Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- Robert Frost


"Hey."

Muted beeps. Cold, dry air. The tightness of tape on the skin of his arms, the burn of needles jammed in every vein.

He breathed - a deep, pained exhale through his nose. His right eye cracked open at the familiar voice; the reconstructed lid still a raw pink. He winced, his hips moving. One knee was drawn to the side, his foot kicked out in discomfort and his left hand balled up in the stiff, sterile sheets. His jaw clenched and then relaxed as best it could with the wires holding it shut. He swallowed, and his throat was on fire.

He was lucky though, right?

After all, he was alive.

Is alive.

... was alive.

Chris fought through his own tears. "Hey kid," he tried again, his voice cracking. "So... they say you're gonna be okay."

He dragged in another ragged breath, his nostrils flaring, and then he closed his eye again, sore brow furrowing. Great swaths of flesh down his right flank were still flayed open. Wet gauze laid over the parts of his body that had been grafted. Chris took in all of it - the lacerations and the gouges where the surgeon's vulture scalpels had carved out the havoc the virus had wreaked on him, the arm that was slowly rebuilding itself through stem cell therapy, the agonized writhing...

Chris looked up at the wretched hard fluorescents. He felt for Piers' good hand and held it. "You'll be alright, kid."


He came every day to see him.

He was the only person who came to see Piers.

The knock startled him. He craned his neck, his head tilted at a strange angle, the skin on his throat still new and stiff. He held his place in the book on his lap - New Hampshire.

"What's that?" Chris asked. He took up nearly the entire doorway, backlit by the ugly white light of the hospital hallway. It was a picture out of a comic book - the triumphant, invincible hero visiting his poor, mortal sidekick. Piers looked up, and then away shamefully, trying to turn his face to the into shadows of his room.

"Captain," he said. The reverence was still there, hiding in his weak voice.

He listened to Chris's footsteps, growing closer, until he felt Chris lifting the book from his hand. He studied the cover and frowned, dogearred the page Piers had been on, and then began leafing through the poetry collection.

Piers watched him read, slowly slipping his mangled arm under the thin blanket. He tried desperately to hide all that was wrong with him. He couldn't bear the thought... Chris seeing him... like a monster. It made him nauseous.

"You got a favorite?" He asked.

Piers glanced at him, his gaze meeting Chris's and then averting shyly. "Yeah."

Chris pursed his lips, has eyes skimming over one page, flipping to the next. He waited a beat. "Which one?"

Piers arched his back to ease the pain that had settled low on his spine. He gently took the book back from Chris. He searched the index and found it, pointed to it. Chris nodded as he read the title.

"Fire and Ice, huh?"

Piers stared at his lips, the way they mouthed the words. Chris read slowly, haltingly. He came to final line and hesitated on the last word, the beginnings of it forming on his tongue, pressed to the back of his teeth. He didn't know the word. Piers saw all of it.

"Suffice," he said. Chris looked up then. Their eyes met. "That word - it's suffice."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. He cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "Which uh... which one do you agree with?"

"I dunno. Maybe... both?" Chris listened. "You know... I've been through both. I think, for me, it's a really personal notion, right? Like maybe it isn't about the end of the world... but about your own death. Spiritually, emotionally, physically, I guess. And that part about perishing twice... You know, we all die a few times in our lives, don't we? It's just a matter of how we come back from it." He watched Chris's expression for recognition, for response.

Chris narrowed his eyes. He didn't reply.

Piers looked away again, feeling hot blood rushing to his ears, knowing well they were pink with embarrassment. That always happened. He cursed himself. Why would he say all of that... to Chris Redfield, no less? His goddamn captain. What the hell had he even said? How could he be so... stupid?

"How are you gonna come back?" Chris asked softly.

Piers held his breath and begged his thundering heart to stop it's horrible pounding. Eventually, he just shrugged. He had no answers for his captain.

Chris clasped his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. He hung his head. "It's not the end for you."

Piers snorted. "Right..."

"It's not. Really. There's other callings out there. There's other causes that need you," he said.

"They fired me."

Chris sat back, his mouth opening and then closing as he tried to think of what to say. "Oh... they didn't fire you, Piers, they -"

"They gave me a fucking medal and a flag... And they told me I was discharged..." He looked up, grimacing. It ached so much, especially as he said it aloud to this man... this savior.

"Piers, it was honorable. You were... you were maimed in the line of duty... They didn't... They'll take care of you," he whispered.

Piers shook his head sadly.

"They will," Chris argued. "You're a hero." He smiled, even laughed a bit at the end. His hand was warm on Piers's shoulder. He rubbed - almost tenderly, and his callused fingers strayed up to the nape of his neck. He shook him playfully then, until Piers had no choice but to look at him. Chris smiled again. "You're a hero, kid. A fuckin' Purple Heart-wearing, card-carrying, honorably-discharged, ass-kicking hero."

Piers looked away, blinking back bitter tears of disappointment.

But Chris's hand remained there, on the back of his neck, one of his fingers in his hair. It burned. It kept his heart racing. It... was wrong.

It was right.

And suddenly, it was gone. Piers inhaled sharply at the loss.

"They're letting you outta here soon, right?" Chris leaned back in the plastic chair, two legs off the ground.

"Yeah. A few days." He closed the book and held it with his good hand, the other hidden again beneath the covers. Out of sight, where it belonged.

"Gonna stay with family or... girlfriend or something?"

Piers sighed. "Nah."

"Why not?"

"I'm not... I'm not close with my parents." Piers paused. "And my ex-wife doesn't want shit to do with me."

Chris pretended to adjust the sleeve of his own t-shirt. "Fine by you, right?"

Piers almost cracked a smile. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I'm heading out soon."

Piers nodded, staring at the cover of New Hampshire. He traced the letters of Robert Frost's embossed name with his fingers. "It's late. You oughta head home now. Before it gets dark." He immediately cringed. How lame. Before it gets dark. Like the captain was a school girl.

He hoped that the reason for all this verbal stumbling was the pain meds. It was humiliating.

"I don't mean tonight. I mean... I'm leaving. Bought some property a while ago. West Virginia," Chris said.

Piers frowned. He tried - he really had tried to stop the expression before it surfaced. But it was so overpowering... "Oh," was all he could manage.

Chris picked at the hem of the bed sheet then. "Yeah. Fixer-upper. Needs a fuckin' ton of work. Gonna be rough for a while." He looked up and then off. He was lost, imagining something. He made a big gesture with his hand. "So much land though... acres and acres up there in the mountains. Hills and trees and grass. Looks like the sun sets right there... Right in the front yard. Prettiest thing I've ever seen..."

Piers went there with him, to that piece of heaven on earth. Chris was a lot of things, but an exaggerator wasn't one of them. And if he said it was the most beautiful place in the world... it had to be the most beautiful place in world.

"Can't wait to get started, ya know? Get my hands dirty."

Piers tried to smile, his eyes downcast, his fingers still playing with the book - pinching the edge, slipping under the library's plastic jacket.

"I could use some help," Chris said quietly. "If you don't have anything goin' on. I mean... I'm sure you got plans for when you get out."

And as quickly as it had been stalled, Piers's heart swelled, almost to bursting. He didn't... couldn't speak. He just stared up as Chris stood to leave.

He stood silhouetted in the doorway again - the consummate hero.

"Think about it, kid." He looked back as left. "See you tomorrow."

Piers listened to the nurses chatting animatedly at the desk in the hall. He listened to his roommate snoring in the bed that was separated from his by a curtain with a flower print.

He listened to his heart for the first time in his life.