Chapter Twenty-six

Kelsey lay on the doctor's table, feeling the strange vibrations of the sonogram wand against her flat stomach. That her belly was still flat, with as much activity as she felt inside of it, amazed her. For all the life fluttering and glowing within her, she might as well have already been the size of a melon—now, just a few days after conception.

The words five and a half months had never stopped reverberating through her mind ever since Jared had uttered them. That would mean she should start showing in about another month, perhaps sooner. That was the sort of thing she hoped this Refarian doctor would be able to tell her.

He bent over her, moving the handheld paddle across her skin, and she felt tingling beneath it in reaction. "This is the sonogram?" she asked, trying to see the accompanying monitor.

"The optigram," he told her matter-of-factly. "We use more advanced technology."

"What's the difference?"

He rolled backward on his stool so he could see her better. "As the pregnancy progresses, you'll be able to see every feature of this baby. Whether he or she is in D'Aravnian or human form, what the child's face looks like. It's more like a direct image than a shadowy imprint."

"Wow. That's more than amazing."

The silver-haired man grinned. "Want to see right now?"

Her heart must have skipped ten beats. Finally she swallowed and whispered, "Of course."

He rotated the monitor, swinging it around so she could get a clear look, and what she saw was … a large, glowing ball. "In D'Aravnian form right now," the doctor interpreted needlessly. "Which explains all the burning you're feeling deep inside. That's typical at this very early gestational stage, but will change the further you progress in this pregnancy."

"If I progress?" She couldn't prevent the question from passing her lips.

"You'll progress," the man reassured her evenly. "There's no reason whatsoever to expect that you won't. Look at the baby. Can you see well from there, my lady?" He was being solicitous, but her fears hadn't been placated.

She stayed quiet, watching the nebulous, glowing ball within her, the way it swirled and moved. Their baby, she realized with a stifled giggle, looked exactly like Jared in his natural form. Perfect power and movement, unwilling to be contained.

Kelsey shook her head. "I just don't see how I can possibly carry this baby to term."

The doctor shut off the monitor. "My queen, do you realize that this baby is no different from countless other D'Aravnians over the many generations?"

"I know, but … I'm human."

"A perfect genetic match with the Refarians … well, close to ninety-nine percent, that is."

"But I'm not a ball of fire!" she cried, covering her eyes in shame. She should be stronger than this—for Jared and for the people who called her queen.

The doctor laughed softly. "Most of the women who have carried D'Aravnian babies were not beings of fire. Yet most of those children were born, lived full lives. You're healthy and strong, my lady. This baby will come to term." He patted her belly gently. "This is our new heir inside of you, and I have every faith that the baby will be born."

She blinked back at the man, thinking of all the assurances Jared had offered her, too. "What should I expect with such a short gestational period? When will I start to show?"

He stared down at his flip chart. "Oh, give it another two weeks or so."

"Two weeks?" she squeaked. "Not even a month?"

He grinned, almost as if proud of his own species. "Our kind doesn't waste time achieving what nature wants. By four months you'll be uncomfortable and wishing you were full-term."

"You are doing nothing—absolutely nothing—to reassure me, Doctor."

He closed the chart, holding it against his chest. "This baby is desired, no?"

"Of course!"

"Then enjoy this time of your life. You have so many wonderful days ahead of you."

For some reason, it just didn't feel as simple as that. Her entire stomach churned, her body was on fire, and all she could think about was one thing: that she couldn't wait to drag Jared back into bed.

"Thanks, Doctor," she told him with an opaque smile. Good thing that monitor of his couldn't read her internal desires, too.

Hope sat in the overstuffed corner chair in her room and blinked. Blinked and stared, swung her gaze first in one direction, then another. It was almost more than her heart could willingly accept: Her vision had been restored, and completely. No blurriness, no floaters, no occasional bright flashes. She rose to her feet and peered out of the small window, studying a snowdrift piled against it. They were in a basement of sorts, she now realized, because the window was high up and the drift practically blocked out all daylight. Snowflakes were frozen against the windowpane, etched onto the glass like the very fingerprint of God. Lacy, unique … that she could see them at all brought tears to her newly healed eyes.

Next she walked to the sink and stared into the mirror at herself; for the first time in more than a year she could actually glimpse her own face. Man, I've got some dark circles. Have to work on that! And her hair looked limp and tired, just like her body was. She found her brush by the sink and worked it through the straight length of her blonde hair, then rubbed at her cheeks. Being blind meant you didn't think about the absence of makeup, a situation she was going to have to fix right away.

