Live To Fight Another Day

by Alicia McKenzie

Gently, Nathan Dayspring laid the young man's hand back on his still chest, and rose, pulling the thin sheet up over the body. "G'journey," he whispered wearily. It took an effort to stand, more to turn and look down the seemingly endless rows of wounded, lying on cots neatly arranged on the floor of the great central chamber of the Bigraian citadel.

He had to leave. Just for a while. He'd been here for--how long? Hours, surely. Making his unsteady way towards the great doors, careful not to trip on anything or run into any of the countless healers and healer's assistants running around tending to the victims of his latest unspeakable tactical blunder, he tried to figure out what time of day it was. Surely it couldn't be any later than midafternoon--maybe. I loathe losing track of time-- He had a briefing to conduct after the evening meal. Certainly he hadn't missed that--

He came to a swaying halt as someone stepped quite deliberately in front of him, a woman with iron-grey hair and an uncompromising jaw. "Janel," he greeted the senior healer rather drunkenly. "Don't you have patients to look after?" Janel looked him up and down, clearly checking him for injuries. "Don't worry," he said with a bitter smile. "None of the blood's mine."

Her mouth tightened in what looked like displeasure. "You shouldn't be in here, Nathan," she said, her voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the steely glint in her eyes. She glanced away from him, gesturing at someone, and Nathan blinked as one of the young sentries, strode over, giving Janel an inquisitive look and him a respectful nod. "Ivir," Janel said. "Escort your Clan Chief back to his quarters, please?"

Nathan had to feel sorry for the boy. Going from nice, simple guard duty to keeping track of his wayward Clan Chief. What a way to ruin your day. "I have a briefing to get to," Nathan said with as much dignity as he could muster. "The boy--what was it, Ivir?--can go back to his post."

Janel shook her head. "You are going to go back to your quarters and get some rest," she said quite pleasantly. "At which point Ivir will go, give your apologies to the lieutenants and suggest to Tetherblood on MY orders that the briefing be postponed until the morning."

"Jan--"

"The amount you protest will help me decide whether or not I should have him lock you in or not," Janel said with a faint smile. Nathan glared at her, and her expression softened. "There's nothing more to be done," she said more gently. "Either for the wounded, or to change what happened. And you need to be rested. Weary minds make flawed decisions."

As if I needed that excuse-- But Nathan merely nodded, a sardonic acknowledgment of her point, and glanced at the somewhat nervous-looking young sentry. "Shall we go, then?"

The halls of the citadel were crowded, not surprising at all considering that all the refugees from Sylato were being housed here until they could be resettled elsewhere in the Protectorate. The remains of that city's garrison were here, too--and remnants they most certainly were, their morale shattered by the loss of their city to the Canaanites. He'd have to find an assignment for them that would rebuild their confidence.

Too bad the same solution wouldn't work for him. Nathan stopped, leaning against the wall for support, sickened by the gestures of respect he received from those passing by. Most of those who looked at him with that mixture of reverence and admiration were Sylatan, people of a Protectorate city he'd failed to protect. Victims of a broken water oath on his part.

Why didn't they hate him? They should hate him.

"Sir?" Ivir looked almost wary, and Nathan could have laughed at his expression, if there had been anything even the slightest bit amusing about any of this. "Are you all right, sir?"

"No more or less so than usual," he answered dully, and straightened, suddenly very glad of Janel's peremptory edict. All things considered, he was beginning to doubt he WAS capable of facing a full briefing tonight. They wouldn't have spoken a word of blame, of course. That was bad enough. But, as pitiful as he undoubtedly looked at the moment, they might try to be 'kind' and shift the blame for the catastrophe that had befallen Sylato to someone other than him. That, he knew he wouldn't be able to endure.

He was their Clan Chief. That made it his fault, no matter the 'mitigating' circumstances. He'd executed the traitorous militia leader with his own hands, but that didn't change what had happened. Couldn't change it. Nothing could. Just one more entry on the list of his failures--

Reaching the quarters he shared with his family, no larger than any other accommodations allotted to a unit their size but strategically placed within the citadel, Nathan nodded briefly to Ivir. "Don't even think about touching the door," he warned curtly. The young sentry gulped and nodded, saluting before he hurried off to carry out the rest of Janel's instructions.

Nathan smiled humorlessly, and turned back to the door, waving a hand over the lock-panel. The door slid open and he stepped into the main room of their quarters. A moment later, an excited five year-old slammed into his legs.

"Father!"

On the other side of the room, a slender, dark-skinned woman rose from her chair, giving him a faint smile before she looked down at the boy. "Tyler, take it a little slower," Hope said mildly. "You don't want to knock your father over."

Nathan shrugged, lifting his son into his arms. It took more of an effort than he was willing to let on, and not just because Tyler was growing so much these days. "I'm not old and fragile yet," Nathan said dryly, and stared into Tyler's wide, delighted blue eyes. "Have you been behaving for Hope?"

