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Seward rolled from one side to another, breathing raggedly, keeping his eyes closed. Trying to get comfortable. His bare, white-furred body was covered by a single sheet and two blankets. It was nighttime, but rest alluded him as dull, roving pains, not to mention his whirling mind, conspired to keep him up. Memories of the battle, his injuries. The reality of being alone. He tried to distract himself, but it was no use. It was all too much.

The snow rabbit sighed and rolled onto his aching back, mumbling into the darkness. I want to sleep. Please! Make it stop ...

But his consciousness kept surging, compulsively showering him with statistics and information, looping over the same situations, reliving memories, moments, fabricating future scenarios. Maybe his body wouldn't let him sleep because he was afraid to? Sleep was a living death. An unconscious void.

He felt overwhelmed. He was losing complete control of himself. It felt like drowning. I'm so helpless. So lonely. In so much pain. Why couldn't I have died with my crewmates? Then at least I wouldn't feel like this. I wouldn't feel anything.

The universe became white noise.

His adrenaline spiked.

He couldn't breathe!

Clutching his chest, Seward desperately kicked the sheets and blankets away from his body, hurriedly sitting upright and saying, in a shaky voice, "C-computer ... lights!"

A whirring noise as his bedroom lights turned on.

Panting, the snow rabbit moved to all fours, hunching over. Head lowered. He felt sick. I'm going to throw up. "Oh, god ... "

This wasn't the first time he'd had a panic attack. He'd even had them before the war, but certainly not with such regularity. It wasn't normal for his species. It's ironic, isn't it? I'm an engineer who can fix everything but himself ...

He reached for his comm-badge, which was on his bedside stand. He pressed it, noticing that his paws were sweating. It was a cold sweat. It gripped his entire frame. "Seward to ... to D-doctor Barrow." He swallowed. Hard. "I require m-medical attention ... "

"It's after midnight, you know."

The snow rabbit was staring blankly ahead, sitting on the edge of his bed. He didn't respond.

"My balls were blue enough without your little medical emergency," the bat continued, opening his med-kit.

"What?" Seward finally asked, blinking several times.

"I prefer them to be teal."

"I still don't ... " The snow rabbit squinted, looking to the doctor. "Oh," he went, weakly. "Right." The bat must've been 'mid-coitus' and hadn't gotten to finish.

"Yeah, just some bedside humor," the periwinkle-furred bat confirmed, teasingly, his long-clawed thumb hooking around a scanner. He tapped a few buttons, and it began to beep soothingly. Standing beside the snow rabbit, he began to scan him. "They're actually periwinkle."

"I see."

"Not just my balls. My whole pelt. That's the hue."

"I was not aware."

"But, yeah, I was blanketed in hare when you called. Took a few minutes to pry myself away."

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"No big deal. We'll pick up where we left off when I get back. Sheila doesn't like being denied anything." A chuckle. "Nor do I, come to think of it. But I'm used to rejection. I think she's used to getting what she wants." He barely suppressed a chuckle as he added, "And, tonight, she wants cock."

"This morning," Seward corrected technically, sounding quite uncomfortable. For God's sake. Sometimes, Barrow didn't know when to quit. Seward had spent enough time around Sheila to notice her scent. And, sure enough, it was all over the bat. It made him more than a little jealous. "Well. Anyway. I'm sorry to have interrupted you, doctor," the snow rabbit said, again. He sat up straight, all prim and proper, ears clipping together. "You can probably go, now."

"Nah, like I said, don't worry about it. It's a job hazard. Always being on call and stuff. I've gotten midnight notices for worse," Barrow assured, sensing the turmoil in Seward's mind. And also realizing he'd inadvertently hurt his feelings, restrained as they were. He softened his tone, passing his medical scanner in front of the snow rabbit's abdomen. It chipped and chirruped. "So, you sleep in your underwear?"

"What?"

"Your attire," the bat said, simply.

"I sleep in the fur."

"Only way to go," Barrow commented, eying the snow rabbit's bare chest. In spite of everything, he looked to be in good shape. Had decent muscle tone beneath his pelt.

"I just thought I should put something on for modesty's sake ... "

"Right, right ... so, what are your symptoms, again?"

