"He spoke!" Dr. Burha stood up so fast that Hinath was startled in the doorway.

"What did he say?" the Lesser asked.

"'Wawta,'" Burha responded as he grabbed his equipment. "It must mean 'water.' He'd have to be wanting water, and water is what you carried in. We must get in there, though. He's passed out."

He checked the supplies as he hurried to the room. He had a salinated, electrolytic drink and a cold mister. That would do for starting treatment if it was only heat exhaustion. Heat stroke was more severe and they couldn't risk that. "Turn the temperature down by thirty degrees, Hinath."

Stepping into the room was like stepping into an oven. It was hotter than the hottest part of the summer in Rihansu. The male was still sprawled on the floor, and the bracelet he wore was beeping rapidly with his pulse. Bishtae was right about the pungent odor. It was the same as when he had found the aliens only stronger here in the overheated room.

Burha set the mister on the other side of the alien and pulled the wet sheet off of him. His arms and legs were a pink color that briefly turned white where he touched the male's skin. He was burnt. Without fur, his skin was vulnerable to burning. It looked mild at the moment but the light in the room was red from the lamps so he couldn't be sure. He decided to leave the alien under the bed where he had retreated, presumably to get away from the light. Burha flipped on the mister and adjusted its arms so that the mist fell on the alien's whole body. It had enough liquid for thirty minutes.

Burha shook the alien's shoulders and splashed some water in his face. The alien moved and groaned but did not wake. Burha tried again. He had to get him drinking.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "You must drink this. We're turning it down." Already he could feel a lessening of the heat. Not a cooling really, as it was still very hot, but a decrease in its intensity.

Hinath entered behind him. "Let's turn him over," Burha ordered, pointing Hinath to the alien's legs. Together, they flipped him onto his back. Burha slapped his face gently until his eyelids began to flutter. "Hold him up, Hinath."

Hinath ducked under the bed at the alien's head and lifted his shoulders as his eyes opened. Burha held the bottle of electrolytic drink to the alien's lips, hoping he would know how to drink from such a vessel. All they'd used up to now was a bowl. But the male seemed to comprehend that he needed the liquid and drank easily, even in his semi-conscious state.

Even with the temperature dropping, it was getting too hot for Burha. The heat was still too high. He and his kind could withstand the desert for hours but this was still hotter than that. Even with the door open, it would take twenty minutes at least for the temperature to stabilize. He couldn't stay that long. He had to work fast and then hopefully leave the male here as long as he was surviving.

The beeping was slowing, meaning his pulse was slowing. The mist was cooling his skin. His internal temperature was only slightly higher than earlier in the day. He was still sweating which meant his body was still regulating his internal temperature.

"We'll leave the bottle with him, Hinath. I think he's improving." Burha stood up to leave and Hinath laid the male down again. He must have been feeling better, too, because he pushed himself up to a reclining position against the back wall and took another drink from the bottle.

"Do we go to endurance now?" Hinath asked.

"Maybe," Burha waited until Hinath closed and locked the door. "Or maybe we'll just wait until he asks for water to give him more."

Hinath nodded. "I'll bet Kenu's going to be excited."

Burha chuckled. "Yes, now he'll have two words to work with."

"You think he survived the night?" Kahrae asked. Baezhu was wolfing down his breakfast.

"Of course," his friend answered with his mouth full. "But only because Dr. Burha is there."

"Then why are you in such a hurry?"

Baezhu sighed. "Because he's suffering in that heat, Kahrae. I could see that before I left yesterday."

Kahrae worried about his friend. He usually knew better than to become attached to research subjects. He decided it was better to change the subject. "Well, you can't go in early, even if you choke on your food. You didn't get permission. Besides, this is the only time in any day I get to see my friend, remember?"

Baezehu sighed again and set down the last of the rodent he was eating. Kahrae was right. He looked across the table at his friend and realized they had barely talked of anything other than the alien for months. And it was Baezhu talking and Kahrae politely asking questions to keep up conversation.

"I'm sorry, Kahrae," he finally said. "You're right. I get eight hours with him each day and only one with you. And I've known you far longer. We don't even have days off anymore to spend together."

"I do," Kahrae said. "But I know the alien is life-changing stuff, so I'm alright with just breakfast. Just give me breakfast, okay?"

