Hudson sat at the counter, dumbstruck as he stared at the transmission, the person he knew to be Carmen Vasquez.

Vasquez's estranged sister, right there on the screen. Not only that, she was communicating from within the network of the USCM—a fellow Marine and Private!

He held the laptop in shock, turning quickly to where Vasquez lay, fast asleep.

His first thought was to wake her, to show her the message and see the overwhelming surprise on her face and witness a happy reunion between the two sisters.

But then he began hearing the words that Carmen was saying.

"I know you're probably not too happy to hear from me, we didn't exactly leave things on very good terms in our last exchange… but I heard what happened."

She had the same eyes as Vasquez: dark and guarded, fierce as though she was always calculating, ready for a fight. Her voice was also similar. Not the same soft and gravelly tone that Vasquez had, like calm music crackling from a vintage record player, but similar in cadence and dialect.

"I heard you were one of only three from your Battalion to survive and that you made it out in pretty rough shape, but other than that, nobody'll tell me a goddamn thing. So I'm here… here on Gateway and I've been looking for you, but none of the fuckers here will give me any information either."

Hudson remembered the woman making a scene in the lineup of the rental office, demanding to know the room number of someone she was looking for. He suddenly felt unsteady, his heartbeat pulsating in his ears, reeling as his mind tried to make sense of the absurdity of the realization: it had been Carmen that he had seen, and Vasquez the person she had been looking for.

"Look, we've had our differences over the years, we both know that. But fuck, I know what losing your family feels like. Shit, I dunno, I thought you might need someone right now. Please, Jen, just message me?"

As the transmission ended, Hudson sat still, staring at the black screen. He felt confused. Vasquez had told him she hadn't spoken to her sister in over ten years, not since that day in Ciudad Juárez when Vasquez had shot someone to allow her sister to flee. She had always said she wasn't able to find her.

He closed the laptop and walked back to the bed, his legs feeling a bit shaky. But even after laying his head down on the pillow, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He wanted to believe that Vasquez hadn't purposely misled him, that maybe she really hadn't been aware of her sister's whereabouts, but Carmen's words had suggested otherwise: "we didn't exactly leave things on very good terms in our last exchange."

In the darkness, he watched Vasquez sleeping soundly, covers pulled up to her chin, a serene look on her face as she breathed softly. Just when he had been feeling so close to her, his eyes were again opened to how little he really knew about her. The secrets she kept, the half-truths and the outright lies.

Hudson got up from the bed and scoured his belongings until he found a pair of headphones. Again, he sat at the counter, headphones connected, and the screen turned slightly away from the view of the bed.

Within her messages, Hudson used the search function to locate any transmissions sent to or from the number Carmen had used, as well as messages containing the terms 'Carmen' and 'sister'. He instantly felt sick when more than a few files came up.

Under the search box, the notification read, "8 files located." After pouring himself a whiskey, he scrolled down to the oldest message, the last file on the list, took a deep breath and opened it. When he did, he was surprised to see that it was a message from Sergeant Apone. Sent over five years ago.

Search result 8 of 8:

Thurs, Apr 28, 2174, 20:24 - From Sender: 18548830535 - Sgt. , 2nd BN Bravo

Vasquez,

This is the transmission I told you about. The recruitment office doesn't know what to make of her. They say she has changed her story more than once. But if she is your sister as she claims to be, and if you're willing to endorse her, it might go a long way in advancing her place in the running for a new recruit (and might get her out of some of this hot water she's got herself in).

I realize this is a sensitive matter, and you may need some time to digest this information, however we will need to provide a response within the next day or so.

Let's talk more tomorrow after training.

- Apone

Hudson clicked on the file that accompanied the message and played the transmission: a low-quality video of an interview being conducted, and he guessed that it was Carmen's initial conversation with the recruitment team. She appeared nervous as two Corporals questioned her.

"So, what you're telling us is that you've been living here as an undocumented citizen for the past five years, laying low and using an alias to avoid detection, working illegally to make ends meet?"

A naive 17-year-old Carmen stared at the two authority figures blankly. "An alias?" she responded. "What is that?"

The Corporals exchanged a look with one another.

"It means a fake identity."

"Well, it's a real name," said Carmen defiantly. "Guerrero was my mother's last name, so it's not like I made it up or somethin'. As for working illegally, I was a kid when I came here. A family took me in and I helped them with their farm for room and board. I didn't know it was a crime."

