Halo

A/N: This is a character-driven story, more so than plot-driven. It does have a storyline, never fear, but if you're in search of something purely plot-oriented, you've come to the wrong place.

I would also like to greatly thank all the commenters--both for taking the time to both read this story and for having the kindness to review.

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The Eagle had been restored as only the technicians of the Diplo could manage. The tiny ship had even gotten an engine upgrade out of the deal, filched from a Federation battleship. The hearty thrum of the creation engines made the whole deck reverberate beneath his feet, even in his tiny quarters. They'd have to sleep in shifts, Cliff had explained earlier to Nel, because they only had one room, and in it, only two beds.

Albel had objections to this. He would have preferred the woman Mirage as a room-mate, if indeed he had to tolerate any of them at all. She was less abrasive than Nel and more quiet than Cliff. Ideally, she would have been perfect. Unfortunately, it hadn't been his decision to make. And so, in utter annoyance, he sat on the lower bunk and to his great behest, had to listen to the oaf's indomitable snores.

-

"Welcome aboard," Cliff had said as he leaned half out of the ship, bracing himself with one hand against the hatch. "Nel. Long time no see, eh?"

The Aquarian woman had smiled at him tolerantly. "Hello, Cliff. You're well?"

"Can't complain!" he retorted with a grin. "All's well that ends well and all that riot. We've got the Federation off our backs for a while. They've agreed to...'forestall military action against Quark, so long as we are willing to cease our meddling in their business.' ...Or something. Professional courtesy, heh." When she'd gotten close enough, he'd reached out and pulled her into the ship. To avoid, Albel thought sourly, having to talk in front of him. But their words had drifted towards him regardless.

"You said you were bringing a friend, Nel. Now, I know, I know, but my mind immediately runs to hot chicks. So what's up? Why we bringing mister girly-man along for the ride?"

Albel curled a lip.

"Cliff," Nel said in exasperation. "Can you keep your voice down? He's stubborn, not stupid. Nor deaf."

That, for a moment, almost made him smirk.

"Er. Right. Sorry. But--seriously, Nel."

"A trial is pending," the woman said slowly. "For war crimes."

"Yeah, so? He's guilty, ain't he?"

"Cliff..."

"Kidding!"

"Hmph. Anyways. The queen asked him to go into exile. I assumed this would be more..."

"Fun?"

"No. Less dangerous, maybe."

"...Nel, I fly a spaceship, I work for a corporation that goes against the rules and regs' of the largest association in the galaxy, and you think this is safe?

"Safer," she corrected him. "Not infallible."

"Hah." Cliff leaned back out the hatch and waved a hand at Albel, as though he had some sort of jurisdiction over his will. "Hurry up, will ya? Don't have all day. If you're coming..."

"Shut up, maggot," the swordsman sneered as he stalked past Cliff and into the tiny ship. He would never admit to feeling vulnerable, and reminded himself constantly that he wasn't so much surrounded by allies as he was by strangers. Behind him, Cliff had shrugged helplessly and cast something of a 'look' at Nel, but he'd ignored that.

-

Also. As it seemed lately that his luck was running more to the side of the catastrophic, he'd noticed a stowaway earlier in his bags. A single kitten, black as mother night, had somehow escaped his notice, wrapped in the cloak he'd brought along for the sheer sake of necessity.

It was currently on his lap, purring as he made a point of Not Petting it. It was, however, loud enough to almost drown out Cliff's unsightly snoring. The problem however, was what in the name of dragons was he going to do with a kitten on board a--'spaceship'?

It purred on, oblivious to the troubles it had brought on itself.

There was a knock at the entrance to the room, at which he thrust the kitten under a blanket, where it continued to thrum happily. The door then hissed smoothly open, a wonder of modern hydraulics, and Mirage stepped through, head tilted to one side. Albel had thought her beautiful from their first meeting, but had never paid her any real attention. Though not as vapid as that child Sophia, he'd never been overly impressed with her intelligence, either. Especially not considering her close relationship with the oaf. She was holding a cup of something, and she handed it to him wordlessly, standing on her tip-toes to see whether or not Cliff was actually sleeping.

"Like the dead," Albel said with a sinister smile, reading her motives.

"That's a surprise," Mirage said with a quirked eyebrow, almost as though she was challenging him to say something else. "He hasn't been sleeping well lately. It'll be good for him to get some good rest. Please don't disturb him."

Albel scoffed and wave a hand as though to deflect this command. "What is this?" He indicated the mug she'd given him.

