SPACE: 1999 YEAR 2

JOURNEY BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

SECTION 15 – Shadows That Linger

Tony's statement lingered, raw and jagged, cutting through the corridor's oppressive stillness. It wasn't just words. It wasn't just an unfiltered confession. It was a collective truth for all of them.

The look on Verdeschi's face said it all. This wasn't just about Maya's grief; this was about everything.

This was about everything they had endured. Every loss, every fight, every moment that they had clung fiercely to hope when the universe seemed hell-bent on ripping it away from them.

Tony's gaze dropped back to the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges. "Space warps, lost people, hostile aliens, a Directive Four…". His voice trailed off for a moment.

He raised his head abruptly, shaking it with a bitter laugh that held no humor, only disbelief. "A lion, John. A goddamn lion." His voice cracked, teetering between rage and despair. "When the hell does it end? When?"

"I wish I knew, Tony," Koenig replied quietly, his own voice subdued, heavy with the weight of leadership and the endless parade of impossible decisions. "I really wish I knew." John wished he had answers. All he could offer was the truth, however unsatisfying it might be.

Tony buried his head in his hands again, his fingers gripping his hair like he could physically hold himself together. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid words, the two men sitting in the corridor as if the weight of the universe had finally pressed them into the floor.

Why the hell had he signed up for a second tour of duty on Alpha?

Verdeschi could still remember how close he'd come to walking away from Alpha, how easily his life could have taken a very different path. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd made the choice in a moment of anger, driven by the desperate need to escape the wreckage of a future that had fallen apart before his eyes. It hadn't been rational. It had been reckless, a knee-jerk reaction to everything he hadn't wanted to face. And now, sitting here in the cold, unrelenting vastness of the universe, it felt like the single dumbest decision of his life.
Right now, he would give anything to be back on Earth, very far removed from all of this insanity. He closed his eyes, willing himself anywhere but here. And for a moment, he was.

The chaos of Moonbase Alpha faded, replaced by the memory of something simpler, something real. Some people might have preferred a quiet, serene atmosphere to unwind but not him. No, he had craved the open road. Endless stretches of asphalt, the only sounds being the roar of the car engine and the pulse of music.

The memory ignited, burning as brightly as the sun-soaked day it captured. The open sunroof, windows down, and the stereo blasting a soundtrack of rebellion. AC/DC, the Stones, Ozzy, Petty, KISS. Anything with hellacious guitar riffs and pounding drums that could drown out even the loudest of thoughts. The wind whipped through his hair, tangling it into a wild, carefree mess, while the car hugged every curve of the Blue Ridge like it was born to run that road. Every mile felt like a dance, the car responding to his slightest touch, as if it had understood him better than anyone ever had, like nobody ever would.

That car wasn't just a machine, it was a masterpiece, a dream made of black steel and horsepower. And it was manual, naturally because automatics were for amateurs. Those who let the car do the thinking. But not him, no. Every shift was precise in movement, a deliberate act, interaction within the process. It had never really been about driving. It had always been about having control - his own. Mastery. Mastery of his own domain. With every growl of the engine echoing power, every corner taken with effortless grace had come reminders that he was alive, untouchable and the world had stretched out before him with no limits.

And now?

Now he sat on the cold, unforgiving floor of Moonbase Alpha. The silence here was deafening, the sterile white walls pressing in like suffocating fog. Light years away from home, the roar of an engine a distant memory, the hum of life replaced by the ceaseless drone of fighting for survival. No roads, no wind, no just simply driving to drown out the noises in his head. Just the hum of existence in a place that was far from home, would never be home.

Control was a distant dream now, freedom an impossibility. Trapped in this endless nightmare with no exit, he clenched his fists, wishing he could grip a steering wheel again – wishing he could feel the thrill of just being alive.

He exhaled slowly, his breath trembling with exhaustion and something dangerously close to despair. Why the hell had he chosen to come back to Alpha? What the hell had he been thinking?

And then the memory was gone, fading as quickly as it had come.

Tony lifted his head slightly, staring blankly ahead. His voice, when it came, was little more than a whisper. "I just want one thing to make sense again, John. Just one damn thing."

John didn't respond. He wanted the same and there was nothing he could say that would ease the storm raging inside Tony - or the one raging inside himself.

Helena finally emerged from Maya's quarters, her expression a delicate mixture of exhaustion and deep concern. As she stepped into the corridor, she caught sight of John and Tony sitting quietly on the floor. The stillness surrounding the men was heavy.

John's gaze lifted to her; his eyes shadowed by worry. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low.

Helena met his gaze and paused, her shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of the question. She pressed her lips into a thin line before exhaling a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire base. Her eyes, usually so composed, betrayed the depth of her unease. "She's asleep," she said, the words carrying more resignation than reassurance.

