Aran didn't move an inch as I told him about everything that happened yesterday, and this morning. When I finished, he told me via his notebook that he did spend the majority of the day looking for me, and in the process, he unwittingly found out where Mathias was.

While searching for me in a shopping district near Rosslyn, Aran came across an android service station. It is illegal to get a medical dummy android repaired without the consent of the owner, but because Mathias was considered "at risk," that part of the law was overridden. Aran was curious to see if I was in there, considering I told him how much this situation bothered me. He didn't find me, but he did find Mathias.

Civilian-run android service stations aren't as high-tech as stations run by Weyland-Yutani or the USCM. They look a lot like auto mechanic shops, but instead of the workers being covered in black grease or oil, they're covered in white fluid. Their prices for repairs are a lot lower, but one disadvantage is that they take a long time to get information on new models, so most generally work with older androids. You will never find these stations outside of major cities; my squad learned that the hard way when we were stationed on the Indian side of Kashmir, and a power outage resulted in Bishop's innards getting damaged from the cold. Instead of finishing our cold-weather training, we put it to the test by splitting into small groups and searching for some kind of repair station. Needless to say, we didn't find one, and waited about a week before we were evacuated. That was one experience (next to starving in a warehouse) that I'm not forgetting.

Anyway, Aran didn't actually go in the service station . . . because, again, he's afraid of androids. When he brought that up, I wanted to punch him, but I also told myself that I can't force him to do something that makes him uncomfortable. I mean, he did something, so I have to give him some kind of credit.

But I still wanted to punch him when he didn't remember the name of the service station.

I remember going to bed at around ten-thirty in the morning, and woke up at around five PM. Sitting up, I looked over at Aran, who was watching TV with the sound off. When he heard me grunt as I stretched, he glanced at me.

"What?" I said, yawning. "Have you been here the whole time?"

He nodded.

I looked out the window, then at the clock. "You wanna stay here or do you wanna go somewhere for dinner?"

Aran shrugged, then grabbed his notepad. "I know you're probably starving because of yesterday, but I don't want to go anywhere." He looked ashamed. "I don't feel well. That's all. I'm very tired, for some reason. It's probably a cold, or just exhaustion from being in a new place. This isn't what I usually do when I travel; I'm on the move more often. I'm rarely cooped up in a single place."

I sighed. "Sorry. Hey, I'm not the one who suggested you come with me." I really did feel bad, but I didn't want more guilt piling on top of me. "Do you want me to stay here and keep you company?"

Aran shook his head. "If you want to go out, you can. I won't hold you back."

I didn't leave the bed. "No. I'll stay. I already left once. I can't do it again." Laying back down, I said, "I'm going back to sleep. Don't have any wild parties, Aran." It's not like I had to do anything from now until tomorrow night, but instead of sleeping, I've been laying on my stomach with my journals and writing down everything that's happened over the last day or so. I think Aran's asleep now, but he left the TV on by accident. He did turn the sound on at one point, and I've left it because I appreciate the background noise. I don't know what it is about silence and it driving me nuts. Some people function well in complete silence, but I don't.

Probably because my nightmares are full of silence.

Well, I wasn't wrong about my nightmares being full of silence. After I wrapped up my writing, I turned off the television and tried to sleep. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I saw myself walking onto a beach. The tide was calm, and there was no wind. The palm trees were still; you couldn't hear a rustle if you tried. There wasn't even the sound of the water against the shore.

At first, I thought it was peaceful, but then my heart began racing. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to civilization.

Something wet fell on my left cheek. I thought it was rain, but when I touched my face, my fingers came away covered in a thin silver fluid. Slowly, I looked up, seeing a lifeless Hudson trapped within the branches of the trees. The silver fluid had coated every surface he was touching. Every cut was spilling silver. The lack of real blood made the exposed flesh look a sickly, pale pink color. I tried to get Hudson down from the tree by first pulling a branch out of the way. I was greeted by more silver fluid, and what appeared to be the entire skin and muscular layer completely torn from Hudson's torso. I could see the throbbing of his heart, and the sight of it was making me ill. I wanted to cover it back up, go find help, but then I heard a weak gasp.

