Iverson hated hospital waiting rooms.

The hard chairs, the impersonal clean smell of the place, the other patients trying their hardest not to stare at his bandages, and the starch white walls that hurt his eyes (or rather eye. He'd have to get used to calling it that).

But more than anything he hated the waiting.

Sitting in some dingy room for hours with only the ticking of the clock nearby and his own thoughts for company. And just waiting.

It was enough to drive a man insane.

He would have almost have said he'd have preferred to be interrogated by his commanding officers again. Almost.

Some would have said using the word interrogation to describe what had occurred between him and his commanding officers to be a bit of an exaggeration.

Iverson knew it wasn't.

They had wasted no time in vetting his pre-flight condition His health records, any previous drug issues, even his blood-alcohol level. Every tidbit of his history had been gone through with a fine comb with no result.

When they had finished with him they moved on to his co-pilot. The questions had been relentless.

Had he shown any signs of drug use or intoxication before the flight? Did he have a history of recreational drug use? Had he ever gone through any kind of therapy or medical treatment involving any hard narcotics?

Iverson was forced admit that, yes, his friend did drink recreationally but no more than any other soldier. He had tried to make it perfectly clear that his friend had never once in his life driven a car let alone fly a plane while drunk. It wasn't even a matter of personal responsibility.

"It'd completely ruin the feel of the plane." He'd said. "Ain't no drug worth givin up that."

Never once had Iverson ever doubted his friends sentiment. Especially when it came to flying.

Austin Kogane was arguably the greatest fighter pilot in the modern age. There were those who claimed that giving him such a title was a gross exaggeration of the man's abilities. Incidentally every one of those naysayers weren't pilots.

If there was anyone who took flying seriously it was Austin. Flying was the man's whole life. He'd never risk losing it by flying a plane drunk. Let alone a test flight.

This, combined with Austin's role as Iverson's wingman, had given him a sense of unwavering respect for the man.

As a result the incessant questioning into the intimate affairs of his most trusted friend ignited a fire of indignation in Iverson's heart. He'd be the first to admit that Austin wasn't exactly the image of the perfect soldier, but it was getting to the point that his superiors were starting to make suggestions. They would ask leading questions about Austin's financial status, whether had had any intimate foreign friends, etc.

Suggesting his friend was a dunkard was one thing. Borderline accusing him of being a traitor to his country was another.

The worst of it was not knowing where Austin stood against the accusations. His medical check up had been taken to the higher ups before Iverson had gotten a chance to see it. This left him sitting in the hellscape of a waiting room, with no critical information, until he was allowed to visit Austin.

And it was driving him NUTS.

Iverson's own condition was more or less stable. No internal damage or anything. Nothing a few months of leave couldn't heal. It was his eye that was the issue. They couldn't save his eye.

Iverson sighed.

That would be the end of his career in the air force. Ten years of commitment down the drain. Course it would have stopped at ten years and the rest of his life if Austin hadn't dragged him from the wreckage before passing out.

Had to look on the bright side. At least he wasn't dead.

"Mr. Iverson?" A nurse drew the ragged man's attention. "Mr. Kogane will see you now."

Standing, Iverson followed after the nurse. Doing everything in his power to NOT show how anxious he felt.

The fact was that he'd been released from the hospital first despite losing an eye. While Austin, spry healthy energetic Austin likes-to-exaggerate-his-accent-to-piss-people-off Kogane, had been in for twice as long.

It made Iverson uneasy.

The way the nurse opened the door for him and glanced inside as he entered only made Iverson MORE uneasy. Just the look in her eyes told him something was wrong. Once the door was closed he braced himself and looked at the bed.

Austin looked like shit. But not in the way that Iverson's bandaged head and sour expression made him look like shit. It was his eyes. He'd never seen another living person's eyes look so dead before.

Even the smile Austin gave him seemed uncharacteristically lifeless.

"Ya made it. That's a relief." With a grunt, he sat up in the hospital bed. "I was afraid I'd killed ya."

"LIke you even could." Iverson dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down, giving his friend's physical state a once over.

Physically speaking, Austin looked alright.

There was still the signs of him having been busted up. Bandages in odd places, his arm in a sling, the wrap around his head. But beyond that, there was nothing of particular note.

On any other occasion the sight of his friend, all in one piece, would have given Iverson some relief. The issue was Austin's eyes. Those glossed over dead ass eyes that just looked so… lost.

