Annnd back! :D This is Sam's chapter! *does a dance*

Also, in case ya'll forgot who Titus was, here's a pic of him.

He's not a very nice kitty. -_-

Enjoy! 3

Sam AlexanderPOV

Now he knew he wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping, but it was too late to stop now.

Besides, it's not like he was trying to intentionally eavesdrop, because that would be bad and disrespectful towards their Captain. It happened...accidentally. Sam had only been doing his job, after all. Dusting off the controls, keeping the floors swept and mopped, and, generally, just making sure the Captains control center was clean and orderly. No one could get mad at him for doing what he was told.

He just happened to come in at a bad time.

The message to his Captain was short anyway. All he hears is a simple transmission from a static-y voice coming in through the speaker near the transmission receiver surrounding the Captain at his helm.

"It's time."

Two words. That's all it said. Kind of ominous in a way that catches Sam's attention, but nothing that seemed particularly pressing or vital. Until he sees his Captain snarl irritably, fist clenching in a way that suggested he was with-holding from smashing the device in, and Sam deduced that, perhaps, it wasn't as innocent a message as he thought.

His Master's growl startled Sam in his little corner and he dropped the cleaning supplies that was bundled in his arms. They fell all over the floor in a loud, rancorous heap, that had his Captain's head whipping up with another snarl.

Sam cursed under his breath and rushed to his knees to pick them all back up with shaky hands, hoping - praying - that maybe the Captain hadn't really heard it. But its doubtful, and when he looks back up, hugging the supplies to his chest and stomach, the Captain is glaring at him.

"S – sorry Captain Titus," Sam apologized, heaving the supplies in his arms shakily. "I – I was just coming by to, you know, I was just um – cleaning." He finished weakly, head bowed.

Captain Titus growled again, low and under the breath, and Sam shriveled in on himself. That bright, feline eye was sharp and cutting, but the red, cyborg eye in the other socket was just as bright and belittling. For a moment, Sam was nervous that he had wandered into trouble again. But then Captain Titus waved his hand dismissively and turned back to the control board.

Still shaking, Sam shuffled the rest of the way in and settled in a corner of the room, and began scrubbing away carefully at the floor, panels, and controls, taking extra care not to knock anything. The last time he'd accidentally pushed the alarm it had not ended well for him. Wincing, he resisted the urge to rub the scar on his shoulder, knowing full and well that the Captain wouldn't tolerate weakness of any kind. At all.

Thankfully, his work was fast and uneventful. Most of the head crew working the helms mainframe and guidance systems ignored him as he swept and scrubbed around their feet, aside from an occasional kick that told him he overstayed his welcome in that area. Once he finished up the main area, polishing everything so it was slick and clean, he moved timidly to the chair Captain Titus sat in now.

Nervously, trying not to catch the Captain attention or distract him again, he crouched at the chairs side and began scrubbing away the dirt and grim gathered at the bottom. Ew, there was a splatter of blood still there from the Phalanx captain Titus killed after they apprehended its ship. He scrubbed that away with fervance.

From the chair, the Captain's voice washed over Sam like a wave of nausea, "Novae," and Sam froze, scrambling over the last few minutes to make sure he hadn't done anything wrong. When nothing particular stood out, he swallowed his nerves and answered.

"Uh, ye – yes Captain?"

"Head on down to the brig and partake in another training regiment."

Sam almost dropped the cloth he was using to scrub the grime near Captain Titus' boot. He gaped at the Captain. "You – you mean, I can-"

"Did I stutter?" Titus growled roughly and Sam stumbled back, nodding that yes he'll go train, then shaking his head cause no, you did not stutter, Captain Titus, Sir.

"And polish the helmet as soon as you're done. I don't need your human filth to linger. You're training limit starts now."

Sam jumped to his feet and had sprinted halfway across the room before he stuttered to a halt and rushed back, scrounging up the cleaning supplies in his arms, before bolting again. "Thank – thank you, Sir," he added as he went.

Outside, he wasted none of his precious training time in dumpinb the supplies back where it belonged and raced through the halls toward the Captain's private quarters. He was let in automatically and took a straight line to the hidden section in the wall.

Never, no matter how many times he saw the panel open, would he ever get used to the way the helmet gleamed at him in welcome. The lights that kissed along the helm, catching the curves of the helmet just so. His fingers curled around the helmets' sides and pulled it into his arms in a protective embrace.

It was the last Nova helmet. The one he had inherited after the Nova Corp was wiped out. In fact, he and Titus were the only remaining Nova Corp members left. This helmet was as precious to Sam as the head on his shoulders.

