This story is for my number one cheerleader, SacredClay, and the ever-inspiring Tanyanevidimka. This chapter is set at the end of Deliverance, beginning of Twin Destinies, and is Part Two of the Caprice Continuity. It will probably make more sense if you've read Part One, Reprieve.

Two Steps Forward

Two steps forward, fourteen back, Young thought, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing but work," He muttered to himself.

-Reprieve

I:

One boot hit the steel floor, then the other. Colonel Young lay back on his bed, feet still on the floor. A great sigh escaped as he felt his body begin to wind down. Inch by inch, he deliberately clenched and relaxed his muscles, closing his eyes with relief.

It had been a long couple of days, the latest in a long couple of months in what was rapidly becoming a long couple of years. The ship was a wreck, but somehow, miraculously still flying. They had jumped to FTL safely, fleeing the drone ships and the promise of destruction for at least one more day. All he wanted now was to collapse and finally get some sleep.

The timid knocking at his door barely registered at first. When he became aware of it, he groaned, rolling to push up to his feet. Leaving his boots, he walked over to the door. He could feel yet another hole in his socks beginning to widen, letting a bite of cold stab into his foot with each step. He palmed the door, planting his hand just above the mechanism, leaning over the doorway as it slid open.

Nicholas Rush looked up, looking mildly caught off-guard by Young's appearance. He held a small notebook of equations, flipping the lid shut before tucking it into his vest pocket.

"Are we doing that briefing now?" Young asked, voice thick and sluggish.

"Sorry, you were sleeping?" Rush asked, looking a bit chagrined.

Young wiped his left hand over his face, stifling a yawn. "Getting there."

"I can come back later," the scientist said, turning on his heel.

"What is it, Rush?" He called the man back, pushing off the wall and inclining his head.

Accepting the invitation, Rush followed him into the room. He stood against the wall, just to the side of Young's shaving mirror, crossing his arms to his chest. Shaking off his weariness, Young closed the door before heading over to sit gracelessly on the sofa.

"Heck of a day," He said finally, clasping his hands across his knees. Rush nodded, brows draw together, but he said nothing. "You got something to say?" He tried again.

Rush raised his left arm, pressing the back of his knuckles to his mouth, seemingly struggling to voice something.

Young recognized the expression on his face, along with the set of his shoulders. "You know none of this was your fault. No one blames you."

He spread his fingers, splaying them across his chin before letting his hand fall away. "Right. I'm the one who decided to seek out the signal we picked up."

"And I'm the one who authorized the deviance from Destiny's plotted course," Young reminded. "Your reasoning was sound. It was worth knowing what was out there."

"Was it?" He snapped back, expression irritated now.

"You didn't know, Rush," He said gently.

"Yeah, well, I bloody well should have!"

Young stood and stepped closer to him, trying to swallow back the shiver he felt when Rush pressed back against the wall, expression guarded. "No one on this ship is perfect, Rush. Not even you..."

The other man laughed at that, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it before letting it drop back messily against his skull. "...Of course."

Rush didn't move as Young came up short just in front of him. He could feel the other man's body heat from this distance; see the way his chest rose and fell under his crossed arms. He watched the pulse-point in his neck jump, ducking his head forward before even thinking about it.

Young stood there, his nose buried in the crook of the other man's neck, not saying a word, just waiting, trying to breathe steadily through his mouth. When Rush's hand came up to curve around the back of his head, he groaned, letting his full weight rest against the other man.

"What are you doing, Colonel?" Rush whispered, but his voice sounded more tired than concerned.

"Beats me," Young murmured, turning his head to seal his lips over the scientist's mouth. Rush opened under him, the hand in his hair clutching tighter, fingers splayed wide and warm in his curls. His mouth tasted of the strange, bitter mint, his lips chapped under his.

Young dipped his head, leaning in closer, as though he could press their bodies into one, as if he could crawl up inside the other man to finally explore every one of his hidden thoughts and desires. Rush let out a sigh that Young tasted, felt more than heard. He swallowed it, swallowed everything the other man would give him, until they broke apart, panting.

He let his face slip back against his throat, mouth trailing absently over the column of muscle there, feeling his pulse beat against his lips. Rush was nearly limp against him, held up only by Young's body pressing him to the wall.

"...This isn't what I came here for," Rush whispered, eyes on the ceiling.

Young pulled back a bit, seeking his gaze then. "Why did you come?" He asked finally.

With a faint snort, Rush shrugged inelegantly, before reaching for his head again with both hands this time. He tugged Young's face down, closing the gap between their mouths.