"Drake . . . d-don't . . . d-don't bother . . ." Silver liquid poured from Hudson's mouth.

I watched as the fluid flowed like blood throughout his exposed innards. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't. What could I do? Powerlessness and failure made me feel even more sick. All I could do was watch this . . . this horrific scene play out. Was I watching him die? Or just suffer? Either way, I felt like I was being tormented with the fact that I could do nothing to help him. Nothing at all.

Aran wasn't looking all that well in the morning. I didn't want to leave him alone, but I also knew the best thing for him to do was rest. Again, I felt like it was my fault he was sick, but he himself told me that trips like this were unusual for him, and I wasn't the one who said it was a good idea to bring him along. I was also starting to feel like there was another reason why he was laid up in bed, and that reason was because I needed to complete this alone. I definitely didn't need Aran tagging along when I went out to dinner with Miranda. I needed to prove that I was growing as a person.

I did stay in the hotel room until around noon, only leaving in the morning to get something for breakfast and some over-the-counter medicine for Aran. At first, I said that medicine for humans isn't going to work on an Engineer, but Aran said that he had taken human drugs before; they worked, but the dosage needed to be adjusted. I took his word for it.

Shortly after twelve-thirty, I told Aran where I was going and why. He didn't insist on coming along, even though he was feeling a little better, but he did say that I should "look nice," because that's what you do when you go to dinner with a girl.

Aran knows about Vasquez. I'm still not sure why he said that, but I think it's because Miranda doesn't know, and I should keep up the "single" façade in order to get as much help from her as possible. I know it's wrong, it's dishonest, and it's bordering on heartless, but if I can get to a point where I can help Hudson, I'll do anything. That nightmare I had was pushing me to my limit of how long I can wait for Hudson to be released.

I had a few hours, so I went down to the mall to look for clothing that was nice, but wasn't going to wreck our budget. It was at that point that I realized I've basically been wearing the same thing for the last several years. I felt like that symbolized how little things have changed for me, how I feel stuck.

Jesus, who knew shopping for clothes could become so depressing.

I stood in a changing room wearing a pale-blue polo shirt, staring at myself in a mirror. Without my cap, I looked . . . very human. Very normal. Would I be dressing like this regularly if I didn't get in trouble so long ago? Sighing heavily, I took the shirt off, and tried on a black shirt. I smirked a little when I remembered hearing somewhere that dark colors make you look thinner. I honestly don't need to look thinner, although I don't know what Miranda would prefer I look like. It probably doesn't matter, because she seemed to like me the way I was. Again, though, I need to be the best I can be if I'm going to get assistance with Hudson.

Maybe I am slowly turning into some sort of spy. Self-made, that is.

I left the store with a gray polo shirt and black cargo shorts. I still had a lot of time before dinner, so I wandered the underground of Crystal City. The deeper you went, the more you realized that a person could actually live down here and never set foot outside. I was impressed by how much was down there. There's even a library.

When I passed the library, though, I spotted a man in a lab coat talking to the guy that had walked by me and Miranda yesterday. Out of curiosity, I paused by a pet shop, pretending to by amazed by the baby bunnies while listening to the conversation between the two men.

". . . No, no one has to worry about Drake. He got a warning a few days ago. Given his reaction upon release, I don't think he'll get near the hospital again," the man in the lab coat said.

"Why is Hornby so concerned with a lowly Marine private anyway?" the other man replied.

"Because Drake was exposed to the silver flower toxin last month. He knows what it's like. He remembers that pain and probably doesn't want Hudson to experience it. Not to mention, Hornby said that it appears as though Drake might be aware of what's going on with Hudson."

