Taken him, they've taken him.  Thought they were clever, thought no one saw, thought they'd escaped undetected.  They don't know I saw them; don't know I'm behind them.  Coming for them.

Coming for him.

The others, the others, I tried to get them to come but they're sleeping - how – how - how can they sleep when enemies have stolen in amongst us, taken him!  Can't wait for them, can't wait, the longer I wait the farther away they take him.

I've left them, locked in their useless slumber, slipped out and into the night, feeling it wrap around me, an ally, and a friend.  Running swiftly, surely, following, one with the darkness, silent, relentless.  Following  the enemies, despoilers, mauraders, following him.  No stopping, no resting, no faltering.  Won't fail him, they can't have him, they won't take him from me.

They can run to the ends of the Earth and I'll still find him. I can smell him, feel him, singing in my blood, calling to me.  His scent flies to me on the wings of the wind, blazing a trail as bright as midnight.  They can't keep him from me, can't hide him from me.  It doesn't matter where they take him I'll follow.

I'll find him.

 Mine, mine, mine, singing in my blood running, panting, smelling, feeling, wanting, mine, must have him, you can't have him, nothing will stop me, keep me from him, not darkness, distance, obstacles, opposition, nothing.

Blood!  His blood, the smell, sweet and terrifying, mingling with the scent of sweat and pain.  Faster, must run faster, feed on the darkness around me, draw strength from the wind, fly, feel the ground vanish beneath me as I race, barely touching, stronger, faster, closing the distance, closer, coming closer, they don't know I'm coming, death flying on the fully furled wings of darkness, coming for him.

 Walking dead men, they don't know the tattered threads of their miserable lives are about to be cut short.  I'm right behind them, they touch him, they hurt him, dead, dead, they’re dead, kill them all nothing matters but him.

Calling to me, he's still calling, his scent filling my nostrils, his taste on my tongue, need burning me, pulling me, binding me, drawing me forward.

Smelling the wind, drinking the night, feeling the fire of him beating in my chest.  Not far beyond me now, I can smell all of them, stopping, resting, they think they're safe.  Not long 'til dawn, can feel the night around me shuddering with the knowledge of its inevitable surrender to the day but for now it's still with me, hiding me, there's still enough time.  The darkness is my friend; together we'll save him.

Lurking, scenting, prowling the outskirts. Hidden, burning, stalking, sensing. Not close enough to see the camp but my other senses tell me everything I need to know.  His scent, brighter, stronger than all the rest, calling, filling me.  Feel his pain, confusion, rage, burning, searing, no, mustn't - mustn't lose control, must stay calm, focussed, he needs me, job to do. 

Where are the bastards, the beasts who have taken him, hurt him.  The ones who stand between me and what's mine.

 Five of them, foul-smelling, sour, their disgusting musk cloying in my nostrils. Easy to find them in the darkness.  Confident, careless, they think anyone who would hunt them, stop them is miles away, safely sleeping, no one is following them, they have time to rest, sleep, nothing to worry about.

 Fools.  Dead fools.

 Only one sentry.  Moving clumsily, making enough noise to clearly mark him even if I couldn't smell him.  Easy to find in the darkness I glide toward him silent, determined, knife drawn, hungry, ready.

Springing up swiftly, grasping, hand over his mouth, he doesn't even have time to make a sound as I draw the knife swiftly across his throat, slashing cleanly, his blood spurting warmly across my hand. Covering me, cloying, stinking, reeking, wet, sticky.  Drop him quietly, carefully, no mistakes, he's dead before he hits the ground. Not a sound, nothing betrays his passing. He never saw me, never knew.  Now he knows nothing.

Now for the rest of them.

Close enough to see the camp now.  My eyes strain through the flickering light of the campfire as I crouch in the darkness, looking, trying to see him.

God!  There he is, on the far side of the fire, almost out of the light.  Lying on the ground, on his side, bound hand and foot; even from this distance I can see they've hurt him.  Smelled his blood, feeling it at the back of my throat, now I can see, bruises on his face, his beautiful, beautiful face.  They've beat him, hurt him, I know he fought them, he would fight them, he wouldn't be still, wouldn't have let them take him without a struggle.  The bruises the price he paid for his courage.

I won't let them hurt him any more.  He doesn't know it yet, doesn't know I'm here, not for sure, but he must know I'd never stop, never rest - he has to know I wouldn't let anyone take him away from me.  He's lying so still, his eyes closed, but he's not unconscious.  I can feel the rapid beating of his heart pounding in my blood; can hear the harsh pain of his breathing.  Don't worry, it won't be long.  I'm here.  I won't let them hurt you any more.

