A/N: So, much thanks to my beta... type... reader, Hikarigirl, I re-wrote this chapter. I think it sounds a lot better, and just has more too it. Thank you once again to Hikarigirl.

A Conversation meant to be

Bacon. That's what awoke Stephen. His mother must have been cooking one of her famous omelets. He sighed and rolled onto his back, looking up at the metal ceiling grates. The ceiling began to hum. The grates banged lightly together, making a small, irritating noise. It was hot in the room, which was strange because he always kept it cold. Oh well, at least he was home and out of the line of fire for a while.

Stephen swung himself out of bed and made his way towards the bathroom. The cool floor snapped at his feet, waking him up even faster, which wouldn't have happened if someone hadn't screwed with the heat. He took a leak and washed his hands. He splashed water onto his face and winced as the cool spray hit a pink and puffy scar that ran the length of his right arm. That was the main reason he was here, R and R, rest and recreation. One grenade in Venezuela, one grenade sent him back home; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where his parents had an apartment. He was lucky, one of the guys they had been with lost the use of his legs.

He shook his head. Water flew from his bangs. Dishes clanked into the sink. Breakfast was ready; he could tell by the way his mother's footsteps fell.

"Stephen!" She called. He smiled, mouthing her next words to his reflection in the mirror. "Would you like rye or whole wheat toast?"

"Rye, please Ma!" Stephen went back to washing his face. He thought he heard something ring and his mother say 'Hello', but he didn't dwell on it. Still in his shorts and tank top, he went back into his room to change for the day.

He came out of the bedroom, and saw his mother sitting at the table, his food in front of an empty, wooden chair. She tightly held a Minnie Mouse coffee mug. Stephen walked over and sat down. He began to eat.

"Hey, did someone mess with the thermostat to my room?" He paused to eat another bite of omelette. "Mom?" He noticed she wasn't looking at him, but at the wall in front of her. More like through the wall. "Mom?" He spoke louder, waving his hand in front of her.

She looked at him blankly. Stephen shuffled his chair so he sat at her right and grabbed her by the shoulders, gently shaking.

"Mom, what's wrong?" She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, as if rethinking her words.

Tears sprung to her eye. She gulped. "Stephen, you're father… He, he's dead."

Stephen just looked at her. "What? Mom, come on, what are you on about?" She shook her head fiercely. "Mom! What happened to dad?"

Random words sprang from her mouth. He caught "freeway, company, money, embezzlement, assassinated".

"Mom. Slow down. What happened to dad?" The door exploded in before she could answer. Bullets flew through the air, splintering wood and crumpling metal. Stephen jumped down on top of his mother, trying to protect her from the deadly swarm of lead above. It was too late. Blood pooled in her eyes. She coughed up blood. A crimson coloured hole in her throat showed she had been hit. "Mom!" Stpehen cried out. His mother handed him her Minnie Mouse coffee cup, forcing it into a hand, and her eyes rolled back into her head. "No! No! NO!"

He woke up, silently. He always awoke, just in a different place each time. This time, he was lying in a bottom cot, below Trudy. He could hear her breathing softly, just over the electric hum that filled the air. Angrily wiping the tears from his eyes and muttering obscenities under his breath. He stopped before breaking the wall again, for when Stephen broke a wall, he also broke his hand. Instead he swung his legs over the bunk and rubbed his eyes with his palms, soaking them with salty water.

He looked at his clothes, still in fatigues. 'Good' he thought, 'I'm, ready to go'. One of the downsides to being a Colonial Marines, you were always ready for a fight. Well, maybe not a downside, but it was a slight annoyance. Since there was no fight, and there wasn't a soul up at that hour, he did the only thing he felt necessary, getting some food. Before he left, he riffled through his duffle bag and grabbed a coffee mug.

The halls were quiet, no one was awake. Stephen figured that the sentry turrets took care of all the security work at night. He didn't really care. All he wanted was food. His stomach growled. He sighed.

His boots clanked on metal grating. It was an eerie sound. With no one else around to hear him, he became cautious of how loudly he walked. It reminded him of his time on Olympus. What a hell hole, he shuddered just thinking about it.

A dazzling explosion of yellow luminosity erupted from the dark; even through the tinted windows Stephen could tell it was the sentry turrets. He couldn't hear anything, but he could tell whatever it was, fighting the gigantic weapons, was losing.

