A/N: Warning. Bit of shmexy at the beginning.

Parry didn't know what made her do it. The notion passed into her mind and it was like her body decided to act before her brain could kick in to stop her. Ray reached the door, her hand extending to open it, and Parry surged to her feet.

"Ray, wait!"

She crossed the short distance between them as Ray turned to look at her. She saw her hands land on Ray's shoulders as if they belonged to a stranger. Without once slowing her momentum, her thoughts held tightly into a frantic white noise, she ducked her head and did what she'd wanted to do from that very first night, back in that bar outside Yelchin.

She kissed her.

The moment her lips touched Ray's her brain kicked into gear, too late to actually stop her but determined to frantically remind her why this was such a bad idea and wonder what the hell was she thinking.

This was going to ruin their friendship. This was going to break the bond of trust they'd forged as wingmen. Ray was going to be nothing but repulsed, feel betrayed.

As a result, almost the moment she got full pressure on the kiss from her own momentum, she was reversing it, pulling away.

Hands suddenly came up on the sides of her face, halting her.

"Where are you going?" Ray asked, and before Parry could do more than blink, Ray was pulling her in again. A little off balance, as their mouths came together again Parry stumbled forward a bit. Some unconscious part of her, afraid she was going to actually smack Ray against the door, fumbled out one hand and caught the wall.

For a long moment after that, Parry was aware of nothing but the lips on hers, every bit as soft and perfect as she'd imagined.

As it broke she found herself looking dumbly at Ray again, neither moving further away than an inch or two.

Say something! Don't just stand here!

"That…really just happened?" she said.

"Pretty sure," Ray said, smiling. It was faint, but it was bright as the sun as far as Parry was concerned.

"Am I blushing?" she asked with an awkward chuckle. Ray looked at her with amused criticality.

"Little bit. Looks good on you."

"I wasn't exactly planning on doing that…yet!" Parry said, quickly adding the 'yet' when she imagined she saw that smile start to fade a little. "I mean, I planned…I wanted to. I've wanted to, I mean, I just…didn't expect to do it right now. Like this. I wasn't sure you…I-I mean, I know you like me, but I wasn't sure y-you…in that way, I mean…"

Ray nodded a little, casting her eyes down slightly. "I'm sorry, I just…I thought you did, but I didn't want to misread you. I do that sometimes…misread people…"

Parry could understand that. You have something as bad as what happened with Karen and her classmates blow up in your face after you try and trust someone, and it was bound to make you a bit skittish, make you doubt your perceptions of other people, and not just in the trust arena.

Parry looked at her quietly a moment, and almost as if on cue, both of them started to grin, Ray looking back up at her.

"So," Parry said. "This is good then, right?"

"Yeah," Ray said. "This is good."

Leaning up a little bit, Ray kissed her again. It was short, and sweet, but it was also perfect. Parry felt the faint brush of her hand over her cheek, and that was perfect too.

"I'd better get," Ray said as she pulled away. "Early morning…again."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, probably a good idea," Parry said. "I guess…I'll see you on patrol then."

"I'll be there," Ray said. The door slid open and she backed out of it, giving a bashful little grin. "Uh…good night then."

"Good night," Parry replied, grinning back. "Good night, Ray…"

Good night, Ray…

Bleary smears of gray passed in front of her face as Parry slowly opened her eyes. Dazed, hurting, she could only stare bleakly at the gray and the occasional ruby of bright red that pattered over it, before reality started to make sense.

She was hanging face down, arms cranked painfully behind her. From the feel of it, her wrists were bound, her captors holding on to her arms. The gray passing in front of her was the silt of Little Ippy's surface. The red…from the throbbing heat in her face and mouth, she knew what that was.

Her head felt like it had been cracked like an egg then taped back together. Thought was slow, aching flashes of white in the overall pulsing crimson inside her skull.

Her first bleary instinct was to fight, but even as the urge passed through her she knew it would be futile. She was bound, wounded, and it was sure to shit they had taken her side arm. Fighting would do nothing and may just get her killed.

I don't care, she thought.

You do care, Ray said. You dying doesn't accomplish anything, Angel. You are a Confed SFT pilot. Think to your training.

I don't care!

Do you think that's what I want? Ray asked. You think I want you to die? Dying doesn't help me, Angel. Dying doesn't take back those bullets.

I couldn't stop them. I couldn't save you.

You cannot give up. Remember your training. What do you do? When taken prisoner, what do you do?

Watch. Listen. Give up nothing. Learn everything. Use any wise opportunity to escape.

Despite the pain, she continued to hang limp, tried to think. They were still on Little Ippy. There was a chance the Wing would break through. She could feel her emergency beacon still pulsing on her arm. It would lead the Wing right to her.

They won't leave us behind, she thought. They'll do anything they can to get to us.

Rho or even Charlie could arrive at any moment. Keeping that hope in her head she started to assess her injuries as best she could.

Her broken collar bone and the angle of her arm had turned that entire quadrant into a white hot burn of agony. The blood was dripping from her face in thick, syrupy threads. She was breathing from her mouth, and as she gingerly tried to switch to her nose she found it impossible.

