Time seemed to have slowed to a standstill. The longer he stayed at the window, the less things seemed to happen, making the two weeks he had spent in the secluded compound agonizingly long.

Horatio Sheridan stood at the window with his arm crossed over his chest and his other fist at his mouth, his gaze firmly fixed on one lone backlit window on the fourth floor of the nearest building. He was nearly even with it up in a high loft within the open warehouse-like complex he had been stuck inside for so long. He couldn't go anywhere until his new boss gave him orders, so he divided his time between exercising, sleeping, eating...and watching for her.

With a pair of light amplification goggles in his hand prepared to zoom in once he spotted movement, he blinked and shook his head briefly, willing away the fatigue in his eyes. As the sun had descended and night had engulfed the mountainous terrain around the complex, the strain on his eyes had eased, but watching one small room hundreds of meters away took its toll on him. At times it had seemed as though he had fallen asleep and dreamed seeing a brief flicker of movement, because by the time he brought the goggles up, the window was empty again and would remain silent for hours. The wait was maddening, but he had to know if the information Dr. Tzymo had collected on her was true. And since he couldn't leave or make any transmissions, the only way he could find out was by keeping vigil.

Behind and below him, a dozen other mercenaries like himself milled around the complex, as bored as he was. Only a few had been there as long as he, and the rest had been sent out on jobs, replaced within hours by another one of Tzymo's thugs. He had never seen any of them leave and return, but knowing the operations Dr. Tzymo arranged, even a minor mission could take months.

Though they harassed him for it, he distanced himself from the others. The less they knew about him the better, and he had absolutely no interest in getting to know any of them, though they knew each other for the most part. They seemed to him the usual criminal riffraff, burly brutes who more often used their blasters as blunt melee weapons in a cantina brawl than for a job. A few that had filtered through seemed intelligent enough to be valuable mercenaries and workable spies, but the vast majority weren't. He was beginning to suspect that even he had stooped too low to work for this Dr. Tzymo, regardless of the fact that the man had one of the most substantial networks of informants in the galaxy.

His mission he was awaiting orders for seemed below him, too. It was humiliating, having to wait so long, and then having to carry out a mission that was far too personal for him. But, he reasoned, he deserved it, especially after having pulled such a daring stunt on his first assignment. Dr. Tzymo had at first seemed...lenient, or perhaps even ignorant of what he had done, but it appeared that he was paying for it now. He was at the doctor's mercy, a place he hadn't wanted to be so early in his career for Tzymo.

Disrupting his thoughts, he heard a pair of heavy boots behind him, walking toward him in the loft. He ignored them, maintaining his focus on the lighted window across the way. His visitor stopped just beside him, but still he paid no attention, which apparently drew the ire of the other.

"Hand over the goggles, new kid," a low, rough voice demanded. Still turned to the window, Horatio rolled his eyes.

"The name's Horatio," he answered uninterestedly, "and these are community property. Go find your own."

But the other didn't leave. "Maybe you didn't hear me." Thick, meaty hands suddenly shoved Horatio hard against the transparisteel, holding him there with a great amount of force. He couldn't even muster enough strength to push back, but with the side of his face pressed up hard against the window, Horatio managed to grin.

"Oh, I get it," he laughed, "you're too lazy to go find another pair, so you're just going to bully someone who already has them. Is this some kind of welcoming ritual? Well done, I feel fully initiated now."

The other only shoved him harder into the window, making it crack under the pressure. His shoulders burned in protest under the strain as his arms were folded up at unusual angles under his chest, but he maintained his grin, intent on angering the other further. "Some people might charge you a finder's fee, but I suppose I could be reasonable, this being my first stint here and all. Is this how you people normally operate? I'll make a note to start hiding things so you actually have to get up and look for yourself. That should make this place more interesting."

"You insufferable idiot!" The other gripped Horatio by the shoulders and whipped him around to face him, thrusting him hard against the window again, creating another crack that threatened to break with one last blow. Horatio winced briefly as his head smacked the transparisteel, but he corrected it quickly as he finally saw and stared down his rival, a tall, muscular Weequay who looked as fierce as he sounded - filed, pointed teeth, scarred, rough skin, and intense black eyes.

"You will learn your place here," he warned darkly, and giving Horatio another shove, he ripped the goggles from his hands and turned to leave. Feeling the cracked window behind him beginning to give, Horatio rocked himself forward and had begun to launch himself at the Weequay...but a familiar voice to his right killed his momentum instantly and left him stunned.

"Horatio!"

He turned to her, breathless, unsure if he were actually seeing her or if she were an illusion. Her golden brown hair and amber eyes looked just the same as he had left them, mere weeks ago...

"...Zanti?"

