The Dark Side of Desire

Silverhawks(tm) and all related characters, places, and names are property of Rankin-Bass and Lorimar Telepictures. Kelson Haldane, Deryni and all related characters and settings are property of Katherine Kurtz and Del Ray Books. USED WITHOUT PERMISSION. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR SALE OR PUBLICATION, AND IS NOT INTENDED TO CONSTITUTE AN INFRINGEMENT OF COPYRIGHTS OR AN ACT OF PLAGIARISM. Original story (c)Copyright 1998 Melody Silver/Golden Eighth Note Ltd.

The Dark Side of Desire

by The Lady Razorsharp

...You're frozen
When your heart's not open
Mmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmm, we'd never be apart
Mmm, give yourself to me....
--Madonna

Colonel Michael Drew Merino, or "Bluegrass" as he was more commonly known to his co-workers and friends, exited the elevator and walked down the hall toward his quarters. He sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes as he keyed in the code for the door, then flipped on the lights and shut the door behind him. It had been a long shift, and he was glad to finally have some time to himself.

He dropped his beloved cowboy hat on the desk near the door, scanning the room out of habit for any potential threat. As usual, he saw none, and he crossed the room to a comfortable chair and nearly fell into it, stretching out his impossibly long legs in a luxurious moment of self-indulgence. He even allowed himself a huge yawn, and the fatigue melted into a pleasant tiredness behind his dark brown eyes. He reached out his blue-silver plated left hand and caressed the neck of his lazer-powered guitar, Sideman, and thought about taking a little time before lights out to jam, but after a few moments, he dropped his hand and shook his head. He was just too tired--and rarely was he ever tired enough to forego his music. Sleep was the only cure, and Michael knew he deserved a good log-sawing session.

Getting to his booted feet despite his body's reluctance to do so, Michael considered the man-shaped decompression chamber built into the wall of his quarters. This would remove the protective metal coating against his skin--a very recent breakthrough from Star Command's scientists, which heretofore had thought the alloy application permanent, a necessary sacrifice to send the crack team of spacecops one hundred light years into space. Since the chamber's implementation, Michael had only tried it once, and found the sensation unsettling. After a few years of wearing the silver alloy armor 24/7, he had gotten used to it. It paid off to leave the armor on, in the end, since if there was trouble, the Commander's summons usually came to him first. Trouble meant leaving the base, and Bluegrass had to be ready to hit the floor running in order to get out to the Maraj and fire it up to keep the Hawks' response time within regs.

He turned away from the compression chamber, taking only enough time to strip off the warm fleece windbreaker and grab a t-shirt with PROPERTY OF SILVERHAWK ACADEMY blazoned across the heather-grey fabric in dark blue letters. He unknotted his trademark red bandanna from around his neck and coiled it neatly on his nighttable, where he could grab it easily--he was almost never without it, and had come to think of it as a sort of good luck charm. Finally, with a contented sigh, the colonel pulled back the covers on his bed and stretched out, hands behind his head as he laid back on the pillow. "Lights out," he called, and the voice-activated lamps went out, plunging the room into velvet darkness.

Just as he drifted off to sleep, the hailing sensor on his door chirped softly, startling him and making him raise up on the exposed flesh of his right elbow. "Who is it?"he called, slightly disoriented.

"Mike? It's me, Krys." Corporal Krysten Marie "Skyedansuer" Barter, or simply "Skye," stood on the other side of the door, her voice muffled through the metal. "Were you asleep?"

Michael fell back on his pillow, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. As much as he loved her, Krys could be downright annoying sometimes. "Trying to be," he remarked, sitting up. "Why, sugar, you need somethin'?"

A pause. "No, not really." Another, more lengthy pause, and Michael knew what was coming next. "Can I come in?"

With a sigh, Michael stood up and went to the door, opening it halfway. Maybe if he didn't open it all the way, she would keep it brief and let him get back to his set with Mr. Sandman. "What's up?" _Other than me, now._

Krysten looked up at him, her eyes so clear and blue that it took his breath away, even through his mild irritation. "Can I come in?" she asked again, reaching out a delicate hand to touch his chest.

Catching her wrist before she touched him, Michael shook his head. "Sugar, you know that's against the rules. You're not even supposed to be down here. If Jon caught you, you'd be pulling double-shifts for the rest of your natural born life."