Up above the signs went by. He read each of them, until he came one that read: Mess Hall -. He turned and went in.

The mess hall was huge. Forty odd tables, plenty of floor space, and enormous windows at its far end. He left the lights off, allowing the bioluminescence keep things lit. Stephen walked into the kitchen, turned the lights on in there, and began looking for the shit they called coffee. Another sigh escaped his lips and the realization hit him that he'd been doing that a lot lately, and it needed to stop.

"Okay," he spoke out loud, filling the void. It echoed only for a moment, and disappeared into the darkness of night. "Where would they keep coffee… or whatever the hell it is that they drink?"

The kitchen was quite large, maybe fifty by sixty feet. Around the perimeter was one large counter, above were cabinets. Built into that counter were multiple stoves and dishwashers, adorned all in chrome. At the back was a large door, most likely the freezer. Stephen thought about going in, but he needed coffee first. Which brought his attention to a island in the center of the floor.

"Ah." He moved quickly, setting his cup down with a quiet clank, and looked in the cabinet below. "Crap, crap, crap, more crap… where the hell is the-"

"Coffee?" Stephen continued searching.

"Yes ma'am. Would you happen to know where it is, Trudy?" He asked.

"Hey, not me man. I don't drink that stuff, here that shit'll kill you!" He chuckled slightly and continued to rifle for the elusive drink. A few minutes went by; he felt her foot tap his back. He stopped his search for the coffee and looked up at her.

She smiled down at him. Stephen noticed how much clothing she was actually missing from her previous attire. Instead of her flight fatigues she wore a white tank top and green shorts. She was still smiling at him, kicking her legs back and forth through the air. "You know," she said, "there aren't many people I'm actually friendly with on this base, you should consider yourself lucky." Trudy nonchalantly shrugged.

"Thanks, I guess." Stephen said, wondering about the kitchen. "Look, I'm not really in the chatting mood. I need some coffee."

Trudy laughed at him. "I told ya, that shit'll kill you faster than a thanator in heat here."

"I honestly don't care… Ah! Hand me that cup will you?" Stephen asked, reaching into a cabinet above the counter top.

"Sure, but don't take Trudy's word for it. Just talkin' out of my ass is all." She hopped off the counter top, her feet smacking lightly against the linoleum. She turned the cup in her hands and stopped. "Minnie Mouse?"

"Yeah, what of it?" Stephen asked, dangerously low. "Damn bag is stuck."

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Raising a playful eyebrow she moved back a step or two.

"Not really. Please give me the cup." His tone dropped even lower.

"Hmm. I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. What are you gonna do about it?" A coy little smile appeared on her face, but Stephen's face turned cold and annoyed.

"Give me the cup, Trudy."

"Okay, jeez. I was just joking around. Why are you getting all worked up over some stupid cup?"

"It's not some stupid cup!" He shouted. Trudy was slightly taken aback, and a little afraid. He was pissed. His face was crimson; he was trembling ready to explode further. The one thing she had always been warned of in the service, was to not piss off a Colonial Marine. "Don't ever, ever refer to that cup as stupid again; do you hear me, Private?" His words dripped like caustic sludge, slowly sinking into her skin. He had walked closer with each word, and began poking her in the shoulder as he spoke.

Trudy knew she had crossed the line. "Get your finger off of me before I rip it off." Her voice was just as low and malicious as his. They stared at each other for the longest time, each of them daring the other to make a move. Surprisingly, Trudy broke first.

"I'm sorry, I was just curious is all."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Trudy frowned even more, yet her face contorted into anger.

"Well I was just coming by for a friendly chat, but since you're being a dick I'll be seeing you around!" She pushed past him and flung the doors to the mess hall open, stomping across the cold floor.

"Great," she started muttering to herself, "another jerk. Just when I thought-"

"Don't be angry with him Trudy." A voice spoke from the dark. Trudy stopped and turned to face its owner. Even with the brilliant spectacle of light from outside, it was still dark enough for Trudy to allow her eyes to adjust.

"Doc?"

"Yes, and don't get angry at him. He's had a rough life." Doctor Grace Augustine spoke, smoking her customary cigarette and walking towards the young pilot. "Worse than you or I, for that matter, can really imagine."

"What did you hear?" Trudy asked, still on the defensive.

