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For the first few weeks of recovery, Waits slept more than he ever had since arriving on Sevastopol. It certainly made up for all the night shifts he had to do.

He couldn't imagine spending all this time alone in his apartment. He was grateful for Lingard taking all this time out of her day to make sure he was OK and comfortable.

He could understand why he needed all this time off, but it was painful being away from the Bureau so long. Without him watching and commenting on everything, Hazelton and Ransome would be able to do what they pleased. It depressed him, and he began to feel as though the days were slowing down.

Lingard returned one afternoon to find Waits half-slumped on the couch, looking more sad and grouchy than she had ever seen him. "Aww, what's the matter?" she said, sitting next to him.

"Bored. Wish I could find out what the hell is going on in the Bureau," Waits muttered.

"Ah. Same thing you said yesterday." Lingard rubbed Waits's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I went to the bathroom today, just so you know."

Lingard sighed. "Alright, I only wanted updates for the week after you came here, because you were making me nervous-"

"I was still in shock, so I couldn't have a bowel movement for a few days! You kept calling and asking every Goddamn hour! So I decided to just give you an update whenever you come home." Waits kissed her cheek.

"I'm not worried anymore, so you can stop telling me."

"I could stop at any time."

"Then at least I can rely on you to tell me."

"Maybe I will just to scare you."

"Don't ever do that. I'll put you on the couch for a month."

"I've been on the couch for a month."

"I meant you'll be sleeping on the couch for a month."

"You'd miss me. And I keep you warm."

"You must be feeling a lot better if you're being this much of a pain, Waits."

"Like I said a minute ago, I'm bored."

Lingard sighed again. "Then I'm going to find stuff for you to do while I'm out."

"Like what?"

"I don't know! Get you a crossword book or something-Waits, let go so I can wash up and heat up dinner."

"One more kiss."

"OK." Lingard put her hand under Waits's cap, roughly tousling his hair before kissing him. She didn't get up right away; instead, she stayed, her forehead pressed against Waits's.

"Everything OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

He nuzzled her. "Thought you were gonna get up."

"I was. Just . . . thinking about stuff."

"What?"

"Well, we've been living together for the last month or so. Would you be OK if we . . . discussed potentially having an apartment together on Gateway?"

"Sure. I'd be OK with that."

"Alright. I . . . think we can do it."

"You don't find me irritating?"

"No. It's nice to see you every time I come home."

"It's nice to see you, too. You're gonna miss me when I can walk again."

"Yeah, but I do miss you barging into my office every day."

"Then I promise when we go to Gateway, I will barge into your office every day."

"At least on Gateway, we won't have to hide anything."

"True. I look forward to that." He kissed her again. "I also look forward to going back to Earth. I look forward to taking you places and showing you things you probably haven't seen in a long time. I want to drive you around Massachusetts in the fall, let you see all the colors. Take you to pubs and restaurants-"

"No, you want to go to pubs and restaurants and just drink beer that hasn't been frozen in a spaceship."

"You know me so well." He smirked. "Most of all, I want to see you happy, because I-"

Waits was interrupted by the phone ringing. He cursed as Lingard got up to get it.

"Shush. It might be Ransome," Lingard hissed. She threw a blanket on him before grabbing the phone. "Hello?"

"Let's get one thing completely straight, Doc," Ransome said. "Do you have any idea what people will think when they learn you've let Waits stay in your apartment for the last month or so?"

Lingard remained silent, looking at the floor.

"You can't ignore me, Doc. I know you've tried the last several months. Why exactly did you cozy up to Waits in the first place? He has nothing. He's a sad, broken old man whose only accomplishment is evading retirement. Do you really think he'll do better than the last man you married?"

"He already has. What do you want, Ransome?"

"I called to let you know a little something, Lingard; Hazelton's out."

Waits perked up.

Lingard looked at him. "And why would you tell me?"

"Because your boyfriend's been named his replacement. The higher-ups are pissed with Hazelton's performance, and they're not giving him another chance. I know exactly what Waits is going to do once he's recovered, and I'm not going to be locked up in a cell until Sevastopol closes. Your career will be ripped to shreds if you so much as give Waits a tiny piece of feasible evidence. Everyone on this station will know that you two have been fucking, and you will beg for my help once people start asking about it."

"Fine. I won't say a word." Lingard hung up, and turned to Waits. "Any ideas?"