She made a face, turning her eighteen-year-old visage into that of a petulant child. "He's still upstairs moaning and moping about after Aurora. He won't be anywhere near here." She reached her hand out to him again, having retrieved it when Michael relaxed his grip. "Come on, Bluey, let me in. Please?" Her impish mouth curved up delicately at the corners, the tip of her pink tounge just visible behind a straight-toothed smile her parents were still paying for back on Earth. Her smile turned triumphant as Michael finally shrugged, then opened the door the rest of the way and made a "this way" motion, letting her pass in front of him into the room before he shut the door again.

"I knew you'd see it my way." She laughed softly, flopping down on his bed and making the springs squeal in protest. "Jesus, Mike, you haven't even taken your armor off," Krys observed, looking up at him as he stretched and revealed sculpted blue-silver abs below the hem of his t-shirt.

Michael crossed the room and pushed open a hidden cabinet door, a small replicating unit appearing in the wall at the other end of the modest-sized space. He pushed a button, and hot decaf coffee sputtered cheerfully into his favorite mug, filling the room with the warm smell. Taking the cup from under the spout when it was finished, Michael brought it to his lips and sipped gingerly, letting the familiar taste roll over his tounge. It was good to be able to drink the stuff again, but that was about the only part of the optional demodification he appreciated. "What did I tell you about swearing?" he scolded quietly, again seating himself in the chair near the guitar. "Especially that word."

"Geez, chill out." Krys laid back on his bed, hands behind the cinnamon-colored shoulder-length waves of hair that spilled onto the pillow. "You know, Mike, for being able to play so cool, you're a real square sometimes."

Now he was angry and confused, as well as irritated and tired. "Now what the sam-hill is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his drawl suddenly very distinct. He put down the coffee with a thump. "You barge into my room at some unholy hour, then call me a square when I've broken the rules by just letting you in here." Michael got up and walked towards her, standing over her with his hands on his hips as she dangled upside-down off the side of his bed. "Just because I think my fiancee should act like a lady sometimes--"

"Okay, okay. I take it back, I'm sorry. I know you're trying to break me of the habit, and I appreciate it." Krys reached out to him, still hanging upside down, and with a start, Michael noticed that both of her hands were real. Also very real were her breasts, hanging against the front of her warmup shirt, two small divots visible against the pink sweatshirt material, and he closed his eyes for a moment against an unexpected flush of desire. "What?" she asked, sensing the change in his attitude, although it was pure womens' intuition and not her empathic sense that told her how she affected him.

"I can see you don't have _yours_ on," he quipped, helping her to sit up, then sitting beside her on the bed. He caressed her hair, the strands light and feathery against the sensitive silver alloy of his left hand. "I don't know about you, Krys, but I can't wait till next fall." They had tenatively set the date for their wedding in the fall, when both of them had requested a special leave to go back to Earth and take a long honeymoon. Michael smiled at her, his lean face and sparkling eyes holding so much love for her she could hardly bear it. Their lips met softly, then with building passion as their love caught fire as easily as a match sets dry kindling ablaze.

"Well," Krys murmured between kisses, "You don't really have to wait till next fall." She pulled back with a sly grin, her hand on the back of his blue-silver neck. "You've got the decompression chamber, might as well put the taxpayers' money to good use."

All Michael's passion drained out of him like someone had thrown a bucket on the fire. "Aw, Krys, is that what this's all been about?" He stood to his feet again, hands on hips as he paced in front of her. "If this is some crackpot seduction techinique you've gotten out of Cosmopolitan, you can just plumb forget it."

Krys' eyes flashed blue fire as she bounded to her feet, the glaring difference between her 5'2" and his 6'2" height not seeming to faze her in the least. "NO, for your information, Cowboy, this is NOT about some stupid little spin-the-bottle game, where I try to get you in the closet for 'five minutes in heaven'. This is about a woman and a man expressing their love for one another." She stabbed one fingernail into his solar plexus, making him protect the sensitive area with his real hand. "We're going to get married anyway, you big lug, so what's the problem?"

"The problem is that I have a personal set of values that I won't let anyone--including you--to interfere with. I was taught that there's a right way and a wrong way to do things, and girlie, what you're wanting is the wrong way." He regarded her gravely, trying not to notice the way her breasts rose and fell with the accelerated rate of her breathing. "I thought you would know the difference, but I guess not."