Grace smiled down at the girl, "I didn't have to." Her features seemed older than she really was. "You questioned him about the cup, didn't you?"

Trudy raised an accusatory eyebrow, unknowingly rubbing her arms free of goose bumps. "You're sure you didn't hear anything?"

Grace put a hand on her shoulder, the bioluminescence shinning in magnificently upon the two to where Trudy could see no lie in her eyes. "No. Trust me, I know my nephew well enough. That cup is the only thing that would make him turn against anyone that hadn't done anything wrong. It was his mother's, my sister's. She's dead now. He is the only family I have and I his… though by the looks of things…" Grace smiled and turned away back into the darkness, whistling an old tune.

Trudy stood in the glow of blues and greens, purples and yellow flashes of sentry turret fire. Even though the gate's held the world of Pandora at bay by great lengths, the magnificence shined everywhere. Trudy felt herself blushing, her anger disappearing, and her feet moving back into the kitchen.

"Stephen?" She asked. She saw him sitting on the island the same way she had been. He cradle the cup between both hands, just staring at Minnie Mouse's smiling face. He looked so… defeated. All anger she had was gone. His lost and saddened face saw to that. She walked into the room more. "Look," she started, "I'm not good at this, and Christ knows I don't do this often if ever, but I wanted to apologize." She awkwardly shifted stances. "I come off as a bitch, I know that," Stephen shook his head as a 'No'. "But, in all honesty, I like you. What I've heard from your aunt, you're a tough bastard. You don't settle for shit you think is wrong, you don't give up. We need more like you. I don't have friends here. I don't care, really, if I did or not, but I would like to have you on my side." She let her arms go limp, hanging at her side, she shrugged. "I just wanted to let you know that." She felt the pit of her stomach cave in. He hated her. Just when she thought she had a friend. She turned and began to walk towards the doors again.

"It was my mother's." He said, not even looking up. Trudy stopped and turned around. "My father was an employee, more of a CEO at Weyland Yutani corporations, big bucks. He never really had time for me and my mother, so we spent most of our time with Aunt Grace. I joined the Corps after high school, and was dropped into some serious shit. Right out of basic you know where they sent us?" he didn't wait for a response. "Cairo. During that whole, nuclear fallout thing. Hot, destroyed, disgusting… It was a hell hole. Day in and out I saw people, friends I had made, blown to pieces of shit. During the night people sitting five feet away from me would scream and bawl firing into the night as the mutated rats pulled them away. I saw children eating each other, side effect from the radiation poisoning I was told. Bull shit! People don't do that, kids don't fucking do that!" He shouted, tossing the cup. Trudy leapt and grabbed it, holding it to her chest. She then took a seat beside him, cautiously. He looked at her and she looked back, not breaking the gaze.

"I did four years there." He gazed back down at the floor, where the whirlpool of memories spun. "Then, without any leave, I was sent into Venezuela. We were there one month; my squad was helping out a group from the regular Corps. Grenade landed in the camp we had set up after dark. Some new type of grenade, made from the company my father and I worked for. It messed with the bones, blew my radius and ulna in half." He held up his arm, a jagged and pink scar ran from his elbow to his wrist. "That's what they told me at least, hell I don't know, things are a bit fuzzy still. The guy next to me, Sully I think his name was, got hit in the spine. Poor bastard can't ever walk again. I got to go home, dad pulled some strings and they replaced the bones in my arm with synthetic materials. That's what they were into. Synthetic androids and making money." He continued on about Weyland Yutani for a while, Trudy sat and listened to everything. Unbeknownst to either of them, she had begun to rub his back, and he had given her his long-sleeve. Neither noticed the pair of green eyes watching them nor the smile that fled with the body.

"One morning, I woke up. Bacon. That's what it was. Mom cooked some bacon. I knew something was off, someone screwed with the temperature in my room. I always kept it cold in there, always. It kept me alert, ready to go. Someone turned the heat up. Someone or something, hell, I don't know anymore." He cradled his face in his hands.

"What happened next?" Trudy asked, speaking for the first time since he started. He answered through his hands.

"I went to the bathroom. Mom asked what kind of toast I wanted, rye or whole wheat; even though she always knew it was rye. A good mom she was, she was Trudy, she was!" He cried.

