Chapter Three - Out of the Woods

Sullivan's life swam through a thick fog, contemplating the purpose of his survival. His limbs stuck in the sludge that kept pulling his consciousness back into the darkness. Nightmares churning and twisting deeper inside him, gripping his brain from within and blackening his sanity. Every time he fought against it, faceless creatures clawed him back into the sticky tar-like existence of his mind. He kept thinking he could see someone with him in the abyss, each time the fog cleared an outline appeared in the distance forcing him towards it each time he caught a glimpse. But when he drew near, he could only see the hulking shadow of the monster that had held his life in its hands. It twisted at his approach, the fog clearing to reveal the brute in its entirety, its towering stature reminiscent of the long-gone creatures that had taken his parents lives. Its scaly grey hide blistered with amber crystals from the crown of its skull down the side of its colossal torso. Its torn and battered crimson armour brandished the symbol that sent shivers of dread down his spine. Dead milky white eyes fixed upon him as it took several determined steps towards him. It gripped his chin in a pincer hold between its massive claw and forcefully twisted his neck one way then another. It drew its face dangerously close to his own, its nostrils flaring as it inhaled the scent of his flesh, barbed teeth snarling in response as it exhaled its putrid breath upon him. Sullivan felt his skin grow cold at the sensation, unable to defend himself.

"Leave it. " It growled, "It's nearly dead. The Juvies will finish what's left of it,"

The guttural voice, which still resonated within his very soul, sent shivers of revulsion down his spine. He wanted to scream out, fight off the monster that had left him to its creatures' mercies.

From the darkness, deep within the sluggishness of his brain, he heard a familiar voice.

"You have a fever Sullivan, please stop fighting us, we're here to take care of you. The monsters aren't here. You're safe,"

His heart raced at the words. The first time that anyone had ever told him that he was safe. He didn't even know what safe felt like anymore.

The fog sucked him back under again while a blur of conversation went on beside him.

"It's not looking good. I've done all I can, but his temperature isn't dropping. If his fever doesn't pass soon, I'm afraid we won't see him out of this,"

"Can you suggest anything at all,"

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Don't take heart in the fight and hope he survives another night,"

"Do you think he will?"

"It's been weeks now, and he's shown no improvement, I'm starting to believe that he doesn't want to survive anymore. I think it's time you prepare yourself,"

The darkness sucked him further in, and he felt himself start to drown, as he allowed himself to submerge himself further. It was too easy to let go and accept his pathetic fate. To enable his soul to float amongst the ether where it would reunite with his long-lost family. He wanted nothing more than to see them again and finally be at peace.

But that familiar voice pulled him back. That gentle yet determined feminine voice that he recognised so well, it spoke to his soul.

"Sul it's me," she uttered, a sense of reluctant acceptance lacing within it, "I'm here. But it seems you don't want to be. I don't know how to accept that. I don't think I can. I can't find you again after all these years only to lose you... Please..."

As the unconsciousness tried to suck him back, he felt a part of him start to fight it. His limbs were heavy and ready to give up, but his legs began to kick. He felt a need to reach the surface, to be free of the constraints pulling him under. His lungs squeezed tighter the further he swam, his goal gradually growing. The more he wanted to surrender, the more he kept thinking of that familiar voice, the voice that reminded him of safety, the voice that made his heart want to beat again. It was this sensation that kept him going until he broke the surface, and his soul returned to him.

He let out a gasp as a rush of cold air glided greedily down his throat to inflate his burning lungs. He forced his eyes open as his newly discovered consciousness pushed him forwards. His bare skin prickled with goosebumps as he sat up to take in his surroundings.

An unfamiliar room bathed in the light of the moon, a window hung open letting in the chilling sea air. From somewhere below he could hear the peaceful lapping of the waves against the shale shoreline, the tiny pebbles pushed back and forth across the land. A little further the boats in the harbour sent the rigging on their masts gently clinking their lulling chime.

