A/N: Read "His Sacrifice" by Jistone or this story won't make sense.

There was this girl who was kind of a big part of Logan's life at one time. How she's doing?

In looking into the matter, I discovered that the U.S. Marine Corps does not have medics; rather, Navy corpsmen provide first aid in the field. I thought about fixing the references to "Marine medic" in this story, but there are references to it in the other two stories so I've let them stand. I suppose you could say that the three stories take place in an alternate universe where there are Marine medics — and BTR, for that matter.

"The Hole in My Heart" is a related sequel to "His Sacrifice"; it sheds light on Kendall. However, you don't have to read it to understand this story (or vice-versa). It's arguably improper to be making multiple (unauthorized) sequels to somebody else's story, but "His Sacrifice" made a very big impression on me. I only hope Jistone doesn't mind too much.

Rated T for language.

DISCLAIMER: Last I checked, I had no ownership interest in Big Time Rush, either the band or the TV series. If I'm wrong, somebody tell me.


It all seemed to be breaking her way: she was getting auditions, booking small parts here and there, and by virtue of her drive and talent she had convinced her father to withdraw his threat to spirit her away at the first sign her career had hit the doldrums. And in between all her hard work, she was able to spend quite a bit of time in Logan's company. Even after they had formally broken up as a couple, neither of them ever quite cut the ties that linked them.

This idyllic time lasted almost four years, coinciding with Big Time Rush's existence. When the boys, now young men, announced they were going their separate ways, she dared to hope that perhaps Logan might be induced to stay in southern California. There were worse places to attend college and medical school than UCLA, she said over dinner one night.

That was the cue for him to drop his bombshell.

"Camille, I — I can't. I'm not going to college. Not yet, anyway."

She stared at him as if he had sprouted horns. "Not going to college? You? Nothing's more important to you!" Then, his squirming, stuttering discomfort rendering him mute, she continued. "Unless you're going to travel? Is that it?"

Even as she brightened at the thought, it occurred to her that he had had plenty of opportunities to see the world while performing with BTR. In fact, the grueling pace of touring had led to the grousing among the longtime friends that had been her first hint the band was not long for the world.

Even if she had not realized her mistake, Logan's face would have told her she was way off. He stared down at the table, beyond the point of nervous stuttering; in such acute distress, in fact, as she had never seen him.

"Oh my God, Logan, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Her heartbeat sped up and she felt her stomach drop as the thought occurred to her that he might be seriously, perhaps even terminally, ill. She could imagine no other reason he would be so unwilling to speak his mind to her. The two had shared much in the course of their relationship and were not in the habit of keeping secrets from each other.

He looked up, his face still wearing the same pained, anxious expression. "No. No, I'm not sick." He sighed deeply, as if trying to draw strength from the air. Then in a low voice, looking straight into her eyes, he said, "I'm going to join the Marines, to be a medic."

Now it was Camille who couldn't speak and Logan who took advantage of that fact. "I didn't know how to tell you, because I knew you'd worry and you'd try to talk me out of it. I guess I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you at all, that I could just enjoy the rest of my time here without this hanging over us. I ..." His voice faltered as her expression changed from bewilderment to verging on a flood of tears. He quickly seized her hands in his own, his expression mirroring hers as if he finally realized how much pain he was causing her.

They remained like that for a full minute before Camille sniffed, pulled her hands away and said in a shaky voice, "Can we ... can we go somewhere more private?"

They drove from the restaurant to the beach to watch the waves in the dim moonlight. To watch, and to speak. Like the waves, their conversation was choppy, sometimes violent; receding and returning, covering the same ground again and again, yet never precisely in the same way; monotonous, yet mesmerizing.

"The military? Why?"

"I — I just have to. It's the right place for me. I can help there."

"You can help here. There are a lot more people in need right here!"

"Yeah — but it's not where I belong. I can't explain it — I just know being a medic is right. This isn't something I decided over dinner. I've been thinking about it for a while. It's — I dunno, it's like a calling. You know how some guys know they should be a priest? That's what it's like for me."

"Then why can't you become a priest?"

And so it went, bitter yet tender: she, her deep love darkened by the unavoidable specter of the harm she could envision befalling him, reaching new heights of manic fury; he, quailing under her assault, nevertheless stubbornly holding his ground. She had never known him to be so determined about anything. She began to dread she wouldn't be able to change his mind, for the first time ever.

After what seemed like hours, Logan abruptly slammed his fists on the steering wheel. The uncharacteristic physical violence shocked her into silence. The look in his eyes transfixed her as he spoke. "Obviously I can't make you understand. I get everything you've said — and I know how much you care. But damn it, you don't get how important this is to me." He started the car and began defrosting the windows: they had fogged up with their talking (and shouting). "We're getting nowhere, and I'm exhausted. That's it. I'm done arguing."

"What? You can't just stop arguing! We are so not done with this, Logan Mitchell!"

His only reply was to roll down the door windows to wipe off the mist.

"Talk to me!"

He stared out his open window, avoiding her gaze.

She kept waiting for him to say something, anything. When he put the car in gear and started driving, she maintained her stony, angry expression, but inside she was conflicted. Still furious that he had unilaterally ended their argument — and that she had let him get away with it — she also found herself gnawed by fear: fear that she had pushed him too far, fear that this truly was their final breakup, and fear for him, for his safety and even his life.

She spent the entire ride back to her apartment — she had moved out of the Palm Woods only a month before — wrestling with her divergent emotions. She wasn't any closer to resolving them by the time the car pulled up to her building.

Usually Logan parked and escorted her upstairs. Tonight, though, he idled before the front door, making no move to leave the car. The message was clear — and abruptly, so were her feelings.

"Fine. We're done." Her voice was as cold as ice. "Go, join the Marines. Follow your 'calling,'" she sneered. "You might as well join the priesthood while you're at it, because you will never find a woman as willing to put up with you as I was. Nobody else is that stupid." She got out of the car, but before slamming the door shut leaned in to say, "And if you die in some godforsaken desert while you're playing soldier, I swear, I will not mourn for you."

She stormed into her building without looking back at the car as it pulled away.


A/N: This was setup. There will be payoff. But you knew that, because you've already read "His Sacrifice," yes?