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"The pill I keep taking, the nightmare I'm waking,

There's nothing, no nothing, no nothing but you!"

~P!nk, Beautiful Trauma

Chapter Sixty-seven: Seeds

"You can't be serious. You just..." Gallant shrugged helplessly. "You can't. You cannot."

"Deadly." Julie's nose was broken. She had a patch over one eye to keep her from rubbing at the antiseptics they'd had to inject to fight the venom infection. The less said about the mess of bandages on her chest, the better...and even thinking about the hurried surgery and sterilization they'd had to perform on her leg wound made Gallant, a man who'd seen plenty of field medicine in his time, shiver. She had a cane too now, though hopefully she was the lucky one and hers was temporary.

And yet, here she was, and the fire in her visible eye was no dimmer than before that godawful...there was no word for what had happened in Manchuria. It wasn't a fight. It wasn't even a brawl. That had been some kind of...cage match. Holocaust.

Those words didn't do it justice either. Nothing did.

"Julie..." If Bradford knew how to make her see sense, clearly he couldn't express it any more than Gallant. They traded helpless glances. "What you're asking for is impossible."

"I disagree. Sirs." She paused to cough, a hand on her lacerated ribs. When she resumed, there wasn't a hint of pain in her voice. "He's small, so it would only take a little work to move a bed for him into my and Sylvie's quarters. He doesn't eat much."

"Do you..." Gallant wanted to bang his head into the desk. "Julie, what about his own family?"

"I asked every survivor from the camp. None of them have any relation to him. Only one or two had even seen him before: his family were newcomers from Alaska who fled overseas on a decrepit tugboat. From what, they wouldn't say. I guess no one will ever know now." Julie never left attention stance, even as she rattled through every possible objection Gallant could think of. "I can keep him out from underfoot. I'm going to have plenty of time recuperating for the near future anyway, so that can be my primary mission, at least until he learns how Avenger operates. Sylvie can help when she's not busy."

"Let me guess." Gallant swiveled his chair, trying not to scowl too hard. "You've already discussed this?"

"Oui." And if Sylvie was any less determined than Julie, she belonged on a stage. "It is the right thing to do."

"You want to bring a child...not just a child, a toddler...onto this ship." Gallant ground his teeth. "Do you realize what you're asking?"

"Sir." That was neither agreement nor denial. Both psi-ops regarded him thoughtfully, which was the most damned unfair tactic ever. Now he had to come up with the next sentence.

"We can't take care of a child. We're neither day-care nor apartment complex."

"Sylvie and I will worry about that. Like we said: he won't eat much or take much space."

"This is a military base."

"Kids lived on those in your time, didn't they?"

Gallant tried hard not to grind his teeth even harder. "Do you have a smarmy back-sass for everything?"

"Sir."

"We can't do this, Julie." Bradford gently put a hand on Gallant's shoulder. "We just can't. What if we get shot down again?"

"He'll be at no worse risk than if we leave him in a Haven." Sylvie this time, as she cut her eyes at her girlfriend. She was holding on to Julie's hand awfully tight...

Gallant inhaled, trying to keep his cool. "Dress it up however you want, but you're asking to add a child to our war effort." He winced internally a moment later.

If either one of them brings Mariah up...

They didn't. And that they didn't say a word just made her loom all the larger in the room, peering out from behind Gallant's terminal and the empty space where his photo of Moira had lived for so long.

Kids. The one thing Gallant had never wanted, that he'd never seen in his future. Oh, possibly on some far-off day when the war–first Iraq, then later the Invasion–was over, but never...never prominent. Never something he'd dreamed about. Just finding a woman he could stand had been hard enough for most of his life, and after his crippling, a whole host of issues related to his own temperament had cropped up.

Unless it had been his own dickery the whole time and he'd only been able to see it after being laid low...now there was a thought to keep him up at night.

"Commander?" Bradford's voice pulled him to the present, and the issue immediately across his desk.

