Haven't really had a lot about Ridge in any of my fics, so here you go.


Ridge lay there in silence, staring at the bottom of the bunk above him. His ankles were crossed, and his hands lay useless and almost numb on his stomach.

He forced himself not to think about what day it was. A nap would be a good idea to take his mind off things, but with how quiet he'd been earlier in the day, any indication of fatigue would make everyone think he was sick. Maybe that was what Ridge should have done: fake being sick and hang around the medbay, then maybe everyone would leave him alone.

Hey, what's wrong?

What's the matter?

Are you okay?

You're being pretty quiet, Ridge, what's up?

They're only pretending to care, he'd thought to himself as the barrage of questions steadily grew worse. Was he not allowed to keep to himself every once in a while? It seemed the quieter he got, the more people wanted to invade his privacy.

Almost automatically, his face soured. Ridge should have been able to mourn in peace.

Despite his best efforts to forget about everything, memories still insisted on intruding on the empty space he created in his mind for days like this.

Ridge sighed heavily, the only noise in the empty barracks.

Images of the earliest moments of his life appeared: stormy skies, rare days of sunshine, and a single female Kaminoan—the only person he knew for a long time. For a moment, he almost forgot what her name was.

Min Lo. Tall and young and more or less his mother.

He remembered being cared for by her during the beginning two years of his life. She was the only person he'd known, loved, and cared for. Part of him, despite how young he'd been, knew she'd felt the same way, regardless of everything she said about his not being her son and only being an "experiment of sorts".

Min Lo was the first person in his life; little details about him didn't matter. Even though she was a Kaminoan, he considered her his mother. There was no changing that fact.

She was dead, he knew, but it was still something he was having trouble understanding. It was hard when the only two people you loved were dead.

Deep breath. In. Out.

Dal.

This time Ridge clamped his mouth shut, pressing his fingers over his lips until it hurt. That day came back in excruciating detail. There was blood, and moans of pain and tears and desperate attempts to keep him alive even though it was all futile.

This was the exact say his only brother died.

Ridge squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the heels of his palms to his face.

No. He is not going to start crying.

Soldiers died every day. Everyone else lost brothers and never broke down like Ridge did. For that, he felt as pathetic as his first squad had been sure to make him feel—but no one was as close to Dal as Ridge had been.

Dal had been Ridge's only brother, the only one Ridge considered family, worth talking to and listening to and sharing secrets with and asking advice from. Dal was quite possibly the first person (besides Min Lo) that didn't find some way to bully Ridge. He was eternally grateful for that, but there was no way to show Dal that now—

He rolled onto his side, eyes still closed and mouth still shut, but by this point it was useless. The tears streamed down his face into the grey pillow below his head. His shoulders shook and a sob broke out, his throat tightening to the width of a needle.

Another sob, and then his nose was running.

He didn't stop crying until he heard the doors open, when light spilled into the dark barracks and the chattering that had been going on in the halls suddenly quieted, then stopped. Footsteps shuffled cautiously across the durasteel floors, each member of Crusade Squad moving to their respective bunks.

Ridge felt their stares; he pulled his blanket over his head, glad he'd decided to remove his armor before he climbed in.

"Do you think he's…?" It was Edger, ever lacking subtlety, who spoke up first.

"Quiet!" Jax hissed in response. "He's probably just sleeping. You know better than to wake him."

They all knew it wasn't true, but acknowledging the tears they knew were staining his pillow would create a collective feeling of guilt and sorrow none of them were willing to carry yet.

Through his blanket, Ridge heard beds creek and muttered "good nights" as everyone crawled under blankets. No one was sleeping, he knew, and he was willing to hold his breath for the rest of the night if it meant none of them would hear him crying.

Unfortunately, he couldn't hold his breath any longer; another sob broke through, the loudest noise in the barracks. There was no holding it back. Ridge was gasping and coughing under his stuffy blanket, snot and tears saturating the pillow.

It was a full five minutes before he calmed down.

The metal frame of the bunk next to him groaned, footsteps softly crossing the small space between them and Ridge.

"Ridge?" Marik's voice was soft, worried. "Ridge, I know you're upset, but…do you want to talk about it? Ridge?" His voice climbed in pitch a bit with concern.

For a moment, Ridge considered actually opening up to his squad mate, telling Marik every personal detail about him and letting it all out.

He stayed under his blanket in the hot darkness, silently declining his offer. He heard Marik shift outside, the smallest sigh escaping his lungs.

"You can't keep going like this, Ridge. It's unhealthy, keeping everything bottled up inside. You can trust me; I swear I won't tell anyone." The slightest edge of desperation crept into Marik's words.

Ridge sniffed, hiccupped, remained silent.

Warmth seeped through the thin blanket, spreading over his shoulder to his back in slow circles. He hiccupped again.

"Your brothers are here for you, you know." His voice held no annoyance or condemnation. He found a spot on Ridge's bed that he could sit on, continuing the circles he made on Ridge's back. "I know what it's like to lose a brother…but you've got everyone else here with you."

Carefully, Ridge freed his head from the prison of heat he'd trapped himself in. Cool air flooded his face and lungs. He hiccupped again.

"You ready to talk?" Marik asked gently, peering into Ridge's red-rimmed eyes.

Ridge stared back, momentarily untrusting of his voice. He shifted his gaze to the wall, swallowed around the lump that still blocked his throat. "No," he answered, strained.

Marik nodded almost imperceptibly. "Alright. If you want to, just…tell me, okay?"

Ridge didn't move, only focused on the hand that rubbed a circle of heat on his back. Eventually, he closed his eyes, half asleep when he heard Marik speak again.

"Good night, Ridge."


Darker than I originally intended, but it happens sometimes. The next one should be lighter than this.