"It's going to be a challenge, that's for sure," Waits replied. "I can't contact Command for anything once I'm in power. Ransome will know about it." He rubbed his face, sighing. "This is a risky move, but . . . it's the only surefire way to get evidence out to Command without Ransome knowing."

"What is it?"

"I don't contact them at all. After a certain amount of time with no contact, they'll get worried, they'll send someone to check on us. I can pass printed copies of logs to whoever they send, then they leave with it. Ransome would never know."

"Can we afford to wait that long?"

"Sevastopol is likely going to close soon anyway. Besides, the more shit Ransome does, the more evidence we'll have. As long as he knows nothing, we can pull this off."

"Alright. I'm trusting you."

"I'm doing this to protect you and your career. If he ruins you here, God only knows how many people will talk about it when we all leave Sevastopol. This shit could spread, and you might lose your chance of a job on Gateway."

Lingard nodded. "OK."

"If you find any files or documents on a computer, do not send them to me. Write down where you found it on a piece of paper, and then we'll compile everything together when we're ready. We'd have to work fast, and Morley better have plenty of his sleeping shit on hand to keep Ransome away until we're done."


It would be another few weeks until Waits could walk without a crutch, which was perfect, because it took a few weeks for a vessel to arrive for Hazelton.

Despite still not being able to put full weight on his left leg, Waits insisted on heading to the Bureau on the day Hazelton was due to leave forever. He was conscious of his limp, but felt hiding it would be a greater sign of weakness than displaying it in front of everyone.

He entered the Bureau to find Hazelton placing his things in a bag. The younger man gave a sigh before opening his desk. "Waits, gotta give you all the keys, and your new desk. I really hope you're happy now."

Waits looked Hazelton up and down. "I don't think we should part on shitty terms."

"You've been an asshole from day one. What makes you think things'll change now?"

"Son, I know I'm an asshole. No need to point out the obvious."

"Well, you know what else is obvious? I've been a failure since day one. Not keeping this job anymore. I'll tell Command to wipe my contract and let me go home."

"I think you'll just fuck yourself over backwards if you do that." Waits gestured to a chair. "Sit. We'll talk."

"About what?"

"About the last eight or nine months that've gone by. I'm just curious to know what's been going on in your head."

Hazelton looked down at the desk, not responding right away.

Waits was patient. He glanced at Hazelton while adjusting his leg, trying to get comfortable. Then he broke the silence. "I want to know what happened when you were put in charge here. Why did you ignore just about every regulation in the book?"

"Sevastopol wasn't considered a high-priority location. Still isn't. They're not going to send any automatic weapons or semi-auto handguns. They probably won't send any biohazard suits, either, not when we got a hundred expendable Working Joes to use up. Like the ads say, they're machines, not people. I stopped trying. It was futile, Waits."

Eyes narrowed to amber slits, Waits stared hard at Hazelton. "Be honest with me," he said, voice lowered. "Were you involved with Ransome's bullshit?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you know he's been blackmailing people all over Sevastopol?"

After a heartbeat or two of silence, Hazelton nodded. "Yes."

"And you did nothing."

"I couldn't do anything. You just . . . can't threaten Ransome. Not without serious consequences. I had . . . I had reports from people who knew . . . and . . . one morning, I found that someone had wiped everything from my computer here in the Bureau. I couldn't send anything to anyone about what I found, so . . . I quit trying."

Waits sighed. "Well, Hazelton, it's not your fault that some people can be assholes, but . . . I don't think you should've quit trying. I don't think you should quit being a Marshal, either. You need a mentor, and you need more experience. You shouldn't have been put in this position."

Hazelton nodded.

"Don't quit just yet, OK? I think you can do this with a little help. At the end of the day, though, the choice is yours."

Another nod. "Thanks, Waits." Hazelton stood up, grabbing his bag before tossing the ring of keys to Waits. "Good luck, sir."

When Hazelton disappeared from the Bureau, Waits's chest felt heavy with regret. These were significantly better terms to end on, but he knew they could be better.

Perhaps they would run into each other again. Perhaps they could look back on this and smile.


Waits was able to make some basic changes that first day. No one would ever have to do full-night shifts again; he wrote up a new roster splitting the night up into two six-hour shifts. One person would go from six PM to midnight, and someone else would take over from midnight until six in the morning.

He made a point of making sure the Bureau offices and armory were locked up tight before he headed back to Lingard's for the night. Once everything was secured, Waits left, walking into an empty elevator. His stomach began growling after the doors closed, and he was glad the only thing he could worry about at the moment was what's for dinner. We just need to be patient in dealing with Ransome.