As he viewed the old transmission, Hudson imagined Vasquez, five years younger, seeing her sister for the first time since childhood, filling in the blanks of their years apart through this strained exchange with the USCM.

"And now you're seeking exoneration through enlistment?"

"I know about the Service or Jail program, I thought maybe it might work the same for this. You took on my sister as a marine to avoid jail time after juvie. She's a Colonial Marine, I just don't know where. But if you contact her, she'll vouch for me. I know it."

"Who is your sister?"

"Jenette Vasquez..."

. . .

Her arms wound around him, her body moving in close to his back, waking him from his restless sleep.

He felt her warm lips kiss his shoulder, and a lump formed in his throat. Such comforting touches from Vasquez should have incited only pleasant feelings. Instead, he felt disappointment. Spite. Regret.

The tiredness and irritability hit him as he recalled staying up late into the night and sifting through the messages on Vasquez's laptop, whiskey in hand as he put together the pieces of various exchanges he found there: the transmissions and correspondences that told the story of Vasquez and Carmen. The depth of her lies.

Wordlessly, Hudson rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. His body was numb as he dressed and brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face.

She had always been secretive—he had seen it firsthand when she recently kept her need for surgery to herself. But somehow, this new situation felt more unsettling.

Of course, he was just as culpable. He was now entangled in the fiction, guilty of the equal or worse infraction of going behind her back and viewing her private messages, and he felt ashamed of himself because of it.

He desperately wished he could go back to the night before and unread those messages, unsee what he had illicitly viewed. He wished he could rewind time to last night's dinner or their shower together, when he felt nothing but affection for her. But things between them felt tainted now. He had opened Pandora's box and there was no way to undo what had been done.

When he exited the bathroom, Vasquez was staring up at him with a frown. He knew she could sense that something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Yeah, I just—I didn't sleep well last night." He couldn't seem to look her in the eyes. "You hungry? I'll make us some breakfast."

As he began working away in the kitchen, Vasquez reached for her crutches and pulled herself up, slowly beginning to make her way over to him on just one crutch. He was surprised at how much her mobility was improving.

"Let me help," she said. "I've just been lying here doing fuck-all lately—can't keep letting you wait on me hand and foot." She smiled.

"It's fine, Vaz, I got this," he replied impatiently. "It'll probably just be faster if I do it anyway."

When Hudson looked up again, the frown had returned to Vasquez's face.

"No offense or anything," he attempted, "but it's a small space—too many cooks, ya know?"

Vasquez huffed as she turned and hobbled back to the bed again.

He watched her as she settled in, knowing that it was as good a time as any to broach the subject. He proceeded with caution. "Oh," he said, as if just remembering to mention it. "As I was going to bed last night, I heard you get a USCM notification."

She looked up at him briefly before picking her laptop up off the floor and opening it. He watched her, wondering if he should say anything more, but he decided instead to just gauge her reaction. Last night after viewing the messages, he had reset the drive, restoring the files to appear as though he hadn't viewed them. Now, Vasquez would be opening the transmission from Carmen, believing she was the first to see it.

Her eyes were staring at the screen, her expression hard to read. "Yeah, I'm seeing it here," she said.

"Is it a transmission?" he asked lightly.

"No," she replied. "Just a message from Costa, my old Sergeant. He's checking in, wishing me well."

Hudson stared at her, noting her calm expression, how naturally the words flowed from her lips, how capable she was of lying to him. Part of him wanted to tell her that he knew the message received last night was not from Costa, but he knew that he couldn't give himself away so easily.

"Huh," he replied, at a loss. "Well, isn't that nice." As soon as the words came out, he could hear how spiteful they sounded.

He had never met Sergeant Costa in person, but he knew how highly Vasquez thought of him. Hudson had heard stories of Costa's charismatic personality and his legendary muscles.

Vasquez glared at him, "You're in some mood this morning. Just what was that tone of voice about?"

"Nothing."

"You jealous or something?"

"Nope."

"Oh yeah? I tell you Costa messaged to check in on me and you give me the most fuckin' attitude. Sure seems like jealousy."

"You know what, Vaz? It sounds like you want me to be jealous," Hudson snapped back. "Well, I'm not gonna take that bait."

Vasquez looked wounded. His words seemed to surprise her and now she blinked at him, unable to come back with a response.

Hudson continued making breakfast in silence. When it was ready, he plopped an entire omelet on a plate, folding it over to make room for two pieces of toast. He placed the plate up on the counter for her, then threw some clothes into a gym bag and walked to the door, putting on his shoes.