With practiced grace, Helena smoothed her skirt and lowered herself to sit on the floor with them. Even in the starkness of the corridor, she retained an elegance that belied the turmoil inside her. "Reality is setting in," she said softly, her voice tinged with quiet sorrow. "This isn't easy for her. I knew it wouldn't be. It shouldn't be."

Tony, who had been staring numbly at the floor, finally looked up, his face a map of exhaustion. "Would you mind staying with her for a little longer?" he asked, his voice rough but laced with desperation. "I need to grab a few things from my quarters, but I don't want her left alone. Not now. She... she shouldn't be alone."

Helena's expression softened as she reached out, her hand resting gently on Tony's knee. Her touch was firm yet compassionate, an anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm them all. "Of course, Tony. Take the time you need, I'll stay with her," she said, her tone steady, though her eyes gleamed with unshed worry.

Tony groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, his movements stiff and reluctant. He rubbed his leg absently, trying to shake off the numbness. A faint, crooked smile ghosted across his face, though it lacked any real humor. "Next time, remind me why people over twenty-five shouldn't sit on the floor," he quipped, his voice strained but laced with a flicker of his usual wit. It was a weak attempt to lighten the tension, but it was something.

John and Helena exchanged a brief, knowing look. As John began to slowly rise from the floor himself , he couldn't help but grin at Russell before grimacing slightly.

"Remind me why people well over thirty shouldn't sit on the floor," he said as he began rubbing one knee.

Helena chuckled softly, gracefully rising with ease to her feet to stand beside him. She took a moment to smooth her skirt with a delicate hand, then playfully patted his arm. "Next time, I'll call an orderly to assist you," she teased, her eyes sparkling with a touch of warmth.

Then, she turned professional.

"Now I'm worried about them both," she whispered to John. "Did he say anything about what happened?"

John nodded while still rubbing one knee. "Remind me to tell you later."

Helena smiled at him, patted his arm and then slipped back inside Maya's quarters, leaving John standing alone in the corridor, painfully regretting sitting on the floor.

Tony entered his quarters and exhaled for quite some time as he simply stood there.
Then, with deliberate movements, he pulled his belt off and flung it onto the bed, not bothering to see where it landed. His Jacket and tunic followed. Then he sat down, tugged off his shoes and slacks, his motions mechanically methodical. Detached. Rising, he then moved to the wardrobe storage and opened up the top container.

He pulled out a pair of folded sweatpants and a grey tee shirt. The soft cotton in his hands felt oddly comforting, a faint reminder of simpler moments before life had spiraled into disarray. Then he moved to the bathroom.

Glancing at his reflection in the mirror he saw a man who had experienced far too much turmoil in just a few months. He needed a shave, his eyes looked weary, and he felt far older than he really was.

His eyes traveled to his shoulder, where faint bruises were already beginning to form. He let out a soft, dry laugh. "Well, Verdeschi," he murmured to his reflection, "looks like you've been beat up by an alien girl. And she's got a hell of a right hook."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a weary grin as he shook his head. "An alien girl," he repeated softly.

He had to admit, she was something else. Just so long as she didn't turn into something else other than the cute alien woman that she was.

What the hell would you call that, he wondered. Shapeshifter was the only word that came to his mind. He recalled snippets of myths and stories he'd once read about shapeshifters – Navajo tales, Amazonian legends - stories that linked them to danger, magic and seduction.

"Great," he muttered, rubbing his face with the cloth. "Just great. A beautiful alien woman who can turn into God-knows-what and somehow, all I can think about…" He stopped, catching himself. "Good Lord, Verdeschi. Pull it together."

For just a moment, he exhaled. " Damn, I hope she doesn't tell me next that she can levitate things and pull rabbits out of a hat."

Leaning against the sink, he studied his reflection again, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. "I have officially lost it," he said quietly, as if the admission might somehow absolve him of his spiraling thoughts.

Reaching for his toothbrush, he brushed his teeth with methodical precision, focusing on the mundane task in an attempt to ground himself. It didn't work. His mind, ever restless, kept circling back to her.

When he returned to his bed, dressed now in his sweatpants and T-shirt, he sat down heavily, a pair of clean socks dangling from his hand. He stared at them for a moment, turning them over absently. The quiet hum of his quarters offered no solace, only space for the thoughts he couldn't escape.

This wasn't just curiosity or fascination. It wasn't just attraction. That much he knew. This was something more, something deeper, something foreign and indescribable. This was almost terrifying in its intensity. Only one other woman had ever come close to inciting emotions remotely like this, and even then, it hadn't felt so... immediate, so intense.

As he pulled on his socks, he made his decision. The internal debate, the hesitations – they didn't matter anymore. He grabbed his commlock and shoved it in his pocket before moving to dim most of the lights. With each step, he wondered if he should have Doctor Russell lock him in a padded room and throw away the key.
"Maybe I am insane," he muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But what the hell? Not like any of this has been normal since we left Earth."