Break

"I'm an army doctor, which means I can break every bone in your body while naming them." – John Watson, Sherlock: The Abominable Bride

An assault rifle chattered, and a Dreg screeched as its chest was torn to shreds. I dove for cover, yet another shock grenade sticking into the pavement next to where I'd been standing. It exploded moments later, the electrical charge making my hard stand up. I grit my teeth against the painful shock that surged up my boots.

I peeked my head up, looking for Sykron. He was on the other side of the street shouting insults at a Vandal stuck in a doorway. I shouldered my rifle and squeezed off a trio of shot down the street before ducking back, the shrill wine of a wire rifle echoing in my ears as the bolt seared past my head.

"Insult them some other time, jackass!" I yelled. I couldn't hear him, but I knew he was pouting and grumbling, probably trying to be funny. Which…yeah, he was actually pretty funny. Corny, in that clumsy, endearing sort of way. The gunfire resumed, only to be cut off a moment later as the cranium of Sykron's newest pal became paste on the wall." Veles, how many are left?"

"Fifteen. A Captain, seven vandals, six dregs. And one Marauder."

"Well, fuck." Marauders were the worst.

The Dregs, predictably, went down easily; I almost felt bad for them. The Vandals took a little longer. The Captain, not surprisingly, ran away. Which left Sykron and I standing in the middle of the street, back to back, searching for the Marauder.

"See anything?" I asked, eyes flicking back and forth.

"No," came the grunted reply. My heart pounded as the hairs on the back of neck began to stand up; something was close, I could feel it. But the street was still except for a gentle breeze. I whirled as I heard a loud clack.

A rusty old can rolled across the street. I sighed, biting at my lip. I glanced at the radar – nothing.

"Veles - anything?"

"Nothing. No life signs apart from you – wait, what? That can't be right." No shit that couldn't be right – Sykron should have been right behind me. I cast a glance over my shoulder, but he was gone. Where the hell had he disappeared to? I hadn't even noticed he was gone!

"Where's Sykron?" I hissed at the Ghost.

"I don't know! Um…check the building to your left, the old storefront. I caught a brief thermal flash in there right before the can fell."

I followed his instructions, creeping up to the door. Still no sound, no movement – nothing. The hair on my neck was at attention. I clamped my rifle on my back, pulling out my shotgun. I cocked it gently, letting the familiar click-clack ring through the air. I shouldered the door open, stepping into the darkness. My faceplate unpolarized as I switched to an infrared view. Nothing to see but dust, decay, and rust. My foot kicked against one of the old store stands; I winced as it squeaked. I waited, listening, holding my breath.

Nothing.

I slowly let out the breath I'd been holding and continued my search. I crept through the rooms, only to find more and more nothing. Where had he disappeared to? And where had that Marauder gone? Those guys were dangerous – not something I wanted to leave Sykron alone to deal with. I whirled at a sudden crash, finger on the trigger and ready to pull.

"Speak of the devil…" I flicked the safety on my rifle, clamping it to my back as I stepped forwards." Sykron, what the hell happened?"

"Marauder ran. I caught," he answered simply. His voice was strained, and I could see just before he fell that he was definitely favoring his right leg. I tossed the shotgun aside, helped him roll over. He was leg was…not normal.

"And why are you favoring one leg?" If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he was blushing under his helmet.

"Killed Marauder. Then fell…in hole," he hissed, voice trailing off in a strangled yelp as I pressed my fingers against his lower leg. Veles appeared and flicked on his light. I had suspected it just by touch, but under the light his leg was obviously swelling up. I removed my helmet, ignoring the dust in the air. I batted Sykron's hand away from his leg.

"Scans show a broken secondary fibula, stress fracture of the frontal tibia. No field surgery required, just immobilization."

I nodded, then raised an eyebrow at Sykron, who was now sheepishly backed against the wall. I tugged off Sykron's boot, tossing it to the side before taking off the plates strapped to his leg. I glanced around, looking for materials – nothing to splint with.

So be it.

I knocked through part of the wall, coughing at the dust kicked up, then tore off a thin piece of wood. I dug in my pack for some rope or cloth – something to hold it in place.

"You fell?"

He was definitely blushing now." Three."

Three times, he meant. We'd been working these past few months but…English did not always agree with Fallen vocal systems. "Sykron…you're not supposed to do that."

He simply shrugged, what I thought was amusement flitting across his face before he grimaced as I lifted his leg, wrapping paracord underneath it. I rolled my eyes, a smile crossing over my face; inwardly, I winced. Broken legs hurt. I broke my fibula in three pieces once and I was screaming, crying, and convulsing in pain. Sykron, meanwhile, was wincing, grimacing, occasionally grunting in pain. The guy was tough.

"Only you, Sykron, could beat a Fallen Marauder and-" I was interrupted, still tying a final knot, when a clawed hand crushed my wrist. I turned to meet Sykron's gaze; he was in my face, leaning forwards. I could feel his breath on my face – it was warm, but not uncomfortably so. It smelled like…mint? That was odd. But it was…it was nice.

That was a weird thought.

"Not Fallen," he growled, burning emerald fires staring straight at me." Eliksni."

I nodded slowly, eyes going wide." I understand." Sykron stared at me for a moment more before relaxing back against the wall. I went back to work, wrapping his leg in paracord and strapping another piece of rebar to the inside part of his leg. Fallen body structure was different than what I was used to, but…it worked, after a fashion.

Eventually, satisfied with my work, I sat back on my haunches. Sykron gently moved his leg, winced, put it back down; he gave me a pleading glance. I just rolled my eyes. I didn't have any painkillers, and he knew that. He was just pouting.

"Come on, big guy, up an' at 'em." I extended a hand. He grasped it, and I hefted him to his feet to mutual grunting. He teetered for a moment, and I caught him, looping an arm around his shoulders. We looked at each, he flashed a smile, before taking a single hop forwards. We walked out, arm in arm, swapping insults and bad jokes in the empty hallways and windy streets.

"You ever gonna try and lose weight?" I asked him.

"You try gain, first, little fucking twig," he retorted, cackling to himself. I chuckled.

It was funny…I'd done this months ago with him, when I'd first found him frozen in the wilderness – admittedly, he'd been unconscious – but there was something…something different.

Somehow…I didn't mind his weight quite as much.

Author's Note:

Have a chapter, boys, girls, and assorted attack helicopters!

I'll try to get out another one in the next week, but don't expect another chapter between July 10th and August 10th. I'll be at summer training as part of a commitment for the scholarship paying my college tuition.

I am far from a master of romance, so this may be moving a little fast, but chapters in this story aren't separated by days chronologically - the time frame ranges from weeks, to months, possibly even up to years, depending on how I decide to take things. If you have any advice about writing romance, I would really love to hear it!

Speaking of which, please drop me a review and let me know how I'm doing! Any advice, thoughts, constructive criticism, gifs, memes, and mathematical operations are welcome.

-Krast