satyricon au go go

Promised You a Miricale

He was at a loss, just standing there, helplessly, looking down at Hawkes, pale and lifeless on the surgical steel tray in the morgue. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could do.

"What would you do?" asked the General, who McQueen suddenly realised was standing on the other side of the body. "What would you do, to bring him back?"

McQueen couldn't answer, his frightened grey eyes meeting cold, deathless ones across Cooper's body.

The General smiled, a predatory smile. Lifting his wrist, he slashed it open with a scalpel, to McQueen's horror, letting the dark blood drip down onto Cooper's pale lips. Cooper's eyes snapped open.

He stared into the darkness, disorientated for a moment, scanning his surroundings anxiously until strange shadows formed themselves into the familiar outlines of his cabin, the soft thrumming of the Saratoga's engines caressed his skin through the bunk he lay on. He sat forward, holding his head in his hands.
Another damn nightmare. Sometimes he wished the rumour was true, that tanks couldn't dream.

He angrily pushed himself out of his bunk, making a barely restrained bolt to the head to splash water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was in these darkest hours, before the dawn, or revelry this deep in space, that cracks in the mask would show. He covered it up for the 58th, his kids, that he, too, knew what real fear was. He bluffed them off with bravado, and for the most part it worked. Hell, he even fooled himself at times. And then all it would take would be one bad dream, one pointless death, to threaten to bring the whole thing tumbling down.

Who am I? he asked himself again. A soldier, he told himself, during the day. But in the middle of the night, he was just another scared and lonely tank.

-o0o-

"Who's at my hatch," came the somewhat forbidding question in reply to the knock.

"Me." came the unabashed reply.

"Its open," came the slightly softer reply.

Cooper Hawkes stepped through the hatch and locked the door behind him, wasting his dimpled smile on the back of McQueen's head. Cooper frowned slightly, try to gauge his Colonel's mood. Reading people was a skill Cooper was still learning, and McQueen was more difficult than most. Learning to adapt his behaviour to what his Colonel wanted was also a skill Cooper was refining, having had a few very short, sharp lessons on the uncrossable line of private and public behaviour. Cooper really didn't have any time for the niceties of social etiquette, but the rest of the 58th and McQueen especially kind of insisted upon it, and
he was always getting in trouble for doing the wrong thing. He'd been taught 687 ways to kill with his bare hands, but never which fork to use at a formal dinner.

Demonstrating a familiar ease with his surroundings, Cooper crossed the room to sit himself on the edge of McQueen's desk, facing the Colonel.

McQueen looked down at first, at the floor, anywhere but at Hawkes, but his eyes betrayed him, tracking the lean, supple body, the prefect arms, perfect chest, until he reached that perfect face. Whoever had created Hawkes had known their job. He swallowed slightly, still avoiding eye contact, just for a second.
The moment he did look in those eyes, he knew he'd be lost.

Just like the first time he'd laid eyes on Hawkes in the asteroid Bar, and Hawkes, with a single look, had made it very clear what he wanted. A look powerful enough to have McQueen, a man the 127th called the Ice Queen behind his back, all but shifting in his seat.

He'd made a snap judgement about Hawkes that night, that the boy was trouble, a drifter, with no purpose, the complete anthesis of himself, and yet, so alike.

Cooper had been relentless in his pursuit, locked on target like a heat seeking missile. McQueen had found himself being crudely and clumsily seduced by the cadet, and had been ashamed of how easily he'd succumbed to the temptation, wanting Cooper himself, pent up passions breaking free of their cages. It had been a hot and hard culmination of desires, a brutal rutting, too fast and furious. He'd hardly been surprised to find several arrests for solicitation on Cooper's record later.

Of course he's tried to break it off after that, write it off as a one time lapse. Only it hadn't been just one time. And when he was given the command of the 58th, he broke one of his most deeply held taboos, he broke the regulation against chain of command fraternisation. And once broken, like virginity, the moral high ground could never be regained. He'd been in command of the 58th for all of 40 minutes, and Cooper had given him that look again. He'd tried to turn Cooper away, but Cooper had been drunk, and he guessed he was, as well.