"Soup," she said evenly, as if it wasn't obvious. He felt heat rising in his cheeks and frowned to dispell it.

"I knew that, fool. What kind?"

She smiled slightly. "Our synthesizers may not have a wide range of gourmet foods, but they can make a mean chicken noodle soup."

Albel wondered if it was time to swallow his pride, and then decided against it. If soup was good enough for him, surely it was good enough for the damned fluffball from hell that had followed him. And if it didn't like it, it could starve.

Mirage waited a beat, and then turned to leave. "You're welcome, Albel Nox," she said as she pressed the panel to open the door.

He didn't spare her a second glance.

The kitten mewled playfully from underneath the blanket and he plucked it out from under it with a distasteful scowl. "So," he murmured. "You think yourself deserving of such treatment? Spoiled little cretin."

It dangled there helplessly in his grasp, and he sighed and set it down beside him. It immediately tried to sharpen its claws on his thigh, which prompted him to pick it up and move it further.

And then, thanking some higher deity that Cliff was asleep, he fished a small piece of chicken out of the mug and handed it off to the fuzzy monstrosity. It sniffed at it and looked at him rather quizzically as though asking What, you expect me to eat this?

He scowled. "It's all you're about to get. Don't let it go to waste."

Cliff's inverted head and shoulders suddenly appeared above him. Now, Albel wasn't the type to be frightened by much, but that man's ugly face was enough to scare the most hardened of soldiers. He yelped artlessly and jumped, the end result was that he scalded himself with the mug of soup that had, most unfortunately, ended up in his lap.

"Howdy," Cliff said in utter amusement. "What's up?"

Though he was instantly furious, Albel was not about to disgrace himself further by either checking to see if anything important was burned, or by wringing out the damnably absorbent fabric.

"My desire to kill you," he said acidly. The mug, which was still half full, he swished around.

"Uh..."

"What do you want, maggot?"

"I heard Mirage," the blonde man began. "Mirage brings food. Didn't bring any for me, eh? And ...you're...uh...wearing your meal. Congratulations, Albel. Chicken noodle soup is this year's magenta,"

"Remind me again why I haven't killed you yet."

"Because," Cliff said cheerfully. "You can't. You tried once, remember?"

That earned him little more than a stony glare, at which he chuckled and rolled back up onto his bed. "And you were talking to yourself, too. That's never healthy, you know."

"I was not talking to myself, you insufferable fool,"

"Oh yeah?"

Too annoyed to bother doing anything to the contrary, he picked the kitten (it hadn't escaped the splashing of chicken noodle soup either, and had been happily licking it off) and stood up, dangling it out before himself as Cliff blinked. "I was talking to this."

"You brought a cat?"

"I did not bring it," Albel said frostily. "It followed me. There's a difference."

Cliff reached out to touch it. "I haven't seen a real cat in years. They're pretty rare on Klaus, and--aiy!" It hissed at him and raked its sharp little claws along one of his hands, at which he winced and drew back.

"I guess it just sensed its own kind," he said reproachfully, rubbing at the scratch. "Vicious little thing."

Albel was suddenly accountably pleased that the stupid little fluffball had tagged along for the ride. "It needs food," he said offhandedly. "You will supply it."

Cliff grinned at him. "Testy creature when your britches are in a bunch, eh? Or, rather, in your lunch."

With something of a snarl, the swordsman had taken a single step forwards. To what end, he wasn't sure yet, but he thought it would involve mass amounts of screaming, blood, and a hearty side helping of dismemberment.

"Hey, hey." Cliff held out a hand and poked his nose, stopping him rather abruptly. Albel glared at the offending finger, going cross-eyed in the attempt. "You need to learn to take a joke, kid. Now...geeze. Go change and then get some sleep. We'll be taking night-shift tonight so the little women can get some rest."

Albel Nox had no intention of doing any such thing, which he managed to convey with a muted snarl. Cliff sighed.

"Now, listen up. You can make this hard, or you can make it easy. Me? I like easy. You agreed to come, right? Nobody dragged you kicking and screaming by those femme little braids you've got in your hair. Nobody..." he grinned again as though at some memory. "Nobody's coerced you or anything of the sort. And you've gotta remember, kid--this is my ship. Bought and paid for with my own hard-earned cash. You don't have to respect me, eh, but you should probably do what I say."

"And if I don't?"

Cliff withdrew his hand and waved it about in the air haphazardly. "Well, I don't think I'd have a problem tossing you out an airlock. Mirage might protest, though."

Albel considered this a moment.

"I desire a bath," he said finally.

