Carmen came to, squinting her eyes against the blue light of a lantern that sat a few feet away. She felt the fuzz of a soft blanket against her cheek. Cool, dry air wrapped around her bare feet. Someone had removed her boots and socks, she realized. Her hand went to her neck, where she felt the pull of a fresh bandage. The same person must have dressed her wounds. Her wounds? How did she get wounds? She strained her memory, but could find nothing helpful. Some kind of instinct urged her to get up, to search for danger. But her legs would barely move, so her eyes did the wandering instead.
The room around her was small. It look barren save for a few bags, the lantern, and the blanket she rested on. In the corner farthest from her, a steep flight of stairs ascended to the outside world. Eerie evening light floated over the top stair like a ghost.
"Hey there," came a voice. It was followed by a rustle just behind her head. She gasped, sitting up in a hurry. Too much of a hurry. Her head felt like it was spinning. Or maybe that was the room. "How do you feel?"
Carmen blinked several times and then scanned for the face that belonged to the voice. When she found it, memories started to string together through the fog in her mind. "Sheppard?" Her voice came out as barely more than a hoarse whisper.
A young man with chestnut brown hair and friendly eyes was staring back at her as he sat cross-legged against the wall. He scooted closer and placed a hand on her arm. "You recognize me this time?"
"This time?"
"You've been in and out for a few hours now, ever since I brought you back here."
"Oh..." She tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper. "Water...can I have some water?"
"Yeah, yeah-hold on." He retrieved a canteen from a pile of belongings on the edge of the blanket, unscrewed the lid, and held it to her lips. She gulped it down as fast as she could, coughing and sputtering as a result of her greed. Sheppard pulled the canteen away and patiently rubbed her back until her breathing returned to normal.
As she sank onto the blanket once more, he brushed the hair from her face, letting his hand linger against her cheek. "I've been really worried about you," he whispered.
She turned her head away from his hand in order to keep from leaning in to the touch. "How...how long has it been? Since the team left?"
"Three days," Sheppard answered. "But it shouldn't be much longer before someone returns for us. Don't worry."
Carmen nodded. Something was gravely wrong with her. She could feel it muddying her senses. And she could see the concern in Sheppard's eyes, as much as he tried to hide it. Didn't her captors mention someone...Callahan, yes that's it. They said I was going the same way as Callahan. But which way is that?
"Oh! I have a present for you!" Sheppard interrupted her thoughts. He clambered to his feet with a grin. Carmen looked on, intrigued, as he lifted something crescent-shaped that had been leaning against a nearby wall, hiding in the shadows.
"My bat'leth!" She sat up and accepted it eagerly. "Where did you find it?"
"It was just laying there, in the sand. Must have been where they tried to take you the first time. I nearly missed it."
Carmen wiped red dust from its blade with a tender, almost loving hand. "Worf should be on his way to the tournament by now," she muttered wistfully.
"Tournament?" Sheppard took a seat at her side, slinging his arms around his knees.
"Yes, a bat'leth tournament. He tried to register me, but they said only Klingons could partake." A frown twitched at her lips. "It's not fair, really."
"You mean you actually want to fight a bat'leth wielding Klingon?" he balked.
A devilish grin replaced her frown. "What? You don't think that sounds fun?"
He shook his head. "I'll tell you what I think: I think you need to find a hobby that doesn't involve getting maimed. Imagine the joy that would bring Dr. Crusher."
She burst out laughing and Sheppard basked in the sound. For three days he had searched and scouted and scraped by. For three days he had been completely and utterly alone, battling not only the storm and the hostile desert but a growing sense of hopelessness. But now, to hear her laugh again, he felt his hope restored.
Carmen rested the bat'leth on the ground, casting it one final, admiring glance. "By the way, you didn't happen to….to…" She trailed off. Her eyelids fluttered closed, almost as though she had fallen asleep mid-sentence.
"Hey, are you alright?" Sheppard took hold of one arm to keep her from falling over.
"Just...dizzy...and tired." She eased her eyes open again. "Anyways," she continued, trying to keep his concern at bay. "Um...did you grab any spare uniforms by chance? I don't think mine is salvageable."
"Oh, I might have something." He crawled over to a duffel shaped bag and dug through it. "Here. The cleanest clothes I've got. And the most comfortable." He set a soft, crumpled pile in front of her and then turned politely away so she could change.
Carmen pulled at her sleeve to remove her arm. As she did so, pain shot up from her side, where Talbot's kicks had landed. She hissed through clenched teeth. "Hey, uh, Sheppard?" she asked. "Would you…?"
Sheppard flushed with color. "Help? Oh, yeah! Of course." He came over and knelt behind her. Then he carefully peeled her jacket off and cast it aside.
"Keep going," she instructed. The breath hitched in his throat as he lifted her shirt next, revealing an athletic black bra that hugged her sweat-sheened breasts. He undid her pants after that, rolling them down to expose a pair of black briefs that fit snugly against her hips and made his pulse race.
Sheppard swallowed. It was hard not to let his eyes wander. Shadows traced the sculpt of every muscle beneath her cream-colored skin. Faded scars told harrowing, silent stories as they ran across her back, her chest, her ribs. But even they were beautiful in their own way, like reminders of her resilience. His mind drifted back to the fierceness of her kiss, the scent of her hair as it fell about his face, the curve of her hips beneath his hands...
Focus Allan, he reminded himself. Then he bunched up the clean shirt and held it over her head. "Thanks," she mumbled, pulling it on and threading her arms through the sleeves. As she tugged it down the rest of the way, he retrieved the pants. Like the shirt, they were heathered gray and lined with a thick, warm material.
Carmen sank onto her back, exhausted from the task thus far. Wordlessly, Sheppard moved to her feet, gently setting one foot and then the other into place. Then, just as gently, he slid the pants up and over her long, toned legs.
Once he finished, Sheppard found himself bent over her while she lay stretched out beneath him. Carmen's chest rose sharply, for she could sense his struggle. Her fingers wandered up, of their own accord it seemed, to run through his chestnut curls.
And with that, Sheppard lost the struggle. Planting his hands on either side of her, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Carmen trembled, not from the cold now but from how much she wanted to taste those lips again and again. A tender gentleness radiated from his touch as one of his hands slipped under her shirt and brushed across her stomach. Something in her longed to protect that gentleness, to prevent it from being snuffed out like an ember beneath the cruel heel of the universe.
But she could not get an image out of her head, something she had seen in that chamber just before she was taken. A cube-like structure drawing closer and closer to Earth's blue curve. The universe's cruel heel driving down on top of humanity. They are coming.
The kiss drew to an end. Still his mouth hovered just above hers, torturously close, as he waited for her to reciprocate. "Sheppard…" she whispered.
"Yes?" he breathed, aquiver with anticipation.
"I...I'm sorry. I can't…"
His blood cooled in an instant. "Right, um...I'm the one who should be sorry. Not the right time for this. You need your rest." He sat back hurriedly, giving her hand an apologetic squeeze.
No, not the right time at all, she thought bitterly. It never is. Not for a warrior.