"Why?" Gallant met Julie's gaze as levelly as he could. "Why do you feel the need to do this?"

Shit. Changing the topic was perhaps the biggest single step a man could take to changing his answer, too.

"He lost everything. So did I, once." Julie looked down for the first time. "I can't just let that be unanswered, can I? I found him, so he's my responsibility since no one else has claimed him."

"You...you..."

Moira flashed up in his mind. She'd seemed a lot like him: career-focused, driven to win and succeed in her passions. If she'd thought about children, it was after romance too...and they'd never had the chance.

It's an experiment, Edward! That was how she'd talked him into signing off on the plan to taze an alien and bring it back for a taste of their own anal probing. If you never take risks, you blind yourself to boundless potential.

In hindsight, she'd been hinting. But Gallant had always been too preoccupied with the war...honestly, too afraid to take a step her way.

Was this the same?

"...send a message to Shen with what you need for modifying your room." The words were out before he'd even realized the decision was made.

"Sir?" Bradford stared like he'd popped the lid off an elerium core and taken a healthy swig.

"Sir!" Julie's eye lit up. "Thank you, sir!"

"I expect no trouble from this arrangement." Echoes of Mariah, bouncing around the walls...she'd have supported this. What did that say about it? Even using Moira as reasoning...she had been the woman who'd created the alien Rulers. Was this going to turn out like that?

"None. Not a bit." Julie saluted, very formally. She even rose without Sylvie's help, which earned her an annoyed-girlfriend glare that almost made Gallant, who had many times been the recipient of that lovely look, wince with sympathy. "Thank you, Commander."

He nodded, saluting back. "Anything else, ladies?" When they shook their heads, he nodded. "Right, then. Sylvie, get some kip. We're lifting off in two hours, and it's seven more in the air until we reach our destination. Since Julie got herself off the duty roster, I'm pulling you in for the Forge."

"As you can see, operations are well under way. We've increased output by sixty percent in the last two weeks alone." He gestured expansively at the white production floor, covered with terminals and pods humming and working on their little tasks. "I believe we will be able to field another full division within a month from this facility's excess production, even after we replenish the losses from the recent...incursion."

"That's a very nice profit and loss statement, but I'm not from Wall Street." The Hunter crossed his arms, scowling at the Forge's production floor. "I didn't come here for share price information."

"Why did Angelis send you, then?" The doctor lowered his eyes when he spoke her name. Din Dourde, awakened by her patron or not, wasn't brave enough to forget the gesture either.

"I'm here to check your defenses, Doctor Kipler." The Hunter beamed. "In short, I'm here to make sure you can get on with your wizardry without getting a magnetic projectile implanted in your spleen."

"For which I am certainly grateful." Matthew Kipler inclined his head, as if to prove it. "Gallant and his renegades will eventually find their way here. However, our security has never been stronger. We have muton patrols covering the access points, and there is, of course–"

"Ol' Rusty." The Hunter nodded sagely. "Gallant will not be deterred by a roomba on steroids, Doctor. You need some brains on the ground to put him on the defensive. Fortunately, you have me for that."

"As you say, Mighty Hunter." Kipler glanced out at the production floor. "I have an update on Specimen Thirteen."

"Give it here, then." The Hunter took Kipler's datapad when proffered and immediately passed it to his left. "I'm not much of a reader."

"Sir." Dourde gingerly took the pad. "Are you sure..."

Kipler frowned. "I think this is classified beyond her level–"

"It's not classified beyond mine, and I like having someone read me stories." The Hunter sat on Kipler's desk, which creaked under his weight. He flicked something small and orange from his belt pouch. "Think fast!"

"Sir." Dourde caught it without looking. Kipler took the second one between the eyes, and he managed to catch it before it hit the floor while the Hunter pointed and guffawed.

"Is this a..." Kipler examined it dubiously. "...Starburst?"

