Disclaimer: The following work of fan fiction isn't intended to infringe on any copyright or to make a profit. I don't claim the characters, setting, concept, but the story is mine. Please don't reproduce, link to, or sue without permission from the author. Warnings/Rating/Spoilers: NC-17, probably; slash, Jeremiah/Kurdy. Spoilers for Voices in the Dark. Notes: At the time of writing this, I still haven't seen the unaired (in the U.S.) episodes of season 2. This is set directly after Voices in the Dark and probably will contradict canon after that episode. Memoria by Katie Jeremiah couldn't count the number of times he and Kurdy had sat around a fire of an evening, just shooting the shit as they rested from a long day.  Sometimes there would be more later, touches and kisses, the heaviness of Kurdy's body wrapped around him, but mostly what he remembered was the talking.  Kurdy's deep voice, lazy with sleep, had become as familiar to him as his own.   If he closed his eyes now and didn't listen too long, Jeremiah could almost pretend it was another one of those nights.  He could imagine he'd never been inside Valhalla Sector, never saw the Big Death return, never went to Millhaven or back east into Daniel's territory.  Never fought with Kurdy and never had to strike out on his own. But after a few minutes, Smith's voice would chime in, and the illusion would shatter.  Kurdy's voice would come back, no space between his words and Smith's, and that wasn't the way it was before at all.  Jeremiah probably could have joined in, even though they were talking about something that had happened back at Thunder Mountain after he'd left.  It just seemed like too much effort.  He was tired, the bullet hole in his side ached fiercely, and it was just easier to sit with his eyes shut and let the sounds swirl around him.  Fire crackling, crickets chirping, the wind in the branches overhead--it was enough to make a man fall asleep. "Hey, Jeremiah." Except for all the interruptions. "What?" he asked without opening his eyes. "You falling asleep on us over there?" Kurdy asked.  "I just said, do you think Marcus will have forgiven us by the time we get to the Mountain?" Jeremiah pictured the barely hidden smirk on Marcus's face when he'd told them they were leaving for Thunder Mountain only a few hours after they'd returned to Millhaven with Karl in tow.  He wanted them where Daniel couldn't get to them, he'd said, and as long as they were so into road trips, they could just make a few detours to check in on some of his agents along the way.  It would only add a day or two to their trip, assuming they didn't get lost on the overgrown back roads. Jeremiah snorted.  "Maybe if we have a few flat tires and have to walk a hundred miles in a blizzard to get help." "Maybe we could just stay out an extra day and tell him we had a flat tire?" Smith said, his voice hopeful.  "Because I've still got that chafing . . . " Kurdy grunted.  "I really don't want to know." Hearing footsteps crackle in the leaves, Jeremiah opened his eyes.  Kurdy loomed over him, face obscured by the shadows.   "Let me take a look at those bandages." "Libby just changed them before we left."  The thought of going through that again made him wince.  Libby had probably intended to be gentle, but she hadn't been happy about him leaving again so soon. Kurdy crouched down beside him, reaching for his coat.  "And she made me swear I'd make sure they stayed clean.  Don't be difficult, man." "Fine."  Jeremiah sighed.  "Do your worst." "I'm going to go visit a tree," Smith said, standing and squinting into the dark trees around them.  "If I'm not back in a little while, feel free to yell or send up a flare or something, all right?" "Can't God tell you where we are?" Jeremiah asked with maybe a little more sarcasm than he actually needed. Smith blinked at him.  "He's busy." "That figures." Smith walked gingerly into the trees.  Looking back at Kurdy, Jeremiah was met with a glare. "What?" "No need to bust his balls all the time," Kurdy said flatly.  His hands were gentler than Libby's as he unwrapped the bandages, but Jeremiah remained tensed, ready for the pain. "I wasn't," he started to protest, then caught the look in Kurdy's eyes.  "Okay, fine, I'll cut him a break." He watched with morbid fascination as Kurdy worked the bandage down enough to see the wound.  