"This is the best fighting crew in the fleet. But even if they didn’t, that
wouldn’t be on you. They chose to be here, to do this. And killing…" He paused, chewing the inside of his lip as he looked down for a
moment. "That’s hard for everybody. I guess…what would you do if they boarded the
Odyssey,
started killing the crew?"
Ryelle frowned. "I would stop them."
"Okay, so it’s pretty much the same thing, only on a bigger scale. The muties keep trying to come in our space and hurt people. We’re
stopping them. If that comes down to killing, than I guess we do what we have to do."
"You’re saying I just need motivation," she said, studying him.
He gave a little awkward shrug, his expression wavering between distress and determination. "I hear anybody can kill if they’ve got reason
enough. I think I could do it if somebody tried to hurt anybody on this ship. Especially you," he finished on a mumble, gaze dropping to their
clasped hands as his cheekbones reddened.
Ryelle stared at his bent head with a puzzled frown. That made no sense. She was the least vulnerable person on the
Odyssey.
Why would he want to
protect her more than the rest of the crew? She was distracted from this mystery when he began gently stroking the back of her hand, long fingers moving
with slow absorption, as if he was fascinated by the contours he found there. She twitched at the sensation, feeling a return of those strange tingles and
spreading warmth from the last time he’d caressed her hand.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a covert indigo flash that made her stomach quiver. His fingers paused as he asked, "Should I stop
doing that?"
"Not ever," she blurted then felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. But it was only the truth, even if it did make her sound like a creature
every bit as abnormal as the GenTecs. She was greedy for human contact, absolutely craving it now that he’d shown her how good it felt. She wanted to
touch everyone, Declan most of all. She thought she could swiftly become addicted to those stroking fingers, even if they did make her feel sort
of…watery.
He didn’t look at her strangely or act as though her comment was out of the ordinary. His lips curved in a smile that looked pleased, eyes remaining
on her hand as his fingers continued their slow and gentle exploration, though they now had a faint tremor. "I wish I could do this forever,"
he said softly.
The sensations grew stronger, reminding her of that peculiar weakness she’d experienced in the cavern. She frowned, not wanting to ruin this moment
by getting sick. She was enjoying his touch with such a blanket of contentment that it felt as though the hazards of the rest of the world had melted
completely away. Yet her heart started to increase its pace, warmth began to bloom in the oddest places, and her muscles quivered with a peculiar,
lethargic weakness. If this wasn’t sickness, than what was it?
She tried to find a distraction, tried to remember what they’d been talking about. But her mind refused to focus on anything but him.
"Declan," she murmured, remembering her conversation with Commander Task, "are you my friend?"
His head jerked up as though she’d startled him and she was disappointed when his fingers stopped moving, settling once again to confine her hand in
warmth. The blue of his eyes was darker, his eyelids heavier, and his cheekbones had more color. He looked a bit feverish, but his smile was easy. "I
hope so. You don’t hold hands with people you don’t like, do you?"
She thought he might be teasing, but she answered him honestly. "No. Do you have many friends?"
"Sure."
"What’s it like? To have friends?"
He stared at her for a moment, his smile fading. "What do you mean? Don’t you have friends?"
She shook her head. "Not until you. Well, and I guess the commander. Do you suppose the Chief and Mem Sheridan would mind being my friends?"
she asked in a wistful tone, looking down
wouldn’t be on you. They chose to be here, to do this. And killing…" He paused, chewing the inside of his lip as he looked down for a
moment. "That’s hard for everybody. I guess…what would you do if they boarded the
Odyssey,
started killing the crew?"
Ryelle frowned. "I would stop them."
"Okay, so it’s pretty much the same thing, only on a bigger scale. The muties keep trying to come in our space and hurt people. We’re
stopping them. If that comes down to killing, than I guess we do what we have to do."
"You’re saying I just need motivation," she said, studying him.
He gave a little awkward shrug, his expression wavering between distress and determination. "I hear anybody can kill if they’ve got reason
enough. I think I could do it if somebody tried to hurt anybody on this ship. Especially you," he finished on a mumble, gaze dropping to their
clasped hands as his cheekbones reddened.
Ryelle stared at his bent head with a puzzled frown. That made no sense. She was the least vulnerable person on the
Odyssey.
Why would he want to
protect her more than the rest of the crew? She was distracted from this mystery when he began gently stroking the back of her hand, long fingers moving
with slow absorption, as if he was fascinated by the contours he found there. She twitched at the sensation, feeling a return of those strange tingles and
spreading warmth from the last time he’d caressed her hand.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a covert indigo flash that made her stomach quiver. His fingers paused as he asked, "Should I stop
doing that?"
"Not ever," she blurted then felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. But it was only the truth, even if it did make her sound like a creature
every bit as abnormal as the GenTecs. She was greedy for human contact, absolutely craving it now that he’d shown her how good it felt. She wanted to
touch everyone, Declan most of all. She thought she could swiftly become addicted to those stroking fingers, even if they did make her feel sort
of…watery.
He didn’t look at her strangely or act as though her comment was out of the ordinary. His lips curved in a smile that looked pleased, eyes remaining
on her hand as his fingers continued their slow and gentle exploration, though they now had a faint tremor. "I wish I could do this forever,"
he said softly.
The sensations grew stronger, reminding her of that peculiar weakness she’d experienced in the cavern. She frowned, not wanting to ruin this moment
by getting sick. She was enjoying his touch with such a blanket of contentment that it felt as though the hazards of the rest of the world had melted
completely away. Yet her heart started to increase its pace, warmth began to bloom in the oddest places, and her muscles quivered with a peculiar,
lethargic weakness. If this wasn’t sickness, than what was it?
She tried to find a distraction, tried to remember what they’d been talking about. But her mind refused to focus on anything but him.
"Declan," she murmured, remembering her conversation with Commander Task, "are you my friend?"
His head jerked up as though she’d startled him and she was disappointed when his fingers stopped moving, settling once again to confine her hand in
warmth. The blue of his eyes was darker, his eyelids heavier, and his cheekbones had more color. He looked a bit feverish, but his smile was easy. "I
hope so. You don’t hold hands with people you don’t like, do you?"
She thought he might be teasing, but she answered him honestly. "No. Do you have many friends?"
"Sure."
"What’s it like? To have friends?"
He stared at her for a moment, his smile fading. "What do you mean? Don’t you have friends?"
She shook her head. "Not until you. Well, and I guess the commander. Do you suppose the Chief and Mem Sheridan would mind being my friends?"
she asked in a wistful tone, looking down
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