Leaning forward, gripping the sink, she tried to figure out whether she'd gotten any wrinkles since she'd last seen her own face. Oddly enough, she looked relatively … the same. It was as if she'd taken a very long holiday from herself, a break, only to return and find that nothing much had changed. Totally weird, when you got right down to it.

A sound startled her from behind, and she spun to find a tall, brawny guy studying her. For a split second she wondered who it was, but then, breaking into a smile, she cried, "Jake!" and rushed to him, flinging her arms about his neck.

He returned her embrace stiffly, patting her kindly on the back, and she understood—he was already distancing himself. She pulled back, staring up into his startling green eyes, so light they almost seemed to glow against his olive skin.

"You can see perfectly, can't you?" Gently, he peeled her hands off of him.

She nodded. "It's an absolute miracle."

He pushed past her, but she followed right behind. "Did my future self have this same surgery?"

"Long, long ago," he answered solemnly.

"That explains it, then."

He glanced at her curiously. "I don't understand what you mean."

"When I dream about that future, I can always see the details … very clearly. I finally understood it was because that other version of me could see."

He gave her a melancholy smile. "You always had such beautiful eyes, and you still do."

She folded her arms across her chest, shivering in her hospital gown, watching him pace the room in agitation. "You shouldn't leave," she argued. "You don't have to go—you do know that, right?"

He chuckled low, closing his eyes. "Of course I have to leave. There's no place for me here."

"But you don't have to chase down my killer."

"I have to do that, too."

She planted a hand on her hip. "Tell me why."

He headed back toward the door. "I just came to say goodbye, Hope, not defend my actions."

"Just give me one good reason why you have to hunt down Jake Tierny."

He paused at the door, his hand positioned over the knob, and at first she thought he wouldn't answer. "Don't you know?" he finally said in a voice raw with unexpressed emotion.

"I'm not sure that I do. You need to live, be all right, here in this time."

"I need to find your killer, Hope … because I still love you. I will always"—he turned slowly to meet her gaze—"always love you. No amount of time or space or eternity will ever change that fact."

She flinched, walking slowly toward him. "Let me hold you. Just one last time." She opened her arms to him. "Please, Scott, just let me hold you."

He buried himself within her embrace. "Don't call me Scott."

"It's who you are. No amount of time or space or eternity will ever change that fact, either."

"I'm so sorry I kissed you, let us get intimate—I never meant for that to happen between us."

"I can't imagine how you could hold back."

She felt dampness form against her cheek, his tears—Scott's tears—like that very first night he'd come upon her in the medical hallway. Very gently she stroked his hair, shushed him, and whispered words of never-ending love. "I will always love you, too," she pledged. "You've got to know that."

He nodded at last, pulling back, tears glinting in his light green eyes. "That's why I have to leave. I can't possibly stay."

And she got it then, understood completely—it was best for both of them, Scott included. So long as he stayed around camp or even nearby, her heart would always be torn in half. She'd feel a pull toward this melancholy man, one with whom she could never again share a future, and he would feel drawn back to her elusive promise as well.

"Please be careful in Texas." She stroked his cheek. "Don't do anything stupid, and let me know that you're okay—at least every once in a while."

He bent low, pressing a chaste kiss against her brow. "You can count on it."

And with that, Scott Dillon's other self swept out of the room, never looking back.

Scott paced outside the doorway of Hope's room, trying to figure out a way to simply go to her. He should have visited her in the hospital, should have been at her side while she underwent the surgery. Should have done, should have done. Already so many regrets for such a young relationship.

Shelby had directed him up here, to Hope's quarters, explaining that her eyesight was fully restored, and that she was feeling strong and healthy—but not without also letting him know that Jake Tierny had definitely made a point of paying a visit of his own.

Sometimes, truthfully, Scott knew he could be a total loser. Like with all the women whose beds he used to warm, but whom he'd always left so easily before daybreak. Yet Hope was anything but a one-night stand. So why did the thought of seeing her terrify the living hell out of him?

Simple: She'd never actually seen him. The idea that, if he chose to knock on her door, she'd look upon him completely … well, it was worse than being cornered in the most brutal of firefights. Worse than being trapped in reflexive metal. In fact, it might be more than he could possibly overcome.

Human women seemed to find him plenty pleasing—he wouldn't have had such good luck around the bars and getting into bed with them if that weren't the case. But this was Hope—his beloved Hope. What if she laughed in his face, as Anna had once done? What if she found him hideous? He was average at best, but he could make up for that fact in bed, as he had proven many times over. Still, one look at him might be enough to change Hope's feelings permanently.

