2137

Waits felt dizzy while putting in the code to Lingard's door. As Head Marshal, he had a master key to get into anyone's apartment, but it didn't feel as personal as actually knowing her code. She trusted him with it. That meant something.

The apartment was dark and dusty after not having been used for a long time. There was no evidence that looters or the alien creature had been inside. Everything was exactly where Lingard had left it.

Her scent was everywhere. It was a mix of sweet and sterile. Waits had grown to like it, even breathing it in every time he hugged her and buried his nose in her soft hair.

He turned the lights on, memories crashing over him like tidal waves. This one place was a source of comfort for him. In a way, it was still comforting, but it felt incredibly empty. He let out a breath before sitting on the couch. Involuntarily, he held out his arm, half-expecting Lingard to come over and cuddle with him. When he realized that wasn't going to happen, he looked down at his lap, tears rolling down his face.

It had been a few hours since he lost her, and he had cried so much. He didn't even know his body could have produced so many tears. He really had never cried so much before. So this is what love does to a person.

He looked around the apartment, sadness and loneliness encompassing him, despite how happy his memories were. Knowing he couldn't sit there forever, he stood, wandering over to the kitchen.

Lingard had never been much of a cook, and neither was Waits. Occasionally, she did try to cook, wanting to impress him. Then again, impressing Waits with food was never a necessity. He was just happy to eat after a long day where he may have skipped breakfast or lunch.

It was a rare occasion, but Waits would attempt to cook for Lingard. The first time he tried, everything was either burnt or undercooked. It was definitely a disaster.

"The instructions are right there on the biscuit container, and you still couldn't get it right?" Lingard asked.

"Nope." Waits opened the trash can, dumping the charred biscuits in.

"Did you walk away from the stove?"

"I did once to take a piss. But then I came right back."

"And . . ." Lingard made a face, gesturing to a pan on the stove, "what's this?"

"Um . . . it was . . . some kinda chicken bake."

"Did you just throw stuff together and expect it to work?"

"Yeah."

"One more question."

"Yes, dear?"

"Why did you have to do this in my kitchen?!"

"Because I wanted to surprise you."

She couldn't fault him for that. They ended up ordering food after cleaning up the mess Waits made, and spent the rest of the evening snuggled on the couch.

Waits wandered back out to the living room. On a table next to the couch was a thick book full of photographs of Hawaii. A bookmark was on a page showing downtown Honolulu. The greens of the palms and the blue of the ocean were vibrant and warm and inviting. It seemed unreal, but it was real. It existed. It just might be awhile before Waits could see it for himself.

He figured he would take it with him. That book meant a lot to Lingard. He had seen her reading it in bed.

As he entered the bedroom, Waits felt another hard pang in his chest. He sighed as he was again choked by tears, remembering the nights they spent here. They alternated between his apartment and hers, though it never really mattered where they slept. He sat on the edge of the bed. Lingard's scent was sweetest here. She never went to bed smelling like the hospital. She claimed it was too strong and not at all calming.

Waits looked around the room. It was full of happy memories, but that was all they were now. He would never experience that happiness again.

He opened one of the drawers on Lingard's nightstand, and found a thick envelope. Written on one side was, "Lingard, here are the photos you requested. You two are adorable together. - Morley."

Inside the envelope were several photographs of himself and Lingard. Morley must have been carefully hidden when these were taken, because Waits didn't remember seeing him with a camera. The pictures showed simple but sweet moments. Sitting together in the food court, sitting together on a bench, just enjoying each other's company.

Sweet moments that should have brought him joy were instead bringing him pain. His vision blurred with tears, which rolled down his face as pain pulsated harder and harder in his chest. It felt like every organ in his torso would rupture, and every fluid would flow freely from them.

He was used to feeling empty, lonely, but after spending two years in love, he didn't want to go back. This emptiness and loneliness was so much more painful than before. Before, it was a constant, dull ache. Now, it was open, raw, bleeding, and painful. Unable to look at the photos anymore, Waits sobbed.

A slight vibration shook him. He glanced out the window to see a fireball erupting from a part of the station. Another trap had gone off.

