Delhoun hoped that Aran would actually be the key to taming Dakota. I privately hoped so, too, but I also hoped that Dakota didn't claw Aran's face off.

After his Working Joe android opened Dakota's cage, Delhoun gestured for Aran to go into the room. The whole time, I noted Aran looked a little uncomfortable, like he wasn't so sure he was ready to do this, and a pang of guilt began tugging in the pit of my stomach.

Dakota stuck her head out of the cage. She shrieked upon seeing all the people in the room, and arched her back as Aran approached her. He held his hand out, saying something in his own language. His voice wasn't unlike that of a human, save for its deepness. Dakota hissed at him, digging her claws into the bottom of her cage. Aran took a breath, his hand still out.

I didn't flinch when she swiped at him, because I knew she was going to do that at one point or another, no questions asked. Black blood was welling from three fresh cuts on Aran's hand. He was wincing, but he didn't look like he was going to back down. He held out his other hand, and this time, Dakota didn't attack. Her back began lowering, and she lifted her head.

Aran moved a little closer, again talking in his language. Dakota backed up, making a strange and threatening hissing-click sound, before screaming at him.

Actually . . . she was screaming at me.

Delhoun tapped my shoulder, and led me out of the room. "Sorry, Drake, but you're going to have to wait in my office."

"Why?" I grumbled.

"Dakota can smell your fever. That's why she made that clicking sound."

"Why on Earth does she give a fuck that I have a fever? And why does that mean I should leave?"

"It's natural for Annexers to analyze the health of humans around them. If they sense something's wrong, they give a message to other Annexers regarding it. Dakota was likely warning her babies about you. Now, why I want you to sit in my office is because you're causing a distraction to Dakota." Delhoun made me sit in a chair near his desk. He gave me a glass of water, and left, closing the door behind him.

I know it's not Delhoun's fault that I'm a distraction. Obviously, there was no other way for him to word it, but I still felt bad. I felt like it reflected my position in life: pointless, not meant to be here, and unhealthy. I sat alone, my heart starting to ache.

It hadn't been very long when the phone on Delhoun's desk rang. I contemplated just ignoring it, but I picked it up out of boredom.

Surely, I'm gonna regret it because all my curiosity does is get me in trouble.

"Hello?" I said. "Delhoun's not here."

"He's not? I'll have to call back later." The voice on the other line was strangely familiar.

"I can take a message."

The man paused, and then said, "Private Drake? Is that you I'm hearing?"

"It is."

"Oh, wonderful! This is Doctor Hornby. I treated your toxic discharge, remember?"

"No, you didn't," I snorted. "I've been puking and my fever shot up this morning."

"I did treat your toxic discharge, Private. You're experiencing the side effects of it. They are considerably worse given you went such a long time without proper treatment, I'm sorry to say. You should begin to feel relief within the next four or five days. Remember, though, you're barred from hypersleep for a month."

"I know," I said. "I'm well-aware."

Hornby sounded disappointed. "Please, understand I'm trying to help you out. Your sergeant should've sought treatment for you as soon as you were returned to your unit. Or, you should've stayed in the orbital hospital longer. This isn't easy for anyone; the research on this metallic flora is recent and we're trying to learn as much as we can so we can prevent incidents like this in the future."

I was tempted to just hang up, because I had a gut feeling that Hornby wasn't trying to help me, but I decided to listen.

"As I said, it's going to be a few days before you start to feel any real relief. For now, I have some tips that might help you until then." Hornby disappeared from the phone for a minute, then returned. "OK. The best thing you can do is sleep, drink lots of fluids containing vitamin C and antioxidants, as well as water, and avoid eating heavy."

"So, treat it like the flu."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, alright." I sighed. "What are you really looking to do here, Doc?"

"What?"

"I said, what are really looking to do here? Are you trying to help me, or am I an unintentional guinea pig?"

