I finally give up on trying to get more sleep around dawn. Throwing off even the thin covers I prefer in the perpetual heat here, I flop onto my back.

I'm supposed to travel to the Tribe today so I can try out an idea I have on the machine that powers the shield there. Normally, I know I'd be excited at the prospect of something like this, of being able to test out a theory, work out the kinks on site. I do like a challenge, even with the frustration with all of the projects I've been working on.

But rather than looking forward to it, even despite the pressure to succeed, I find myself almost dreading the journey. A first for me, and it's no mystery why. Worse, I'm feeling this way because of something I did. I feel the urge to slap myself.

Melchior is still clearly angry at me, which would be bad enough. But what's really terrible is I know he's also hurt under that cold demeanor. I'm so not good at this emotional stuff!

“Ugh!”

I flip onto my stomach and smash my face into the pillow as I contemplate the hard truth of this particular shortcoming. I know how it developed, but knowing the problem and fixing it are two very different things. On the ship, there was always this expectation of maintaining a certain...unfeeling perfection in the scientific teams. Something even the other high-level professionals in other fields strived to achieve, like a badge of honor.

Not because we were all cold as people, but because doing our jobs in the most effective manner meant we needed to put emotions aside. Put all biases we had aside, really. They aren't conducive to good work.

But compartmentalizing my emotional self like that day in and day out...I guess I didn't realize exactly how much of a toll that took on me. Combined with the unhealthy habits and traits I acquired from my mother...yeah. Really not a great combination.

I'm just not used to having to deal with my emotions and work at the same time, but with Melchior right there in the lab with me, that's just going to come up. Naively, I didn't even consider that possibility, though I guess I should have. I mean, I've been mooning over him for some time now, and that's affected my work somewhat too, right? Maybe not quite to this extent, but it was definitely a unique experience for me to be distracted by a man I was attracted to. It had never come up before. I always kept the two deliberately separate.

To make matters worse, I know I've managed to keep a tight lid on my mother's more unsavory traits, but that lid blew right off with Melchior. Like he just short circuited those defenses without even trying. Just with his presence alone.

I flip over again, taking a deep breath. I guess...I've never felt quite this intensely about someone before. And I just don't know how to handle it. I know it's also just triggering a whole bunch of insecurities in me, activating my abandonment issues in a big way. Maybe part of the problem is...that I don't even know if we'll last, that he'll even stay with me in the long run.

Driving him away before he can leave on his own gives me that control that I so need in my life after the chaos of my childhood. The thing is, that analysis is all well and good, but it's no excuse for treating him badly. Not when he's been nothing but good to me.

I should apologize for pushing him away. A real apology, not that quick one I gave right after I took out my frustration on him.

What I really want to do is stay in bed all day. But I don't. I rub at my eyes and sit up. I can't lay in bed any longer. I have to get ready and head out to meet Melchior for the trip. I'm sure being late won't help his mood.

Sliding my legs off the bed and bracing my feet on the floor, I try to gear up for the journey.

I can do this—I will get through this. I keep repeating that in my head while I get ready. All the way up until I walk out to the edge of the city, where Melchior is waiting for me. As soon as I see his cold face, his guarded gaze, I lose the Words of Affirmation.

It really hurts when he looks at me like that. I've only ever seen him watch me with soft eyes, with admiration and desire. I didn't even realize I came to expect it, like the bright sunlight here. This shift makes me feel like something you'd scrape off the bottom of your shoe.

"Are you ready?" he greets me, not bothering with pleasantries. He's been keeping communication to a minimum. Just the facts, ma'am. I feel like this would be better if he just tore into me and got it over with. But I guess that isn't in his personality.

I just nod, matching his verbal efficiency. "Yes."

I step towards him a little hesitantly, somewhat afraid for the first time that he may not want me to touch him, even if it is only for the purposes of faster traveling.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief when he doesn't step away. But the business-like way he wraps his arm around my waist is different than before. How can the same gesture, the same movement, feel so completely off? I don't know, but I can feel it. Like he's touching me only as much as he needs to and no more. It's not nearly as comforting.

Spreading his wings, he takes off with me attached to him. But I may as well be a pack of supplies strapped to his body. That's how distant he feels even though his side is pressed up against me. It's actually kind of impressive how he gets his point across while still holding me.

We stop once, halfway through the journey, taking cover in the shade of a rock formation and eating.

"Would you like more of the jerky?" I ask, holding out a piece. As peace offerings go, it isn't much, but I don't know what else to do.

"No, thank you," he responds immediately, not even turning to look at me. With a pang, I realize he hasn't faced me during the entire trip. The only time we've made eye contact today is when I first met him at the edge of the city. I thought maybe a break would be a good time for me to broach the elephant in the room—or maybe it would be more appropriate to call it the guster in the desert. Whatever.

