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Tristan hated that there were no dents in the wall. He'd hit them often enough, there should be dents to show his anger. At least the sink showed it. He'd broken the spout in half so that now when he turned the water on, the jet arched over the sink. It made it easier for him to drink, other than that it only made a mess.

He'd kept his anger in check while being escorted back to his cell. He'd even kept from ripping someone's head off as they forced him to strip and commented on his looks. He didn't care what they thought. His equipment worked, and he knew how to use it, that was what mattered. It was that they stood there, pointing like he was nothing more than some attraction, there for their amusement.

Finally they'd left, dropping pants to replace his. He hadn't put them on. He didn't mind being naked. Clothing was something he did to keep others from noticing him any more than he wanted.

After he'd allowed some of his anger loose, and sated his thirst, he worked on escaping. He couldn't use the same trick, not only had they taken his tools with his belt, but they'd welded a plate over the door's control panel. He did a search of the walls, looking for any hidden access to the maintenance conduits. No luck.

He'd banged on the door, letting more of his anger loose, but the guards didn't respond, so he'd been forced to stew over his mistake. The reason he was angry.

He'd miscalculated because the information he'd been given was inaccurate. There had been nothing in what his employer had told him about the target that indicated he was capable of this level of planning. He'd been described as a family man, someone who did his job, but only because it was part of his familial duty.

Tristan had expected a man playing at running a mercenary company, what he'd gotten was someone who'd known to plan past the obvious.

These models of cruise ships didn't come with the kind of security system that would have alerted him to their escape. Even the death of the guards and the people on the way to the bridge shouldn't have reached him in time to keep them from surprising him.

He hadn't known their specific skills, but he'd known they would be skilled. The number of armed mercs he had waiting for them showed he'd correctly evaluated how dangerous they were. Maybe Engineering would have been a better choice after all. At the very least, the least expected one.

His anger had ebbed over the hours he'd sat there, until it wasn't noticeable anymore. Tristan didn't do personal recriminations. He'd made a mistake. He'd learn from it and it wouldn't happen again. Next time he'd have Alex do the investigation on the target's skills, instead of going by what the person hiring him said.

Alex. They'd kept him for longer than he'd expected. There was nothing he could reveal that would make the job impossible. Even if he told them they were also here to destroy the virus, it would just make gaining access to it more difficult.

They would hurt him, he knew it, he'd trained him for it. He'd known there would be a day when Alex would have to resist interrogation, so he'd inflicted as much physical and emotional pain as his human could endure, then pushed him past that.

He tried to put him out of his mind. Alex would survive, or he wouldn't. Tristan had done what he could to prepare him. Now it was up to him. What Tristan had to do was escape. The only option he had left was to rush the guards the next time they entered.

It happened faster than he expected, and he was up before the door was completely opened. He'd taken a step forward and was brought to a stop by the form the guard threw inside.

Tristan rushed to catch him and carefully placed him on the ground. He didn't care about escaping, or punishing the people who had done this to Alex. All he wanted was to confirm he was alright.

Alex's face was covered with blood from broken skin. One eyelid was swelled to the point it wouldn't open. There were patches of blood matting his hair, and his left arm flopped as if the bones weren't in it anymore.

Tristan wanted to hold him against himself, but he was terrified of causing more damage.

"A--Alex?" He was alive, but his breathing was shallow.

Alex rasped something, and Tristan had to lean in.

"The bastards took my knives."

Tristan hiccuped with relief and felt his eyes getting wet. He stood and moved as far away from the human as he could while he got himself under control.

He didn't care for him. Alex was a tool, nothing more. His anger was that they had damaged something that was his. The rest were only things that would get in the way. He didn't care. He wouldn't care.

When he looked at the form lying on the floor he let his anger come back. That human had no business affecting him like this, not after the years he'd spend turning him into a thing.

He stood over him. He wanted to order him to stand, to force Alex to suffer for what he was putting him through.

Alex opened an eye and began pushing himself up with his working hand. The pain it was causing him was visible on his face, but no sound escaped him.

"Don't." He tried to make his voice harsh, but it cracked.

"I'm okay," Alex gasped. "You don't have to worry."

Tristan dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Alex's chest, forcing him down. "Don't." He couldn't hide the concern in his voice, and Alex looked at him, his expression unreadable under all the damage to his face.