"Eh? No such thing on this ship. Can use the shower, though. Just don't waste the water. We restocked in Aquaria, but we can only carry so much, and it needs to be recycled constantly. And with four people instead of two, well."

"I understand how not to waste things. Like air. Which you are," Albel ground out pointedly. "Doing this very moment."

"Heh. Point taken. Have fun."

Albel set the kitten back on his bed and stalked out of the room, managing to act marvelously dignified for a man wearing half a mug of chicken noodle soup and a skirt.

-

The shower cubicle wasn't all that difficult to figure out, although it took a measure of trial and error to adjust the water to where he'd like it. He removed his gauntlet and winced with the seperation of the leather fittings from the mangled stump of his arm. Even with the best medical care available in Airyglyph (and not dismissing the fact that the ascension of the flame ceremony always had a healer standing by) they'd been unable to save it.

Few people actually knew just how maimed he was, though--it wasn't like he'd made a point of taking the gauntlet off on a regular basis. The king had taken one look at him after he'd returned in the sympathetic company of another soldier and had commissioned the accouterment. It was a marvel of their day and age, fully functional, a system of straps and mechanisms that used the flexing of his bicep to manipulate the claws.

The skin was tender, as always, and he rubbed it absently with his hand, wincing at he hit a raw nerve that had never quite healed over. He showered quickly, identifying a dispenser on the wall as having soap in it--thankfully, it didn't smell nearly as fruity as he would have expected. He scrubbed rigorously at his hair with his one hand, and still rather sudsy, shut the water off. Modern amenities, how useful they were. He'd first been introduced to showers on the Diplo, and had been surprised to learn that he rather enjoyed them.

Albel had always liked the rain, which he assumed was why he liked showers. Their likeness was unmistakable, naturally. When he was a boy and used to play at Woltar's house with his fragile, sickly daughter, she wasn't allowed to go outside, and he'd been expected to entertain her, although it was a cruel thing to expect of him, considering that he was a year older than her. Now that he was an adult, a year made little difference, but then it had been an insurmountable gap. He'd been disdainful of her weakness, but had tolerated her for the sake of his father and Woltar, who obviously doted on the sick girl.

When it rained, however, they'd often go up into the attics of Woltar's mansion and listen to the steady beat of rain upon the roof. And the girl--Emily, had told him stories that she'd learned from her mother, and one of those stories had a very interesting connotation in regards to the rain.

It washes away sin, she'd whispered softly, tracing a pattern in the air above them.

He'd scoffed at the time. But over the years, as he'd dirtied his hands in affairs that other men were sanctimoniously above, he'd taken an obscure comfort in the rain, all stemming from her words of long ago.

It was foolhardy, and he knew it, but the knowledge that he consciously engaged in foolish activities somehow lessened the overall stupidity of believing an old folk tale.

The Eagle kept no towels--a waste of space on so efficient a ship, but there was a setting in the shower akin to that in the Diplo--a full-body hot-air dryer of some sort. He'd never bothered to learn its official name. The hot air he dedicated mostly to wringing the damp out of his unbound hair. The stump of his left arm couldn't tolerate the intense heat, however--a memento of the dragon's fire that had destroyed it, and within moments he had gotten dressed in spare clothes that were thankfully devoid of any remnants of chicken soup and left the small bathroom.

But he had no intentions of sleeping. Restless demons prowled about in his minds, and through long years of self-examination, he knew better than to attempt sleep while he thought about the past. It wasn't that he feared the nightmares, but that that damnable man would probably ask him why he screamed in his sleep.

He could always tell him, of course. But then he'd have to kill him. A welcome solution--maybe he should go rest after all.

Instead, he made his way to the cockpit and leaned against the smooth surface of the bulkhead. Mirage, who was intent on piloting, didn't seem to notice him, but Nel's peripheral vision had picked up on his arrival, and she turned.

"You ," she said by way of a greeting, and with the quirk of one eyebrow.

He sneered at her and said nothing, causing her to shrug and turn back to the display before her and the blonde Klausian woman. Mirage seemed to be teaching her how it worked, and she was listening raptly, as eager to learn about one way to wage war as she was about another.

"Is Cliff awake?" Mirage asked suddenly, tilting her head just enough to suggest she would actually care for his answer.

"Who knows?" Albel shrugged offhandedly. "Maybe the gods will bless us and he'll die in his sleep."

"Mm. I hope not," Mirage returned to the read-out. "He's the only one that knows the access codes to the Klausian homeworld. Without him, the government might decide our ship is good target practice." Her monotonous voice held an undertone of amusement, and he honestly couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"Mirage?" Nel said quizzically. "Cliff said something once...that he was high-born, or something of the sort."

