A/N:

This is the third installment in a series of three stories, so there may be references made to past events taken from the previous two stories, 'Survival' and 'Captivity.' - So give these two a read if you're interested, but if not, I think you should still be able to get the gist of it!

Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

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The time on the bedroom clock read 02:35, but Vasquez and Hudson were still awake.

Vasquez was in Hudson's bed, in his room in the quarantine unit of Gateway Station. She was on top of him, heat rising between them as their skin connected, his hands at her hips, moving as she moved.

She liked the feeling of having his hands on her and Hudson now held her tightly as though at any moment she might just slip away. He looked at her as if she might.

He seemed a bit lost as he stared up at her, his gaze sweeping her face, a slight depression of his eyebrows, disbelieving or wary. But when she nudged him lightly and gave a quick laugh, his expression brightened, the distant look dissolving into presence and a smile working its way onto one side of his mouth.

She liked that he knew what he was doing. How he continued to surprise her with his tenacity and attentiveness, only ever needing the slightest bit of encouragement.

She liked the sound of his voice: a low hum when he spoke to her quietly, something funny or sweet.

She liked that his eyes were still so blue, even in the dimly lit room.

While she hadn't yet told him outright, the truth was that she liked a lot of things about him. Perhaps there had always been a part of her that had. Hudson could be cocky and immature and annoying as hell, but there was another side of him that, over time, had drawn her in—the endearing brand of charm and charisma and a vulnerability that he tried his best to disguise. The resourceful, sharp-minded marine that she trusted with her life.

But after they both narrowly escaped death on LV-426, something had changed and Vasquez could no longer ignore that she felt something for her fellow teammate and squad leader.

Three days earlier, they had woken up from cryo at Gateway Station and were immediately subjected to the confines of quarantine along with Hicks, Ripley and Newt. It had ultimately brought all of them closer. But for her and Hudson, it had also been three confusing days of fucking, fighting and taking care of one another.

She knew she had come away from that mission a different person. She was damaged, grieving the loss of Drake and so many of her teammates. And in the back of her mind was the nagging feeling that this thing between her and Hudson was only happening because they were both broken, alone and available. They were playing with fire, her mind told her, and this wouldn't end well for either of them.

But for now, she disregarded the infringing thoughts, surrendering to the magnetism between them. It was the same impulsive attraction that crept up inside of her lately whenever he was around, the temptation to rip off his clothes, push him onto whatever surface was closest and take advantage of his abundant energy and eagerness to please.

Now, as she arched her back, Hudson's hands glided over the curves of her body, but generally stayed in the vicinity of her sides, playing it safe. They were no stranger to each other's bodies at this point, having spent a good portion of the last few days and nights in bed together, so she thought it was funny how he still seemed a bit tentative, as if still afraid he might cross a line.

Vasquez took Hudson's hands from her hips and placed them on her chest, being gentle with his broken wrist, which was still bound in a cast. He gave a satisfied sigh and gazed back at her lustfully, her breasts in his hands.

But after a moment, his hands moved to the small of her back to draw her closer, and their stomachs pressed together, the sensation engaging a profusion of nerve endings.

When her head involuntarily dropped, his cheek pushed against hers affectionately, warm lips and rough facial hair gliding along her neck, causing pleasant shivers to spread across the entire surface area of her skin. He kissed along her jaw and beneath her ear and everywhere, it seemed, except her lips, waiting for her to be the one to initiate a kiss that was deep and passionate. And when she did, she closed her eyes as their mouths connected and it felt like they were breathing life into one another.

Her forearms were pressed to the bed on either side of him, supporting her upper body, when Hudson slid his hands up her arms, gently pulling them away so that she was left lying against his chest. Wordlessly, she snaked her arms between the pillow and the hot skin of his back, curling them around his shoulders, her head nestled into his neck as he continued to move with her, holding her tightly. Never before had she felt so close to him.

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Vasquez was still lying on his chest as they caught their breath and indulged in the warm feelings of contentment. She could feel his heart beating fast, spasms of residual pleasure still pulsating through him, the feeling transferring to her through their still connected bodies. Carefully, she moved off of him to lie at his side, not certain how much her weight on top of him aggravated the injuries he was still recovering from: the fractured ribs, lacerations on his stomach and thigh.

He looked at her and she knew what he was about to say. She too, had not been able to escape the mission unscathed, and she was feeling the effects of it now.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine," she said, automatically answering the question she knew he was going to ask. She was getting more used to his concern, variations of the question always seeming to be at the forefront of his mind as he embraced the unsolicited role of looking after her. She hadn't asked for his help or attention, but she realized that if she wanted to be with him in any regard, then it came with the package.

When his brows raised a bit, disbelievingly, she rolled her eyes.

"Might just take another one so I can sleep through the night," she responded and he nodded. He reached for a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table and opened it, passing her a half-full glass of water, two orange pills on his open palm.