"Where are you going?" she asked quietly.

"Gym."

"Do you really think you should be working out? You're still recovering."

"I dunno. I think I just need to get outta here for a bit."

. . .

Search Result 7 of 8:

Mon, May 2, 2174, 18:10 - From Sender: 18548970607 - Pvt. , 2nd BN Bravo

The Vasquez on the screen looked different. Her hair was not buzzed as tight at the sides. Her face looked a bit more youthful, her eyes troubled, nervous as she recorded her transmission, fiddling with the positioning of the screen.

"Carmen… I… I um…" She shook her head in resignation, hand reaching towards the screen again as if ready to stop the recording before reconsidering, hand recoiling, a barely audible, "Ah, fuck it," under her breath.

"I guess I don't really know what to say here," she admitted. "I was so surprised to hear from you like this. They gave me this number, so I hope this gets to you." Her gaze shifted before returning her attention to the camera.

"I hate that I had to do what I did, but Carmen, trust me, you don't want to be in the operating forces, at least not as a combatant on the front lines like this. I'm only here because it was my only way out. But you… you have options! My sergeant tells me that at our recommendation, they've accepted you as a new recruit, and if all goes well with training, they're going to find a place for you somewhere in the supporting establishment, maybe research or logistics. It's a good deal, Carmen, they're going to review your residency status and if you serve with a good track record, in a few years they'll likely grant you permanent status as an American citizen because of your service."

Vasquez paused. "I'm sorry that this is how we had to open things up between us after so much time apart… I hope you're doing well, little sister. I hope you'll message me back and tell me about how you're doing."

Before ending the transmission, her eyes looked up, locking on something out of view. Her eyes looked imploring, her head giving a little jerk to the side, a gesture of uncertainty. Then her hand reached up to end the video.

In the remaining few seconds before the video cut out, a voice offscreen could be heard, deep and gruff.

"That one sounded good, babe," said Drake's voice.

. . .

Morning sun shone through gaps in the tree leaves, the iconic high-rise buildings visible through the treeline.

There had been other options for vistas, ones more secluded, some that maybe would have even been more reminiscent of home. But whenever he ran here, Hudson opted for the Central Park hologram, enjoying the feeling of running past the decorative wrought iron fences and stone bridges, people walking their dogs, parents holding the hands of children or pushing strollers, other joggers rushing by him in an automated blur.

How many times had he passed these same people? At least once every time he stayed on this station, always completing that same six-mile loop. He had never stayed on Gateway this long without going to the gym for a run—he had never stayed on Gateway this long, period. He had always had someplace else to be.

Now, the idea that he was here to stay for the foreseeable future felt uncomfortable. The notion that things might not work out between him and Vasquez had always been a very real possibility, but in truth, he hadn't expected things to take a turn for the worse this quickly.

He thought about Vasquez and the shadow of a life he had unconsciously pictured for the two of them: getting her walking again, going back to Earth and setting up a modest home somewhere that they both agreed upon, starting a business. Moments of passion and quiet solitude, lying in bed together, wrapped in each other's arms, appreciating their second shot at life.

Nothing was complicated in that vision. There were playful teasings and ribbings, but no real disagreements, no hard feelings or bad moods, no damaging secrets. It wasn't as much a possibility for the future as it was a fantasy.

There was a more realistic version of that scenario. One in which he would give all of himself, baring his soul to her, when she would barely give an inch. One that found him miserable, doomed to desire someone who only moderately liked him back.

Hearing the words spoken from the hospital bed, her drugged-up, casually slurred, 'I love you,' had made him realize just how much he wanted to hear the words for real. But knowing Vasquez, that didn't seem like a very realistic outcome. While she had admitted she cared about him, there were very few times when he actually felt it was true—every so often in a kiss or an embrace, the previous night in the shower, or their first night in the apartment when she moved to the floor to sleep next to him. The truth was that he really didn't know how she felt about him, not really.

The reality was that loving Vasquez was reckless. At some point, he needed to make a decision to protect himself and his vulnerable heart from the impending heartbreak.

Nevertheless, he had vowed to stay for as long as she was recovering, so he would just have to stick it out for a little while longer and deal with things as they were until it made sense to part ways.

The hologram of Central Park faltered, beginning to flicker.

"Piece a' shit," he muttered, reaching out mid-stride, fist pounding the control panel of the treadmill to get the image back into focus. In the brash, primitive action, his fist mashed a number of buttons.

