Chapter Three

Danny.

By the time the blood-soaked sun rises in the morning, you're trudging your heavy feet along the broken pieces of gravel, sweat pouring down the back of your neck. Your glasses are covered in dirt, sweat and blood and yet every time you try to wash away the devastation that lingers across your lens, it just smears and makes a bigger mess than intended.

"Shit!" You swear as you trip over a small rock, wincing in pain still from the attack with the large piece of wood that fell on you last evening. The wood has given you a couple splinters in your cracked skin but it does not keep you from moving forward. Your muscles ache from pain and hot tears sting your eyes.

You wish Louie was here right besides you, a hand on your shoulder and a reassuring voice to tell you that it was alright. But you knew things weren't, they could not possibly be. You knew Louie was dead, there's no doubt about it. No way could a man close to a vegetated state be worth saying in a time like this. None of the nurses, no matter how sweet and good-hearted they are, would ever dare to set foot into Louie's room and risk their lives over his.

Come on, Dan. He says inside your head, the voice so close yet so far. Pick up your fuckin' feet and get a move on here. You 'aint dyin' yet so come on.

You try so hard, just so hard, to keep those tears from falling when his voice echoes throughout your ears, rubbing at your hands to keep yourself mentally calm, just anything so you don't fall down and mentally kill yourself.

Remember what Pop said 'bout bein' strong, Danny?

You nod. "Yeah, 'member."

So do it. Stop bein' a pussy and go do it, Dan. Do what ever ya gotta do to be strong.

So without any hesitation, you turn around and make your long and treacherous walk to Louie's hospital, your head held high.

Aiden.

"Come on, Don." You whisper as you gently dab the damp cloth to the side of his face, his breaths barely audible to the human ear. "Ya know when this is all over, we're gonna find everyone and everythin' will be back to normal." You reach over and gently brush away a strand of hair from his face. "Back to normal, I promise, 'kay?"

You're surprised at how well you are able to take care of him and so relieved when you woke the next morning to find his pulse still there. You've been doing all that you could to take care for him, running to find any source of food and water you could find, removing your jacket and ripping sleeves of your shirt to preventing more blood lost.

He coughs and blood pours from his mouth for the fifth time that morning. "Shit, Don." You grab the blood-soaked cloth and wipe at his mouth. "I hate seein' you like this."

You dab a couple more times at his mouth before gently wrapping your arms around his shoulders and carefully pulling him to you.

Screams echo against the buildings, burning fires roar into the sky and you gently rock with Don in your arms, your cheek resting against the top of his head, his small black spikes of his hair probing into your flesh.

Children run by, their faces etched with fear, clothes ripped and covered with dirt. It's a horrible sight to see and you close your eyes tightly, trying to block out all that surrounds you as you hold onto the dying man that you have fallen in love with.

Stella.

The gun on your hip is heavy with weight, your hands inch towards it with every step you take. It's a habit you're slowly developing – reaching for the only source that could end all of this forever.

But you're the Statue of Liberty, you don't end your misery by giving in and as your fingers gently just brush against the metal, you quickly pull them away as if poison bites at your fingertips.

You've given up trying to reach Mac and tossed your dead cell phone to the side, no longer needing it anymore. You decided that if there was any place in the world to go to find at least any comfort in your heart, you were to go to the Crime Lab.

Since that has, at least, become your home away from home.