"The commander came to speak to me."

Iverson stiffened and eyed his friend for any twinge, any blinking back of tears.

"He, uh, he told me...a-about your eye."

"Oh."

As much as he respected his commanding officer, Iverson wished the man could have had some damn tact. He'd been hoping to break that particular bit of news to Austin himself.

"I'm so sorry Iverson."

Last name. Austin never used his last name.

"Don't say that." he warned desperately. "Don't you dare say that. You didn't do it on purpose."

Austin snorted, "Of course I didn't. Doesn't make it not my fault." The haggard pilot pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're entire career is down the toilet and it's my fault."

"It isn't your fault." Iverson stressed the words. "It was an accident. Something went wrong. It was a test flight. There must have been a flaw in the design. Either with the readings, the engine, the god damn wings-"

"It wasn't the plane Iverson."

"Of course it was!" he slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. "There's nothing else! Neither of us were drunk or on drugs. Neither of us had any reason to see the test flight fail. And BOTH of us know your the best damn pilot to ever come out of flight school in the last fifty years."

"You boost me up too much."

"Damn straight. But it's true."

"And yet," Austin leaned back and closed his eyes in defeat. "It was my fault."

Iverson sighed. "If this is about my eye-"

"It's not. It's about me." He smiled ruefully. "I passed out in the cockpit Iverson. It came on suddenly and I just… I was out. I only woke up after the crash."

"So it was the oxygen?" he asked somewhat relieved.

"No, it was me." Austin looked away from him. "Look, I-I ain't got the kind of vocabulary to tell ya what the doctors told me. But something happened with my heart. Interrupted the blood flow to my head or somethin. And I passed out."

Iverson sat stone cold. "A-Are you telling me you had a heart attack?"

Austin knitted his brow. "I… guess. Apparently my heart literally stopped for a few seconds."

"But you-... I-I don't-"

"They have some kinda overly long complicated name for it that I can't pronounce. But to sum it up, I've developed some kinda heart defect. They dunno how it happened, but it happened."

Leaning back in his chair, Iverson let out a long steady breath and let this information soak in.

"The commander's already given me a leave of absence. But… the doctors say the condition is chronic. There ain't a cure. I'm… I'm probably gonna have to be discharged. From the air force. The military. Permanently."

This was a travesty. No one knew that better than Iverson. To lost two high class pilots in a single day… It would be difficult for their squadron to recover from that. If they even could.

"Still," Iverson wet his dry lips. "That's… That's hardly your fault. You had no way of knowing you weren't in peak physical condition. If you had you would have called it all off."

Austin didn't reply. Instead he occupied his time by biting his lower lip and staring intently at the foot of the bed.

An act that only set Iversons mind on edge

"You would have called it off… right?"

Things were slowly beginning to click together.

"You didn't know about your health issues… Right?!"

The ace pilot opened and closed his mouth shakily before finally bleating out, "I'm sorry."

Austin watched as Iverson's fingers gripped the arms of the chair. He averted his eyes again, not willing to look at his friends face.

"I-I didn't… I never thought it was anything serious. J-just phantom pains in my chest. I thought it was a chest cold."

He hazarded another glance at his friend in the chair. Iverson's body was rigid, and he could see the vein pulsing on his neck.

"You didn't… report that to the med bay?"

"I didn't think it'd matter. I thought it was just a minor chest cold. Please Iverson. Ya gotta believe me when I say that's all I thought it was."

"But your medical check up…"

"I had it done before the symptoms developed. I-I knew that if I said something they'd take me off the test flight, and put someone else on. I-It was my chance to fly something no one else had flown before, I couldn't pass it up!"

"So you lied?!"

"I didn't lie I just-"

"It amounts to the same god damn thing Austin!" Iverson's voice echoed through the room as he stood up with such violence that his chair knocked back over on to the floor. "You crashed a million dollar military grade test plane! You cost both of us our fucking careers! And you're trying to tell me you caused all of that because you wanted to be the first kid in the candy store?!"

"All I can say is that I'm sorry! If I'd known it'd turn out this way, I'd never have-"

"But you did. And it has." Iverson's tone was cold as he turned away from the bed.

"I- Mitch, please." He pleaded, hoping the use of his friends first name might quiet his anger somewhat. "I-I dunno how I'll make it up to ya, but I will. I'll do everything I can to-"

"You've done enough."

Austin watched as Iverson marched across the room to the door.