The belt he was running on stopped abruptly, but his legs kept running, sending him careening forward, past the veil of the still flickering hologram, his chest flopping over the front panel of the treadmill, nearly flipping over the other side of it.

He grunted and dismounted the machine, holding his ribs, doubled over as he caught his breath. He glanced around the room to see who had witnessed the embarrassment and caught several people around the gym who were staring.

"Machine's a liability," he said to no one in particular. "Should really get that looked at before someone gets hurt."

He limped away to the locker room.

. . .

Search Result 6 of 8:

Tues, May 10, 2174, 20:24 - From Sender: 13218813422 - unknown-name, unassigned

Carmen's face came into view on a darkened screen. She looked unhappy. A brooding, teenage version of the person who appeared in the first transmission Hudson had viewed that night.

"Well, you were right," she began, "They accepted me in at least, so I guess I should be thanking you?" Carmen paused, but no words of thanks followed. "Not gonna lie, this whole thing has felt like such a fucking punch in the gut." She laughed spitefully. "Even you sending your message to me entirely in English like our past doesn't even matter to you. ¿Lo has olvidado?¿Es esto en lo que te has convertido?"

"I don't know why I just assumed you'd give me a proper recommendation… It's like you always just have to be the better one… the one calling the shots...like you always think you know what's best for me, when really, you don't know me at all!" The tone of her voice had escalated, it was now angry, filled with ferocity.

"How is it that even now, you're still pulling the strings of my life, still fucking it all up!? I have news for you, Sis, I had this. I had a plan, and everything was under control, just like it was back home. But you always have to meddle, don't you?! I had a chance at being placed in a real combat battalion, but you purposely blocked me! After everything you did, you could have at least given me that… but you just had to take that away from me too. Instead, I'm going to be trapped in an office, spending my life in a dead-end gig. Because of you, I have no future, no family, no identity! Because of you, I have nothing!"

"I don't want to hear from you from now on, okay? Stay out of my life and stay out of my way!"

. . .

Hudson wandered around the station, numbed by disappointment as he walked without an intended destination.

It wasn't until he found himself around the rental office, scanning the crowd of people there, that he realized his roaming around wasn't entirely aimless. Whether intentionally or not, it seemed he was searching for Carmen.

His eyes went to the place where he had observed her making a scene. He wasn't sure how he could have been so oblivious at the time, how he hadn't overheard her name or something that clued him into the fact she was looking for Vasquez.

He went up to the counter, not quite sure what to say. He greeted the woman behind the desk. "Uh.. Hi. I'm looking for someone who was here two mornings ago… she was, uh, yelling about trying to find her sister."

"Yeah, I remember," the woman replied dryly.

"You do. Well, turns out I need to talk to her. You don't happen to know where she might have gone?"

The woman shook her head. "Security escorted her away and provided a warning, but she left on her own accord. We haven't seen her back here since."

"Oh." Hudson nodded, trying to think of anything else he could ask that might be helpful.

"I recognize you," said the woman suddenly, a glint of knowing in her eye.

"You do?"

She tossed her head in the direction of a large monitor mounted on the wall that provided media updates. "For a while they were covering it non-stop. Private Hudson, right? It's so terrible what happened. They've been saying they suspect the meteorites took out the atmospheric processor, but they won't say for sure." She leaned over the desk towards him, as if hoping to be let in on a secret. "What was it really?"

"Aliens," Hudson replied.

The woman behind the desk laughed. "I deserved that. I should know better than to ask. Classified, right?"

Hudson gave a half-hearted nod, trying to think of ways to politely exit the conversation.

"So, you must be out of a job then, huh?" the woman continued.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Do you have a minute? There's someone I'd like to introduce you to."

. . .

Search Result 5 of 8:

Fri, Nov 25, 2174, 19:43 - From Sender: 18549932235 - Cpl. , 2nd BN Bravo

Hey Vazquez,

Just thought I'd let you know that Carmen made it through basic training with flying colors. They're assigning her to logistics for now, but they're considering her for a special support unit to aid the combat divisions. Just so you're aware.

- Hicks

. . .

"Gateway Station used to be a new shining beacon that everyone would flock to. You wouldn't know it by lookin' at this place now! Look at this! It's a kip!"

The aging security guard named Ray now kicked a wall panel, which was scuffed and missing half of the screws that used to secure it to the wall.

"Turnaround's been fierce since '71. Seems we're constantly losing folks to the service, they just have so many positions opening up with better pay, more perks. The package you get here as a security officer—it's a joke!"