"Everything hurts," Seward answered blankly.

"Uh-huh." This was going to be difficult. "It would help if you could be more specific. Any vomiting, dizziness, headaches?"

"No. Just pain."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"Hmm ... " The bat scrunched his features.

"My legs. My side. My stomach ... " ... and my heart. That hurts, too. He didn't mention it, though. That was a different kind of pain.

"There is something called fibromyalgia," the bat theorized, his large, sweeping ears raising up for a moment. "Causes widespread pain in response to pressure. But I don't think that's the case here. This didn't start 'til your injuries, right?"

"I was never in consistently great health before the war. I've always been sensitive to things," he said. "My diet's always been slightly restrictive. I would always get very bad allergies in the spring when on the Home-world." Spring was short, there. Which meant everything bloomed at once. Seward was jealous of the snow rabbits that were unaffected by that. It always ravaged him. In space, that wasn't a problem. But, still. "All of my issues, though, minor as they were, never kept me from feeling somewhat healthy. I could push them aside. The final battle changed that."

"It's only been a month or so," Barrow reminded. Felt like longer, though, didn't it? Also felt like yesterday. If certain physicists were right and time didn't exist and was, instead, just a societal construct? Well ... maybe tomorrow and yesterday were inseparable. Maybe there was no difference other than perception. "The body takes time to fully recover from trauma. And your injuries were severe, from what I understand."

"Yes ... "

The bat had his telepathic 'feelers' fully extended, sifting through the snow rabbit's surface thoughts and memories. Seward was thinking about the climactic battle, now. He often did. Poor guy. Barrow almost said 'I'm sorry,' but realized that would make Seward feel pitiful. Instead, he insisted, "We all suffered during the war. And we're all healing together. I'm your doctor, now. You can tell me anything. We can get to the bottom of this ... "

The snow rabbit opened his muzzle. Then shut it. He couldn't get the words out.

"I don't doubt you're in physical pain," Barrow continued. "But I think your recovery is being hindered by some lingering psychological issues." He put his scanner down. "You had a panic attack, tonight. And it wasn't the first time."

"Snow rabbits do not panic."

"Bull."

"Pardon?"

"There's no reason to deny it."

Seward hesitated. Telepathy. Right. "It's just ... my species doesn't make a habit of overly-emotional displays."

"I'd noticed."

"Are you well-versed in our physiology?"

"Somewhat."

"Well, suffice it to say, my species evolved on a harsh, wintry world." His tall, slender ears twitched atop his head. He rolled his shoulders, tensely.

"I never actually went to the surface, but I spent a few months in orbit. Saw a bit of green," the bat said. "Not much."

"Our winters are long." Seward gave a brief nod, continuing, "Survival, before civilization and modern technology, was not easy. As we approached sentience, our emotions remained primal, almost brutish. We needed to be tough and selfish to survive in such a place."

"Even without natural predators?"

"The weather was our predator. And there were formidable feral threats, as well."

"So, the Arctic foxes came from another planet, entirely." A planet that had been laid waste by the wasps. It would take decades to rebuild all their cities and restore the scorched environments.

"Yes. First contact with the Arctic foxes was a notoriously bloody affair. Relations were strained from the start. But, in a strange way, all that tension forced us to take a defensively proactive political stance. Which prepared us for the larger, more recent conflicts. If we were a softer race, we wouldn't have survived. We owe our survival, then, to the ice. It toughened us. And yet ... it can burn so cold, sometimes." He touched his own cheek, gingerly.

"Love-hate relationship. Yeah. Had a few of those, myself," Barrow injected with a nod. He was in one right now. With Sheila. "But you've conquered your world. And expanded your territory. Won all your wars. And, hell, even made peace with the Arctic foxes." Out of necessity, not voluntarily. But it was still something. "Everything worked out. You can relax, now ... " Until the next major conflict, anyway. There would never be universal peace. It just wasn't part of animal nature. And we're all animals underneath, aren't we?

"I suppose so." Seward cleared his throat, weakly. "But, to my original point, millennia ago, our emotions were too strong. Stronger than other furs' are now. Snow rabbits have always been extremely potent."

"In bed," injected Barrow, casually. He smirked.