With his time limited and ticking away, he kept the helmet tucked tightly under his arms as he raced out of the room and back into the halls, dodging past the workers of the ship, guards, and helmsman. They saw him coming, noticed his precious cargo, and stepped out of the way, albeit begrudgingly.

Sam smiled. Good.

They would've never stepped out of the way for him otherwise.

Being the only human in the crew, a great majority of the ship's inhabitants found pleasure in poking fun at him. Not the playful kind, either. Sometimes they intentionally stepped in his way just for the pleasure of seeing him getting knocked down, run over, or - in most cases, him scrambling to get out of their way before they collided. Sometimes, when they were frustrated and he was nearby, they'd kick or hit him, other times they shoved him in small spaces just to watch him have to squirm his way back out. They made him do ridiculous tasks for them, and stole his clothes so he had to cover himself with anything he could find as he searched the ship up and down for his belongings.

But with this precious, powerful device in his arms, they didn't dare make him trip. Captain Titus would have their heads if so much as a scratch appeared on the helmet by their doing.

Sam made it down to the training room with neither a hitch nor complication. The room he used was a tad smaller than the other ones, but it had all of the same technology. It was built entirely of metal, with small fissures in the walls and floating orbs that projected hard-light opponents for him to fight. Despite its size, this training room was one of the toughest they had. Sam needed to be tough if he was going to wield the helmet for good one day.

He'll practice as long and hard as Titus tells him too, he'll never complain, he'll always do the work, no matter what it was or how hard it seemed. One day the helmet could be his, so long as he listened and did his training.

Sliding the helmet on felt like sliding an arm in his socket. It was a piece that belonged to his body just as much as his legs and arms did. The power that coursed through his limbs streaked like beams of light through him, bright and sizzling, that burnt away the hesitance and paranoia that kept him looking over his shoulder. It encompassed him, engulfed him in its beautiful light, and he's never felt so close to home.

The rest of the suit grew out around him, growing down his body like a second skin. He exhaled serenely when he became Novae, the real Novae. Basking in the feel of the power of the helmet. It felt so good, so right. Like he was meant to wield it.

But his muses snapped when the room began to buzz, whirr, and spark to life in a mixture of the systems booting up and the holographic mainframes syncing to their training exercise mandates. He shook himself to get rid of the fantasies. Captain Titus used to be a Nova Corp member too. The helmet belonged to him just as much – if not more – than Sam. He was a senior, had more experience, understood it more.

Sam was just lucky he found himself a mentor willing to train him in the ways of the Nova Corp.

The training began. Sam whizzed, trailing blue light in his wake, through the air, twisting, diving, and arching, shooting blast after blast that annihilated his programmed enemies.

Feeling the power in his hands, in his body, was like working with an old friend. He would never tire of the ardor that filled his heart with every channel of energy he shot through his hands. It was euphoric.

It was so euphoric, actually, that he almost couldn't believe it when the room began shutting down and the last attacker fizzled before his eyes. They must've passed a black hole or something, cause something must've sucked the time away.

He touched back down on the ground, not even feeling tired. Just one more round? Another lap around the room? Something.

But his time was up and it was time to go. Sighing, more forlorn this time, he trudged across the floor, kicking his feet lightly. Just before exiting, he slid the helmet off his head, and instantly, the power ceased, draining out of him through his hands and the soles of his feet. Dread and exhaustion replaced it.

He already missed it.

Opening the door, he trudged down the hall instead of running this time, and once again he was left alone. Despite his grievances, he noticed the cruel, bitter looks in his crewmates eyes. They couldn't wait till his protection was gone and he was free to their maltreatment of him.

Back in the Captains Quarters, he sat below the opened panel with a piece of cloth and polished the helmet. Cleaning it thoroughly through every nook and cranny, driving the dust from its surface till it was gleaming with splendor. Even then, he took extra time to go over it again, prolonging his time with his heritage as much as he possibly could.

But, just the same as the training exercise, he was finished all too soon. Disappointed, he got back to his feet and held the helmet up to the panel, where the sectioned wall was open and preparing to swallow the helmet whole.

He paused, hands hovering the helmet over its stand. He stared at his reflection in the golden sheen, fingers frozen where they were still curled around its sides.

He...could put it back on, if he wanted to. He could.

He should.

Why not? What was holding him back anyway?

An energy of sorts seemed to pull on his hand, tugging the helmet back toward him.

Put it back on, it urged. Do it. It's your birthright. This helmet belongs to you.

His fingers rubbed against the ancient metal, and pulled it forward, up, over his head, lowered and –

"Novae!"