"Oh, dear God, he has no reason to be so secretive about this. He ran some tests. He has a good enough paper to submit to Burke-"

"Hornby's mission is to convince Weyland-Yutani that the silver flower is more effective than you-know-what. That's not an easy thing to do. Frankly . . . I'd rather see them use the flower. It's a damn flower, after all. It doesn't require humans to keep its species going."

"I don't think getting that batty old woman from the university is going to help him."

"Doctor Madell is highly respected. She's implemented a number of successful programs at her college. If Hornby's plan works with her, that'll surely convince the company higher-ups. I've got to go catch the train to Arlington. We can talk more tomorrow."

When the guy in the lab coat left, I ducked into the pet store. I was disappointed that I learned nothing new from that conversation. Hopefully, Miranda will provide me with more information during dinner.

I definitely felt overdressed when I saw Miranda waving to me as I rounded a corner back to the center hub of the mall. She was just wearing jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. I told myself not to care, but I also didn't want to look like a try-hard.

I half-expected Miranda to bring me to a place outside the mall, but she didn't. Instead, we went to a restaurant in the mall, which wasn't exactly fancy. It was definitely a comfort-food place. We were greeted with music and the smell of things frying and the sounds of people laughing. It was just a regular place for regular people, something I wish I was.

We sat at a booth with the bar behind us. Miranda hadn't said a word to me since seeing me, and gave me a nervous smile. "I hope this isn't . . . bad," she said.

I shook my head. "It's fine. I kinda like it, actually."

"Good. I like coming here now and then. It's such a different atmosphere compared some of the eateries around the college. It's a lot more friendly."

"Ah." I looked over my shoulder. "Would you mind if I got something from the bar?"

"Go ahead."

I stood up, turning around to face the bar. I glanced at Miranda, then looked at the guy behind the counter. After getting myself a bottle of whiskey, I again glanced at Miranda, before turning to the bartender and saying, "Can I have a small piña colada, too? Go extra light on the rum."

I carried both drinks back to the table, noting Miranda's surprise when I slid the piña colada in front of her. She looked at me, and said, "Mark, I didn't want anything."

"It's just a nice gesture," I replied. "Come on, you got me breakfast yesterday, so I figured it was my turn to do something nice for you."

Miranda thought about that for a minute, then pulled the glass closer to her. "Well . . . thank you. I appreciate it."

We read through the menus quietly, despite how badly I wanted to talk about Hudson. I didn't want to blow through the evening too quickly, and I don't think Miranda did either. She was looking at me more than she was looking at her menu, almost like she was expecting me to start a conversation.

"So . . . were you able to get some sleep yesterday? After what happened?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, for the most part. I slept until five in the afternoon, woke up, and then went back to sleep."

"Do you feel better?"

"Kinda, yeah. I don't feel a hundred percent, but it's better than nothing." I took a sip of my drink. "How about you? How was your day?"

"Today? Today was horrible. I . . . watched a man cry and scream today."

"Hudson?"

Miranda nodded. "We took a bus to the hospital, met Doctor Hornby, and he took us up to the lab where your friend's being kept. It . . . It was pretty scary, to be honest. I've been in a lot of laboratories, but this one wasn't like any other I've seen, not to mention, they didn't have human test subjects."

A tightening sensation spread from my chest to my stomach. "What was going on?"

"Well, Hornby was in the middle of seeing what the toxin does when the air temperature is raised. Hudson was just lying on the floor, so exhausted that he couldn't move. We walk into the lab, and Hornby looked kind of embarrassed at what was going on, so he tried to get Hudson up. I mean, we're all med students, and we could tell that this poor guy was dehydrated. I wanted to say something, and the others wanted to say something, but we didn't, because we knew that this wasn't our place. Anyway, Hudson looked very much like death warmed over. I've seen Mathias in pitiful states, but none of them were like this. He looked like someone put a tube on his face and sucked out his cheeks and pushed his eyeballs deep into their sockets."

