Terror filled her. She couldn't move. They loomed over her, glowing blue, staring down at her with alien eyes.

She screamed. They clicked and clacked. She couldn't understand. What were they going to do?

Pain…incessant, excruciating pain…in her chest… They were cutting her, slicing through her skin, ruthless, alien claws ripping into her flesh. It felt like they were touching her heart itself.

She couldn't move. She couldn't see. The pain was overwhelming, flooding her, finally carrying her into blessed unconsciousness…

She woke in a darkened bedroom, gasping silently for air. Matt was sleeping soundly beside her; she ignored him. Her fingers clutched at her chest. What had they done to her?

Yet something didn't fit. In the dream her chest had been flat. Her eyes widened, pupils swallowing her blue irises in the night, as she realized that this nightmare hadn't been her own. It had been his.

She slid out of bed and dressed rapidly, these motions so familiar now that she didn't need light to perform them. Matt barely stirred as she left him without a thought. He barely mattered any more. Her mind was on another man.

Nicholas was where she expected, sitting alone in the empty mess hall, hands closed around a metallic mug of water, head bent forward so that a soft waterfall of brown hair hid the side of his face.

She sat down opposite him. He lifted his chin enough so that their eyes could meet. His were dark, haunted, bleak – dark fathomless pools that dominated his face.

"The same dream?" he asked in his melodic voice.

She shook her head. "No. I think I had one of your dreams this time," she said.

His eyes widened, his head tilting slightly in query. This had happened before. They'd shared dreams. Shared memories. It didn't even seem odd anymore. The only thing that made this different was the nature of the dream. It was new.

She explained, struggling to describe it as rapidly, as 'painlessly' as she could. Nothing was painless anymore.

His jaw tightened and his eyes focused past her for a second. His mouth twisted in a grimace.

"I hadn't remembered that." He brought his dark gaze back to her and he gave her a bitter half-smile. "I don't think I wanted to remember that."

"What did they do me?" she asked; then realized what she'd said and stumbled to correct herself. "What did they do to you?"

He frowned, his attention turning inward. His hands shook and water spilled from the cup he'd been holding. She took it from him and closed her fingers over his.

"We'd better find out," he finally said, his accent thickening on the words. He released her hands and moved swiftly to his feet, yanking his layered shirts over his head and looking down at himself.

"Oh God," she whispered, standing and reaching out to brush her fingertips over the only partially healed scar on the left side of his chest. His hand followed hers; they both traced the reddened puckering of his skin. Their fingers tangled again, clung to each other, pressed against him. She could feel his heart racing, pounding beneath.

They stood there for a moment in mutual horror and then he abruptly spun around.

"Do you see...?" he demanded. The fair, smooth skin of his back was unblemished.

"No, nothing," she replied. He nodded at the wall behind him before turning to face her again.

His expression was grim. She could see his mind working behind it.

"They tagged me," he said, certainty deepening his voice.

"Tagged?" she echoed before full realization, understanding, hit her and she almost staggered. His hands caught her elbow and steadied her.

"They're tracking us," he said. "It's the only explanation."

"They'll find us again," she whispered.

"They'll find me," he emphasized.

"What about me? Did they tag me too?" The question was ripped from her throat, her mind almost too terrified to accept what she was saying even as she spoke the words. "I don't remember, but…" That didn't mean anything.

She grabbed at her shirt, yanking it over her head and tossing it onto the table with his.

"Chloe," he said, his fingers almost touching the underside of her arms, her name half a protest and half a fatalistic sigh. She ignored it, removing and tossing her bra after her shirt.

"Is there anything?" she demanded. She turned around slowly, letting him examine her. There was no embarrassment, no hesitation. Compared to the intimacy of shared nightmares, shared memories dripping of terror, midnight hours spent sitting in sleepless silence, together, this was nothing.

She had to know.

She lifted her eyes to his after he'd scanned her, seeking, insisting on an honest answer.

There was a flicker of relief in his eyes; the faintest of smiles. He shook his head.

"No, there's no scar. I don't think they had time before I got you out."

She drew in a deep breath and sagged against him. His arms encircled her, pressing her against him. She buried her face in the curve of his neck, into the silken strands of his hair, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him as tightly as she could.

They remained in the embrace for a long time, his breath warming her cheek, his arms protective bands of human strength on the bare skin of her back. She wanted to stay there forever, to close her eyes and forget, to pretend there was nothing else in the universe but this man and her. No horrors waiting for them in the darkness of space.

There was no choice, however, and the moment came when he released her, pulled back enough for them to look at each other.

"I need to know for certain," he said. "I think I can rig an X-Ray scan of some kind. I'll need your help."

She nodded.

"If there is a tracker in me, I may need you to remove it," he added, his eyes intent on hers.

"Remove it… but that means… I don't know if I can!" she exclaimed.

"You can if it's near the surface," he told her firmly. His eyes dropped, half-closed. "But no, if they went deep, then there may not be anything we can do. If it's too close to my heart…" he shook his head.

"We can get a doctor from Earth, a surgeon," she suggested.

He shook his head. "We hardly have the facilities for open heart surgery and if the Colonel finds out, which he'd have to, he'll probably just kill me. Less risky and he's already tried it twice. Just dump my body, problem solved." He sounded light, breezy, but the liquid thickness of his Scottish brogue on the words belied the almost humor of the words. She knew better; knew the terror hidden behind the closed expression, the ironic tone, the dark intensity of his eyes.

"We'll find another way," she said, swallowing her own fear. Forcing it down into its cell in the pit of her belly, confining it to writhe and coil in her guts. "Together. We'll find a way."

It was a promise she would keep. Whatever the cost.