Chapter 1: Breathing

I'm finding my way back to sanity again
Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there
I take a breath and hold on tight
Spin around one more time
And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace

Alan Virdon stood in a hallway, staring at a door. After a few moments, he raised a hand to press the buzzer but froze before making contact, then dropped it as he let out a gusty sigh. The other hand absently combed through his blonde beard, fingers buried in the full growth under his chin. With a sharp shake of his head, Virdon stabbed the door buzzer, then pulled himself into parade rest out of habit. At least having his hands clasped behind his back quieted any fidgeting as he waited.

The door opened with a quiet swish, and Malachi regarded Alan with a cocked eyebrow and half-smirk. "I was beginning to wonder if the buzzer was busted, or if you were going to stand out there all day," he quipped as he stood aside to let Virdon enter his quarters.

"How did you—? Oh, never mind," he shook his head and stepped past the older man. "Of course you knew I was out there."

Mal waved at a chair then took a seat opposite. "What can I do for you this morning, Alan?" he prompted when Virdon remained standing tensely next to the proffered chair.

"I—, well, I know it's not our regular time, but I was hoping you had some time to talk. If you don't, I can wait until our appointment tomorrow." He looked sheepishly at the floor, the door, anywhere but at the older man's face. When the Council had first mandated that he work with Malachi to process the trauma from his captivity with the Kirtland androids, along with all the older baggage of his time as a fugitive since their crash, he'd balked. Despite his constant urging for Burke to talk about his issues, Virdon had not been willing to burden his friends—one of them a junior officer under his command. He'd been through psychological evaluations during his military training but admitting to PTSD would have had serious repercussions to his career. His sessions with Malachi, where he could speak freely without fear of judgement, quickly became something he appreciated.

"I have some time, but only if you sit down before I get a crick in my neck." After the astronaut complied, the angel leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Better. Now, what's got you all riled up?"

Virdon leaned back and propped one ankle on the knee of the other leg; his casual pose was belied by his fingers drumming on the soft fabric of the armrests. Malachi matched his posture, but steepled his fingers under his chin instead. His eyes narrowed as he studied Virdon's face while the astronaut struggled to order his thoughts enough to begin the conversation. They both held the silence as it grew, neither rushing to break it.

Virdon's gaze finally lifted level with Mal's. "I hate how this sounds, but I had a dream last night. I never used to put much stock in dreams, even though Sal—my wife treated her own dreams like prophetic visions sometimes. A week wouldn't go by without her telling me about some dream or another that she'd had and what it meant about my mission or about Chris, or some other nonsense. But since we arrived here in Alba, I've been having very lucid dreams that seem to have meaning about people around me. And most of them have not been very pleasant."

Malachi nodded. "So what about this dream made you want to tell me?"

"Honestly, you were in it."

"Huh," the angel grunted, "Not sure if I'm frightened or flattered. Or was I what made this one unpleasant?"

"No, nothing like that," Alan chuckled. "Actually, your presence was very comforting. You were, uh," he hesitated, suddenly feeling abashed now that he had to say the words, "you were performing a wedding… a, uh, bonding ceremony," he corrected quickly to the Alban term.

Malachi could feel the turmoil quickly building in Virdon. Whatever had happened in his dream created a strong mix of sorrow and betrayal. With Burke and Zeke preparing for their bonding in the near future, he wondered if Alan felt betrayal at Burke's decision to create a life that didn't center around his commander's quest for a way to return home. "And? Who were the lucky participants?"

Virdon's eyes suddenly dropped to focus on his hands that began to wring and twist in his lap. "I—," his voice cracked. He coughed to clear his throat, but his voice remained husky and broken. "I was marrying Miriam."

"Alan." Malachi leaned forward in his chair. "Why do you look like a man who was just sentenced to death row? A bonding is a joyous experience. And you and Miriam have been connecting—"

"There's more," the younger man interrupted. "It started out joyous, Malachi, it really did." His eyes misted over. "Miriam was beautiful. Pete was there as my best man. Everything I could want for a special day." He trailed off, trying to force the next words from a throat that had begun to squeeze closed.