He didn't understand why he didn't care. He hoped it took care of the creature, but he was wrapped up in grief, unable to do anything but cry.

He put the photos in his pocket, and kept searching for things he knew had value to Lingard. He opened another drawer to find a card. On the front of the card was an image of bird holding a flower in its beak, and the words "Just A Note . . ." Waits opened it to find a message from Lingard to him.

"Jethro Waits, I know we haven't talked much, but I've been thinking a lot about you since we first met a few weeks ago. It took a lot for me to open up about what's going on here, and I expected you to just take what you learned and only approach me when you had updates. But, you saw me as a friend. I started seeing you as a friend. I even started seeing you as more than a friend, but I didn't know how to say it.

"When I kissed you last night, that was when I really started thinking about my feelings. Then you kissed me this morning, and I became more serious about telling you how I felt, because I'm starting to think you feel the same way. You're a bit rough around the edges, but you've got a lot to offer; you're sweet, honest, and surprisingly gentle.

"I really like you, and I want to know if you feel the same. - Kalea Lingard."

Waits grinned a little. "I must've confessed before she had a chance to give this to me," he whispered. At least they knew they had feelings for each other. At least they knew they loved each other.

I just wish I could've saved her. Pain surged in Waits's chest again. Why couldn't I save her?

He slid the note in with the pictures, and continued going through Lingard's belongings. She had kept all the little gifts he gave her over the last two years. Every plastic flower, card, and rubber duck. They were all kept in one drawer. The pictures they had taken in a mall photo booth were in there, too. Waits could remember every moment shown. The booth was small and they were cuddled up as close as they could get. Every photo was different, but one thing stayed the same in each-they were holding hands.

Waits didn't hesitate to take them.

As he kept searching, he heard a heavy thud outside the apartment, followed by a wet hiss. "Fuck," he mouthed. Shit, shit, shit . . . Waits crouched by the bed, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. He continued to curse to himself.

The creature paused by the apartment door, staying perfectly still as it looked inside. Waits couldn't bring himself to look. His heart, though racked with pain from grief, was thudding hard as his body reverted to survival mode. Go on, shoo, dammit! Waits wanted to hiss.

As if it could read his mind, the alien slowly turned, and headed down the hall. Waits breathed a sigh of relief. After gathering all he could carry in his pockets, he headed for the door-

The creature was standing at the end of the hall, its back turned to him. Waits resisted the urge to make a frustrated sound. If he ran to the elevator, surely that thing would hear him, turn around to chase him.

Come on, Jethro, think! Waits let out an inaudible sigh. There's a vent in the kitchen. I can use that. As quietly as he could, Waits slunk into the kitchen, crouching in front of the vent. He looked over his shoulder once as the vent opened, then crawled inside. Crouching while walking hurt his back. Waits got on his hands and knees, and swore in his mind when he realized he didn't know where the vent led. All I know is that I have to get back to the Bureau.

With no map to guide him, Waits decided to go wherever the shaft led him. There would be a way out somewhere. Once he was out, he would find a way to get to the Bureau.

He didn't stop for fear the creature was in there with him, but he could sense himself becoming disoriented. He was beginning to feel sore, and prayed he would find a way out soon.

He stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

"You asshole. I have nothing you want," Ransome was snarling.

"Oh, shut up," a voice Waits didn't know replied. "Search him."

Waits peered through a grate to see a pair of Seegson Security men with Ransome. One of them was holding the executive's arms behind his back, while the other looked in every pocket on Ransome's clothing.

"Ammo," the searching guard said. "Hacking tool, torch, flashlight-what's this?"

"Looks like a drive," the other guard replied.

"That contains none of your business," Ransome hissed through clenched teeth.

"If you put it that way, we'll take it."

Waits kept moving. I should just let them fight . . . but what's on that drive? Did he get all the stuff Lingard was going to give me about his shady shit?

Finally, he found an exit. He checked his revolver before crawling out of the vent. A tight feeling of anxiety knotted his stomach. Down the hall, the two guards were still preoccupied with Ransome. Waits let out his breath, and crept toward them.

"What was that?"

