Time's just flying by. Three jobs, and barely any time to do anything else. I appreciate that some of you still follow and wait for the things I write. I've never been one to leave something unfinished, especially a fanfic...heh. It might take me a long time, but still.

As for those who go in state parks, I ask humbly of you that you flush the toilet when you're done...the basest (and most well-paying) job I have is an overnight shift at a park. The other two are much more enjoyable and towards my goals in life, (library and theatre)...But at this park, one of my duties is cleaning bathrooms. I drive around checking to see if they're clean. And the answer is no...no they ain't.

Last night, in every single women's room, somebody left a crap...in the same night. It was frustrating and highly confusing. I've started to go all Scooby-Doo, wondering about a possible Crap Caper.

Never mind. That's really disgusting, I'm sorry for providing you with that image.

Let me provide you with some pining, angst-ridden images instead as the boys continue to try and rekindle (hah) their relationship.

~Will~

The blue tinge to the firebird's skin slowly faded away. He began to feel warm again. The veins in his forehead reduced in size significantly. His tremors stilled and he let go of my hand, his knuckles thunking quietly down to the carpet.

But he was breathing…

"Warren," I pulled him further upright, wrapping my arms gently around him. Listening to him blessed air was a relief that I hadn't known for so long.

The pyro's eyelashes fluttered slightly for a second, half-hooded and unable to focus. His eyes were bloodshot. A small, disoriented groan came in the back of his throat.

"Shh, it's okay." I whispered, stroking a hand through his hair, adjusting my legs under him. He coughed, eyes closing. Faintly behind the mask I heard him breathe out "Will…"

"I'm here. Just breathe, Warren. I'm right here."

The firebird tried to say something else, but I couldn't understand as it tapered off to a breathy murmur.

"Just uh…I'll, d-do I need to call an ambulance?" I fumbled for my phone that was in my pocket.

This must happen frequently enough that he would need to carry the mask. He'd seemed to get it under control before, so I didn't know what he needed. Medical attention? Simple (me) attention? Or just to be left alone like last time…?

"No…jus'lemme rest." He sighed quietly, finally breathing almost normally.

Warren's body was limp and heavy with exhaustion. Tentatively, I slipped the strap of the mask over his head and put the canvas bag in his lap. Swallowing hard, I shifted, getting my hands under him. I rose to my feet with the grown man cradled easily in my arms. Carefully, I kept his head nocked against my shoulder so it didn't loll and pull on the strap.

I'd always known the pyro to be so tall and strong. He had always played it off like he didn't care what people thought about him.

The shame in his eyes when I'd seen him first use the mask in front of me had felt like a spear in my belly. Right then, I was almost partially grateful that he wasn't very coherent. Shame was the last thing I wanted to see in those bloodshot eyes right now.

I laid him down onto the bed on his side and pulled the blanket up to his shoulder. Cautiously, I settled down next to him. He was breathing slow and easy now, only once in a while a cough made its way up his throat. Nevertheless, after nearly going brain dead, I couldn't leave him alone.

Fairly sure that the firebird was unconscious, I took my phone from my pocket. Then I opened up Google…

Pausing, I glanced at Warren and then typed in "asphyxiation".

The results varied in medical articles, symptoms, and some weird stuff about autoerotic asphyxiation…

Bloodshot eyes caused by popped capillaries from lack of oxygen.

Caused by choking, asthma, panic attacks, strangulation, allergic reactions, poisonous gas…

Usually ends in brain damage, coma or death…

Swollen airways, froth at the mouth, cold and bluish skin…

I x'ed the search and dropped my phone on the side of the bed, looking worriedly to the pyro. His eyes were closed, and his forehead was smooth without the pain and fear. His breathing was deep and slow. Every once in a while, he twitched with a small cough, and swallowed hard in his sleep.

What could I possibly do?

~Warren~

I felt warm and groggy. Dragging my eyes even halfway open felt like breaking through a dense fog.

Fuck…

Even my thoughts felt warm. I realized that my mask was still on my face.

Moving my limbs was a struggle. They felt heavy and when I tried to get an arm up, it got caught up in blankets.

"Hey, hey, it's okay."

A gentle hand ran through my hair. It was Stronghold. "Strnghull…Y'got…getit'ff." I muttered, trying to speak clearly.

"Shh, it's okay."