Seward just cocked a brow, waited a moment, and continued, "Somehow, a filter, a 'freeze' developed in our personalities. Toned us down enough to protect us from ourselves. It also allowed our logical side to take greater dominance. And that logic has allows our society to flourish, technologically. Our fleet is the strongest in the quadrant."

"Mm. Well. Congratulations?" The bat blew out a breath. What time was it? He'd come hear to treat the snow rabbit, not get a history lesson. "This is fascinating, Seward, but what does it have to do with you having a panic attack tonight?"

"I am just trying to underline how unique we are. We have a special frame of mind. We pride ourselves in that. In keeping above the fray."

"Ah. And you're no longer above that 'fray'," the bat finished for him, nodding. "I see ... "

"It bothers me a great deal."

"We all have lapses. Mood swings. Bad days. You can't bottle that stuff up. Letting it show is normal."

"Not for snow rabbits."

Barrow rolled his deep-blue eyes. "Look. Your species may be cool, smart, and sexy, but you sure have a grandiose sense of self-perception. Every snow rabbit I met thinks they've inherited some damn special trait that makes them infallible to vulnerability. You're not that special," the doctor stressed. "You're imperfect. Like the rest of us. Deal with it."

"I did not say we were better," Seward defended. "But we are a proud species, and I know I am not living up to the expectations of my peers. They don't tell me directly, but they don't have to. There's a level of decorum that's expected between us, socially. And my problems are giving me poor decorum."

"Bats are proud, too," Barrow insisted. "And we're very unique. More unique than snow rabbits, I'd argue, because of our wings, our powers. But, hey, I'm biased, so what do I know?"

Seward remained quiet.

"We're not admired or lusted after like you are," the bat continued, never one to hold back. He sat beside the snow rabbit on the edge of the bed, wing arms hanging loosely, extending past his knees. "We don't own a large section of space. We aren't respected by other governments for our strength. No, we're scorned and feared because we're different. A bunch of rogues whose population is sprinkled all over. And those of us who have been accepted into mixed society, which is probably the majority anymore ... " He thought back to Adelaide, the Ops officer aboard Luminous. She was pretty hot. Wasted potential right there. " ... well, we tone our powers down to fit in. We still use them, of course. But we compromise how we do. We hold ourselves back to make others comfortable. We conform. I choose not to."

"And you hate your compatriots for conforming?"

"I don't hate anyone." A pause. "Well ... not usually. No, I don't hate them." He made a face. "It just disappoints me. So, hearing you complain that 'quirks' in your personality or your physical injuries ... which, by the way, aren't your fault. To complain it's all making you an outcast? I resent that, Seward. Because I am an outcast. A real one. And I'm proud of it." He took a deep breath and let it out. "You're ashamed of being different, though ... "

"So, you're saying I shouldn't be?"

A nod.

Seward sighed. "We come from different cultures. What you value isn't necessarily what I value."

"But we're both outsiders. You and me. Everyone on this station is. Otherwise, why would any of us be here? It's the middle of fucking nowhere. It's not safe out here. This isn't a sane place to make a home. But it's the only place we could go. All we have is each other, now, and I'll be damned if I'm going to watch you make excuses for being in pain. You'll never heal properly if you do that."

Seward looked down, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Sorry if I got in your face, there," Barrow added quietly, standing up again. He fiddled with his med-kit, reaching for a loaded hypo. "I'm used to confrontation."

"What are you doing?" the snow rabbit asked worriedly, with a blink.

"This?" He held up the injection devise. "A muscle relaxant. Prevents tightness and spasms. It'll help ease your pain a bit," the bat promised, pressing the device to the snow rabbit's next. A slight whoosh, and the dose found its way into Seward's bloodstream. "Should work almost instantaneously."

Seward nodded, taking a deep breath. The bat wasn't lying. He felt looser already. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." An easy smile. "Anything else?"

Opening his eyes, the engineer made eye contact with the doctor. "Everything you just told me ... you were in my head, obviously. Is it that easy to infiltrate?"

"I wouldn't say 'easy.' But you think too much," Barrow told him. "And when you're occupied by your own thoughts like that, it's pretty effortless, yeah."

"I may think too much, but I have trouble focusing those thoughts ... "

"Ever think about meditation?"

