Author's Note: "Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves." Blaise Pascal

"Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great." Comte DeBussy-Rabutin

Across the Stars

A faint light from the illuminated city drifted through the sheer, limp curtains around the window of her hospital room when Amara awoke. She looked over at Jonathan sleeping in the drab brown chair by her bed, his head cocked at an uncomfortable angle. I'm awake and still dreaming. Not quite suppressing a smile, she pushed off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her left leg was wrapped, and she gingerly tested her weight on it before standing. It's amazing I don't just fall apart. She limped toward a dresser at the other end of the room, putting as little pressure on her leg as possible and hoping that her clothes were in there—the mint green drape she was wearing hung off her slim shoulders like a tent. She was halfway there when:

"You're not supposed to walk on that leg for another day or two."

"I'm just getting some decent clothes," Amara replied, feeling like a teenager caught sneaking out as she hobbled the rest of the way to the dresser. She slid open a drawer. Her clothes lay neatly folded on the bottom. Jonathan's warm hand closed over hers and pressed the drawer shut. Amara threw him a dirty look and huffed, wondering how he managed to move so silently, as she tried to yank the drawer open again, but he was stronger than her. Giving up, she turned to face him, sighing, "Jonathan, please…" But her plea turned into a shriek as he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the bed. "Jonathan! What are you doing?"

"Enforcing the doctor's orders."

"I can walk," she replied indignantly.

"Right," Jonathan said and let go of her for a moment so that she had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling. He laughed.

"If I'm so fragile, you should treat me with more respect."

Jonathan laid her on the bed, leaning forward to kiss her lightly, before sitting on the mattress edge. "Don't plan on me waiting on you hand and foot."

"Of course not, sergeant, you may be my sedan, but Marcus will serve me breakfast in bed, and Beloda can fetch the newspaper."

"I'll be sure to inform them of their new duties," he said and reached out to lace his fingers with hers.

Amara bit her lip on another one of those goofy grins she'd been prone to lately. He squeezed her hand. An airspeeder flashed past the window, it's headlights casting shadows on the wall and throwing Jonathan's face into brilliant relief, darkness clinging to the edges. His eyes smoldered. And a whisper of disquiet stirred in Amara's heart—she wished he hadn't been the one to kill Dr. Rave, wished she had never seen the cruelty in his eyes as he'd tortured Rave to death. In that moment, she saw him, captured forever in the blinding white light of the airspeeder, the white knight's armor stained red with blood, the blue-black eyes that had seen too much of life and death, felt the comforting presence of his hand in hers, and knew she loved him. The light passed. The room dimmed.

"Ask me," she said, her eyes locking with his.

She felt him tense. "Ask what?"

A knowing smirk played about her mouth. "Where I'm from."

The relief was evident in his voice: "Where are you from?"

Amara leaned back against the headboard and looked out the window at the city that may have been New York. She was faraway from that place, on the porch of an old bungalow under elms, staring up at a blue sky so wide you could trip and fall up into its azure waves—storm clouds, struck purple and orange by the sun, were building on the horizon. "Earth."

Amara's breathing was slow and regular, her face composed in sleep, as the first fresh light of dawn broke through the silver skyscrapers to kiss her pale face. Jonathan leaned against the wall across the room, arms crossed over his chest, watching the sunrise and imagining another sun rising over a lonely little blue-green planet, swirling with white clouds, that didn't know anyone else existed. A planet untouched by the universe—that's what Rave had wanted from her initially. And she'd protected it—protected a home that probably hadn't noticed she was missing. Jonathan turned to look at her prone form. The starriness of her eyes, her voice when she spoke of Earth ("Not the most original name, I know," she laughed)—she was homesick, and he wished he knew a way to take her home, but that was near impossible. She knew that—"a needle in a haystack," she'd called it. She hadn't told him everything yet, but it was a start, and they had talked well into the early hours of the morning until he had insisted she sleep.

"Ask me." Jonathan smiled ruefully at his reaction to her request—he'd thought…well, it'd been a ridiculous thought, but even now his chest tightened when he replayed her whispered words in his head:

Amara hung on the edges of sleep. "Jonathan," she sighed, her eyes closed, "When I said 'ask me' you thought I…meant 'ask me to marry you'…?"

"Yes."

She smiled. "Would," she yawned, "would you have…asked…me?"

He waited until she was asleep before answering: "Yes."

There was a light rap on the door. He glanced at Amara—she was still asleep—before striding silently to the door which glided open before he reached it, flooding the room with harsh, manufactured light. Marcus stood silhouetted in the doorway, his usually carefree face serious. A sliver of dread threaded it's way around Jonathan's heart as he followed Marcus out into the sterile hospital hallway, closing the door behind him.

"What is it?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"We've been pulled off leave," Marcus replied, his voice flat.

Dammit. Jonathan ran a hand through his black hair, unconsciously glancing in the direction of Amara. "How long do I have?"

Marcus shook his head and laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Briefing's in an hour, and from what I understand, we leave directly from there."

