SPACE: Above and Beyond

No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended. The Characters and situations of the TV program "SPACE: Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.

Story by Heapster

Space: Above and Beyond universe by Fox and Hard Eight Pictures. No infringment is intended.

NC17. m/f sex.

Forbidden Fruit

He was back. The InVitro who'd developed the Green Meanies habit. The InVitro who would have been kicked had not the source of his addiction been traced back to the medical staff serving on board the Saratoga.

He was screaming and thrashing about; five orderlies not enough to hold him down as he kicked and punched and struggled, sending one after the other flying across the room. He couldn't be adequately sedated because InVitro physiology gave them bad reactions to certain drugs, resistance or addiction to others. He was in terrible pain, having been rushed here from the flight deck.

Hit by stray chig fire, his Hammerhead had exploded along the side, the fire spreading to the cockpit before it had burst outwards like a crystalline seed pod. He'd come in under auto pilot, but he'd been conscious for almost all of it, unable to move, strapped into his seat, unable to crank the chicken switch.

"Cooper."

The tall, pale InVitro Colonel grabbed a burnt and flailing hand, hold it tightly never the less.

"Cooper, " he repeated in that quiet but insistence tone that could slice through a bulkhead, cutting through the pilot's pain and shock, calming him.

"I'm here," he promised, a catch in his voice.

There was something in his eyes, haunted by some horror, and she wondered what he must be remembering when he looked at that young InVitro.

He clutched desperately at that pale hand, panicked.

"McQueen," he acknowledged, then the timbre of panic edged his voice again. "I can't see! I can't see!"

"Flash burns," the doctor answered to the Colonel's wordless glare.

"Will he be all right?" The Colonel had to ask.

"Don't know. But he's an InVitro, young, strong. Has a good chance of pulling through. He's made it this far."

Finally, the Chief Medical Officer focused his sole attention on her.

"Nurse, clean these wounds, and we'll see what we've got. Give him 50 CCs of Terfandine. Watch the dosage. This patient has a history of drug addiction."

And with that, the InVitro was left in her care for the moment.

She began to cut away the rest of the uniform, very aware of the solid attention of the Colonel watching her every move.

She was just another Navy nurse aboard the USS Saratoga. She doubted anyone knew her name, certainly none of the doctors, but it was enough to answer to 'nurse'.

She kept to herself, both on and off duty, preferring to let herself be known by her deeds, rather than by force of personality.

She'd begun her tour four months ago, and still the horror of what she saw, the burned and mangled bodies she had to treat, screaming, dying young men grabbing onto her hand, the last thing they were ever to feel, it was almost beyond her ability to cope with. She shut it out, so it would only come to her in nightmares. It was so much worse than the ER unit she'd worked in on Earth.

The young InVitro clutched at her with burned fingers, as she pulled away the cloth that had burned and melted to his flesh.

She started for a moment, and he released her, allowing her to continue.

"It's alright, Cooper," The Colonel's voice came thick with pain, as though he shared every wound.

His name was Cooper Hawkes. He was a Lieutenant. He was an InVitro. The only other serving InVitro officer aboard the Saratoga, aside from the Lt. Colonel.

She'd never really given InVitros much thought, considering them artificial, not 'real' people. Until her time in the ER ward, when they'd been brought in at all hours with violent wounds from fights amongst themselves, alcoholism, drug abuse, malnutrition and lack of hygiene. Her opinion of them slipped from non beings to nuisances. They were supposed to be superior, yet they seemed incapable of caring for themselves. The social problems InVitros faced mattered little to her. She dismissed them, like every one else did. The doctors were no better, always taking the natural born patient over an InVitro.

Even this one, brought in for head injuries, had been passed over quickly and carelessly, had been prescribed the wrong drug and had nearly died as a result. No one had cautioned the doctor. But it had caused to reassess her views.