"What happened then?" the angel prompted softly.

Alan's gaze had fallen to the floor again, but Malachi could see the skin around his lips blanche as the blood drained from his face. When he looked up again, dark circles had surfaced around his eyes, moist with unshed tears. "When you got to the part about anyone objecting, Sally—," he choked on the word. "Sally appeared in the back of the room." He raised a shaking hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a sudden headache.

"Did she speak?" Malachi pushed feelings of calm and peace, trying to counteract the despair blazing through the room like a beacon.

"Not in words. She… she just wailed—a keening like someone experiencing a devastating loss. I've watched wives make that sound when told that their husbands had died in the line of duty. I never thought I'd have to hear my own wife make it.

"But that wasn't the worst part, Malachi. It was how she looked. Not like I remember her, not like the last time I saw her before we lifted off. She—she looked like a corpse." His voice hitched again, and a tear slid down one cheek. "She was dead," he said with a flat finality. At that point, he had woken from the dream in a cold sweat and barely made it to the bathroom before dry heaving into the toilet. The image of Sally with waxy skin, blue lips, and dark sunken eyes still haunted him. Her mouth, a permanent "O" of anguish, revealed blackened tongue, teeth, and gums. Her hair, once shiny cornsilk, hung in dull, dirty strands. Although not present in the dream, his imagination supplied a stench of decay. He felt bile rising in his throat and swallowed hard.

Malachi reached out to lightly grip Alan's knee and felt the other man's grief wash over him through the physical contact. He lowered his head, eyes closed, both as a show of respect as well as an opportunity to more deeply read the other man's emotional state. This dream, much as it had rattled Virdon, showed a shift in his thinking about the past and present. For possibly the first time, the astronaut—or at least his subconscious mind—had visualized Sally differently from his last image of her. It signaled that he was truly beginning to accept her as gone from his life and allow him to properly grieve. He could finally move on.

Guiding a grieving mind was a difficult path for an empath, with many landmines that Mal had learned to navigate over the years. He had to help the process without stalling it, to let Alan feel all the heartbreak without being overwhelmed by it. And, most importantly, not to let himself be drawn into the turmoil, to guard his own emotions from being thrown back into his own past traumas. In this case, he also had a duty of care to Miriam, who was still processing the loss of her husband from an accident over a year ago; their shared loss was something that had drawn Alan and Miriam together. That nascent relationship could easily be broken if not handled carefully.

"Alan," Malachi spoke quietly, his deep baritone pitched to soothe, "why do you think Sally appeared at that moment in your dream?"

"To stop the wedding. To show me how much it hurt her." His voice was gravelly, painful and pain filled.

"Was it her hurt, or yours? I think you have finally found a way to scream your anger, your fears, your pain at the universe. And now that you've broken that dam open, it can't be plugged. It will be a rough ride but once you've come through it, you still have a future ahead of you, a new life you can build—here—from the ashes of the past."

Virdon finally raised his head to look Malachi in the eyes. Tears streaked his face and his icy blue irises stood out from reddened eyes. He looked like a man drowning. But beyond the jumble of emotions, Malachi felt something new budding in Alan. It felt like hope.


Pete Burke surfaced from sleep in a haze of blissful contentment. One of Zeke's wings was draped over him; the downy russet feathers on the underside were indescribably sensual against his bare skin. The arm that lay across his chest under the wing was a comforting weight. He closed his eyes again, not to recapture sleep, but to focus on the flood of feelings both internal and external.

For the first time in the two years since the crash, his nights were free of terrors haunting his dreams. Part of that relief came from the therapeutic sessions he continued to have with Malachi, but mostly it was driven by the feelings of love and security that emanated from his beloved next to him. Just a few months ago, the thought of intimacy with anyone had sent him into a spiral of depression and self-destruction when he flashed back to one of several traumatic incidents he'd experienced in an ape society that considered human life of no more value than a farm animal. Hell, farm animals were more valuable than humans, as he discovered at Polar's farm. But it seemed like the endless string of fighting for their lives was finally over. Even Alan was considering settling down.

