The battle had been bad, really bad.

Several pilots, most of them neophytes, on their second or third combat mission, had been carelessly shot out of the everlasting night of deep space, with no time to utter a quick prayer or a goodbye to those they loved.  Those who survived had been injured, some seriously, and it was enough to deplete the already scanty resources of the SDF-1’s small fleet of Veritechs.

About a dozen of the flying ‘mechs had escaped with minimal damage, and the ground crews were now in a race against time to make whatever repairs they could to the rest. Everyone prayed the Zentraedi had been just as demoralized.  Another attack would mean the end of everything.

Commander Roy Fokker ran a bloodied hand through the unruly tangle of his blonde hair.  The cut looked far worse, and should have hurt like hell, but he didn’t feel it.

An experienced combat pilot, he’d seen enough battles in his lifetime.  Yet nothing compared to the sheer savagery of this fight.  There had been no quarter given on either side.  If there had been any rules of warfare, the only one that had truly mattered was to kill or be killed.

He was tired, his body aching in nearly a thousand places, his spirit battered and bruised.  His mind could not yet grasp the extent of the losses the fleet had suffered, nor could he quite reconcile himself to the utter ruthlessness in which he dispatched death to his opponents. 

He knew that he’d have to contact the families of each pilot lost and give them the grim news, a task he couldn’t quite bring himself to do quite yet.

Claudia.

He needed her, right now.  Though much of his body was in pain, and the medics were on hand to alleviate whatever suffering they could, there was a part of him that needed the kind of medicine that only her body could provide.

*

Claudia Grant was tremendously weary, but allowed herself no time for weakness.  She didn’t even have the heart to chastise Admiral Gloval for lighting his pipe on the bridge.  After the devastating battle they’d barely survived, the rules meant less to her than the paper they’d been written on. If she smoked, she would have lit up the biggest, fattest and most expensive cigar in the world and enjoyed it, right in front of the high command.  As it stood, she wanted nothing more than to get herself riotously drunk.

No one on the SDF-1’s bridge escaped unscathed.  Lisa looked haggard, her eyes red-rimmed with dark circles forming beneath them. Vanessa was in the midst of a major crying spell; Kim looked completely blank, as if the full extent of what they’d just went through hadn’t quite sunk in, and Sammie was clearly spent, dried blood on her forehead where she’d struck it during the barrage of fire from the Zentraedi battleoids.

Damn them!

Claudia had never hated without mercy, but at that moment, she hated the Zentraedi for the faceless monsters they had to be.  Nothing even remotely humanoid could gain any joy from such wanton destruction. 

She might have been a trained soldier, but she was still human.  She had seen too much, witnessed too much, felt too much.  It was impossible to stay sane in the midst of the madness, and she wondered if the entire universe had simply gone crazy.

The madness was far from over.  Nothing had been settled. 

A guilty thought crept into the cold places of her heart. At least Roy was alive. 

Roy.

*

No one addressed Roy as he stumbled to his quarters.  He was given wide berth, the look on his face two steps from dangerous.

He should have checked on his little brother Rick, but he was too selfish to think about anything but his own wants.   Rick had survived the onslaught. That he knew, and more than likely, MinMei would tend to whatever hurts the young man might have suffered.  Besides, Rick was a big boy now, and it was long past time for the stars to be brutally torn from his innocent eyes.  There was nothing glamorous or exciting about killing, even when killing one considered an enemy.

Oh god, Claudia!

If he had to go all the way up to the bridge to get her, he would, and they could court-martial him later.

If there was anything or anyone left to court-martial.

*

“You two aren’t of any use to me looking like death.”  Gloval brusquely told his two commanding officers, as they stood before him, limp and demoralized.  “In fact, you would be more of a liability up here should the Zentraedi choose to attack again.  I need for the both of you to be at your optimum.  I need to rely on you, and the way you look now, that would be impossible.”

With that last statement, Admiral Gloval retreated into himself, as he was known to do.  His curt manner disguised his worry. 

They had been dismissed.  Claudia turned and nearly ran from the bridge.

She needed—wanted—Roy.  Now.

*

Roy hadn’t even bothered to shower, or change out of his grubby flight suit.  He paced around his quarters like a caged tiger, a bottle of brandy in hand.  The alcohol did nothing to numb away the sight of so much blood, nor did it dull the sharp knife of his desire.  If anything, it inflamed his hunger for Claudia even more, and the ache between his legs was nearly unbearable.

He turned just in time to see the door slide open, and she practically spilled inside, exhaustion having seeped into each fiber of her being.

“Claudia.”  Her name was harsh on his lips, and yet it was also an affirmation, that they were both alive and needy.

Roy’s crystalline blue eyes bore into her intensely, and that same hot rush of desire that surged through Roy’s body, began to resonate through her own.  There would be no thoughts of today, of tomorrow, no other words, not now.

Bridging the distance between them, Roy pulled her roughly to him, his powerful embrace like steel.  She nearly collapsed against him.  It was a relief to be held by something so strong, so secure.  Claudia clung to the firmness of his lean frame, his body a safe harbor against the tides of war.

“Claudia.”

He drew first blood, claiming her lips with a wild possessiveness that would not be denied.  His lips were hard and searching, seeking answers from her mouth that would somehow make sense of what they’d both gone through.  She returned the kiss with her own savage intensity, demanding forgetfulness.  Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer still.

Thoughts spiraled out of control as they strove to be as close to each other as was humanly possible.  Flight suit, uniform—all became strips of torn fabric as they decimated each other’s clothing.  Claudia’s bare flesh burned in the places where he touched her. 

They stumbled towards the bed, fell upon it in a tangle of hungry limbs, Roy’s body covering hers, kissing wildly.  His hands were rough and insistent.  The stubble of a day-old beard scraped against the soft skin of her breasts.  Claudia moaned, arching her body upward, seeking the heat of his lips everywhere on her body.

Their impatience grew to explosive proportions—arms, legs and lips all fused together, shutting out the screams of the wounded and the dead.  The blood from the half-healed cut on his hand opened, smearing liquid redness upon her skin, but neither cared.  Her lips were stained in red as she planted healing kisses upon the wound, taking his essence into herself. Every sensation centered on the primal need of two wounded souls desperately seeking solace within each other. 

Roy trembled as he entered her, unable to contain the surge of sensation that engulfed him.  There was no sound save the harsh labored breathing and the wet slap of flesh against flesh as they struggled to unite the tempestuous emotions of love and lust, pain and pleasure, sadness and joy.  Animal instinct drove them, far purer in its compulsion than the desire for power, which they’d seen all too often.  

They drove harder and faster, his body thrusting downward, hers meeting upward, riding the wave of each other’s need.   It was a violent coupling, as each did battle with their own nightmares.  Claudia’s normally gentle fingers were like claws, sinking into his back, spurring him past all reason.  Roy’s hands grasped her hips, mindlessly driving himself deeper within the soft and yielding place no one and nothing could reach him.

“Claudia.”

“Roy.”

Their names became, in the heat of overwhelming passion, everything they’d wanted to say, and everything they could not yet express.  At the final gasp before climax, their eyes met, bridging their hearts and souls across light years. 

Then sweet oblivion took them into its blessed release.

*

A stray shaft of faux sunlight fell upon Roy’s face, kissing him awake with its muted golden glow.  He turned his face downward, where Claudia lay sleeping on his chest.

“Claudia?”

She stirred, her eyes opening slowly to gaze at him with wonder and she smiled.  He began to speak, but she placed a gentle finger on his lips, silencing him.

“Later,” she whispered, and her kiss sang through his veins.