Looking at the boy's body beside him his bunk as he woke, he realised there was no morning after pill for a breach in military protocol. He also realised, with a great deal of despair and alarm, that it had become more than just sex for both of them. He saw it now, in Cooper's eyes, not just animal lust, but a childlike and trusting love.

Cooper leant forward and kissed him, and McQueen found himself responding, the body reacting, overriding the mind, his hands sliding up Cooper's arms of their own volition, his fingertips finding that sensitive little nub on the back of Cooper's neck. Cooper sighed and bowed his head forward further, baring his neck in a sexually submissive gesture.

McQueen slid his hands across the perfect skin, a Michelangelo sculpture made flesh, a David in khaki, as the hot tongue darted in his mouth again. He swallowed the tongue, pulling the boy down closer against him. He pinched the hardening nipples, letting his hand slid down to brush over the green army fatigues.

"Uh, yeah," Hawkes mumbled incoherently against his throat, seeking out the mark of an in vitro on the back of his neck, finding it, hot mouth sliding over it to suck hard.

McQueen gritted his teeth, lest he should give voice to his passion.

Hawkes slid down across him, a hungry look on his face, him to kneel before his commanding officer, teasing at McQueen's crotch mercilessly until he pulled open the zipper, releasing him, capturing him, working him expertly.

"Hawkes," he growled at last, finger's rubbing across the short military haircut.

It saddened him to know Hawkes' had learnt this skill in the facility, barely out of his tank. It was all he knew, aside from killing. When he'd killed that monitor, the boy had used his only skill to survive, to feed himself; it pained McQueen to know that Hawkes only saw himself as a sexual object., even now.

McQueen couldn't hold back, growling Cooper's name as he licked away the last drops, sliding down to wait patiently , head rested against his mater's knee, studying him with those blue eyes. McQueen hated any such scrutiny, and tugged at the boy's hand. Cooper rose over him again, his naked chest sliding against
McQueen's slick wetness with a devastating friction, his mouth covering McQueen's, almost climbing onto the chair with him, desperate, hungry.
"What do you want, Hawkes?" McQueen had to ask, gruffly, tearing away from the boy's hungry mouth for a moment to draw breath.

"What you need," smouldered Hawkes thickly.

McQueen placed both hand's on Hawkes shoulder's and pushed him back down to the floor. Hawkes didn't resist, trusting McQueen, totally.

Hawkes braced himself against the floor as McQueen stripped him and prepared him; Cooper cheekily and eagerly pushing back, learning what he liked, guiding McQueen's hand to his own hardness. He grunted as McQueen pushed into him. It was never gentle. McQueen took him with the same hard determination he applied to everything. He was ruthless and unforgiving, and sometimes angry at Cooper, angry that Cooper looked up to him so much, when he himself considered himself often times unworthy of such admiration and devotion.

He finished and rolled off the boy. Cooper moved to leave, but McQueen grabbed him back, confusing Cooper who was used to zipping up his trousers and exiting at this point, payment in hand or not.
McQueen rolled Cooper under him and began kissing him, Scared and desperate and angry kisses, kisses that upset Cooper as much as they thrilled him. McQueen had never needed him like this before. And Cooper still did not have enough life experience to connect his Colonel's 'trouble sleepin' ' with this sudden
desire for life affirming sex. He ran his hands over Cooper's body, as though checking and rechecking that Hawkes was alive; warm, hot and alive.

-o0o-

The ISSV door rumbled open, spilling out it's cargo of screaming and bleeding soldiers onto the waiting med teams, while solemn faced grunts unloaded the dark green body bags into a corner, away from the light, the yells and the smell of blood.

His eyes snapped open. He could smell it all around, the blood. Oozing slowly, thickly from dead wounds, pooling on cold metal trays, lying in plastic sacks. He awoke, hungry.

"I don't understand it," railed the Doctor to an audience of orderlies and nurses who were too tired to care.
"How could they bring this soldier through in a body bag? What is with those Evac stations."

He checked on his patient again. The pulse was so slow, he may as well be dead, and he was sucking up bags of blood like a sponge.

