Mace stood in the hallway of the Icarus II, directly opposite the entrance to the gym. He clenched and unclenched his fists in hopes that he would be able to control his temper before he found Harvey. He couldn't imagine facing that asshole without beating him into a bloody pulpy mess; the asshole who shattered Capa—Capa who would never be his, beautiful and delicate and independent and intelligent Capa… broken Capa.

Some of the things that Capa had said to Mace within the past few months broke through the floodgates of Mace's mind:

You couldn't hurt me if you tried.

I'm fine.

It's fine.

Mace shuddered at his ability to miss every sign he'd been given. How had he let Capa live this way? Then Mace mechanically replayed the words he'd heard only minutes earlier—words that broke him and tore him; words that had bled from Capa's lips with a halting intensity.

He made me kiss him.

He hit me.

I didn't know how to fight.

I wasn't a virgin. He didn't take that from me.

Don't you hate me?

Please don't do anything stupid, Mace.

How had he missed the signs? How had he not witnessed that? Capa had been introverted for weeks, and no one had cared. Mace couldn't stop what happened next: blind with angry and scalding rage, he burst into the gym and threw Harvey up against the far wall.

"Mace! What the fuck?" Harvey's limbs were tangled up against the wall—Mace's forearm was cutting across his neck and Harvey was growing red quickly.

"You know exactly what the fuck." Mace fixed his eyes into Harvey's before releasing the neck beneath his arm. Then, he placed his hands on both sides of Harvey's face and flexed threateningly. "Give me one reason I shouldn't beat your face in right now."

"I swear to God, Mace, I don't know what this is about."

Mace would have believed Harvey's innocence had it been any other accusation, but the combination of Harvey's accelerated heart-beat, the pounding in Mace's ears, and the whimpers that had plagued Capa's speech forced the reality onto Mace.

"You give me one reason or I swear I'll kill you. You touch another hair on his head, and I swear… I. Will. Kill. You. And it will be very slow."

"Mace… come on. I mean, you're a guy. You get it, right? He's like a fucking girl he's so pretty. He's so sweet. You know. You've seen him—and… and… I mean, he's so fuckable. Haven't you seem him when he get's outta the shower? It's just this great pale skin and… come on. Whenever he bends over… and he does that way to fucking often. He's just messing with us. He wants it, too. I mean come on Mace—don't tell me you wouldn't do differently. I mean, you'd do this if you had the chance too. He didn't ever say no. He just lies there and grunts. And you can say it's pain, but fuck. No. He's just enj—," Harvey was cut off by an furious fist slamming across his face.

"You will never say any of those lies about him again."

"You can't stop me. You can't kill me. He wouldn't let you."

"I can kill you if I want to, Harvey. And believe me, if you even look at him again, I will want to kill you." Mace put his hands at his sides and stood before Harvey for several moments longer before turning to leave.

"You can't tell Searle or Kaneda. They wouldn't believe you, and Capa wouldn't tell them. He cares about the mission," had Harvey not been so nervous—trembling from terror—Mace would've beat him for the presumptuous way he spoke about Capa. Mace had to admit, that it was also the truth of the statement that stopped him: Harvey was right. Capa would never let anyone put him before the mission.

"I'm not going to. But, you should fucking believe me, Harvey. I will kill you the minute we're on Earth if you try anything."

"Sure."

Mace crossed the room and smashed Harvey's head against the wall—at half the strength he could've used—before he quickly stormed from the room—back to Capa's side.

When Mace returned to Capa's bedroom, the physicist was fast asleep—although it looked to be a restless sleep. Mace sat in the corner of the room and watched him sleep—dreaming of how it could've been for them back on Earth. They could've been beautiful together had he made his move. Had he made his move so many things would've been different…

Capa hated sleeping. It wasn't the act of sleeping that he disliked—putting his head down and closing his eyes was painless. Rather it was the dreams he was plagued with that made the experience into an ordeal. Ever since his fifteenth birthday he'd had the same set of dreams, and once he made it onto the Icarus II the only differences was the addition of a dream. The first dream was always the same:

"Dad, please."

"Shut the fuck up, you little shit."

A slap across the face and Capa was on the floor again. He couldn't get off of the floor without another hand across his face.

"I have school tomorrow."

"And I have work tomorrow."

A boot into his side. A fire-poker slamming up and down and up and down and down and down and down on his back.

"Please. Dad, you're drunk."

"And you're a little genius."

Another boot to his side and Capa was writhing in pain.

"Daddy?"

"Go to sleep."

A bottle to his head, and Capa was out.

Blackness.

The blackness only ever lasted a few minutes in his sleep. Soon the next dream would begin:

Five boys circled Capa. Only one was as tall as he was, but what they lacked in height, they may up for in muscle tone.

"Come on, guys. I have to get to class."

One of them chuckled.

"Please…? Just let me go."

The tallest one—still only Capa's height—bound forward and shoved Capa up against a brick wall.

"Make me."

"What do you mean?" Capa knew what they meant. He wished he didn't, but the dreams were the same—always the same.

"You know exactly what I mean." The words were followed by the boys lips ghosting over Capa's neck, and a slow and foreboding dry hump against his leg.

"Please no…" Capa closed his eyes.

"Hey! What are you kids doing back here?"

"Fuck—run!"

Suddenly Capa was alone, and he was crying.

The boys left, but Capa knew that beatings came almost weekly after that. Never again were they as ballsy as the first time, but that didn't mean they'd never suggest it—because they did, frequently.

The final—and newest—dream was the longest, the most painful, the most vivid:

Capa was sitting alone in the pay-load. He was finishing up another simulation when Harvey knocked.

"Ya?"

"It's Harvey."

"Oh, hey… come on in."

Harvey stood at a distance for a time, just watching as Capa shut down the machines.

"I'm sorry if I'm late for dinner again."

"No Capa, you're not late."

Capa stood and tried to walk past Harvey—tried to go to dinner, but Harvey's hand encircled his upper-arm. Then Harvey smiled. It was just a smile, but Capa tugged on the hand and tried to leave. It was just a smile.

Within moments Capa was up against the door—unable to breathe through the lips that were suctioned onto his. Harvey groped at his clothed body; Harvey didn't care what he grabbed as long as he grabbed it.

"Harvey. Stop. Pl-please… I—," the lips were back on Capa's within seconds.

Now they were on the floor: Capa's mouth wrapped feebly around Harvey's member.

Now they were against the door: Capa naked and trembling and bleeding and bruised across the face.

Now they were in Harvey's bed: Capa crying and curled into as much of a ball as he could be. Bleeding more. Bleeding there.

Now they were in the pay-load: Capa beaten to a bloody pulp on the floor.

Now they were in the showers: Capa was naked and shivering. Harvey was touching him.

Now they were at dinner: Capa was trying not to whimper.

Then the dream ended. It ended there because he would wake up before the rapes repeated themselves. Capa couldn't handle it if they repeated themselves.

"Jesus Christ. Capa? Capa are you alright? You're shivering. Jesus."

Capa panicked and looked around the room; once he saw it was Mace his heart slowed significantly, but the ghosts of the dreams remained in the blackness of his mind.

"Capa… ?"