"I used to like lemon drops, but they leave a bad taste in my mouth lately. So I started chewing things, and that's a lot more fun." The Hunter paused to dump six of the multicolored candies into his mouth and eat them all at once. "Now, General?"

"It says here–"

"That's not how you start a story, is it?"

Dourde scoffed. "Excuse me, sir." She cleared her throat. "Once upon a time, in a faraway land called the Forge–"

"I ruined her." The Hunter beamed. "I ruined her perfectly. Can you imagine one of my late brother's minions being so fun, Doctor?"

"Um." He didn't quite seem to know what to say.

"Specimen Thirteen has accepted the advanced psionic strands with aplomb." Dourde's eyes widened as she continued. "Muscle density is at least three hundred percent stronger than Twelve, which has now been liquidated. The improvement from Twelve to Thirteen has also resulted in nearly six hundred percent of the psionic aptitude, and the addition of faceless strands has created a self-regenerative cycle."

The Hunter let out a very loud snore, which made Dourde jump. He eyed her challengingly.

"...it's badder and weirder." Dourde offered Kipler his datapad back.

"Finally, you speak my language." The Hunter chewed thoughtfully. "How many in the series?"

"Only the one. The Fourteen model is being assembled, and Angelis wants four of them for testing. We've outsourced direct production to external facilities."

"Excellent. And the Thirteen?"

"We're using it as a template for the moment. We should have no further use for it within forty-eight hours, and then we can liquidate it too."

"Perfect. That's business wrapped, then." The Hunter pulled out his own datapad. "I'll scour the perimeter once night has fallen and shoot some birds. For now, I'm going to watch Dragonball Z. Someone bring me a milkshake and a bunch of those little plastic army guys."

Knocking on the door was the first thing to register. He grunted.

"No, I'll get it." Movement on his left. He let out an incoherent protest, reaching for her hand or whatever else he could find.

"Be good, now. I said no." Lightly, she smacked his wrist as she wriggled out from under the blankets. He watched surreptitiously as she threw a robe around herself, then gingerly tiptoed over the icy metal decking until she reached the door. She paused to coyly grin back his way–so much for surreptitious–before hitting the partial-open switch, making the door slide out about halfway. "Who?"

"Me." Da-Xia Liang paused. "I see you two have been busy."

"Oh..." Cameron Rogers, now a lot more awake, sat up in bed. He cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I...um...I just..."

"Relax: I'm not going to blow you up." Liang scooted inside, and Lilah closed the door behind her. "It's a bad time for me anyway."

"What do you..." Cameron paused to cough. "Oh. Forget I asked."

"See, this is why two is better than one. As long as their schedules don't overlap, you can switch off!" Lilah beamed, while Cameron spluttered. "I think this topic unnerves him."

"A lot of topics do." Liang shook her head. "I've got orders from Central and the Commander: we're launching a strike on the Forge tomorrow. And when I say we..."

"Ah." Lilah scowled. "We're not done building the Skyranger Two."

"We'll be paradropping in directly from Avenger and extracting with the help of local Resistance elements on the ground. That's the plan, at least." Liang nodded at Cameron. "You and I are on the team."

"Who else?" Cameron threw the sheets off and rose, stretching.

"Major Kelly's in command. We're getting Mox, Dragunova, and Sylvie as well." Liang shrugged. "It's going to be a hell of a fight. This facility is supposedly very high level and important to Advent."

"We'll wreck it good." Cameron nodded. "What time?"

"Commander wants boots on the ground by ten local time." Liang's eyes flicked down. "Lilah, I think he likes me better."

"It's cold! That's all." She nearly muscled Liang out of the way, while Cameron jumped, unconsciously trying to cover himself. "Don't you worry, I know my way around a joystick."

"Uh..."

"Sounds like you've got a long night, Moose." Liang's lips twitched. "Maybe I should stay and watch."

"Please do!" Lilah beamed. "I'll show you both how it's done."