"You're not exactly selling the gig," replied Hudson.

He wasn't quite sure how he had gotten here, or why he was being recruited by this curmudgeonly ex-marine–turned–mall-cop. Yet for some reason, Hudson found himself continuing to keep pace with Ray's erratic stride, nodding along to his caffeine-fueled rants, each topic leading to the next, never quite reaching a conclusion.

"Well, who else is gonna hire you, lookin' like that?" Ray countered, barely even looking back, as if he had already absorbed everything he needed to know about Hudson from his first quick glance.

"I'm retired," Hudson replied indignantly, not certain whether it was the cast, the wrinkled t-shirt, or some other aspect of his appearance Ray was referring to.

Ray scoffed. "Must be nice. Hope you didn't forget your training just yet. You don't get a gun, but the taser can really pack a punch. Not that you'd ever need to use it—not like anything interesting ever happens 'round here!"

Hudson was at a loss. "Am I missing something?! I didn't come here to—you know I'm not looking for a job, right?!"

Ray finally stopped and looked back at him seriously. "You know what happens to most guys when they leave the service at your age? They go frickin' nuts, can't cope to save their own lives. An' most a' them probably ain't lost their battalion to an exploding colony, neither," he said with certainty. "Trust me kid, you need this job. You just don't know it yet."

Hudson frowned, feeling exposed. But Ray had already begun walking again, so he followed along, trying to keep up.

. . .

Search Result 4 of 8:

Fri, May 1, 2178, 22:56 - From Sender: 18545737266 - Pvt. , 2nd BN Bravo

Hey Babe.

I tried calling tonight, but you didn't answer. You must be busy. Hope you're enjoying Houston.

It's been weird spending this summer without you so far. We were always together for these breaks between missions, just feels different now doing it on my own. But I'm happy you got your parole, I know how much you wanted that. Hope things are going good with your new job.

You should be happy you're not here right now. The flood waters are high and the damage is crazy. Don't know how the city is going to recover.

They've called in a bunch of backup to help and I know this is something you probably don't want to hear, but your sister is here. I haven't talked to her, but I've been seeing her around in one of the support teams. She's doing a good job.

Anyway, would be good to talk one of these nights. I miss you.

- Drake

. . .

Hudson opened the door to the rental unit and plopped down his gym bag inside the door. Vasquez was lying on the bed, on her laptop, a towel of ice on her leg, which she had gotten from the kitchen herself. As he entered, she watched him tentatively.

"How you feelin'?" he asked, eyeing the ice, "Phantom pains?"

"No, just the regular pains," she replied. She seemed almost nervous to engage with him.

Hudson got fresh ice from the kitchen in a new towel and brought it to her to replace the old one that rested on her leg.

"Where have you been all day?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Around. Went for a run and then just walked around the station. I got a job," he added.

"You got a job?" she repeated incredulously. "Doing what?"

"Security. Seems pretty straightforward. I thought it would be good to keep busy. I mean, you don't really need me looking after you… I'll still be here to help out, but you're doing really good... you'd probably be even better without me hovering over you all day."

Vasquez didn't reply. She looked down at the bed. Hudson could tell something was on her mind, but he pretended not to notice. He was tired and hungry, not really in the mood to pry, so he went to the kitchen and began preparing a sandwich for both of them.

"Hudson," Vasquez said in a small voice after a minute had passed. "Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"About what's bothering you?"

"What d'you mean?" Hudson attempted.

"You know. How different you seem today?" Vasquez persisted. "I shouldn't have accused you of being jealous earlier, I know you're not like that… and I know this whole thing has been hard on you. You've been taking care of me so much and trying to help me through all my stuff, when things aren't easy for you either."

"I'm just… feeling a bit restless today," Hudson replied. "I guess I just need a bit of space. Is that okay? Just some space?"

Vasquez swallowed hard and her gaze dropped to the floor. "Yeah. Of course."

. . .

Search result 3 of 8:

Sun, Aug 15, 2179, 10:04 - From Sender: 16191452296 - Sgt. , 1st BN Delta

Dear Vasquez,

I've been holding my breath for the past two and a half weeks, not knowing if you survived the disaster on LV-426. This morning I heard that the Sulaco reached Gateway and you were one of just three surviving members of Bravo team. I also heard that you are currently in quarantine and recovering from injuries.

I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, having lost Drake and the others. I want you to know that I am here for you. You can send me a transmission anytime, and I hope you do so I can see for myself how you're doing... Just to put some of my fears to rest.