At least, where this InVitro was concerned. She'd heard he was only here because a judge had sentenced him to serve his time in the military. But he was also decorated for bravery. He was like every other pilot she saw in the mess hall; brash, cocky, good looking, but there was a strange child like vulnerability to him as well. A vulnerability that had never been so clear as that time he'd been brought in, bleeding from that head wound.

She'd noticed him after that; in the detox unit, in the mess hall, in the corridor. He never saw her though. Just as well; she'd die if he'd caught her staring at him. She thought herself too sensible for an infatuation, yet she could not help herself looking for him, watching him.

Tall, violent and brutal in bar fights, he was nothing like that now, looking so small and helpless, his limbs and eyes swathed in pure white bandages. She remembered watching him, as she did now, just after he'd fought his way through the chemical withdrawal in his system, lying spent and wasted, twisted amongst sweat soaked sheets, just focusing all his effort on breathing. Much like he was now. Even under the dim lights, mimicking night time, she could see beads of sweat on his forehead. The painkillers they had been able to give him weren't enough. He must he in agony. Absently, she wondered if InVitros felt pain like real humans did.

His breath caught in his throat, and she realised he wasn't asleep. He ran the pink tip of his tongue over dry lips, and drew back in surprise for a moment when he felt a cool plastic straw prod at his lips. He drank, gratefully, until he lay back, signalling he'd had his fill. She began to shrink back into the shadows, but he turned sightless eyes towards her, tracking her movement by the rustle of her uniform, her scent.

"Don't go," he pleaded huskily.

She crept back, and saw him visibly relax. Emboldened, she reached out and touched him, her hand trailing lightly across his forehead in the softest caress.

"Stay with me," he rasped.

Her fingers brushed the forelock of mouse brown hair that fell down across his forehead.

She stayed with him in a silent vigil, long after he had fallen asleep, until she noticed the Colonel standing there, and relinquished her watch to him.

She couldn't stay away. Her duties kept her close, and he was so needy, so alone, and in so much pain.

He began to recognise her, with his sharp little InVitro senses. She would see him suddenly come to life, turning his head slightly when he heard her approach, or tasted her scent across the sterile hospital air.

Never could she bring herself to speak to him, not as she changed his dressings, or bathed his wounds.

Alone on night shift, she would visit with him, staying longer each time, just holding his hand, stroking her soft fingertips across his unburned skin. Never speaking, they enjoyed the silence. It seemed enough for him just to know she was there, that she was always there, that each night, she would return and break through his world of darkness and pain with her touch. He savoured her scent, the feel of her, her skin touching his.

Each night he waited for her, his anticipation turning to arousal, as he healed with preternatural speed, an InVitro trait. It had horrified her, at first, to unfold the bandages and see new, pink skin growing. It reminded her how alien he was. Yet that alieness ceased to repel her, rather, it began to intrigue her.

Hawkes turned his head towards the sound of her featherlight footsteps. She walked so quietly, yet he knew her step by heart. The air currents had already carried her scent to him. He felt the muscles across his stomach tighten as he waited. He knew the ritual of her nightly visits. First, she would bathe him, with the most gentle hands, then she would redress his wounds. Then she would stay with him, just be with him, until her duties called her elsewhere.

First he felt her cool hand touch his cheek, letting him know it was her, that she was here, to take care of him.

Then she would slowly, exquisitely, fold back the cotton sheets and his hospital gown, exposing his naked flesh to the cool air currents that brushed across his skin.

Then the soft touch of the warm sponge, sliding across his body in sure, yet intimate strokes, as she had come to know his body; the colour of his skin, the small dark nipples upon his chest, the unnaturally smooth stomach, which still looked so alien to her, the well formed muscles beneath that skin.

The sponge stroke downward, across his thighs, almost teasing, exposing his skin to the acute sensation of air currents. He felt his hardness stirring again, as she touched him. He willed her to touch him there, as she skirted around him, almost taunting him. And then, suddenly, her hand, over him, enclosing him.