He knew he could handle the waiting when he entered Lingard's apartment and was immediately grabbed in a hug. Little things like this, little things like having more control over the Bureau, made everything better. "Hello, sweetheart," Waits said, kissing Lingard's forehead.

"Hi." Lingard kissed his cheek. "Go sit. I picked up hot sandwiches on the way up from the hospital."

"Great. I'm starving."

"How was your first day in charge?"

"Pretty good. Couldn't do too much, but I changed up the way night shift works. Feels good being charge now." Waits sat at the small table in the kitchen. He didn't realize he had been putting weight on his left leg all day until sitting and relieving the pressure in it. He clenched his fists, feeling the muscles in his leg relax and blood flow through it.

Lingard gave him a look. "This is why I told you to bring the crutch."

"I know."

"Next week we have to make sure everything's healing OK, remember?"

"I know that, too."

"OK. Take it easy. You're almost there." Lingard sat across from him, handing him a wrapped sandwich.

"Yeah. Then I have to leave your apartment."

"But you can stay whenever you want."

"Thanks. Always appreciated."

"Just make sure you let me know beforehand."

"I will. I promise. I told you, sweetie, I'm not Ransome."

"True, and I'd rather have you barge in than him."


It was difficult not to send a bunch of messages to Command about getting new weapons, biohazard gear, and more Marshals, but Waits restrained himself, despite it being painful. He was able to send one message, confirming that he assumed his new post. After that, he initiated silence, hoping and praying Command would get worried sooner rather than later.

However, he kept what Hazelton said in mind, how Sevastopol was not a high-priority location. It might take a few months. It might even take a year.

Over the next few weeks, Lingard gave Waits little slips of paper containing information on the computers she was finding evidence of Ransome's blackmailing on. Even Morley contributed once he learned of the plan. Overall, the plan felt like it was running smoothly.

Though the Marshals ran smoother, responded quicker, and were becoming more respected by the population of Sevastopol, Waits still felt like he wasn't doing enough. He knew things would not improve until he felt everything was up to code, but he also knew he had to be patient. He knew he'd have to pray for a major crisis not to hit, because at the moment, he was lacking manpower, weapons, and gear. Plus, he was afraid the Bureau was going to rot from the inside. Someone among his men was a rat for Ransome, and he wasn't sure who.

Ricardo? Definitely not. Waits and Ricardo didn't always agree on things, and Waits felt Ricardo was too soft, but he didn't feel like Ricardo was a bad person looking to gain something by working with Ransome.

Harris? No. Harris was loyal, and confessed to Waits that he was happy some level of order had been restored to the Bureau.

Turner? Probably not. Questioned some of Waits's orders, but had also questioned Hazelton a few times. Waits could appreciate a thinker, though not when following instructions was crucial. Didn't make him a rat.

Garcia? No. Hard-working kid with a good disposition. Didn't strike Waits as someone who'd betray the Marshals.

That left Sterling.

Waits barely had any interactions with Sterling when he arrived on Sevastopol. He mostly stayed in the background, and he was almost always the Marshal to relieve Waits from his night shift in the morning. Sterling was pale and thin and spindly and wore large glasses that gave him the appearance of a skeletal owl. He was quiet, only speaking up when he felt it was necessary. When Waits took over the Bureau, Sterling didn't have anything to say about it. He did what Waits asked, but there were moments throughout the day where Waits would catch Sterling staring at him from a dark corner of the room.

Of course, Waits had no way of confirming Sterling was a rat unless he pinned him to the floor and held his arm behind his back until he squealed, and Waits knew that would only land him in a deep pile of shit.

Regardless, Waits kept quiet. He felt awful for keeping things from his own Marshals, but knew he had no choice. This isn't just for Lingard's sake. This is for the whole of Sevastopol, he thought.

As for his relationship with Lingard, Waits felt they were progressing steadily. Then again, he still hadn't said "I love you" yet, and it was killing him. He tried to say it on Valentine's Day, but he had been trembling so much that he dropped his beer bottle, spilling it all over the floor.

There was a day in late May where he tried again. The two were standing in the mall early in the evening, talking, when a song Lingard really enjoyed started playing over the radio, echoing throughout the empty space. She said it was something she hadn't heard since before leaving Earth for Sevastopol. So they stood there, enjoying the music and each other's company.

