This is a book-length work, so not every chapter will involve sex. If you're just looking for a quick wank, this may not be your story.
Thanks for reading!
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There is a unique horror in being covered with the still-warm blood of a person you love. Rather than being inside their body where it belongs, it is slippery on your skin and soaking into your clothes, carrying the heat of the systems that work to keep it moving even as they pump it into the outside world.
Perhaps even worse is feeling that blood congeal as it cools, seeing it crack and flake as it dries.
I didn't see the man until he shouted. I was exhausted and focusing all of my remaining energy toward keeping my game face on for the camera. From what I could see when I'd sneak glances at him, Rusty was dead on his feet. We'd been at it nonstop all day and would likely being doing the same the next. It was time to call it. Then the man was there yelling "for Geeta!" as he ripped open his coat and raised his hand.
"Cap!" Rusty cried out. Before I could put the pieces together, I was knocked backward and my head hit the floor hard enough my vision went dark for a moment. A loud noise was followed by a wave of heat and Rusty's grunt, felt more than heard. Even when the screams started, I was confused, still trying to work out what had happened.
My head was ringing, all sounds coming from the people around me strangely muffled, and Rusty was crushing the breath from my lungs. I tried to get him to move but he wasn't responding, so I put my hand on his ribs to give him a push. My skin was immediately covered in wet heat and adrenaline surged, allowing me to roll him onto his back and get my first look at the gigantic hole in his side. Pressing my hands to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, I added my panicked cries for help to the general tumult.
"Matt?" The sound of my name barely penetrated the noise in my head. I looked down and my heart pounded even harder when I realized the engineer's eyes were open, but they weren't focusing on anything. "Matt?" I read my name on his lips, his voice too quiet for me to hear at all.
"I'm here. I'm here, baby." It felt like I was talking too loud, yelling to compensate for the loss of my own hearing. Since I couldn't give two shits about who heard what as Rusty's blood was soaking my pants, I didn't bother to try modulating my tone. Ripping off my jacket, I wadded it up and pressed it against his ribs with one hand so I could take his with my other. I held it tight, kissing his fingers again and again as I told him to hang in there, that help was coming.
"Matt," he breathed. His eyes fluttered closed and my reassurances turned to pleas for him to wake up.
I don't know how long we sat like that before they pulled him away from me. It felt like days. Then I simply knelt on the floor alone, feeling the heat of him fade. The nanites did their best, but the volume of blood he lost was simply too high; they had made no noticeable difference by the time it began to dry and their short mechanical lives ended.
Someone was talking to me. Once I noticed their voice, I realized they had been calling my name for some time. I shook my head and kept my eyes focused on my hands, on the sticky pool on the floor by my knees, but the voice paid no heed to my rejection.
"Mac, dammit, talk to me. Please!" It was the panic in that last word that pulled me together. Alix was calling to me through our comms and I realized that, with Rusty gone, the cameras weren't doing their thing. He'd told Callaway he could handle the final uploads when I'd sent her away with the others, but I couldn't remember how often he was doing them. How much of the last hour did Alix see? Whatever had been recorded of the attack couldn't have made it off the station, though, so she had no way to know what was happening.
"I'm here," I rasped out, mouth dry.
"Oh, thank fuck." She was actually sobbing in relief. That confused me. Didn't she realize?
"Rusty - " That was all I could get out before the lump in my throat choked me and I had to coax it back down just to breathe.
"What about him? What happened, Mac? Station chatter is off the wall. Something about an explosion?"
"He - I - " Dr. Paris was nearly running across the floor toward me, her smug self-assurance shattered. Half of her hair was loose from its careful updo and lank blonde locks flopped next to her face as she hurried over. "Hang on, Leelee."
"Mr. Carolinas," the doctor panted, coming to a stop just short of where Rusty's blood stained the floor. "We've managed to stabilize him, but there's nothing else we can do down here. One of my colleagues authorized a transfer to the upper decks. Beacon Trauma Center, Deck 9, Ward E." She turned and began to rush away immediately after delivering this cryptic message.
"Who?" I called after her. She didn't pause. "Dr Paris! Who was transferred?" She turned and gave me a look that said she had questions about my mental state.
"Him." She waved at the blood by my knees. "Your cameraman."
Color rushed back into the world and suddenly everything was too bright. I was on my feet and marching toward the crowd that had gathered around the edges of the room before I knew what I was after. There, attempting to slip into a side corridor - a girl who was clearly trying very hard to blend in. Too hard. Her hair was a ratty mess, her face filthy, her clothes ripped and covered in dirt, but not worn. A tourist.
The crowd parted quickly before me as I followed her - I didn't wonder about this at the time but, upon later reflection, realized I must have presented a rather fearsome sight - and I managed to catch her arm before she could escape into a lift. The girl let out a breathy scream when she saw me. I ignored her reaction, whipping my head toward the sudden presence at my elbow, in no mood for some misguided bystander's interference. Rusty would have laughed at me, reminded me I was in the Bottoms. I imagined even my engineer would have been surprised to see his taller "stray" standing next to me, however, camera hovering just over his shoulder. An idea started to surface and I ran with it before it was even fully revealed.
"Come on, then," I barked at the kid as I tugged the girl around the first corner. With a jerk of my arm, I twisted her around and shoved her back against the wall. "You are going to take me - take us - to the upper decks. Ward E."
"What makes you think I know anything about that, then?" she asked in a bad imitation of the sing-song accent developed by those who grew up in the Bottoms. The boy made a derisive noise, but I cut in before he could respond.