"Yes," he croaked, breaking the silence. He pleaded her with a sharp intake of breath. He held his breath, waiting, until she responded, stroking along his length, firm and confident. He allowed himself to breath as she coaxed him to fullness.

He cried out a muffled oath as he came, spilling his seed over her fingers.

She gently cleaned him as his breathing slowed, and redressed his wounds in silence.

"Who are you," he begged, but the she wouldn't answer, merely touching her finger to his lips, to hush him.

He frowned at first, then took her finger into his mouth softly, sucking on it slightly, before releasing it.

"Who are you," he breathed one last time, to the already empty air, as she left him, drawing up his sheets and smoothing his hair softly.

His erection showed quite clearly through the sheets. He was waiting for her, turning his head to face her with his covered eyes, demanding her name.

She covered his mouth again, and felt his tongue flick out against her palm.

She caught her breath for a moment, feeling the heat burn and spread through her.

She pulled down the sheets, exposing his nakedness to the night air. She leant over him, kissing and licking across his skin before the washed him, making him moan softly and undulated under her fingers and lips.

Answering his wordless begging, she took him in her mouth, tasting his juices for the first time. He arched up, into her silken warmth. She brought him to completion slowly, savouring the experience.

She kissed that unnaturally smooth stomach slowly, tasting the drops that had spilled.

He caught her, pulling her up with surprising strength, until he could press his mouth to hers, tasting his own essence on her lips.

She allowed him to kiss her, wondering at his strange, alien taste, the familiar warmth and feel of a human tongue diving into her sweetness.

She pulled away, leaving him still not yet sated, ducking away from him as he sought her out blindly as she checked on his dressings.

She skipped free of his reaching hands, disappearing silently into the night, his mystery lover.

Each night, they touched and tasted more, wanting more, their mutual fever growing, till one night, at his urging, she dropped the confines of her uniform to the floor, stepping free of it, to slide up upon him, over him, letting his tongue plunder her secrets, arching up over him, brushing against the hard muscles she found under soft skin and sheets.

They kissed hungrily, desperately, her hands tangled in his hair, then sliding anxiously across his broad shoulders.

She rose up, and he caught her in his arms, pulling her forward.

She dipped her breasts into his waiting mouth, and he sucked on them hungrily. She wondered if this was instinctive, or if someone had taught him. He knew exactly what to do, sucking, pulling, teasing. She felt herself growing so wet, slipping against him. She wriggled back, stroking herself across his hardness, her heat burning until she could bear it no more, and she let him slip into her. He gasped, suddenly enveloped. He thrust upwards, and she pressed down, catching him for just a moment, exquisitely.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed, and thrust up again.

She rode him, like a bucking horse, rocking back and forth until the climax claimed them, and they collapsed in a heap against each other.

She slid off him and away from him, darting away from his groping, bandaged hand.

The nights turned to days, the days into weeks, and Cooper healed.

He was sitting up, anxious and annoyed as the doctor leant over him. Anxious and annoyed that he couldn't sense her, that she wasn't there.

Carefully, the wads of cotton were pulled from his eyes, to follow the pile of cloth bandages that already lay in a pile like discarded Xmas wrapping.

He blinked, and winced from the sudden light.

"That's good," soothed the doctor.

He blinked again and the too close face of the doctor swam into view; and McQueen, watching at a distance.

He glanced around, but knew, already, that she was nowhere to bee seen.

He never saw her.

Oh, she watched him, from a distance, yearning for the too sweet touches they had once shared, but somehow, unable or unwilling to break the spell of those nights by approaching him. She wondered, too often, if he ever thought of her, ever yearned after her. She consoled herself that she would never know, one way or the other.

Nor would he ever know her name, just another face, another body aboard the Saratoga. He would never meet her eyes and know that she shared his secret, and more. And he would never see her again, as she prepared to return to Earth, leaving him forever, and leaving with one last secret. How ironic that she would soon bear a child to a man, barely more than a child himself, a man who had never been born of a woman.

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