.

Her eyes squinted against the bright lights, only open enough to see a moving ceiling and realize she was being taken somewhere.

Vasquez presumed she was in a hospital, although for the life of her, she could not remember what she was there for. All she knew was that she could barely feel anything, especially from the waist down. She couldn't move her legs.

And when she tried to raise her arms, one of them was caught and she had a sudden recollection of being handcuffed to a hospital bed. Was she back at the hospital in Ciudad Juárez?

She tried to free herself, pulling at the restraint and a doctor leaned over her, telling her to stop. When she disobeyed and gave her arm a good yank, she felt pain as something tore at the skin of her hand.

A doctor held her shoulders down and began speaking in a raised voice, but the words did not make sense to Vasquez. When she struggled in discomfort, another set of hands held her down more forcefully, and she yelled at them to let her go.

Between the two medical staff, she could see a third doctor in the background, the glint of a needle, and she began to panic.

In a burst of adrenaline, Vasquez freed one arm and wielded a fist, but it missed her intended target. Instead, the third doctor intervened and caught her wrist. Together, they all held her.

Then came the pinprick and darkness followed.

.

Her dreams were jumbled and confusing after that. She felt like she was dreaming on a loop, endlessly running, trying to escape something, feeling trapped, seeing Carmen's anxious face.

Her little sister, little nena. "Everything's gonna be okay now. I'm gonna look after you."

She dreamed she was back there on that day when her and Carmen parted. The stress of the altercation with the street gang, the blaze of a gunshot tearing at her insides and ripping through her organs.

A brightness now appeared in front of her and she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Things were blurry and exceptionally white. Was this the afterlife? Again, her hand was restrained; handcuffed. The hospital in Juarez.

But it was different this time. Someone was talking to her gently.

Her eyes adjusted and she looked up. There was a man next to her and he was speaking in English.

"You're in the hospital, remember? You're okay. Everything's okay."

She realized that she was not restrained at all—he was holding her hand. He let go so he could softly touch her face.

"Where is Carmen?" she asked him. It was the thing she feared most: that despite all of her efforts and everything sacrificed, that Carmen had not made it across the border to safety. Their plan's failure meant that her little sister would face a precarious future of crime and violence.

This person who stood beside her was trying to console her now, telling her everything was alright. He was familiar. She knew him. She could picture him in uniform.

She, too, wore a uniform, she remembered. They were Marines. They had walked into danger alongside one another a hundred times over.

Hudson.

Vasquez said the name aloud and he nodded and pulled her in close and she let him embrace her, feeling comforted by the warmth of his arms, like being wrapped in a blanket. His lips pressed to her cheek, holding a kiss there.

She felt almost surprised at how well she knew the scent of his skin, and with it, more memories were suddenly being triggered, lighting up the dark patches of blankness in her mind.

Smoking cigarettes and arguing. Drinking. Laughing.

Partners, able to predict each other's every move. Close calls and near misses.

Blood bubbling up from a dark bullet hole. His goofy grin from a medical bed a day later.

A warm evening where they sat on the grass and talked and had dinner together and she never wanted the night to end.

A kitchen chair. Why did she remember a kitchen chair?

She was straddling him on that chair as they kissed, feeling the exhilaration and the relief of just letting go, forgetting why they shouldn't allow their skin to touch and their souls to connect.

She remembered a bed.

Her second time having him that night and still feeling like a flame that could never be extinguished. Her arms restless, wanting to run her hands all over his skin, to pull him in close so she could feel his heartbeat between her breasts, to lock mouths with him until they nearly suffocated.

But she had restrained herself, terrified of how much she wanted all of it.

Things were growing blurry now.

"Close your eyes now, get some rest," he said. "You'll feel more like yourself when you wake up again."

.

Again, she was running.

Holding Carmen's hand, pulling her sister along as they were being chased through the alleyway. In that moment, she knew things were not going to work out as planned. Maybe she had known all along. Still, she risked everything for it. And she had forced Carmen to do the same.

Vasquez looked back to see what chased them, and the skulking shadowy forms came into view, dark and sinewy, scuttling over the walls like insects, snapping and hissing.