Her expression was just as conflicted as his had to be, and as she stepped toward him, a pang of alarm gripped him, his eyes darting about the loft worriedly. "Zanti, what are you doing here! How'd you--"

"Relax, Horatio," she said calmly as she searched his face. "Tzymo recruited me, too." She paused briefly, glancing at the broken window beside them. "How's your head?"

Still hardly breathing from the shock of seeing her, he lied. "Fine."

Her expression hardened. "Good." Without any warning, Horatio felt the fiery sting of a quick slap across his cheek, whipping his head to the side. Stunned again, he looked back at her in a daze, meeting her furious eyes and a pointed finger in his face. "That's for leaving me on Agamar with those Jedi," she spat, "and for leaving that man, the man you rescued and I killed Occar to protect for you, leaving him to die."

Speechless for once, Horatio swallowed hard, watching her movements warily. She had every right to be angry at him, but...he hadn't expected to encounter her again once he left. He couldn't formulate any kind of response.

With their gazes still locked, she continued in a much softer tone. "And this..." As she spoke, she slowly reached her hand up and placed it at the base of his neck, gently pulling him toward her. Wary of the move, he watched her guardedly, relaxing only after their lips met in a gentle kiss. He felt no other movement from her, but still vigilant for the kind of ploy he had used before, he only gave back slightly. She leaned back from him after a moment, her amber eyes warm again as she continued. "...is for going back."

Frozen in place, he could only blink. Other than Dr. Tzymo who had figured it out, he hadn't told anyone... "How...how did you..."

Zanti gave him a sardonic grin. "Did you really think that you could steal my fighter, and I wouldn't know where it went?"

Feeling dumb for having underestimated her, he looked to the floor, wrestling with everything he had done in the past months. He had thought that once he had joined up with Tzymo's crews, he wouldn't have to face any of it again, but Zanti stood there before him, and he had to find some way to deal with his upcoming mission that once again took him into familiar territory. She seemed to pick up on his struggle, and with her hand still at his neck, she squeezed his tense shoulder.

"Let me guess," she went on quietly, "Tzymo hired you for both the virus and the antidote." He nodded.

"He only got half of the latter."

Zanti smiled thinly. "You are always full of surprises, Horatio."

Sighing resignedly, he shrugged. "I've been told that a lot lately." Still she smiled as she lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, but his wince as she hit a sore spot on his scalp neutralized her expression as she retracted her hand. Bright red blood on her fingertips caught his attention, though, and she looked up at him with concern. He reached a hand to the back of his head to assess the damage, but he only felt one small laceration, and it made him angry.

"It's nothing," he reassured her, though his tone was dark. He didn't want to give the Weequay the satisfaction of knowing he'd injured him, so keen on changing the subject, he looked intently at Zanti. "Do you have work lined up yet?"

She nodded hesitantly. "I'm going to Coruscant with you."

Horatio furrowed his brows. "My mission's not on Coruscant, I'm waiting on word to go back to --"

"Change of plans," she interrupted, and held up a small handheld holoprojector in front of him, pressing a button to materialize a tiny blue figure on its surface.

"Ah, Mr. Sheridan," the holoimage of Dr. Tzymo said as it turned to him. "How are you finding your accommodations? Sufficient, I hope?"

Horatio leveled an annoyed look at the scientist. "Didn't know this was going to be one giant slumber party."

"You had better get used to it," Dr. Tzymo snapped back. "Those people are your colleagues. I advise you to make an effort to befriend them; you never know who will be appointed to you on your next assignment. There are various experts and specialists among my crews, and each one may be better suited for a task than another. I do take suggestions from time to time on team selections, so make yourself familiar with those around you, and you might fare better than you would otherwise."

Resisting the urge to retort with something more scathing, Horatio crossed his arms over his chest. "Suggestion noted, I'll get right on it."

"Actually, you'll be getting to Coruscant as soon as possible," Dr. Tzymo continued. "Your mission still stands; the location is the only aspect that has changed. Ms. Zanti has been briefed, and you two will work in tandem to bring me the target. I'll expect you in my lab within the next three days. Prophet is very eager to meet you."

With the doctor's usual wry grin, the holo faded, and Zanti pocketed the projector.

Horatio's head was spinning. Not only had he been assigned a partner, but one he hadn't expected to see ever again. The change of location completely unraveled all the planning he had done already, so he was having to start from nothing. And with a mere three days to scour the city-planet for the target, he had only the seven hour trip in which to plan. Glancing at Zanti with a concerned expression, he sighed and grabbed a small bag of his minimal belongings from the floor, prepared to leave with her.

As the excruciating, mind-numbing pain subsided for the seemingly millionth time since he had been infected, Koril's eyes opened and remained fixated on the dark ceiling above him. Every single nerve within every centimeter of his body mercilessly seared in unbearable agony for minutes on end, with only a brief respite between the attacks. Though he had almost no concept of time anymore, as he hadn't slept at all and was unable to see any natural light or window to gauge the time of day, he figured that surely it had been well over a week since the Huxnel had given him the torturous virus. His only companion, his rescuer Horatio Sheridan, had been silent and motionless for hours, after finishing a transmission with some doctor who had agreed to help. The perplexing double agent had carefully smuggled him out of the Huxnel flagship, but he had at the same time taken him far from the only source of a cure. He idly wondered if the doctor was going to be any match for the sick, twisted, engineered cruelty he had to endure.