Jenette, just one last thing, I know this isn't really my place to tell you this, but news from the Kennedy base is that Carmen has defied protocol by leaving her battalion to come see you. I just wanted to give you the heads up as I know things have been strained between you two, and also because she is violating her terms with the USCM, and that could get her into some big trouble. So if you do see her, be sure to talk some sense into her.

Anyway, I hope you're alright. Take care. I'm thinking about you.

- Matteo

. . .

This place felt familiar. Dark and claustrophobic, the limited space occupied by his own rapid breaths, his outburst of fear echoing through the vent, broadcast into a seemingly endless void. Even the pain seemed familiar, the jet-black claw digging ever deeper into the open wound on his leg, dragging him; the terror of his impending death, unavoidable no matter how hard he fought.

The beast that held him in its grasp now approached a hole in the duct and quickly descended through, pulling Hudson along with it. It felt like he was falling for ages and when he finally landed, Hudson felt his body hit hard, the side of his head slamming into the floor.

He grunted and rolled onto his back, his head pounding where it had hit—not the metal floor grate as it should have been, but a floor that was cold and hard like stone.

The creature was on top of him now.

"Hudson, wake up!"

It took him a minute to realize he was on the floor of their apartment unit. The figure leaning over him was not an alien attacker, but Vasquez. She was on the floor with him, her hands on his face.

"Hudson, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

"I'm here," he choked, releasing his pent-up breath, a ragged sigh as his torso continued to quake in fear. "Gateway."

"That's right." Vasquez placed a hand beneath his head, her other hand sliding over his chest, and he knew she could feel his heart pounding.

Hudson suddenly felt foolish as he recalled his last memory before the nightmare: working his way through a shoulder of whiskey at the kitchen counter, reflecting on a strange day in which he had accepted a job and he and Vasquez had barely spoken. He must have drifted to sleep sitting there, whether from tiredness or alcohol. Either way, he had fallen clean off the chair without waking.

Her dark eyes explored his face, but fixated on the spot on his forehead, which had absorbed the impact of the fall.

"Come on," she said, "let's get you up."

He nodded, though his head throbbed, and his body ached, his tender ribs and wrist feeling the aftershock of his plummet.

Vasquez picked herself up with her crutch and sat on the edge of the bed so she could reach down to him, helping him up. The motion of standing caused a pulsating in his head, and he closed his eyes, blindly walking himself back to his side of the bed.

"Why the hell have you been falling asleep there, you donkey?" she asked in annoyance. "Don't think I don't know how much you've been drinking lately. It's a fucking bad habit and you know it."

"What do you care how much I drink?" he challenged as he crawled into bed.

"Because I thought we were here to look after one another," Vasquez quipped as she turned on the bedside lamp. Hudson grimaced, squinting against the light. "Now, look here." She held up one finger in front of his face.

"Come on, would you quit it? Shut that light off," he objected, and she immediately flashed him a look of impatience.

"Would you stop being such a child and just look here?!"

Hudson sighed in resignation and followed the direction of Vasquez's finger as she moved it closer and then farther from his face. Then she moved the bedside light, directing it to shine in each of his eyes and he felt the strain in his vision as his pupils dilated.

When she seemed satisfied that he didn't have a concussion, she directed the light away from his face again and said more softly, "See, was that so hard?"

Their eyes met and he stared back at her warily, seeing one eyebrow lift, her expression morphing into one of concern as she touched her fingers to his hairline where his forehead had made contact with the floor.

"A new bruise to add to the mix." Her voice was soft as she said it, a hint of sadness replacing her annoyance.

She snapped off the light quickly, and they settled into the darkness, lying in the bed side by side, a substantial space between them.

Just when he thought she might have fallen asleep, her voice spoke, low and uncertain.

"Are they getting worse? The nightmares? It took me a while to wake you."

"Not sure," he replied.

When Vasquez spoke again, a slight waver restricted her voice, "You know… it was one month today."

Hudson considered the date, August 27: one month after they had first arrived at LV-426.

It didn't seem like a month. Probably because they had been in cryo for over half of it. Still, it was strange to think about.

There was silence again and then the sound of Vasquez exhaling, followed by the slightest graze of her hand against his.

It was tentative, as if she had spent several minutes working up the courage to touch his hand, expecting him to pull away from her. He didn't.

More than anything, Hudson wished they could go back to how things were before, but he knew the dangers that accompanied that. His weary, unlucky heart cautioned him that it needed distance.

But surely there was no harm in this, the most innocent of touches.