And so he paced. And paced. And dithered, and thought he might absolutely expire from the terror of the whole proposition.

"What in All's name are you doing out in this hallway?" Anna called to him.

"Trying to figure out my next strategy."

She planted herself in front of him, blocking his movements. "Just stop it. Right now, sir, stop this asinine behavior."

"I'm sorry?"

"Stop all the obnoxious self-loathing and go in and see that girl. She loves you, for crying out loud. You don't need to overanalyze this thing."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but what makes you think you have the first clue as to what I'm thinking at this moment?"

She leaned in close, grasping him by both arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I don't think so."

"Our little roadside dance—you in your ghost state, me in my bird one. I followed you for miles while you chased her down." She pointed toward the closed bedroom door. "And you know what? She needs you right now, so don't be a selfish prick."

"I'll take that as an official dressing-down." He folded his arms over his chest, wondering where, exactly, friendship ended and impertinence began.

"Right indeed, sir!" She stuck her chin out proudly, her dark eyes twinkling.

"What makes you so sure you know the drill here, huh?"

"Let's just say I've gotten to know your pal Jakey quite a bit these past couple of days."

Scott groaned. "Oh, him."

"Yeah, him. And he's given me some new insights into my very good friend and superior officer, also known as you,sir. Ones that have helped me see a few things in a new light."

"Such as?"

"Why you're lurking out here in the hallway and not just going to her, sir. Especially when she needs you … and you so clearly love her."

Scott glanced up and down the hallway, praying they weren't being overheard, but before he could argue further, Anna blustered ahead. "Listen, you've got some pretty major misconceptions about yourself, sir. Vain ones, at that."

This time he really did buck up. "You're treading on thin ice, Lieutenant."

She leaned in close to him, seizing him by both shoulders, and—stepping up onto her tiptoes—whispered in his ear. "I didn't laugh when you kissed me because I thought you were ugly." Scott jerked back, but she wouldn't let him go. "I laughed because I thought you handsome. You are handsome, sir. Now go to her."

Then, just as quickly as she'd released her ballistic missile, she stepped apart from him, smiling smugly. What Anna couldn't know was that in his deepest heart, he always knew there was a hulking, monstrous Antousian hiding just beneath the surface—it was his other skin, as hard and hideous as the rough hide that covered that form's body.

He shook his head. "No idea what you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes, still grinning at him. "Just keep on telling yourself that, sir. Now go to her. Go, and know that every last woman in these ranks thinks you're gorgeous." She turned, shaking her head, then fired a final, parting shot. "How you could have ever thought otherwise is way, way beyond me. Don't you own a mirror?"

He stared slack-jawed after the departing soldier, gesturing, still searching for some sort of return parry, but all he could think to do was curse his future self for having such a loose tongue. Damn it all to hell, the man had betrayed his heart's secrets. Then again, he supposed, they were Jake's secrets to tell as well.

With a slow and measured gesture, he raised his hand and knocked on Hope's door.

Jared moved quietly about their quarters, not wanting to wake Kelsey, who lay sprawled on their bed, sleeping. She was going to need a great deal of sleep in the coming months; of that much he was certain—growing a baby inside her belly would take every ounce of strength and energy his lovely wife possessed.

"Stop tiptoeing," she called out to him, and he froze right beside his desk.

"You need to rest."

"Want to see a picture of your baby?" She eased up in the bed, plopping a pillow behind her.

"Of course—is that even possible?" He couldn't help sounding breathless.

Reaching underneath the pillow beside her, she produced a small piece of paper, and he took it from her, staring down at the colored image in his hands. Their baby! A lovely, glowing D'Aravnian, bright and powerful already. "Really?" he asked, daring to meet her twinkling eyes.

"Pretty amazing, huh?"

He nodded, still studying the image, turning his head first one way, then another, to truly get a full view. "Ah, so lovely." Then he looked up again, seriously studying his queen. "Are you still angry with me?"

She tilted her head. "About what?"

"Your father, and how I didn't want you to phone him."

"Are you saying that I can? That you won't argue with me about it?"

Jared settled on the side of their bed. "After aligning with the air force and the FBI, I'm beginning to think the risk might not matter nearly so much."

"Good," she told him, but there was a slight chill to her tone, so he rushed onward.

"I want you happy, sweet wife. I want you to be with me, but not as my prisoner or this Rapunazel you mentioned."

"Rapunzel. She got locked in a tower for most of her life."