"N-no." I tried shaking my head and managed to finally get my hand free of the blankets.

"Warren,"

I could barely register my fingers fumbling under my chin until they found the release for the emergency tab. The telltale click sounded.

"Off," It came out like a sigh as my arms slumped down, too heavy.

Finally, Stronghold seemed to get the idea and loosened the strap. He carefully removed the mask from my face. The air tasted a little bit cooler and less…medicinal.

I drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, slumping into the pillows.

I didn't know how long I'd been out, or how much of the relaxant I'd taken in. Coming around immediately was not going to be an option with the excessive medicine in my system. Stronghold took to rubbing my back.

I couldn't remember what had happened right after the attack started. However, there was something calming about the brawn's touch. It was keeping away the panic that usually would rise up to my throat at my being delirious and out of control. The relaxant probably had something to do with that as well…

"Warren? Are you okay?" The flier asked, concern emanating in his voice.

Still, I couldn't open my eyes. Licking my lips, I swallowed, "Medicine'll wear off."

Stronghold's hand stilled and a long silence followed. I was trying to break through the cloud, trying to will myself into balanced consciousness. It was a losing battle. The heaviness in my limbs was receding to a point, but I still felt as if I'd just sprinted through the mined forests in Area K3. With Spike slung over my shoulders. Again.

Expended. So exhausted.

I managed to open my eyes partially. I looked at Stronghold where he leaned slightly over me. He looked concerned.

There were things I wanted to tell the brawn. And then there were the things I never wanted him to find out. Like how weak I was…as if he didn't already know. And then there was the fact that I was a horrible, horrible excuse for a human being. A complete and utter cliché, sure, but terribly true.

The rock star's face became blurry and my eyes sunk closed once more. Water seeped over my nose and down my cheek into the pillows. "Hey, hey, it's okay." His hand resumed the comforting rubbing at my back. He even touched the edge of my face. "It's alright."

I looked at him through my wet eyelashes.

He looked so concerned and comforting. His touch was soothing. I hadn't been touched like this in a long time. I hadn't let anyone touch me like this in a long time. The brawn noticed me looking and I turned away. "Go away," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut.

"You almost fucking died, Warren. I'm not leaving. You should be in a hospital."

I moved my shoulder out from under his palm, and he acquiesced the silent plead. I'm not going back to any fucking hospital…

There was a long period of silence. I took the time to enjoy breathing while doing my best to ignore the flier sitting on the bed behind me. He was too close. He could see too much of me. I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to touch me again. But I sure as hell didn't need or deserve kindness like that.

I swallowed hard at the discomforted sound in my stomach. Before the episode, I'd been about to hesitantly search for something to eat in the kitchen. As long as I was staying here, I probably should chip in for the grocery bill. Or do my own food-fetching. I wasn't a mooch before and I was never going to be one.

"It's probably not real hot anymore…but uh…if you're up to it, I brought home take-out." Came Stronghold's voice through the mists of my thoughts.

"M'not hungry."

"Warren, I just heard…"

When I tugged the blankets higher up over my shoulder, he trailed off. But then I heard him quietly plead, "Please War…"

I stiffened at the small, hurting voice.

"I may not know personally what you're going through…but," He stopped to take a deep breath. "You're my best friend, man. Doesn't matter how many years it's been. You'll always mean so much to," He trailed off again.

Years ago, I couldn't stand to see him in any kind of despair. It had never been very often. He'd been a fairly (if not annoyingly) happy-go-lucky kind of guy. He was well-liked and it wasn't often that he'd been upset. But sometimes after a fight he and Hippie or his father had had, he'd get all quiet and somber. Not pouting like he used to do when I'd shoot down an invitation to participate in things that I'd thought were stupid at the time.

No that was worse. I'd be in a dark place with my thoughts and my anger at the world around me, and he'd join me there. I never wanted him to feel that way just because I did. He was too good to feel that way. He was far too good for me to call friend. I remembered how young and innocent those ocean blue eyes were when he'd look into my eyes and beg "Please don't shut me out."

When he was hurting, it made the world darker for some reason.

"Please don't shut me out."

Fuck…

"Don't do that thing you used to do, Will…" I breathed. "Don't get all depressed just because I'm not okay."

"I want you to be okay," he murmured back. I could feel his hand hovering over my shoulder. "I-I want to be here for you, Warren. You don't have to go through this alone."

