Comfort by "Prophet" Kristy and Nick Coghlan (with special thanks to Becki and JoshN for polish on that one sentence) Thank God you're finally here. I didn't say it out loud, but inexplicably, it was my first thought when I looked up and blearily saw you standing there. I'd been in the window seat of my room since we'd dispersed to get some rest before diving back into planning and preparation. (As if anyone could sleep at a time like this.) I wasn't even seeing the beauty of Mendellia outside my window. Everywhere I looked, I saw that terrifyingly mutilated and tattooed visage, a nightmare figure ruined by a soulless hatred, yet retaining an eerie echo of humanity. Any . . . *thing*. . . that would willingly do that to itself . . . "You heard?" You nodded once, shortly, eyes gone cold. "Sharon gave me the short version when I landed. I'd read most of the reports." Well, with your travel schedule, you would have had to. I cast my eyes down, seeing the alien visage again. "I didn't. It . . . I just couldn't keep up." You didn't say anything to that--at least, not right away--and you didn't have to. There were a lot of things I'd let fall by the wayside. "You didn't want to." At that I opened my mouth to deliver a retort--you didn't need to rub it in, after all--but then my brain caught up with my ears and registered your tone of voice. Far from the sarcastic bite you could get when you let yourself, it was softer, back to the early days of our friendship, when you were shield and emotional anchor. I'd been immersed in regret over the past, but you were still on the current conversation. I knew what you meant. I didn't want to know. I didn't want them to be attacking my home. It wasn't until you followed up the comment by putting a hand on my shoulder that I realized I was shaking. I let myself stumble forward until I was in your arms, needing to be held, needing to hold onto something vital and alive. I wanted to crawl inside and hide. It didn't matter who pulled back first; it didn't matter that I was the one who kissed you, more deeply and with more need than I had in a long time. It didn't matter what was in our past. We were together, and alone, and frightened, in a dimly lit room with an empty bed. Back before . . . well, before we both got busy--too busy for "life", apparently--we'd done this before. Back before, when it meant something. Before I started graduate school and suddenly dropped off the radar, home only long enough to feed the cat and sleep. Before your other business took off and you were nearly always off visiting clients. It was ridiculous, really; if anyone on this planet could make a long-distance relationship work, it should have been us, what with the extra-galactic transportation we had access to. But then I wanted to run that one experiment on Saturday; and then you were doing three things at once and none of them was calling; and then it was too much trouble to figure out where you were this weekend, if you were even on-planet, when I could just sleep in . . . Our last times had been quiet. Too quiet, as if we both knew it was going to end but our bodies hadn't quite received the message yet. The quiet now stemmed from a different source, because to give voice to our fears was to welcome them into the darkened room with us. I let a different sort of communication take over, clinging even more tightly as your lips moved to the hollow of my neck and one warm, long-fingered hand slid slowly down my back . . . ***** I traced my fingertips down your spine, as I inhaled the scent of your hair. Vivid, my memories of the last time we had been together. Vivid, too, my regret that I had let this slip away from me. Had let *you* slip away from me. At the start, just after your previous lover died, we were virtually inseparable. We had been friends before that, despite our initial differences, but after he died protecting those children, and I took over his business, we became something more. I never quite understood why I let you go the way I did. I guess I was overwhelmed with the new responsibilities I had acquired. By the time I realised there was a problem, I wasn't sure you were interested any more. So I kept silent, and we continued to drift apart. I never stopped loving you, but I thought this was what you wanted. Perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps this was just a desperate affirmation of life in the face of the death that now seemed so certain. It didn't really matter. Whatever tonight was, my aim was the same. To shield you with every fibre of my being, but also to encourage you to be everything I knew you could be. To help you to find again that inner core of strength I knew you possessed. Grandiose words, certainly, but true all the same. But that was for the morning. For now, it was enough to take pleasure in your presence, for us to bring each other the joy that we had known before. As my hand slipped beneath your blouse, I started guiding you gently toward the waiting bed. . .