February 27, 2018

It's a wonder the entire town didn't explode when he heard the news. It was just a regular Tuesday at the grocery store, picking up a few things for his trailer, like coffee cream, when Michael felt his heart stop.

"Grace! Did you hear about that poor Manes boy?"

The bored housewives were conducting town gossip by the yogurt, as per usual. Normally he tuned them out, but he still hadn't grasped how to keep his ears from pricking up when that name was mentioned. No one ever gossiped about Alex anymore though, most preferring to talk with pride about his three brothers instead.

"Yes. Oh, Maureen mentioned it yesterday. It's so sad, really, him being the youngest and all. You'd think the older boys would be in more danger, flying as they do. But I guess you can't predict war."

A queasy feeling started in his gut as they talked about the only Manes boy that meant anything to him – one of only three people in the world he cared about, really. He waited, tense and shivering, to hear any more about Alex.

"His father is so strong, dealing with that stress and the responsibility of his command."

The first woman held her hands against her chest, seemingly overcome with sympathy for the Master Sergeant.

"I saw him at church on Sunday, you know. He said he'd been flown back to the US, but that he likely wouldn't make it. The injuries were just too severe."

The other woman shook her head and clucked with her tongue over the unfairness of the world.

The pain in Michael's chest intensified until he could not move or breathe. His grief was so complete in that moment, the air seemed to warp around him. The two women felt a chill in the air and moved down the aisle, continuing their chatter and unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

Finally alone, he let go of the iron control he had on his powers. His fists gripped the handles of the cooler with such force, the glass shook in its frame and the milk containers bounced on their shelves. His hold tightened, harder and harder around the metal, bending it and leaving the imprints of his fingers. And then finally, the jugs and doors couldn't take the stress and shattered all at once, flooding the back of the store with milk and broken glass.

Shards skipped over his forearms and cheek bones, leaving trails of weeping red, but he didn't notice. No superficial wound could cut through the all-encompassing pain and loss he felt. But the cold milk soaking through his jeans reminded him of where he was and what he'd just done.

He made a quick exit, throwing his truck into gear and tearing out of the parking lot. He was surprised he could see through the tears that he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. But he'd fled to the ranch and his trailer so many times, maybe driving the dusty road was muscle memory now. Or maybe he just moved the truck with his mind sometimes, he wasn't sure.

He could see the tall ranch gate and sign up ahead, but decided to keep driving past the trailer and out into the desert. Being cooped up in that little metal can on wheels likely wasn't safe right now, considering. He probably shouldn't be near anything his grey matter could turn into a projectile.

When he was far enough away from anything and anyone he might hurt, Michael got out of the truck, grabbed a bottle of his good stash of acetone from the back, and started walking. The tears kept flowing, mixing with the dust on his face to leave muddy tracks down his cheeks and under the point of his chin. He probably looked like shit, not that he cared. There wasn't anything else but the pain in his chest and the roar in his head.

His destination was no great surprise. The crash site had always beckoned him when he was sad, or scared, or angry. It was nothing but a low point in the gravel and sand, but he could feel the magnetic pull of it as he got closer. There was no relief as he sat down hard on the dirt, just the sense that he was in a place that was only his.

He drank heavily from the bottle and grimaced at the strong taste. He knew that his carefully built up resistance meant he would need to finish it all to feel any effect. Hell, maybe he'd expire from dehydration or intoxication, or both. It would probably hurt less than what he was feeling right now.

He hugged his arm across his chest to try to ease the pain and drank again, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand. He couldn't stand the idea of Alex injured and bleeding, couldn't contemplate a world without him in it, even if they hadn't seen each other in years.

Michael sobbed as he remembered their last conversation. He had stood in that shed and yelled, screamed, angry that Alex was leaving for basic training. His hand was still in a make-shift cast that July and he had jabbed his usable fingers into his lover's chest.

"Do you really think this will make your Dad proud? Come on, Private, you're smarter than that."

But despite the goading, Alex was quiet, subdued – just as he had been since he'd come to the decision to go.

"I'm sorry. It's just something I need to do. It's always been the plan, and I'm going to follow through."

"Who CARES what they think!" he screamed back, throwing his arms out to the sides. "If you need to go, let's get in my truck and GO. Wherever you want."

He hated that he looked so defeated; hated his new haircut and the spark that was missing from his eyes. Michael reached out and took a fistful of Alex's t-shirt with his left hand, giving him a hard shake.

"We can go anywhere. Just, don't do this. You can't take it back."

Alex looked down at Michael's hands, one clenched in a fist against his chest, the other wrapped in plaster and gauze. He took both in his own, soothing the fingers with light strokes until the left hand relaxed and the right let go of its death grip on his shirt.

