackson was asking.

"Sir," Jackson continues. "Is this gonna be a stand-up fight, sir, or just another bug-hunt?"

Harris purses his lips. "All we know is that there's still no contact with the colony and that a xenomorph may be involved."

Jackson frowns. "Excuse me, sir … a what?"

Lydia looks over her shoulder. "It's a bug hunt."

Derek speaks for the first time in Stiles' presence. The young man finds the voice goes straight to a part of him he doesn't really want to be introducing to this crowd. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Harris looks over. "Stiles?"

Stiles clears his throat and looks nervously at the Marines. They'd seen more death than him for certain … what he thought, however, was that they had not seen the type of death he had.

"I'll … uh, I'll tell you what I know," Stiles begins softly. "We set down on LV-426 … one of our crew members – Finnstock – was brought back on board with something attached to his face … some kind of parasite," Stiles licks his lips and looks around nervously. He lands on Hale's calm face and feels something shift. The green eyes were calm and encouraging. The man believes what he's saying – he takes Stiles' report seriously. "We tried to get it off but no success. After a while, it just seemed to sort of fall off and die. Finnstock looked fine … then we were having dinner and he—he – it must have laid some sort of embryo in his chest. He started – uh …"

Stiles sees the light dimming in several eyes. He was boring them. He couldn't even believe that … if they only knew what he'd seen when Finnstock fell back on the table and screamed as the thing had torn its way out of his chest. Allison sighs.

"Look … all any of us need to know is where to shoot," she says, bored.

Lydia smiles and they share a quick hand-clasp. "You're the deadshot, darling."

"Anytime, anywhere," Allison assures her friend.

"As long as she doesn't break a nail," Jackson teases.

Allison flips him off over her shoulder. "Fuck you, Jackson."

"Anytime, anywhere, darling," Jackson says gleefully. He smirks at the cold look Lydia shoots him.

"Are you finished?" Stiles barks

Derek looks up. The voice of the nervous young man changes. It's colder … harsher and definitely less forgiving of their playful bullshitting. Derek's eyes narrow as he takes in the suddenly squared shoulders and the hard look Stiles directs at the soldiers.

"Look … I hope you're right. I really fucking hope you're right," Stiles says flatly. "Because just one of those … bugs … managed to wipe out a crew of six in less than 24 hour. I'm the only one who lived. The others … it tore them to pieces … the ones that it didn't … keep. I put a bullet in my own father's head to keep whatever happened to Finnstock from happening to him. So I hope you're fucking right and it's just a broken transmitter and you all just wasted your time coming out here."

Harris nods. "This is all on the main db, so study it. Yes, private?" Harris asks, nodding toward Jackson.

"How do I get outta this organization … sir?" Jackson sneers.

Harris bristles and Derek sighs. The brash young man probably just bought them a hell of a lot of work. He was not proven wrong.

"Alright," Harris says. "I want this thing to go smooth … by the numbers. I want D.C.S. and tactical database assimilation by 0830. Ordinance loading, weapons strip and drop-ship prep details will have seven hours. Now move out!"

Deucalion moves into the space Harris vacates as he stalks off. "Alright, darlings … you heard the man and you know the drill – asshole and elbows! Jackson, get over here!"


Stiles walks into the dock after cooling his heels in the small bunk he'd been allotted. He needs to do something … to contribute or he was going to lose his mind. He walks up to Sergeant Deucalion who was discussing something with Hale. He kept his gaze as professional as he could.

"Hey," Stiles began. "I'm, uh, feeling like a fifth wheel here. Is there anything I can do?"

Deucalion looks at the young man. "I don't know, son … is there anything you can do?"

Stiles smirks and looked over Deucalion's shoulder. "I can run that loader. I've got a Class 2 rating."

Deucalion and Derek share a look. "Please," Deucalion says. "Be my guest."

Stiles walks over to the Caterpillar P-5000 Powered Work Loader. He'd cut his teeth on the older versions of these years ago with his dad and had been using them since his return planet side. He slides into the machine and buckles in the harness. Locking down the roll cage, Stiles powers up the system and preps the machine for use. He thumbs the controls until he finds the loader's center and checks the movements of the forks and hands. Stiles proceeds to stomp gracefully across the deck to the nearest container. Sliding the forks into position, he easily lifts the container and swings it to look at Deucalion and Derek.

"Where'd you want it?" Stiles asks smugly.

Deucalion laughs out loud. He gestures. "Bay 12, please."

Stiles walks off with the container to the appropriate bay. This time, he did not miss the broad, amused smile that shines across Corporal Hale's face. He feels his heart flutter a little. Just a little. Maybe this would be a boring mission of repairing a broken antennae. Maybe he could get to know the corporal a little better. Maybe.