I can see all four of them, sitting around the fire. Close to him, they're still too close to him.  They could still - but I can't wait much longer.  The dawn is coming, prickling my bones, stripping away the mantle of my friend the night.  I have to be swift; it has to be soon.

One of them, getting up, laughing at his fellows, looking back at him.  Laughing again, starting to move toward him, the firelight sheering across the shining surface of the knife in his hand.

No!

Not even thinking, just moving, surging up from the blackness, breaking cover, my gun jumping in my hand, the rising man screams as the back of his head explodes,  he crumples to the ground, firing again, first one, then the other, two, three murdering bastards who will never hurt anyone ever again, running to him, still firing, the last one, crawling, sobbing, sighting on him, no mercy, dead man, all of you dead, dead, dead, dead, dead -

"DANNY!"

Calling to me, he's calling to me, struggling to sit up, straining to reach out to me, to show me he's all right.  Stop?  Telling me to stop?  Don't have to?  No more killing?

The last sniveling cur runs sobbing into the darkness, it won’t help him the way it helped me.  He no longer matters, Jack is all I see, I run to him, fall to my knees beside him, crush him to me, his smell, his reality filling me, safe, safe, found you, touching you, tasting you, Jack, Jack.  Did it, I did it.  Found you, found you, found you.

I free his hands, still holding him, I can't seem to let go.  His arms come around me, stroking, comforting, I hear him speaking quietly to me, but I'm not sure what he's saying.  Lost, lost in the feel of him, the need for him, falling farther and farther away from thought, reason, the smell of blood, the smell of him all I know.

"Easy, Danny, easy," he says as I take his face in my hands.  His eyes are wide, dark, filled with confusion and wild disbelief. He doesn't understand I've earned him, I claim him, he's mine.  Doesn't understand what I want but I'm past being able to hold it back.  The blood is calling, rising, screaming inside me for release.

He makes a small sound of surprise as I take him, hungry, devouring, brutally grinding my mouth into his, feeling, seeking, tasting, wanting so much more.  I kiss him furiously, mindlessly, clutching the back of his head, clasping his warm, gasping body tight against me.  Not fighting me, he's still not fighting me, not moving, feeling me moaning into him, thrusting my hardness against him, not moving toward, not moving away and then –

Arms like steel surround me, hot answering breath, panting my name, wet, seeking lips pressing, tongue rasping hungrily across my mouth, God, oh God, the smell of his need, the feel of his hands, sweet salt on my tongue, blood boiling, bliss roaring, falling as my senses scream and short –

Jack's been pretty quiet so far.  I'm not much inclined to conversation myself, for a change.  I just look out the window and content myself with not watching the scenery flowing past the window as Jack drives me home.

This is probably the most time we've spent together since we returned from P3G-956.  We got back three days ago but Janet only just released me from the infirmary.  Jack was luckier.  The Mallik raiding party kicked him around some while they were trying to get him back to their lines to use him as a bargaining chip in their war against our hosts, but all he got out of the experience was a few bumps and bruises.  His face is still looking quite spectacular, but thank God, he wasn't badly hurt.

And then there's me.  I wasn't so lucky.  I seemed to have had a rather severe reaction to the sleeping potion the Mallik spy slipped us at the banquet that night. Maybe I was allergic to something in it – or it reacted badly with my body chemistry, or something, I have no idea, but whatever it did to my system had Janet shaking her head at my blood work for days.  Apparently instead of putting me out for a lovely ten hour nap like it did everyone else it sorta kinda had the opposite effect.  For some reason what was supposed to be a knockout drop acted like a powerful stimulant, enhancing my senses and generally making me act a bit…nuts.  For considerably longer than ten hours.   The hallucinogenic effect was what had them really concerned.  Apparently I was on a raging high, out of my mind and a bit - dangerous - for over thirty-six hours.

Isn't that special?

I've been telling them I don't remember much, if anything, about the whole incident. That's only partly true.  I don't remember anything after - after I found Jack.  How we got back, going nuts when we got back, what I did or said in the infirmary until the stuff worked its way out of my system is pretty much a blur.  But the other stuff, what happened before…

I remember, but I've told all of them I don't.  Told Jack I don't – don't remember.  It'll be easier on him, that way.  Better he thinks I have no recollection of what I felt, what I did, no memory of the hunting, the killing, I didn't take him, didn't - didn't kiss him, he's the only one who knows what went on between us.  Better this way, he won't be afraid to come near me, to talk to me. Be in the same room with me.  If he thinks I don't remember then nothing really happened and we can be friends again.  The way we were.