"Michael, I love you, for crying out loud!" Krys howled in exasperation. "Don't you feel the same way about me? I mean, you never touch me or anything...."

_Why do we always seem to get into trouble when I'm about as tired as an old hound dog?_ Michael wondered irritably, pressing his metal fingertips against the bridge of his nose. "Krys, we told each other we wouldn't let this interfere with our work, remember? If I went around manhandling you all the time, that would A) look bad professionally, and B) make me look like some horny old lecher. I care about you too much to let either of those things happen. Why you can't understand that, the Lord only knows." He dropped into his chair again, and the tension built as they glared at each other. Michael dropped his gaze first. "Go on, get on outta here."
Krysten was aghast. "What did you say to me?"

"I said go on, get y'self on outta here. I need some sleep, and I'm too tired to argue with you anymore." Then he reconsidered his harsh words, the shocked expression on her face telling him he might have trod too heavily on her feelings. _I shouldn't be so rough on her._ "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I'm tired, you're tired, and it's been a long day. Maybe we could talk about this like sane adults tomorrow, alright?" He reached out to catch her hand as she passed, but she yanked it out of his grasp with a violent jerk. "Krys, don't act this-a-way."

"Go fuck yourself."

Now it was Michael's turn to be shocked beyond reason. "What?"

"I said go fuck yourself!" she shrieked, whirling to face him in a blinding rage. "And I hope you enjoy it, 'cause it's the only action you're gonna get for a long, long time!" She turned on her sneakered heel and slapped the exit button on the door, wishing that the panel sliding open in front of her was a good, solid, old fashioned door--just so she could have the satisfaction of slamming it.

The door slid shut behind her, and Michael sat listening to her angry footsteps retreating down the hall, his jaw knotting and unknotting in anger and frustration. With a sudden, fluid motion, he picked up the coffee mug that was sitting on the table to his right, flinging the ceramic cup as hard as he could across the room. It hit the wall and shattered in a million pieces, the coffee making a wet brown splotch against the grey metal.


Lieutenant Jonathan "Quicksilver" Greyer walked into the Shop, where he found Sergeant William "SteelWill" Hart buried up to his ears in metal and circuitry. "Hey, Will, have you seen Skye lately?"

Taking out a miniscule part--or at least it looked miniscule, in Will's huge, lubricant-stained hands--Will regarded Jonathan with a cloudy grey gaze. "Nope, I sure haven't, Skipper. At least, not in the last few hours."

"Well, how about before the last few hours?"

Will turned the part around and fitted a screwdriver into it, making a small adjustment before plugging it back into the complex machine he had taken it from. "She said something about going to one of the VR rooms. I think she and Rawhide had it out again."

Jonathan groaned inwardly. Skye's moods were as changable as the wind these days, and she and Bluegrass seemed to circle each other like angry cats, hissing and spitting with frustration. He half-considered forgetting his errand and waiting until the morning shift to discuss what he had on his mind, but he decided to go ahead with his original plan. He needed someone who would listen to him talk about Aurora, and her best friend would probably be the best source of clues to this latest confusion. "Well, what else is new," he growled under his breath, hands on hips as he stared unseeingly at Will's project. "Thanks for the info."

"No problem," Will murmured without looking up as Jonathan turned and exited the Shop.

On the third floor of the base, settled deep within the craggy circumference of HawkHaven, Jonathan stepped out of the turbolift and approached the row of steel doors marked with large yellow and black striped numbers. The numbers went in ascending order from 1 to 4, left to right, and Jonathan shrugged, deciding to start at the beginning. Going from door to door, he scanned the control panels until he came to number three, whose videoscreen blinked red with the words "VR ROOM IN USE". "Computer--identify Silverhawk user."

HawkHaven's voice activated system, codenamed SQUAC (Spoken Question and Answer Computer), was a new addition to the station. Bluegrass had jokingly named it "the Squawkbox", but it served a real purpose, and right now it saved Jonathan from having to type the information into a small keypad on the panel. While it was odd talking to a wall, Jonathan had to admit it was efficient. "Silverhawk user ID confirmed," said Skye's voice, and Quicksilver chuckled as he remembered when the Twins had programmed it with her voice pattern, since the program called for a pleasant, nonthreateaning female voice. "Skyedansuer is currently in Virtual Reality Room 3."

