Chapter Thirteen: The Dance

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And so their dance around each other began.

Days turned into weeks and Malcolm's recovery continued. He still had a little over a week before the casting material came off but his shoulder was healed. She was still fighting him…fighting the inevitable.

It was like dancing, following a set of preordained steps. Every morning Hoshi woke up and left the camp, returning a few hours later with their daily meals of fish and fruit. She would bicker with him that he was doing too much, never quite meeting his eye and always avoiding direct contact with him.

She seemed skittish but feisty.

He could hardly wait for the cast to come off.

"I'll be back before the sun sets," she informed him as she slung the fish over her shoulder and onto the table. "I'll make a water run today too."

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice fill with concern for she looked tired.

Pulling a backpack over her shoulder, she announced, "I'm going to look for the phase pistol."

"No, you're not," he said defensively, limping toward her.

"Yes, I am," she laughed and started to walk past him.

Blocking her path, Malcolm caught her arm. "We don't need it. You're using the knife to spear the fish. We have the plasma torch for fire. The phase pistol was a convenience. We don't need it."

"How can you say that?" she asked, finally looking up at him. "Look at what happened to you."

She was chewing the inside of her cheek and he could see the guilt in her eyes. "You're not blaming yourself for what happened to me, are you?"

She looked down at his bare chest, her eyes lingering on the scar on his shoulder. "You could have just stunned the bear if you'd had the phase pistol."

Giving her a little shake, he pulled her to him. "That's not true. Anything could have happened. I could have been gone, and you would have been alone. You could have –"

His self-recrimination was cut short as her lips brushed against his. It was unassuming and unexpected and over before it began. Did he imagine the kiss? Was he so desperate to have her that he was hallucinating?

Sighing against his lips, she tried to pull away.

"You need a day off," he murmured, running his hands up and down her arms. "You need to slow down. We've got enough water for the entire week. If you get sick, I'll have nobody to take care of me."

She chuckled and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. "I've spoiled you."

"Rotten," he confirmed with a smirk.

She was the one who broke their embrace, Malcolm letting her take the lead.

"Well. I guess I could clean the fish and –"

"That's my job," Malcolm interjected, limping to the table and grabbing the fish before she could get to them. "Why don't you go and get some rest. I'll have lunch ready in an hour."

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"Why don't we skip lunch and both go take a nap?" she wanted to say, but walked past him and into the shuttle.

She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

--

He didn't have the heart to wake her up. He let her sleep past dinner, wrapping some of the fish and setting it aside for her. The sun had set an hour ago and the temperature was dropping. This planet's weather pattern was bizarre, tropical during the day and arctic at night.

It was dangerously cold after the sun went down, and he wasn't about to let her go wandering about. Something could happen to her. She could run into one of those creatures or, even worse, she could get lost.

She had a point, though. They needed to find the phase pistol. If Tucker and his men ever found their way through the nebula, they would need it.

They had been on this planet for a little over six months now. He'd assessed the shuttle the week they had crashed and he'd come to the realization there was no way he would be able to make the necessary repairs. There weren't enough supplies.

That's why he focused on survival.

It was all he could do at this point. He had to keep her alive. It was no longer a matter of duty. It was a matter of need.

He needed her, and he'd never needed anybody.

It was disconcerting and becoming more frustrating for him on a day-by-day basis. This morning had tested his resolve mightily.

Her timid kiss had undone him. He'd had wanted to extend the kiss, but she had pulled away.

She was so focused now. She wasn't the flighty, self-important royal any more. She was a woman.

And he wanted that woman.

He'd sell his soul to have her. In a way he was glad he couldn't repair the ship. He had her all to himself, no competition from someone taller, more attractive, or stronger. There were no crowds chanting her name like some demi-goddess, and more importantly, no imagined assassins around every corner.

He could protect her against the imagined assassins, but could he protect her from nature, or more importantly, from himself?

She stirred in her sleep as though feeling the turmoil of his thoughts. He stepped back when she opened her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled, her voice still silky with sleep. "Are you okay?"

Turning away, Malcolm said nothing and hobbled to his cot and sat down, facing her and pulling his blanket over his legs and lap.

Staring at her as she pulled her blanket over her shoulders and shivered, he smiled. "There's some fish by the door if you're hungry."

Hoshi looked out the shuttle window. "Why didn't you wake me? I had so much to do. I've wasted an entire day."

His smile broadened. She definitely wasn't the same woman he'd met eight months ago.

"I'm not hungry," Hoshi stated, glaring at him.

"You need to eat. You've lost weight."

"Of course I've lost weight. I haven't been invited to any delectable banquets with the beautiful ice sculptures. And I've cut out the sweets."

Malcolm smiled at her remark.

Bowing her head, Hoshi sighed. "I miss chocolate."

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"What about you?" she asked. "What do you miss?"

"I never cared for sweets," he acknowledged.

"What about a favorite food?" she pressed.

He thought for a moment, trying to recall something…anything that would seem like a plausible answer. The only thing he could think of at the moment he wanted to taste was her, and he couldn't admit that.

Hoshi pulled her blanket tighter and smiled. "Oh, come on! Everybody has a favorite food."

"Fish," he blurted out irritably.

She gasped, seemingly surprised at his outburst. "Well," she drawled. "It's a good thing you crash-landed near a plentiful stream. When we're rescued, I will never eat another fish again. Shellfish maybe, and shrimp. But no fish.

Her mention of a rescue dampened his spirits. The only way they were going to get off this planet was if he turned on the beacon. And that wasn't going to happen. The only people looking for her were those who wished her harm. "What if we aren't rescued?"

--

TBC