He shook his head, slowly, tall, slender ears twiddling idly.

"What about medication?" Barrow asked, sitting beside him again.

Another head-shake.

"Why not?"

"I suppose it goes back to the conformity issue. To seek help would be to admit that my mind is not as logical or pristine as it should be. And I find that embarrassing."

"Lucky for you, I don't care," the bat said.

"I don't want to be loaded up on medications. I am already on enough because of my injuries ... "

"Don't necessarily need it. We can try telepathic therapy. Which I guess is a kind of holistic medicine."

Seward nodded, bobtail flagging, flickering nervously. "I suppose ... "

"What's wrong?"

"I've never had someone inside my head before," the snow rabbit replied, hesitantly.

"I've been inside it for the past few minutes. No big deal. Been inside hundreds of heads. Some by invitation. Most not," the bat admitted. "I know what I'm doing."

"I don't doubt that. But it still seems a rather intimate act." And he'd never been the best with intimacy. He'd had his share of partners, of course, but he'd never been anything but an open-breeder. Maybe that was an act of conformation, too? That's the way most snow rabbits approached sex. Romantic relationships weren't the norm. They were becoming more popular, but they would never be the majority lifestyle. Rabbits' sex drives were just too strong to contain like that. Most didn't have the self-control. Seward supposed he might. Maybe. Do I? I'm obviously more sensitive than my peers. Perhaps I would be happier with a more permanent partner? But, well, being on Redwing Station killed that possibility, didn't it? Our crew is small. I don't see any possibilities amongst the females here, and it's not like we get any visitors ...

"I guess it is intimate. Depends on how deep it goes. For my species, it's like ... well, it's second nature. It's just something we do." Barrow was on telepathy, still.

"How deep does it go, exactly?" Seward had heard things about it. But never directly from a bat.

"Well, I mean ... light mental scans, I can do without being noticed. I've scanned your mind several times since coming into the room."

"So you said."

"It's a surface thing, though. I get your current emotional state, your dominant thoughts at the time, your truthfulness, your basic personal history, things like that. Knowing these things gives me an immediate edge ... "

"But it's not unlimited?"

"The unlimited, or heavy scan, allows me to get everything, but there's a catch. I 'take,' but I also have to 'give'."

"That's the one that involves breeding?" Seward guessed.

"Mm-hmm."

"And it just ... happens?"

"Well, it's pretty complicated when you dissect it. Simply put, once I bite a fur, I can read every thought, every memory, every emotion. Everything. Not just know them but feel them, too. As long as the bite is maintained."

"It sounds overwhelming ... "

"For non-bats, it is. Until they get used to it. For us, it's a breeze. Our brains were designed to process it."

"But, surely, it renders you completely vulnerable?"

"So?"

"How can you stand that? To lose all your secrets, to have no privacy at all?"

"I find the openness exhilarating. It's a rush! The ultimate in intimacy," Barrow breathed, reverently. "And, you know, it's sexual, too, so ... it's not just minds that are joined. It's bodies. Your pleasure is literally doubled. Yours. Theirs. Like ... god, it's mind-blowing." A smirk. "Pun intended."

"I'll take your word for it," Seward breathed. "It just sounds like a great deal of trust is required ... " Since the war, he wasn't sure who to trust. Even when it came to making friends and lovers.

"Well, you don't always want a random stranger having unfettered access to your mind, not to mention feeling your body's sensations as their own, no." He tilted his head. "But some bats get off on the 'spontaneity' or 'danger' of that ... " He'd done some casual biting in his time. But he preferred to have some familiarity with his partner, even if he wasn't the mating type. Was that confusing?

"Do you have to bite every time?"

"You don't have to, no. But the urge is very strong. It's hard to resist. Nature's tricky like that." A hesitation, admitting, "I haven't actually bitten in a while. Months, actually." He'd lost track. "Sheila won't let me bite her ... "

Seward blinked. "Why not?"