"Are you sure?" Jonathan felt like goading the system today, enjoying being a smartass just for the fun of it, but the computer seemed to know his game.

"Silverhawk ID accurate up to 99.9%. Skye's in there, Lieutenant." Will had managed to tweak the personality chip in the voice system, and sometimes the computer had an eerie habit of talking back. "Terminating program requires supervisor authorization code. Command?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No, don't terminate the program. Just open the door. I'll see what she's up to."

"Syntax error. Command?" Other times, the computer could still be as dumb as a Trash-80.

"Outside entry requested." Jonathan sighed exasperatedly. Here he was, with a major personnel crisis on his hands, and he was arguing with a computer. "Access code override J Q G 5589."

"Override confirmed." The doors to the VR room opened, displaying a darkened, cavernous space just inside. "You could try being a little more polite, Lieutenant," SQUAC sniffed frostily as he crossed the threshold.

"I'll deal with you later. Just make sure no one gets in here without my knowing, okay?" _I need to remember to ask Will to put this damned thing back to normal,_ Jonathan thought ruefully as the doors slid shut behind him.

The inside of the VR room was dark, and Jonathan could just make out the outlines of huge flagstones beneath his sneakered feet as he made his way toward a flickering light. A stone wall loomed before him, hung with a huge coat of arms, the banner blazoned with a golden lion on a deep crimson field. Surrounding the banner were smaller emblems; a black banner blazoned with an emerald green gryphon, a blue and white particolor pennant sprinkled with red roses, a leaping black hart on a field of bright orange. So, Krysten was in her Gwynnedd mood again, retreating to the safety of her favorite books when she and Michael were on the outs. The girl was so predictable sometimes, though she was always a constant source of surprise for them all.

"Krys?"

Jonathan found himself beyond the heraldric barrier, which meant Krysten wasn't trying to keep anyone out specifically. If she had, he would have had to ask her permission for access or once again call for an override. He was glad he had to do neither, however, since she seemed to be somewhat at peace as he spotted her across the virtual room. Krysten, clothed in a spectacular crimson velvet dress powdered with tiny golden lions, was seated before the flames of a huge fireplace, firelight glinting off of the exquisite ruby necklace draping her creamy white neck. A dazzling garnet ring graced the forefinger of her right hand, the cabochon stone in the center catching the faceted ones set around the rim on fire. Jonathan recognized the garb from the countless times Krysten had told him about the story; Kelson Haldane, king of the imaginary fair kingdom of Gwynnedd, whose arms were blazoned on the banner outside, along with Alaric Morgan, for the Corwyn Gryphon, and Duncan McLain for the blue and white pennon. He couldn't recall the owner of the orange device, but suddenly Jonathan had an idea.

Since Krys was no doubt playing at being Gwynnedd's queen, Jonathan decided to have a little fun and throw a loop in the program Krys didn't expect. No one would miss him for a while, and even he had to admit that Krys' fantasy life was a refreshing change from the day to day drudgery of the station. With that, Jonathan hid himself back behind the barrier and addressed the computer once more.

"Access all known files on Gwynnedd VR program."

"Accessing. Show results on screen?"

"Affirmative."

A small screen popped into view directly in front of Jonathan's face, and he perused the list of items. "Scan and implement Kelson Haldane."

"Scanning." A pause, and Jonathan felt a ticklish sensation at the base of his skull. "Implementing."

His own hands shimmered, then faded away to become the red-gloved hands of the imaginary young king. "Well, how do I look?" he asked the air, and immediately a virtual mirror replaced the filescreen.

"The resemblance is remarkable, Lieutenant." SQUAC responded.

Jonathan gave his 'reflection' a wry smirk. "Thank you, although the day I trust a computer with fashion sense is the day I start going naked."

"Sarcasm not necessary," SQUAC sniffed, zapping the mirror out of existence and falling silent.

Smiling to himself, the Lieutenant with the face of a Haldane crossed the barrier again, approaching Krysten on silent crimson-suede booted feet.

Lost in her own thoughts, Krysten didn't hear the footsteps muffled against the flagstones. She noticed something out of the corner of her eye, a shadow lit by the firelight for a split instant, and she gasped in shock as the something-correction, the someONE-moved close enough for her to see clearly.

