A/N: I told you it was non-linear. And thanks so much for the reviews. I truly appreciate them.
Back in the slums of the unknown planet
She wanted to go home. She hated this god forsaken world and every last son of a bitch on it. She hated every god damned thing about it. She wanted to throw things, smashing them, breaking them to pieces and scream. The night before had been unseasonably hot and muggy and neither of them slept well. She was in a lousy mood. It happened to both of them from time to time but today was bad and she took out every grievance out on him. Every thing that didn't go precisely the way she wanted it to was his fault and it was starting to get on his nerves. The foul glares and vile attitude drove him out the door. He disappeared for the day. And as angry as she had been at him for just breathing, she was angry that he left with out telling her where he was going.
He can back in the late afternoon and changed into the ragged stained clothes he worn to pillage the dump. He said he was going treasure hunting and would return later. She said nothing, still in a snit.
He didn't come home that night. But the police came. They prowled the neighborhood as the agents of law and order and population control. If you annoyed them, they shot you. If you were too loud or had on the wrong color shirt or were politically active they shot you. If the powers that be thought too many teens were crowding the streets or harassing the tourists they cleaned house. Everyone in the slum cowered in their beds that night while shots rang out.
The next morning they found no less than eight men and boys dead. She had to look; he hadn't come home. He wasn't there and she was frightened and alternately angry. She knew he be back any minute and afraid the next body they found would be his.
When he found her staring at the fly covered body of the young boy. He pulled her away to their hut.
"I couldn't come back. There were too many of them on the streets last night. If they followed me back here they might have hurt you."
All the while she hit his chest calling him a son of a bitch and trying her damnedest not to cry.
"You bastard, how could you let me worry all night?"
He just held her with a look of forbearance on his face.
"I can't say I'll never leave you but it sure as hell won't be willingly. You know that don't you?"
That night was the first night they made love. A swirl of emotions - desperation, anger, fear, loneliness and years of longing made it turbulent but gentility and deep abiding love made it complete.
He fell into a deep sleep but started to rouse after 20 minutes at the unusual sensation of a woman in his arms. The feeling of contentment morphed into the feeling of unease as he became fully awake. He hoped he hadn't taken advantage of her emotional state and then would have to face a painfully awkward morning. He was amazed it had happened and yet wondered why it had taken so long to get to that point.
Sam hadn't been so emotionally distraught since Doc Frasier had died, that day she came into the room when he was still dressing. They were both in pain. He hated to lose men or woman under his command and especially someone who had a place in his heart. He tried to project the stern military front but his people were precious to him although at times he was forced to use them as pawns in this elaborate chess game of war. Each injury and each death took its toll. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Sam had not just come to give and take comfort from the pain of Janet's death. She had said it, hadn't she. She was glad he was alive. She was telling him that she cared for him, that his life was of value. She told him that loved him and she told him by word and deed. And now the proof of that love was her lying asleep in his arms. With a gentle smile on his face he drifted off with no fear of what the morning would bring.