Her hand no longer held Carmen's. In her grasp now was the grip of her smart gun and she held the weapon tightly. In the place where Carmen had been, Drake now stood.

He was heading up the rear, covering her. She stopped in her tracks. She knew what was going to happen next.

"Drake, come on!"

But everything was chaotic and he wasn't hearing her. She could barely see his face as he continued shooting his smart gun into the darkness.

From out of the shadows, an alien appeared, ready to strike. She saw it moving towards Drake, but she didn't dare fire. She knew what would happen to him if she did.

"Drake, look out!"

There was a flash of movement and an arc of skeletal vertebrae as the creature lunged at Drake. He was startled, pinned down beneath it, inadvertently casting the blast of his flamethrower back towards Vasquez. She moved quickly to shield herself from the flame, hearing his screams as the beast sunk its teeth.

"No!"

The screams continued, morphing into distant, muffled yelling.

Lieutenant Gorman's voice.

Her surroundings had changed and she was now army-crawling through a tight metal vent. She shut her eyes, flinching at the sound.

Gorman had forced her to climb to safety, sacrificing himself. Now it sounded like the lieutenant was getting ripped apart by the creatures, but he still hadn't detonated the grenade he carried. She felt sick at the thought that he was delaying the blast in an attempt to buy her more time to get out of range.

"Fuck, Gorman, do it already!" she yelled. "Press it! Press it now!"

All at once, the shockwave rippled through her body, followed by the thundering crash of an explosion.

She looked up.

She was outside on the surface of LV-426, fiery wreckage careening in every direction. The dropship had been reduced to nothing more than a plume of dark smoke visible against an already dark sky.

Two more of her friends to add to the impossible list of casualties.

She had known that something inside the cockpit had gone terribly wrong the second she saw the ship veer to one side. Corporal Ferro could steady that thing in gale force winds.

Her pal Ferro, who had always seemed so indestructible, now gone, just like all the others.

"We're being picked off, man. Bit by bit," Hudson lamented as they trudged back to the Hadley's Hope operations building, everyone on high alert. His eyes were wide with stress, his mental state becoming increasingly imbalanced, the word 'man' dominating his speech, like a nervous tic.

Hudson nudged her arm. "It's been nice knowing ya, man, but I'm gonna be next, I know it! The funny guy never makes it to the end!"

She told him to shut up and keep moving.

But hours later when he was being violently dragged down into the floor, just inches from her outstretched hand, she felt the shock and emptiness of realizing he had been right.

Now Vasquez felt her own end was drawing near.

She was in a dark hall, limping forward. The space was only lit by red emergency lighting. There was a dark figure in front of her, stalking forward.

It screeched at her and she could feel its intention to finish her off. But as it approached, it burst into flames, its greasy black body engulfed in fire, emitting a thick pillar of smoke. Still, it continued forward, flesh coming away from its form in viscous clotted piles, acid blood releasing and burning through the floor, fizzing against the flame, the pungent smell and dense smoke suffocating her.

Vasquez backed away in fear. She couldn't breathe and she gasped, desperate for air.

.

Her eyes snapped open.

She was no longer dreaming. This was real and she was actually suffocating. Somebody was forcefully holding something over her mouth, trying to finish her off.

She tried to fight, but the lack of air in her lungs made her exertions weak and futile.

"Give her some space, goddammit!"

Hudson was pushing away her attacker and he moved in closer, hovering over her protectively. His fingers stroked her hair and there was a look of anguish on his face.

"It's okay Vaz, it's just a bit of air." He held the clear oxygen mask up briefly so she could see it before gently placing it over her mouth.

She gasped into the mask and oxygen began filling her lungs.

He watched her expectantly as her breath fogged up the mask.

Slowly, the blanks in her memory began filling in and her surroundings started to make sense. She was on Gateway Station, in the recovery room. Vasquez felt a rush of anxiety as she remembered her reason for being there.

Vasquez was thankful she wasn't able to feel anything below the waist. Still, it took her a while to summon the courage to look down towards the foot of her bed.

.

She thought it was sweet how Hudson tried to recall every detail he had been told about her care. How his brows knitted together as he struggled to remember, recapping tidbits of the doctors' directions like a fragmented instructional video.