The young man with raven-dark hair and warm grey eyes sketched a gallant bow, his crimson ramient matching her own. A magnificent black cape collared with snow white fur rested on his broad shoulders, contrasting nicely with a tunic quartered with golden Haldane lions, the tunic brushing the thighs of powerful legs in breeches of finest crimson wool. His suede boots matched the wool exactly, and a huge ruby glittered in his right ear, the jewel catching the light and turning it to a blood-red radiance. "My lady," was all he said, a pleased smile playing about his strong mouth.

"Majesty." Letting her fantasy take over-she didn't know if she'd requested that Kelson be added to the program today, or the computer had just thrown him in for grins-Krysten rose from her chair and gave her unexpected visitor a deep curtsey. "I didn't expect you."

'Kelson' smiled. "That's alright. It was I who did not expect to find you in my hall." He gestured to the chair, then pulled another out of the shadows. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you." Krys did as he bade, then smiled at him. Was this how she imagined Kelson? Damn, but he was fine. Too bad he was only a hologram.

"I sense something troubles you." Jonathan thought fast, remembering that Kelson was supposed to have the power to read minds. Maybe he could get Krys talking about her problems, then he would drop the game and they'd have a good chuckle before starting in on the real reason he came to see her.

Krysten nodded. "Aye, my lord. That it is." She looked down at her lap, fiddling with the Ring of Fire on her forefinger. "The one I give my favor to does not seem to want me anymore."

"I thought he loved you more than life itself."

A wry smile crinkled Krys' deep red lips. "Of course you thought that. I made you up, so of course you think like me."

"What?" Jonathan started a bit-she thought he was an illusion! The game had suddenly gotten more interesting. He tried to school his expression into one more Kelson-like before the image slipped, and was successful at keeping the illusion as she went on.

"Never mind, Majesty, it's not important." She sighed again. "It's Mike. He won't touch me, although I've tried to reason with him. I mean, we're gonna get married, so what's the big friggin' deal?"

'Kelson' studied her thoughtfully, then removed his gloves and draped them over one knee and rested his arms on the sides of the chair. "He wishes to preserve your honor, my lady. A virgin bride is without price, or equal." Jonathan laughed to himself; this crap was easy, once one got the hang of it.

"Oh, screw the virgin bride crap!" Krys was on her feet, not caring if she offended a hologram Haldane right now or not. What could he do, banish her to the virtual dungeon? "Can't he understand I'm a woman, with feelings and needs?"

"Of course he understands, Krysten. He cares about you and dosen't want to get you into trouble."

"What do you know?" she challenged, tears coming into her cerulean eyes. "You're just a hologram."

'Kelson' rose to his feet, the Haldane grey eyes flashing a bit. "Things are not always as they seem, my lady." Then the image of the fictional young king faded away to reveal Jonathan, though the lieutenant retained the splendid Haldane regalia. "Surprise," he said, his icy eyes warming a little in a grin.

"Jonathan!" Krys caught herself and began to laugh a little, slumping back into her chair. "You certainly had me fooled."

"That's the idea, isn't it? To immerse the subject so deeply that they trust only their eyes, and convince themselves they really see what the program wants them to see." Jonathan sat again, propping up his booted feet on a footstool that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Not bad, Krys. This is interesting, to say the least." He played with the hilt of the Haldane sword that was buckled around his hips, fixing her with a stare. "So, what's this all about?"

Krysten laughed again, fluffing the long skirt with a rustle of petticoats. "Silly, isn't it? When things go wrong with Mike and I, I usually retreat to my 'someday my prince will come' fantasy. You just made it more realistic."

"I thought your prince already HAD come-or at least, your Cowboy, anyway."

She shrugged, making the jewels sparkle. "Yeah, well. So did I."

"It's as bad as all that?"

"I just feel like an idiot being the only virgin in the whole crew."

Jonathan chuckled slightly, remembering that Krysten was very much still the young girl who had left home in the middle of growing up. "It's not idiotic to be a virgin, Krys. Besides, you're not the only one."

"Who?" She pounced on the gossip, leaning forward far enough to make her decolletage threaten to burst from the velvet bodice.

Jonathan caught himself staring at the curves of her young breasts, the imaginary firelight playing on the marshmallow flesh, and he had to swallow before continuing. "Well, you didn't hear this from me, but Will..."