"Shh, come on now man. I know she was a good mom." She leaned down and whispered to him.

"I wasn't sure if the tele screen rang. Maybe it did, maybe not. I got out of the bathroom, got changed, and went to eat. Mom was just sitting there, staring, holding this cup."

Trudy looked at the cup. 'Oh.' she thought.

"I did get it out of her. My dad died, no, killed she said. Mom broke into hysterics, sobbing out random words. I tried to get her to calm down, she couldn't. Then they came in, guns blazing. I tried, damn it I should have been quicker! I'm a Colonial Marine for god's sakes! But I wasn't. I jumped on top of mom. She was already dead. A bullet through her throat. Blood poured out from her eyes. I've seen a lot of people die. I've held friends as they went, screaming and crying. Right then and there, I wish I had been back in Cairo, watching the children eat each other. My mother died in my arms, the last thing she said to me was about the kind of toast I wanted, even though she knew, she always knew with me." He was silent for a long time. The only things that made noise were the air conditioning system and the freezer. Trudy still rubbed circles on his back. "She gave me this cup, forced it into my hands as she died. It's the only thing that holds meaning to me, material wise. I'm sorry about blowing up at you before. I miss my mom. I relieve that morning almost every night in my dreams. Does that make me crazy?"

"Trust me, I know crazy, and you are not crazy, not from anything I've seen so far." Stephen smiled, very small, but a smile nonetheless.

"Thanks. Honestly, I have no clue why I told you all that. But right now I don't really care."

"Well, I am pretty irresistible." She prodded gently. He laughed. "Can I ask you one thing though?" He nodded. "Who were those people?"

He sighed. "My father was good at his job, a little too good. He stole a lot of money from the company, spent it on cheap booze, women, and gambles. He did get a lot, yeah, but he was sloppy with it. He lost it, all of it; and the stupid bastard left his tracks wide open. They found him and killed him earlier that morning, on the freeway, but they had sent some guys to our place just in case. Nobody told those sons-of-bitches they got him already, so they thought he was home. They didn't even bother to check. The company I worked for killed my family."

They sat there in silence. Trudy let her legs flop back and forth, curling a few toes at a time. "Green?" She looked up to a raised eyebrow and back down to her toenails.

"And you're surprised?"

"No. Looks nice, is all." She smiled.

"Thanks. I'm really sorry about-" He held a ragged palm up, callused and broken.

"Let's not talk about it. You have nothing to be sorry about. I can be a dick at times."

"Don't worry about it man. I'm a bitch remember."

"We'd make a good team then. And you do still owe me a tour of the base."

Trudy gave a cocky little smile. "Sounds good to me, let's go then." She jumped off the counter top and begun to walk.

"I still need my coffee though."

Trudy laughed. "Don't worry. I told you, that shit'll kill you here." Stephen groaned. She laughed and the two walked out of the kitchen and towards the Hanger, where Trudy planned on beginning her tour.

Haudö'laktii shouted out in agony as she was smacked into a rock. She felt a rib break. Her bow laid in two pieces on the ground. The nasty air nipped at her skin. She could almost feel her eyes roll back into her skull.

'No!' she thought. She knew that it was not her time. Eywa would find a way to protect her.

The palulukan moved in close. Its jaws opened and closed with a shatter. Nїїk'ta moved on top of the snow effortlessly. It felt no cold, it felt no fear. It was going to attack. It lunged and Haudö'laktii barred her teeth, screeching at it. She swung her knife, but it only hit air. She heard squeals of pain, but could see nothing. She heard hissing and growling, she still saw nothing. She heard a loud snap, one that echoed through the wind and the night air for miles and miles, but saw nothing.

Loud bursts of air filled her head; the world was getting darker and dizzier. She'd die out in Frozen Plains of Eranda alone, she didn't want to. She tried to stand, but screamed in agony as the broken rib exploded in pain. Her breaths became shallower, faster, weaker. Before Eywa could take her, something came into view. Almost one with the world in its colour, it squawked and clicked, bending its long neck down to scoop her up. It was a gift, this one for surviving Nїїk'ta's attack. None before had ever escaped the beast, neither had anyone seen the Tireaioang Toruk, the Spirits Last Shadow.

A/N: Well, if you got this far, I hope you enjoyed it. Tell if you did or not, by using that small button right there. Yeah, that one.