A/N: My thanks to my guest reviewer. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far.

I know it's not the weekend, but it's Valentine's Day and the next chapter was just sitting there waiting to be posted, so...

Chapter 37: A Time to Laugh

They lasted two days.

Sara heard him approach. She heard him stop at the door. She knew exactly who it was. She knew the sound of everyone's footsteps on this ship. She smirked, never pausing in her movements. Never letting him know she knew he was there. In her mind's eye she saw him standing, leaning against the door frame at that ridiculous angle he seemed to prefer, arms folded. Showing off that ridiculous coat. Well, maybe not that ridiculous. On him, it worked. Not that she would be telling him that any time soon.

Rip leant against the door frame and watched Sara cleaning her knives. Did she know he was here? Probably. His eyes slid up from her hands to the back of her head. He imagined the smirk that sometimes crept over her face when she thought she knew something everyone else didn't. Or just something he didn't. She was usually right. His eyes followed the rolling tangles of her blonde hair, still a mess from the fight. They fell to the laces of her white leather corset top, following the zigzag pattern down to the knot. He wondered idly what kind of knot it was.

"Enjoying the view?" Sara's voice enquired, without any sign of her turning round.

Rip cleared his throat and stood up straight, an automatic hand running through his hair, eyes flitting everywhere but at her. He glanced up and spotted Sara's eyes, reflected in a shining steel blade. She looked round, and the only word he could use to describe her smile then was 'smug'. He sighed, a wry smile playing on his features. She raised an eyebrow, silently repeating her question.

"I'm just here to get your thoughts on our newest recruit," he replied, holding up his hands in surrender and sauntering over to her. "Nothing else."

Sara put the knife she had been cleaning in its holder in the case. She turned to face him. "Nothing else, huh?"

"Not a thing," Rip assured her, leaning on the stack of cases next to her.

Sara felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. There was the coat, just as she'd expected, collar turned up like he thinks he's James Dean. There was the scruffy T-shirt, mostly hidden by the leather jacket. There was the revolver holster on top of it, criss-crossing the leather and settling on his hip.

"Enjoying the view?" Rip murmured, amusement warming every word.

Sara raised languid eyebrows and took her time bring her eyes back up to his face. "Yes, actually, I was," she grinned.

He grinned back. "Can we focus now please?"

"I dunno, I thought I was pretty focussed there," Sara smirked. "You certainly were."

"On the reason I'm here," Rip clarified.

Sara tipped her head and her smirk broadened.

"The real reason," he tried again.

An eyebrow went up.

"The reason I gave everyone else," he resorted to, finally.

Sara laughed and turned to lean back on the crates, her arms folding, keeping her hands tucked away. "She's a speedster," she began, "so she moves fast and she heals fast. She followed orders today, but it was her plan to begin with and she'd already agreed with everything we came up with after that. Plus she has eyes for the tin man, and he was the one at the wheel today. How she'll be following orders when someone else is calling the shots, or when she doesn't agree with something, I can't say. She's been used to working alone, or with her father only, ever since her powers showed up. I get the feeling it might take her some time to blindly trust one of your harebrained schemes."

"So, par for the course then," he quipped, pushing himself up off the crates and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Anything else?"

Sara glanced up at him with a sly smile. "Work related or...?"

He rolled his eyes at her. She grinned. He smiled and headed for the door.

"Do you think we should warn her Rex is an android?" Rip wondered, pausing halfway across the small room. "I mean, I know Rex, this Rex, hasn't found that out yet, but..."

"You saying this because she trusts him over you or because she likes him?" Sara asked, unfolding her arms and releasing her trapped hands. "And when I say 'likes'..."

"You don't mean the way she likes everyone else," he finished, turning to look back at her with a half smile. "More like the way Jax liked Kendra."

She took a few steps forward, her thumbs tucked into the back of her waistband. It brought her most of the way towards him. "Or the way that I like you."

Without thinking, he stepped towards her, closing the distance between them and stopping short just inches away. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then rested his own on the spot. "Or the way I like you," he murmured. "But if I don't get back soon, the rest of the crew is going to start wondering where their captain has disappeared to."

"Let them wonder," Sara breathed, her eyes closing.