"Did he, now?" Mirage smiled slightly. "It's really not my place to say."

Nel sighed and pushed herself back into the over-large chair into which she'd settled. "And then later, when he met her majesty. He addressed her like he'd been doing the same thing all his life..."

"Talkin' bout me?" Cliff inquired good-naturedly as he emerged from the tiny ship's quarters, stretching.

"Us?" Mirage asked innocently. "Cliff, why would we do that?"

"Bah," he returned with a grin. "I know you, Mirage. And...hey. We're all here." He must not have noticed Albel, leaning as he was against the wall. Out of some battered old reflex, the 'Glyphian reached for his sword only to remember that he wasn't wearing it. He settled for flexing the claws of his gauntlet and looking as distinctly unfriendly as he could manage. It didn't have the desired effect, because Cliff patted him on the shoulder and walked past him. "So where are we, Mirage?"

The woman flicked up a display and pointed to a small starcluster. "Near Venedos."

Cliff appeared to ponder this a moment, his chin supported by one hand. "Hey, aren't they the newest addition to the Federation?"

"Under duress, yes."

"Ah. So they'll be happy to see us, then?"

Mirage smiled vaguely. "Don't be so sure, Cliff. Approximately seventy years ago, Klaus had a hand in their subservience and eventual dependence on the Federation."

"Oh. Not happy to see us. Ah, hell. Should we stop there?"

Nel looked back and forth between the two. "Why would we?"

Cliff shrugged. "Something to do? We're mediators, you remember. We go, we ask if they feel they've been improperly represented on the Federation council...then we do...things..."

"How eloquent," Nel observed dryly.

Albel was wondering why the hell they were having this conversation. It was utterly pointless, nothing more than an expository acclamation of facts that weren't necessary to their knowledge.

"Besides," Cliff added finally. "It's basically my diplomatic duty to see if any reparations can be made between our two great peoples." He swept his arms out dramatically. Mirage was able to overlook this gesture completely.

"Do you think there'll be a problem here, Cliff?"

"Naw," he said confidently, giving his partner a thumb's up. "I've got this hunch, see..."

"Ah," Mirage said in a tone of enlightenment that was not at all reassuring.

"Tell you what," Cliff ventured. "Let's just hang in their orbit until they hail us. Let 'em know we don't mean 'em any harm or anything. If they want us to come down, they'll ask, eh?"

Mirage hid a smirk with one gloved hand. "Roger."

-

Although Albel had his suspicions that Cliff had a hand in it, Mirage had declined her sleep-cycle, citing that Klausians required less sleep than other races, and insisted that he get more rest. This time, wisely, he'd chosen the top bunk. Nel hadn't protested this changing of the arrangements, but he'd sensed her lying awake for quite some time. The kitten, nestled in the crook of his good arm, was purring happily. He only hoped that the hellion wouldn't want to get down. It might fall and kill itself.

He wasn't sure when he drifted off, but when he woke, he was screaming. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and he raked out instinctively, claws flexed with tension.

Nel gasped, and staggered backwards with the utterance of a soft little cry. Albel draped his hand over his face and clenched his fist tightly over his eyes. "That was stupid," he informed her coldly.

She didn't answer, and so he pushed himself up onto an elbow to glare down on her. She was looking at him with wide eyes, one hand clasped to her cheek. When she pulled it away, it was sticky with blood, and three long, deep gashes scored her face.

"Well..." she said shakily, wiping blood from her mouth. Though he'd never been a good judge of other people's emotions, he sensed the adrenaline rush that was keeping her from crying out in pain.

"Nel?!" Cliff banged loudly on the hatch, and it slid open before him as he stepped across the threshold. He took in the scene with a tight-lipped frown that turned into a full-blown expression of rage. "Mirage!" He half-yelled. The woman was there in a heartbeat, swiping her water-laden bangs from her face. "Get a medkit." With these words, Nel was ushered from the room. She went with surprising meekness. Shock, Albel diagnosed distantly. The next thing he knew, however, he was up against the wall, Cliff's hand twisted in the fabric of his shirt.

"Well?" the blonde demanded in anger.

"Well what," Albel remarked without the intonation that would mark it as a question. Cliff lifted him higher. His intimidation tactics might have worked on a few people, but not one that had spent as long as he had in Airyglyph's dungeons. Albel snorted.

