Broken
Three Years Later…
The night air was hot and still. The sky above was clear, and a thousand stars shone down brightly, ignorant of what human tragedies played out beneath them. At the windows, several equally bright eyes peered out, curious and concerned, shining and glistening.
Hawkeye sat at the side of the road with his head in his hands. The bitter, acidic taste of bile still burned at the back of his throat, and his boots were streaked and spattered from where he had thrown up a few minutes before. He hadn't moved for some time. The events that had unfolded around him did so without anyone bothering him, and it was only now that anyone had even attempted to draw him out of the catatonic reverie he seemed to have retreated into.
"Hawkeye?" It was Margaret who spoke, laying a gentle hand on Hawkeye's arm. She tugged at him, repeating his name a few times. "Hawkeye, we have to go. We can't stay here."
At last, Hawkeye looked up. His cheeks were wet, his eyes wide, and his gaze unfocussed. His consciousness hovered somewhere in the mists of his addled mind, not quite with it, not quite here.
"Are you okay?" Margaret asked him, crouching beside him in the dust, her face wracked with concern.
Sniffing, Hawkeye wiped his face with one trembling hand. "Sorry. You don't need this."
"It's okay." Margaret's voice was gentle and tender, and she took his arm to help him to his feet. "It wasn't your fault."
He took a few shaky steps, with Margaret's help, muttering something under his breath. She thought she heard him mention something about Henry, but his head was down and his voice was too soft to make out his words. But he was moving, and that was something. She offered him a canteen of water, which he accepted with trembling hands, washing his mouth out and taking a few grateful sips to ease the burning in his throat. "This is the weakest gin I've ever tasted," Hawkeye said flatly.
Margaret forced a humourless laugh. If he was making jokes, that was a good sign, right? "See?" she said, wiping his face and lips with her handkerchief. "You're going to be alright. It's all going to be alright."
Hawkeye nodded, his eyes more focused now. "Sure I am," he said, his voice sounding a little more like himself. He smiled at Margaret and handed her back her canteen. "It'll be fine. I'll be fine." He turned away, and Margaret didn't catch his words as he walked away from her and stepped up onto the bus. "I don't know why I'm getting so upset over a goddamn chicken."