But the freezer burn I'm getting just from being near him makes me put it off. Cowardly, maybe. But if things go wrong, we'll still have half the journey to go with me holding on to him like a monkey. I can't handle things being even more uncomfortable than they are now, especially if I can't move away to lick my wounds afterwards.

Okay, fine. I'll approach him about this once we're at the Tribe. And either or both of us can get some space if we need it.

He must be keeping an eye on me even if he's not looking at me directly, because as soon as I'm done eating, he stands.

"Come. I do not want to waste any time unnecessarily."

I nod at the terse words, adjusting my own pack and stepping towards him. I can't help but reflect on our previous journey to the Tribe as he wraps his arm around me again. I almost feel like I'm with a different person altogether. For the first time, I understand how silence can be deafening.

At least we don't encounter any of Tajss' beasts on the way there. I'm willing to grasp at any silver lining at this point. I feel relief when we see the distinctive wall come into sight. At least this particular low-grade torture will be over. But as soon as we make it to the Tribe's cave system, Melchior steps away.

"I need to speak with someone."

Not waiting for any kind of response, he promptly disappears. Ouch. Though I guess I am a little relieved to escape the silent treatment and the cold shoulder.

"Hey, Addison!" Fallon calls out, pausing with a basket full of produce. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Fallon. I needed to test out a theory with the machine that powers the shield here," I explain, waving vaguely in its direction.

"Ah." She adjusts her basket as she steps away. "That's great! Good luck—I know all of us will feel a lot better if we can get a permanent fix for that thing."

"Thanks," I murmur, watching her leave.

At least someone appreciates me right now. Shaking my head at myself, I head directly over to the machine. At least I can be productive.

Unstrapping my pack and taking out the tools I brought with me, I hunker down. As I work, I also kick myself. I should have apologized during the trip, despite how awkward it was.

At least we had a good amount of privacy out there. I feel like anywhere we go here, someone could hear us through no fault of their own. It's not like there are real doors to block out sounds, just curtains for visual privacy. It's not like I can talk to him anyway, if he keeps running away as soon as he can. Maybe I should hold off and just do it on the trip back...

I mentally smack myself. I can't keep putting this off. If I continue to do that, this fight is going to become even harder to resolve. I know it isn't good to let things linger. A deeper rot can set in.

Okay, fine. I'm going to apologize to Melchior right after I finish with the machine. Even if that means dragging him away in front of everybody and finding a corner where we can talk.

I immediately feel better as the resolve washes through me. I have a plan and I'm going to stick to it. I need to fix this so I don't keep stressing about it and Melchior doesn't keep hurting and being angry.

I frown down at the machine. Hmm. Maybe if I—

"Attack! Weapons at the ready! We're under attack!"

Adrenaline shoots through me at the words, the familiarity of the situation making it feel surreal.

Again!?

Are they just waiting to make sure we're always here for everyone?

"Shit shit shit," I mutter to myself, immediately working to adjust the machine to ensure the shield is stable, at least for now. Any more tinkering is going to have to wait.

Grabbing the shock stick I have strapped to my back, I run over to the wall, joining the stream of Zmaj and women going in the same direction.

The staccato roars of the invaders are close.

Too close.

"They're past the shield!" one of the women screams, though I can't see who it is.

I feel a cold chill raise the hairs on the back of my neck. The shield was down briefly. But apparently at exactly the wrong time.

In the next moment, it doesn't matter.

A group of the cold-eyed aliens runs in past the wall, their mouths open as they scream their battle cries.

I turn on the shock stick, trying to remember everything Melchior taught me but coming up with a blank. A metallic taste fills my mouth as I fight down a sense of raw panic.

Odd details stand out. The particular texture on one of the invaders' cheek. The way that the light bounces off the thick ridge of another's. The sharp glint of claws at the end of their main three-fingered hands...

I flinch as Bashir leaps in front of me, taking down one of the invaders with a hard thrust of his lochaber.

Then it's like the dam has broken. Zmaj and invaders collide in a riot of sound and screams, but this time I'm not safely buffered, standing way in the back out of the action. There are too many, too close for the Zmaj to get all of them before they get to us.

I try to stay out of the way of the fights going on around me, the sheer confusion of being in the middle of the battle hitting me for the first time. There's so much sensory input that it's difficult to know where to look, friend and foe oddly blending together at odd times. For a few moments, I'm standing in the middle of chaos, in the eye of the storm going on around me.

And then I see a flash of that distinctive brown carapace. I turn towards it, bringing my shock stick up as I meet one of the invaders' black, flat eyes. I feel as though I'm moving through molasses, like I'm in a dream, though I know I must be moving fast.