"I told them to be ready to jump in five minutes," he sighed, his own eyelids falling. "That was ten minutes ago."

"You shouldn't have spent so long staring," she smirked.

"Mick will come looking," he pointed out.

"Let him," Sara shrugged, shuffling closer.

"Remind me," murmured Rip, his lips brushing over hers, "Who was number one on the list of people we did not want to find out about this?"

"He'll deal," Sara muttered, leaning in to catch his lips.

"He'll kill me," returned Rip, kissing her back, briefly.

"I'll protect you," she grinned, tugging at his lower lip.

"Not the point," he groaned, his hands reaching out and closing around her waist.

"Gideon! Close the door," Sara ordered, her smug smile returning.

"And keep it closed!" Rip added.

"Shall I soundproof the room as well, Captain?" Gideon chimed back cheerfully.

"Probably a good idea," cut in Sara. "And if they ask, just tell them we're arguing."

"I believe the rest of the crew would find that statement convincing," replied the AI.

"Tell me about it!" Rip grinned. He dipped his head and captured her lips again as the doors clicked closed behind them. His hands moved to her hips, sliding round to unhook her thumbs, brushing gently over her wrists and arms and shoulders and coming to rest on either side of her face. He heard her sigh. Felt her sigh. Felt her arms slide around him, under his coat, and pull him closer. They continued, trading kiss for kiss and sigh for sigh, until Gideon informed them that the rest of the crew were getting restless.

"Will I see you tonight?" Sara asked, breathless and eyes closed, still unwilling to relinquish her hold on him.

"Without a shadow of a doubt," Rip gasped back, sliding his hands down her arms and detaching her hands. "I'll go first. What are we saying we were arguing about."

"None of their business," murmured Sara, stifling a whimper as he pressed a kiss to the pulse points on her wrists.

Rip smiled against her smooth skin and kissed her there again. "I'm going to remember that does that to you."

"And I'm gonna have fun finding out how to retaliate," whispered Sara in his ear.

XXXX

The riddle hadn't been difficult to decipher. Not once they had worked out the translation of the text on the inside of the ring. The whole thing, it turned out, was just some giant acrostic, letters lined up to read one thing one way, read the word on the inside of the ring another. A bit more light and a bit less dust and dirt and the fine lines between the letters showed up. All Leonard had to do was press the right chain of letters in the right direction, albeit with rather more force than might have once been intended, and the grinding of ancient gears vibrated through the metal of the hatch. Even still, it had taken all his and Odo's combined strength to open the now unlocked entrance. The tunnel below led down into a darkness that stank with air gone stale over a millennium since and Guillaume, being the least easily missed, had been voted to play canary. They had let down a lantern on a rope first, of course. That had at least given them the idea that they were going to need plenty of rope, and that the air at the bottom of the shaft still seemed breathable. The hatch they had wedged open; the ropes they had secured around the weightiest of the barrels, letting down Guillaume on one and a bag of supplies on the other. Water. Food. A spare lantern and candles. Flint. Knife. Torch ready to be lit. Guillaume had brought his own small pack of tools from his room, adding them unopened to the bag with only the merest questioning glance from Odo. The supplies had hit the ground before Guillaume, but Leonard had been the one to hoist them onto his back. Down here, in the depths and the darkness, with no other mind for company but his own, he could leave his mask behind. Down here, where the cold seeped into his bones, he could let the thief out of his cage.

The first day's work hadn't been too bad. Unlike the one his alter ego had been building, the tunnel he was in had been made to withstand the test of time. Hard stone floored and roofed the tunnel, and shored up its sides as well. Empty, dried up crusts of insects and arachnids crunched under his feet, what little remained of any spider's webs fizzling away to nothing when faced with the flame of Leonard's torch. If the day had been anything, it had been boring. Hours of trudging through darkness, ever descending like Danté in his comedy: through circle after circle. At the allotted hour, the echoing sound of bells reverberated down the tunnel, bouncing from stone wall to stone wall like thunder in the mountains. Leonard had turned and trudged back up the weary way to be hauled up by Odo and take up his mask once more.

They had decided after that to take enough provisions for a much longer journey: one of the benefits of having the cellarer as a co-conspirator.

