The wind howled across the heaving ocean, white caps forming on the crests of the large swells. Rory brought an arm up to cover his face as a particularly large wave crashed against the sea wall, salty foam and spray flying into the air with a resounding crash. Steam hissed off the sentinel's exposed radiator as it stomped along the ancient breakwater, rain soaking the unfortunate pilot in his exposed cabin.
Rory cursed his luck. He had popped off to get lunch with his brother, and by the time he had started making his way back to the space port where he worked the storm had begun to set in. Five minutes later and he was making his way through a full on tempest.
It wasn't like he wasn't used to the extreme weather. He had grown up on Lerwington, where storms brewed up quickly and with ferocity. It was a planet mainly dedicated to mining, but a good portion of its surface was covered in deep oceans. The city Rory lived in, New Plymouth, was right on the North Sea. It also housed the planets largest spaceport, where Rory worked loading and unloading cargo from the coming and going transporters.
Another wave crashed against the seawall, spraying Rory and his sentinel. He spat seawater from his mouth, wiping it as best as he could off his goggles. He felt cold, and could feel himself shivering beneath his standard issue blue coveralls. The clouds overhead were dark, and thunder cracked ominously deep within the rolling masses far above.
Suddenly the Sentinel began to shake. Rory cursed and fought with the controls. He was almost to safety, but the old machine was rattling and sputtering, as if it had a mind of its own.
"C'mon old girl, we're almost there," He hissed to his walker. But it was no good, and the sentinel ground to a stop.
"Rory!" A voice called to him. He ignored it, flicking the activation stick in the ignition.
"Rory, deffro!" He looked up. He couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. It wasn't human, but he recognized it from somewhere. His eyes drifted off to his right. A wave was sweeping towards him. It towered above all the others and was growing. Soon it blocked out all his vision. Rory let out a cry of terror as it came crashing downwards.
Rory's eyes snapped open. He shot into a sitting position, chest heaving in a panic. Realizing it was all a dream he slumped back down, letting out a sigh of relief. He hadn't dreamt of home since leaving, and the dream had felt so real. He shivered, the cold damp feeling still lingering.
Illya was sitting with her knees tucked beneath her, a black gloved hand on Rory's shoulder. He pushed the hand away and sat up. Uncapping his canteen he lifted up his mask tilting his head back. Nothing came out except for stale air, and he swore. His throat was parched and he could feel a headache coming on.
The Eldar warrior's eyes followed his movements. Her hands rested on her thighs as she waited for the human to prepare himself. Rory groggily rolled onto his knees, rolling up his sleeping roll and packing what little gear he had gotten out the evening before.
"We need to find water soon." He said, more to himself than to his companion. The day before he had felt a strange sense of friendliness towards the alien. It wasn't entirely gone today, but he felt a lot grumpier. He realized that was probably due to lack of sleep. The wound on his leg felt stiff and sore, but a lot better than it had the day before. He got to his feet, trying to put some weight on it.
The alien watched and waited. When Rory reached down for his pack she rose to her feet, checking over her weapons. They started off, moving towards the landmass that had just been visible at the end of the previous day.
A stiff breeze swept across the desolate landscape, making the tufts of grass that clung for life to the firm but barren ground dance and wave. As the day progressed, Rory's thirst got worse and worse.
The shape off in the distance, which it soon became clear was some sort of strangely coloured forest, became less and less focused through the goggles of his rebreather mask. His throat felt cracked and what little saliva was in his mouth felt like glue. His leg, which had started the day feeling better, grew worse and worse, until it became difficult to walk at anything faster than a hobble. The Eldar slowed her pace, and continued to check over her shoulder at the Imperial soldier, but didn't move to help. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking beneath the expressionless war mask.
The pain soon became unbearable. With a grunt Rory collapsed. He barely noticed the Eldar running to his side and crouching down, rolling him onto his back. She tugged at his arm, trying to get the young sentinel pilot to his feet.
"Water…" Rory croaked, before everything went black.
Rory was running his sentinel through the spaceport. Almost everything was as it should be. Rain fell on the massive stained glass roof high above. Sensors burned above weathered statues of Archmagos's set in alcoves in the wall. Gargoyles looked down wide ramps towards the gangways that led out to the huge docking platforms.
But strangely enough, there was nobody around. Pallets stood half unloaded, steam drifted up from ventilation shafts and tools lay scattered about an elevator under repair. It was as if everyone had suddenly disappeared.
The Sentinel was moving at full throttle, pistons hissing and feet clattering against the rockcrete floor. Rory realized all of a sudden just how thirsty he was. He needed water, and fast. He didn't know why, but he knew that if he could make it all the way down to the docks, he would find water there.
The transmission squeaked from the exertion as the walker stomped at full speed through the empty spaceport. Looking up at the hard rain pattering against the windows high above only made the situation worse.