Waits's blood froze. He saw one of the guards looking at him.

"Is that Marshal-" The guard was silenced by Ransome yanking his arms free and driving his fist in the guard's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He fumbled with his revolver. The gun clattered to the floor, and the second guard took the opportunity to kick Ransome hard in the chest when the exec dropped to grab it.

Regaining his breath, the guard Ransome had punched pulled the Seegson executive from the floor. "You're gonna make us work for this shit, aren't you?" the man snarled.

"Hey, stupid, just shoot him. It'll make things easier," the second guard said.

Blood and shards of his helmet exploded from the guard's head when Waits fired his shotgun. The guard holding Ransome took his revolver out, pointing it at Waits. Ransome was still fighting. He winced as he breathed, and Waits wondered if he was either badly bruised, or had broken ribs. Grabbing the guard's arm, he tried to wrestle the revolver from him.

Waits didn't think twice before picking up Ransome's gun. "Catch."

Freeing himself, Ransome grabbed the revolver, and aimed it at the guard. He glanced over at Waits, and a look of confusion, mixed with pain from his ribs, came over his face. Backing away, Ransome switched his aim from the guard to Waits, then back to the guard.

An expression of so many emotions crossed Ransome's face. He tried to steady his shaking limbs, and fired at the guard.

Waits glanced at Ransome when the guard fell. He expected the Seegson exec to turn the gun on him, but he didn't. Ransome lowered his weapon, looking at Waits. "You're welcome."

"Hold off on the thank-yous. What made you pick him over me?" Waits lowered his shotgun, but still kept it trained on Ransome.

Before Ransome could answer, he crumpled to one knee, grunting in pain and clutching the right side of his chest. Sighing, Waits slung his shotgun over his shoulder, and knelt by him. "Take it easy," Waits said. "You probably broke something."

"What's in it for you, Waits?" Ransome groaned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You'd never help me."

"Hey, I'm not leaving you to die. I hate your guts, but that doesn't mean I'm just leaving you here. Secondly, what the fuck is on that drive you're carrying?"

Ransome didn't answer at first. He swallowed hard, and tried to breathe heavily, but every breath was marred with pain. A second later, he began to cry. "It's everything . . . Lingard was gonna send to you . . . about me."

"How'd you get it?"

"Went to San Cristobal. Her office."

"When?"

"Last week."

Waits held out his hand. "Give it."

Slowly, Ransome gave him the drive. His face was wet and his eyes were red. After all these years, he finally looked defeated. Waits expected to feel somewhat satisfied from it, but he didn't.

"What else do you want, Waits?" Ransome asked.

"Nothing." I want Lingard back. I know it wasn't you who took her from me, so I can't get mad at you. "What about you? I know you hate me, so why'd you shoot the guard?"

"Because I want a truce. You couldn't get a truce from Sinclair, so you're getting a truce from me."

"Even though you know I'm handing your ass over to the authorities when we get to Gateway?"

"You are the authorities here, Waits, and you have all the evidence now. Do what you want with me! I don't care! Everyone's suffering now."

Having not heard anything regarding Ransome in the last several weeks, Waits wondered what exactly had happened when everything went to hell. The smug and arrogant look Ransome usually wore on his face was completely gone. He was a lot thinner, and his clothes were ripped and torn in some places. A part of Waits felt bad for Ransome. Where that pity came from, he wasn't sure. He figured it was natural. He knew it was so easy to give Ransome what he had coming to him for the last several years.

"We've got first-aid kits back at headquarters," Waits said. "Someone can take a look at your ribs when we get there."

"Get back? I can't go with you-"

"Either you come with me, shelter in the Bureau until we can get help, or you can go back to your pretty little suite and die. Anyone not after my ass is welcome to stay."

"You think everyone in there is gonna appreciate my company?" Ransome swallowed. "You'd probably let them tear me apart."