Baezhu smiled. "Deal. So what's been going on in the world outside the lab? It seems like I've been missing a lot."

Kahrae's answer shocked him. "War."

"We're at war?" Baezhu found it hard to believe that he'd missed that.

"Not yet," his friend replied. "But it's very likely. There are protesters in the streets in Shirkatisa."

Baezhu feld sick. "Who told you?"

"Obek. I don't know how he knows, but he knows things."

Shirkatisa was a small country. There was no way it could win a fight against Zheiren. Protesting was akin to treason. The Zheiren military took a perverse delight in dealing with treason. "They'll be slaughtered," he thought out loud.

"Not until after Turn," Kahrae confirmed. Baezhu didn't want to imagine it. He liked peace way more than war, even if it was against Buftanis. Besides, his best friend was in the military and might get sent to the front and killed. That was too awful to contemplate. "How do you know all this?"

"Obek," Kahrae said. "He said we arrested the Shirkatisan ambassador. And I overheard Colonel Gaezhur saying he ought to be skinned."

It had to be true then. Turn was only a few months away. War had always seemed like a threat that stayed fairly on the horizon. The satellite states knew their places, and Buftanis knew it would do the world no good (as well as Zheiren did) to pick a fight. Nobody wins when the planet is destroyed. But Buftanis felt it had to be the protector of the world, as if it always knew what was right. Would they step in to protect Shirkatisa? Would the threat become reality?

The concern must have been present on his face because Kahrae tried to change the subject again. "Try not to think about it too much, Baezhu. Think about Turn instead. Any news on the quota?"

They sat for the rest of the hour talking about Turn and what Kahrae might do on his day off. Then Baezhu headed for the lab.

He arrived at Dr. Bishtae's office just as the the doctor did. Kenu was already there and he was practically bouncing. Something had happened.

"He spoke!" the linguist exclaimed.

Burha added happily, "And we know what it means."

Bishtae sat down with his beak hanging open. "What happened?"

"He fainted just as Hinath brought water. He left it by the door and the alien tried to get it but collapsed, but not before whispering 'Wawta'. It's their word for 'water'."

"He's alright?" Baezhu asked in alarm. He checked the notes to see how hot the room was.

"He's fine. We got him hydrated and brought the temperature down to a tolerable level. He's due for more water now and breakfast. I was thinking we could use this. Make him say 'water' to get water."

Kenu perked up. "Maybe he will identify other things if he wants them enough. He could say 'food' or 'light'."

Bishtae considered it for a moment before speaking. "Only if it doesn't jeopardize his health or our schedule. We switch to cold tolerance in a week."

Hoshi woke with the noise around her. She was still tired but she was getting used to the life here, not that she wanted to. Anyway, it was better than the lab. The lab!

Suddenly she remembered Malcolm, who was always stuck in the lab. And his was getting hotter and hotter last night. Malcolm? she thought as loud as she could. Are you alright?

"That depends," he replied. "I survived the night but not without drama. I apparently passed out, just after saying saying 'water' out loud."

That was certainly drama. It must have gotten terribly hot. What are they doing about it?

"The heat or the word?"

At least he was being playful. That was something. Both. It was nearly time to head out to the fields.

"They turned the heat down to a more tolerable level, but not so tolerable if one doesn't have water. And now they won't give it to me."

That alarmed her. They won't give you any water? How did they expect him to survive?

"They won't give me any. I have to pay for it by saying the word. This could be the start of a bad trend."

Are you going to call their bluff? They wouldn't let him die, not when he was the only human they had.

"As long as I can."

I'll try and keep you distracted. But first, I want you to tell me how or why you grew so fond of explosions.

He laughed. They must have turned the temperature down significantly. He'd had no sense of humor the night before.

"NI3."

She had to think for a moment but then her college chemistry kicked in. Nitrogen tri-iodine. What does that have to do with blowing things up?

"Chemistry class in secondary school. The teacher had a hypnotic voice that threatened to put me to sleep every day, but one day he fascinated me. He had this substance called NI3. It had the consistency of peanut butter. He put some on the counter and then stepped back and slapped it with two meter-sticks taped together to reach farther. It exploded. Not hugely, but it did. He said the stuff was so unstable that it would eventually blow itself up. Sort of fired the imagination."