Another attack gripped him, closing his eyes again as his nerves fired relentlessly and robbed him momentarily of his instinct to breathe. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move...he had no outlet for his building anger, trapped within his own mind while the only thing it registered was his intense, savage suffering. No one knew the sheer torture he was being subjected to, and as the deafening silence passed hour after hour, attack after attack, he began to fear that no one would ever find him.

Was anyone even looking for him? Horatio had sent for help, but how well could he trust an associate of his? Why hadn't Horatio contacted Elena instead, or anyone else on Paneau, for that matter? Did they think him dead? Would they believe him lost to the Huxnel's evil plot to devour his home planet? If it was Horatio who had been his savior, his last hope for escape and survival...had Elena given up on him, no longer deeming him worthy of a rescue?

Another series of brutal attacks, another dozen hours spent alone, waiting, wondering, hurting...

He could have frozen to death in the lifeless cold of space, and he didn't think he would've felt the difference. His body no longer registered any sensation but the scorching pain the virus unleashed from his outer extremities to his deepest tissues. Would he feel anything ever again? The cool, gentle touch of Elena's hand at his neck, her smooth black hair gracefully gliding through his fingers, her soft, intoxicating lips meeting his... A few more hours, he mused, and he wouldn't even remember what she felt like in his arms. His torture was making quick work of any pleasant memory he had so desperately clung to after realizing his predicament, and eventually, it would force him to let go of everything...even her.

Hope wasn't going to get him rescued. Wishing a distress signal sent out to any nearby travelers wasn't going to get their attention. Imagining himself elsewhere wasn't going to block out the intense pain.

He was alone, abandoned and forgotten, his self-sacrifice to the Huxnel disregarded by the very people he had endeavored to protect.

How thankless of them. They hadn't even attempted an extraction. No less than three Jedi and a planet full of loyal Royal Pilots and Guards could have staged a rescue attempt...but the Jedi escaped without him and left him at the Huxnel's mercy. No message, no effort...no promise of return.

The angrier he got, the more severely his pain damaged him, but he had finally passed the point of caring, even as the attacks lengthened in duration. The breaks between the attacks shortened, as well, leaving him in almost constant agony. He was rapidly approaching a fracture point, the moment when his mind would shut down and leave him numb and in pieces. What reason did he have to fight back...when no one else, not even Elena, was fighting for him, either?

As he heard the sound of the transport's engines whining with the strain of an unregulated atmosphere entry, his own pulse pounded in his ears, though it wasn't the fault of renewed hope. The strain of the increased attacks plagued his system, wreaking havoc with his heart rate while a sudden drop in altitude threatened to stop his heart altogether. The transport made a sudden rough, violent landing, sending him to the hard durasteel floor onto his face, his arms caught in awkward, painful positions underneath his chest...

Jolted from his memory, Koril made a weak gasp that failed to capture even the attention of a short nurse checking his vitals beside him. He struggled to draw in his next breath, but having completed her task, the nurse turned away, leaving him briefly to report her findings. His movement caught the attention of his Edgepoints at the room's perimeter, though, and two slowly approached him, careful to quiet their footsteps. He closed his eyes briefly to avoid their stares, but paying attention to what he heard just beside his bed, he realized the reason for their caution.

Turning his head to look, he saw Elena sleeping soundly at his side. She was curled up on a reclined chair set up just beside him, her soft breaths gently billowing wisps of her hair that had fallen over her face. Despite everything he had put her through, as she slept she looked peaceful and calm, just as she had during the few months they had spent together in one bed. His guilt multiplied the longer he watched her, but unable to tear his gaze away for some reason, he fixated on her face, amazed that she hadn't left him...

"High Commander?"

With a weak effort, he turned his head to face his Edgepoints, meeting their eyes with his own vacant and devoid of any emotion. Swip and Kress Tael stood beside him, each looking him over with concern. Seeing his expression, though, they were silenced, unsure of what else to say to him. They exchanged uneasy glances between each other, then with defeated faces, they returned to their positions, hanging their heads just slightly.

As sleep once again beckoned him into darkness, he resisted as best he could, trying to work through his feelings. He was so damaged, so fragile and weak, but his friends seemed to see something in him that he himself had blocked out long before they had found him on Agamar. They wanted him back, but he couldn't understand why at all. It didn't make sense.

No longer able to oppose his fatigue, he closed his eyes and gave in, feeling Elena's cool hand grip his tightly as the last whispers of his consciousness faded away once more.