The ward was darkened, simulating night hours, as experienced fingers tapped across the keyboard, updating, changing military personnel records, or rather one, in particular.

The same fingers caressed across the ashen face, tender, amused. An equally ashen faced gazed down, more than paternally.

"This is becoming a distressing habit of yours," the silken voice admonished softly.

The white fingers lifted up a silver scalpel, and slit open the pale white wrist, letting the drops of deep scarlet blood drip down onto the lips.

Moments later, tawny, animal like eyes opened. He soothed the beast's craving, pressing his wrist to the teeth that tore at it, allowing the soldier succour, glorifying in the exquisite agony.

-o0o-

Cooper pressed his hands against the cold metal of the bulkhead, pushing down as the Colonel forced himself deeper inside him, hot tongue sliding across Cooper's omphalos, sucking on it, hard. The Boy arched back, strangled cry in his throat. Several pumps later McQueen collapsed against him, spent. Still he clung to Cooper, his hand resting over his heart, reassuring himself that it was still beating, still warm, still alive. Keeping Cooper here didn't banish the dreams, but reassurance was close at hand at least, reassurance and release.

Cooper pressed his sweat sheened brow against the cool metal wall, hoping that he wasn't expected to fly a long patrol tomorrow, doubting he'd be able to sit down in the cockpit if McQueen took him like that one more time.

The General slipped into the Tun Tavern, blithely ignoring the automatic salutes waved in his direction.
There was little to interest him here, but he needed to pass the time in some fashion while he waited for his troublesome protege to be formally discharged from the hospital unit. There was a proper way of doing things, and as record keeping became a more and more precise science, he was forced to observe the correct way of doing things, as much as it irked him to be bound by their laws. But to walk in their world meant playing by their rules, or bothersome questions could be asked, and he did prefer to avoid those.

The atmosphere of the cramped, dimly lit little bar brought upon him an atmosphere of almost sad nostalgia for older times. As if picking up upon his melancholy thoughts, a young Captain picked a selection from the juke box, and a familiar tune floated over the denizens of the tavern, so many light years from earth, so many decades from the origin of the song.

Janette, he thought wearily with the familiar ache. He would deny to every one that he missed his erstwhile daughter, to replace one lost much earlier, and yet, miss her he did. He had enjoyed it, the three of them, riding out the centuries. And then it had all changed, as it must, even for one like he. He had lost his daughter, yet bound his son close once more to his side. Once again they travelled together at the edge of this carnage.

His kind were drawn to these bloody battles, to the sustenance they provided. And when they weren't battles enough, they made them. He smiled slyly, once again wearing the insignia of his true rank, that of a General. Though of late he had no legions to command, rather, supplying his considerable tactical skill brought him to the war council and the ear of Aerotech. Had he not advised them well up til now. Now, he reminded himself, they must succeed, lest his food chain die out beneath him.

The war had brought both him and his companion to this tiny dot of pulsing human life in the dark lonely reaches of space.

He thought again of Nicholas, foolishly and nobly sacrificing his life again and again for his chosen countries and chosen causes and those all too mortal companions he chose to care for. The availability of artificial blood had at least calmed one guilt for him. Still, faux blood in neat little plastic bags was no match for hot, rich, living, pulsing liquid gushing up from the hammering heart of your victim.

The hunger stirred in him as he watched a squad of young men and women stroll into the tavern, teasing one another as they took their seats. He cast his each over each one, taking his measure of them in turn, and found his gaze lingering on two of the young men, one in particular, of tall build, handsome face and an endearing naivete in the eyes. An Invitro. He knew from the sound of the heart, the scent. An acquired taste, but one worth acquiring. They were rich and strong, and rarely missed when the need came upon him, the need to hunt, to bring down his prey and tear open his throat. He felt his hunger pique as his gaze again swept over the young 'tank', as they were so endearingly referred to as.

He contented himself to sit and watch, as the hunter always studied it's prey, searching for the weakness that would enable him to run his prey to ground.

-o0o-

"Lacroix, why am I not surprised to see you here. Am I never to be allowed to stray too far from your
side."