Where was he?

A shiver shuddered down his spine as the cold air met his damp partially naked body. The fever had torn him apart, he'd lost weight, his muscle definition had worn down, and every part of him felt weak. Even as he attempted to pull the sheet, that had been folded across his waist, over his chest, he felt his fingers fumble. He took in the bruising and scarring over the visible upper half of his body. His wrists bandaged to his fingers, protecting some of the worst of his injuries.

What happened to him?

Who was he?

He shifted against the bedding, and the sound of light slumber drew his attention. He craned forward to search for his room companion, only to discover the sounds coming from the floor beside him. Their resting body leant against his bedside, familiar dark curls tousled over shoulders as they half clung to a blanket.

A strange fog of memories sludged through his numbed senses, and he winced at the sensation. A dance of dark curls teased through his fingers as he plucked the strands away to place a gentle kiss on her neck. The sound of her breath hitching at his touch as she gasped his name.

Sullivan

She meant something to him, of that he was certain. The way his heart thumped at the thought of her sleeping nearby betrayed any sense his head was trying to tell him otherwise. How was his heart so sure of feeling something when he didn't even know who he was.

Movement beside her drew his gaze to a child nestled peacefully in her lap. It wriggled closer into her embrace, and she obliged, wrapping a protective arm around the small human.

There was an unfamiliarity associated with the child, and it scared him a little. Here he was assuming that the woman was his alone and this child becomes a part of the picture.

He hated having a part of him missing.

He sunk back to the bed in frustration, slumber sucking him in, allowing him access to the dream world for the first time in weeks.

By the time he regained consciousness again, his brain had allowed him time to sort the jumbled pieces of memory mostly back into place again. Who he was now no longer a blurred mess of images. Although he felt a part of him missing pieces, like a jigsaw missing essential parts.

The sun beamed through the open window, and he could hear the sea gently lapping against the shore some distance below. He slowly blinked as he allowed himself to feel the sun warm his battered skin.

As he shifted in an attempt to sit, he felt a weight restrict his movements at the end of the bed. He lifted his head to find a child perched on top wholly absorbed in a sketch pad. Sullivan drew his legs upwards to lever himself upright. Every part of him resisted his movements. He felt weak, even the faint yellowed bruises over his chest felt heavy upon him. His ribs throbbed with every breath he took, and his wrists ached at the tightness of the bandaging. But he was alive, a possibility he had never expected.

The child, a boy, lifted his head from his artwork and placed the charcoal pencil on the paper and wriggled off the bed. Without a sound, he padded barefoot to a table where he poured from a pitcher of water into a small beaker. With both charcoal stained fingers clutched around the vessel, he carried it over to Sullivan and helped guide it to his lips. Sullivan placed his weak hands around the boy's as he took in the well-needed surge of hydration. He gulped the entire beaker down, and the boy returned to the table to refill it. The second glass was downed, and he was able to grip the cup without as much assistance. By the third cup, he was able to take in the boy. His dark hair, so much like his mother, with slightly lighter brown tints as the sun reflected on him. His skin was delicately perfect, albeit smeared with charcoal. His dark eyes had faint honey tinges swirling around the iris. When he spoke, every part of him reminded Sullivan of the woman he had once taken as his own.

"Are you okay?" the child asked, such a young voice genuinely reflecting concern, "I can get you more water if you want."

Sullivan shook his head and offered the empty beaker to the boy.

"Thank you," his voice was hoarse in his throat.

"Mama said you must rest," the boy told him as he placed the beaker on the table and returned with a slice of dried bread and placed it on Sullivan's lap.

He then scrambled back onto the bed to return to his sketching, picking up his art book to assess his handiwork.

Sullivan stared down at the plate of bread on his lap. His stomach rumbled at the prospect, but at the same time, every part of him hurt at the thought of ingesting it. He reached a hand out to pick it up, and the sheet dropped from his chest, revealing the bruises, burns and scars. He quickly pulled the sheet back up to hide it from the boy. An act that wasn't missed.