"Is Hornby starving him?"

"Yes and no. Hornby did deprive him of food for twelve hours, but then Hudson decided to call a hunger strike out of delirium from a fever."

"Is he suffering from toxic discharge?"

Miranda shook her head. "Nope."

I sighed. "So, Hornby fucking lied to me. He told me that Hudson was being kept for observation because they thought he developed toxic discharge."

"Well, if you want the full extent of what they're doing-" Miranda pulled a file from her purse, slapping it in front of me.

I almost choked on my whiskey when I read through the first document. "They induced bacterial infections? 'Tests involving UTI and sinusitis provided substantial results: subject's exposure to metallic flower resulted in lowered immune response, increased emotional outbursts. Fever was higher compared to average cases. Subject frequently complained of headache and chest pain. Unable to keep solid food down. Electrolytes needed to be replenished more often. Subject experienced insomnia, and heightened brainwave activity during REM sleep. Claimed to be having nightmares, and wanted to leave the lab.'" I rubbed my face, a heavy feeling settling in my heart. "Is there anything at all we can do to get him out of there?"

"Not really. I heard Hornby say to Madell that he will release Hudson in two days. Today was supposedly the last day for experiments, and the next two days will be used for recovery." Miranda shrugged. "That's what I heard. I don't know if it should be believed or not."

I continued to flip through the documents. "Did anyone get a chance to . . . talk to Hudson?"

"No. He was begging for help, though." Miranda sighed. "It reminded me so much of Mathias that I'm surprised I didn't leave the room in tears. Just . . . that need to feel better, feel normal was so palpable that . . . that I wish I could've done something."

"I get it," I replied. "Speaking of Mathias, I know where he is."

"Really?" Miranda's expression changed to one of shock.

"He's at an android service station in Rosslyn. Civilian, not company or military."

"Oh my God. D-Did-Did you get the name of it?"

"No. I wish I did. Hey, at least you know where it is. It's not that long of a ride on the Metro. I would just look around and go to each station until you find him." I shrugged. "That's all I got. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry, Mark, that's . . . that was enough information for me. I know what to do." Miranda gave another sigh. "Let's . . . Let's talk about . . . something else."

"Alright." I set the whiskey bottle down, and made the worst possible choice for something else to talk about. "What's your honest-to-God opinion on me?"

Miranda's cheeks flushed red. "What?"

"What do you think of me? You know, as a person. I was wondering because even though you seemed annoyed by me when I wanted to talk to you about Mathias a few days ago, you were beginning to enjoy my company. Besides, what other reason would you have to buy me breakfast and dinner?" I smirked.

"I think you're . . . you're . . . you . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she was looking me up and down. "I think you're . . . you're . . . handsome, I guess. Wait, did you mean, what I think of you physically, or your personality?"

"Either."

"OK, OK, well, yeah, I think you're . . . handsome. I do like that polo you're wearing. It fits your figure nicely."

"Alright. Now, what do you think of me, personality-wise?"

"I think you're decent. I'm still surprised at how . . . emotionally open you are. You seem like you know what you're doing when you talk to people. You're not very extroverted, but you're not exactly introverted, either."

"Well, the truth is that I'm not emotionally open. I think the reason you think that is because when we met, we weren't just two people passing in the street. I was actually looking for you because your damn android went bonkers. I guess it depends on the circumstances."

"Yeah. Most people take their time with getting to know someone-"

"I barged into your hotel room because I wanted information."

