Faye sat on her bed, coffee cup cradled in her lap and lights dimmed, staring out her window, into the void of space. It used to be beautiful, she remembered a time when it was so, when the sight of super novas and exploding nebulas was enough to set her pulse racing and her palms sweating. Now it was all old, or perhaps it was she that was old, suddenly feeling every second of her cryogenic sleep.

She toyed absently with the ring on her finger, guiltily. It was her engagement ring, a reminder of her failure at love, her failure at life. She knew she should have given it back to John, but he'd left before she could see him, and after... she just couldn't bring herself to face him. What do you say to a man who loves you that you can't seem to love in return?

She sighed, and took another drink of her coffee.

What was wrong with her? What was the internal flaw that made her reject people who could love her, and love people who rejected her? The fatal flaw. The one that always seemed to get her hurt, the one that caused her to fall in love with Spike, the one that caused her to scorn John, the one that made her blush when she remembered Corbin's lips on the cigarette. She stared at the ink-black liquid in her cup, and decided it was time for something a little stronger. She uncurled her legs, stood up, placing her coffee mug on the night stand, before walking over to her desk and pouring her self a glass of scotch.

"Here's to fatal flaws," she told the short-haired, tired-eyed girl in the mirror. Bottoms up.

She was interrupted mid-drink by a soft rapping on her door.

"Yeah, hang on..." she finished her glass on the way to the door and opened it a crack. "What is it Irm... oh!" the person on the other side was not Irma, the person on the other side was a tall, lanky man in jeans and a black tee-shirt, his green hair sticking up in unruly tufts and a sly grin slapped on his face.

"Surprise," came the gritty voice.

She slammed the door in his face.

Corbin. She couldn't do it, she couldn't face him now. How cruel of him to surprise her like that, how insensitive of him to give her so little time to recover from their previous meeting. And a part of her was angry that he hadn't needed more time to recover too. Another unhealthy, one- sided attraction. This was the last thing she needed.

She started to pour herself another glass of scotch, but instead, she lifted the bottle to her lips.

Here's to fatal flaws, alright.



"How'd it go?"

Irma sat across from him, on a brown leather couch in the sitting room, leaning toward the matching arm chair he'd made home, and leaning over a blue glass coffee table. She looked at him expectantly, anticipating and answer to her question. He sighed.

"Not as well as I expected, Irma." Corbin took a cigarette from his pack, and offered one to her before lighting his own.

"No, thanks. Don't smoke. So, what did she say?"

"Before, or after she slammed the door on me?" he gave her a lopsided grin, and shrugged. "Didn't get much chance to talk. Like I said, she wasn't too enthusiastic about seeing me."

Irma sat back into the couch, and worried her bottom lip. "Oh, hell..."

"What is it?" Corbin asked.

"I made a mistake letting you aboard without speaking to her first. If she reacted like that..."

"It's okay, Irma, I invited him." Faye entered the sitting room, the now half empty bottle of scotch in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. She swayed slightly in the door way, before righting herself, and gliding to the couch. She plopped down next to Irma, and took a long pull off her bottle.

Corbin could smell the alcohol from where he sat. He wrinkled his nose.

"You're bombed."

She took the bottle from her mouth, and gave him a wink, "of course I'm not. I've only had..." she held the vessel up to check the level of the liquid inside, "one and a half of these." She gave him a triumphant nod, as if she'd just made some grand point, and took another swig.

Corbin reached and took the bottle from her hands. "I think you've had enough."

Faye's eyes flashed fire, "who made you king of the hill?" She rose to her feet, but too quickly, and vertigo coupled with drink sent her falling to the floor. Corbin caught her just as she was about to smash through her coffee table.

He gave Irma a weak smile, "I'd better put her to bed."

"You'd better." Irma agreed.





The howls of "put me down," "take your filthy hands off me," "I'm not even tired," and of course, "I can hold my liquor," subsided after a moment, and as he carried her down the hall, she didn't struggled once. By the time he reached her bedroom, she had rested her head against his chest and nearly fallen asleep. He shifted her in his arms, more uncomfortable by her closeness than by her weight, and she sighed deeply.

Trying to hold her with one arm, and pull back her sheets with the other should have been a gargantuan effort, but he pulled it off with surprised ease, sweeping back the layers of satin and quilt. He placed one knee, and his free hand on the spongy mattress, and lowered her into her sheets. She clung to his neck for a moment, holding his shoulders over her, his face near hers, and for one panicked, breathless moment, he was sure she was going to open her eyes and raise her head enough to connect the two of them, but then her grip relaxed, and he began to breathe.

He tried not to look at her, as he pulled the covers up to her neck. He tried to focus on the floor, or the ceiling, or the ice cold cup of coffee sitting on the night stand, anything to avoid noticing that she looked like an angel when she slept. Anything to tune out her rhythmic breathing. But as he turned to shut the door behind him, a shaft of light entered through the closing door, cut the darkness, and fell across her face, and he couldn't help but look.

*Click*

He leaned against the closed door, and drew a ragged breath. Another sleepless night for old Corbin.

As he turned toward the guest quarters on the other end of the ship, Irma peaked around the corner, a knowing smile decorating her serene face.





Faye walked down an endless corridor of familiar eyes. Glass coffins, one after another, motionless bodies staring sightlessly at her. Each step felt like a dagger through her heart, but she had to do it.

They all looked like him. Any one of them would do. Any one of them to give to Kataki... he'd be fooled.

"Like being in a wax museum, isn't it?" his grating, sarcastic voice coming at her from all sides. "Creepy."

Faye's eyes widened in fear as a thousand lips moved in unison.

"No..." she managed weakly, and started to run. "No!" she screeched. Her feet pounded the tile as she raced along. This isn't happening.... they're in stasis... this isn't happening... There was a pounding in her ears as a thousand Spikes raised their fists to beat on the glass of their stasis units.

This Isn't Happening!

The pounding was real, it felt like someone was using heave machinery inside her skull, she didn't bother fighting the nausea, she knew she'd feel better once she'd expelled all the toxins that were still in her stomach, she just reached for her waste basket, she'd have to wash it out later, but she wasn't going to make it to the toilet.

After being violently ill, she got shakily out of bed, and made her way to the bathroom. She would flush the contents of her waste basket, then brush her teeth, and after that she'd deal with this headache.

"Oh... never again, I'll never drink again." Another promise she wasn't going to keep.



"Yes Father, he's refused to come... No, he's still alive, I'm sure of it... And now he's gone to those friends of his... No, I haven't failed yet, he still doesn't know he hasn't unlocked his potential, and until he does, he'll be an easy target... yes, I'll be sure he doesn't have the chance."

The flame haired woman took the earpiece from her ear and smashed it beneath her boot heel. She ran a pale hand through her long mane, and had she been a cat, her tail would be lashing back and forth in agitation.

"Ah... Corbin," Eve said, "you just don't make things easy, do you?"