"You don't need to worry my Grandpa has marks on his face. People won't stare, I promise."

Sullivan sent the child a look, "Is it bad?"

"Mama told me the marks would get better. She didn't say about those," he pointed to the left side of his face.

"My tattoos?"

"A lot of people have tattoos here, but not like yours,"

"I'm an Islander, it's part of my heritage," admitting it out loud still hurt, even to someone he didn't know.

"What's an Islander?"

"It's where I'm from, the South Islands," It felt such a relief to say it aloud without any fear of repercussions.

"Grandpa said you were from New Ephyra, that you were COG," Even said through the mouth of a child, Sullivan couldn't help notice the distaste that came with it.

"I was born, raised and educated an Islander. The COG was a necessity when there was nowhere else to go," Sullivan couldn't understand why he was trying to make this child understand. The Outsiders had never favoured him before he betrayed them, there was no way he was going to make them see sense now.

"Is that why your voice is different too?" the boy tilted his head in curiosity.

"Very likely," Sullivan responded carefully, this child was more perceptive than most adults he had met in the Outlands.

"I wish I had a different voice," the boy thoughtfully pondered as he etched away in his sketchbook.

"How old are you, child?" Sullivan asked, "that's a very adult thing for someone so young to say."

"I'm nearly six!" the boy sounded almost offended, "the grown-ups let me sit in with them when they chat."

"I bet they do,"

"The medics thought you were going to die. They said that you had a fever and that your cuts had gone bad," The boy scratched his nose, leaving charcoal marks across his face. He was so casual that it amused Sullivan greatly, despite the topic of conversation, "the doctors made mama angry. She sent them away and took you back to our home. I think you had a lot of bad dreams because you screamed a lot. Mama calmed you. She's good at that. She didn't sleep much while she was looking after you."

"How long have I been here?"

The boy lifted his head and fixed Sullivan with a look.

"Almost two months," he answered nonchalantly, "I'm glad you didn't die. It would have made mama sad. She called you some bad words even though she said you were an old friend."

"Who is your mother, kid?" the jolt in the pit of his stomach reminded him how painful the question would be for him, but he had to know.

"Jesse!" a voice from the door alerted them as Ollyvar Wilks strode into the room, "Look after the patient. Don't annoy him."

"Sorry, Grandpa,"

Sullivan attempted to straighten himself at Wilks' appearance, only to feel his back twinge in response. He winced, trying to hide the pain from the last man who would give him sympathy. But Wilks didn't miss anything. He grabbed hold of a pillow and slipped it behind Sullivan's back, gripping his shoulder and supporting him to a comfortable sitting position.

"Jesse, why don't you go and play. Grandpa needs to chat with the Lieutenant,"

The boy flicked a thoughtful look to Sullivan before reluctantly slipping off the bed. Clearly, he knew better than to defy his grandfather.

"Yes, Grandpa," the child responded obediently, placing the sketchbook on the table and taking his leave,"

Sullivan took a few minutes to collect his thoughts before he gave Wilks a look.

"Jesse? Is Aliana his mother?"

"She is," Wilks anticipated the question, "you think she'd spend her life pining for what couldn't be, then you are sorely mistaken. She moved on Lieutenant. Maybe you should too."

"That wasn't my intention. I never planned on returning here. I never wanted to endanger anyone. Surely you could trust me at that word at least. I don't even know how you found me,"

Wilks stared out of the window over the harbour and its civilians amongst it. He had worked hard to create this life for his family. He would do anything to protect them from the dangers that threatened them.

"A complete fluke. Our cart encountered complications forcing us to stop," he started thoughtfully, "Aliana was drawn to the building. I don't even know how she found you, you were in this hidden room, shackled to a wall."