"Will?" Krys clapped her hands gleefully. "I might have known. Oh, he's such a sweetie, though, I can't imagine him putting the moves on just any girl."

"Don't be too sure. The night before we were modified, he was getting pretty brave. Of course," the Lieutenant smiled conspiratorily, "Mike and I had been buying him drinks all night."

"Liquid bravery." Krys giggled. "Mike told me that he lost the bet that night. I should have remembered that Will was a virgin, that was the bet behind Mike's mohawk."

Laughing heartily-something he almost never did-Jonathan slapped the gloves on his thigh. "That's right, that's right. You should have seen Mike's face when Will's date stormed up and said the big lummox had thrown up all over her car. Our Will, he's a Casanova alright."

They continued to chuckle over the mental image for a few moments more, then Jonathan had an inspiration and stood. He swept over to Krysten and sketched a bow, then offered his strong hand to her. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

Krysten smiled at the Lieutenant, grateful that she had someone to talk to about her problems. Few in the UESC could boast such an understanding supe, and Krys took the Lieutenant's strong hand in her own. "Delighted." She raised her voice slightly, addressing the Squakbox. "Computer: access file--Enya, 'Caribbean Blue.'"

The strains of the ethereal music drifted into the air, and Krysten caught the hem of her skirt as she and Jonathan began to waltz. The Celtic singer's voice was everywhere at once, enfolding them in a cloud of Gaelic, and Krysten lost herself in the depths of Jonathan's pale eyes as he guided her through the smooth turns.

"...Eurus..."

Jonathan let himself go on the synthisized strings and odd melodic percussion, feeling Krys suddenly become weightless in his hands.

"...Afer Ventus..."

The necklace flashed and sparked as Krys' chest rose and fell with accelerated breaths, but whether it was from the dancing or the hungry look in Jonathan's eyes, she couldn't tell.

"..They say the sky high above is Caribbean Blue.."

Krys felt a burning sensation at the base of her neck, the way she always did when she knew she was about to do something deliciously forbidden. "Jon.."

"Maybe...maybe we should stop."

She smiled slightly, not taking her eyes from him. "I..I think we have."

"Ohhhh." He nodded, stepping closer and putting his hands on her tightly corseted waist. "Yeah, you're right. We have." His strong fingers ran up the seams of her dress, then moved to the exposed curves of her breasts that blossomed out of the tight bodice. Krysten let her head fall back, her eyes closed in absolute ecstasy, and she felt Jonathan harden against her, silently thanking UESC for making optional demodification a reality.

"Krys, I'm not so sure-"

"Shhhh." She raised her head and fixed him with a half-lidded cerulean stare. "Trust your eyes, remember?"

The ache in his groin intensifying as it had not in a very long time, Jonathan sank to the heap of furs on the floor near the fire, pulling her with him. Her crimson velvet dress pooled around her, and he unbuckled the sword and flung away the cape as if he had always known how to unvest himself of kingly garments. Watching in fascination as Krys began to unlace the tight bodice, Jonathan let himself trust his eyes implicitly.


Krysten rolled over on her stomach, and Jonathan caught her in his strong arms, the glow of the 'firelight' giving his skin a burnished cast. He smiled at her, his ice blue eyes sparkling, and brushed the apple of her cheek with his knuckles. In turn, she caught his hand to her lips and kissed it, not taking her eyes from his.

In awe of the softness of her skin, Jonathan murmured, "I don't know how Mike could resist touching you. His conviction's got to be iron-clad."

Krysten rolled her eyes and smirked at him. "More like silver-clad--but he uses that alloy as a chastity belt. That's why he won't demodify, because he knows once he looks at me, it's shot to hell."

"I see. I was wondering why he never did. He gave me a reason once, but I forgot it."

"Probably something about 'having to hit the floor running', no doubt. He uses that one on me all the time."

Jonathan chuckled, the sound vibrating her sensitive nipples as she lay against him. "It was something like that."

She smoothed his dark hair away from his face, returning his sated gaze. "I feel bad for the Cowboy, though. I really do."

"Oh?" Jon stretched, catlike, the word coming out around a huge yawn. "Why's that?"

She sighed. "How am I gonna tell him that the engagement's off?"

Suddenly, Jon was fully awake. "What?"

Krys sat up, holding the furs around her. "Why, because *we're* together, of course." When he didn't respond except to gape at her, she frowned. "What's wrong? Jonathan--?"