"I've been good," Tyler said proudly. "Missed you!"

Nathan's eyes stung, and he forced himself to smile. "Missed you too," he said, carefully setting his son back down before he did something unforgivable like drop him. Carefully but quickly, of course. It would upset Tyler too much if he saw his father struggling to hold back tears.

Hope studied him, her dark eyes worried. "Why don't you go and clean up your room, Tyler?" Aliya's sister suggested lightly. "You don't want it to be THAT messy when your mother comes home, do you?" The words were teasing, but Tyler shook his head vehemently and dashed off to tidy up.

Nathan barely noticed. "She's not," he said harshly, and a small smile played about Hope's lips.

"Of course she is. She caught the first troop transport back from Siriava. She should be arriving in a few hours." The smile vanished. "Sort of incumbent upon a Clan Mother to at least make an appearance when a Clan city gets leveled, don't you think?"

"Leave it alone, Hope," Nathan rasped angrily, and managed to make it to a seat before his knees gave out on him. "I just spent--oath, I don't even know how many hours standing deathwatch, and I don't need to justify myself to you!"

She shook her head swiftly, sitting down beside him. "Lower your voice," she said softly. "And that wasn't a criticism, Nathan, so you don't need to snap at me." He rubbed at his temples, cursing his pounding headache and wishing she'd go away and leave him alone. She sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Even the longest streaks of luck come to an end sometimes, Nathan."

Luck. This hadn't been luck, or lack of it. It had been utter heedless stupidity on his part--Nathan bit his lip as that last image of Sylato in flames flashed through his mind. It had only been a glimpse, one last glance out the viewport as he sat on the bridge of the last transport, its hold packed with refugees, and ordered it into the air. Too many passengers for the old craft to carry; they'd had to make an emergency landing, just short of Bigraia. A controlled crash, really.

So few saved. So many dead, trapped when their homes collapsed under the Canaanite bombardment. He'd tried to save those he could, but he imagined he could still hear the screams of those trapped as they burned alive.

"I remember visiting Sylato after we first liberated it," Hope said softly. "It was a beautiful city, wasn't it?"

Drive the knife in deeper, why don't you? Nathan jerked away from her, but she didn't take the hint.

"But it was vulnerable, Nathan, you knew that. I remember you telling Tetherblood and Aliya that you doubted we could hold it for more than a few months." Hope never looked away from him, her dark eyes peculiarly insistent. "It's been four years, Nathan. You've bested your own estimate--"

"Doesn't matter. I still should have--" He bit back the recriminations, blinking furiously. Hope nodded slowly, patting his arm.

"You need to rest. Go on," she urged, indicating the bedroom. "I'll wake you if you're needed."

Nathan nodded slowly. He half-stumbled into the bedroom, barely stopping to slide off his boots before he sprawled on the bed. Sleep claimed him with a vengeance, and the next thing he registered was a familiar someone leaning over him, pressing her lips lightly against his temple.

Aliya sat down on the bed next to him, and he slid over to give her room as she sat up. Her green eyes were sober as she studied him, and he waited, half resignedly, half in dread, for her to say something.

"You look a little better than Janel led me to believe," she said. She looked weary, a little pale, and the sadness coming along the link was almost too much for him to endure.

"Janel has her own patients to be tending. She needn't be worrying about me." Suddenly angry, he slid off the bed and stalked over to get a change of clothes. "What time is it?" He cast a glance back over his shoulder at her, perversely irritated by how calm she seemed. How she could manage to stay in control like that, when it was so terribly at odds with what she was feeling--it's an Askani thing, she'd always said. Too bad he hadn't managed to master it yet.

She shrugged with one shoulder, leaning back against the wall and regarding him intently, toying with one thin braid in what very few people realized was a nervous mannerism. "I've spoken with Tetherblood. He filled me in--"

"Whatever." He knew it was a mistake to try and be dismissive as soon as the word was out of his mouth. A flare of anger along the psi-link nearly knocked him over, but Aliya herself didn't move. "You didn't answer my question," he grated.

"You know," she said slowly, "even after having been married to you for years, it still sometimes amazes me to see what a miserable son of a flonq you can be when you're upset."

Struggling out of his bloodstained, dirt-encrusted armor, he hesitated. "It's a talent," he said flatly, suddenly disgusted with himself. Why was he taking this out on her?

He heard her slide off the bed, felt her increasing proximity with each step she took across the room. She wasn't pushing her presence on him, through the link, but she wasn't backing off, either. She was right there, waiting--waiting for him to invite her in, as if his mind was a locked room at the moment.

"If you call that a talent," she said quietly, helping him out of the armor. "Tetherblood will take the briefing for you, rather than putting it off. He thought it was best, and I agree."

