Once in the elevator, James leaned on the wall and slid to the floor, looking at his bloodied knuckles, unable to believe he had just done that. Pigma had been his friend for years, his comrade, they had saved each others' lives.
He tried to kill me. I even knew it was coming.
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped away the blood as best he could, flexing his sore hands. Somehow, punching Pigma had been like punching brick, no matter how overweight he was. He huffed, leaning his head back and staring the ceiling. It was done. He was legally dead and on the other side, wearing a Venomian uniform. He had just beat the unholy bullshit out of someone who used to be his friend.
God, who am I anymore?
James drug himself back up before the door opened, looking at the printout Andross had gave him, then flipping it around, then again. Ship map his ass, more like ship maze. Where was his room? He stood there, scratching his head, and sighed. Now he remembered why he hated large cruisers.
"… James?"
He jumped about three feet in the air, turning. "Uh. Hi, Marisa." He said weakly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. He hadn't wanted to run into her this soon, he wasn't really ready, but here she was, smiling at him curiously, only a few feet away.
"I've been looking around for you the last few days." She remarked.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't here. I just got back." He smiled weakly. "Um, look, I'm not used to this ship. I'm hopelessly lost. Do you know where, um…" He showed her the sheet of paper, wanting to hit himself for how badly he was screwing this up. So much for dignity!
She took the printout, reading the room number. "Oh, you got off a level early silly!"
Dear god. So much for intelligence as well!
"It is a really strange system, it took me three days to figure out how rooms are coded here. Don't feel bad." She handed it back to him, smiling. "Come on, I'll take you there."
"Thank you." He said in some relief, some dismay as she grabbed his hand and yanked him back into the elevator. It took a moment for that to hit his conscious mind, that her hand was in his, and he held it back for a second. It was her hands, the hands he remembered… He shook off a bit, preventing his mind from going too far into his memories.
"So what do you do on this ship anyway?" She asked as they got back off the elevator, still leading him by his hand.
"Well, not much right now. I'm a noncombatant. I'll probably end up in strategy or deployment or something."
"New guy eh?"
"You could say that."
"I can relate. Oh, this is it!" They stopped in front of a door, her taking the paper back from him. "Andross must like you. You've got a private room."
"Purely professional relationship I assure you." He said weakly. "He's an odd duck, so to speak."
She blinked at him, then smiled. "Yes, yes he is." There was along silence, during which she realized she still had his hand, only inches from him, looking up at him. It was comfortable, almost… familiar. He was older then her, by at least ten years she guessed, aging well but silver starting to fleck in along the bottom of his muzzle, aged jean-blue eyes looking at her softly. She looked back for a second, and got uneasy at the depth in his eyes. He looked so sad, like ten thousand tears hadn't been shed, but so tender, like…
She dropped his hand. "I'm sorry, I…"
"No. It's ok. Thank you for showing me. I'll try to remember where it is." He mustered a weak smile. "And for future reference, where's a mess hall?"
"Oh, uh… back to the elevator we took, two floors up, straight ahead."
"Thank you again." He took her hand back and kissed it again, the slightest of touches, breath whispering over her hand. "I will probably see you later."
"I imagine so." She nearly whispered, and fled down the corridor to the safety of the elevator, pressing her back against the wall, looking at her hand. She could still feel the warmth of him exhaling, and it had made her spine tingle.
God, what was wrong with her? This ship was full of men, many of which seemed very sweet, many of which were younger and better looking then James McCloud. Andross had told her she was 28, and she had accepted that as truth, she looked like she'd be about 28 when she stood in a mirror. So why be drawn to someone who seemed to be at least 35, probably closer to 40?
Because no other man had looked at her like she was their entire world, their entire soul. Really it probably meant something was bent in his head, Andross had said that there were some rather messed up people here, but that they wouldn't hurt her… or maybe he wasn't messed up, just liked women? She huffed, shaking off. She'd try to ignore it, she decided. But she would ask Andross about him.