After a while, she realized she wasn't even listening, she was watching his face, his changing expressions, the sort of uncertain, nervous energy he was giving off as he spoke. All serious; not a joke to be had.

She placed a feeble hand on his knee. "Sorry Hud, you lost me back at 'sensory reeducation,'" she confessed groggily.

"Right, sorry, I'm sure it's a lot to take in right now… plus I'm probably mixing things up." He looked a bit embarrassed.

"You did good to remember all that," she offered and her words seemed to reassure him. She closed her eyes. "Can you… can you talk to me about something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like… anything. Something about you. A story or something..."

Vasquez could hear a smile in his voice, "A story?"

She nodded.

"Okay…" He paused for a second, obviously thinking of something to say. "You know that fucking doctor that was trying to give you the oxygen earlier? He reminded me of this time when I was a kid. My brother John was pretty banged up because my… my dad was particularly bad those days and he needed someone to take it out on.

"My mom was already gone at this point, so I was the one there with him at the hospital, right? And when we finally see the doctor… he's a complete asshole. Like, he's really talking down to us, telling us things like how boys like us were always being irresponsible, getting into fights, taking space away from patients who really needed it. You know, all this fucking shit."

Hudson took a minute to shake his head, obviously still angered to think of it.

"So anyway," he continued. "I'm tryna tell this doctor that my brother needs a scan to make sure he doesn't have a serious head injury. But I'm only ten or eleven at this point, so the doctor is obviously not listening to a word I'm sayin'. And he, like, claps John on the back and says, 'No, he's fine. You boys are free to go"—and the second he says that, John projectile vomits all over the guy and his white coat."

Vasquez laughed, "Kinda sounds like someone I know," she said thinking back to Hudson abruptly throwing up in the locker room of the Sulaco. She opened her eyes to see his grin.

"Aw man, I know, you can't make this shit up. But it was the fuckin' funniest thing I had ever seen at that point in my life."

"That doctor, what a jackass," Vasquez said sympathetically.

"Yeah." Hudson laughed again. "Well, John got his scan anyway. The doc couldn't argue with that. We were still both laughing as he went for a CT. They had to keep stoppin' the machine to tell him to quit laughing and stay still. He was in the tube giggling like a little kid and I was in the other room busting a gut laughing. They absolutely hated us."

Hudson was grinning widely at the memory. But after a moment, his smile faded and he cleared his throat, a bit more serious when he spoke again. "That reminds me… you asked about your sister," he said.

Vasquez paused. "Shit," she said. "I did? What else did I say?" She could remember seeing Carmen in her delirium earlier, feeling the need to pull her sister to safety.

She had been thinking about Carmen a lot lately. About the altercation in Juarez, when Vasquez shot the leader of the gang so Carmen could flee to safety. Seeing Carmen's twelve year-old form slipping down the alley, escaping the gunfire. At the time, even with a bullet in her side, Vasquez's only thoughts had been of Carmen, of her making it to the border safely with Vasquez's passport and getting through undetected. It had been the last time she had seen her sister.

At least, it had been the last time she saw her in person.

Vasquez recalled her sister's face on the screen several years ago. A transmission Carmen had sent to her through the USCM portal.

She had looked grown up. It was almost like looking into a mirror. Except that Carmen looked younger than her, with a longer and more slender neck, her features more defined. She was pretty, even in her ferocity. Even as she spit venom at the screen, delivering the words that cut through Vasquez like a knife: "Because of you, I have nothing".

"Do you want me to try to track her down for you?" asked Hudson. "Maybe she should know that you're here."

"I've tried," lied Vasquez, "I've never been able to find her."

.

Vasquez was not allowed to leave yet. They were making her stay there for a couple more days of monitoring, to make sure her incision looked good and she was not feeling too much discomfort.

The drugs made her disoriented. She would get tired so suddenly and a couple times she drifted to sleep while she was mid-conversation with Hudson.

But he was always understanding. She would open her heavy eyes and apologize and each time he would tell her it was alright or that it was his own fault—he shouldn't have been talking about something so boring.

It might have been the cocktail of drugs she was on, but she found him funnier than usual.

And sweet. He was constantly fussing, always looking over her with those honest blue eyes, taking her in, analyzing to make sure she was actually okay and had everything she needed. Those eyes looked tired.