"You could show a modicum of gratitude, Nicholas. I did save your life, after all, again. Had I not kept a close watch on you, you would have woken in the morgue with the blood hunger, and I've no wish to repeat the errors of a century ago."

Nick bowed his head, and Lacroix instantly regretted dredging up the memory of a most difficult phase of their life together.

"Nicholas," he reached out his hand, but Nick pushed it away churlishly like a child.

"Is it too much to ask for you to act like an adult just once a century," he chided, sounding more annoyed than he really was. "As it happens, I amended your medical records so nothing will appear amiss. Thank you, Lucien. You still have your current life as a Captain in the British Army. Thank you, Lucien."

Nick scowled at him. Lacroix always treated him like a child, always reminding him of his place, always reminding him that he, Lacroix, had so much more experience of the ways of the world, that father knew best.

Hawkes scowled at McQueen. He hated being treated like a child. Even though he was only seven, he had the body of a 25 year old male, including the needs and drives of one. He hated the way McQueen always put him in his place, constantly screaming at him that he was just a stupid tank, constantly telling him that he knew nothing of the world or people, that he, McQueen, knew everything. That he shared the Colonel's bed only allowed him a certain latitude in talking back and questioning orders. The rest of the 58th even called him the teacher's pet, very much aware of the Colonel's obvious though stern favouritism towards his fellow In Vitro.

West knew it, and it had annoyed the shit out him, until Hawkes had wormed his way into that place in his heart recently vacated by the death of his brother. He watched Cooper now, fondly, studying his cards with enough concentration to almost absorb the ink from the paper, scowling as he ignored McQueen's jibes as the elder In Vitro tossed a few more chips into the centre of the table. McQueen had years of practised Easter Island inscrutability, no doubt learned through years of first not having any emotions, and then learning to hide the ones he did have. Cooper was still an endearingly open book, though what he lacked in the art of subterfuge, he made up for in incredible luck. Sometimes he was so incredibly lucky the overly suspicious Wang would refuse to fly anywhere near him on a sortie, believing that Coop's luck must have hit empty. But it hadn't, yet. Nathan had yet to explain to Cooper the old axiom about being lucky in cards, and unlucky in love. With the looks Cooper was crawling over towards McQueen, it looked like that didn't hold true, either.

Nick followed Lacroix's shifting gaze to where it eventually rested.

"Lacroix," he hissed. "Can't you show at least some form of restraint."

Lacroix ignored him, fixing his gaze still on the table distant.

"If I were given to any form of denial or lack of indulgence, I should not have chosen my current lifestyle.
That is why one finds so few Protestant vampires."

"Lacroix, this is not place for your despicable little games. Not here, not now. This is a war ship, these are Marines, we need them for the war effort, how can you even contemplate..." Nicholas tried to reason with his master.

"I contemplate it because I do not go to great pains to hide my true nature like you do. But if the idea distresses you so much, I will swallow my hunger, just for you. There, satisfied? Because I'm not." Lacroix almost pouted, as peevish as Nicholas at times, they had grown too much alike over the centuries.

Nicholas remained sceptical of Lacroix's good intentions, however. Lacroix was sensible enough to know that chomping his way through the Saratoga would serve no good purpose other than to sate his appetite, an appetite best sated upon the dying in the trenches in any case. It was that sense that had kept Lacroix alive for 2 millennium, and maybe that Lt. for a few days more. Nick could sense a restlessness in his master, though, and it made him uneasy. Lacroix was always at his most difficult when he was bored. Even galactic warfare paled for him, as the actual battles were fought no differently from the battles of his youth in the fields and forests of Gaul.

"Besides," Lacroix continued churlishly," "its not like you remembered my birthday."

"Your 2 000th birthday was several years ago," Nick reminded crossly.

"And I'm still waiting for a present." Lacroix reminded. "Make me a gift of that In Vitro, and all is forgiven."

Nick looked again to the young Lt, grinning amongst his friends. Could he really offer up such a young life for Lacroix's very changeable favours? He shook his head slightly as Natalie's words came back to haunt him. He'd come to see Mortals as more than just cattle last century, and though his heart had hardened after the deaths of his all too mortal friends, he could not be a party to Lacroix's plans. Not willingly.