It was ugly, still red-black and surrounded by discolored flesh.   "Looks better than it did yesterday."  Kurdy eased the bandage back in place.  "I'll help you put on a clean dressing before we leave tomorrow morning." Jeremiah sighed.  "Now I've got something to look forward to." "I could do it tonight." The thought made Jeremiah nauseous.  He shuddered.  "Patience is supposed to be a virtue." Kurdy gave him that look again.  "Not one of yours." "We're never too old to learn something new." Kurdy snorted.  "The day you learn patience is the day Hell starts giving snowmobile rides." Jeremiah thought that he'd learned a lot from sitting in a cell under a mountain listening to people scream, but Kurdy wouldn't know that.  Kurdy had never let him tell that story. "I'm tired," he said, looking away.  "I think I'll turn in." Kurdy sat back on his heels, one hand resting on Jeremiah's leg for balance.   "Something bothering you?" Jeremiah thought about saying yes.  About saying all the things that were bothering him, that had bothered him since before Elizabeth had died and especially after he found himself trapped in Valhalla Sector.  The only problem was, everything he had to say boiled down to "Why did you leave me?", and it seemed like he'd been saying that since he was twelve. "No," he said finally.  "I'm just tired." The fire popped, the sound loud in the silence of Kurdy's stare.  Jeremiah could feel Kurdy's eyes brushing over the surface of his face, as chill as the breeze.  On his leg, Kurdy's grip tightened.  Jeremiah glanced back down at him, knowing he was about to say something and knowing it would be the wrong thing.  Either he'd push or he wouldn't, and Jeremiah wasn't up to either one tonight.  As Kurdy's mouth opened, Jeremiah leaned forward and captured it with his own. Taste and feel were both as he remembered.  Kurdy's lips opened more, letting him in, and he pressed closer to seal the gap between them.  Gently, Kurdy pulled at him, hands on his waist to steady him so that there was no pain as they eased down to the ground.  The roughness of Kurdy's beard scoured Jeremiah's chin; he licked at it, tracing the line back toward Kurdy's ear.   Kurdy held him steady.  That was Kurdy's way, always mindful of his strength, a rock that Jeremiah threw himself against recklessly.  On other nights, it had been playful, teasing.  Tonight was more desperate.  Jeremiah had just wanted to stop Kurdy from saying anything, but the heat of his mouth was so familiar and it had been a long time.  Too long, he thought as he threaded his fingers into Kurdy's dreads, tugging just hard enough that Kurdy groaned into his ear. "Jeremiah," Kurdy whispered. Jeremiah kissed him again, slow but fierce, stopping the words.  Kurdy's hand slid up his back, pressing him closer, and Jeremiah could feel the growing hardness in Kurdy's pants.  Rubbing against it with his own cock, he shifted his hips, gasping against Kurdy's mouth at the burning pleasure that shot through him.  He worked his free hand between them and tugged urgently at Kurdy's zipper.  Kurdy groaned again, thrusting upward with his hips. It had never gone further than this.  Hands caressing cocks, deep kisses, fingers trailing down the hard line of a jaw.  Jeremiah had often wanted more, but not tonight.  Now, he wanted it as it used to be, Kurdy's cock swelling as Jeremiah's fingers found that spot at the base, Kurdy groaning nonsense that sounded like poetry.  He pressed his lips against Kurdy's, trying to capture the words. Kurdy came with a low cry, the sound spilling into Jeremiah's mouth.  Jeremiah closed his lips, catching it inside, and leaned down to touch a dry kiss to Kurdy's cheek.  Kurdy was breathing heavily, smiling at him with that slightly glazed look he always had after he came.  Shifting carefully, he pulled Jeremiah onto his side and rubbed his knuckles gently over the bulge in Jeremiah's pants. Jeremiah gasped, his fingers tightening on Kurdy's hair.  Kurdy leaned in for a kiss, sliding Jeremiah's zipper down.  The mix of cold air and Kurdy's warm hand sent a shiver up Jeremiah's spine, and then he shivered again and nearly cried out as Kurdy dragged a fingernail feather-light down his cock.  Fire arched up his spine and he pushed harder into Kurdy's touch. Hand closing around Jeremiah's cock, Kurdy stroked downward, the movement steady and sure.  