"Mitch, hold on!"

"Iverson." The icy correction was enough to make the former pilot wince. "It's Iverson to you, Kogane."

And with one final cold glance at the horrified face of his former wingman, Mitch Iverson slammed the door shut.

The funeral arrangements of the blades had never been outlandish. They couldn't afford to be. Especially considering that most of the time there wasn't even a body to have a funeral for.

They were very good at that. Not leaving bodies. Or if there were bodies they mostly went unrecovered.

Kalthara couldn't count the number of comrades she had lost where she had nothing to mourn over but a knife. Or various assorted pieces.

Growing up in the ten thousand year old organization had stunted her surprise at sudden death. There was a time when she did part with her comrades with some vague hope of seeing them again. But reality had constantly felt the need to remind her that death was a far reaching universal concept.

General consensus amongst the blades was that Kalthara had been reminded of the fragility of life one time too often. That was why even after the death of their leader (who had practically raised the galran woman and her brother) none of the veteran members were surprised to see her eyes dry. It wasn't so much that she didn't mourn, but rather that mourning had become such a regular part of her life that even when a death hit so close to home she couldn't be bothered to make much of a scene.

Once the funeral was over, however…

"It is a foolish proposition. You'd have to be suicidal to say yes."

Kolivan sighed.

He'd been trying to prepare for this. Trying being the key word.

There was really no way to fully prepare for an argument with his sister. She carried a rather difficult personality that included stubborn and opinionated amongst its arsenal. Both were now unsheathed.

"They have no right to do it. Holding a vote without telling you." Kalthara added bitterly. "Or me."

He sighed again. "You know just as well as I do that the lots are cast in secret. The voters are picked by either the former voters or the current leader. None of the candidates are told, and-"

"-And every one of them privately decide which of our order to paint a giant target on." She finished bitterly. "It is a ridiculous system."

Kolivan smiled ironically to himself. It hadn't been that long ago that he had heard Kalthara praise the system. She had said that it was the simplest way to decide things. Afterall whoever deserved to be their next leader was usually quite obvious and the vote was merely a formal way of confirming what everyone already knew.

The key issue, of course, was not only his sister's lack of a diplomatic understanding but also that she had likely always imagined that the obvious candidate would be someone else's brother.

He'd been surprised when it was announced that he had been the one chosen to lead the Blades. It was true that he and their former leader had been close. Both men had been members of the organization since birth. But where his sister had developed a disdain for their mission, Kolivan had seen a purpose. One that could be fulfilled if he properly built up on the work of the galra who had come before him.

As a result, though he found the idea of leading his brethren daunting, he saw the appointment as a great honor. The difficulty was making his sister see that.

Kolivan and Kalthara were something of a novelty to the Blade of Marmora. Not only was it rare for children to be born outside of the empire's grasp, but it was even rarer for them to be twins. And rarer than even that was for one of them to be female.

It was an experience only they knew of, and something they could only truly relate to with each other. Kolivan felt sure that that was the reason behind Kalthara's displeasure.

She had lost their parents. She had lost many of their comrades. She had now lost the closest thing either of them had had to a father.

She didn't want to lose a brother.

Kolivan understood this. He was likely the only one on the base who could understand.

His sister had had the tragic misfortune of losing what few close friends she had made growing up in a very short amount of time. Each of them killed on individual missions, often times months before the blades could realize what had happened. That combined with the sheer amount of violence she had seen first hand…

Some of the young galra had taken to calling her an ice woman for her cold demeanor. Though the others tended to hush the younglings when these comments were made, no other real action was taken. It spoke volumes of the kind of reputation Kalthara had garnered. Kolivan was probably one of the few galra left on the main base who realized that his sister still had any feelings left.

Which made it harder to accept the leadership position.

"It is an honor to be appointed. It shows they have faith in my ability to-"

"You are NOT seriously thinking of accepting this proposal?!"

"As a matter of fact I was."

"Are you suicidal or merely brain deficient?!"

"Neither. I was appointed. I have the right to refuse, but I have chosen to accept the offer."

"Why?!"

Kolivan couldn't hold it in anymore. He lost his temper.

"We are leaderless, Kalthara." his tone was much harsher than he intended. "I personally believe there are others more qualified for the position than I, but the fact remains that I was appointed. Not them. If I refuse now we will be without any kind of guidance for an unforeseen amount of time. In that time several of our men could be killed pointless because the torch of leadership was delayed by a day. I can not, and will not, put our comrades at risk simply because one stubborn girl raises a disagreement over something she knows nothing about!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Especially the last bit. The anger in his voice hadn't helped matters.