Settling down. In his old life, that phrase had been enough to cause him to turn tail and beat a hasty retreat out of whatever relationship was threatening to turn serious. Now he was considering not one, but two committed relationships. Except in Alba, it only counted as one relationship. The idea that he could be in love with—and loved by—both Zeke and Eliana without either one getting jealous was foreign to him and could still send him into a panic. In fact, he felt a prickle of anxiety worming its way into his brain right now.

His eyes popped open when the hand resting across him poked him in the ribs. "You are thinking very loudly," Zeke muttered sleepily. As Burke squirmed away from the offending hand, the underside of Zeke's wing brushed maddeningly close to a tickle, but somehow managing instead to light up every nerve connected to his groin.

Pete chuckled and turned slightly so he was facing Zeke. His eyes drank in the sight of Zeke's face; the strong jaw covered with a thin beard, the high cheekbones, and the hazel eyes that made he felt could see straight into his soul. "Well, can you tell what I'm thinking about now?" He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. Not that it was needed when his body was spilling all his secrets anyway.

Zeke rolled his eyes, although his smile and answering reactions belied his sarcasm. "I… hmm," he gasped as Pete began stroking the feathers on the edge of his wing. "I think I'm getting the general idea." He pulled Pete tighter against him, pressing his hand on the back of his partner's head to bring their lips together.

Pete hesitated for a moment, pushing down a rising panic rooted in an irrational feeling of being forced. This is Zeke. Zeke, not Phelan. The litany relaxed him and his own passion flared in response. By the time the kiss broke apart, Pete's body had fully gotten with the program. Zeke's hand had been wandering, stroking up and down Pete's flank then moving down to knead his buttocks. Pete moaned, rubbing the spot between Zeke's wings, which he knew was a erogenous spot guaranteed to spike the angel's arousal almost as quickly as rubbing his wings.

Zeke arched his spine, pulling both wings behind him, so they were out of the way when he swung a leg over Pete's, while encouraging him to roll flat on his back so Zeke could settle straddling his hips. He bent over to capture Pete's lips again in a deep kiss, breaking apart only by the need to breathe.

As Zeke prepared to take Pete inside, the human grabbed his partner's hips. "Hey, do we need any kind of, y'know, protection?" The thought of having kids—well, a kid since angel physiology only allowed them to carry one pregnancy—stirred a mix of emotions. He was starting to warm up to the idea that he would one day be a father, but he wasn't in any hurry. Although Alban society didn't place any limitations on intimacy between unbonded partners, the taboos of his time against unwed parents still provoked a visceral response to the possibility.

"It doesn't happen that easily, besheirt," Zeke's breathy reply was urgent with need. When his fluttering wings brushed over his partner's thighs, Pete moaned and pushed Zeke's hips down while arching his own upward, joining them together in one smooth thrust.

They made love slowly, both enjoying not just the physical connection, but the emotional one as well. Zeke's empathic abilities heightened the feelings of passion and devotion that flowed freely, spiraling along with their bodies' responses toward their climax. Sense of self blurred, allowing them each to feel an echo of what the other was experiencing. Burke marveled yet again how his relationship with Zeke had so drastically changed his view of commitment. But after so many years of literally jumping from bed to bed, he was ready to settle down.

When they had collapsed in a post-coital heap, Burke closed his eyes and let the contentment of having his arms wrapped around his beloved lull him into a doze. They were due to meet with Zeke's family later that day to begin planning their bonding ceremony. Which meant he needed to break their thrall and get them moving. He would be absolutely mortified to show up on his future in-laws' doorstep bedraggled from sex.

"Zeke," he tugged on a feather to get his attention. "Babe, we have to get up and showered. Tirzah is expecting us soon."

"Don't wanna," Zeke groaned, his voice muffled in Pete's shoulder where he had flopped next to him. "Too comfy." Pete tugged a little more sharply on the feather. "Ow!" Zeke raised his head slightly to glare at him. "Are you trying to pluck me?"