My heart thuds in my ears, deep and slow. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I'm not going to be able to block or hit him in time. I see that immediately, even as I keep moving. He reaches out with those claws, the secondary arms flaring out at his sides, that mouth opening to display sharp teeth behind the hard tusks... I brace my legs and block one of those clawing hands with the shock stick, but the other digs into my side, sliding through my clothes and skin like they're paper.

I scream, twisting the shock stick to angle it towards the thing's neck, where the tough brown carapace doesn't protect its skin. Its claws swipe down my hip. I grit my teeth and brace myself.

I'm going to have to tear away from that hand before I can make contact with the shock stick. With a grunt, I jerk my hip back, the claws tearing out of me just as I force the prongs to make contact.

I stare into those dark, emotionless eyes as the shock hits him.

With a hard jolt, the invader jerks back, blown right off its feet by the force of the shock the stick delivers.

I step forward, something in me needing to make sure that I finish this, that he is dead. Blood drips down my side, a warm, disconcerting slide, and I find myself limping, but I still crouch down next to the still body and give it another jolt for good measure. The body convulses on the ground and I take a deep breath, pulling back.

Gone.

He's—it’s? —gone.

I sit down on the ground right there next to the body.

The battle continues around me, the screams of pain, the sizzle of more shock sticks, the clang of sharpened metal poles as the women get involved, the grunts of effort, the sound of blades sinking into flesh.

I should get up.

I need to get up.

But I feel fuzzy, disconnected as I stare down at the body. Nothing feels quite real. Am I in shock?

A roar has me jerking my head up, finally. One of such rage and despair that I feel my own heart tremble with it, my stomach vibrates with the emotion behind it. A blur hits the body in front of me, the thing flopping as it gets thrown overhead and immediately speared with a lochaber.

Melchior turns to me, his face twisted in rage.

I freeze under those intense eyes. Not because of the anger or the intensity behind them. But because...it's like I'm looking at a completely different person.

Not the measured, in control, intelligent being that I know so well now. No, this is...someone else altogether. As I stare into those crazed eyes, I feel a shiver of fear go through me for an entirely different reason.

"Melchior..." I whisper, trying to stand.

Something flickers in his eyes. He steps forward towards me. A movement beyond his flared wings catches my eye before I can get to my feet.

"No!" I gasp. "Melchior, behind you!"

But he doesn't need my warning. Twisting hard, his powerful tail whipping out behind him, Melchior swings his lochaber hard and fast. And accurately. The leaping invader's head rolls right off its body mid-flight. But Melchior doesn't just let the body fall. Shifting to the side to let it fall to the ground, he slices off all of its arms on both sides with two hard slices.

Okay. That wasn't at all necessary. I swallow the bile that wants to rise, stepping back at the gruesome sight.

Melchior's wings rise and fall with his deep breaths as he stands over the invader.

When he looks up, it isn't to turn back to me. With a snarl I can only hear, he crouches down and leaps up, propelling himself through the air, launching himself right into a knot of the invaders fighting off two women and one of the Zmaj.

Heart in my throat, I shake my head, expecting to see him mowed down by so many of the invaders around him. But I'm wrong. It is a massacre, yes. But the other way around.

I can't stop staring as Melchior moves so fast I can't properly even see what he's doing, his weapon shifting and turning, his body moving with a deadly grace. Blood sprays, and those odd staccato screams rend the air as heads roll, arms go flying, Melchior attacking with the precision of a surgeon.

The small group that had been trying to hold that group of invaders back actually retreats further at the frenzied attack. There's fear in their eyes. Fear for Melchior. When I turn back to him, he's already gone, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

I stare, my feet glued down to that spot as I watch. I can't look away. Why am I so certain something is terribly wrong?

"Addison." I flinch at a gentle hand on my arm. "You are wounded. Come."

I allow Bashir to swing me up into his arms and carry me out of the middle of the battle, back through the lines to a cave where there are other wounded.

"Shit, Addison," Fallon cries out when she sees me, helping me sit down. "Let's get you patched up."

I nod, looking down at my side and hip. Somehow, looking down at it, remembering that it's there, reactivates the searing pain.

"Is this the only place you're hurt?" she demands, tugging my clothes out of the way.

"I think so." I look around at the others sitting and bleeding. More than a few are women, though the wounds don't look too serious. "I can patch myself of," I protest as she comes to me with a wet rag. "It hurts, but I don't think they're actually that deep."

Fallon just gives me a look and gets to work cleaning the blood off, but when all's said and done, I'm actually right. That thing clawed me up well and good, but the wounds aren't so deep as to be of concern. A couple of sections do look like they might need some stitches, though.

"Let me just pour some of this disinfectant on them," she murmurs after a quick assessment. “And get the needle and thread.”

I hiss as she literally upends a not-so-great smelling tincture bottle over the wounds.

"Shit, that stings," I gasp when she's done, my eyes watering.

"Better it sting now than you get an infection later," she points out, turning to grab some clean bandages and the dreaded needle and thread. “Here, I'm going to put on some numbing stuff before I start...”