-o0o-

McQueen tossed his pile of reports down on his desk irritably, making quite sure his visitor was under no impression that his interruption was welcome.

"Well, what can I do for you, Captain?" he asked at last, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.
He never could quite get a handle on the British. Perhaps because the sadistic head Monitor at the Anchorage facility had been the product of the British public school system; perhaps not. Perhaps it was just a cultural thing, that he could not read them as easily as he could Americans. Whatever it was, the Officer in his quarters now made him uneasy, an almost primal panic he couldn't give a name to.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes...

"Its about your squad, the 58th. One member in particular. I have grave concerns for his safety."

"Who."

"Lieutenant Hawkes, Sir."

That got a reaction. Nick could hear the slightly increased heart rate.

"In danger how?" came the gruff reply. McQueen leant close now, angry, protective.

"Damn you, what do you know. How is Hawkes in danger?"

"I'm not a liberty to say. To do so would put us both in grave danger. Just keep an eye on him. Watch him close. Do not let him out of your sight until the danger has passed."

"How will I know?"

"You'll know," Nicholas assured.

McQueen considered his strange visitor moments after he left. His words made no sense, unless some dark conspiracy was hinted at. It wouldn't be the first time Hawkes had been targeted for a black ops mission or as a pawn in far darker machinations, Hawkes was a trained assassin after all, he had been created, decanted and indoctrinated as such.

McQueen's gut instincts were telling him the threat was real. He had to find Hawkes. Now.

He stalked down the darkened and strangely deserted corridors towards the 58th quarters, and was dismayed to find Hawkes not on his rack, nor did anyone know where he was. No one had seen him since their return from the Tavern. Wang suggested perhaps Hawkes had gone off to play the VR game in the Rec Room.

Ice coiled up and down McQueen's spine, his hands clenching by his side as he found the Rec Room empty. Anxiety and real fear began to gnaw on him as Cooper failed to be found in any of his favourite haunts.

Snapping free his torch, he began his climb down into the dark passages that lead to the engine rooms and munitions rooms that occupied the lower levels.

Only In Vitros ever came down here, and McQueen had worked in places like this enough in his life to know his way around like a cat, dropping silently down from the ladder, nerves wired, flashing his torch around.

Not all the horrors he had seen could prepare him for what he saw now; Cooper caught in the grip of the General, head tilted back, eyes closed in a rapt ecstasy as the General held him tight, drinking greedily from the deep tear in his throat, that bled profusely.

McQueen watched mutely as Cooper's hair and face were stroked, as if in a lover's embrace. He moaned, softly, giving his life up to the senior officer.

"Get away from him, now," snarled McQueen, raising his sidearm, safety off, finger on the trigger.
Lacroix barely bothered to look up, facing the interloper with full animal ferocity over the body of the boy.

McQueen didn't falter, holding his gun steady.

"Get away from him," he repeated in that deadly turn that even spooked Ross when he used it.

"Do you think that little pop gun of yours will stop me? Fire and you risk hitting the boy, though his life is forfeit already. You stupid little tank. you have no idea what I am. They never taught you about Christmas in the Facility, I doubt they would have stretched your education to cover my kind." he gloated.

"Nosferatu," McQueen hissed, still holding his gun steady.

"Very good," Lacroix smiled. "So the tank can read. I'm very impressed. Really, I am. I would have thought you only achieved your rank by being the Commodore's rent boy, or perhaps the only one left standing when your entire squadron was slaughtered. See, I do know about you, McQueen. How does it feel, to know there's nothing you can do to save the life of one entrusted to you?"

McQueen's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Let him go, now!" McQueen demanded.

Lacroix glanced down to the life he held in his hands, the blood cooling upon the skin, the pulse slowing.

"As you wish," he shrugged, dropping Cooper like a piece of trash, moving past McQueen so fast McQueen only felt him brush past, the gun torn from his hand as a lesson on the type of creature he was dealing with.

