She had stopped sleeping. Grief had over taken her and she couldn't subdue it enough to rest her broken spirit. She waited numbly for them to come and take her.
Through all of her misery she had managed to hold onto her loathing towards the aliens who stole her from her home, then took away her only companion on the alien ship, her salvation.
Finally, they came for her, the trio that always seemed to remove her from her cell and take her to where they painfully poked and prodded her. She knew this would be the opportune time to find a way to kill herself, or get them to kill her.
Instead of letting them retrieve her forcefully, she approached them solemnly. She knew the way and let them surround her as they walked her to, what she referred to as, the lab.
She jogged her memory to see if there was possibly something she could throw herself on in the lab. She couldn't remember. She'd have to make a quick judgment and go for it.
The ship was usually quiet. There was the occasional creature sound; some sort of yowl, growl or strange sound. This time was nothing different. Except, as they walked down the curved corridor, she thought she heard Dānoar's voice. Just know that he was alive, to physically see him would be worth everything.
They kept walking; she kept her eyes on the floor, watching her bare feet take one step after another.
Within seconds she knew the voice that she heard was his. He was yelling. He was angry; every fiber in her being vibrated with his enraged voice, it fueled her; it made her angry as well.
He was close; she lifted her head and quickly looked around. To her left she saw the series of doors that she usually passed as they took her to the lab. Most of them blended in with the rest of the wall, being the same dull gray, metallic color. In some of the others though were clear panels, similar to windows. She watched closely out of the corners her eyes.
She saw him. Her heart leapt, pounding fiercely in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. She never would have guessed it was Dānoar if she hadn't heard his voice. What she saw was a man approximately her age, with a mess of very dark hair. He looked to be Caucasian, but had a darker complection. He was wearing a garment similar to what she was, a shapeless, pale gray smock, clinical in appearance.
He was strapped in to one of their tables at a 45 degree angle with tubes and wires hooked up to him. She could only see two of the gray bastards in the room with him.
When he looked up and out the window like sections of the door she stumbled slightly as their eyes met. She inhaled sharply; they had finally seen each other.
She blatantly turned her head to look fully in the window. One of her gray escorts took her by the elbow. She winced at its touch.
"Jensen!"
Again she gasped; there was no way around it. She stopped completely and stared directly at him. He was a little scruffy looking but he was handsome.
"Dānoar." she called to him through the door.
"Jensen!" He strained against his bindings. The two aliens in the room turned their attention to the door where he was looking, at her.