Sam almost dropped the helmet. He scrambled to regain his balance, hugging the helmet to his chest, and turned, waning instantly. In his haste to put the helmet back, he hit the wall, slammed the helmet on its stand - where it now leaned crooked and nearly backward - and quickly closed the panel again.

"Cap – Captain Titus," he stuttered, clasping his fingers in front of him. "I - I just finished training. I was just polishing it. The helmet, I mean. That – that's all, I promise."

That feline eye narrowed at him and the red one was so judgy. Sam held his breath, waiting for the questions. The anger that could follow. His eyes dropped against his will, landing on those clawed hands that had broken his skin before. Lashes on his back. Scars on his arms.

Grimacing, he hunkered down, wishing he could disappear through the soles of his feet.

When nothing happened outright, Sam dared a peek back at his superior and was surprised to find nothing but mild annoyance in his feral features. After a tense moment, Titus turned, ordering "Follow me," as he walked out of the room.

Perhaps Sam's hope of getting off the hook was too premature. He followed Titus out, nearly stepping on his heels as they went.

For the third time, he was left alone. Only this time, Sam would have preferred to be tripped or kicked over a likely beating from Titus. The other members of their crew averted Titus's eyes as they walked past, trying to look low, but not low enough to show an ambiance of weakness.

Sam was led back up to the helm, where Captain Titus ushered the Co-Captain out, away from his chair in the front. There was no one else close to them, what with the ship technical crew a feasible distance behind them. For whatever reason, Captain Titus wanted a bit of privacy.

As soon as they were alone, the Captain took his chair, facing the wide open window where an expanse of stars lay at his feet. Sam waited behind him, barely in his sights, twisting his fingers aggressively and doing his best to ignore the piling punishments he, no doubt, was about to receive.

Would he be sent to the prison rig to clean up the spills and blood of torture prisoners? Was he going to clean every floor of the ship up and down? Get purposefully kicked and punched by the crew? Lose all the authorization he had to the helmet?

That last one sounded the very worst.

An apology was bubbling past Sam's throat when Captain Titus finally answered. "We're heading to Earth," he said, almost bored, without even looking at Sam. He said it with such disgust Sam could taste it on his own tongue.

Earth? Why in the galaxy were they going to Earth? That mud-ball of a planet was hardly worth the Captain's time. Not when they had so many better places to go.

"Uh...wh – why?" Sam asked, softly, quietly, in case the Captain didn't want to answer

"You are to take part in a training diagnostic there."

Which that - that surprised Sam even more. What kind of training could Sam possibly do on Earth that he couldn't do here? Why Earth of all places? And why wasn't he being punished for almost going against his Captains orders? Not that he wanted to be punished for nearly putting the helmet back on. It was all just so strange.

Sam turned stiffly, still confused. "I'll...go notify the crew then?"

"No," Captain Titus said. "It'll only be me and you on this trip. Go prepare for departure."

Now THAT just took the top of the surprising mound Sam found himself stuck in. It was daunting and, to be honest, nerve-racking. The Captain was taking him, Sam, to Earth personally. Just him. For training?

Nerves ate away at his stomach. He didn't like the sound of that. Earth was a gross little thing, infected with weird creatures, more often than not with weirder powers. He may have been born there, but that didn't mean he wanted to go back. Honestly, he'd rather scrub the ship up and down.

But he didn't dare voice any of that either. The punishment he would get if he defied his Captain's orders a second time would only end up as another scar to his collection.

"Yes- yes, Sir," he stammered, trying not to let his concern nor confusion bleed through. "I'll...I'll go get ready then." The Captain grunted back, which Sam took as his leave.

Back out in the hall, without the ironic protection of the Captain or the helmet, the crew began picking up on their regularly scheduled torments. So wrapped up in his own thoughts though, Sam hardly even noticed the jeers, hits or bumps, and numbly picked himself back up when he was pushed or tripped.

In his own bunkroom, a tiny alcove that could barely fit him, he sat on the edge of his bed with his hands clasped in his lap. For whatever reason Titus wanted to take him there, Sam had a very bad feeling about it. Whatever this training was, he didn't want to do it on Earth.

What, on Earth, could he possibly gain there anyway?

So, Sam's Nova/Novae outfit is the same as in the show because, well, his outfit comes from the helmet and it doesn't necessarily change based on his circumstances or mindset. So it's the same.

Still, here's a picture of Sam no less (that I didn't draw because I'm slacking).

Hope you guys enjoyed the chappie! :D We'll see you for the next one!

-OfficialUSMWriter out!