When the Cat had hit her and knocked her out, he'd apparently broken her nose. Probing very gingerly with her tongue she found her lip was split too.

Superficial. None life threatening. Put the pain down. Push it down and concentrate, Ray said. They took you prisoner, they didn't kill you. That means they want you alive for some reason. Interrogation, something to trade for something else, pleasant or not there is a reason. So long as they have that reason they will not kill you. Think about the dogfight. Wasn't that a bit odd?

It was odd. Firstly, that so many fighters had been there to begin with, in that completely non-strategic area, hitting them so hard.

Four came from around this moon. Could they have been waiting for the next patrol? Were we the reason they were here?

Was it a coincidence that the activity the Fleet had seen in the Territories to make them go Code Orange, had escalated to Code Red almost the same time Rho was hit? Could they have hit the Front as a distraction? To insure the patrol Wing was isolated, to make sure they could do what they wanted to do?

Jon had cautioned the two of them to be careful, that they were being pulled. That one fighter had the disabled Ray dead to rights but he'd fired on her fighter in such a way so as to not destroy the plane or kill its pilot.

We weren't being pulled, Angel thought. We were being herded.

But why? For what reason? The Cats couldn't have known that Rho would be on that particular patrol on that particular day- the patrols and routes were randomly generated and only delivered to the WC a few minutes before deck muster. The Confed kept their routes and Wings randomized like that to prevent this exact thing from happening.

Which means if this was a purposeful ambush, they weren't after our Wing in particular or anyone specific in it…they just wanted someone.

It explained why she was still alive. They wanted a Confed pilot. The ambush's purpose had been to take a Confed pilot, any Confed pilot. Now they had what they wanted.

She had no way of knowing if she was right, of course. It could all be one massive coincidence, and the Cats were here on a very different purpose.

If one Confed pilot alive is a good thing, two had to be better, right?

Not necessarily, Angel, Ray replied. Two is messier than one.

They just…they just fucking shot you. They just shot you like you were nothing-

Stop thinking about it, Ray said gently. It wasn't your fault, Parry.

Even through her throbbing headache, Parry knew that it wasn't really Ray she was talking too. Concussion or not, possible brain damage or no, she was cognizant enough to be aware of that. It was only her in her head, only her talking to herself.

Ray wasn't really there. She was back in the ruined pit of her torn up fighter, shot down like an animal, left behind like garbage.

She was dead.

The passing gray dirt in front of her face suddenly changed to corrugated metal. The two Cats carrying her strode up the ramp and into a battered cargo area that smelled like grease and metal. She was hefted up a bit, then dropped with little caution onto a hard metal bench. The impact made her woof out a pain-filled breath. Something metal prodded at her temple again as her hands were unfastened. Her arms were swung around, refastened, and latched onto a bolt set into the bench.

She was prodded again, harder. Realizing her captor knew she was awake she cracked her eyes open. The blank, Kilrathi helmet was hovering an inch in front of her face.

With another rasping growl, the Cat said something that may as well have been gibberish. Parry said nothing in reply, only glared at him.

A low sound that was too much like a chuckle to be anything else, and the beast straightened, striding away. The one that had chained her to the bench ignored her, taking up a position a few feet to her left. The idling hum of engines was growing into a roar, the bay swinging slightly as they took off.

There was still a chance, still time. Rho could still be coming.

If they do they'll likely just shoot the Cats down, she thought. And me with them.

No, Ray said. Your beacon is still working. Feel it? Rho will pick that up even through the hull. They'll know you're on board. That's a good thing. You'll lead them right to where the Cats are taking you.

No. Jon won't take that chance. He shouldn't take that chance. He can't risk the rest of the Wing, can't risk anyone else, not for one prisoner that's likely being hauled right into the Territories where a hundred other Cats are waiting. Better that he shoot down this ship and lose me, then lose me alive to the Cats, or lose all of them trying to get me back.

Jon won't do that, Angel.

Jon should. He should do that. If he's any kind of a leader, he damn well should.

The bench she was laying on was cool against her swollen face, and her aching head wanted nothing more than to retreat. Unable to do anything else, Parry didn't fight it, sliding into unconsciousness again for a time.

It was impossible to say how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. She was lying in the same position. All the same things hurt. The same guard (at least, it looked like the same guard) was standing in the same spot.

Her arm was still pulsing.

Shifting a little, she did her best to look around the room, see what she could see. Beyond some maglocked equipment, however, it looked like any other cargo bay. She could see the sealed door they'd come in through, and a smaller one to her left. The guard was armed not only with a pair of weapons on his hips, but something long and thin that looked like a baton in his hands.

Shifting her head, she looked down along the bench. The cuffs she was wearing were thick, heavy metal, fastened to a loop that looked just as solid. There was no way she could escape right here, right now…and nowhere to go even if she did somehow manage to slip free and subdue her guard.

Then the door opened, and three Cats came in.

Two were still in full gear with helmets on. One moved over to stand with her original guard, the other coming toward her with the final Cat. It was impossible to say for sure but her impression was that this one was the same soldier that had hit her in the face.

