The Strongest Among Us
He did not think of himself as strong. Inside he felt as insubstantial as air. So fragile that the slightest breeze could blow him away. The wind of fear. The zephyr of grief. Any one of them could destroy him.
The people he worked with saw him as indestructible—irresistible force and immoveable object rolled into one. They didn't know how hard he fought to keep that face to the world...
Because it was his job, his reason for living—to take care of them, to keep them safe from harm. And failing that, to always bring them home alive.
No matter the cost to himself.
He had almost failed this time, dragging them back battered, bleeding and broken.
After surgeries, casts, bandages, scans, stitches... they lay in their beds, looking more dead than alive.
He never left them until they were out of danger. When the doctor finally pronounced them all to be on the mend, he vanished from the infirmary.
He fled from the base, fled toward the place that renewed him and gave him the courage to go on. Many hours later, he sat in solitude at the end of a dock on a small lake, breathing the silence, drawing strength from this land that anchored him.
A few hours—that was all he needed.