"Did I ever wake up?" Cameron frowned as thoughtfully as he could given the circumstances. "I think this is better than my actual dream."

For some reason, they both thought that was terribly funny.

The Avenger was always cold. Wracking her memory, Jane couldn't think of one time–even one–where she'd been uncomfortably warm.

"Idiots don't know what they're on about. Snowballs ain't so rare in Hell." She topped off her shot glass, put it to good use, and poured again. "Why don't we have a furnace on this heap of wreckage?"

No one answered. Thank God: she was alone in the bar save for the old music deck playingsomething from Nickelback, and if someone started talking back...well, that would be the moment to either put down the drink or take up a crucifix, and both seemed equally repugnant.

"I have to stop drinking," Jane muttered, as she downed another shot and poured. "I'm going into battle tomorrow. No one ever wound up all the better for being blitzed when shit started going to hell."

"Actually, one of the survivors from the Titanic only lived in the frozen Atlantic waters because he was toasted."

"Really?" Jane turned around, and she patted herself down for a moment. "Must have misplaced my cross. Oh well." She made one with her fingers. "Begone, Satan!"

"Satan? Bitch was an amateur." Edward Gallant leaned hard on his cane as he eased to a seat at Jane's side. He brushed the finger-cross away. "Got his ass kicked once and turned to a prick."

"Just like you, eh?" Jane fished out another shot glass and did the thing.

"Yeah, just about." Gallant claimed it, then the bottle, and he drank from the latter instead of the former. "Get yourself drunk the night before we blow Tennessee into orbit and I might have to lose my temper with you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Jane shrugged. "You nearly kicked me off the ship once."

"Maybe I should have." Gallant leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. He shifted his weight. "I don't mean that."

"I know." Jane scoffed. "You wouldn't make it a week without me." She nearly pried the bottle out of Gallant's hand. "Don't be a hog."

"That's hardly a respectful way of speaking to your CO."

"Don't be a hog, sir." Jane poured another shot.

"You..." Gallant chuckled under his breath. "You remind me of someone else I knew a long time ago. Someone who never ran out of ways to get under my skin."

"Moira?" Jane contemplated that shot. "I'm not much of a scientist."

"No. I was thinking of Penny Ferguson."

"Who?" Jane frowned. "That nurse you mentioned, right? I'm not much for medicine either."

"She was quite talented in that department. She'd have made a hell of a doctor if the War hadn't interrupted her ascent." Gallant's lips twitched, and his eyes hazed over with memory. "She never let me sink too far into being a dick without giving me a poke in the ribs with something sharp. She was the lifeline keeping me connected with the world."

Jane blinked slowly. "You must miss her."

"More than you know." Gallant leaned on his elbow, using his free hand to massage his chest. Jane watched in silence, still swirling her shot around rather than drinking it.

"I don't suppose I ever thought about what life must be like for you. I've lost a lot, but you've lost...everything."

"Not everything. I have John. I have the War." Gallant reclaimed the bottle for another drink. "War gives man purpose. The more insurmountable the odds, the better. That gives less chance for quiet moments where you have to reckon with what you think you're doing and whether it makes any of it..."

Though a chuckle escaped Jane's lips, it wasn't mirthful. "You can't sleep either, can you, Commander?"

Gallant spent a moment reading the bottle like he didn't know damn well what was in it. "No."

"Moira?"

"Moira. And the others." He glanced at her. "David?"

"David. And..." He could figure it out from there. Jane idly kicked the bar, and the soft thumps of soles on metal were the only sound punctuating the music.

"Oh." Gallant frowned as the song shifted. "That's a blast from the past."

"Huh?" Jane frowned too. "I don't know this one."

He chuckled, humming under his breath for a minute. "Makes me think of high school. Danced to this at Homecoming."

"You don't strike me as much for dancing."

"Yeah, well." Gallant paused to cough. "Getting a shrapnel insertion rearranges a man's priorities. Not to mention..." He leaned down and whacked his gimpy leg. "Life fucks everyone over sooner or later."