As Jeremiah strained toward it, the sensation was enough to block out everything for the moment.  No cold, no pain, no memories.  Just Kurdy's touch, knowing the exact way to bring Jeremiah to the brink.  And when he finally fell, Kurdy's arms were strong and warm as they caught him. Sighing, Jeremiah let his head fall to rest on Kurdy's shoulder.  Kurdy rested his hand on Jeremiah's back just above the bandage.  The support was welcome; his side had started throbbing again.  He needed to do something about that, and about the come splattering both their clothes.  But it felt too good, too warm and comfortable and right, lying beside Kurdy and listening to him breathe.   Jeremiah didn't move until after Kurdy's breathing had slowed and smoothed into the rhythms of sleep.  Then, whispering around the ache in his throat, he said the only thing he could say. "I missed you." Whether Kurdy heard his words or just responded to his voice, he didn't know.  But the last thing he felt before he drifted off was Kurdy's arms tightening around him. "It would have killed You to color code them?" Smith grumbled, picking his way cautiously through the trees.  "Brown bark, green leaves, and all of it looks gray by moonlight.  How's a guy supposed to know whether it's the same one he's walked past three times or a whole new one?" God didn't answer.  God was ineffable like that.  He worked in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, and if that didn't happen to include keeping His spokesman from getting lost in the woods, then His spokesman was just going to have to suck it up.  And probably scratch a lot, because Smith was almost positive the particular tree next to which he'd answered nature's call had been covered in poison ivy.  Then he'd gotten turned around and walked a long way before he'd realized it and got back on the right track.   "And I wouldn't have minded some help there, either," Smith added, frowning upward.  He wasn't convinced that God was physically above him; if anything, His presence felt more all encompassing.  But looking upward seemed like the thing to do when talking to God, and Smith had never completely broken himself of the habit.  "Bread crumbs.  A random woodland animal to miraculously lead me back to camp.  A shooting star.  I'm not picky.  Just something--oh." Very clearly through the trees, he could see the glow of a campfire.   "Thanks." He proceeded cautiously, just in case God had found him someone else's campfire, but a familiar voice speaking as he neared the clearing put his mind at ease. "Jeremiah," Kurdy was saying. Smith frowned.  Something in Kurdy's voice sounded off.  Like he was out of breath, or-- "Oh."  Smith mouthed the word, not wanting to interrupt the scene in front of him.   The fire's glow surrounded the two men lying together on the ground.  They seemed for a moment like statues, lovingly cast works of passionate art.  Jeremiah's hand was entwined in Kurdy's dreads, his mouth slowly devouring Kurdy's.  Against the pale fabric of his shirt, Kurdy's dark hands cradled his body.  Then Kurdy arched upward, Jeremiah pushing forward at the same time, and Smith felt an electric heat burning through his own body.  He reached down and touched himself, cradling himself almost protectively as he watched and wondered. All too soon, Jeremiah curled against Kurdy's side and Kurdy slipped an arm around him, both of them moving with the slow movements of someone more than half-asleep.  Smith thought of stepping into the clearing, making as much noise as possible so that they'd have time to separate if they wanted to before he came into sight. But God spoke. "Are You sure?" Smith asked, even though it was God and the whole omnipotence thing pretty much made the question moot.  He looked back at the two men, at Jeremiah's hand cupping Kurdy's neck and Kurdy's arm wrapped around Jeremiah's back, and after a moment, he had to look away.   "You ask too much," he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse.  "It's not fair." But he knew, without having to be told, that God had weighed the fairness of it with a far more accurate scale than he could ever understand, and that the decision had been made.  With a sigh, he walked silently into the camp, collected one of the blankets from close to the fire, and spread it gently over the two sleeping men.  For a long time after, he sat by the fire, keeping watch.