A flash of memory surged through Sullivan's head, but he couldn't quite see the image correctly. Just a voice spoken in a fluent Tyran tongue

"Just leave it. Near dead stock makes no use as one of our Juveniles. Too weak. Drain its life to feed the young,"

Sullivan craned forward at the pain in his head and a queasy need to dispel the only liquid he had taken in. Wilks stepped forward with a bucket and caught him just as he leaned forward and vomited.

Sullivan shivered as he was finally able to catch a breath.

"You need to rest," Although Wilks' tone was stern Sullivan couldn't help notice the concern laced within, "we've only just got you out of the woods. You still have a long way to go."

He handed him the beaker of water and guided it to his lips until he was satisfied Sullivan had drunk enough. He then removed the pillow and eased him back down to lie flat.

"We will talk in time Lieutenant Ward, but for now, trust us to take care of you,"

For the next week or so, Sullivan remained in the care of the Wilks family for the second time in his life. This time around, however, things were different. Sullivan was yet to set his eyes on Aliana, who had remained conspicuously absent from his visitor roster. Instead, her son took her place, spending many an afternoon perched on his bed sketching avidly and regaling the Lieutenant with tales of his village.

Recovery was slow, a speed Sullivan was unaccustomed. The medics frequently visited to help assist his physiotherapy and remind him daily as to how much of a miracle his survival was. Sullivan didn't see it the same way.

"Maybe it'll be worth getting some fresh air every once in a while," the medic suggested, half to Sullivan, half to Wilks who had taken to sitting in with every medical visit.

"The window's open, isn't that enough?" Wilks retorted in response.

"He needs to be outside, Ollyvar. If anything the inside his hindering his recuperation,"

Wilks glanced across at Sullivan and took in the healing pock marks across his chest as he delicately attempted to pull a shirt over his head. He let out a reluctant sigh.

"Well then, so be it,"

Together Wilks and the medic guided an unsteady Sullivan through the Wilks homestead. They paused for a breather in the downstairs living quarters where Jesse sat on his Grandmother's lap listening to one of her stories. Aidie paused mid-sentence as the men entered. She glanced over at Sullivan and sent him a warm smile.

"Tell me you aren't taking him around back to put him out of his misery?" She flashed her husband a mischievous smile.

"If only," Wilks grumbled.

"I've suggested the patient needs the sea air to assist his recovery. That and a little exercise will be good," the medic commented, as emotionless as possible.

"Apparently the patient doesn't have a say in all this," Sullivan responded.

"You should be used to that by now. The COG would never allow such independent thought,"

Sullivan chose not to rise to Wilks' snipes. He knew the old soldier still bore resentment at losing his son to the COG at Sully's hands. He doubted he would ever forgive him. So being a guest under his roof was a big push even for him.

They sat him down on a bench overlooking the harbour. The medic draped a blanket over his lap and left him to it. Wilks stood for a moment longer, hands on hips, expression blank as he stared out to sea. Sullivan knew better than to break him from his reverie.

Eventually, he let out a sigh, "well, here it is. Make the most of it."

Without a second glance, he walked away.

Sullivan watched him leave before he allowed himself to relax. The warmth of the sun on his face and the gentle sea breeze caressed him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift like he were on the ocean.

A little over an hour later, Aidie appeared quietly by his side. She cleared her throat to signify her arrival, Sullivan lazily opened one eye. She held a tray with three bowls, with a blanket draped over one arm, and by her side, Jesse carried a plate of bread rolls.

"I hope you don't mind us joining you," she said as she laid the tray down and threw the blanket down for herself and her grandson.

She offered up a bowl to Sullivan, and he cautiously inspected it as he took it from her. Jesse handed him a spoon and a roll from the plate.

"T...thank you,"

"It's vegetable soup, Jesse's favourite," Aidie broke the roll in half and offered it to Jesse who dunked it in his bowl and sucked on the crust for a while.