"That's truth." Jane tried to keep her mind above water...and failed. "I learned that lesson when Advent killed all my friends around my ears. Some kind of ambush."

"Yeah. I read your file." Gallant shifted on his seat. "It'd be nice if we could get some sleep in before the Forge."

"Wish for the moon while you're at it." Jane picked up her shot glass. "Might as well drink the exhaustion away."

"Major..."

"Hm?" Had he ever looked this conflicted before? Something was off about the way he pursed his lips, off enough Jane had to frown. What had happened to Gallant the conniving, commandeering jackass?

"Do you dance?"

"What?" She blinked. "Um. I mean...not as an adult. Something about ballet when I was like, seven, but that's it."

"I want to." Gallant eased off his stool, leaning on his cane. "I might be shit at it now, but I want to. Sitting still isn't doing me any good." He paused, then looked right at her. "I..."

"Oh." Jane thought for a minute. "Hold on." She threw back her shot. "For courage." Then she left bottle and glass behind, popping lightly up onto her feet. "I guess we can drunken-stumble through something stupid and it might not suck too badly."

"We should embroider that on the flags. Forget Vigilo Confido."

"No one gives a shit about Latin anymore." Jane hesitated. Gallant might have been a weedy little man clearly fallen from the peak of his prime, and his hair and stubble might have been out of control and badly-kept, and his voice might have rasped on all the wrong syllables...but the grip of his hand on hers was firm in spite of it.

"They asked me if I would do a little number..." Gallant couldn't move fast, and he leaned on his cane with every step, but he still began strong, and Jane drifted into his wake as he started to arthritically circle the room. "And I sang with all my might..."

Something about this...the deck felt very cold under Jane's toes, and somehow it didn't bother her at all. Hadn't she been chilly a minute ago?

Gallant lifted her hand, and if he froze in place to lean on his cane, she still spun under him. A professional watching would have cried, but it was just...and his voice... "She said: 'tell me, are you a Christian, child?' And I said–"

"Ma'am, I am tonight!" The song was older than Jane, but she knew that much, and it burst unbidden from her lips right as she came back in.

Putting her free hand on his shoulder.

Jane tugged when Gallant stumbled, and he lost his grip on his cane. It didn't matter: he leaned on her instead, and she carried him without a qualm. He really didn't weigh much. Could she pick him up if she wanted? Probably.

The clock beeped out midnight as they danced, shifting back and forth while Walking in Memphis echoed from all corners.

Author's Note 67: But Do I Really Feel The Way I Feel?

Adopting a kid onto the Avenger is one of those things I've always wondered about happening in the actual game. What does happen to those civvies you rescue? Some have to be underage, right? Are you going to leave them to the kindness/apathy of the local civilians? The Avenger is actually close to the safest place in the world from Advent, so maybe it wouldn't be such a bad one for a kid to grow up.

Scenes involving sex are always a balancing act for me to write. I don't want to feel like I'm writing pure smut, but there are some things that require showing the level of relationship the characters have with each other so I can build off of that for dramatic tension. That said, I have also written pure smut before, and gotten rave reviews on it. The secret to sex scenes is the same as the secret to action scenes: knowing the difference between what needs to be explicitly stated to create a visual in the reader's head, and what needs to be left implied or hinted so that they can fill the blanks in with their own imagination. Among the many other comparisons, both action and sex scenes, on their own, do not advance the plot...they are essentially filler. For most books and even movies, removing the battle scenes would not change the plot in any meaningful way...they're a way to raise tension and increase emotional investment. Sex scenes are the same.

It pays to approach writing as a science and an art. Never lose track of what the point and purpose of a scene is supposed to be. If you can't nail down what it is...odds are, the scene is unnecessary. Even if it isn't, experiment with taking it out of the narrative entirely and look at what would change.

Until next time, Vigilo Confido.