Chapter Nineteen

"Personal Log, Lt. Malcolm Reed, July 5, 2154. We've been at warp five for three days now, and haven't gained any ground. We assume they are returning Hoshi to Mars colony. Trip assures me that he is squeezing everything he can out of the engines, but the truth of the matter is the other ship is faster.

"I haven't been able to sleep ever since her…abduction. Well, I've managed to catch catnaps here and there, but nothing substantial. 'They've come for me. I love you' keeps repeating in my head, as though she's still here. I-I feel…so… ineffectual right now. All I can do is ready the armory and be there for Hoshi when we get her back."

Malcolm shut the computer down and put his head on the desk, defeated.

Em checked the settings on the phase rifle, sure they were off. Her score was only ninety-three percent -- above Starfleet standard but below her personal standard. Disgusted with the one hundred percent accuracy-rating showing on the rifle's stock, she threw it against the wall.

"Better not let Malcolm see ya throwin' his babies around like that," the slow Southern drawl sounded, more slurred than usual due to its owner's overwhelming schedule and lack of sleep. He had been watching her practice, taking comfort in her efficiency.

Em turned around ready to pounce on anybody who approached her. She couldn't believe they had stolen Hoshi right out from under their noses. All that prep work -- the training sessions and the promises she made to keep Hoshi safe -- gone. Now all that was left was the overall feeling of being powerless. And she hated that feeling, disgusted with herself for not…for not…

Trip watched Em pace back and forth, waving her hands in the air and mumbling to herself. "Honey, when is the last time you ate?"

His question went unanswered as Em waved him off.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Again, the question went unanswered.

Trip walked up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Answer me!" he commanded.

Em broke out of his grasp and pushed him, picking up the phase rifle and carrying it into Malcolm's small, closet-like office. "I don't have time!" she yelled and started to pace again.

"I've got to be ready. I'm going to kill them if they've harmed a hair on her head!"

Trip got in her path again, blocking both her worried pacing and her exit. "You've got to get some sleep! You aren't going to do Hoshi any good if you're dead on your feet, darlin'." He made a grab for her shoulders, attempting to wrap her in his arms.

Em tried shaking Trip off again, but he held tight to her. "Will you get the hell out of my way?"

"Ya think you're the only one hurtin'?" He shook her slightly to get his point across. "Ya think you're gonna be any good for her once we catch up to them bastards?"

Em glared at him.

"Ya need to get some sleep darlin'. Ya look like hell!"

"You don't know what the fuck you are talking about, cowboy. What I need is to pound something… to stomp something to a pulp. I need a release!" Em panted, still straining to break out of his grasp.

"You want to pound something? Pound on me! You want to stomp something? I'm here for ya." Trip held tight to the wild cat in his arms.

Em froze, her chest rising and falling. Exhaustion and frustration surged through every fiber of her being.

She grabbed his uniform and pulled him to her, melding her lips to his and pushing her tongue into the cavern of his mouth to mate with his. Her hands made quick work of the zipper to his uniform. Her mind was blank - all but for one word - release.

He made a half-hearted attempt at pushing her away. This isn't what he had in mind when he came to check on her. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to…

His mind went blank as she pushed him against the wall and tugged on his uniform, rubbing her hand over his sex.

"You want to help me, cowboy?" she said with a rush of breath and yanked her own zipper down as she reached over to the door panel and closed it.

"Fuck me," she demanded, shrugging out of her uniform and biting his lip.

He groaned, lost to his own inner turmoil. He succumbed to her request, tearing at his Henley, and sucking on her bottom lip.

As they inhaled one another, they finished divesting themselves of their clothing.

He lifted her, pushing her against the wall.

In response, she wrapped her legs around him, arching her hips, gasping as he filled her.

The rhythm was brutal, both lovers punishing one another for things beyond either's control, blinded everything but their own pain.

No sound was emitted from either lover as they met their release.