A recruitment poster on the wall glared at Rory out of the corner of his eye. He looked over at a saint, holding up an Aquila on the poster.
"You need to get back out there Rory." The saint said to him. Rory ignored it. He just needed to find water. He passed another poster, a guardsman firing his lasrifle at an unseen enemy, the words 'You can make a difference' emblazoned on it. The guardsman turned to look at Rory as he flew past, his stylized head tracking the Sentinel Pilot.
"Rory, you need to wake up and get back out there." The voice was deep and almost human, but not quite.
"I get it, I get it. I just need to find some water." Rory muttered to himself.
He was almost to the docks now. He could see the huge archway leading to the main loading bay. The thirst was overpowering, taking control of his every thought. He needed water, more than he had ever needed anything before in his life.
There was a cracking sound, and Rory let out a roar of frustration as the floor gave way beneath his feet. The legs of the Sentinel continued to move as he dropped downwards, away from the star port and into a bottomless abyss.
"Rory!" Rory's eyes snapped open at the sound of Illya's voice. He was staring directly into a pool of water, a few inches deep but dropping away sharply. Without even thinking he let his head fall into the water, sucking water into his parched mouth. He didn't care about the sounds he was making, didn't care about the fact he wasn't wearing his rebreather. All he cared about was consuming as much water as quickly as possible.
When he had guzzled down enough to make himself feel sick, Rory sat up. The water had been cool and refreshing, and looking up he saw that it was a pond, about fifteen meters in diameter. The pool was a deep aquamarine blue, and he could see strange green eel like fish swimming in the deeper parts. Dark purple lily pads floated on the surface, contrasting the light blue water.
Looking up Rory took in his surroundings. They were in the forest, or at least what he had thought was a forest. There were no trees. Instead, huge mushrooms surrounded them; the trunks were over a meter wide, and rising well over ten meters into the air. The stalks were a pale white, and as far as he could tell from the ones that tilted at an angle, the flat tops were a deep violet.
Dim light filtered down from between the behemoth mushrooms, and lit up the forest floor, which was made up of strange green and red ferns. Some sort of animal was making a ticking noise off in the distance, and the sound echoed through the alien glades.
Rory realized that Illya must have dragged him here after he had passed out. It had been a risk, and there could have not been any water at all. Any resentment he had felt earlier in the morning melted away. He turned around to thank her, only to jump back in surprise.
She sat on the stem of a fallen mushroom, her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. What surprised Rory so much was not her position, but her lack of helmet. Long brown hair cascaded over her white armored shoulders and a little ways down her back. She had sharp, angular features and a thin face. Her eyes were a deep blue, and they stared into Rory's. She was wearing a ghost of a smile on her lips. The tips of her pointed ears poked out from beneath her hair.
As far as Rory could tell, she was the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen. He crouched there for a second, awestruck. He had realized there was a chance that the xenos girl could look human, but he hadn't expected this.
"So I guess we don't need the rebreathers in here?" He asked, breaking the silence. The alien cocked her head, maintaining the almost smile. Rory looked around before picking up his rebreather mask, which lay discarded a few feet away. He held it up. "We don't need these?" He asked again, pointing to it.
Illya nodded. "Na, mae'r aer yn lân i mewn yma." Silence descended, before Rory caught himself staring again. He turned to his kit, looking away from the alien warrior.
The sentinel pilot grabbed his canteen and filled it up, drinking some more water before filling it again. He offered it to Illya and she hopped down off the fallen mushroom, reaching out and taking it from him. He shivered as her finger tips grazed his hand. Rory realized with a hint of amusement that there had only been a very short period of time where he was even close to being comfortable with the Eldar making physical contact with him.
"How did you get me all the way here?" He asked. Despite her speed and dexterity, she was a little bit shorter than him, and of very slim build. Rory was only eighteen, but carrying a full-grown human male for anything more than a kilometer was difficult even for a soldier.
The alien threw him a look of confusion before handing back the canteen. Rory refilled it again and put it in his pack. He realized how filthy he was and decided it was as good a time as any to clean him self off. The last few days of trekking through the mud had left him completely coated in a mixture of thick grime and sweat. He felt almost embarrassed standing next to the xenos who, although her armor was far from the white it had once been, had managed to keep her head clean.
He pulled off his webbing and beret, tossing them in a pile. His jacket and fatigue pants followed suit, and then his standard issue boots. Soon he was standing in only his boxers and undershirt. He looked over at Illya with a sense of discomfort. She was standing back a little, watching him. Not that he really minded her seeing him in his boxers.
He got a hold of his emotions. He hadn't had any sort of sexual release in over a week, and it was difficult to keep his feelings in check. It doesn't matter how she looks he told himself. At the end of the day, she is still an alien, and worse still the enemy. He glanced over at her. Even if she has saved my life four times.