Guillaume tracked down his high ranking rescuer of half a year since the next Sabbath morning after mass and begged leave to be gone the next few days, perhaps more, as part of a penitent retreat from the world. Christ, he had said, had spent forty days and nights alone in the wilderness. He, of course, had no intention of attempting to emulate such a divine feat, but perhaps a tithe of the time would not be beyond him. He had been given the permission, had even eaten heartily at the midday meal and been seen to take his leave of the temple enclave soon after. He had not been seen to return.

Seen.

Odo had lowered him to the floor of the tunnel, sending down after him this time not one but six sacks. Each held the same provisions. The plan was to drag them along the smooth stone floor together then, when the first bag was exhausted, to leave the second at that point and continue using resources from the third. When that was done, Leonard would leave the fourth at that point. When the fifth was finished, he was to turn and head back. If they had reckoned their time right, each sack would last a day and he would return in time to thank the knight at the next Sunday mass. Leonard had a sneaking suspicion Brother Odo merely wanted to make sure he rested on the Sabbath.

He bent his back to the task nonetheless, letting his mind and memory wander for the first part of the journey at least. Down here, the darkness and monotony helped. His memory flitted from place to place, like a fish in a stream, swimming against the flow. Now he was in Acre, or Jerusalem. Now he was in Egypt, watching a girl fight for her place in history. Now he was in a cold, lonely house, looking down at another girl fighting just to survive. Now he was on a metal ship surrounded by stars, listening to voices argue. Now a prison, standing behind a mad teenager all the other kids seemed terrified of. Now the metal ship again, but this time he was the one fighting, staring down his outstretched arm at a stubborn blonde refusing to leave.

Sara.

The name echoed around his head. It was one of the few he could put faces to. There were other faces and other names, but he hadn't managed to match them all up yet. Already they seemed to be fading from him again. Lisa, Mick: those two he had faces for. Many faces. Years of faces: a lifetime each. Others seemed more of a blur. Barry, for one. Some were little more than an emotion. Lewis. He was sure there was a face hidden in his jumbled recollections somewhere that fitted that name, but he didn't want to see it. Hatred, pure and never simple, burned through him like ice at the thought of that name. Love and hate: the two emotions Brother Antoine had said would draw the greatest responses from him. He knew he loved the others: Lisa, Mick and Sara. All the rest seemed to fill up a sliding scale from something similar to complete indifference. Lewis was the only one he hated.

Leonard shrugged the ropes off his shoulders and lowered himself to the stone floor. There was bread and cheese, fruit and cooked beef awaiting him in the first sack, with more of the same to break his fast in the morning. The bread would be stale after the first day, and dried meat would soon have to replace cooked, but in the chill of the tunnel at least the fruit and cheese would not spoil. Odo had instructed him to eat well when he could as they could not be sure what he would find on his journey, but he had also packed the foods he knew would keep best in the later sacks. Apples featured heavily, as Leonard recalled.

It wasn't his first stop, of course. He had been walking all day and half the night, if his sense of time was right. Throughout that, he had only stopped once to rest and eat, carrying his water-skin tied to his wrist as he walked. It wasn't the most comfortable of walks, the weight of three small sacks of food, water and candles on each shoulder, along with the spare torches he carried in a re-purposed quiver, the lit torch in his hand, the coil of rope, and the gradually emptying water-skin on his wrist, all dragged him down. He would be lighter by two sacks in the morning though. Setting the quiver under his head as a pillow, Leonard propped the burning torch up as Odo had shown him, a safe distance away, and wrapped his cloak around him. The empty sack was large enough to cover his feet and lower legs, but no more, its remaining contents removed to sit awaiting him on top of the diminished pile that would continue with him when he woke. Any warmth was welcome down here, though and he made a mental note to add it to the third sack in the morning.

The cold seeped into his dreams that night and Leonard was back on the metal ship once more, shivering as he watched his breath turn to ice. She was there. Sara. Shivering right along beside him. Her head was on his shoulder, his jacket wrapped around her, as together they swapped stories about life and death, and he asked her what dying had felt like. Was this what she had meant? What she had felt? Her words echoed through his dreams like the bells had through the tunnel.

"Lonely. Like everyone I loved was a million miles away."