"Lie back." Tristan thought a quickly as he could to come up with something that could cover up his behavior. "I need you to act hurt."

Alex gave a chuckle that turned into a coughing fit that sprayed blood. He was badly hurt. He had to get him to the infirmary. He'd spent too much time honing him to lose him.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Alex whispered.

"How many guards are there?" he forced his voice to be business, but it was difficult.

The response came slowly. "Two dragged me back. Two at the door."

"So potentially four of them."

"Maybe, they said stuff, but I wasn't paying attention."

"You're dying."

"No, I'm not." Alex's voice had steel in it and Tristan felt pride at the show of will.

"You're dying, Alex, and I'm panicking because I don't know what to do."

Alex opened his mouth, but paused. He watched Tristan's face and nodded. "I'm dying, right."

Tristan smiled, even in his current state Alex was sharp. "I'll draw as many as I can away from you, but you need to take care of who is going to check you, there might be more than one. I don't know how long it'll take me to handle the others."

Alex nodded. "I'll deal with them."

Tristan forced himself to his feet so he wouldn't risk revealing his conflicting emotions. With Alex unable to see his face he used them to build the mask of someone about to lose the person who matters the most to him.

"He's dying!" The words were out before he banged on the door. "Please, you have to do something!"

Someone on the other side replied, but Tristan didn't understand it, or even tried to understand. He kept hitting the door.

"You can't let him die! Please, I can't lose him!"

The door opened as his fist rosed and the muzzle of a gun was in his face. "I don't care."

Tristan searched those eyes for anything resembling emotions. Not finding anything there he looked up at the two other men. "Please, he's all I have."

"Maybe I should just shoot you. That way you won't have to deal with him dying."

"The boss didn't say anything about either of them dying."

"You have got--Seriously? Doesn't he realize how much trouble it's going to be keeping them alive?"

"You want to tell the boss you killed one of them? Remember what happened to Umberlo?"

"Yeah, I do." The man grumbled. He eyed Tristan and motioned with the gun. "Over there, and don't try anything or I will kill you. The boss can't say anything if I kill you in self-defense."

Tristan did as instructed. He even raised his hands as a show of compliance.

"Lyr, you check him out. Ahmed, you keep an eye on this one with me. I don't trust him."

Ahmed was the stockier one of the two. He pulled an Edeku and Tristan had to fight not to roll his eyes. Both stood between him and Alex. Tristan took a step to the side.

"Don't move."

"I just want to see if--" Tristan's voice caught as Alex began shaking. He took a step forward to go to him, to hold him, comfort him.

"Don't even think about it."

Tristan stopped. Alex was acting, he wasn't really having a seizure. How could he have forgotten the plan? He took a step back.

"Guys? Something's happening to him."

The stocky man turned to watch. Even the one with the gun pointing at Tristan glanced over his shoulder.

Tristan had the gun in hand and forcing it away before the man could counter the move. He fired and Tristan felt the heat next to his head, smelled the burnt fur.

The other man noticed the commotion and turned to help, but Tristan already had the gun aimed in his direction, forcing him to jump out of the way. It gave Tristan the time to move behind his opponent and wrap an arm around his neck.

The man was shorter than Tristan so the other one aimed at his head.

Tristan ducked left, forcing the man with him while continuing to tighten his arm and cutting off his air. The man finally let go of the gun and Tristan grabbed it. A quick adjustment of his grip and he fired freely. The other man had nowhere to go and no one to use as a shield. He found himself in a corner and then shot repeatedly.

Tristan turned to fire at the man over Alex, but he was now sprawled over him, a knife in his neck that Alex was trying to pull out.

Tristan let the man he was holding fall to the ground, gasping, and shot him in the back of the head.

Tristan pulled the man off Alex.

"My knife," Alex croaked, as it moved away with the body.

Amused Tristan pulled it out and handed it to him. "This obsession with knives is starting to sound unhealthy."

"You own one of every gun that's ever been made." Alex forced himself to his side with a silent gasp. Tristan fought the urge to help him. He didn't care.

Alex stopped once he was on his knees, panting and sweating. He looked up and managed to smile. "Neither one of us is healthy when it comes to what we love."