He picked up his clothes and fished a bar of soap out of his pack before wading into the water. It was freezing, but he was used to swimming in the sea back home, where even in the summer years it could get a lot colder. Using the soap he first washed his clothes, carefully cleaning each peace one at a time. When he was done he got out of the water and laid the wet fatigues on the mossy banks of the pond. Illya sat cross legged by the water a little ways around the pond towards the deeper end, staring at the strange fish down below.
Rory got back into the water, wearing only his boxers. He washed himself down, working hard at scrubbing the grit out of his skin and hair with the course soap. When he was done he looked over at Illya. She still sat on the edge.
"Don't you want to clean off?" Rory called out to her. She looked up, raising an eyebrow. He pointed at her, and then at the water. Then he made an action of scrubbing his arm. "Clean off?"
Illya looked apprehensive, and hesitated for a second before getting to her feet and making her way back around the edge of the pond to where Rory had spread out all of his gear. She sat down by the waters edge and began removing her amour, piece by piece.
Rory dove back into the water, retreating deeper and deeper into the pond. He sunk his head down so that only his eyes were above the water. When she was done removing her armor plates she wore only what looked like a thin black jumpsuit. She looked over at Rory, and he blew air through his nose, making bubbles come up in front of his face. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and giggled. Her laugh, like her voice, sounded musical.
Turning away from Rory, she unfastened the jumpsuit with hidden clasps and let it slide off. Beneath she wore a bra and underwear. She wasn't exactly curvy, but didn't look scrawny either. Her breasts weren't huge and she had a thin waist. Her legs were slim, and Rory felt a strange sense of guilt wash over him as he watched her walk into the water, carrying her armor in her hands. She was far from bulky, but what muscles were visible shifted and tensed as they got used to the cold.
She started off by cleaning each individual plate, kneeling in the shallows. She scrubbed each piece meticulously, making sure to get the dirt out of every little crevice. Rory watched her work, the ends of her brown hair spilling into the water and her eyes fixed on the armor with a look of pure concentration. After each piece was clean she would lay it out in an orderly fashion on the banks of the pond, next to Rory's fatigues.
When she was done she dropped her head under the water, resurfacing and pushing her wet hair off of her face. Rory, feeling mischievous, dove under the surface, kicking his legs and powering himself forward on strong arms. Rory had grown up by the ocean, and was an excellent swimmer having spent his childhood down below the breakwater with his friends when the weather was calm.
Illya realized what was happening to late, as Rory wrapped his arms around her thighs and threw the unfortunate Eldar over his shoulder. She let out a screech of terror, and Rory laughed, letting her know that he had no intention of harming her.
It was in that instant that the thought crossed his mind. He could kill her. She obviously wasn't used to the water, and he could hold his breath and drop down. He could drown her and be done with it. He wouldn't get another opportunity like this.
But Rory knew that he couldn't do it. She had saved him four times. They were starting to rely on each other. She trusted him. And as if that wasn't enough, she wasn't some horrible looking monster. She was just a normal girl.
And so, instead of submerging and drowning the unsuspecting Illya, Rory grabbed her thighs with his hands and catapulted her forwards. She hit with water with a loud smack and a high-pitched cry of anger and amusement. Illya disappeared under the water for a moment before resurfacing, blowing water out of her mouth and with a lily pad on her head.
She cried out again, but this time Rory realized there was no amusement in her voice. Her arms franticly splashed at the water around her, and her head bobbed just above the surface. With a start, Rory realized that she didn't know how to swim. They were only ten meters from the edge, but the water was well above her head.
Rory jumped forward in a front crawl. He had only tossed her a couple meters, and he made it to her frantically thrashing form in a moment. Grabbing the panicking alien by her waist, Rory half pushed, half carried her far enough back into the shallows to safety. She clung onto his shoulders until he gently placed her down.
As soon as she could stand on her feet Illya pushed off the human and stood facing him. She threw a half hearted punch at his abs.
"Sgriw chi'n pidyn, gallech fod wedi lladd fi!" She stared up at him, her expression twisted with anger. He stared back, trying to keep his face neutral. After a second, the corner of her mouth started twitching upwards, and moments later they were both lying back in the shadows, howling with laughter.
Their laughter subsided to chuckles, and then went away. They both lay in the shallow water next to each other, staring up at the huge mushroom tops above them. Rory reflected on the odd situation he was in. In a matter of days his entire outlook on life, the bleak miserable hopelessness drilled into him by the Imperium, had started to crumble. He felt happier than he had in months.
Illya was playing with a strand of long grass, trying to weave it into her wet hair, with little success. She looked over and caught Rory staring. He quickly looked down. First he had seen her as the enemy. Then he had seen her as an ally. Now… he didn't know what he saw her as.
"We need to get going soon." He said looking over at Eldar girl. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable about their lack of clothes. Their eyes met, and she cocked her head a little, smiling. Rory flashed a crooked smile back. "But let's stay here a little longer."
He laid his head back to rest in the water, more content than he had been in a long time.