Summary: A dark little oneshot about poor Markie while he was captured in between "Breaking Point" and "Ultimate Race." A little graphic, so those with exceptionally weak constitutions are advised to stay away. Everyone else, please enjoy, and feel free to review, as always!

Disclaimer: It was true in all my other fics, and it still is. I own nothing!

Author's Note: So much for not hearing anything from me in a while ) Well, I finally saw "Ultimate Race" and LOVED it!!! It was so great, definitely worth the wait, but I noticed that they were a little vague as far as what happened to Markie in between the movies. But clearly, he's had a pretty rough time: he's lost a lot of weight, he's all pale and bruised, and his voice his even harsher and raspier than usual, almost as if he's worn it out screaming or something like that. Oh, my poor baby Kurt's baby brother! So, yeah, anyway, this is a bit darker than most of my other fics. Okay, a lot darker, but what can I say? I was inspired! Hope you like it, and feel free to review!

Remember

"They wanted to know things, Kurt. I don't know if I talked, I can't remember…"

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Remember. You can't remember if you talked. You can barely remember the questions.

All you really remember, all you really know, is the pain. A tide of anguish that never ebbs, drowning every joint, every muscle, in a dull, throbbing ache as you hang.

But not your arm. That you remember well. You can still feel it, even though you know the arm is gone. The sharp, searing pain as surgically precise instruments slice through skin, and flesh, and bone.

You can't remember if you talked, but you still hear the crack of a breaking bone, still feel the heat of the blood, and wonder distantly how they cleaned it all up. You can still see, but never feel, the needle in your other arm, dripping into your veins like venom the potion of drugs which keeps you conscious, when all you really want is to embrace the night and never feel again.

You can't remember if you talked, but you do remember screaming, screaming, screaming. But you've been without water for days, kept alive only by IV's, and soon you can scream no more. Your voice has given out, and it now sounds strange, even to yourself.

The new arm is strong, but it is hard and cold, just like you used to be. Before the screaming.

You can't remember if you talked, but you remember something else, something now only a hazy mist in the corner of your failing mind. You remember hope. Hope that your teammates will find a way to come for you. But they never do.

And then you remember more, from even before you were hanging here. You remember the feelings you last had for them, and they for you. Feelings of jealousy, anger, resentment.

They were the only friends you had left in the world, and you threw it all away without a care. The pain in your body is echoed by an even greater ache in your heart, and somehow, your head seems to hang a little lower. They won't come for you. They have no reason to.

You can't remember if you talked, but you can't stop remembering your brother. You close your eyes and groan deep down inside. You don't really hate him. You never did. But you held on to the hurt, refusing to let it go.

You would have forgiven him eventually, after you had let his guilt torment him long enough. Deep down you've always loved him – he's your brother. But now it's too late, and he'll never know.

He probably doesn't even miss you. All you've ever done is give him grief and strive to make his life as miserable as your own. A lone tear fall from your lifeless eyes, and you wonder – does he even care at all?

Darkness comes for you once again, but just as you succumb, you imagine you can hear his voice, full of love and worry, calling out your name.

You can't remember if you talked, but somewhere in the desert, far away, a ruthless leader and her army receive a long-awaited message from home: a new realm is open, and the humans have entered, leaving their headquarters unprotected. The end of all is finally in sight. It is time.