Vasquez slid her hand incrementally closer, so slight that at first, he could barely feel anything more than the heat from the underside of her fingers. But then, she let her soft palm rest over his knuckles, the tops of her fingers curling under so that their hands were gently interlocked.

As his hand lay delicately nested within Vasquez's grasp, he tried to ignore how even the simplest contact with her filled him with comfort.

. . .

Search result 2 of 8:

Tues, Aug 17, 2179, 08:33 - From Sender: 18548970607 - Pvt. , 2nd BN Bravo

"Dear Sergeant Costa,

Thanks for reaching out. I don't want you to worry about me, but yes, things have been tough lately.

My legs are a mess and it's looking like I'm going to lose the right one below the knee. I go in for surgery tomorrow or maybe the day after that. I don't know if I will ever be able to serve as a marine again.

Yes, I'm alive, but I wonder if it might have been better if I just died there on that rock. I feel guilty I made it out while Drake and the others didn't. I feel like they all deserved to survive more than I did. Why did I survive when I've got nothing to live for?

Thanks for the heads up about Carmen. I'll send you a transmission when I'm able. I'm sorry for the dreary message. Things are hard right now, but I'll manage.

- Vasquez

Hudson's hands were shaking as he read Vasquez's response to Costa's message, sent just over a week ago. His stomach felt pained and queasy as he read her words again, 'Why did I survive when I've got nothing to live for?' He hated seeing the words on the screen, and his heart hurt to imagine Vasquez feeling that way.

But the message delivered a personal hit to him as well. Of all the messages he had seen that night, this one hurt the most.

It had been sent from the quarantine unit, where each bedroom contained a display screen meant for communication with quarantine staff, but also capable of logging on to the USCM portal and basic messaging. Upon arrival in his own room, he had sent messages to Ian and Louise's parents, telling them he was okay. For Vasquez, the obligatory, 'I'm alive, don't worry,' message was sent to Costa in response to the concerned email he had sent.

But it was the timing of Vasquez's message that stung so badly. The morning of August 17, two days after they had arrived.

Only an hour before she sent that, Vasquez had been sleeping peacefully against Hudson nestled into his side . Earlier that night, she had woken him from a nightmare, held him in her arms and rubbed his back, telling him everything would be okay. They had kissed passionately, locked eyes during slow, indulgent sex. And in the morning, they showered together. She had rested her head on his shoulder under a cascade of warm water, then changed his wet bandages, carefully tending to his injuries as he watched her in quiet awe.

After all of that, Hudson had left her room to go make them breakfast, and that was when she had decided to send Costa her reply. To speak so candidly to him, to tell him about her surgery, her guilt for surviving, the feeling that she had nothing to live for; all the things she had never told Hudson.

The truth was that he was jealous of Costa. He was jealous that the man was getting the true side of Vasquez, in no uncertain terms, concise and to the point and indisputably in writing.

Hudson, on the other hand, had to continuously work to pry the most basic feelings out of Vasquez with all of the finesse and tact of a hostage negotiator.

Costa wasn't the only one he envied. He remembered the other message he had opened from Vasquez that night—her first message to Carmen. At the very end of the transmission, he had heard Drake's voice and realized that Drake had been sitting on the bed, present for the whole thing, watching as Vasquez carefully formed her words, sent and resent an unspecified number of transmissions, trying to get it just right.

He hated himself for feeling it: an inescapable resentment towards his former fellow marine for having shared something so sentimental with Vasquez. Jealous of the fact that she had trusted him with the details of her past, allowing him to see her be vulnerable. The two had shared so much history together and even still, secrets of theirs lingered, bound within the edges of a confidential paper note that now sat above Hudson's head night after night as he slept.

Apone had also known about the situation with Carmen and so had Hicks.

Hudson was beginning to see a pattern. The only one who seemed to be consistently left in the dark was him.

Vasquez was right when she said that she was going to end up hurting him. He had chosen to ignore the red flags up until this point, but now he was facing a damn red blockade.

The brief romance he shared with Vasquez had been enticing, but now he was coming down from the high, and the feeling of reality was hitting hard. He felt tired and broken. He needed to stop dreaming and get back into survival mode.

The remaining file from the hard drive scan, Search result 1 of 8, was the one he had watched first, the transmission that Carmen had sent that night. He watched it again, and as he did, he noted the look of sadness in Carmen's eyes, nearly hidden within her frustration. He could relate.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one being left in the dark.

. . .