Sullivan gingerly dipped his spoon into the soup and sampled the dish. A rush of salty sweetness surrounded his senses. He searched the bowl for the mixture of ingredients. Chunks of potato broke apart as he dug his spoon into it, shovelling the starchy goodness into his mouth. Without even processing the taste, he ladled another spoon of root vegetable liquid down his throat. He let out an involuntary moan of joy and set a mortified glance in Aidie's direction. Aidie, to be fair, tried her best to keep a straight face, and concentrated on her soup. Jesse, however, had the biggest smirk that Sullivan had ever seen.

"Nice?" his eyes lit up, in a way that was so reminiscent of his mother that it scared him a little.

"Yes," he attempted to explain himself, "thank you. It's been a long time since I've eaten anything that's tasted half as wonderful as this."

"That's very kind of you Sullivan, but it's not that good,"

"When you've been living rough, trust me, this is the best I've tasted,"

Aidie gave him a questioning look, before she could follow it up, Jesse lunged across her and grabbed the other half of the roll.

"Nana, I want to make soup as good as you," he mumbled loudly as he shovelled a mouthful of soup and bread into his mouth at the same time.

Aidie eased him back down to a sit, "finish eating before you talk, Jesse."

"Soofff..." the child half started then remembered the lesson and sent Sullivan a cheeky smirk with his hand covering his mouth.

"Jesse has been entertaining me with stories of the village," Sullivan attempted easing the conversation, "your grandson tells compelling tales."

Aidie felt her heart pang at Sullivan's admission. How she wanted to confess to him there and then that the child connected them both. But the broken man still held so many secrets of his own that she knew she had to keep this one from him, not only to protect her daughter but the child as well.

"He's a fascinating artist," she commented, drawing herself back from the situation, "has he shared his work with you yet?"

Jesse flashed Sullivan a bready smile with a look that seemed all too familiar.

"I haven't had the pleasure,"

"I'm sure he will, in time," she smiled wistfully.

"Nana," Jesse started, taking a few minutes to finish chewing and opened his mouth to prove its emptiness to her, "can I go play?"

Aidie glanced across at the beach where Jesse's attention had fixed. A few of the children were beachcombing, picking at the treasures along the shoreline.

"Of course, but don't go too close to the sea,"

Jesse nodded, unfurled himself from the blanket and sprinted towards the beach.

Aidie kept quiet for a short while. She had always been the compassionate one in her family, but Sully knew not to push her hospitality.

"I hope you realise that I never intended on coming back. I kept away as your husband ordered. I never expected them to find me,"

"You would most certainly be dead if they hadn't,"

"A sacrifice I would have made,"

"Why?" Aidie turned to fix him a look. Her short blonde curls ruffled gently in the breeze. He could see the concern in her blue eyes, the only person who still genuinely seemed to care.

"There's a niggling in my brain that something bad happened,"

Her brow furrowed, "something bad? Where?"

"I don't know,"

"Did you see anyone get hurt. Was it Jaime, is he okay?"

"I don't..."

"What happened Sullivan?" Her voice verged on frustration.

A flash of blurred images surged through his head, and he stifled back a cry as he clutched at his skull. Aidie shifted from the floor to sit beside him.

"Sully?"

"I...I..." tears forced their way down his cheeks, and he couldn't understand why. "I'm sorry. I can't remember anything."

"You've been a victim of a barbaric act, Sullivan. The doctors said it's natural for you to experience memory loss. It's your brain protecting yourself from what's happened,"

"I keep feeling sensations, feelings I went through. All I can sense is crippling fear," he gave her a fearful look, "what if I don't want to remember?"

"Oh my poor child," she took him into a welcoming embrace, the first one he had experienced in years. He felt his body melt in her loving arms as she pulled him in close, "just remember. You're safe now."

A flash of memory shuddered through his brain. They're coming.