They were certain now. Enesh had found the first variant in the genetic code. After that, Besta had found more and more. The blastocyst had started out fine but as the cells split and multiplied the defects manifested themselves and spread. It would be years before they could ascertain which genetic markers controlled which trait in the aliens, but it was easy to determine that the defects in this one made it inviable.

"Well, if cloning were easy," Besta said, clapping him on the shoulder, "there would be thousands of them roaming the countryside. No one has ever succeeded on the first try. We'll use two eggs next time. Maybe one will develop further than this."

Enesh tried to swallow his disappointment. Of course, it wasn't likely to succeed the first try, but he so had wanted it to. Then he would have a male to study again, and one who wouldn't have any inhibitions about talking. Of course, not growing up in its own culture, it wouldn't speak their language so they couldn't learn it, and it wouldn't posess any knowledge about the culture to answer questions, but it would still be an improvement over a mute, unintelligent female. "She should be fertile again in two weeks," he finally said.

"Well, then, we'll have to carefully thaw two of the frozen embryos. We should have plenty of time."

"The plants are getting big now," Hoshi was telling him. "There are little buds but I still don't know what they'll turn into. But the job got much worse this morning."

Oh? How so? Malcolm was glad he could think to her. He didn't have enough saliva to swallow, let alone talk with his voice.

"It's apparently bug season. There are these eight-legged beetles about one and half centimeters long. They come in the heat of the day and try to eat the buds."

They don't spray the plants with anything?

"I guess they're going organic. But really, why would they need insecticides when they have a captive, servile population who thinks it's Mardi Gras?"

Mardi Gras? Malcolm tried to picture the dinosaur-like beings decked out in garish costumes parading down Bourbon Street. It didn't work.

"We remove the bugs by hand, Malcolm. They eat them. It's like candy by the way their acting. Pippen is practically giddy."

Malcolm suppressed a smile. How do they taste?

"I wouldn't know, but they're very messy when you smash them. So now I'm gathering them up in the box I kept from lunch. They can be a late night snack for the girls."

Malcolm tried to stretch but he was still under the bed. The mister had long since stopped misting and he'd pushed it out of the way. He'd gotten tired of the wet, stinking sheet and had tucked one side of it under the thin, hard mattress so that it draped like a make-shift tent. That must have caused an uproar with the orcs and wizards wherever they were watching him from. They came in every hour or so. They would hold up a bottle of water, cold enough that little bits of ice still clung to the sides. But he hadn't said it so they hadn't given it to him.

It was early evening now. He'd held out that long. Hoshi and he had been talking the whole time since he'd answered part of her questions about explosions. He'd answered the "how" and not the "why." He wasn't ready for that yet. The companionship kept his mind off the water--or lack of it--most of the time, but he didn't know what he'd do when Hoshi finally had to sleep. Hopefully, he could sleep too, and then he'd wake up later, still thirsty, but unaware of it for the eight hours or so that he slept.

The door opened and Malcolm peaked out of the sheet to see it was Sméagol. He didn't have a water bottle. Malcolm felt relieved. He couldn't be tempted if they didn't bring water. Sméagol did have a clipboard though and some basic equipment, the equivalent of a stethoscope and blood pressure sleeve.

Sméagol's here, he told Hoshi.

"More water tempting?"

I don't see any. He let the sheet fall back and leaned back against the wall. A few moments later Sméagol lifted it and said something, probably something about checking his vitals. Malcolm made no move to help him. So Sméagol had to crawl under the bed with him. And when he did, he placed himself between Malcolm and the camera that aimed toward the foot of the bed (and thus under it).

As he reached for the pen in his pocket, Sméagol surprised him. Instead of the pen, he pulled out a small, capped vial of liquid. "Wawta," he whispered as he handed it to him. "Tafa kana!"

I think he's offering me water--free of charge.

"Could it be a trick?"

I don't know. I get a sense that Sméagol's different. Besides, what have I got to lose. If I drink this now, maybe I can hold out longer without talking to them.

"Okay, but be careful, Malcolm."

He took the vial and poured it into his mouth. If it wasn't water, it sure tasted like it. Sméagol checked his pulse, breathing, blood pressure and wrote notes on the clipboard. Then he took the empty vial and slipped it back into his pocket. He spoke again then crawled back out from under the bed. Malcolm heard the door open and close.

"He said he'll try again tomorrow, Malcolm."