"No! You're not a guinea pig!" Hornby laughed like I was being a silly child. "I can understand where this is coming from, Drake, but, I assure you that I'm not looking to delay your condition. This is all accidental, and we're trying to find a way to study the silver flower without hurting anyone-"

"Doctor Hornby? Can I talk to you for a second?" A new voice was heard, sounding like it had just entered whatever room Hornby was in. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" The voice was vaguely familiar, and I was trying to pinpoint where I heard it before.

"Sure, Carter! No, I'm not doing anything overly important. Just finalizing my appointment with Rykell later today." Hornby didn't bother putting the phone on its hook. He must've left it on the table or something like that.

"Listen, when you meet with Doctor Delhoun later, please tell him that you both are receiving cuts in your budgets if you can't produce something significant in your research. Otherwise, we're transferring that money back over to Bioweapons."

Hornby fell silent. I could hear him giving a sad sigh. "I need time. Carter, the silver flower . . . it could be a much more effective tool than the . . . the alien. It costs almost nothing to maintain. It's very adaptable to its environment. I can train people to grow it and it'll be much less risky to care for than-"

"This isn't my doing. I'm sorry. If you can produce well-defined research regarding the flower within the next six months, maybe we can convince the higher-ups to slide you some more funding, OK?"

That's why the voice was familiar. It was Burke, the Weyland-Yutani exec who gave Delhoun those two weeks of vacation for catching the intruder on the hospital station.

"Whatever you say," Hornby replied, sounding defeated. After Burke left the room, Hornby picked up the phone. "Drake? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," I said, yawning. "What else do you want?"

"N-Nothing. Pass this on to Delhoun: I'm coming by his facility around four-thirty this afternoon to pick him up for our dinner appointment. That's all. Feel better, Drake."

I had to wait until Delhoun returned to his office, trailed by Aran, before I could say anything. Poor Aran was all scratched up. Dakota had cut his left cheek and both hands, and even tried scratching his armor, which was covered in white lines from where her claws made contact. He looked disappointed, which told me he didn't get very far with taming Dakota, as he sat in one of the chairs near the door.

"Everything alright, Drake?" Delhoun asked.

"Yeah. Doctor Hornby called and said he's coming over at four-thirty," I replied.

"Good. We're going to the seaside steakhouse for dinner," Delhoun added. "You can come along if you want."

"He said I shouldn't be eating heavy while I'm recovering," I muttered.

Delhoun frowned. "Well, you need to eat regularly. Not everything at a restaurant is heavy, and you need to eat with people."

"Why?"

"It's better for your digestion. Eating when you're sad or upset slows it down and could lead food to just sit and rot in your stomach, which isn't healthy."

I rolled my eyes.

"Drake, when was the last time you actually sat and had a decent meal with people who care about you?"

"I . . . can't remember."

"Exactly. You're coming with us." Delhoun picked up a small stack of papers. "I'll be back."

I sighed, turning to face Aran. He was looking down at his lap and his bleeding hands; tears were rolling down his face. I dragged my chair over to him, sensing he felt like a failure, a feeling I was all too familiar with. I can't imagine searching for something for fifteen years only to have it outright reject you.

Given that I was a bit of a grumpy sumbitch ever since the ungodly hour Aran pulled me out of my bedroom, I figured he needed some appreciation for what he's done for me, and I put my arms around his neck. I don't hug. Ever. Yeah, I hug Vasquez, sometimes, and that's a different situation. I think I can assume Aran is more driven by his emotions than he thinks he is, so I appealed to that by hugging him.

Aran gently hugged me back with one arm, slowly rubbing my shoulders in the process. I had the impression that it had been awhile since he experienced friendship or even brotherhood. No, I didn't regard him as a brother, but I feel like he wanted that. He needed that. Maybe I needed it, too.

"It'll be OK," I whispered. "Everything'll be OK. Dakota . . . Dakota will come around to you, eventually."

Aran's hug became tighter. I could practically feel my heart throbbing against his armor. His tears were dripping from his face and into the fresh T-shirt I stole from Delhoun's private quarters. My back was soon completely soaked.