Tristan narrowed his eyes. Did he know? Had Alex realized his emotional conflict? Alex chuckled, and winced. No, he was referring to himself. What he'd become because he loved Tristan.

Alex looked up again and raised his working hand toward Tristan. "I'm going to need help for the last bit. If I try to jerk myself up the pain in my arm is too--" he gasped as Tristan pulled him to his feet.

Tristan held Alex up as pain stole his strength. As soon as Alex was able to partially keep his feet under him, Tristan was forcing him along. They made it only a few steps from the door when a man turned the corner.

"Guys, you'll never guess what they're doing--"

The man's words were cut by the knife in his throat and the burn through his shirt and chest. He staggered, surprise registering on his face, then crumpled.

Tristan moved them past, but Alex pulled back. "The knives."

Tristan shook his head and grabbed the one out of the man's neck and out of the sheath. The man had an Azeru so he grabbed that too. Alex raised an eyebrow.

"You have your knives, I have my guns."

"Unhealthy, I tell you, that's us."

"You're delirious."

"I am dying, after all."

Tristan felt himself grow cold. "No, you're not."

Alex smiled. "Then I guess I'm not."

"You need to get patched up. The infirmary is--"

"Two levels up, on the port side. It was the first thing I looked up on the datapad. You said to always know where I can get patched up."

Tristan took him to the closest lift.

"Is that safe?"

"You're in no condition to crawl around the maintenance conduits." The door opened to an empty cage.

Tristan's grip on the Azeru tightened as they rose, to the point he felt the casing crack. He tried to relax, but these were considered death traps for a reason. There could already be a dozen merc waiting for them, ready to kill them as soon as the door opened. There was nowhere to hide.

He raised his gun and fired the moment the doors opened. He left burns on the opposing wall. No one?

He didn't like this. Their target had known they'd escaped the first time, he had to know this time. Did he expect them to head back for the bridge? Maybe he had his mercs in the infirmary. He'd deal with that when he got there. He had to hold up more and more of Alex's weight.

He couldn't let him die.

The corridors were empty the entire way to the medical bay, and Tristan was ready to fire at anything that moved, and had shot a few things that didn't move already, turning corners and thinking he'd seen someone. The tension was making him lose control of his mind.

He put the gun away before opening the medical bay doors. He couldn't fire in there. He might hit something important to heal Alex up.

It was empty.

Of people that is. There was a lot of machinery around the room. It looked like this had been turned into storage. He ignored it all, although the fact there was a fabricator nagged at him. He walked around a large something he didn't identify in the center of the room to place Alex on a medical bed.

It came on and gave Tristan the worse news he could expect. Alex had massive internal damage. His stomach was punctured, his liver crushed. His blood was already so toxic he'd need a full transfusion.

Alex coughed more blood.

"Hey, try to relax, I'm going to get you something to take the pain away." He turned before his mask broke. He wouldn't give Alex the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to him, even now.

The device in the center of the room had a green flashing light on this side. It turned red just after the door controls also turned red, but that one then flashed yellow, quarantine lock.

He couldn't worry about that. He needed to find something to help Alex. He needed a cryo system, Ideally a field model, that was the only one that fully stopped time. The others would slow the damage, but Alex's life would still be on the clock.

"You really want to take your secrets to the grave, don't you?" The man's face was on a screen under the cabinet Tristan was emptying. "I wish you hadn't gone to this particular room, but I should have expected it. It was obvious you aren't here for me. No, you're after the same thing I was. Well, you can die happy, you found it."

Tristan stopped and looked at him. The man looked pleased.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, stop playing dumb. We both know you're after the killer virus my grandfather hid. Well, congratulation, you found it."

Tristan turned to face the machine at the center of the room. It could be a vaporization system. The virus could be airborne.

"It was just released, I expect that you only have a few seconds to live. I hope you suffer."

Alex shuddered on the bed and Tristan ran to his side. He was still breathing. Tristan relaxed, then he noticed the readings. They were improving. As Tristan watched, the cuts on the humans face closed.

He was infected.

Tristan looked at his hands. They both were.

The universe had won.

He closed his fist. No. This wasn't the end. Tristan didn't stop fighting. The universe might think it had won, but he had defied it before, he would again.

Alex gasped and Tristan forgot about his eventual death. All that mattered was making sure Alex was okay.