Malcolm sat up straighter. How had she heard? You heard that?

"Yeah, I guess I did. It was clear, though quiet. It was in Zheiren and I don't think you speak Zheiren. How did I hear it?"

Now he knew he'd make it through the night. The little bit of water had fortified him, and he now had a new puzzle to work on with Hoshi. Maybe I can hear what you hear.

"We've had a bit of sight, too," Hoshi reminded him. "I dreamt what you saw. Tarquin could make me see things, illusions from his mind. Maybe you can do that, too."

Dr. Bishtae sighed as they prepared to leave for the day. "Is he so stubborn as to die of thirst?"

"He has said only two words in the seven months he's been here," Kenu said behind him. "I feel like I'm wasting my time. We're going to have to find ways to make him talk or I'll go crazy. I can't make anything of the symbols on their clothes unless I have something, some sounds, to go on."

"If he weren't sentient," Baezhu spoke quietly, "I'd think he's just not going to thrive in captivity. The kenara will not breed in captivity. He wouldn't when the female was here and yet they say she's fertile every twenty-eight days. The faresa even refuse to sing in captivity just as he refuses to speak."

"An interesting observation, Baezhu," Bishtae replied. "But he is sentient. He doesn't speak for a reason. What could his reason be?"

Baezhu thought that perhaps he knew but he had to be careful not to let Bishtae or Kenu or anyone know that he'd sided with the alien. It wouldn't be good for any of them. "Well, the military would think it was to hide military secrets. If he doesn't talk, we'll never learn to understand anything he is finally made to say. Or maybe his people have a rule about contaminating more privitive cultures, so he's trying to keep us from learning anything about his culture.

Kenu wrinkled his eyebrows. "Why would it be contaminating? He could help us."

"Like the Buftanisians helped the Native Karatans?" Bishtae asked, arguing--to Baezhu's surprise--Baezhu's case. "They were the technologically advanced society, and they felt they would help the Karatans advance. They killed them with disease and then guns when the Karatans didn't want to sacrifice their culture to the cause of advancement. They lived an ecologically balanced life with their environment. The Buftanisians brought pollution with their industrial revolution. Advancement can cause great destruction, especially when a culture isn't ready for it. If that is why the alien doesn't speak, I'd say he comes from a benevolent culture and we have nothing to fear. But since he doesn't talk, we can't truly know his motives. We must learn from him in more subtle ways."

At that, they passed through the last door. Above them, the sky was golden as the sun began to set and the air blew hot still on their skins. Sometimes, Baezhu wanted to tell Bishtae what he really felt about the alien. But he knew that Bishtae--outcast as he was before the aliens crashed--would never defy the system. He would not commit treason. And some would say what Baezhu had done today was treason. He had crossed that line when he gave the alien water in secret. He would not take anyone else down with him.

Hoshi Sato worked alongside Pippen quietly, following everything she did. But at mid-morning she was called away for water duty. She and Malcolm had experimented, trying to hear outside sounds through the telepathic link he somehow provided. But as she reached for the handle to turn the water on, she realized she didn't want him to hear running water.

Even though Sméagol had slipped him a little water this morning, he was still so thirsty. This would be his second day without any other water, and it was getting harder for him. When he told her stories, they inadvertently came around to drinking something.

He even told her about his time on Risa with Trip, a startling revelation about a serious loss of dignity in which he and Trip were led into a basement under false pretenses by two beautiful women who turned into alien men, stole their clothes, and left them tied up until Trip broke a bottle of pungent liquid and cut them loose. Only the last part was not the part he expanded on, though it would naturally be the climax of the story. Instead, he spent ten minutes or more telling her how each beverage they'd tried had tasted.

Hoshi had only listened peripherally as he talked about the drinks and glossed over the women they had seen or been duped by. She didn't call him on it either. She knew he couldn't help it. He was just so thirsty. She was just glad he kept talking. When that stopped, she'd be worried.

But she had listened carefully to the brief telling of waking up in his underwear with his hands tied. It was quite an admission. Lieutenant Reed, as she had known him before was very dignified, even when joking or upset. From everything he'd told her of his father--so far--he was dignified at all times. But in this instance, Malcolm and Trip had been made into fools and he didn't shy away from telling her so. It was, perhaps, the deepest thing he'd ever told her about himself.

