Chapter 05

There were two voices: one she recognized and one she didn't; both were muffled, as if she was underwater.

The one she recognized was clam, yet defeated. The one she didn't was stern, demanding.

A dull, seemingly green hue of light surrounded her, and a cold object was heavy in her hand.

She lifted the object and pointed it at the source of the familiar voice.

"Pull the trigger, and end this Dr. Shearing. It's time to go home," the unfamiliar voice spat.

"It's bullshit, Marta. He wants us both dead. Remember what I told you? Don't forget. You've got to remember," the familiar voice pleaded.

Thunder. Lightning. Pounding rain. Where the hell am I?

"Remember what I told you, Marta."

"Pull the trigger, Dr. Shearing."

"Remember."

She's still pointing the object at the source of the familiar voice. It's Aaron. He's soaked, hair matted, fear in his eyes.

A single gunshot rings out with a flash. A single gunshot, or was it a clap of thunder? The flash of a barreling bullet, or was it an impossibly close lightning strike?

She can't tell; now, there's only darkness.

Darkness.

Then: "Marta?" A warm hand is on her shoulder.

"Hey, everything's o.k. Wake up."

It's Aaron's voice. He's alive. Thank God…

Marta's eyes fly open with a gasp. She can't catch her breath. Her sudden awakening catches him off guard, and he's unsure of how to comfort her. She peers through the darkness and takes in her surroundings: Aaron, pallet on the floor, porthole, wooden panels, black backpack. Nothing has changed since she fell asleep, except that he's beside her now. She tries to swallow her panic with an audible gulp. Finally, her eyes focus on his in the dark. There's enough moonlight to see concern in them, and the shadow plays on his furrowed brow.

"It was just a dream. You're alright." She takes comfort in reality and nods hurriedly; still, fear is written all over her face.

"You're alright?" She questions anxiously, worriedly. This confuses him. Jesus, what were you dreaming? He can only imagine; whatever it was, he must have been involved. She was clearly shaken.

"Yeah, I'm fine." With a comforting smile, he takes her hand in his and slowly raises it to his cheek for reassurance. Her eyes flutter shut when her hand makes contact with his face, and her breath audibly catches in her chest. "Just a dream," he murmurs as his lips brush against her palm.

He's propped up on his right elbow next to her, though he feels an urgent need to be closer, to protect her even if danger is nothing but a projection of her subconscious. Aaron has never felt such an overwhelming need for closeness, and for once in his life, it's an urge he can't fight.

Before he can rationalize his need, he's closed the space between them, and he easily cradles her head in his left hand as he leans in close, pressing his cheek against hers. Marta is light and fragile in his arms, and this realization fuels his desire to protect her.

He feels her tense briefly against him, and he panics inwardly for a moment thinking his impulsive move has frightened her even more. She relaxes then, before he can convince himself to pull away, and he feels her hands on him: one at the base of his skull, the other on his lower back.

He's relieved that she doesn't push him away. On the contrary, she pulls him closer. He's completely lost in her now, and he has no idea what to do or say next. His mind seems to switch off, and all he's aware of is her cheek against his, her hands, and the rise and fall of her chest. He lets his lips brush her ear and searches for reassuring words.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispers resolutely.

She shivers. He slowly pulls away then, lifting his head to find her eyes.

"Aaron…" Her hand is still holding the back of his neck, and her fingertips are slowly moving into his hair, just like in Manila. He loves the way his name looks on her lips, loves the way it sounds. In this moment, he's no longer "Five." She finally sees me. His whispered name is not a question, not a statement. It's an invitation: one he feels confident accepting.

He leans in again and touches his lips to hers as gently as he can; gentleness is new to him, and he trembles slightly, worried that he will hurt her. He opens his eyes to survey her reaction. When she feels his gaze, she opens her eyes and silently pleads with him.

I can't lose you. The thought crosses both minds, and they wonder how, in mere days, they've grown so dependent on one another, in more ways than one.

Finally, he kisses her. She wants this too.

His kiss is fierce but gentle, as though he needs to convey with contact what words cannot. For years, he's wanted to know her beyond the examination room. For years, he's tried to talk to her, to wake her from a scientific coma. For years, these feelings have been forbidden. And now, on a dingy fishing boat in the Philippines, here she is in his arms. Who the hell would have thought?

He reluctantly pulls away, still cupping her face and neck with one large, strong hand. When Marta opens her eyes, the look in them is priceless; without words, she tells him that he is not a lab rat, but a man: a very desirable man. Damn…

He has enough of his wits about him now, despite the ego boost, to know that he can't take things further tonight. She just woke up screaming. You can't take advantage of how vulnerable she is, for Christ's sake.

One more kiss, and he touches his forehead to hers and reads her eyes, making sure she's alright. He finds nothing but contentment, desire, sleepiness, and wonder in them; there's no sign of alarm. He kisses her cheek, her temple, and collapses next to her, pulling her against him.

"Go back to sleep," he says huskily while nuzzling the back of her neck. No more words are needed. His arm is draped snuggly over her torso; her hand finds his and holds it tight.

They sleep until the morning sun warms the sea once again.