[font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan froze.

He wished—with everything in him, he wished—that he hadn't called Nancy. Or that he had hung up sooner: he did so now, slowly raising his hands, the little slip of sleek black plastic gripped so tightly between his talons that it had cracked.

[/font][font=Book Antiqua](and Jonathan hated to think that that might have been the last thing Nancy would ever hear him say—that their baby, their child, might never know his voice at all—)[/font][font=Book Antiqua]

"Trespassing," Jonathan repeated, willing his brain to yield up the clever words, the verbal diversions he knew were lurking somewhere beneath the fuzzy white noise of panic and incipient chaos, "trespassing! Yes, admittedly, we were, but only because, for some lamentable reason, we cannot carry out our business like reasonable folk, with passes and permits and so on."

He drew a breath that trembled, before plunging courageously onward.

"We were headed to Kīlauea, d'you know it? Make an exception for us and we will, we will give you the best apology you've ever heard. I am an expert wordsmith, I guarantee it will bring you to tears, and I never break my word—point of professional pride, that is—and I—"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Her name was Konani. And there was something wrong with this picture.

It nagged at her, eating away at the scowl on her face as she interrupted the Rreign. "Words don't change anything." They didn't change her best friends death and subsequent revival. They didn't change the course of the rolling tension and chaos and darkness making their way across the world. They didn't change the fact that Inas had changed and there was nothing Konani could do about it.

Her lips peeled back to show off her fangs, and she wished desperately to get back to her ship and boos and captain and friends. The never ending roll of heat that they languished in. The rocking as they engaged pirates in the air. Pouring over case files and listening to the humming, vibrating in her chest as the crew moved as one entity.

"You went against a goddess idiot," she snarled. "There's no forgiveness to be found in the gods."

A ring caught the light as she steadied her gun once more. "Certainly not for you." she stressed, eyes flicking over the rising aether that rose from their form. "And you just had the bad luck to run into us on our break. So rather than arresting you, you get Mal-Mal's version of justice."

She rolled her shoulder and-

A viscous growl ripped from her chest as she caught sight of the skimmer behind the men. "How did you get that ship?"

~~

Nancy felt the phone creak in her hands, Jonathan's voice the only clear thing she could hear before static filled her database. She blinked down at the broken phone in her claws, metal digging into the shattered plastic, pieces of it falling to the floor in what felt like slow motion.

She pivoted on her heel, something in her chest sparking dangerously before her legs gave out underneath her. She crumpled to the floor, heavy steel and gears echoing in the silence.

He could be dead already. He was in danger. She needed to help. She couldn't help.

Her head twitched erratically, and a claw rested lightly on her stomach.

She couldn't do it alone.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]"Really?" Jonathan heard himself inquiring archly. Shut up, shut up, shut up RIGHT NOW! "I thought forgiveness was what gods were all about. Not Maleria, obviously—mal, evil, s'right there in the name—but, you know, generally speaking."

In spite of his banter, Jonathan's breath quickened. He was going to get shot. Again. Nancy would never forgive him, especially if he let himself be killed by a—his lip rippled in half a sneer, mostly suppressed—a Terracoon, God almighty.

But her growl changed everything, Jonathan realized. His eyes flicked to the gleam of metal on her left ring finger, a detail he had initially dismissed. He had information now—a bargaining chip—if only he could seize it swiftly enough ...

---

His name was Alain. And he would have been the first to agree: there was a lot wrong with this picture.

"Naniiiii," the Velosotor whined, although neither his gaze nor the bead of his weapon wavered from the two Nightmares before him. "I can't use 'em for parts, not with all that corruption! Damn, it would have been nice to get B a new eyeball, maybe she'd get off my back for half a second."

He shoved the muzzle of his handgun in Deimos's face. "Hey, what brand of cigs are those? It's not like it'll save ya, but if they're good, I don't want no blood gettin' on 'em." The flames licking along the raptor's smooth, pebbled cheeks flared abruptly. "TELL ME, ASSHOLE!"

---

"Borrowed it!" Jonathan bit out—Nani, Nani, remember that—keeping his hands carefully raised and fully in view. "From a great big hulking Tigrean named Tesharrat! If I don't get his skimmer back to him in one piece, he's gonna crush me like a bitty bug, as I was telling my friend here not four hours ago."

He made little patting motions at the air, raising his voice to carry over Alain's sudden outburst. "Hey, how's about we all calm down, yeah? We can discuss things over, over drinks or smokes or whatever you prefer, without waving guns around, how's that sound?"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Had she been in a better mind- or if it had been several years earlier- Nani would have loved to debate the intensities of the gods with the Rreign. She would have pulled out the idea that gods were for redemption and not forgiveness. For holding yourself to an impossible standard but not caring. That most gods just flat out did not care.