God, I did not want to leave Aran there alone, but I didn't think Delhoun wanted him accompanying us to the restaurant. I had to respect that, and not make things more complicated than they already were. I slowly pulled away from Aran, and took note of the fact that there was blood on my shoulders from his scratches. He ruffled my hair, and paused, clutching my forehead. Taking his hand away, he pulled out the notepad, and wrote, "You're still feverish."

"I know," I said. "I was told it's going to be maybe five days before I start to feel better." My mind abruptly cramped when I thought about my conversation with Hornby. Should I tell Aran what I heard? Weyland-Yutani made him angry, but I don't think he was irrational about it. With that in mind, I told him everything. I think he was struggling to mentally translate, because he was jotting down some of the things I said and quietly read them to himself. Despite that, he received the message clearly.

"I don't know who Carter Burke is, but I agree with you and Doctor Delhoun that he shouldn't be trusted. I've seen a lot of scientists lose their jobs because of this obsession with the Xenomorph-typically, they're good men with good intentions. Innocent, with a passion for their fields. Many of them just want to help others or explore. I would give Hornby a chance, but I hope he doesn't lose himself in trying to keep his job. Keep an eye on him, and talk to him. Make him feel like he has someone behind him. That usually keeps people on the right path, at least, that's what I've observed." Aran glanced at me as I read, black eyes flicking from me to the notepad.

I shrugged. "If you think talking to him and making him feel like he's not alone will keep him on his rocker, then . . . I'll give it a try." I rubbed my face, a sudden wave of tiredness crashing over me like a tidal wave. "Jesus, I could do with a cup of coffee right about now. Maybe two cups, since I have no idea when I'm going to bed."

That brought a small smile to Aran's face. He was about to write something, but decided against it. He sighed, the smile suddenly fading, before he put pen to paper. "You're not the first human I've made friends with, but you are the first human to make me think a lot more than I usually do."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Means I consider you a much closer friend than others. You have a storied past, and you're experiencing an emotional turmoil I've never seen before in humans." I was about to say something, but Aran held up his hand, telling me to wait until he finished writing. "I want you to know that you're more important than you think you are. Frankly, I'm sick of hearing you beat yourself up. You don't deserve that. Maybe you don't have people to turn to when you're frustrated, but that doesn't give you the right to blame everything on yourself. I know sometimes it feels like everything's your fault, but know that it isn't."

I was silent. My heart began to ache again, and I looked down at my lap. There was no way of making Aran quit. He really wanted me to feel better about myself and my past. Honestly, that's easier said than done. I don't know how to cope with my past. I don't know how to just . . . accept what happened and move on. I don't want to. Why should I? Whether it was a stroke of extraordinarily bad luck or not, I can't just accept what happened and move on.

I'm so plagued by guilt, it's causing me pain.

And Aran could see that. I had covered my face and started sobbing, overcome with a desire to purge myself of all guilt and regret. I hated myself so much. I had no accomplishments, just disasters. Aran put his hand on my shoulders again, rubbing them gently.

Minutes felt like hours. I eventually looked up at Aran, letting him see how broken I was. He didn't seem to mind, in fact, he tried drying my tears with a tissue. Sighing, I said, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

He shook his head, probably telling me he didn't care. I noticed the cuts on his hands had stopped bleeding, and that he hadn't paid much attention to them.

We sat in the room for a long time, and I'm unsure how long that time was, nor do I care. I was tired, and struggling to take Aran's advice to heart. I didn't have much time to consider it when Delhoun re-entered the room, telling me that Hornby had arrived and was waiting for us. I glanced at Aran, who said and did nothing as I left. He didn't seem to mind that I was leaving. At least, that's the impression I had.

Hornby was a little surprised that I was joining them, but Delhoun insisted I did for the sake of my health. He and Hornby talked the whole drive to the restaurant about nothing that interested me, and I was beginning to think this wouldn't be as good for my health as Delhoun assumed.