"I know, Guerin, but it's for the best. If I hang around, you'll always be trying to protect me. And look what happened the last time."

His voice hitched and he breathed deeply.

"I don't want to leave like this, ok? I don't want to go away with us fighting."

Michael shook his head and tried to calm down. Alex sounded so resigned to going, he knew there wasn't any changing his mind. And if he didn't want to end things on a bad note, Michael would give him something better to remember.

He pulled Alex against his chest, intent on kissing the life out of him, but was stopped by a hand on his cheek. Instead, Alex leaned in and brushed their lips together in a soft caress; a farewell, not a promise.

And before he knew it, a suddenly grown up Alex was hefting his duffel bag onto his shoulder and turning for the door.

"I'll miss you, Guerin."

"Alex, please!" Michael's voice broke on a sob, his pride gone.

He took another pull on the bottle, shamefully remembering how he'd begged, remembering how Alex had been strong enough for both of them and left with just another sad smile. And now, Alex was the one broken. And he'd never see that smile again.

An anguished yell punched out from his chest, sending sand flying in all directions. God, this world wasn't fair. Why the universe would take a gentle soul like Alex over the fucked-up monster he was, Michael couldn't understand. His anger at the injustice of it all broke the earth to his left, creating a sharp, jagged crack in the dirt, big enough to wedge his fingers into.

His fury grew as he considered that the main reason Alex left was his father's incessant abuse. He remembered feeling helpless as he watched the man choke his own son. Sure, he could have used his powers – dropped a cinder block on him or something - but that would have revealed his secret. And no matter how strong their connection felt at the time, he couldn't be sure Alex would understand.

So he'd stood by, watching like a weak little boy, until his rage and fear had made him strong enough to intervene. It wasn't the remembered pain of his fingers breaking that caused the rift to open up in the sand on his right; it was knowing that the fear in Alex's voice that day had likely visited him again in the moments before and after he was injured.

And there was nothing Michael could do to take that away.

His final scream of anguish created additional, spiky fissures, spiralling out from where he sat on the ground. From above, it appeared as though he had impacted the earth, cracking the landscape in all directions for half a mile or more. He took the last mouthful from the bottle, tipping it up in the hopes of finding a few more drops, before tossing it in the direction of his truck. It was then that he saw the tell-tale dust cloud of a vehicle approaching. It could only be one of two people. And he didn't want to talk to either of them.

A few minutes later, a worried looking Isobel appeared, walking carefully and observing the pattern of cracks around him with confusion.

"Michael? Are you ok?"

She stopped short after focusing on his face. Man, apparently he really did look like shit.

"What are you doing here, Is?" He hoped his tone made it clear that he didn't want any help.

"I heard you," she said slowly, gesturing at her forehead like she was in pain. "I felt you."

He laughed, humourlessly. "Sorry."

Isobel crouched down beside him, forcing him to turn his head to avoid her eyes.

"What's going on? Did you do this to the ground?"

"Yeah. I was a little out of control." He swiped at his eyes, smearing the dirt around on his face some more.

She finally sat, bumping her shoulder against his. "It felt like you were dying."

He knew she was trying to make a joke, but it didn't feel funny. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them like he used to when they were kids.

"I think I actually did, a little."

Isobel's eyebrows raised, but she didn't say anything else. Years of being "siblings" meant she knew how to wait him out, until he was ready to talk. She leaned against him, patient for the moment and content to just watch the twirls of dust in the wind.

Her phone interrupted the quiet moment.

"Hey. Yeah, I found him."

Michael's face tightened up and he rolled his eyes. Max, checking on him. It seemed he was broadcasting his private grief for everyone. Wonderful.

"No, he's physically ok, I think. A couple of cuts but nothing major. But something's wrong, and he knows I'm going to wait until he tells me."

She was teasing, but also completely serious. Isobel stood by her brothers, even if it was misguided and completely unnecessary and unwanted.

"No, we're good. You deal with the store. If you haven't heard from me by sundown, maybe bring some blankets? We're at the crash site. Yeah, I know. Ok, bye."

She hung up and shut her phone off,and tucked it back in her purse. Usually he could let the silence drag out until she got bored and started talking about something inconsequential. But today, with his heart hurting and his head swimming, he was completely raw and open. And he couldn't hold it all inside.

"I didn't get to say goodbye."

Isobel jerked at his voice, at the tears she could hear beneath it. She laid her hand on his arm.

"To who?"

He sniffed and wiped at a fresh round of tears.

"Alex."

"Alex…? Manes?" she asked in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

It took him a long time to form the words, because his body wanted to reject them and what they meant.

"He got hurt, out of country. They said he's not… not going to make it."

The sand swirled around them, surging in angry bursts before arching out towards the sky, leaving a pattern of rings on the ground around them. Isobel eyed the disturbance warily, but didn't ask.