But instead her thoughts and heart circled to-

He was leaning over her shoulder, bulk pressing comfortable into her back and she could pick out the cologne that he had decided to wear. Her nose twitched at the feel of his fur brushing up against hers as he explained how the skimmer worked, hand laid on hers to direct it.

And gods did she love this man and the way he felt like freedom. The way that he honored hers. And that was her breaking point, twisting around to shove her muzzle against his and-

Kissing him was just as amazing as she had imagined.

-anger and betrayal and grief.

"LIAR!" she screamed lunging forward at him because-

"He's dead," Inas told her flatly, the new anger ever present in her voice. Bitterness and hatred and a hundred things her best friend had never been-

"HE WOULD NEVER-!"

Her claws tore through bulky flesh, wanting to rend and have him bleed like her heart was doing right now. For agony to radiate through his body to match the never ending dull ache her love had become. The hear him scream as she had that day, for the world to show just how unfair it was and how little the gods did to change it.

~~

"Ma, ma," Deimos said dully from where his large arm dripped blood. Bright red against the black of his fur. His left arm dropped from where it had been thrown out in front Jonathan. "I thought we were getting Maleria's form of justice?"

He sighed, and dug his cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one and placing it in his mouth before holding the box out to the crazy raptor. They were going to die, but at least he wasn't going to jail. Honestly, he didn't know why he bothered or cared.

But Cimmeria would be such a pain if they failed, and even more so if they both died. Or if even Walsh died. She had a strange interest in the man and Deimos didn't want to be the reason she was upset.

(A small buried part of him, something he had thought was long dead whispered-

You did it for him)[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Alain's scaly brow furrowed, but he snatched the packet out of Deimos's hand anyway, scanning the label for just a moment before tucking them away into the breast pocket of his open peacoat.

(If Konani hadn't been so upset, he might have asked if Deimos had any interest in fighting pirates. Or perhaps any interest in handing him tools when he asked—there weren't many people on the crew who shared his tastes, or at least didn't get upset by his mood swings. His last nurse had jumped ship some six months before, quite literally, hahaheh, but—

There would be no turning Nani off now, more was the pity.)

---

Jonathan flinched back, raising his own forearms protectively to shield his face, and then—

Nothing. He cracked open one eye; his breath drew inward with shock at the scene before him.

"Deimos," Jonathan began, stunned. "Deimos, what are you—?"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]"I'd suggest running," Deimos managed to get out mildly before wincing as Konani's claws racked across his chest.

This was going to be such a pain.

~~

Her ears were ringing, plastered to her head as someone screamed (her, it was her, she was screaming, her voice growing hoarse from the force of it-

Fire was passion.

Fire was pain.

Fire was impulsive.

Fire was compulsion.

Fire was her master and her god. And Konani fit the mold of an acolyte of fire to a T.)

Blood splattered against the ground as she mauled the shape in front of her, claws ripping and tearing into anything she could reach. She hit bone at one point, uncaring of the law she had sworn to up hold. (It was secondary to the god they served anyways, and he was friends with Maleria. Fire had no need for a concept of good and evil.

It devoured all in its path.)

She was caked with blood, and even then, she did not stop.

She wasn't sure if she could.[/font]

[FONT=Book Antiqua]For an instant—just for an instant—Jonathan hesitated.

But loyalty was an unknown factor among his species. Even those who felt love, the ties of affection—few and far between as these were—would have elected to run, so as to strike back later on from a better position of greater strength.

So Jonathan Walsh did as he was told.

He ran.

---

Startled by the sudden movement of the Rreign diving away toward the ground, Alain snapped the bead of his weapon up to follow the narrow retreating back, and opened fire as the dark wings unfurled and spread with a sound like two great canvas sails rippling together in a brisk wind.

Alain hated things that could fly, entirely because he could not, and he nursed his grudges like two-thousand-dollar Scotch.

---

Some time afterward, Alain tapped out one of Deimos's cigarettes, lighting it and taking a deep drag. He held the breath for a moment, then blew out a draconic twin stream of smoke, humming with heartfelt satisfaction.

Some time after that, having tired of watching impassively as Konani spent her emotional frustrations on the Anyu's yielding flesh, Alain stepped up beside her and smashed the butt of his pistol expertly across the back of her head.

There were perks to being a medic that had never actually graduated, let alone taken the Hippocratic oath.

---

Jonathan's world had contracted sharply in accordance with his level of blood loss.

He had taken three bullets, one after another after another. One had, from the feel of it, lodged against his shoulder blade, rendering that arm totally useless; another had neatly sliced through the membrane of one wing, burrowing into the bundle of musculature that controlled it, grounding him; the last had struck him just beneath the collarbone, when the impact of the second had spun him around with momentum and agony.

At least it streamlined his goals, which had narrowed from save Deimos, be a hero to get help, be a hero to reach the skimmer, be a hero, finally dwindling merely to call Nancy, cry about how much everything hurts. Next, Jonathan thought ruefully, he'd be happy just to survive the next five minutes—the bullet wound in his chest was still bleeding sluggishly, although he'd done his best to staunch it with his shirt.