"If this was a normal day, yeah, I'd let everyone you've blackmailed beat the shit outta you, but we have much bigger problems we're dealing with, and I'm not going to tolerate fights among my own people under my watch. I'm gonna treat you like I'm treating everyone else. When we get back, you'll be treated, and then you're gonna sit until you're healed. Once you're healed up, you're gonna be going out with one or two people in foraging parties. I expect cooperation, got it? If you don't listen to me, or you start picking fights with people, I'll throw your ass to the curb, and you can deal with Sinclair's thugs and the creature all by yourself." Waits held out his hand. "If you get lucky when we get outta here, you'll only spend ten-to-fifteen years in prison, and then you can go back to your life."

Releasing a ragged breath, Ransome took Waits's hand. Much to his surprise, Waits handed him his revolver.

"Do not leave my side," Waits growled. "This is your one and only shot at me letting you live."

Nodding, Ransome took the revolver. He was beginning to look more composed, despite the pain in his ribs. "When we get to a more . . . secure location, Waits, there's a couple things I need to tell you."

"OK. Put it on the backburner." Waits glanced around the darkened hallway. "Where exactly are we?"

"Above the suites. The elevator's at the end of the hall. Not sure if it works."

"Last I used it, it works."

"I'm honestly shocked you're up here by yourself, old fella."

Waits didn't respond. He didn't have time to make up an excuse, though; as they approached the stairs leading to the elevator, they spotted a bladed tail lying at the bottom of the stairs. Waits's stomach clenched when he heard someone scream, followed by the sickening sound of the alien driving its inner jaw into some unfortunate soul's skull. Then the tail disappeared.

"Go slow, and stay behind me," Waits whispered to Ransome. They headed down the stairs, both watching blood pool around the corner.

Son-of-a-bitch is blocking the elevator! Waits resisted the urge to curse aloud. He got a good look at the alien with its back to him. Its tail moved slowly, like a cat's.

"Isn't there another way?" Ransome hissed.

"The stairs are just past that thing. Only other way now is the vents." Waits glanced around frantically. "We'll have to backtrack. Come on."

Silently, they turned around. When they felt they were out of the creature's earshot, they began jogging. Panic was flooding Waits's senses. Something bad was going to-

They heard something thudding in the ceiling. In the vents. Waits felt a chill shoot down his spine when he heard a hiss. Something wet landed on his cap. Thick, ropy saliva dripped from the visor. Then he heard another scream.

He stopped and whirled around to see Ransome struggling in the creature's clawed grasp. He kicked, screamed, punched, and tried to run. Waits dashed over to him, grabbed his hands. "Just hang on!" he grunted, pulling.

"Shoot it!" Ransome howled.

"It's got acid for blood! I can't!"

The creature squeezed Ransome's torso. Waits could see the intense pain in Ransome's eyes. The exec's body shuddered. "Please . . ." he moaned. "Stop . . ."

The alien's great, bony hand moved up Ransome's chest, stopping when it found the spot where the Seegson Security guard had kicked him. It squeezed him, enough to hurt, but not enough to break more ribs. Ransome was screaming, and the creature seemed to be delighting in Ransome's pain.

Tears streamed down Ransome's face. The screams had turned into outright sobbing. He was gripping Waits's hands tighter.

"Goddammit!" Waits growled as he roughly tugged Ransome. The more he pulled, the harder the creature squeezed Ransome's ribs. It seemed to be playing with them, tormenting both of them.

Waits drew in a breath, ready to make one final effort to free Ransome, but it seemed the creature was done playing around. With a hiss, it yanked Ransome from Waits's grip.

"No! Shit!" Waits stared up at the vent. He could hear Ransome's screams echoing, then blood dripped down the shaft.

Silence crashed over like a wave. Waits continued looking up at the pitch-black shaft, watching Ransome's blood run down the sides and onto the floor. The inside of his chest ached. He hated Ransome for sure, but he was still a civilian on this station, and it was Waits's obligation to protect him. Waits felt like he failed.

I couldn't protect Lissa. Or Sterling. Or Morley. Or . . . His heart twisted, and he swallowed hard. Lingard. He looked down at his boots, eyeing the expanding puddles of blood on the floor. His tears splashed next to them, mixing with the blood. Ribbons of red began to swirl in the tiny droplets.

Question: Could it have been possible for Waits and Ransome's relationship to change?