She took one of the pills, but when his hand remained open in front of her, she took the second as well.

They laid in silence and a heavy feeling of stress fell over Vasquez.

"You thinkin' about tomorrow?" he asked her.

"A bit," she replied. It was a stupid response: she was either thinking about it or she wasn't. Right now she was, the idea of what was to come creating an uncomfortable drop in her stomach.

Tomorrow afternoon she was scheduled for surgery to have her right leg amputated below the knee. Although every part of her knew she had chosen the better of two undesirable options, she still worried that she had made a mistake.

Hudson had insisted on staying with her at Gateway Station as she recovered after the operation. She felt relieved that he was going to stay with her, but also felt a bit anxious about how it was going to work between them.

"You nervous?" Hudson asked her softly.

She paused and this time chose to answer him honestly. "Yeah. I am. For some reason I didn't think I would be... I just wish…" she trailed off and Hudson stayed silent watching her intently, however she didn't really even know what she was going to say.

"Come here," he said once it became clear she wasn't going to finish her train of thought, and he pulled her in closer and cradled her head in his arm. Gestures like that still felt surreal to her, but they also felt like a welcome change from their recent hardships. She wondered if the traumas they had experienced lately had made her soft.

"Everything'll be fine," Hudson told her comfortingly. "We're gonna get through this together, okay? You and me, tackling it head on, just like any other challenge we've had to face." He found her hand and held it, as if making a pact. "We're still partners, and we're going to make it out the other side of this just like we always do."

She nodded against him.

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It felt like she had her eyes closed for mere seconds when Hudson was already waking her. The painkillers were strong and made her feel exceptionally tired but never fully rested, no matter how long she slept.

"Mornin', sunshine."

Vasquez rubbed her eyes, "What time is it?" The familiar pain was already starting to throb in her right leg.

"Eight," replied Hudson.

Vasquez's surgery was scheduled for 3pm and she got a pang of nervousness just thinking about it. She nodded, trying to ignore the nerves and she sat up.

"You look exhausted," said Hudson unhappily. "Why don't you try to get some more sleep? You don't have to come, Hicks and I can manage it on our own. I'll pack up all of your stuff… and Drake's."

Vasquez shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I'm going."

They had agreed to meet Company staff that morning aboard the Sulaco, the starship they had previously called home, which now sat docked and deserted in the quarantine port of Gateway Station. With so many members of their crew tragically killed on LV-426, it had been left to her, Hudson and Hicks—the three surviving members of Second Battalion Bravo Team—to assist staff in sorting through everyone's belongings so the items could be packaged and sent home to their friends' grieving families. She knew it was going to be emotionally brutal, but it felt far too important to just sleep through.

"I need to do this, Hudson," she said as she tossed off the warm covers and willed her aching legs to the floor, ignoring the look of concern that Hudson wore on his face.

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The Sulaco looked different when it was powered down. Auxiliary power only lit the spaces they were walking through, giving off an eerie feeling of being on an illuminated stage set while everything else was still obscured in shadow. Stranger still was the fact that Company staff now led them through the ship towards the locker rooms, as if they didn't know where they were going, hadn't spent the past five years building friendships and growing older there, moving about the halls everyday like blood through an artery, bringing life and vitality to the otherwise stark setting.

And truly, the ship seemed dead now, smelling of hydrogen peroxide, sodium hypochlorite, instead of that of everyday living, the essence of food and laundry and stale athletic wear all but scrubbed into oblivion. And as they walked into the locker room, there were no sounds of their teammates' laughter or rapidfire insults, no voice of Sergeant Apone barking orders past the smouldering cigar he held between his teeth. Now, in the place that had been the heart of the Sulaco, only silence remained—and the three of them, standing within the ship's corpse with a bunch of Company employees that now determined its fate.

Vasquez wondered how long it would sit docked without use. And when it was assigned a new crew, would they tell stories of the team before them, nearly all wiped out within the course of one day?

Inadvertently, the three of them had become that of history and myth, the only marines to survive one of the most catastrophic missions to rock the United States Colonial Marine Corps in recent history.

"Seems different, doesn't it?" said Hicks, confirming Vasquez's thoughts. He looked at Vasquez and Hudson, only one of his eyes visible as the other lay hidden beneath a bandage that covered burns to his left eye and cheek and continued down the side of his neck and shoulder. "You guys ready to do this?" he uttered in a voice so low that Vasquez could only just make out the words, standing next to him, balanced on her crutches.

"Fuck no," said Hudson on the other side of her. His face looked stricken and Vasquez shifted her weight onto just one crutch so she could place her hand on his back. His arm automatically went around her shoulders to reciprocate, but his expression remained unchanged, just staring at the rows of open lockers.

Hicks' arm fell on top of Hudson's and the three of them stood together for a moment, bound in solidarity as they breathed in silence.

Then, wordlessly, they separated again and moved forward to begin their work.