Chapter Five

Scott rode in the back seat of the nomad in silence as Cora navigated the vehicle carefully over rocky terrain. He knew his companions were worried, or at least, unnerved. He saw them exchanging uneasy glances when they thought he wasn't paying attention. The two had nearly gaped when Scott handed the reins over to Harper, so to speak, without a word and climbed into the back. He had never willingly given up his place in the driver's seat since they'd known him as pathfinder.

They weren't the only ones unnerved. Scott didn't want to try to concentrate on anything while he worked through the turmoil going on inside him. The deafening sound of the bullet hitting his armor next to his ear kept ringing in his head. It was a very close call—so close that he didn't even argue when SAM berated him and schooled him on all the things he'd done wrong. He'd been cocky, no doubt about it. He'd exhausted his biotics to the point he'd been unable to maintain a proper shield over his own person. He'd allowed himself to be distracted keeping an impenetrable barrier around Reyes. Why? The man was a fighter. It was obvious that he'd seen combat before ever coming to Andromeda. Reyes could have handled himself.

But Scott couldn't handle the thought of him getting hit. What was most worrisome was that bothered him more than the fact that his foolishness had nearly cost him his life, and the Initiative their only pathfinder. There was something about the smuggler that stirred him—a feeling he'd only ever felt with one other person. Scott had so much weighing on his shoulders he couldn't afford the distraction Reyes would cause. They didn't even have a relationship beyond what was necessary for the Resistance and Scott was nearly killed for it. He didn't want to imagine the distraction the man would cause if they became closer—meant more to each other.

It wasn't fair to place the blame on Reyes, the man's quick actions saved Scott's life after all, and Scott knew better—had been trained better. Allowing for distractions was unacceptable. Kale would have been ashamed of him.

Scott sucked in a breath as the name of his dead lover came unbidden to mind, like instinct—like reflex. Once upon a time his lover's scowl or reprimanding tone would have warmed his heart because Scott knew the man cared. Now, the man's memory was like a tsunami of icy water, shocking to his system, clinging with frigid tendrils around his heart, choking the air from his aching, stinging lungs. Scott felt anger wash over him. He never would have imagined these memories that were so precious to him could ever be so treacherous. He wanted to keep them always. Here in a new galaxy, far from home and everything he knew, they meant infinitely more and yet they only brought him pain. Pain that would eat at him piece by agonizing piece until there was nothing left of him.

Scott, SAM said quietly over their private channel.

The mechanical tone—yet so human at times—severed his thoughts immediately. The metal walls inside the nomad filtered back into focus and he knew he'd sunk deeper into that inner darkness than he had realized. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

Thanks, SAM.

The ride back to Kadara port continued in silence aside from the nomad's engines and the sound of dirt and rock shifting under the tires as the tread gripped the path they were on. Up front Vetra and Cora seemed unaware of Scott's inner turmoil, concentrating on the bumpy road and their surroundings. Or if they were aware they kept it to themselves, for which Scott was grateful. Perhaps they had their own troubled thoughts to deal with. Though he would never drag his companions into his personal troubles, he couldn't help but feel alone and isolated, which made him feel weak.

You don't give yourself enough credit, Scott, SAM's voice gently filled his head.

Scott frowned.

Your father said this to me many times.

Scott looked out the tinted window watching the craggy canyon walls as they passed.

Funny that he never said it to me, Scott said.

He always wanted to, SAM offered.

I know you think that counts for something, SAM, but it doesn't. Not really.

A pause. I see.

Still, it is nice to know I was not a complete disappointment in his eyes.

To that SAM did not respond and Scott didn't expect 'him' to. His relationship with his father was just like everything else now—gone. There wasn't much use in trying to figure it out. However, Scott never was good at being callous or indifferent. He knew the questions would never go away because now they could never really be satisfied.