When she finally convinced Hudson to go back to their room to get some sleep, he came back after only a few hours, freshly showered and insisting he had gotten a solid night's rest.

She knew that he hated hospitals, didn't trust doctors and probably felt nervous about leaving her there alone. He seemed content to settle back into his chair beside her bed.

As she drifted in and out of a drug-induced sleep, she would periodically wake to Hudson sleeping in the chair or reading his found copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

But now, when she opened her eyes groggily, Hudson was awake, already staring back at her.

She let out a groan, "Come on, man. What are you doing?"

Hudson looked around, perplexed. "What? I'm just looking at you."

"Well, stop it."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's weird. Plus, I keep falling asleep with my mouth open and I know I'm drooling."

Hudson grinned, the creases around his tired eyes more pronounced than usual. "I know and it's so cute every time."

"Fuck right off," Vasquez scoffed. She rubbed her eyes.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she replied. "The drugs are strong. Everything feels weird, like I'm still in a dream or something."

"Wanna know how you can tell you're not dreaming?"

"How?"

"'Cause if you were, it would mean you're dreaming about me."

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right, this must be real life."

He smiled and slid his hand over hers, and she let him hold her hand until he was eventually the one who fell asleep first.

As he sat slouched in the small chair, his head fell to the side and his hand grew limp and slid from hers. He exhaled with his eyes closed and unconsciously crossed his arms, settling into a more comfortable sleeping position.

Now Vasquez was the one watching him, noticing the gentle breaths in and out, the straight line of his nose and the soft patch of hair under his bottom lip, the light frown and the resting worry etched on his face.

She could recall very clearly that she had dreamed about him.

.

Hudson looked stressed. "This was a terrible idea, for the record."

"Can you just relax? This is going fine," she said stiffly, concentrating on each step. She was using one crutch, and Hudson held the second one. Her arm was around his neck, most of her weight on him as they moved slowly down the hall.

She was happy to be leaving the hospital, but she knew she might have jumped the gun a bit by refusing the wheelchair they were trying to get her to use. Her remaining leg was still numbed by painkillers, and her balance was off, her centre of gravity surprisingly altered by the loss of the lower portion of her leg.

Even with the crutch and Hudson's help, it was difficult to move without intense focus. But to her, it was better than the alternative; she just couldn't make herself sit in that wheelchair.

"Look at you, you're sweatin' buckets. This is bad."

Vasquez exhaled a strained breath. "Bullets," she said, her teeth clenched. "It's sweating bullets, not buckets. And whatever, so are you. It's just fuckin' hot in this hallway."

Hudson frowned. "Bullets? That makes no sense. For sure it's buckets, man. Maybe bullets is the Spanish version or something..." He shook his head, realizing the tangent he was on. "Point is, you shouldn't be doing this. You're so goddamn stubborn—Wheelchair? No, I couldn't possibly! Seriously Vaz, this can't be good for you right now."

"I don't sound like that. And I'm fine!" Vasquez pushed herself forward determinedly, but her balance faltered and she gave a wobble on her crutch, overcompensating by trying to take a step forward with a foot that no longer existed. She fell against Hudson and he clung to her, managing to catch her crutch before it could clatter to the floor.

"Okay, enough," Hudson said firmly and he pulled her in towards one side of the hallway. She leaned her back on the wall, catching her breath and he practically held her up. "I'm going back to get a wheelchair," he said with resolve.

Vasquez shook her head vigorously, her hands clinging to the back of his sweaty t-shirt so he wouldn't go back.

"What are you tryna prove, Vaz?" he said in exasperation.

"That I can do this," Vasquez replied between breaths.

Hudson dropped his head and gave a long sigh. Finally, he looked up at her and handed her the crutch. "We'll take it slow, okay?"

Vasquez nodded, determined to make it the rest of the way without stopping. She wanted to prove to herself that she could.

But as she returned her arm to Hudson's sweat-streaked neck, the realization struck her that she wasn't the only one putting in the effort. She doubted she would have even attempted this walk without him—it was made possible because of their partnership. Because he was there beside her.

"One step at a time," said Hudson. "I know you can do this."

.