Zale wandered the streets of Star City station, hands in his pockets and music turned up loud enough to drown out the sound of human traffic all around him. It was a busy moment, the time between the first half of the station's day-shift and the second half, when people were just getting off of work and hurrying home, or when other people were due at their job and hurrying to get there. Add to that the constant flux of people shopping, going to meetings, heading out for lunch, and doing what Zale was doing, just wandering without purpose, and you had the never-ending crowd of Star City. The main decks were never empty, not even during the so-called night shift. There were other places which were quiet and all but empty, no matter what time it was officially, but Zale avoided those places.

He should have been back at his apartment. Cannon was probably pacing around wondering, in whatever way dogs wonder, where his owner was. Zale had been off work for several hours now; not all shifts began and ended at the same time, just most of them, and Zale's hours changed wildly depending on the day and who else was available. He didn't work full time, though there were many days that he wished he did. Even if he wasn't exactly a model employee, no matter what it was he tried to do, if he was supposed to be doing something, he didn't have to think about anything else. If he hadn't been told not to by Cothran, the officer in charge of his case, he'd have two or even three jobs, just to fill up his time.

But no, he had one, and only enough hours at it to cover his rent, food, and occasional entertainment. Not that much was really entertaining anymore, though he had tried going to a few movies, and Cannon wasn't bad for company.

"You should make more friends," Cothran kept saying. "Someone to go out and do things with. That really would make you feel less restless."

No, it wouldn't, Zale thought absently in response to the memory, though at the time he would always just shrug and look away, not having an answer for the man. He had, in fact, made one or two attempts at talking to people. It hadn't worked very well. He didn't look anyone fully in the eyes, instead treating whoever he was supposed to be talking to with a diffuse sort of stare that made people think he was high-- Oh, what I wouldn't give for just-- No. --He never looked quite like he was paying attention; it was likely he wasn't fully paying attention, more often than not, because half his mind was always elsewhere-- Thinking about how nice it would be to-- dammit, no. He took too long to think of something to say, if it was beyond prescripted conversations and small talk.

"Hello. How are you? Quite well, thanks."

Unlike the meaningful conversation that Zale couldn't quite put together, small talk was comfortable and simple. Usually a lie, but comfortable and simple, nonetheless. That it was a lie didn't really matter, anyway. It was a safe lie, one that wouldn't make people look at him funny or avoid him even more than they already did. If he told the truth, they would do just that, because he wasn't usually "quite well". But no one wanted to hear the truth, day in and day out. Most people didn't even want to hear the truth once.

"Hello. How are you? Addicted like a moron and craving like a madman, thanks."

The crowd was thinning slightly, as the coming and going work crowd settled wherever they wanted to be. Zale paused to look into a cafe window, briefly wondering when he had eaten last. It didn't really matter, because he wasn't hungry much anymore, but he did at least try to eat a couple times a day. As much of a relief as it would probably be to just give up and die, Zale wasn't interested in starving himself to death, which is what would probably happen if he wasn't careful. He wasn't really all that interested in dying, period. After all, Ian would be devastated, and who would look after Cannon?

After a moment of careful consideration, bass beat pounding in the back of his thoughts from the current song, Zale decided it hadn't been all that long yet, so he moved on. Whenever he finally made it back to his apartment, he'd make sure to eat then. It was cheaper, anyway, and he wouldn't have to think as much to decide what to eat; there wasn't a whole lot to choose from in his cupboards.

A dragon walked by, one of the many in the station, and Zale drifted to one side of the wide thoroughfare to let it pass, not looking up. He did manage a faint smile, though, as its shadow fell over him. Maybe, just maybe, things would be changing soon. That had been his hope when he put his name down on the lists as a candidate for bonding. No one else knew yet except Cannon, who didn't seem to think it was too silly of an idea. Ian would probably be skeptical, and Cothran would probably forbid him to even try. "It's too soon for something that big," he'd say. "You can't take care of anything like a baby dragon yet; you might never be able to. You can hardly string three words together, much less make that kind of life-long commitment."

But wasn't getting hooked on Butterfly a life-long commitment, too? he would say back. One commitment to balance another. That's fair, isn't it? It would work.

Well, no. He wouldn't say that. He'd probably just shrug and look away, like he always did. Because trying to say all that, to get around the block he had with words, would be too hard. But he would think it.

Dragons are linked to you, he would also want to say, but only think. Not like a dog or a parakeet or a fish. I wouldn't be able to help but be committed to a dragon, and I wouldn't be able to resist taking care of it. And it wouldn't matter that I don't talk much anymore; it could tell exactly what I'm thinking without my having to talk. It would work out perfectly, the best friendship I could possibly have. Didn't you want me to make friends?

The music changed from something slow and seductive to something fast and pounding. He reached the end of the street and stared a moment at the lift that could take him up to the residential levels, where his tiny apartment and large dog waited for him. He knew he really should go home. Cannon would be wanting something to eat and a walk. Zale should probably eat, himself. He could lose himself in television for a while and then try to get some sleep.

Or he could take it down, instead, to the quieter streets. The streets where there were fewer people, each with their own dark purpose for being there. The places where he could get whatever it was he wanted for a few credits. He could find someone to talk to down there; someone would probably find him to talk. Someone he hadn't talked to in over a year. And he would certainly do more than just talk, if they found each other. 

No. No, I couldn't. Even if I didn't have a dog to take care of and a brother worried about me, I couldn't afford it. Not then, not now, and not anymore.

Shutting his eyes against memory and desire, he stepped inside.

Apparently he had his music turned up too loud to actually hear his own voice, and apparently he hadn't been paying attention when he told the lift where to take him, for its doors opened a moment later and didn't show him his residential street. He stared for a long moment across the barren walkways, doorways illuminated by red and green lights, and dirty wall-to-ceiling buildings. It was hauntingly familiar, and frighteningly tempting. The music went quieter, a love song now, and suddenly the craving, the need was back-- was still there, for it never really left, it was just smothered in sound. Licking dry lips, he took one step.

The lift doors closed, tired of waiting for him to leave, and the scene was cut off. With the blank metal doors staring at him, reality came back, and he sagged back against the wall, trembling faintly. "Residential six," he whispered to the lift, then slid down to sit on the cold, metal floor and buried his face in his hands.

Chapter Two

Back