"That's horrible. I didn't know you were that… close."

Michael closed his eyes and the ground trembled beneath them, pebbles bouncing along the surface in waves.

"We were, once."

"I'm so sorry." She paused, squeezing his forearm. "It's not your fault. You can't blame yourself for this, Michael."

"I don't," he sighed, setting his jaw. "I blame the universe for being cruel and completely devoid of mercy or kindness."

The air around him crackled with energy, and she edged away, taking her hand off his arm.

"I know you're hurting. But there is kindness in this world."

"Not for me!" He slammed his fist on the ground, creating another crack that joined with an old one, leaving a gaping chasm between them.

"You cared about him, right?"

"I care about him, yes."

Isobel inched back in a slow crawl, away from the widening crack.

"Ok, and he cared about you."

He took a slow breath at those words, remembering. "Yeah."

"Well then, isn't that kindness? When you care about someone, you're kind to them because you care, not for any other reason."

Her turn of phrase tickled something in Michael's brain; something Alex said way back at the beginning.

People don't always have an agenda. They can just be nice to each other for no reason, sometimes.

Alex had smiled then, like he always did when he said something that seemed obvious and simple. But he knew too that Michael had seen precious little of that simple kindness in his life. He would never see that smile again.

The pain lanced through him once more, and he cried out, holding his arms across his chest. Holding his heart in.

"Michael, you need to stop." There was a wariness in Isobel's voice, and when he looked up, he saw real fear in her eyes.

He followed her gaze to find that the ground he was sitting on was now a platform. The surrounding earth had completely crumbled, dropping down twelve inches all the way around him. Isobel had scrambled backwards to solid footing, but still looked nervous.

"I don't know how to not feel this, Is."

She dusted off her hands and stood up, brushed the dirt from her pants while retreating to the front of her car. "You said you didn't get to say goodbye. So go do that."

"What?"

"Go say goodbye." She said the words deliberately, sounding completely confident that they were the answer he needed.

"How do I do that? He's probably… gone, already." His shoulders shook violently at the thought, but surprisingly didn't cry. He didn't think he had any tears left.

Isobel's voice took on an urgency. "But what if he's not!? I know it'll be hard, but could you forgive yourself if you didn't try?"

Michael scrubbed at his face, running his hands through his hair and tugging on it to snap out of his mood.

"There's a serious problem with your plan. I don't know where he is."

"Lucky for you, your gifted sister has a way of making people tell her things."

"No!" Michael threw out his hand, pushing Isobel back against her car with his mind. "You can't get into the old man's head. Alex wouldn't want him to know that I… care."

He hated the sympathy he saw in her eyes, as she put two and two together.

"Oh Michael… I'm sorry. I didn't realize that… that you two-"

"Just let it go, Isobel."

She worried her lip, rolling the new information around in her head. "I'm sure I can find out the old fashioned way. I'll tell his father that the alumni want to send flowers or something. He can't very well say no to that, can he?"

He shook his head and carefully got up, jumping down off the earthen platform he had somehow created with his emotions.

"Thanks, but no."

Michael limped towards his truck, completely physically spent. He felt like he'd aged a hundred years since he sat down in the dirt, and his stomach was probably going to boil over on the way home. That was a delightful side effect of using their powers too much.

Isobel stood between him and his escape. "I'll find out where he is, Michael. I promise you. Just be ready to go when I do, all right?"

He nodded, but he didn't believe she could really do it. And that was probably the way things were supposed to go, anyway. He and Alex had a perfect couple of weeks. That was more than some people got in a lifetime.

He would never forget that smile or the kind heart behind it. But he could sure as hell go back to his trailer and get drunk for days to take the edge off.

The rest of the night was a blur. There was nail polish remover, and something stronger from the junk yard's shed, mixed with bourbon and a fresh round of tears. It was amazing he was still conscious. But even with old photos of Alex under his pillow, which he would never admit to having, and enough alcohol and chemicals to knock out an elephant, sleep refused to come.

And so, 8:00am Wednesday morning found him leaning against his counter with a horrible headache and a mug of black coffee. He never did get that coffee cream.

He refused to let his heart leap when his phone buzzed, showing Isobel's face on the screen.

"Yeah, I'm still alive."

"That's SO not appropriate, Michael. Look, I found him. He's in the military hospital at Holloman Air Force Base. That's about two and half hours from here. But his father says he's in a coma and won't know if anyone is there..."

"I don't care, Isobel. It doesn't matter if he's awake. I'm going." His voice gave out as his mind raced and a small seed of hope was planted. "Thank you. Just… yeah. Thank you."

Michael was out of the trailer with a bag over his shoulder and another cup of coffee in his mug in less than two minutes. His truck hit ninety before he even made it to the highway.