Saturating a thin piece of cloth, she presses it over my wounds. I'm almost instantly numb, which I'm not at all complaining about. Thank you, drugs. Her hands are steady and competent as she gets to work. I can feel the tugging at my skin as she closes it up, which is really odd. I look away so I don't have to deal with the visual too. She's done in under ten minutes.

“All right, just let me bandage this and...”

But then Bashir arrives with someone else who needs help.

"Go," I order, taking the bandages. "I can do this part myself."

She hesitates, but then give me a quick all-encompassing glance. Apparently finding me in a good enough state, she stands up.

"All right—call if you need me."

I nod, already winding the cloth around myself. It isn't fun, but I manage to get it on tight enough that I think it'll stay. The wounds are starting to throb a little again, and they're definitely going to scar, but the bleeding has stopped.

When I stand, I realize I was limping because of a giant bruise on my thigh, not because of the wounds themselves. It must have happened during the same fight, but I didn't register it at all. Still, all in all, I got off pretty easy. Especially considering that my opponent is very, very dead.

Patched up as best as I can be, I steady myself against the stone. My only thought right then is about Melchior. Is he okay?

I can hear the sounds of the battle dying down and walk out of the cave to look. I just have a sick feeling in my gut. The way he looked when he tore into that invader...

I suppress a shiver, limping out to get a good view of the wall, of the battle. But when it comes into view again, I don't see more invaders streaming in. Actually, it looks like the battle is over and done, invaders' bodies littering the ground both past the wall and just inside.

I feel a trickle of relief flow through me, but less than I should be feeling after realizing the battle is over.

Where's Melchior?

And what are those sounds I thought were from the battle? I start to make my way closer to the wall when I hear an odd...growling? I look over to the side, near the wall, a section of it I couldn't see from my previous vantage point.

At first, I wonder why there's a group of Zmaj attacking one invader. I know they don't need that much manpower for just one of those things. But my step falters when I realize there is no invader in that tangled knot.

Melchior's crazed eyes meet mine as three of the other Zmaj finally manage to get him under control through brute force. My heart skips a beat. They start to drag him away while he continues to struggle against them, his face contorted with anger.

I take a step towards them, my heart in my throat as it starts beating again, fast and hard. What are they doing? But before I can get anywhere near them, Bashir steps in front of me, blocking my view with his body.

"What's going on?" I demand, trying to step past him. "What are you doing to Melchior?"

Bashir easily stops me from going around him, his hand gentle but firm on my upper arm.

"Melchior lost himself to his bijass," Bashir murmurs, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at me. "He must be contained for now. Not only for everyone else's safety, but for his own as well."

I stop trying to move around him.

"Bijass?" I repeat dumbly, everything I've heard of the state flickering through my mind.

"Yes," Bashir confirms, his eyes sympathetic. "Seeing you injured in the attack...he was unable to hold back the primal, brutal part of himself."

"Where are you taking him?" I ask through numb lips.

Bijass. I have a flash of Melchior's eyes as the three other Zmaj struggled to contain him. Three. That's how out of control he was. Is.

"We have a secured cave we used for...someone else in the past."

"Okay." Jail. They're jailing him. But after seeing him tear into the invaders like he did and after seeing how many of the others it took to restrain him...I understand the reasoning behind it. "Can I see him?"

Bashir's face softens, but he shakes his head slowly.

"I do not think it is a good idea for you to see him until he is more calm. The sight of you may only agitate him further in this state." Turning me around, he leads me to where the others are gathering to figure out the food situation. No matter what happens, we always have to eat. "You should eat something and rest while you wait. You will feel better."

I allow him to sit me down at a table, but I'm not thinking about food at all. How can I? I feel...empty. Completely at a loss. All I want is to have Melchior here, be able to hold him in my arms, tell him I'm sorry for everything. That I can't be without him.

For some reason, my brain goes to the first time I ever saw him. The first time I heard his voice. The kindness in his eyes, the way he always had time to help me, was always there when I needed him for anything. How he touched me when we were alone, the reverence in his eyes, in his hands...

The fierce way he protected me, even when he was lost to the bijass. I feel a stab of pain, of longing as the reel of memories plays in my mind.

What was I thinking? How could I have ever been anything but nice to him in return? Why did I ever doubt that I wanted him as close to me as possible? That he would be anything but a positive light in my life? Why didn't I give him the apology he deserved when I had a chance? How could I have been such an idiot?

I wish I could rewind things and just be...better. Better to him, and ultimately, myself. I scrub my hands over my face, so angry at myself.

I won't ever push him away again if only he...

I look back, back towards where they disappeared with him in tow.

"Come back to me, Melchior," I murmur, my throat closing with fear. "Come back."

How can I ever go back to the way my life was without him in it?