"What's happened?"

"I don't know, sergeant."

Jonathan closed his eyes, blocking out Marcus and the lights and the knowledge that the woman he loved was sleeping a few steps away. He took a deep breath as if he were about to dive into the ocean, and straightened his shoulders. He knew what he had to do. "Go on ahead, Marcus. I'll catch up." Marcus nodded, pity registering in his brown eyes, before he turned and walked slowly down the hallway.

Jonathan opened Amara's door and closed it behind him. The dreamy morning light that filled the room didn't touch him—he was a shadow among shadows as he moved beside her bed. Amara stirred in her sleep. He knelt so that their faces were level and tenderly ran his fingers through her hair and down her face. She opened her eyes, still dewy with sleep, and smiled.

"Good morning," she said and bit her lip, her cheeks pink. Jonathan found he couldn't answer, his thumb kept skimming the curve of her mouth. She frowned and caught his hand in both of hers. "Jonathan, what's wrong?" A hot lump rose in his throat. The movement was instinctual, the last cry of his heart screaming that he needed her, and he stood, pulling her up with him, and hugged her to his chest. She clung to him, her eyes teary, afraid of what she didn't know.

"I've been pulled off leave, Amara."

"What? Where are you going?"

"I haven't been briefed yet." Jonathan leaned back so that he could see her face. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line as she struggled to keep her emotions in control, to be brave. They both knew that missions the Knights were assigned to were especially dangerous and uncertain. Until now, Jonathan had never considered what would happen if he died.

"When?" she whispered, not looking at him.

"Now." He felt her tremble, but the gray-green eyes that rose to his were dark and resigned. Her brave smile cracked. A small sob broke past her lips. And he kissed her for what could be the last time.

"I love you," he said against her mouth when they pulled apart. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a mirthless smile.

"I know."

Amara lay awake, curled on her side on the small bed in her darkened quarters aboard the Seeker II. The cell-like room had no windows—the darkness was broken only by the faint blue glow of the clock, lending the surroundings a ghostly look of unreality. The crushing tightness in her chest was gone: it'd died with Dr. Rave, but the memory remained along with a rekindled longing for home. She'd known enough pain—enough death—and now, as she listened to the hum of the ship, the footsteps passing her door, new fears gnawed at her, like a needles under her skin. Earth and home were only dreams, and even if those wildest of dreams came to pass, and she found her home planet, what if it wasn't home anymore? Where do I belong? And Jonathan—Jonathan…was gone. She tried to push that thought away as she had for the past week, but the voice in her head would not be silenced. It was a dream. Amara's eyes burned. She was glad the light was blue.

There in the dark, surrounded by a ship's-worth of people, and utterly alone, the realities of her situation washed over her in waves. There was no villain to fight, no castle in the sky, no love everlasting, just the harsh, unforgiving universe—a universe she didn't belong in. I have no money, no home…nothing. She pressed her face into her already damp pillow, holding back her sobs until it seemed her throat would tear apart. I don't know where he is. I don't know if he's alive or hurt or dead.

The orders had come a week ago, only a day after Jonathan had wrapped her in his arms and turned her away from the gruesome sight of Dr. Rave's corpse and told her it was over (Amara choked on her tears as she remembered the love in his eyes—unguarded, unchecked—when he'd looked at her.). He'd left her lost and stranded in the middle of a hospital bed, and when the nurse had come in with her breakfast, Amara had announced that she wanted to leave.

"Of course, dear, once Doctor Kranlik gives the okay," the alien nurse said, setting the breakfast tray on the bed.

"Then could you please get him."

"Doctor Kranlik is…"

"I don't care," Amara cut in, her voice ice, "Get him now."

"Of course I will, dear," the nurse replied consolingly, "Just calm down."

When the doctor did arrive, he was quick to insist that Amara stay at least one more day, and threatened to keep her there by force if she didn't cooperate. "And now that that's settled, we must discuss the subject of payment…" Amara's stomach dropped. She had no money, no insurance (if they even had that here). The doctor must have seen the terror cross her face because he was quick to add: "You'll be happy to know that Sgt. Knight has already taken care of your medical expenses, so you have nothing to worry about…"

Amara laughed into her pillow, a desperate, strangled sound. Nothing to worry about. She reached beneath her pillow and withdrew a small black disk. She pressed the button on edge, and a miniature Jonathan stood in the palm of her hand. His voice filled the room. Sunlight on an endless black plain.

"Amara, I've spoken with Vice Admiral Harris, and he's agreed to let you stay in my quarters aboard the Belkadan base. Also, there's a scientist there mapping the Unknown Regions. You should talk to him about Earth. I'll meet you there."

The message fizzled and died. The darkness in its wake was complete. But clutched in Amara's hand was a spark of hope.

A/N: It's the end of The Last Prisoner but certainly not the end of Jonathan and Amara. When I started the story, I didn't expect to write a sequel, but things happened (especially in this last chapter) that made it inevitable. I'm going to take a break from writing for a while and recharge before I start Star-crossed.