Abel POV

There's something strange about going home for the first time in years, or just going home at all after something big happens that changes you. Inside, you feel different, you're a different person to the one that left. And yet everything looks exactly the same. The door to your parents house is the same, white paint, fancy door knob. The garden's gotten a little out of hand so they must be away. Or maybe they've disassembled back into billions of atoms. I wouldn't know.

But there's nothing stranger than going home with Cain holding your hand.

I don't know why... when I asked, he mumbled something about "you trip fucking everywhere", which is true after the crash. Apparently, sometimes when a bullet rips through your head it'll leave a shadow in just the right spot and your sense of equilibrium is in darkness for the rest of your life. But at least I can still see the stars, even if they're miles away now, once again the intangible dreams of a boy.

Honourable discharge for me. Cain finally reached the end of his service, though I get the feeling someone pushed for it early. That's why you shouldn't punch your commanding officer in the face, kids.

I wasn't expecting him to come back with me, thought he'd try to re-enlist with the new navigator once they deemed me good as dead or go back to the colonies, but he's been acting weird since I woke up to him teary eyed and panting in the medical bay. Must have been some nightmare, though I never thought anything could frighten him. And now he keeps glancing at me sideways and holding my hand like he's afraid I'm going to make a run for it, keeps going to kiss me without pushing for anything else and it's weird. I keep waiting for him to snap out of it, waiting to be shoved against a wall sometime, scar bitten back open and left alone bleeding while he runs off to fight something, but it hasn't happened yet.

I wonder if my parents will notice it. Cain's staring at me again. Suppose he thinks he's the only person in the world with peripheral vision.

We walk up the steps to the door, badges tinkling against my uniform. You get a few badges for almost dying in the star fleet. Get more if you actually do.

I ring the doorbell, but no one's home, so I let myself in with the house key, the one thing I held onto, turned over in my hands at night when I couldn't sleep. The door jams a little and the familiarity of it is overwhelming.

"Hello?"

We stand in the hallway, Cain breathing steady next to my ear. On the table in there's a stack of letters in my handwriting talking about elephants and spices and a country I've never been to and mountains that I'll never climb. There's a framed photo of me with a back pack and walking shoes, smiling and waving on the day I left with a trail of lies in my wake like Hansel and Gretel. Only difference is that the Colterons are much more sinister than a witch with a taste for children, and when I left I didn't really think I'd come back outside a wooden box.

Wander about the house a bit, trying to show him around – kitchen, living room, laundry – there's a painting I did when I was five - when all I really want to do is curl up on the ground and forget about everything except the feeling of the floorboards beneath me, forget about my parents, about the star fleet, about floating for three weeks with nothing but darkness for company. Forget about what's wrong with my head. Forget that I can't walk anymore without needing to stop every five minutes so the room stops tilting crazily, that I'm leaning heavily against the railing halfway up the stairs trying not to retch from the spinning in my head and Cain is scowling at the ground with his hands clenched, angry about something, hand on my shoulder but miles away.

Moses is curled up on my bed and looks up when we come into the room. Blinks at me sleepily, yawns at Cain and turns his head away. Hasn't changed, though cats rarely do.

I sit down next to him and place a hand on his body, feel the flutter of his heartbeat, the thrumming of his purrs, softness of his fur. He's thinner. Older. Frailer than than I recall and I'm reminded that nothing is permanent. Moves his face to lick my hand with a rough tongue and keeps it there, breathing warm into to my fingers.

I can hear someone sniffling, but when I turn to Cain and see his face dry and looking like he doesn't know what to do, I realise it's me.

"Hey, princess..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Just reaches for my hand and holds it too tight. When I rest my head on his shoulder, he places his on top of mine, and I think that maybe this is better than flying and right now that's enough.

A/N - Curse you insomnia! I think I've developed a slight addiction to writing this... well, that's all folks, this is finished. See you around!