He gathered Cooper up in his arms, desperately holding his hand against his throat, trying to stop the blood
from leaking out between his fingers.

"Not yet, Cooper. Not now," he commanded between gritted teeth, slinging the body over his shoulder in a
fireman's hold and grasping the bottom rung of the ladder and heaving them both up.

-o0o-

Cooper looked so unnatural lying there in the hospital bed. It wasn't just the pallor of his skin, Nathan decided, but the stillness. Cooper was always fidgeting, always restless. It was a measure of how serious his condition was. He'd taken three transfusions, and was still dangerously anaemic.

Shane tucked Cooper's burnt out teddy bear under the sheet, then left, spooked as much by McQueen's appearance as Cooper's. McQueen sat grim faced by Cooper's bedside, where he had remained since finding Hawkes bleeding from an attack in the lower decks. What Cooper had been doing there, no one knew. Nathan feared Cooper had been prowling for green meanies, but none had been found in his < possession, or in his system. Worse, the attack could have been racially motivated. He guiltily remembered taking out his own bitterness on Cooper, and he considered Cooper his best friend. Even more so. They had been spending more and more time together, as Cooper came to him for advice, confided in him, looked up to him and competed with him in ways Neil had and had never done.

McQueen never said a word, or even acknowledged West's presence as they shared their silent vigil.

Paul shut his locker door and stared down at the small gold crucifix he held in the palm of his hand.

He stared down at it again as he stood by Cooper's bedside. He didn't believe. He really didn't believe, he told himself again. After all the things he'd seen, what kind of god could bring the Chigs down upon his creations. His faith had been shaken, torn from him with the confession by Elroy's hand, an inhuman creature made in the image of man. But he'd seen the tears in Cooper's throat when McQueen had found him. He'd seen the bites, knew of the blood loss, and had realised the impossible. He tightened his hand around the tiny cross and imbued it with whatever little faith he had left. Perhaps it would be enough to save Cooper. He gently lowered the cross down by it's gold chain until it touched Cooper's pale skin, just below his throat.

Cooper's eyes opened, a strangled scream in the back of his throat as the skin burned. Paul let the cross drop, backing away as Cooper began to thrash, scrabbling for the object of his pain. McQueen leapt forward, holding Cooper's hands down, the only one strong enough to do it.

Cooper growled again, twisting as the cross slid off him, leaving behind the burn mark on his chest.

"We need some holy water, "Wang decided, struggling to hold down Cooper with McQueen.
"That may help," offered a quiet voice. I also believe a certain type of hormone treatment in combination with a plant extract may help. Of course, the effect on In Vitros has been untested."

"Get the hell out of here," snarled McQueen, almost lunging at the British Officer. Nathan pulled McQueen back, as Wang continued to hold down Cooper, who struggles lessened now that the cross lay on the sheets.

"What the hell is going on here?" asked West.

"Hell is right," offered Wang, still incredulous.

"Can you get what he needs. Can he be cured?" McQueen demanded.

"I don't know...I didn't even know if the virus could be transferred across to In Vitros. I thought perhaps you might be immune."

"This isn't some experiment, this is a man's life!" screamed McQueen. "What do you know about this?
What has he been infected with?!"

Nick read McQueen's eyes. He remembered more than most, a very strong willed one. He was surprised Lacroix let him live. Perhaps it amused Lacroix to play mind games with the Colonel.

"I can try an antidote, but I can't promise you anything," Nick offered lamentably.

-o0o-

McQueen scowled at the General as he seated himself at McQueen's table without invitation. Something about this General made McQueen's skin crawl, more than most.

"I am so sorry to hear one of your squad was injured in an incident below decks. I hear he's not expected to live."

McQueen did not bother to dignify the ill concealed gloat with a response. He'd sat here for the last five hours drinking alone, and wished to continue doing so.

"What would you do to save his life. How far would you be willing to go, to keep him with you, forever."

That sparked a reaction at last.

"What the hell do you know about it."

"What the hell indeed. What would you give, to save him. How far would you go, to keep him."

"What the hell does it matter to you," McQueen growled.