God, I hope we can be friends again.  I hope I can learn to forget for real…

 His taste, his smell, they're still all over me, branded on my memory by the madness of that night.  What was always inside me lurking beneath the surface, buried beneath layers of denial now cries for him.  It's alive and hungry, sparked by the danger, erupted by his peril, bound to him by the awakening that linked us and enabled me to find him.

A part of me.  He's part of me; imprinted on my soul.   How can I - how can I forget? 

I bite down hard on my bottom lip, biting back a sob and keep staring out the window, turning my face from him until it passes, until I get control of myself again.  It's just; he's so close, so real, filling the compartment, his scent swelling within me.  I can't take a breath without breathing him in, wanting, wanting to touch, to taste.

God…

"Hey," he says gently.  "You okay?"

 I nod.  I don't dare say anything; I don't trust my voice, and I sure can't look at him.  Are we there yet, are we there yet, I have to get out of the truck, maybe if he's not so close it won't be so hard. 

So hard.  Killing me it's so hard. I grind my fist down into my lap.  Pain, aching, it doesn't help.  I can't make it stop, go away.  God, oh God, I have to get away from him before I - before I –

"Danny, look at me," he says.  Not so gently this time.

Slowly I turn toward him.  I don't know what I'll see.  Confusion?  Revulsion?  Can he even stand to look at me now? After what he saw me do to those men - what he felt me do to him?  All the blood on my hands, the stench of it, covering me, and yet, his smell, the feeling of his skin, hot and flushed in my hands, wet, wild mouth.

Oh God, I remember his mouth.

His eyes don't leave the road until he pulls the truck over to the side and stops.  He leaves the motor running and he shifts about, laying his arm across the back of the seat, reaching toward but not quite touching.  And his eyes…

His eyes!  So dark, searching me, troubled but not - not the way I was expecting.  He's looking for something, hoping and yet barely letting himself hope.

Waiting for a sign?

"How much do you remember?" he looks away from me suddenly as he starts to speak, apparently becoming fascinated with the part of the seat his fingers are absently stroking.

I can barely breathe.  I don't know what to say, I'm not quite sure what he wants to hear.  I think I know, hope I know, but I'm not sure.  Then I see it, smell it, the small beads of sweat dotting his brow, the sharp, expectant tang of musky excitement.  He's breathing hard, licking his lips nervously, the pupils of his eyes dark and dilated as he risks another glance at me.

I can't help myself, I feel my hand reaching out, toward him, he doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't look away as I touch his forehead, catch his sweat on my fingers and then bring them to my lips.  I smell him, then slowly lick him from my fingers, taste him.  His eyes are riveted to my tongue, watching me take him in.  Savour him.  He gulps, shudders, and closes his eyes.

"Everything," I say huskily.

"Me too," he gulps again and reaches out and takes my hand.  The one I’ve been licking.

"Got a problem with that?"  I can barely get the words out, the feelings, feeling him stroking his thumb so carefully, tenderly across my palm.  I want to moan his name aloud, but hold it, hold it back.

"No," he murmurs, still stroking my hand.  "You?" he sighs just before he raises my hand to his lips.  They're so soft, so tender against my skin.

"No.  That's good, right?"  I want to touch him, kiss him, hold him, feel him once more, pressed up to me, naked this time, skin against skin, skin I can feel, taste, want to lick…

"Good for me."  His voice is low, thick, aching.  He puts my hand down on my thigh, moves his over, starts touching, stroking.  Oh God, it feels so good.  The heat, burning through me, caressing fire, so hot, so good.

"Me too," I gasp, moving restively in the seat.  So hard it's hurting, I have to get out of these clothes, I can't, can't stand it much longer.

He's not looking any more comfortable.  And every bit as hungry.  He strokes my thigh carefully, reverently once more and then looks up at me, his eyes burning with need.

"My place?"

"How fast can you get us there?"

He rams the truck in gear, his eyes locking with mine once more before he has to give his full attention over to the road.  Understanding arcs between us.   Connection, agreement, what we both want, what we both need, what we've both been missing.  The way it is, the way it's always going to be.

Mine.

on to Primal Directive

FINIS