She, in turn, had told him of the gambling ring she'd run at the Academy. Really, it was just a traveling poker game, but she'd gotten a little out of hand with the instructor who, in the end, succeeded in breaking it. She succeeded in breaking his arm and getting dishonorably discharged. At that, Malcolm had replied that he was very glad they let her back in.

Anything? she asked him. He'd been trying to hear again as she passed the water around.

"No. I can't hear anything. Maybe it won't work this way. You heard Sméagol from here. Maybe it's only one way."

Maybe, she replied. And maybe not. You have a lot going on to distract you.

"I need to be distracted."

I know, and I'm happy to help. But maybe we need to go about this differently. Let's pretend it's a real technology for communicating, like the comm system in the shuttlepod. We can visualize a console and use it to open various frequencies. One like we have now and one for external sound.

He didn't sound convinced. "Just pretend?"

Visualize, she insisted. Build the console up circuit by circuit and we'll try again when it's louder, lunchtime, maybe. Building it will make it seem more real. Try it.

Hoshi could pretty much throw one together in a few seconds, and they had a couple of hours. She really did think visualizing a communications console would help but she did have ulterior motives. She had to think.

He had started something with the Risa story. He had opened a part of himself she'd never known. Something he wouldn't tell someone who was just a friend. He wouldn't have told Trip if he hadn't been there. And then there was his "I'm very glad they let you back in." She felt like something that had been creeping up on her had just pounced and left her feeling flustered and a bit weak in the knees. She was glad for the routine physical work she could manage without conscious thought.

She remembered when he'd thought she was coming on to him, back in that first year before his birthday. He'd stammered and said it would be awkward as they worked together. Now they didn't. Did it matter now that he was a lieutenant and she was an ensign? She wanted to know. She wanted to hear more about his foolishness with Trip. She wanted to know why his family had changed, as she'd surmised they had. She wanted to know everything that made up Malcolm Reed. Everything she loved.

Sméagol did make it back with a secret, small vial of water. When he managed it again in the afternoon, Malcolm decided that Sméagol was very different from the other scientists. He was no orc. The other scientists weren't evil. He knew that. But they weren't the good guys either. They went about their studies regardless of Malcolm's feelings about them. Sméagol--Bayzhoo, as he said called himself--cared about how Malcolm felt about how he was treated.

He'd obviously broken the rules by bringing him water, or he wouldn't need to hide it. And he thus skewed the scientific results of their latest experiment. Malcolm was thirsty; there was no denying that, but those vials of water had helped him keep his tongue. At this rate, he just might pass out from dehydration and still never say another word.

"Sméagol is your Pippin, Malcolm," Hoshi said.

Yeah, but I can't talk to him.

"I might be able to help with that." They'd been working on that.

Malcolm looked at the camera on the wall. The red light wasn't on so they weren't recording. But he knew they were watching in real time. Someone else would be sure to be listening in. That's why he always comes in under the foot of the bed. He blocks the camera. And he whispers so the camera mic can't pick it up.

"It's lunchtime. Concentrate."

Concentration was a challenge, but they'd been trying this all morning without success. There was too little going on and the thirst and heat were too distracting. But now that there would be something going on, Malcolm decided that concentrating just might distract him from the thirst and heat. He closed his eyes and imagined a console in his mind. It had only two controls on it but there were spaces for more to be installed. The controls were labeled Audio I and Audio II. Audio I worked just fine. They'd been using that for months. It was set on Active right now. When one of them went to sleep, it was set on Passive, so that Hoshi could call out to get his attention.

Audio II was experimental. Its settings were On and Off. This would allow, if it worked, a pure audio channel, real sounds instead of thoughts to pass between them. He toggled it on and listened intently.

There was very little sound in his room, which helped. He tuned out what was there, mainly the bracelet beeping out his pulse. But there was nothing beyond it. He was so thirsty. No concentrate! he told himself. Focus on Hoshi.

"Anything?" she asked suddenly.

No, he replied. Wait! There was something just behind her voice. A bustle more than anything. He mentally added a knob by Audio II and turned up the gain. He heard voices, a murmur of hundreds of voices punctuated now and then by louder shouts. Someone's shouting, he told Hoshi.

"The guards or overseers or whatever you want to call them. The girls can get rowdy at feeding time."