The other was in a uniform but not full combat gear. His face and head were bare.

Parry had seen pictures of the Kilrathi before but never one in the flesh. Much as humans had evolved from an ape-like ancestor, the Kilrathi had evolved from the feline. Their faces looked very similar to big jungle cats, with a bit of a rounder and higher skull to accommodate a sapient brain.

This one was a kind of buff or sandy color, with large green eyes. His mouth and chin were white, and along his head and the fringes of his cheek the fur grew almost similar to a lion's mane. He had it neatly trimmed. A dark, hairless scar marked part of his forehead. Unlike common Earth house cats, his pupils were round and not slit- something she saw very clearly as he drew near to where she was and looked down at her.

His feet were bare and were wide, padded, and powerful. He was wearing a uniform of the Kilrathi Fleet. It took her a moment to place his insignia and rank.

Captain, I think…he's a captain?

He's the equivalent of what we would consider a captain, Ray provided helpfully. The word in the Kilrathi tongue is 'tom'ek'.

The alien crouched down and looked at her. Silently, she looked back.

"I am to understand you do not speak Kilrah," he said at last, in almost flawless English. He gestured to her arm and the insignia on it. "Unusual for the SFT isn't it? Special Forces are required to learn Kilrah are they not?"

"I'm new," she said thickly.

"Is that so? We have ourselves a trainee?"

She said nothing. Speaking the first time was a mistake. Give nothing away. Learn everything.

His eyes studied her intently, then moved to her arm again. When he reached out she jolted back away from him but of course it did no good. He shifted the flap on her arm, then gripped hold of the beacon, tearing it away as he straightened.

He said something angrily to the man who had come in with him, crushing the beacon in his hand and then flinging it at the other fellow's feet. Glowering, he looked back at Parry and crouched again.

"If you were hoping that beacon would save you I am afraid I have disappointing news. We have crossed the buffer you call the 'Territories' and are now in Kilrathi space. There is no sign of any Confed pursuit. I am sorry, but you are on your own."

Don't believe anything he says, Ray said. They want you isolated, despairing.

"My name is Tom'ek Chiv," he said. "Might I know your name?"

When she said nothing he shook his head. "Your name and rank, that is all I require. That is within Confed regulations, even for SFT is it not? Provide the enemy your name and rank only, and nothing else? How else are we to negotiate the terms of your release under the Prisoners of War treatise of 2187 if we don't even know the name of our prisoner?"

Ray snorted. Don't listen to him. The Cats have broken every treaty we ever signed with them, especially the POW treatise.

I know, but we are told to give our name and rank.

Just…be careful. Don't give him anything you don't have too. Not a word.

Lifting her chin a little bit, she said, "Mazurek, Parry, 2nd Lieutenant Confed SFT."

She didn't even bother with her ident number, though she could have provided it.

"Angel," he said, looking at her shoulder again. "That is a human religious figure of some kind isn't it?"

He didn't seem to expect a response, and she didn't give one. He straightened.

"We will be landing soon. You will be escorted to holding. If you do not cooperate, you will be shot. If you do, you will receive medical treatment and food. You will find that if you are honest with me, I will be honest with you."

He's trying to sound reasonable, earn your trust or respect, Ray warned. First rule when you get a prisoner- identify with them, make them think you're their buddy or at the very least, that you are reasonable and willing to listen. You can't trust him, Parry. Just remember that. No matter what they do or say, you cannot trust them. Never assume.

After a moment's pause, he turned and walked away. Parry laid her head down again.

Less than an hour later the blank-faced guard unfastened her and took her off the same cargo ramp they'd brought her up, flanked by the other two helmeted Cats. This time, she walked, though her head still felt heavy, thundering, floaty. Nausea kept rising in her throat, and the blood felt caked on her face.

Three guards, just for me, she thought.

You're SFT, remember? Ray said. They should have six.

The cargo bay apparently belonged to small fast-light transport that was now docked inside the bay of a much larger vessel-certainly no smaller than a prime ship. That it was as close as it was to the Territories was a bit concerning.

Something this big could not get this close to even the Kilrathi side of the buffer without drawing immediate attention. So the Fleet either knows this ship is here and is watching it closely…or else we went through a jump gate. If we did that, we could be anywhere in the Empire. I could be a hundred thousand star systems away from Houston.

She was escorted through a maze of a dozen corridors. At first she tried to memorize them but her headache made it all but impossible. Instead, she tried to do her best to memorize several of the symbols painted on various walls or doorways. She'd have to plot the best route back down the bay if she got the chance to get out of here. Stealing a fighter or a transport would be the only way to get back to Confed territory.

Then, they were walking into another area. This one smelled strongly of antiseptic and various medicines, giving away that it was an infirmary the moment the doors opened. Her escort pulled her wordlessly over to a bunk, fastened her cuffs to a ring at the edge of it, then turned and shouted something in another direction. A few minutes later, another figure appeared from what Parry took to be a small office, and headed their way.

Parry's whole body stiffened, her eyes narrowing. She literally heard the tendons in her jaw creak as they tightened.

The man walking toward her…was human.