Burke's chuckle vibrated through his chest into the angel in his arms. "No, but Tirzah will if we are late for brunch." He disentangled himself and rolled off the bed, rubbing at the places where his body hair was matted with drying fluids. "Tell you what, we can save time by showering together." He held out a hand to help pull Zeke upright, then led him into their bathroom.

The shower, large enough to accommodate the spreading of angel wings, easily held them both. While playful, they completed the task relatively quickly, both still sated from earlier. Zeke almost knocked Pete over when he spread his wings to shake the water from them; the astronaut didn't have a lifetime of experience with winged companions to help with the little idiosyncrasies that brought. They were just getting dressed when Burke's commlink beeped.

"Burke here," he answered automatically, still smiling as he watched Zeke appreciatively.

"Pete, Levi here," his voice was excited. "We are picking up a signal here in Security that you are going to want to hear. Get down here immediately."

They both ran for the door while pulling on their shirts.


Burke and Zeke burst into the security command center at a sprint but pulled up short as a static-filled message boomed over the loudspeaker.

"…require immediate assistance. We have three persons aboard. Over."

Levi waved them over to the group crowded around a communications console just as Virdon rushed into the room. He moved in next to Burke, and they exchanged a wide-eyed look. A fresh burst of static filled the air, then a voice called out through the interference, instantly triggering both astronauts into a heightened state of alertness.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is the NASA mission Astraeus, Astraeus, Astraeus. Mayday Astraeus. Our position is thirty-three degrees, eighteen minutes north by one-zero-four degrees, thirty-one minutes west. Our ship is disabled and going down. We require immediate assistance. We have three persons aboard. Over."

The message began to repeat as the astronauts exchanged excited looks, both speechless as they processed what they had just heard.

"Astraeus?" Burke broke the spell first. "Wasn't that the mission being planned for '85?" His voice rose in pitch, ending in a strangled squeak.

"Yeah," Virdon replied, his eyes wide. "They were on deck after the Artemis. The crew was just being picked when we left."

"Al, this could be—"

"I know, Pete. I know. A rescue mission." Everyone else in the room faded into the background as the astronauts began a rapid-fire exchange.

"They're in trouble."

"Probably knocked out by the same storm we went through."

"But we don't know if the damage was recoverable; the apes—"

"Destroyed our ship before we could make a damage assessment."

"Al, it could be salvageable!"

"This could be our trip home," Virdon blurted. That statement gave them both pause, silencing them long enough for Levi to break into the conversation.

"We need to talk to Malachi." His voice held a strange tone, as if he wasn't sure if he should be excited, afraid, or disappointed.


The old man sat back in the chair and blew out a gusty sigh. After all these years, the sound of his own voice was strange to him, especially when he fell back into the codified language used by the ancient military. His right leg stretched out in front of him ached—the deep, constant ache of a poorly healed injury. He rubbed his thigh, feeling the raised network of scars even through the heavy canvas pants. The crash twenty years in the past had left him the sole survivor, but his damaged legs had taken many years to heal strong enough to travel any distance. He had barely tolerated the long ride west to Roswell.

In some parts of the radioactive wilderness, he'd fought off the mutated creatures that inhabited those wastelands. The Shedim—his faulty memory supplied the term but not the source—had once been humans, but were now twisted, mindless animals. Galen had once told him of a legend among his people that the Forbidden Zone harbored winged creatures who ate apes. Turns out that folk tale contained a nugget of truth, that the Shedim would kill and eat any meat source—animal, human, angel, or ape, even other Shedim. His friends would certainly encounter such dangers on their way to Roswell. They'd been lucky during their trip to Kirtland; the mutations living in the ruins of Albuquerque had not bothered the hovercraft as it crossed the city although they'd seen them lurking in the shadows. He didn't remember any specific problems during the trip to Roswell, but his memory of his life before the crash was unreliable. Time and the lasting effect of his injuries both muddled his faculties at times.

But one memory was burned in his mind and drove his every move. He had to find a way to make the flight back to the twentieth century a success.