"She's very independent. I don't think she likes the idea of being reliant on anyone, even for a moment. And when you bite, you're sorta symbiotic. That's the last thing she wants. She's fine with pleasure. Squeezing it out of me like I'm some kind of lemon." A blue lemon. Maybe I'm a blueberry? "But I guess I'm too sour for her, cause she's not willing to give up enough control to get the full taste of what I am." A pause. And a heavy sigh. "Which kinda offends me on some level, you know? She's just using me for sex."

"And you are not using her?"

Barrow scrunched his muzzle. He hated being called out. "I am, but ... I'm willing to let it be more than that. I want to bite her."

"Because your instincts compel you to, as you said," Seward pointed out, logically. "Because it feels so good."

"Does any of that make the desire any less valid? Because it comes from instinct? Because it feels better? Don't all emotions come from instincts? Even love?"

Seward considered that for a moment before replying, "You are asking the wrong fur. I have never been in love."

"I'm not sure I have, either, to be honest. It's just ... I mean, I don't love Sheila." Do I? "I have a fondness for her. We're familiar with each other. Like you and me, she and I are outcasts. I enjoy furs that live on the fringe. I get along with 'normal' types just fine, but I get especially attracted to the outliers." He paused, stretching his wings. "She's so incredibly closed off. And my species is built on openness. It's just ... we're sorta friends. Who sorta have sex."

"You are doing what I do. You are over-thinking things ... "

"You're probably right." The bat sighed. "But we can't help but ascribe meaning to everything. That's one of the burdens of sentience, isn't it? Sheila's been trained in telepathic evasion. I can't even read her surface thoughts. She's completely blocked off to me." He paused, considering, "Maybe that makes her a forbidden fruit?" Am I enticed by what I can't fully have?

"I think she represents a challenge to you. The mountain, the endless sea. The thrill of finding out what's on the other side is driving you."

"Yeah." A cheeky look. "And pussy."

Seward tilted his head. "Of course."

Barrow grinned, flashing his fangs.

"But, in all seriousness, you are a rogue figure. Or so you claim, anyway."

"Claim? You think my bark is worse than my bite?"

"I think you are a nice fur. When I think of a true rogue, I think of someone who is only interested in themselves. And who makes brash decisions that go against the grain. You are a doctor, so you obviously care about the well-being of others."

"I guess. Maybe I'm a moderate, these days," the bat theorized. Am I conforming, myself, as I age? Is that natural? I'm over thirty, now. Maybe I'm just 'settling' ...

"Both of you wish to control the other, yet you can't. Not completely. And you are feeding off the sexual tension that results."

"Sounds so predatory," Barrow replied.

"Whatever the case, medically-speaking, there is no accounting for attraction. Correct?"

"Or taste," Barrow added with a grin. "Not that I know of, no."

Seward gave a light, restrained smile of his own. For the first time since the bat's arrival. But it soon faded as he admitted, "You must sense that I am jealous of you."

"I do, but ... I don't hold that against you. I've been lonely before. I know what it's like. And loneliness is torture for a telepath. We need others. It's no fun reading your own mind." He took a deep breath and assured, "You'll find someone. Eventually."

"That's what they always say." Seward, giving a sad twitch, just said, "I've kept you long enough. She'll be growing impatient ... "

"Sheila? Yeah, probably." Definitely. "But she can deal with it. She's kept me waiting before."

The snow rabbit nodded, ears waggling. "I suppose it is better I don't have anyone. I would be afraid of losing them. That is my greatest fear. Loss. Of life. Others' lives, my own life. My health. My libido. Atrophy is all around us. Everything fades. I have such a hard time finding peace with that."

"I suppose, as a doctor, I've become used to it," Barrow replied. "You will, too, eventually. It comes with maturity. You've just had a bad few months. Things will get better."

"Is that a hope or a promise?"

"Let's call it both," the bat insisted. He skipped a beat before continuing, "Come see me when we get the infirmary up and running? I'll do what I can to help you. And if you have any more pains before then, give me a call."

"I will." A pause. "Thank you, doctor."

"Call me Barrow."

"Barrow," the snow rabbit repeated. "Goodnight, then."

"Until later," the bat replied, gathering his med-kit and padding for the door. On his way to Sheila's quarters.

Seward sighed, alone again. He felt those emotions surging beneath his mental freeze. So strong, they would destroy him if they were ever fully felt. I think I'll sleep with a light on, tonight ...