Malcolm turned the gain up more. He listened above the din of voices and heard birds squawking. You have birds!

"They're a bit more like bats, really. No feathers. They look a bit furry and they have leathery wings."

What else do you hear?

"The breeze moving the grass and cracking the trees. The bugs coming toward the fields. . . ."

You're incredible. Full open, Hoshi. I want to hear it all.

Everything suddenly got louder, but as he listened closely, he could pick them out: the voices of the females, the shouts of the overseers, the squawk of the bat-birds, the soft sigh of a breeze with a rustle of the grass and the occasional pop of a twig. Then there was a low undulating hum. The bugs.

"So visualizing a control board helped?"

That was muffled. He turned down Audio II. What was that?

"Visualizing helped?"

Yes, very much so. I had to turn down Audio II just to make out what you said. Is this even real? It seems so unbelievable but I couldn't imagine these sounds or all you've told me. It was astounding, almost like he could live two lives. One was the terrible one in which his physical body sat dehydrating in the hot room of the laboratory. The other was a wondrous one in his mind where he talked with a beautiful, smart, caring woman and now even heard through her superior ears.

"Real or not, it's happening and I wouldn't trade it for anything, except leaving this planet. Though I think I'd like to keep it even then."

Had she really just said that? She'd want to keep talking with him telepathically even if they were rescued? He would want to keep it, too, he realized, but he didn't want to assume anything on her account. Me, too, he told her. It's the best thing that's happened to me since we crashed. Or maybe even before.

"Malcolm?" She sounded hesitant. "You're all I've got and I wouldn't want anyone else, not that I'm glad they're doing what they're doing to you--"

He interrupted her. You never need that disclaimer again, Hoshi. Don't worry. It goes without saying that we wouldn't wish this on anyone, let alone each other.

"Good, well, what I mean is that I want to know you, Malcolm. I want to really know you. I've learned so many things but I still think you're hiding from me. You don't have to pretend anything. I got the clues when trying to find your favorite food for your birthday our first year out. Your parents, your sister, your aunts, your friend from the academy, none of them knew. You hide so much from all of us. I gotta think there's a reason. A hurt that never healed. And I know your parents never send you any letters so I have to think it's there."

Malcolm wasn't sure what to think. She was right, of course. He had been trying to find only nice stories from his past. A hurt that hadn't healed. Dead on. One that was still so raw that he seldom mentioned it to anyone. Ever. But of course, he'd always kept everyone at a distance so it wasn't hard. He had been doing better with Enterprise, getting closer to members of the crew, like Trip. But it was an ingrained part of him for nearly twenty years. Changing was slow and if he was honest with himself, he was ashamed and fearful of others' reactions if they should see those parts of him that weren't so nice. The hurt little boy who never healed.

But Hoshi was different now. He didn't care about fraternizing anymore. It didn't matter that he was her superior officer. She was, as she had put it, all he had and he loved her. At least, he thought he did and it sounded like she might be feeling the same way about him. They could be like this they're whole lives, together only in their minds. Could he really hide it all from her, and did he really want to?

He really had always wanted to tell someone what had happened and what had happened since that changed everything about his life. As a child, he had wanted to tell his mother and have her comfort him. He had wanted to tell his father and have him get justice for it.

Someone nearly killed me, he told her even before he had decided to do so. It changed my whole life and I don't know how to fix it, how to change back to who I would have been.

"Oh Malcolm," she said, so softly and sweetly that he could imagine her touching his cheek. "You don't have to be someone else. I love you for who you are. Just let me know who you are."

Malcolm closed his eyes and thought his heart would explode in his chest. She said she loved him!

"I'm very glad," she continued, "that you have those happy memories and I hope there are more. With those clues I could have put together an abusive, horrible childhood. I'd have loved you anyway. But it's not as bad as that. You have nothing to fear from me. I still love you."

She deserved a response, though it was incredible to him that she'd said that again without one. I love you, Hoshi. I think I do anyway. I've never felt this before, so it's hard to be sure.

"We've got a lot of time to figure it out," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Lunch is over. You don't have to let it all out right now. We've got time for that, too."

I'll try, he said, honestly. Whether he'd succeed was still in question. He tried to keep those parts of himself fully locked up. But she was opening places in him he didn't know he had. Here in this hell they'd both crashed into, he felt the happiest he'd ever felt.