A/n: Random oneshot. I haven't written Skyland for ages. So figured I'd better post it. Not my best work, and frankly shameless angst but what the hell. Set, obviously, just after Marcus Farrell disappeared and all the shit hit the fan. :)

All the fight had gone out of him. That was the realisation that hit Cortes as he stood on Puerto Angel's cliffs, staring out into the gathering night. The resistance was destroyed. Marcus Farrell was gone. So many of them were gone. His friends. His brothers' and sisters' in arms. Their souls had been torn away in one night.

The survivors had retreated. Cortes had ferried many of them to safety in the Saint Nazaire. They'd come to Puerto Angel; a small, out of the way block in the Archipelagos. It was nothing like Azul. But it had not been used as a rebel base and not one had ever intended that it be. It had simply been a safe haven. There was no intention to use it as a rebel base now and many of the survivors had already started to leave. Some feared Puerto Angel too would be found. Most had simply had enough wanted to leave their pasts behind them.

Cortes intended to leave too, today, at sunset. He had not intended to leave by ship.

That had been the plan anyway. But now as he stood staring down the cliff face into the deepening darkness he knew it would not be that easy.

The wind howled, whipping loose strands of the young man's hair about his face. He was expressionless. He imagined the howls were screams of the dying and injured. The orange glow that touched the cliff edge was smouldering flame. It wasn't difficult for him to imagine. He'd witnessed the reality barely days before.

Still, Cortes could not convince himself to take the single step that would carry him off the bloc's edge and into the afterlife. Assuming there was one.

The last ray of sunlight dropped below the smog filled horizon. The young man didn't move, despite his earlier plans. As the light dimmed he drew in a quiet sob. He was angry at his indecision, and in too much emotional pain to worry about shedding tears.

"Cortes..."

The voice behind him should have startled him, especially catching him in such a moment, one he would usually try to hide. But he was trying to kill himself. All he felt for the intrusion was frustration.

"Cortes..." said the voice again cautiously, "what are you doing out here?" The Vector. Cortes didn't know the older man that well, but was well acquainted with his eccentric behaviour. They'd only been stuck together because Cortes had had to escort him from Azul in the Saint Nazaire. The selfish old man had dawdled on coming, complaining about leaving behind his research. Time spent dragging him onto the ship could've been used to rescue others. In this assessment, Cortes ignored the fact the Saint Nazaire had been full.

He almost wished he had the balls to rid himself of this nuisance in the simplest way possible - taking the step that would carry him off the bloc. But something still kept him rooted to the spot.

"What do you think?" he said softly. He heard the Vector move closer. "This isn't the way to solve this, son..."

''Then feel free to offer suggestions."

"How about you take a couple steps back and we can talk?"

Cortes harrumphed. "No, that won't work." In fact, in as much as he could not take a step forward, neither could the tortured man bring himself to take a step back. It was still too tempting an option to end the pain of too many losses in short order.

"Alright then". Cortes heard the Vector shift nervously behind him. "Then why don't you think up a reason to step back and..."

"I don't want to," Cortes snapped, not caring how childish that sounded.

"There must be something," said the Vector sounding a bit more forceful now. "I can't tell you what it is though. You have to do that yourself."

Oh that the wind would change, and just let him plummet. He was frozen, so close to the edge, that even that would release him from making the decision himself. But the breeze remained steady. "I have far more reason to step forward," he growled through gritted teeth. "I have lost everything I fought for and believed in. I've lost all of my friends, and my family...'

"Christophe may not be dead," the Vector started, obviously groping at straws.

"He betrayed us all!" Cortes snapped out. He kept his gaze firmly fixed out into the night sky, but only became at those words his eyes had filled with tears. "If you weren't so caught up in your damn research maybe you'd have noticed."

"I know what he did," the Vector said, perhaps a little coldly. "Don't think I was too caught up to notice what was going on. You extended yourselves too far but I suppose you realise that now. In all honesty, I think Christophe just saw the end looming before anyone else."

"Aren't you supposed to be talking me down not questioning my past judgement?"

"You're still there."

Cortes couldn't argue with that, though he almost wanted to finish the deed out of pure spite. But he stayed rooted to the spot so maybe the Vector was right. "You didn't see it either."

"Like you said, perhaps I was just too caught up in my research."

Cortes stared out unto the night, praying for that puff of wind that would surely dislodge him. He was suddenly tired, or at least realised this to be the case. Either way couldn't he just make a choice?

Apparently not.

"What about Cheng?"

The Vector's words caught Cortes off guard. He drew in a quick breath and then tried to hide that as he cleared his throat. "Why should he matter? Someone else can look after him. He won't remember me, won't miss me. In fact he'd probably be better off without me. I don't know why Tian left him with me..." he felt his voice crack and swallowed hind.

"He does matter. Or I'm fairly certain you wouldn't still be here. And Tian entrusted him to you. She trusted you, Cortes, at the very least. And how could you not want to protect her son? You loved her."

That brought Cortes' head snapping around. "What..."

The Vector stood only a few feet behind him. He shrugged. "Not so caught up in my research as you thought?"

Cortes could feel a stray tear running down his face. That didn't stop him staring at the Vector in astonishment. He had told no one. The Vector had worked this out himself, how, Cortes could not tell. Nor did it matter when he was about to throw himself off the cliff. He finally found his voice. "No. That doesn't matter. I'm sorry, Vector..."

"Cortes!"

He'd turned away, toward the edge. Intending to do it. But as he saw the darkness below he froze again. The Vector was right. Cheng was what held him back. He could not, would not throw his life away when he was all that child had left, even if it was only at the wishes of the boy's dying mother. He wanted to forget. Her. Everything. But he wouldn't abandon Cheng. As this realisation hit Cortes felt his shoulders start to shake. He couldn't end the pain like this. He would have to deal with it. Despite Cheng holding him back that thought was far too much to bear. How could he deal with something like this? He simply wasn't strong enough. So despite his decision, or rather the realisation, that he could not jump Cortes could still not take the step back. Instead he just stood there, hurting too much to do anything.

And then he felt the slightest pressure on his upper arms. It was barely a touch, but it spoke of safety. Both from the cliff edge, and the pain that awaited him when he finally stepped back.

The Vector barely had to try to pull the young man back. Like the puff of wind Cortes had wished to push him over, the Vector's gentle touch pulled him back.

Cortes found himself away from the edge. He was safe. He drew in a single breath that became a sob, then turned and let the Vector pull his shaking body into his arms.