Jonathan rose to his feet swiftly and paced toward the hearth. He folded his arms on the mantle and rested his head on them for a moment, then turned to look back at her. The holographic fire illuminted half his long, lean body, and cast shadows across the rest. He turned his head to look back at her, stretched out on the synthetic fur rug. "I thought you understood," he intoned quietly. "I never thought you'd take this seriously."

Krysten started to feel cold, even in the heat of the raging "fire." "What do you mean? I love you, and you love me. I can't marry someone else when things are like this between us."

"I never intended to marry you," he said bluntly. "We were just two friends comforting each other during a rough time, Krys. No more than that."

"I don't sleep with my friends," she snapped sharply. "It's for a committed couple, not just because you feel like it."

"You know very well that you still love Michael, and I will always love Aurora. Krys, why can't you just enjoy what we have without trying to put a bunch of extra garbage on it?"

"Aurora. Isn't. Here," Krys replied, biting off each word. "She left you, and I'm beginning to see why. I'm going to have you kicked out of the service for doing this to me. I'll tell them you raped me. I thought you loved me. I trusted you!" she shrieked.

Jonathan's expression sharpened. Krys could see why Aurora thought his eyes had all the warmth of an iceberg--they were frosty now, and a slight smile played around his lips as he slowly sank to her eye level. "I don't think that will be that case, Krys, do you? That will jeopardize your tenure here as much as mine." He slid his hands up her arms, gripping her biceps hard enough so she winced. "I'll tell them everything. I'll tell them it was your idea, that you seduced me. Then when I tried to break it off, you threatened my career, and I cautioned you to be discreet so you wouldn't be transferred." He shook her a little, and the jolt spilled crystalline tears down her rosy cheeks. "I have the service record to back it up, girly, and don't you think for a minute that I won't."

"You let go of me," she hissed, her voice thick with anger and fright. "You let go of me this instant, or I'll scream so fucking loud, you'll be deaf for a week!"

She gathered a breath to yell, but Jonathan's hand was over her mouth before she could let out so much as a squeak. "You don't want to do this, Krys," he said calmly, his icy eyes flashing. "Think about it. You yell, and everyone comes running. Imagine what the look on Mike's face will be when he sees us here...and gathers the natural assumption." His stare bore into hers, and she whimpered. "You wouldn't want that, would you? No? Alright. So, you gonna scream? No? Good girl." His hand was still clamped on her mouth, and from the way her blue eyes were frozen wide, he knew he had the advantage. "I'm gonna take my hand away now. If you so much as yelp, all bets are off. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Alright."

Slowly, Jonathan peeled his hand away from her mouth, and Krysten scuttled away from him on her hands and knees, dragging the furs from her body as she went. Huddling in a corner of the 'castle', she began to sob, and Jonathan sat back on his haunches with a sigh. "Computer: disengage VR program." The 'castle' faded to become the neon-orange and black grid of the VR room, and Jonathan collected his sweatsuit from where he'd dropped it at the beginning of the afternoon. He picked up Skye's pink sweatsuit and held it out to her. "Come on, let's put this on now."

Skye continued to sob in the corner, pulling her legs in close and wrapping her arms around her knees.

Jon sighed again. "Krys, I couldn't have hurt you that bad. It's just--you've got to understand the seriousness of this. No one--and I mean NO ONE--can know about this, or it's curtains for you and I both. You don't want to be away from Mike, and I have to think about my position. I will be the one taking over after the Commander retires, and I'm sure you don't want him to find out." He shook the suit in her direction again. "So come on. Dry those tears, put on the smile that I know."

The girl raised her head slowly, eyeing him with undisguised hatred. He could feel her telepathy knocking around inside his skull, and he winced slightly. "Stop that."

Skye's eyes narrowed. "You should have thought about that before you fucked me."

"I didn't 'fuck' you, Krysten. You were enjoying it too much for that."

Grabbing her suit from him, she dressed hurriedly. "Goddamn you to hell, Jonathan. So help me, I will make sure you hurt for this."
He crossed his arms and fixed her with a lazy smile. "Honey, you can do anything you like. Just keep that pretty little mouth shut, or it's back to Earth and High School you go."

She said nothing more, but glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and fleeing the VR chamber.

...To be Continued...

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