This kiss was brighter, hungrier. Young could feel Rush pressing against him now, one arm on his head, the other curving around his back and shoulders. A knee came up between his legs and he drove his own against Rush, locking them together from mouth to hip. He combed his own hands through the other man's hair, cupping the back of his neck, sliding around to his jaw and down his throat to his shoulders and back again.

Finally, Rush's hands came around to rest against Young's t-shirt, clutching the fabric tightly before pushing him away slowly. Face flushed, catching his breath, Young sought out his eyes again, questioning.

His voice lower and huskier than Young had ever heard it, Rush gasped out, "Bed..."

Nodding, Young pulled him bodily off the wall, clutching him against him with his hands on his upper arms, kissing him again. Without breaking the kiss, he walked Rush backwards until his knees hit the side of the bed.

Rush fell away from him, expression flustered and surprised as he tumbled back against the bed, limbs splayed. Slowly, Young climbed onto the bed, one knee on either side of his hips as he leaned down to take his mouth again.

He could feel Rush squirming under him, so he drew back finally, allowing them both some air. He was pleased to see the other man was as flushed and disheveled as he felt. His hair splayed around him on the bedspread, highlighted with gold by the lantern light. He clutched at Young's shoulders, legs curled up between his. His lips looked bruised and red already, eyes wide and blown. Young had never given much thought to another man's physical appearance before, but at this moment, he realized that Rush looked amazing.

"This what you want to do?" He asked raggedly, one hand on either side of his head. He tried to hold himself off of the body beneath his, not wanting to pressure or frighten Rush before he could make up his mind.

Rush took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He let go of Young's shoulders, his hands falling on either side of his own head, fingers just brushing over Young's where he held himself by his arms. "...Another one of my terrible ideas as of late, I'm afraid," He murmured finally.

"Rush," he growled softly, a warning and a plea rolled into one.

"Shut up, Colonel," Rush answered, reaching to grab him by the head again, pulling him down until their mouths met.

II:

In the quiet of Destiny's seemingly endless night, Young lay awake, as usual. What was not usual was the man lying beside him, curled into a ball on the edge of the bed. Young turned from his back to his side, studying the man's sleeping face.

Rush looked peaceful at rest, eyelashes low on his face, mouth slack. His hair clung to his beard, spilling over his face and around on the pillow they shared. He still looked exhausted, the lines of his face clearly defined by the shadows of the room. Outside, space whirled by in a twist of bluish light, but in here, all he could hear was the sounds of their breathing.

He had taken Rush to his bed, where they had shared more kissed than he could recall ever having with another person, even Emily. He had cautiously run his hands over the other man's body, as thin, clever fingers explored his own.

Finally, they had come together in a press that was more desperate than satisfying, him groaning Rush's name into the man's hair. Rush hadn't said a word, merely collapsed bonelessly beneath him, before curling onto his side, half-way asleep. Young couldn't remember the last time he had come simply by pressing his clothed body against another's. He felt like a teenager again, nervous and unsure, but oh-so satisfied.

Young knew the morning would be awkward, uncomfortable, and messy. Still, he thought, as he reached out to trace his fingers along the sleeping man's jaw, it could be worth it. He thought of the taste of Rush's tongue, the tension of his muscles, and that soft exhalation of breath when he'd felt him spill against his lap, setting Young over the edge as well.

"I regret everything about you and me," He'd said once, those weeks ago, during their bitter, frightening clash. Young barely recognized the man who had said those words, who had held Rush against the wall, who had been too weak to control himself. Their meeting tonight had held none of that anger, none of that tension. Rush had opened himself up and Young had followed.

They had a connection that was undeniable. Rush stirred instincts in him he had not even known he still had. He didn't know what Rush's angle was in all of this - what he hoped to find in Young's mouth, his hands, his bed. Maybe the man himself didn't know. Whatever it was, in this quiet moment, with no barriers between them, Young realized he was willing to find out.

III:

Young leaned in closer to the other man, keeping his voice low in order to keep the conversation private in the huddled masses of the Gateroom. "...I need a number." He said softly.

After consulting his sheet of paper, Rush bit his lip. He could see the other man's mind turning over the question, running through mental simulations and calculating sums, before finally deciding, "I'll say a dozen."

"Plus you and me?" For a moment, Young struggled to control the surge of doubt he felt saying those words. However, when he saw the expression on the other man's face, the way his eyes widened with surprise, and all doubts suddenly vanished. He had seen many expressions on Nicholas Rush's face, from rage to desolation, fear to despair. He now had another to add to his collection - hope.

Finally, the other man seemed to find his voice. "No…including us."

Feeling confident at last, Young smiled. "So, ten."

This was going to work. They were going to make it work, together. For one, brief shining moment, it seemed as though they had both managed to come together as a cohesive, coherent unit. And then, as it always did, it all came crashing down.