The first half of this chapter suffers from the same ill of the previous one: it's similar in both novellas. If you'd like to read only the content that isn't repeated, look for the break and read from there.

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Quentin woke up long before Ian on Wednesday, content to appreciate having his husband next to him again when he'd been so sure he never would. Ian always looked beautiful when he slept like this, curled against Quentin, no stress lines on his forehead, no weight pushing his shoulders down.

And Quentin was the one who got to watch it.

If he'd had his camera... No, if he'd had his camera, he still wouldn't have captured the moment, not today. He wouldn't have risked disturbing Ian when he knew this was likely to be the first night he'd slept properly since the crash.

There were things he should be doing — searching the web for Jax, for example — and so much to tell Ian, but everything could wait a few more hours. The rest of the world would catch up to them soon enough.

When Ian woke up Quentin did nothing but kiss him for the longest of times, and then he did everything including kissing him, because he was here; they were both here, alive and together, and this was allowed.

A remark on Quentin's newfound control over his recovery time had Ian laughing, blue eyes clear and beautiful, as he'd begged for mercy.

He'd begged again in the shower, but mercy wasn't exactly what he'd been begging for.

It always made Quentin feel on top of the world, seeing Ian unable to resist his advances, reduced to a writhing mass of sensation, and knowing he'd caused it.

They had breakfast together, and even Quentin's love of protein bars only took him so far, but eating breakfast with Ian? He could have eaten the wrapper and called it a feast.

His mood was dampened by the knowledge he couldn't go out with Ian, hand in hand as they used to; that his husband had to be the one to go and get clothes for him, ones that better hid his damaged cheek. Even that damper was only the tiniest thing, easily dismissed. They'd find a way, somehow.

To get back the missing bit of his good mood, he retrieved his wedding ring from the pocket of the uniform he wasn't wearing. "Hey," He called as Ian was getting ready. "What you said last night — did you mean it?" He knew Ian had meant it, both deep down and on the surface, but he found himself needing to hear the words, regardless.

"I said too many things last night to know which one you're talking about, but yes. I meant all of it."

Quentin made his way over to Ian, ring held in his fist. "You said, 'I'd marry you again right now,' I think were your exact words."

"Of course I meant it," Ian said, and they were kissing again. How had he been this lucky, that all it had taken was for Ian to know he was AI to see him and not find him wanting? "Did you have any doubts?"

He showed him the wedding ring, relishing the expression of utter amazement on Ian's handsome features. "I saved it from the acid. I didn't think I'd get to do this, but I didn't want to leave it there. It was in my pocket when you found me." When he'd thought he was about to die, incoherent from the pain flooding his system. He was glad to have it now. "It doesn't count as getting married again, but I'd still like it if you were the one to put in on my finger." Because the more you reassure me, the more I seem to want it, he left unsaid.

"I love you," Ian replied, callused fingers curling over Quentin's. "I wish I'd been with you every step of the way."

"You are now." And nothing else mattered.

Ian took the ring, falling to a knee before bursting in peals of laughter. Quentin should summon some affront — this wasn't how his husband normally reacted when dropping to his knees in front of his naked self. "Laughter? Should I be worried that's the reaction the little guy is going to get from now on?"

And there it was, Ian blushing, hands covering his face as he sat on the floor. "That 'little guy' has me sore in places I didn't know existed before this morning. Show some mercy." Hmm. Should he? Making Ian's life less hard wasn't a priority of his in moments like this. "Will you please put on some pants," his husband insisted. "I'm trying to be romantic here."

"Fine, fine," he mocked as he went to get the proffered pants. "I knew it'd be only a matter of time before you went back to rejecting my advances. I swear, the moment marriage enters the picture, you take me for granted like this."

He supposed he deserved the pillow that hit him on the back of the head, which didn't mean there wouldn't be retribution for it later. Ian's second attempt found Quentin sitting on the bed, showing far less skin.

"Quentin Whit—" Ian's expression turned serious. "Is that the name you want me to call you? Or was that just your cover?"

Even in this, Ian always thought to care. "I chose Quentin. They gave me a name for every mission, but I didn't have one just for me. Only the model number and a unit-specific sub-reference. For this mission, the name was Ash, but I changed it. Because I liked Quentin." He smiled. "It's as if I knew meeting you would change everything."

Ian's voice was a little choked. "And Whitlock? Is that the last name you want me to use for this?"

"That one doesn't matter. Morgan is the only last name that ever made me proud." They'd been married for eight years already, but this felt like the first time in so many ways. The first time Ian took him fully knowing who he was, and that Ian could summon tears for that...

"It's always made me prouder than I ever knew how to tell you, that you wanted it." Ian kissed his knuckles. "Quentin Morgan: I wish I could get you in front of a proper judge so we could renew this the right way but, until then, this will have to do. You are the best part of me. The very best part." There, that did it. Quentin was now an official mess. "I failed you in more ways than I can count over this last week." Ian knew him too well to give him an opening to object. "I did. I failed you, and you still seem willing to let me have another chance, and I'm not selfless enough to tell you you're better off without me. Will you still be my husband?"

"I just wanted you to put that ring on my finger and now look what you've done." As if this wasn't how Quentin wanted to feel or where he wanted to be with every synthetic fibre of his being. "Yes. Yes. Of course I will. Always."

And then the ring was on his finger, familiar yet different for how it was the other hand, Ian's lips were on his, and it didn't matter, that it was just a ring on a finger, that there'd been no judge or no official witnesses, or that they'd done it before. It was as solemn a vow as they'd ever exchanged.

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Quentin walked in the web the moment Ian left, hoping to find Jax. Hoping the Misfits had escaped, no worse for wear, the trap that had claimed his arm.

Jax was nowhere to be found. He searched for Clementine, frustrated that he hadn't thought to form a connection with any of the others, but nothing stirred. It would help if Quentin could remember what he'd told Jax, what info he'd given the other BioSynth that would help the Misfits escape to safety, but he'd deleted every mention.

Not that he regretted doing it. If Quentin hadn't gotten lucky, if Connors hadn't underestimated him, and if Connors had tried to pry information out of him using the same methods he'd used to amuse himself? Quentin doubted he'd have been able to hold on.

He settled for sending a message, something that wouldn't raise too many flags if someone were to intercept it.

'Long time no talk. Would love to catch up. Let me know when you're around.'

'~Broodmaster'

He spent the next hour reviewing mission files at as high a speed as he could absorb intel. He'd need skills he'd long stopped flexing for the coming fight. He was antsy, trapped in a windowless room until Ian came back, without the freedom to go out or a camera to hold, without purpose. Another half an hour ticked by at a snail's pace. He sent a message to Clementine.

'Hope everyone's doing alright. Let me know when you get back from your holidays.'

'~Sean'

She answered him back the next minute, not bothering with subterfuge.

'Jax was captured. We need help.'

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Thank you for reading!

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Expect the next update on Monday -- see you then!

Wondering what Ian's up to since leaving the room? Tune in to SynTracker, BioSynth's companion novella (link on my profile), if you're okay with knowing more than the characters do.