"You'll never know. But I may be able to offer a solution. You have no idea how powerful I am."

Lacroix smiled across the brim of his glass.

"Take a chance," he purred, his grin widening as he saw the cogs wheel in those ice blue eyes, the thought brought up, examined, and then filed to one aside, the implications too sinister to acknowledge.

McQueen stood up angrily, leaning across the table, drunk but still dangerous.

"I'll be damned if I have any business with you!" he snarled, before stalking off, the remainder of his scotch clutched tight in his hand.

"You might be at that," murmured Lacroix to himself, amused.

-o0o-

West woke slowly, luxuriating the dream of Cooper's tongue caressing him, teasing him, arousing him,; Cooper's weight pressing him down in the bunk, Cooper's hand's doing incredible things to him. Teeth grazed along his hardened length. He moaned softly, undulating, offering himself up to the experience.

He woke with a start, yelping with pain, pulling back to find Cooper really on top of him, grinning at him, lips red with blood.

"God, Cooper, you bit me!" he accused.

"Sssh," smiled Cooper, sliding up along West like a snake. "You'll wake the others."

West tried to hold him back, forgetting how strong Cooper was.

"Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?" The last time he'd seen Coop, he'd been laid out, corpse like and listless. "Cooper, stop, no," he pleaded as Cooper pressed him back against the bunk, sealing his lips over West's. Nathan tasted his own blood and semen as Cooper's tongue dug into his mouth.

Cooper suddenly squealed and tore off him, dropping to the floor and holding his arm protectively against a hurt, glaring at Wang who wielded the tiny gold crucifix before him.

"No fucking way." Nate was incredulous, this couldn't be happening, like an old Hammer film he and Neil used to watch when their parents were out.

Paul pressed forward, forcing Hawkes out of the Wildcard's barracks and into the corridor.

McQueen sat alone in his quarters, drinking the last of his scotch like it was the blood of that creep of a General.

He never heard the door open, but suddenly Hawkes was on top of him, pulling, tearing at his clothes. He'd never seen Hawkes like this before, so desperate and needy. The glass fell from his hand, shattering into pieces across the floor as Hawkes climbed all over him, forcing him back in the chair as his exposed skin was licked and sucked, Hawkes tongue sliding along his jaw, down his throat. He arched slightly, and then he felt the teeth.

He threw Hawkes off him, Cooper landing heavily amongst the broken glass, but not feeling it. He grinned up at McQueen, an evil smile. It wasn't Hawkes, couldn't be, not with blood on his lips.

McQueen made a move but Hawkes sprang on him, pushing him to the ground, still pulling at his clothes, rolling the Colonel under him, onto the glass chips. McQueen scrabbled desperately for what he'd dropped as Cooper ravished him, his hand reaching out, touching them closing around the syringe. He brought it up and plunged it hard into Cooper's thigh.

Cooper screamed and rolled off him, falling back into some kind of fit, his whole body trembling violently, uncontrollably. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body began to thrash wildly. McQueen caught his head, holding him fast, scared that he'd actually swallow his tongue. Then, just as suddenly as they'd started, the tremors stopped, and Cooper fell still, absolutely still, in his arms. His own hand shaking, McQueen felt for a pulse in Cooper's throat. There was nothing, then, as he felt his own heart stop, a soft beat, and then another.

Cooper's colour seemed to return as the pulse strengthened, and dark, sluggish blood, followed by bright scarlet, began to leak from the wounds on his throat, the bandage having fallen away, the stitches opened.

-o0o-

Three days later, Cooper was bounding around the Rec Room with energy to spare, his colour and appetite having returned, the scars on his throat fading. He remembered nothing, absolutely nothing, and that was in its own small way a blessing.

McQueen would never know what was in the "cure" De Brabant had given him, but it seemed to have worked a miracle. All he knew was, he was forever in the Captain's debt.

Cooper scratched at his scabs idly, playing a spot of uncoordinated footsie with McQueen under the table before finally fixing that million volt come hither stare onto McQueen, blue eyes radiating hunger, desire shimmering in the air between them, drawing McQueen in like a moth to the flame. He never could resist, never.

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