But he still had his phone, cracked though it was, and by now thoroughly covered in blood that was tacky to the touch. Jonathan swallowed, then leaned back against the hillock he'd taken shelter behind, fingertips tapping the pattern—long since memorized—that would dial the first saved contact that wasn't his voicemail.

"I'm sorry," a pert female voice apologized, words harshened by a mechanical burr. Nancy's tonal shifts were smoother than this crap, Jonathan thought venomously. "The number you have reached is no longer in service."

"Fffff," he hissed, the best expletive he could manage on such short notice.

They had other phones, of course—paranoia not excluding that They really were after Jonathan and Nancy—disposable cells with prepaid minutes, but he couldn't remember the numbers and hadn't programmed any of them into his phone, on the off-chance it was lifted off him.[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA](Later when Konani came to, she would lunge at the nearest person, raking her claws down Alain until she realized where she was.)

(Later, Alain would find the schematics on his desk with careful notes on how to approve them, no name written but there was only one other on the crew who'd know them that well.)

(Later, Noni would shove a cup of coffee, made to his taste every time she walked by him into his hands but would not actually speak the words in her throat.)

(Later, they'd stand their ground together against the captain in concern for a new crew mate, one that she had every reason to avoid.)

(Later, she'd apologize without words.

And it was fine.)

~~

Nancy stared at the phone in her hands, turning it over and over as her processors ran calculation after calculation. To call Jonathan might give his position away to the ones after her, or worse, give herself and thus the child away. Jonathan was her directive, and yet, something in her whispered that to lose this child would be to lose her love. (Both metaphorical and literal.) Her very being warred against itself.

She had never had to make this sort of decision, and it should have been simple. Wait in silence for Jonathan to return. But that was not the case.

(She had always been a simple step behind Jonathan. Always. There was not a day in her life that she had not known him. He was written into her code, his sweat bleed into her wires, and his eyes the first file in her database. She could remember glimpses of her creation, of the Rreign- of her Rreign insisting that he could create her himself.

And even on their missions, she had never gone on one without out him, had never let him out of her sight. It was more often that she was damaged then he was. She was replaceable after all, her parts could be rebuilt, could be bought and repaired.

His could not.

When she wanted him, all she had to so was reach a hand out.)

If she allowed her stress levels to raise too high, she risked the child that she now carried. But if she called to calm herself, she risked the man that was the love of her life.

Over and over, her calculations circled.

Did she trust her judgment? Did she trust him to have gotten away in the time that she had waited? Did she dare risk everything in this moment?

A deep breath-

and the phone pressed to her ear rang, and rang, and rang.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Somewhere between dredging his exhausted mind for the brilliant idea that would save the day and thinking dark, death-colored thoughts about the automated voice that had thwarted him, Jonathan fell into a state that was neither sleep nor fully conscious.

It would have been refreshing, had he been aware of it; as it was, he felt strangely suspended, waiting in a way that was anathema to the hyperactive Rreign's usual habit of heedless headlong momentum. Conscious thought—like sunlight—receded more and more with every passing moment, every beat of his heart: the darkness grew thicker, the surface further away, the requisite effort greater, and maybe ...

Maybe it just wasn't worth it.

Maybe he'd fought long enough, entrenched in a war that gave no payoff.

Maybe Deimos had been right, to take the path of least resistance; God knew the reward for a job well done was another job, and another, and another, and—

The cracked phone vibrated under Jonathan's chin, and he jolted awake, out of a reverie that had led down and down and down. The white pupils in his black eyes constricted as he tried to bring the screen into focus, but—

But there was only one person who could be calling. With an enormous effort, he dragged his arm up to tap the screen; if the gesture was a little smeary, he couldn't be faulted for it, not really.

Jonathan's voice, blurred and hazy and all exhale, was nevertheless warm with his smile. "Nance," he breathed. "Wha' took you s-so long?"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]"Jonathan," she breathed, a part of her distantly realizing that she had sunk to the floor at some point, a part that wasn't calmed simply by hearing her partner's voice. Buried under the hazy layer of hormones and anxiety the steamwork dragon recognized the quality of his voice. It was not likely that Jonathan was coming home.

The core of her being tried to shy away from the thought, tried to spare her heart the tremor that already ran through it. But the rest of her clamped down on it. She was never one to ignore reality. If she denied it, then she could do nothing to change it.

"Jonathan," she repeated, stronger, closer to the steel she was made of then the softness growing in her sternum. "I need a status report. Where in Darkside are you?"

He would listen to her, he always listened to her (he had to listen to her, a small part of her cried, he had to live) and she had never steered him wrong.

She ignored the sharp pain that insisted this never would have happened if she wasn't grounded. If she hadn't shackled herself so thoroughly to the future and a living being other than her creator. Jonathan was a survivor, he would survive.[/font]