Though his sister's face remained impassive, seemingly unaffected by his words, her eyes betrayed her emotions. Though her voice still flowed out in a smooth, but now cold, stream.

"I see," her eyes hardened on him. "I'm holding you back, is that it?"

"Sister," it was too late for such intimate terms of endearment, but Kolivan had to try. "That is not what I-"

"No." Kalthara cut him off with a voice a hard as steel. "You have made your point clear. You have been appointed and intend to accept the position for your own reasons. Continuing any argument at this point would be…"

She paused for just a moment before spitting out the word, "Insubordination."

This wasn't the way Kolivan had wanted this conversation to go. Of course he had known going in that the discussion would not go well. But he still wished it could have gone better.

Kalthara turned for the door.

"I shall inform the others of your acceptance. If you have any need of me afterwards then simply summon me and I will appear."

He took her arm.

"Sister," Kolivan repeated, using a tone he hadn't used since they had both been younglings. It had always been how he showed Kalthara that he was getting personal. And though he could not see her face, he could tell by the way her ears lowered that she was listening. "I must continue the struggle that our forefathers started. I want to build on what my predecessor accomplished and bring an end to this oppressive empire. But I can not do it alone. I… We will need your support if we ever hope to bring peace to the galra and the universe."

When she didn't respond Kolivan released his grip.

"That… is all I wanted to say."

"It is a nice sentiment." Without turning around Kalthara continued through the door "But do not waste your time speaking of dreams and make believes things like peace leader. You have better, more real, things to focus on now."

With those final words, she left him alone.

Austin stared at his new home.

Some people would have said spending his military penchant on an old shack in the desert was a poor life choice.

Most of those people likely would have been right, but the disgraced former pilot could no longer care what other people thought of him. What little care he'd had, had been siphoned out of him bit by bit over the past few months.

Iverson hadn't willingly addressed him since the incident, and wouldn't even sit in the same room as him if he could help it.

His commander had been more than a little disappointed. He had practically disowned his former star pilot. Personally ripping his medals from his chest.

And the squadron? The second they'd learned the truth they'd cancelled their hospital visits. Giving Austin the distinct impression they didn't want to ever see him again.

Not that he could blame any of them.

The air force hadn't seen fit to make a spectacle out of the whole affair and had, instead, quietly done away with Austin with the light suggestion that he NOT cause the government any more trouble. They had then unceremoniously tossed him to the wind and closed the window, not bothering to see where he'd ended up.

He gazed at the small building with an inspective eye. It wasn't anything special.

There were two floors, but only one room on each. No real modern plumbing to speak of, only a well and an outdoor shower in the back. A brick storage shed had been built next to the shack, and already contained a month's worth of supplies to prep Austin for his first month in the middle of nowhere

With a sigh, he took a seat on the small porch and stared out at the endless expanse of gray desert.

So this was it. The end of the line. Or the closest thing to the end of the line as Austin expected to get in the present.

The doctors who had looked at him hadn't been of much help. The best way they had put it was that his condition was… unpredictable.

The defect, as it turned out, was chronic. There was no cure. And Austin's heart was likely to kill him. There were meds he could take to control the condition, but otherwise he was essentially waiting around until his heart finally gave out on him.

That wasn't how the doctors had described Austin's ultimate fate. They had drolled on and on about experimental surgeries that might permanently reverse his condition.

It didn't sound like something he could afford. Or even something that had much point.

What was the difference between living a few years and living a few decades? It all seemed the same to Austin.

He'd lost the loyalty of his closest friend. The respect of his commander and comrades in arms.

And he'd lost his ability to fly. Austin didn't know he could go on for long without being able to fly.

There only seemed to be one thing left that kept his heart from drifting into despair.

Sitting back on the porch, he watched as the clear blue sky of the desert drifted away and the cool dark blanket of night draped over the world.

And then the stars came out.

Austin stared bleary eyed at them. The only companions he seemed to have left in the world were the stars. He'd loved looking at them as a child. He'd even wanted to become an astronaut before discovering flying.

Despite the bleakness of his world, Austin smiled.

"And Iverson said that astronomy degree had been a waste of time."

And he laughed.

He laughed.

And laughed.

Until the tears came.