They had made reservations the day before, and a young waitress led us to the table, which had a view of the Pacific. I gazed longingly at it, that feeling of loneliness creeping up on me and trying to sit on my shoulders as it thought of a way to crawl into my heart.

This was the first time I had really seen Hornby. The last time was when I was hovering between conscious and subconscious states. All I remembered was that his eyes were green. He was better built than Delhoun, and definitely looked younger and less stressed, though, after hearing his conversation with Burke, that was probably going to change. His hair was a light brown color, and appeared to be neatly brushed in the front. He had a nervous habit of running his fingers through it before picking up his drink and taking a sip.

Delhoun spent a long time trying to decide between wine and whiskey, and as much as I wanted alcohol myself, both doctors said "no." When he finally made a decision, Delhoun turned his attention to me. "How have things been going for you, Drake?"

I didn't reply right away. "Fine," I lied.

"Oh, be honest."

I sighed. "I'm fine, but not a hundred percent fine."

"I see. At least you're going to be fine in a matter of days."

Hornby nodded, not looking up from his menu.

"Can we talk about something else?" I groaned, rubbing my face. "You're doing a terrible job at not making me feel like a guinea pig." I looked at Delhoun. "Tell me about what happened with Aran and Dakota."

"What is there to tell you? She scratched him and yelled at him. I honestly don't know what more he could've done to tame her other than have her get his scent. Obviously, she was close enough to where she could smell him, but she rejected him. Given that they supposedly bonded, it looks as though Dakota's experience caused her to turn away from it. Bonds between Annexers and people-and in this case, Engineers-are notoriously hard to break. I don't think she's going to go back to him." Delhoun set his menu down. "What makes matters worse is that you, Drake, barely tried when it came to attempting to connect with Dakota."

I frowned. "I connected with her babies."

"Yeah? And she still hates you."

"You let her roam free on one of the days I had the babies in the gym, and she didn't even bother observing! All she did was stalk me while I was in the bathroom!"

"You still hardly tried! I don't want to put her down!" Delhoun slapped the table, and pointed at me. "I can't take your bloody moping seriously when you can't do one simple thing I ask of you!"

"I've been sick!"

"Guys-" Hornby's eyes widened, and he tried sticking his hands between me and Delhoun over the table. "Please don't fight here."

"I honestly thought we were friends," I said, ignoring Hornby.

"I did, too. I thought we shared a similar interest in Annexers."

"Well, guess what, genius: I don't! The only reason I know what I do is because I was stuck with them an icy hellhole, and then I was stuck with you for three weeks because I'm an absolute moron when it comes to my-"

"Emotions. We know," Delhoun hissed. "Boo-fucking-hoo."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Here I thought Delhoun forgot about my outburst a few days ago, and he was bringing it back up. Then again, he was probably right; I've hardly done anything he wanted me to do when I first went to his facility. All I've done was play with the offspring of an insanely aggressive animal. I didn't even manage to train them to obey simple commands or use a litter box properly.

Even worse was the fact that Delhoun had earlier said that I needed to go out with them because it'd be healthier for me, and he ruined it.

I didn't want to say that. I've done enough damage. Pushing Hornby aside, I walked out of the restaurant. My appetite was gone, and my self-esteem plummeted, feeling like a heavy lead ball was dropped through my heart and my gut. I tore past the flower bushes that got in my way as I made my way off the restaurant grounds. As I came to the beach, I paused, watching the sky slowly turn from pale blue to deep red and orange. Sighing irritably, I waded into the ocean, sitting where the water would come up to my chest as I crossed my legs. Small waves lapped at me, and I looked down at my hands and the lower half of my body, distorted by the water's surface.

Maybe Vasquez was right, I thought, Maybe I did change because of my experience . . . just not in the way she'd thought. I folded my hands in my lap, wishing I was healthy, wishing I was never here in the first place.