Husband. The word sounds alien and awkward even in my head. But there he is, sitting in front of me, asking to become just that and steeling himself for the rejection that we both know is coming, but still there's that persistent shard of hope in those beautiful green eyes, its' been there all along.

And its' destroying me to ruin that.

Even as the words come, I feel so detached from the situation, as if it's not even me doing this. And that's the problem, isn't it?

My mind is so far removed from anything my heart might be feeling that I'm not even able to relate to myself half the time.

I'm drifting away. And not just from him. From myself, and until I stop that, what's the point? What's the point of all of it? There isn't, and we both know it.

So here we are.

He's just staring at me, like I'm some code he might be able to crack if he tried hard enough. As though if he could find the right combination of things to say I won't go. He doesn't want to give up; I can sense the determination rolling off of him. And love. And anger. It's so strong I almost shrink back. It's enough to push me out of the fog I've been drifting in, even if only slightly, and I almost take back what I've just said. Almost.

My face is hot and wet and I know I'm crying. It's been so long since I've cried, let alone in front of another person, that for a moment I'm unsure of what to do. So, I just close my eyes and let the sobs take over me. The retching, heaving, violent sobs. He's already got his arms around me pulling me into his heat and I feel so insignificantly small in comparison, his larger form against me, the rough fabric of his uniform scratching my cheek. It almost feels safe.

Safe? What a joke.

Its all coming out now, all the pain five years of war brings, all the confusion that's intruded my mind since Mykyr, the immensity of a life bequeathed on me by some chafe-brained kismet, the fear of losing forever what I'm giving up in these next few seconds, the very idea that I found it to begin with…too, much.

I give into it all.

I'm not even sure if I'm saying it or simply screaming it inside my mind. But he holds me just the same and I realize he's rocking us as he tries to soothe me, but the force of it all is still so shaking. He holds tighter. I cry harder.

It feels wonderful. The actual act of feeling, I mean. Even if it is pain, at least it's something.

I know that the others are reeling from the effects of the battle-meld as well, they've said as much. That we're all becoming so isolated from others, yet overly sensitive towards each other. We're all becoming so dependent on each other for whatever sense of reality we can leach off that friendships have turned to borderline resentments. For some of us, its already well beyond that point.

But here in this moment, I can feel him. And it's glorious.

"Be my wife. Just say you'll be my wife." I don't know how long he's been saying these words for, but I wrench my head away from his chest and look him in the face. The thought flashes that I must look like a wreck, but I push it away when I realize just how very serious he is.

I want it. I want it so very badly. I want him.

But I can't. Not now, and maybe not ever. Not like this, at least. It would be insulting to us both.

"No."

Stang.