It was so sweet and romantic. The moment felt perfect. After kissing her, he took a breath, ready to say it, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye. To his left, there was Ransome, fully observing the two hugging and kissing.

Though he said nothing, Ransome's mere presence spoiled the moment. However, Waits was less afraid of him, less concerned with Ransome's feelings on the matter of his relationship with Lingard. So he let Ransome see him kiss Lingard full on the lips.

It was satisfying in a way, but, again, his "I love you" was foiled.

June marked Waits's first full year on Sevastopol. He couldn't believe he spent a whole year here. It wasn't his first time spending so much time away from Earth, away from a natural day-night cycle.

He missed the most mundane things, the things most would take for granted. Blue sky and clouds and the sound of wind. They began showing up in his dreams, and they all felt so real. He would see himself standing on the rocks along Cape Cod, salty breezes striking his face. The sky was gray.

It was lonely.

He was lonely.

Why was he lonely?

He emerged from his dream, sleep fading as he opened his eyes to the darkness of Lingard's apartment. He shut them again, a knot forming in his chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he let out a sigh.

"Bad dreams?" Lingard whispered, hugging him.

"Sorta." Waits turned to face her. "I dreamt I was out by the cape, just sitting on the rocks. It was nice to feel the ocean and the breeze, but . . . holy fuck was it lonely. It was almost a . . . a-a crushing feeling."

"Well, when we go back to Earth, you won't be alone."

"Yeah." He gave her a weak smile. "I'd appreciate that."

Lingard gave him a more genuine smile. "You know next month will be one year since we started seeing each other as, you know, more than friends, right?"

Waits nodded. "What about it?"

"One year is an achievement. Should we . . . celebrate?"

"If by 'celebrate,' you mean we go out to dinner and split the bill evenly, then . . . sure. I mean, there's not much here we can do to celebrate anything. I definitely don't want to go to that bar-nightclub again. I can't dance. Hell, I hate it."

"I know you do. And I know there's nothing to do." Lingard sighed. "Maybe we can get creative."

"How?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. When are the space merchants coming back?"

"One's supposed to come next week."

"Maybe they'll have something that'll give us an idea."


The night after a space merchant arrived at Sevastopol, Waits headed up to Lingard's apartment to talk about their plans for their anniversary next month. He knew something was up when she answered the door with tiny claw marks on her T-shirt, and gestured to them. "What . . . is-"

"Waits, I'd like you to meet somebody." A big smile on her face, Lingard went into the kitchen, and returned with a little gray bundle.

Waits resisted a smirk. "You got a cat."

"Yes. They had kittens on their ship, and this one kept looking at me for some reason."

"Uh-huh. Honey, you have a busy schedule. How the fuck are you gonna be able to take care of a kitten?"

"I can do it."

"OK. If you say so. What's its name?"

"They named him Patrick, and . . . he kinda looks like a Patrick, doesn't he?" Lingard held up the kitten, which looked at Waits with round eyes and folded little ears.

"If you wanna call him Patrick, I don't care. He's your cat."

"You could be a little more enthusiastic, Waits."

"Sweetheart, are you positive you can take care of animal?"

"It's the closest thing to a child I'm ever going to have. After you, of course."

Waits gave her a look. "I'm going to ignore that and move on. Did you . . . think of anything in terms of next month?"

"No. I think we'll stick with your idea of just going down to the grill and splitting the bill evenly."

"Alright. We're not taking the cat with us, though."

"No, of course not." Lingard gave Patrick a kiss before setting him down. "We'll come back here and play with him, though."

"Right. I doubt he likes me."

"Oh, stop. I think he'll like you. Just go sit with him in the living room while I finish setting up the litter box."

Waits shrugged, and looked down at the kitten. "I just hope you're not a troublemaker, because we don't have cells for cats down at the Bureau."


Question: What type of influence would Waits have had on Gorman growing up if he had survived Sevastopol?

Author's Note: "Burning Bridges" is now an audiobook. Chapter one has already been published to the Alien Theory Crew Quarters channel on YouTube. I read, and all sound and music is edited by Denal Douglas.

Patrick came from a note on Waits's calendar in Isolation. Denal and I couldn't figure out who Patrick is, so we figured he must be a pet, and since Waits doesn't strike me as the type to have pets of his own, we made Patrick to be Lingard's.

There are a lot of cool little pieces in Isolation when you explore.