"This base of mine shouldn't be your tower; it should be your home," he pressed, waving the piece of paper. "Just as this babe will make a home with each of us."

She leaped toward him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "You're saying I have your blessing about calling my dad?"

"Yes, love. I don't want to hide you away or make you less than what you are—besides, I also think you might be right. His connections could be very valuable to all of us."

"Thank you, Jared." She showered his face with kisses. "Thank you so much."

"Tomorrow we will discuss the best way to go about approaching him—your phoning him, I mean. We will figure it all out together."

She reached for his hand, placed it squarely over her abdomen and, with sparkling eyes, said, "We are definitely in this together. All three of us."

Scott took cautious steps into Hope's room, thankful that it was mostly dark inside. It was on the lower level of the cabin, so there was never a lot of light filtering into the interior, and given today's gloomy weather, it was darker than the last time he'd been in her quarters.

"So you finally decided to come see me?" She lay propped on her lower bunk, a book clasped within both hands.

"You're reading." He could hardly suppress a smile. She must be seeing perfectly well already.

"I haven't read a book in two years—it was sort of one of the things I had to do right away."

"What book is it?"

"Some Shakespearean sonnets that Kelsey gave me. A collection of Jared's."

"Of course." His king adored Shakespeare—the plays, the sonnets, it hardly mattered which.

"Not my usual thing; I'm more of a Julia Quinn or Lisa Kleypas kind of girl."

"I'm not familiar with their work."

"I didn't figure you would be." Hope giggled, and he didn't quite understand the reason why, but put her reaction down to human proclivities.

Scott hung back, propping his hands on the top bunk rather than drawing much closer so Hope could get a good look at him. "How are you feeling?"

He cursed himself for seeming so dull. Way to go, Dillon. That's an interesting opener.

She closed her book, dropping it onto her knees. "You're just going to hang way back there?" Great, she'd seen right through his bullshit.

He deigned to take another step closer. "I'm concerned about you."

"So concerned that"—she sat upright in bed—"I went through my surgery, then recovery, and actually got dismissed before you came to see me?"

"I'm sorry." He grunted.

"I want to know why, Dillon." He shook his head, and she continued. "Because I know how you feel about me—really do know, deep down in my spirit—so for you to stay away … well, I figure it must have cost you quite a lot."

He dropped his arms away from the top bunk, swinging much closer toward her. "I wasn't ready," he admitted throatily.

She sat up in the bed, her clear gray eyes wide. "For what? To be with me? To make a life together, like you've led me to believe we would?"

"That's not it. Not at all."

She eased her legs off the bed, scooting closer to him. She had those amazing eyes of hers fixed right on him, had to be able to see every detail of his cursed face. "Then please—honestly, please—tell me what the problem really is."

"I'm not that good-looking, Hope." He met her steely gaze, never blinking or looking away. "This is me, with my once-broken nose, and my fair skin, and … and," he sputtered, "I'm an average-looking guy. I couldn't deal with you seeing me. Really seeing me, close like this."

"Oh, I get it," she said, drawing her words out, but never looking away. "When I was blind, I was a sure thing—"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what, exactly, are you saying?"

He dropped his head. "You felt my other form at the warehouse. You saw, in your own way, the truth of my nature. That's one thing, and the other.… None of my own people find me the least bit attractive."

"Huh, that's funny—because Anna told me that every single woman under your command has a crush on you."

"She was lying."

"No, she wasn't, and you know how I know that for sure?" she asked, rising up to her feet and closing the small distance that separated them. "Because I'm looking at you, right now, me and my newly acquired twenty-twenty vision, and I can see the truth with my own eyes."

She took hold of his hands, drawing them to her lips, and kissed him across the knuckles, long and tantalizingly slow. "And what I see, Scott Dillon"—she peered up into his face, raking her gaze across his features—"is one of the handsomest men I've ever encountered."

"Passable at best. Better in bed."

Her blonde eyebrows shot right up to her hairline. "Better in bed? Is that a promise or a threat?"

He rubbed his eyes. "You're a piece of work, Hope Harper."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He chuckled, grasping her face with both of his hands. "I'm calling you my life. The woman I want to be with. I just can't believe you're looking at me—right at me—and find this"—he waved at his face—"appealing."

"Whatever gave you the idea that you weren't gorgeous?"

"It doesn't matter. I just never found much company among the ranks."

"Because they're totally intimidated by you, hello? Anna told me that much."