Despite its appearance as a bustling and populous nerve center, in actuality, Gateway Station was a fairly uneventful place. People managed cargo and took meetings, shopped, ate at restaurants, and rented sleeping quarters. A small percentage, like Trudy and Ray—and now himself and Vasquez—resided there because of work or convenience, but for the most part, Gateway existed as a place where people passed through, on their way to somewhere else.

The transient nature of the station made for a pretty dull work environment, and as Hudson made his rounds on his first shift, patrolling his assigned zones of the station in his crisp black security officer uniform, he watched the people around him and their limited interactions with one another, noting how paradoxically lonely and boring such a busy place could be.

He ended his shift at the hospital, an extra coffee in hand on the off-chance Trudy was working. While he still felt uncomfortable in a hospital setting, at least the place felt livelier and more human than the rest of the station.

At the front desk of the recovery ward was the same nurse that he had spoken to when Vasquez was in surgery. Already, the interaction seemed like it took place a lifetime ago.

"Hey, man," Hudson said, walking up to the desk, coffees stacked, one on top of the other. "Trudy working today?"

The nurse looked up from his desk, his thick eyebrows lowering over his eyes, evidently remembering Hudson and their somewhat brash conversation. His expression turned quizzical as he made note of Hudson's uniform.

"She's off today," he said after a quick look back at his monitor. "She's in again tomorrow and Wednesday."

"Ah, okay," said Hudson, disappointed. He had been looking forward to thanking her for her earlier advice, and now, with everything new that was happening between him and Vasquez, he had considered asking her for a bit more.

Hudson set the coffee meant for Trudy down on the desk in front of the nurse. "You drink black coffee?"

"Depends," replied the young man. "Did you spit in it?"

"Nah man, didn't get the chance to," he said, nudging the coffee forward like the small peace offering that it was.

The nurse breathed a laugh and accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. "What's with the uniform?" he asked, sipping coffee, looking Hudson over skeptically. "Think you might've taken my 'guard dog' comment a bit literally."

"Fuck yeah, man," Hudson laughed, "But I figured why the hell not!"

"How's your friend doing? The one that was in here for surgery?"

His smile fading slightly, Hudson nodded, "She's doing well, she's been up and walking with crutches... so, yeah, not too bad."

Behind Hudson, raised voices could now be heard, slowly elevating in volume and the nurse's eyes locked on to the scene that was unfolding behind him. "Ugh, not her again," he said under his breath.

Hudson spun around, already knowing who he would see.

A woman with buzzed black hair stood with her back towards him as she argued with a hospital employee. She was slender yet muscular, a sleeveless, hooded sweatshirt revealing ripped biceps nearly covered in tattoos.

"I've told you already," the staffer said in exasperation, "We currently have no one here by that name, and we don't give out records of past patients."

"I know she was here; I must have missed her by just a few days! Please, I'm her sister, I need to know where she is." Her voice was raised in frustration, but in her tone was also despair, and Hudson felt pity for her. He knew she must be in agony, suspecting Vasquez was on the Station, but not having any clues as to where she was or how she was doing. Hudson thought back to the early days of his brother's absence, the pain of not knowing where John could have gone, if he was alive or in trouble.

It took Hudson a moment to realize that he was unconsciously walking over to the scene, approaching her with no idea of what to say.

As if sensing someone was behind her, Carmen turned around and groaned at the sight of him. "You called security on me?!" she asked the staff member accusingly. "We were just talking!" She turned back to Hudson, her hands up in front of her, "Please, just wait a sec!"

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, already leading her away from the hospital staffer before she could answer.

"Okay, look, I'm leaving, see?" she replied with an attitude, yanking her arm away from him. But when she looked up at his face, her head tilted slightly, and he knew she recognized him as a survivor of LV-426. "Wait. You're one of the—you know my sister, don't you?" she asked with wide eyes.

Hudson nodded. "I know you're here to see her. But she's fine. She's recovering."

"Where is she?!"

"I can't tell you just yet."

"Why the fuck not?!"

"'Cause I can't have you bombing on over there, showing up unannounced—it'll stress her the fuck out!" Hudson reasoned firmly. "Listen, just give me some time to talk to her, I'll meet you here tomorrow morning and let you know if she wants to meet."

"No way!" Carmen paced on the spot, her irritation mounting, "Look, I've been on this station looking for her for nearly a week now! If you ask her, I know she's just gonna say, 'no'!"

"That's her call to make." Hudson shrugged. "Take it or leave it, that's my offer."