They sat quietly for a while, taking in the village around them. Jesse played with the children on the beach, stacking shells and pebbles in a pile of delightful treasures, until the chill in the wind grew cold. Eventually, Aidie stood with a shiver.

"I think it's time for us to retire inside," she called over to her Grandson and waited for his response, "it's getting too cold for me out here."

"Mind if I join you?" Sully asked, wincing as he attempted to hoist himself to his feet.

From the beach Jesse signified his insistence on staying put, sprinting down the beach with the other children. Aidie shook her head as she offered a hand to her companion. He towered easily over her as he hooked a hand into the crook of her arm. She guided him back to their house and eased him down on the master chair in front of the fireplace. He watched as she piled wood and kindling together and set it alight. The heat was instant.

"I feel so useless not being able to help you,"

"It'll come in time, I'm sure," Aidie commented as she stacked the fire in readiness for the night.

"I don't think I can ever repay you for your kindness. But, thank you, I appreciate it,"

"As much as I'd love to accept the honour, I really cannot accept your gratitude when I haven't done anything to deserve it except make soup,"

Sullivan half smiled at her, "even your cooking is appreciated."

"If anyone should deserve credit I'd look in Aliana's direction. Without her, the medics would have given up on your survival a long time ago, which is why she moved you to the safety of our home. She sat by your bedside tending to your fever almost every night,"

"I wish I could thank her in person," Aidie couldn't help notice the hint of regret in his voice.

"She's out visiting a nearby settlement with her uncle, on her father's orders," Aidie straightened herself up and patted Sullivan's knee, "she'll be home any day now. You can thank her then."

"I was beginning to think that she was purposely avoiding me,"

"Aliana, no. Her father, most certainly,"

"It doesn't surprise me, I suppose, considering what I did,"

"Despite what Olly thinks," Aidie commented as she dug through her kitchen cupboards absentmindedly, "you're family Sully, and that will never change."

Her words made his heart thunder into life. He had never really belonged anywhere until he had met this family, and despite everything that had happened, he was eternally grateful for being a small part of it.

For the next hour or so Aidie busied herself preparing the evening meal, chopping and stirring various ingredients into a pot. Her work became so meticulous that it lulled Sullivan into a light sleep, warmed by the heat of the fire.

The sound of the front door aggressively slamming open jolted him awake. His body jarred in agony at the sudden movement. Three hulking brutes sauntered in with Jesse held upside down under the arms of the tallest. He screamed in laughter.

"Uncle Jax!" he squawked, cackling in laughter.

"No surrender! No Outsider surrenders. What are we?" Jaxon demanded bullishly.

"We're Outsiders. We're free! No surrender," the boy chanted as his uncle righted him to his feet.

"That's my boy,"

Aidie stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, watching them with a stern expression.

"At least I know why my equality teaching goes down the drain every time I go through it,"

Jaxon snorted in response, "you're teaching fairytales Aidie. I'm just preaching the truth."

"I can see my good housekeeping lessons also went the same way," she indicated to the muddy boot prints splattered across the floor.

"Oh c'mon Aidie," Jaxon, the eldest of Ollyvar's half-brothers, moaned.

"If you're going to teach your nephew bad life lessons, at least teach him to respect his home,"

"Yes ma'am," the three obediently set to cleaning their boots and wiping the floor.

The three Wilks brothers were animals, unruly men who had fully embraced their Outsider upbringing. No consideration for the COG and those who followed them. But no amount of criticism could hide the immense respect they had for the woman who had raised them in the place of their dead mother. Aidie and Ollyvar had given up their lives as COG soldiers to protect them. And despite adding two more of their own children to the brood, each child was raised with the same amount of love and respect as the other, regardless of parentage.

Trystan, the middle of the three, walked over and wrapped his burly arms around Aidie in search of her comforting embrace.

"Has Hayes told you the news? He's in love!" he towered over her and tugged gently on her blonde curls, "he's tactically working his way up the order. One step closer to leading this place."

