(Author's note: I took some liberties with the "Baby Ludi" story, which was really an EU reference to an historical custody case, but there really was a holovid titled Dark Romance by Ch'been. Wookieepedia comes through yet again. -amy)

Sleep and food both became important commodities once it was clear to both of them that they would not be able to continue the cycle of arousal and climax indefinitely. It was also amazing what kind of renewal they were able to achieve with a liberal amount of skin contact.

"You're going to tell me when you get sick of this, right?" he asked Slip, pulling him closer into his chest with an arm around his waist.

"I don't think I could," Slip said. FN-2187 buried his smile into Slip's neck, making him snort with ticklish laughter.

"Well, if you do."

"I would tell you." Slip turned his head to look at FN-2187 over his shoulder, his smile fading. "We're going to have to go back eventually, you know."

"I know."

Slip nodded, more to himself than anything. Even after a solid diet of him over the past twenty-four hours, the touch of Slip's fingers along the skin of FN-2187's forearm felt miraculous. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Slip's wrist, and felt his breath catch.

"Baby," Slip murmured.

It had come from "Baby Ludi" in the holovid series, the one with the cute boyfriend. But it wasn't really a joke nickname, not like "Slip." It felt more like a title, like cute-boyfriend would have been if Slip would ever dare introduce him that way. This is FN-2187, my baby. He let the feelings simmer and gathered Slip as close as he could hold him.

"I don't know if I can do it," said Slip. "Pretend things are the same."

"We can," said FN-2187, as confidently as he dared. "I'll figure out a way. Don't worry."

Slip chuckled, shaking his head. "You really think so?"

He wasn't going to lie to Slip - and, still, he nodded. "I think I have to."

"I think I believe you," he said, and kissed him again.

They gave themselves two more days, both for Slip's recovery and for immersion in one another. FN-2187 made several circuits of the ravine, Slip limping along behind him on his ankle, before FN-2187 gave the okay for them to attempt climbing with the cargo package.

It was strange to see the world with their helmets on again, but stranger still to be separated from touching. To get from the bottom of the ravine to the hook on the dangling retraction cable, FN-2187 used his back and feet to wedge themselves between the walls of the ravine while lifting Slip in his arms, a few inches at a time. It was slow going. His neck was within kissing distance the entire way, but the layers of titanium and shielding between them kept them apart.

All too soon, they were standing on the ledge, where the great winged creature's corpse was already beginning to decay.

"You're going to have to make the contact," Slip told him. He sounded bitter.

"Just —" FN-2187 reached up and unlatched his helmet. Slip followed suit. They stood on the ground, facing one another, almost close enough to touch. He blew out a breath. "Look, I know it's going to be hard."

"It's already hard," Slip said, and he smiled sadly. "Not a joke."

FN-2187 nodded. "Maybe… it'd be better if I requested a transfer to another team."

"No," Slip said immediately. "Don't. I can deal with not touching you, not — having you. I mean, our supplements will kick in pretty quickly, right? And we'll be back to the way things were. We won't even care that we can't..." He gave FN-2187 a pleading look. "You can't think about going away, Baby. I mean, you're part of me."

FN-2187 laughed shakily, sniffing back the sudden tears. "I guess once we're on the supplements you won't be able to make me cry like that."

"Guess not." Slip made that hopeful smile that left FN-2187 unable to do anything but smile back. "You'll still call me Slip?"

"I think I could do that," FN-2187 said. "We've got a good excuse for that one. But you can't really call me Baby. Not unless we want a hell of a lot of questions."

Slip leaned over, past the barrier of their armor, and kissed him, slowly. His lips were still so soft.

"FN-2187," he whispered. His number, spoken in that tone, made him shiver. FN-2187 leaned back and looked Slip in the eye.

"I'll care," he said. "No matter what our bodies do or don't remember. I'll care. This was…" He shook his head helplessly. "I don't have the words."

"It's not the words I'll remember anyway," said Slip.

It took them less than three minutes to make contact once they were heading up the path toward camp. "I'll tell your fire-team you're back," said the trooper on duty. He sounded more surprised than anything to hear from them. "You took a long time to retrieve that cargo package. Seriously, there was a betting pool. Odds said you were goners."

FN-2187 swallowed the hysterical laugh that threatened to overwhelm him, and just nodded. "The cargo's safe. FN-2003's ankle sustained some damage, but otherwise we're… fine."

"I'll let the Captain know you're coming."

FN-2187 stayed close to Slip, still carrying the package strapped to his back. He wasn't about to let it out of his sight until Captain Phasma guaranteed they'd be getting full credit for retrieving it intact.