Once they were back on the Tempest, SAM alerted him that he had a new message. It turned out to be from Reyes thanking him again for his help with the Roekaar. Scott expected the message to be riddled with flirtatious lines, but it was short and to the point, for which he was relieved. He had a lot of shit to work through and he really couldn't handle any more piling onto his confusion. He was attracted to Reyes, that part was not hard to figure out. What he couldn't get over was the overwhelming guilt and pain. No matter how he tried to look at it, it felt like a betrayal to Kale. The way they left things—had to leave things... knowing that the man was six hundred years dead did nothing to relieve the ache. It was only a few months for Scott. He didn't know how to feel all right with moving on—wasn't sure he ever would.

Just then Cora's voice came over the ship's comm in his room.

"Ryder, I need to speak with you. If you'll meet me in the Bio lab." Her voice sounded urgent, a little excited.

"Be right there," he said, already half way to the door and glad to have any excuse to think about something else for a time.

Reyes didn't return immediately to Tartarus. He had a few contacts he'd been putting off in favor of devoting time to all matters concerning the pathfinder. He couldn't delay them any longer, however, without losing or damaging the trust he'd built with them. So Reyes dutifully devoted the rest of the day hammering out details and agreements for parts and equipment smugglers and scavengers were bringing in from Elaaden. Reyes' hands were all over any new equipment brought to the port. Most traders often preferred to sell to him due to his reputation and more honorable dealings. Once sellers began to prefer his business over Sloane and her minions taking what they pleased, or giving fractions of an item's worth, they started to save their best stock solely for him and his representatives. The Charlatan made sure his Collective base and his people had what they needed, and there was always room for improvements. Anything they didn't use or need was passed on to other interested buyers.

It was late when Reyes finally returned to his apartment. It wasn't large or extravagant by any means but it was clean and well furnished, if a little sparse. The important thing though was that the small refrigerator unit was always stocked with the best alcohol he could get his hands on. He grabbed a bottle and poured a drink. He lounged comfortably on his couch and sipped the amber liquor slowly, his eyes closed—thoughts constantly drifting to a certain young man. A young man with the most beautiful, soul-bearing eyes Reyes had ever seen.

Yet, there was still so much hidden in those depths. Reyes knew he'd told Ryder he could wait however long it took, but knew without a doubt it would be the hardest wait of his life.

He took another long sip of alcohol, let it splash flavor on his tongue before swallowing, savoring the slow burn down his throat. Before long his tired eyes began to droop and just as the thought that he should get some sleep entered his head, his omni-tool flashed with an incoming call. It was from Colt Dalton, the man he'd assigned to watching over the Tempest while it was in port. Who better than the dock master? Reyes had made it clear that there was to be no correspondence between them unless something changed.

The smuggler's expression darkened as he answered the call. If anyone had been foolish enough to try to harm the pathfinder or his ship...

"What happened?" Reyes growled.

"Yeah, so the Tempest is gone," Dalton said in that bored, unconcerned drawl of his.

"What?"

He had expected many scenarios, but not that one. At first he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Scott had made it clear that he intended to go forward with fixing the monoliths here. He'd spoken like he fully intended to remain on Kadara for some time.

"Yeah, that Harper lady who's been standing watch got a message—looked important by her reaction. Couple hours later they took off."

"Where were they headed?" Reyes tried to sound nonchalant even as something twisted in his gut. The pathfinder was a man in very high demand. It shouldn't surprise him that his mission on Kadara was interrupted, but it bothered him. Not to mention the reasons for being called away so suddenly were likely dangerous, possibly deadly.

"No clue," Dalton said. "Just left real quick once they were all onboard again."

"Fine. Let me know the moment the Tempest docks again."

"Will do—"

Reyes disconnected with an angry swipe of his hand. He knew he didn't have a right to expect a goodbye or explanation—yet, but he still felt a little jilted. He downed the rest of his glass in one large gulp and quickly typed out a message to one of his most trusted hackers. He wanted to know what kind of trouble his handsome pathfinder was getting into.

—tbc