"You don't say!" Aidie feigned surprise as she handed the wooden spoon to Trystan and directed him to the vat of food bubbling away on the stove, "so is Archer aware of your plans to usurp his leadership once you've finished wooing his niece."

Hayes, who had been putting the brush away, attempted a hurt look.

"You make it sound like I'm the one doing the chasing, but it was Peace who tried to woo me,"

"She's beautiful and popular, let's face it, I don't think there's a man alive who'd say no to that!" Jaxon barked a response, "I'm just surprised she picked Hayes."

The brothers continuously poked and jibed at one another, but it was always taken in good humour. An indication of their personality beneath the daunting rudeness.

Jaxon caught sight of Sullivan dozing in the chair beside the fire, and he snorted in response, casting Aidie a look.

"So, who let the traitor walk among us?"

"Leave him alone Jax. He's been through enough without you tormenting him,"

Jax grinned a toothy devilish smirk and kicked Sullivan's leg, sending the Islander jolting upwards with a yelp of pain. As he fixed Jaxon with a look, the brother returned with an innocent glance.

"Oh, did I wake you?"

"You know full well you did,"

"Well you've likely slept long enough," he commented as he attempted to mimic Sullivan's accent, accentuating the vowels and drawing the words out. "You're just taking up bed space. We should just turf you out now that you're on feet again."

"You'd like that wouldn't you," Sullivan opted to ignore the blatant disregard for courtesy.

"All you do is mess this family up, we finally got over you, and here you are,"

"You think I had a choice, that I wanted to come back?"

"I'm starting to think you did,"

"Boys," sensing that the encounter was going south rapidly, Aidie sharply interjected, "might I remind you of a certain small human's presence."

Sullivan and Jaxon glanced over at Jesse, who sat at the kitchen table avidly watching the pair. His eyes fixed upon them as he took in every word.

Jaxon let out a light sigh, releasing the pent up aggression from his system. He sauntered towards his nephew and ruffled his hair.

"Ah, Jesse boy, you know Uncle Jax is just teasing our guest. They are words meant in jest, nothing more,"

As much as Sullivan wanted to scoff in response, he could see that the entire family put the young boy's upbringing first. He and Jaxon had always clashed, from the moment Sullivan had found favour in the twins over their own family. The jealousness had stuck with him for years. Even now his presence still seemed to hit a chord. But seeing him now step back from his usual bullish attitude for the sake of the child showed a lot about how much he had matured over the years.

Jesse, bright as usual, had already picked up on the prickle of tension.

"Do you know him, Uncle Jax?"

"You could say that kiddo,"

"How?"

Sullivan and Jaxon exchanged glances. There was so much history between them, but they couldn't even begin to describe it all to the innocent soul asking.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Jax gave him a half smile as he scruffed his hair again.

"Do you know his name?" Jesse asked, realising that he'd been missing this important detail.

"Why don't you ask him?" Aidie offered.

Jesse gave his grandmother a curious look as if it had never dawned on him just to ask. His dark eyes fixed on the injured soldier, and he tilted his head.

"What's your name?"

"Sullivan, but my friends call me Sully," the soldier gave him a kind smile, opening the boy up to the chance of furthering this new relationship, "you can call me Sully."

"Sully," the boy played with the words, seeing how they sounded from his mouth, "that's a funny name."

Sullivan smirked, "it sure is."

"Did your mama call you Sully too?"

For a painful heartbeat, Sullivan faltered before finding himself against, "my grandmother did, yes. She was like my adopted parent."

"Adopted?"

Sullivan wondered how much he should give to the small child about his upbringing. The boy was bright, but how much would he genuinely understand.

"My parents died when I was little. My grandmother raised me,"

Jesse glanced at Aidie as if in search of clarification. Instead, Jaxon answered for her.

"Kind of like how Aidie raised us instead of our mother,"

For a moment, the adults could see the child process the information given to him before responding.