James closed the door and leaned on it, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, bonking it repeatedly. Stupid idiot! He had made a fool out of himself at the worst possible time. But her touch… he hugged himself, he knew those hands, they had pulled him close, held him tight, touched him softly. He let out a shuddering breath, mind swept by the memory of her over him, her hands propped on his chest so she could look down at him, hair draping. He remembered the heaving rhythm of his breathing, her whispering call, how finally after fighting for so long he had found peace, unity. Love. And a month later, she told him she was pregnant…
His hands curled into fists, electricity riding his body for a few seconds. Dammit, enough of that! Don't think about that now, not now, take it out somewhere else… He looked around, and seeing the door, opened it. A bathroom, with shower included. Thank god. He blasted it to cold and stripped, stepping in and leaning into the icy flow, shivers countering his heaving chest, letting discomfort drive lust from his body. Enough. Even if she decided he was worthy… it may be weeks, months before he finally got to spend all that built up tension, and he knew it.
He turned off the water and shook, sending droplets flying everywhere, drying off and looking for something to exercise in. Sure enough, the dresser was full of clothing in his size, and he changed, making the terminal in his room give him directions before heading for the nearest recreation area.

"James McCloud? HERE?" One of the pilots gaped, staring at Wolf, who shook his head.
"Workin for Andross, you believe that?" Andrew replied. "And get this: if any of us who know leak to Corneria about it, he's got the death penalty instated. And he'll personally carry it out."
"Your uncle is a bit… crazy, man." Another soldier said.
"Yeah, I don't get it, but he was deathly serious…. Whoa, quiet…"
Everyone turned, watching James enter in exercise gear, look around, and walk over to a punching bag. He had cords trailing from his ears: apparently he had managed to bring a personal music player on board. He was nodding as he stepped into a stance, and started working out, each strike sending the punching bag swinging back, and he worked it into his rhythm.
"He fucking scares me, man." Andrew finally said, looking at Wolf.
"I imagine that is a smart fear." Wolf replied quietly, watching every move James made. That combat engine, tuned. Why was James McCloud here? What did Andross have that he wanted? He wanted to find out. He still wasn't fond with the situation. It was like having a ticking bomb on board with an invisible timer.
James closed his eyes, spending all the testosterone he could on the punching bag, then giving up and moving to the empty floorspace meant for sparing, bowing to no one and going into his move routine, one pattern flowing to another. Eventually he sensed his airspace was disturbed, and stopped in cat stance, opening his eyes and looking at Wolf, who stood nearby with two bo staffs. He lifted an eyebrow, and caught one automatically when Wolf tossed it to him, stepping onto the floor warily, then circling. James straightened and also circled, staff under his arm and behind his back.
"Brave man, considering you saw what I did to Pigma." James said by way of greeting.
"You looked like you needed a sparing partner." Wolf replied.
"Maybe. You any good with these?"
"I prefer chain weapons, but I'm fine with polearms."
"Good enough! ATTACK!"
Wolf wasn't prepared for James' speed, and had to block at the last second, the two leaning into each other and glaring into each other's eyes. Then they pushed away from each other, and Wolf tossed his eyepatch away, letting James see his white damaged eye.
"Who gave you that?" James asked, spinning the staff.
"Long story." Wolf lunged, only to get parried away, and the two locked into endless blocking and parrying. It didn't take long for Wolf to realize that James was working with the beat pumping in his ears, and took a chance and broke the beat, trying to strike James. But he was alert, bending backwards and watching the blow go over him, then striking back, tripping Wolf.
James laughed and pulled the headphones out, looking down at the younger man. "You think I got absorbed?"
"Damn it." Was Wolf's only reply, glaring up at him, and burst out, "Why are you working for my Emperor?"
James stood there, then huffed, tossing the bo to one of the others who had been standing watching them. "O'Donnel, if you really think of that man as your Emperor, you're much more screwed up then I thought."