She didn't point out the obvious, that he would have been less than effective even if he'd insisted on going ahead with it. Part of him was grateful for that small act of mercy. Her touch was gentle, soothing, and he felt himself beginning to relax, almost involuntarily.

"I should have--"

"'What is, is'," Aliya quoted. "It can be comforting as well as irritating, Nathan. Especially on days like this."

He turned, embracing her tightly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. "I never get used to it." He'd be lying if he said that losing itself didn't bother him (he had his fair share of pride, after all), but it was what--and who--was lost that lurked in his mind and haunted his nightmares. This wasn't a game they were playing here, where setbacks could be accepted with the same aplomb as victories, all part of a grander scheme, a wider strategy. Both were paid for in sweat and blood and pain. If a leader forgot that cost, he didn't have any business leading.

"I know. If you did, I'd become worried." She leaned back, taking his face between her hands. There was only love and support coming up the link now, all the hesitancy gone. "I don't like to see you doing this to yourself either, Nathan. You can be assured that Parridian Haight doesn't bleed inside for every battle lost." She didn't mention Stryfe, of course. He was, by mutual consent, something of a forbidden topic between them.

"Yes, I suppose Haight probably does sleep like an infant every night, but do you really want me following his example?" Nathan asked with a sigh, kissing the top of her head and then releasing her.

"Of course not," she said with a sigh, helping him off with the rest of his armor and then following, watching with a mixture of frustration and concern as he stepped briefly into the sonic shower. #You're too thin, Nathan,# she continued reprovingly as he got out and went back into the bedroom to change into clean clothes.

#Don't be ridiculous.#

"I'm quite serious, beloved. And those dark circles underneath your eyes are getting more noticeable by the day." She tsked lightly. "Very unattractive. If you let yourself go much further, I'm afraid I'll find my--eye wandering elsewhere." A brief, incredulous laugh escaped before Nathan could stop it, and Aliya smiled triumphantly. "Made you laugh," she said with a contented little smile.

He shook his head at her, unable to quite banish the smile. "You'll forgive me if I find it a little amusing to hear a 'threat' like that from the woman who broke that poor Hellocoi envoy's arm for daring to proposition her." He pulled out the first clean shirt that he found but hesitated before he put it on, rubbing at his right shoulder. He'd strained that arm, it felt like. Strange he hadn't felt it up until now.

Her smile grew, showed teeth. "He was a boor," she observed. "Besides, it was a diplomatic move."

"Oh?" This he had to hear.

"Oh, indeed," she said mockingly. "I probably saved his life. You and Tetherblood were beginning to look terribly irritated with the man. If he'd held up the negotiations for much longer, you'd have probably taken steps yourself to remove him. My method was far less permanent."

"So it was totally altruistic, that's what you're saying."

"Of course not." Mischief gleamed in her green eyes. "Altruism is rarely so enjoyable."

Nathan snorted, pulling on his shirt. "I love the explanations you come up with for these things--"

The bedroom door slid open. "Mother!" Aliya promptly got the same treatment from Tyler as he had earlier. Even more enthusiastic, if possible. Aliya, unlike him, absorbed the impact easily.

"Hope tells me you were cleaning your room," she said, mock-sternly, after she'd hugged Tyler to within an inch of his life and then inspected him with such thoroughness that Nathan almost smiled. It was a regular ritual, after she'd been away for a while.

"It's clean! Promise!"

"Good. And your hands?" Tyler presented them for inspection, as well, and Aliya nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Then we can be getting along to the evening meal, if your father's ready."

Nathan stiffened at the suggestion, and Aliya gave him a mild look. "I'm not--really hungry," he said faintly. The evening meal was communal, and would be even more crowded with all the refugees. The idea of sitting there and eating--or trying to eat; his stomach was rebelling at the very thought, at the moment--wasn't appealing, to say the least.

"You need to eat," Aliya pointed out calmly, not meeting his eyes. #And like it or not, our Clansmen need to see you.#

The illusion of normality. Nathan shivered a little, recognizing the truth of what she said, even as he acknowledged the fear that laid beneath his resistance to the idea.

"Are you hungry, Ty?" Nathan asked with a forced smile, and Tyler nodded. "Well, then, we'd better be going, shouldn't we? Growing boys need to eat."

It would be a performance, nothing more. An act. A function of leadership, making sure that the refugees and Bigraians alike saw their 'father' and 'mother' figures carrying on with life. A pretense of confidence, to give hope to those who'd lost so much.

Donning the mask, for just a while longer.

Aliya linked arms with him as they left their quarters. #I love you,# her voice whispered in his mind, tender support flowing up the psi-link.

She was the only one who saw beneath all his masks. The only source of comfort he'd let himself accept--and all the strength he ever needed on those days when his own failed him.

By the time they encountered the first group of refugees being shepherded down for the meal, he was able to greet them with the strength they needed to see, and the compassion he needed to give.

fin

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