"Are there many children without mamas?"

"You must remember, young one, that we lived in a time when our existence was threatened daily. Many people lost their parents or children, even. Every day was a battle to survive. That's not to say that certain dangers don't exist today, life just became less threatening," Aidie explained, dipping down to the boy and planting a kiss on the crown of his head, "We lost many people along the way, which is why we make the most of who we have now."

Jesse smiled and reached out to hug his Grandmother, "then I'm lucky I have you."

"You are indeed," she roughed a hand through his hair before she returned to assess the damage Trystan had done to their food.

For the first time since his discovery, Sullivan joined the Wilks family for dinner. Finally, his appetite was beginning to catch up with him. They all squeezed around a small table and helped themselves to the food in front of them. Jaxon assisted Sullivan in passing a bowl of stew over to him. As much as he disliked the soldier, he appreciated Aidie's wishes more.

Sullivan held back stuffing his face, despite the retort from his stomach. Instead, he took in the family around him and marvelled at how much they had changed in six years. Ollyvar kept mostly to himself, watching the soldier closely. His countenance, dark and unresponsive, and only lightened when Aidie spoke to him. She was the only one who had ever made an impact on him.

After food, the family chattered amongst themselves. Jesse withdrew himself to a pile of books in the corner of the room and huddled himself in a blanket. Sullivan found himself assisted to the chair beside the fire and left to rest. And despite how much he wanted to resist it, he felt himself relax fully in their surroundings, and he drifted off to sleep.

Every so often he would pick out quiet words muttered between the Wilks brothers.

"So when are we gonna tell him?"

"Not our place to say anything, besides, Olly told us not to say anything,"

"The sooner he leaves, the better,"

Sleep absorbed him again, and it wasn't until a sound sometime later alerted him, that he attempted to straighten up. Only to have his muscles scream out in defiance and refuse his movement.

An exhausted sigh came from the darkness as a shadowy figure made their tired way to the kitchen. While digging through the cupboards, they used one hand to ease their shoes off their weary feet and toss them across the room. It was then that Sullivan was able to take in the long gentle curls that tumbled beyond their shoulders. Aliana.

She dropped to an exhausted heap on a chair beside the kitchen table, even from his position by the dying fire, he could sense the weight of her worries. Her movements were sluggish and laboured as she picked at the bowl of leftovers in front of her. Propping her elbows up, she massaged her temples, wincing at the effort.

Her motions were so familiar and reminiscent of her twin brother, even down to the way she sighed. He could remember so little from the last few years, but somehow both she and Jaime remained fixed in his head. He could barely remember much of his friend, and yet something as simple as the warmth of Aliana's last embrace seemed to resonate deep within him.

What was this aching emotion he was feeling?

The chair creaked with his shifting weight, and she sat bolt upright, her gaze drawing to his shadowy outline beside the dying fire. She quietly rose to her feet and padded towards him, and he quickly snapped his eyes shut. He could sense her, so close, yet a thousand miles away from him. He tried his hardest to concentrate on his breathing and to look like he was in a deep sleep. He heard a rustle of fabric and felt the weight of a blanket draped over him. He waited a moment before he gambled on opening one eye. She had dropped to the pile of blankets in the corner of the room where she had wrapped herself up and accepted slumber.

"Thank you, Ali," he quietly voiced.

The silence stretched between them before she eventually responded tiredly back.

"You're welcome, Sul,"

Author's Notes -

It's been a while, I apologise, been dealing with some issues and my head wasn't in the right place. But I'm back and hopefully should get the next chapter out pretty quickly. Just discovered that one of my other characters that you have yet to meet actually has the same name as one of the new comic book series, so I'm having to rewrite and change his name just so I don't confuse the two.

Anyway, this is a slower chapter but a necessity, we're building slowly, everything will hopefully fall nicely into place.

Enjoy!