Epilogue

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Greg felt almost delirious as he navigated the brilliantly lit corridors of the Dauntless.

They'd made it back to the ship, finally. He'd slept some on the way home and when he'd awoken, confused and uncertain, he'd followed Callie and the others as they'd rushed Allan through the airlocks and to the medical bay. He'd stayed with Callie for almost an hour as they'd induced a coma and began running every scan they had available to them to determine whether or not Allan was still alive, still himself, and still able to be saved.

He'd nodded off three times before Callie made him leave and told him to go to bed. He'd only left after making her promise to wake him if anything happened. Now he was going to bed. There were things to do, he knew. People to see, to talk to. Hawkins to make a report to, Eve, if she was here, to see if the relationship was still salvageable.

Finally, after several minutes of lethargic navigation, Greg finally found his quarters. He opened the door and stepped inside, then stopped.

Eve was inside, getting undressed.

"Oh...sorry," he murmured.

"It's okay," she said, equally awkwardly. They both stared at each other for a long moment. Greg finally cleared his throat.

"I guess we should talk, huh?"

"We should but...I'm too tired and too stressed. I just got back from a mission and, obviously you have too. Can we just...make love and sleep?" she asked.

He nodded and began to take off his shirt.

* * *

When Greg woke up, Eve was still asleep beside him.

For a moment, he didn't remember anything. There was just him, in the bed with Eve, both of them naked and warm and comfortable in the darkness.

Then he had a flash of Allan's steel, false hand snapping John's neck and the good feelings were gone. Greg wanted to go back to sleep, he still felt like shit, still hurt, but a few things drove him from the bed. The first was the fact that he had to piss really bad, the second was that he was starving. His stomach felt like a black hole, a yawning maw of endless hunger. He pulled the blankets back and stood up. Several things popped inside of him as he stretched. Lots of him still hurt. He moved into the bathroom and flipped on the light to its lowest setting, then pissed for a long time. As he glanced at the shower, he had another reason for getting up.

He fucking reeked.

"Greg?"

He finished pissing and flushed, then returned to the bedroom. "Yeah?" he asked. Eve was sitting up in bed, studying it.

"You're bleeding," she said.

Frowning, he moved forward and studied the bed. It was too dark to discern anything, so he flipped on the light and looked. Judging by the position of the blood, he saw that it was his leg wound he'd gotten from that damned shark thing. Glancing down, he saw the wound smeared with blood. It had obviously clotted awhile ago, but it needed attention.

"Here," Eve said, getting up. "Let's take a shower, get cleaned up, then I can take a look at it." She grabbed an emergency medical kit from the wall and shooed him into the bathroom. She set the kit down on the counter, then turned on the water. They climbed into the shower together and began carefully washing each other off.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment.

"What?" Eve replied.

"I'm sorry for leaving. For thinking my plan could work. Sorry that I basically left you for my ex...and then I showed back up, hoping to get back together when that didn't pan out. I feel pretty shitty about it."

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