"If you don't start talkin', I'm gonna rip your head off your shoulders. Don't," the Klausian growled dangerously. "Think for a minute that I can't."

"Maggot," Albel leered at him, entirely unmindful of the fact that he was at least a foot off the ground. "It's none of your business."

The two glared at each other a moment, and then, disgustedly, Cliff tossed him about as easily as a rag-doll to the opposite side of the room. Albel staggered, caught his balance, and would have retaliated with severity had Mirage not immediately stepped between the two, her back to him, her hands against Cliff's shoulders. He fought her a moment, and then heaved a sigh of immense irritation.

"Just let me hit him once, Mirage. It won't take more than that--"

"Cliff," Mirage said quietly. The man heaved a sigh of immense irritation and he scowled at Albel over Mirage's shoulder.

"It wasn't his fault," Nel spoke up from the door. How Mirage had managed to get her treated so fast was something of a mystery to him. The wounds had been covered efficiently with gauze, though they were already reddened in blood. "Cliff, he was--"

Albel was entirely unwilling to let the oaf know of his nightmares. "Doing exactly what he's wanted to do for a while."

Nel looked at him, and he expected she would have frowned, had she not been entirely too aware of her injury. Instead, she glanced back to Cliff. "Nevermind," she said tritely. "Hit him all you like."

Albel squared his shoulders and straightened his shirt. It wasn't his usual style, instead it was black and far more conservative, but that beast of a man had still done a number on it. The collar had been torn, and he picked at a stray string. To say that he was afraid of the other man would be a blatant lie. He'd had more frightening things for breakfast. If the oaf intended on hitting him, well. He'd realize that Albel Nox had more than his fair share of combat experience.

Mirage gave him a quelling glance. "You two," she said to both Cliff and Nel. "Do you think you can handle the ship?"

"Mirage, what's your poin--"

"I'm feeling very tired," she said demurely. "So I'm going to have to ask you to take over, Cliff."

"But we're just hanging in orbit, there's no reas--!"

"Cliff." How she managed to cow the man with a single word was beyond Albel's comprehension. He earned one final glare from Cliff before he turned and stalked out of the room with a muttered: "...Yes ma'am."

Nel didn't take so much convincing. She nodded to Mirage, avoided looking at the swordsman completely and left. Only when the door hissed shut behind her did Mirage sigh and turn to him.

"If you knew you were going to be having nightmares to which you violently react," she began quietly. "You should have told me. I would have given you something to help you sleep."

Truly, the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"She told me," Mirage supplied, misreading his surprised expression. "Because if she hadn't, I probably would have let Cliff beat you up. And I would have helped." She offered a smile. "We don't bite, you know. Would it kill you to be nicer?"

She was reminding him horribly of his mother. She'd always had this astounding ability to be utterly calm while he was fuming inside, and had on more than one occasion managed to re-direct his animosity with her gentle words alone.

He wasn't angry at Cliff, or even Nel. Who he was angry at, he thought bitterly, was himself.

"I didn't mea--"

"Shh." Mirage set a finger to her lips. "I'm not the one that needs convincing."

He hated that she was right.

"Now. Cliff mentioned a kitten?"

As though on cue, the abomination mewled. The sound came from under the bottom bunk, and Mirage crouched down to coax it out. "Did you want something?" She said after a while. "To help you sleep, I mean. There's any number of things I could give you, if you wanted to stop the nightmares."

Albel glanced down at his hand, which was, to his dismay, trembling somewhat. He frowned and clenched it into a fist. "I don't have any need for your --"

"Careful," the woman cautioned him. "I may not be as quick to anger as Cliff is, but insulting me is not the quickest way to get on my good side."

He shut his mouth and, for lack of a better term, sulked. Mirage, looking up at him, laughed as she cradled the cat against her chest. "We haven't tried to hurt you," she said curiously. "So why this act? You can't say that's not what you're afraid of."

He remained silent, hoping that if she didn't get enough of a response, she'd just shut up and go away.

"Promise me something?" she asked after observing this latest bout of silence.

"I don't owe you anythi--"

"Actually...I could have let Cliff hurt you. I don't really want to bring that up, but if you're going to be this way..." she smiled at him. "Promise me that you won't take too long to apologize to Nel. I could have healed her fully, but that would have taken too much time. She was rather insistent we return as soon as possible to ensure we wouldn't be scraping you off the floor." She scratched the kitten fondly and the traitorous creature looked as contented as possible.

He folded his arms. "Why aren't you mad at me?"

That damnable smile was downright disconcerting. "We all have nightmares, Albel."

He had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

-