A weak smile crossed Miranda's face, but she wasn't making eye contact with me. She definitely seemed conflicted about this, and I felt bad considering I wasn't really replicating any of the feelings she had for me. I guess I wouldn't feel so much like a heartless bastard if she wasn't having such a tough time in her life, and I've forgotten a lot of the old tactics I used when I was known as an indiscriminate flirt in high school. Yeah, I was a totally different person, then. I wasn't "bad." I just wanted to have fun, so I would harmlessly flirt with every type of girl in my grade. You might be wondering how I changed. Well, two things: one was the fact that I got sent to prison, and the other was my earliest encounter with real, hard-hitting guilt. Flirting with "every type of girl" meant I went after the quiet and shy ones, too. They're a completely different ballgame. Words are not enough to make them look at you. If you want their attention, you have to acknowledge the fact that they're quiet and shy, because disrespecting that boundary means they'll go to great lengths to avoid you, and your game is over.

Many of them have hobbies that they care about far more than interacting with people. One of the more common ones I noticed was reading, so I would offer a comment on whatever it was they were reading. Once you do that, you're almost there. However, the thing about quiet people is that they are very, very loyal when you show them the right amount of respect and interest in their lives. Breaking up with them (especially if you're going on to flirt with a party animal), hurts. It hurts them pretty bad, and it'll hurt you, because you feel like garbage for doing that to them. I can remember at the end of my sophomore year when I ditched a shy girl in order to take advantage of juniors looking for prom dates. Needless to say, it didn't take long for me to see that I was being made out to be a horrible person by a lot of other students. Guilt set in, and I started to rethink myself, something that I'm still doing.

I'd never think that my stupidity from high school would be one of the many things effecting me to this day. Most people look back at their school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm so glad I changed. I'm living a happy life." I, on the other hand, look back on my school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm still an idiot. I'm not living a happy life. Every stupid thing I do is haunting me."

Alright, I shouldn't be wasting paper on how stupid I was in high school. Anyway, even though I felt bad about Miranda, I was just happy that I already had Vasquez. She'd probably understand I was doing this all for Hudson, but I know one of two things would happen. One, she'd question why I'd do such a thing to help a moron like Hudson. Two, I'd get punched in the nose, and then she'd tell me that I would have to make up an embarrassing excuse to tell the medics why my nose was broken.

I'm starting to think that it's best I don't say anything. At least I know how to wash my face to remove evidence of kissing, unlike the dumbfucks in movies.
Overall, I felt like I actually got something done. I know what's going on with Hudson. Miranda has an idea where Mathias is. I could end the day not feeling like a failure. Honestly, I was hoping that Miranda and I could just be friends, like normal people. I can't blame her for wanting to have a relationship with someone, to have some form of comfort when you're having a tough time in your life. I can see other people being intimidated by her behavior, and misinterpreting her as being clingy and needy, when what she wants is for someone to listen. Then again, it's not other people's fault for not getting the message. She has to be able to communicate that in a way that they'll understand.

I should know. I've been struggling with that for quite some time.

Question of the Chapter: How do you think things would change, if Aran had accompanied Drake, both when he was arrested in chapter 8 and during the dinner date in chapter 10?

Author's Note: Wow, this was a long chapter. Long for me, anyway. Most chapters are anywhere between 2500-3000 words, so I'm impressed I got past 4000. I think the quality of the words has to matter more than the amount itself. I can see why people have a word-count goal, but the motivation to write and the idea has to be there before you can start counting. Hey, every person's writing style and methods are different, so, keep doing what you're doing.

I kinda liked this chapter. It was laced with more humor compared to the others, but I'm not sure how it's going to hold up, given that most of it took place right after the documents on Hudson's condition are revealed. The parts on Drake's high school life probably could've been shorter, but I felt like there was a lot that connected to the overarching conflict. I can't say that everyone has regrets from school, but I know I do (like, maybe I should've had a social life). It helps to write from experience. Experience doesn't have to be that you went on a big adventure. It could be something as simple as doing an activity or going somewhere, and if you don't have experience, reading doesn't hurt. And, speaking of experience, the restaurant Drake and Miranda go to is based on a real place down in D.C. I've been to Washington three times, and the trip wasn't complete without going to King Street Blues for dinner at least once. It's pretty good, and I recommend it if you're ever in the Crystal City area.