Before they even made it to ground command, Nines came skidding around the corner. Even without his visor's identification, FN-2187 could usually recognize Nines in his armor by his characteristic sauntering slow gait, but at the moment he was running full tilt. Zeroes wasn't far behind.

"By the First Order," Nines breathed. Then he whooped, leaping forward to hug FN-2187, then Slip. "You're alive!"

"Thanks to him," said Slip, nodding at FN-2187. He hugged Zeroes next. "Heard you almost landed in the ravine next to me, without your helmet."

"You should see the cut on my cheek," Zeroes said. FN-2187 could hear the relief in his voice. "I thought one of those bird-things got you two."

"The ravine kept us pretty safe from attack. There was shelter and plenty of fresh water, though I don't care if I never see another emergency ration again." FN-2187 sighed, feeling the tension already beginning in his body, and looked ahead down the corridor to command central.

"Well, we missed you," said Nines. "All this time on an uncharted planet? You're going to have to fill us in on the details."

"FN-2000, 2003, 2187, 2199," called Commander K-31's voice. He ducked out from behind the curtain and beckoned curtly. "Captain Phasma is ready for you."

The captain stood at the front of the makeshift command tent, like it was a throne room, her armor gleaming. She was alone, and it suited her. Not for the first time, FN-2187 wondered what she looked like without her helmet on. He had no doubt that her expression was as sour as her voice. They all drew to attention.

"Reporting as ordered, Captain," FN-2187 said.

"FN-2187." She addressed him crisply in the way she had, without appearing to look at him. He automatically straightened his back at the sound of his number. "Your team has returned from their training mission. You failed to meet the time requirements, which has a negative impact on your total score. In addition, several of you sustained damage to your equipment."

None of them responded, since she had not asked anyone a direct question. They knew protocol as well as any of the troops. Equipment could just as easily be their actual bodies as it could be armor or weapons, since all of it belonged to the First Order, but FN-2187 had to wonder what had actually been damaged.

"FN-2003, preliminary medscan indicates you have a severe sprain to the left ankle. You were unable to transport yourself back to base?"

"That is correct, Captain," Slip said. His voice cracked a little, but Phasma did not react. "FN-2187 carried me and the cargo pod as high as he could. Then he used the retracting cable to haul us both out of the ravine, as soon as my ankle was strong enough."

It was more of a speech than Phasma had probably wanted, but Slip finally seemed to sense this and stopped talking.

"FN-2187," she said, not turning her head, "you took some liberties with protocol in the use of recovery equipment. You returned to the field with an inadequately charged weapon, and you fired on an unclassified life form without sufficient preparation."

"Yes, Captain," said FN-2187. All of it was true. He suspected none of it was all that bad, but the way she was listing each point, like the totality of them spoke to some dangerous flaw in his character… it was hard not to be certain she was right. He'd definitely gone off-script.

"Present the cargo pod."

He unstrapped it from his back and set it on the ground. Phasma released some hidden catch and opened the pod, revealing a device no larger than the palm of her hand. She handed it to him.

"This recording device collected data from the planet as well as from you and your troop during the mission. It will provide valuable information to the First Order about your capacity to deal with unplanned challenges. You will see that it gets appropriately filed with the data accumulated by your visor in your report."

"Yes, Captain." He took the device from her, feeling his insides squirming with more than just hunger, and fought an urge to look at Slip.

What did it record? he thought wildly. How much detail? Our heart rates? The state of our untreated blood? Our bodies' responses? What if it had recorded audio as well?

She was still standing there. FN-2187 waited another ghastly several seconds, then cleared his throat.

"Was… there anything else you required of us, Captain?"

"FN-2187, you retrieved your three other team-mates under less than optimal conditions." It was said in that same mildly disdainful tone. "None were damaged permanently. You achieved your objective. You performed adequately."

"Thank you, Captain," he said. That was as good as it got with Phasma.

"FN-2000, 2199, you will report to Commander K-31 for teardown duties before loading the transport and returning to base." She turned and indicated Slip. "FN-2003 and 2187, you will first report to medical. FN-3141 is waiting to assess your health and repair your injury."

"Going home," said Nines as the four of them exited the briefing, sounding pleased. "It's about time. I guess we were the last trainees. With any luck, we'll see you guys before thirdmeal."

They watched Nines and Zeroes head off. Slip let out an unhappy breath.

"A recording?"

"Yeah," FN-2187 said, his voice low. "This could be… really bad." He took Slip's arm and helped him limp down the corridor. "Nothing we can do about it now. Come on, let's get this taken care of and go home."