He cast a shy glance at her. "Really? Is that what she said?" Anna's words from the hallway, about how she'd found him incredibly handsome, echoed in his ears. Memories of all the women he'd seduced around Jackson traipsed through his thoughts as well.

"Know what I think?" Hope asked softly, drawing his face down toward her own, and kissing him full on the lips.

He returned her kiss. "Huh?"

"You don't know what to make of your Antousian self. That's why you wrestle with all of this."

He recoiled, taking several steps back. "Don't, Hope. Okay? Please?"

She wouldn't be denied, following him. "Because otherwise, a gorgeous, beautiful man like you? You'd get what you do to a woman like me."

She slipped her arms about his neck, reaching up toward him, and all at once they were utterly inseparable—like they'd been in the warehouse: his body molding against hers, her body giving in to his. There was no dividing line between their twin souls, where they ended and where they began.

Next thing he knew, she was tugging him back toward her bed. "Let's make out," she whispered in a husky voice. "I want to kiss you all the way down to your toes."

"I like the sound of that," he agreed with a hearty rumble. "But no making love?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. We need to go back to square one for a while."

Collapsing onto her bed, he groaned. "This is Antousian gorabung torture, is that it?"

She cradled his head against her chest, stroking his hair. "I'm not sure what that is, but I just know this:—a first time when we were prisoners isn't the right first time, not for us. So we back up for a while."

"For a while." He rolled her beneath him, feeling his erection grow firm and long. "Just don't make me crazy."

"Not too crazy." She laughed low in his ear, nibbling at it, and he felt chill bumps form along his forearms.

Hope nestled against Scott's chest, feeling his languid kisses across her brow; even now, long minutes after they'd finally halted their sexual advances, they still lay together. Somehow, amazingly, she'd managed to stop Scott at the proverbial door, but just barely. They'd tussled and made out, had their almost-way with each other, but ultimately she'd managed to dissuade him from actually making love. It was obvious to her that he was a man with immense sexual urges. That was fine by her, because she was a woman who shared those appetites.

Still, they'd finally pulled back, shirts and jeans and uniforms undone, and stilled in each other's arms, just stroking and caressing. She couldn't believe he was as absolutely beautiful as he was—though, of course, she'd already seen him in her visions. For some reason, however, she didn't let on quite how clearly she'd already seen him in her mind. He needed to believe this was her very first time seeing him up close. It seemed linked to his acceptance of her freely given love.

Now they lay curled together in her bottom bunk, night having fallen outside, and other thoughts began to intrude on Hope's mind, questions she'd been considering for the past few days.

"Back in the warehouse," she ventured, "Veckus said something that I haven't been able to shake—I know it's why you're afraid for me to receive genetic therapy."

She watched as Scott's face—a face she was so grateful to glimpse—grew troubled and serious. Despite his reaction, it felt good to know his thoughts with only one easy glance.

"I wondered if you'd caught all that," he answered softly, stroking her hair.

"I need to know what he was talking about." She captured his hand, bringing it to her cheek. "And why the idea of genetic therapy terrifies you so much. It's all linked together; I've figured that part out."

Scott brought her palm to his lips, kissing her in the center of her hand. "None of it matters, sweetheart. Let it go."

She shook her head adamantly. "It's extremely important to me. I'm in the middle of this war now, Scott, and I want to know what the stakes really are." She dropped her voice low. "And I need genetic therapy; I don't want to be sick anymore … but I need to know why it frightens you first."

Scott exhaled, leaning back from her, still holding her hand. "It's like I told you before. There was a virus back on Refaria … it didn't affect my adopted people—"

"The Refarians," she volunteered, for the sake of being clear.

"They're my only people." He met her gaze seriously. "I feel no affinity for the Antousians, my … natural capabilities aside."

"Do you honestly think I care what kind of shifting you're capable of?"

Scott hung his head. "You didn't really see me back there in that warehouse."

"And I didn't need to." She gave him a resolute look. "But explain this virus and its consequences to me."

Scott leaned toward her, burying his head against her chest. "I don't want you to hear any of this—it's so ugly, and just terrible, all the way through."

"Do you really love me, Scott Dillon?" She stroked the black hair atop his head. "Do you know I won't leave you?"

He made a plaintive, terrible sound. "I'm not sure, Hope."

She shoved him away. "Then we've got nothing more to talk about, not if you don't know my heart any better than that."

He stared down at her, tears glinting in his eyes. "Don't you get it? Don't you see how much I hate my mixed heritage?"

"Yes," she whispered quietly. "I've understood from the beginning.''

"I share a bloodline with them—with Veckus, all of them. I'm a monster in my blood, a killer in my DNA."