"But that's my point! You don't!"
"He and I have a business deal. That's it. When the war ends, no matter how it ends, that deal comes to a close." He offered his hand to Wolf, scowling when it wasn't taken. "Take it O'Donnel. I'm not giving you a second chance."
Wolf blinked, gaping when he realized what was being implied, and accepted James' hand, standing. "So you aren't on our side at all?"
"Not truly. No. But I'm not against you either." He touched his brow with his hand and left the recreation room, tail swinging easily behind him.
"The hell was that all about?" Andrew asked, joining Wolf.
"I'm not sure." Wolf admitted. "But I think… maybe it was trust."

"Andross?" Marisa leaned into the lab cautiously, and smiled when she saw him in the middle of the lab, surrounded by drones, which were sending harmless laser beams at him. One by one they were crashing to the ground, this scientist able to dodge and weave, air blurring as telekinetic blasts took out one after the other. This was his version of aerobics, improving on his powers day after day through practice. She laughed and clapped as he bent to the side and flung both hands out, sending two flying to shatter on the walls.
"Marisa! It's ok dear, I'm almost done…" One more strike-out and the last three combusted in midair. "There. Now how can I do for you, dear?" He smiled at her, that same caring smile she had seen when she had awoke on this ship.
"I wanted to ask you about someone actually." She said, hopping up to sit on a desk, watching as he ordered a cleaning robot to take care of the mess.
"One of the ship staff? Well it's only a chance that I know them, I can't keep track of everyone." He took a drink from his coffee mug.
"He says you know him. A James McCloud?"
He almost dropped the mug, looking at her, and managed a smile. "Ah, ran into him again eh?"
"Yes. I helped him find his room. He was lost." She kicked a foot, looking for words. "I was hoping you could tell me about him. He gave the impression you two were at least well acquainted."
"Not sure about that, but we do know some things about each other." He took another drink. "He's a good man, and a great soldier. One of the best in the system, hands down."
"Then why isn't he actually fighting for you? He told me he was a noncombatant."
"He's got other talents then fighting. I don't want him killed." He said delicately. He had never really explained the other side of the war to her, and getting into James' past would be difficult to do. "We have… sort of a gentlemen's business deal, him and I."
"Well, is there anything I should know about him?"
"Well, he's a fairly stable individual if that's what you mean. Depression sometimes, that's the only thing he was ever diagnosed with. There's no reason you can't associate with him. Why?"
She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I don't know. He just seems really eerily familiar. And the way he looks at me is weird too. Like he knows me but isn't letting on."
"I can't help you there." He set down his mug. "But I can tell you this. In all my years of brain research, I'm fairly sure that there is such thing as racial memory. And there's also such thing as soul mates." He spread his hands helplessly. "Total and utterly defying reason but existing all the same."
"Are you implying something?"
"Oh, hell Marisa, I don't know what I'm implying. I suppose I'm saying if you feel like you know him, maybe you did at some point." He set his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her upper arms softly. "Look, you're more like a little sister to me then anything else. I just don't want you hurt, and I don't think McCloud would ever hurt you in any way. But if you want to know more about him, you're really better off asking him yourself."
She sighed and nodded, covering his hands with hers. "Thanks. Heh, you don't think he's too old for me?"
"Sweetheart, I'm not worried about that."
She nodded and hopped off the table. "Are we really going to war?" This was a flat, serious question.
"Well, not this ship. This is strictly a command vessel. But my armada… yes, it will be. Don't worry about it. As it stands, they don't have a chance in hell."
She managed a smile and left, going to the elevator and waiting for it to come. Well, that had done nothing to settle her uneasy. It didn't explain why James would look at her like that. And why had Andross hinted at the whole 'soul mate' thing? Did he think that she and James possibly were?
She got on the elevator and hovered her hand there, then hit the floor so she could go to hydroponics. She'd work up the guts to speak to James later, she decided. They had time, right?