"But you are here, S'Skautsa. You are here."

"The only thing that's my saving grace."

"Tell me what happened back on Refaria," she insisted.

"Okay, I will," he told her coolly, casting a sideways glance at her. "But it's far from pretty, the truth about my species."

"I have to know if I'm going to make a future with you—and be part of this war."

He gazed at the ceiling. "Roughly sixty years ago, the Antousians reached a point where technology had surpassed their natural capabilities, their mental capacities. And so they made a decision: They chose to become enhanced." He stared at her meaningfully. "They allowed themselves, the whole lot of them, to become implanted with quantum cyberchips, nanochips that were barely more than microscopic so they could"—his face became a grim, sarcastic mask—"embrace the best of their future; that's what they all said. That's what my people said."

Hope had long heard talk about the possibility of humans accepting computer processor chips in order to outpace technology, to keep up with what she'd heard termed the "singularity"—the point when computers became "smarter" than mankind. Still, this was the stuff of science-fiction novels, and she wasn't sure how to respond.

"Sounds frightening," was all she came up with, "to give yourself over to machines that way."

"Precisely. Why would any living being think that merging his intellect with that of a computer would be a wise thing? But for a while, it actually worked. They lived on Refaria, you must realize, a massive population of them, and for a very long while the Antousians and Refarians lived in great harmony. It was a time of advancement and peace—all except for one little detail: The Refarians refused to become cybernetically enhanced. They didn't want to be implanted with these chips, and there was a lot of debate about that fact. Back and forth, until.…" His voice faded, and he closed his eyes.

"Tell me the rest, Scott. I have to know."

He blew out a sigh. "Until the virus came, just like I told you before."

A strange thought began developing in her mind. Scott had told her all about the virus, how the Antousians believed that the Refarians had unleashed it upon them as a form of biological politics, only he'd never told her what kind of virus had plagued the Antousian people.

"It was a computer virus," she whispered softly.

He nodded. "And it wiped out most of my 'people' who had been enhanced, shutting down their biological bodies as their technological side became infected. There was no way for them to survive except—like I told you—to assume their ghost form. Become ether, and then what to do? They couldn't live forever like that, so they sought out the species that for some unholy reason was most compatible: yours. And they started a war on the very planet that had welcomed them as friends, brothers. They warred against the Refarians, always blaming them, forever claiming that the virus had been developed to wipe their own species out."

"Was it true?"

He turned on her, his face pale and livid. "Of course not! They were ambitious and overreaching—and the results were that it destroyed them."

"That still doesn't explain your aversion to genetic therapy, and why you don't want me to have it."

"Because that's how they tried to treat the virus, but it only infected a much larger portion of the population … spread it, contaminated even the Antousians who weren't carrying processors inside their heads. It was a bloodbath, all because of genetic therapy."

"I see," she said, sinking back into her pillow. It was so much to digest, and she could totally comprehend his adamant position against her receiving genetic therapy.

"I'm not saying it wouldn't work for you, Hope, but it terrifies me, all right? Scares the living crap out of me."

She leaned close against him. "It's not something we have to decide anytime soon. I've lived my whole life, practically, with my diabetes."

"I want you to get well … I just don't want you to die in the process." She could see the raw fear in his eyes. The man didn't want to lose her—especially not to the fate that had devastated his home back on Refaria.

"Let's just think about it," she said softly.

When Scott returned to his quarters, he was surprised to find a note pinned to his door. The handwriting was absurdly familiar—a slightly more rugged version of his own. Whipping the note off the door, he entered his room and began to read.

Hey, Chief:

I would talk to you in person, but I think we've both seen what happens if we so much as breathe the same air. Listen, I'm hitting the road, so we won't be bumping into each other, at least for a while. Before I go, I want to make sure you know something—a fact about my own future that I think you can avert.

I spent a lot of time afraid for Hope, afraid that if she got help that something terrible would go wrong. The truth is, buddy, that she was always sick and only got sicker in my future. Her diabetes caused a lot of problems for her, especially during her pregnancy. In one way, it's part of why she died, all those pregnancy complications.

Fear never gets you very far. Love her. Love her with everything inside of you, and don't be so damned afraid all the time. If my gamble has gone right, you've got nothing more to fear.

I suppose from now on I should call you my brother.

Jake

For a moment, he stared down at the paper in his hand, read his own writing over and over again, and then, making his decision, he crumpled the thing and tossed it to the ground. And ran—no, sprinted—back to Hope's side.