Suddenly I sat up, moving back against the headboard of the bed away from his touch. "I don't deserve to be okay…I've killed hundreds and hundreds of people, Will. I've done things. Things that would make you hate me if you ever found out. Hate me almost as much as I hate myself. So please, just leave it alone." I don't know why I said it. It felt like a confession even though I barely said anything. It hurt to wonder at what he must think of me. A broken down murderer.

There was another moment of silence. So many things swam through those blue eyes. Then he got up off of the bed. I watched him walk past and leave the room without so much as a backward glance.

My shoulders slumped as I gathered the blankets into my fists. I felt like I was sinking. Sinking right into the mattress at the pain and sadness welling in my gut. Still, I resolved, Good. Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on nothing but quietness to keep the tempting thoughts of a short drop and a sudden stop out of my head.

I opened my eyes when the door opened again. There was Stronghold…with a Paper Lantern bag in his hand. He smiled gently, "Shu says hi."

~Will~

It took some patience, but I managed to coax the firebird into the living room. After that, I'd done my best not to stare at him as he timidly ate the food from the place he'd worked since he was of a barely legal age. I had hoped that a reminder of his old job and boss might get him a little more comfortable. Perhaps a greeting from the short, aging and endearing Asian lady that had more spunk than a young bull would have brought a smile to his face. But no.

His expression was a still mask, as it had been during nearly the entire time he'd first come to my doorstep. He didn't ask what his former place of employment looked like, or how Shu was doing. It was unbearably silent and I wondered at what might be going through his head.

Stop staring. I scolded myself.

Instead, I turned my attention to the Simpsons rerun. Everything else on television had seemed like a really, really bad idea. Bad ideas ranging from Dexter to a showing of Saving Private Ryan.

Yeah, shows or movies about war, guns or killing with the Super Special Forces veteran suffering from PTSD in the room...sounds like a prescription for disaster. The stupid old cartoon seemed safe enough. But then again, I flinched when the meta-theatre had started. Lisa and Bart were watching their favorite violent cartoon Itchy and Scratchy. Warren had seemed unfazed by the cartoon gore, thankfully. He'd shaken his head mildly and speared a piece of chicken.

With an attempt at nonchalance, I picked up the remote and prepared to change the channel. "It's fine." The pyro grunted, chewing quietly.

Caught, I slowly put the remote back down. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He repeated, apparently very invested in his food.

The chatter from the TV didn't hold my interest. So, I tried talking again. "So…what do you think you're gonna do?"

He shrugged, not looking up. More silence. I felt helpless, and stuffed the last few bites of my burger into my mouth to distract myself. Doing my best to chew silently, I stared at Lisa, watching her tell the adults what was what. Something in the background caught my eye, and an idea dawned on me.

Smiling, I wiped my mouth on a napkin and said, "Well…if you're gonna meet Layla every week, you're gonna need a ride."

Warren glanced up at me then, turning his fork between his fingers. He looked back down and moved the rice around in the container. "You don't have to worry about that. I'll figure something out."

Chuckling, I shook my head, "You don't need to figure something out."

He looked back over at me, his eyes questioning. "I said that I can do,"

I stood up, and gestured for him to stand. "Come to the garage. I wanna show you something." The veteran stared at me cautiously for a moment more before slowly rising to his feet. He followed me quietly into the garage and stayed put when I gestured for him to do so.

I went around the car and the mess of tools and lawn equipment I'd left a few weeks ago over to the canvas cover on the far side. Glancing back behind me, I saw the firebird's curious expression.

Please. Please, please smile.

I whipped the canvas away, and nudged the kickstand up with my foot. Rolling it backwards I watched Warren's eyes follow me. I steered it around behind the car and came out with it, smiling broadly and proudly.

A satisfied feeling settled in my warming chest as I watched the realization come over him. His lips parted ever so slightly as he took it in. I nudged the kickstand back down, caressing the sleek handlebars. It was still black and polished with a coat of gloss over the ribs of red flames. I had always seen it as the most beautiful, precious old Harley in the world.

I thought about all of the bike maintenance and mechanical books and YouTube videos I'd researched the weeks after the pyro had disappeared in my life. Keeping this machine in the best condition it could ever be in had been amongst my top priorities over the past ten years. It was one of my most valued possessions…and it wasn't even really mine.

"You kept it…" He finally murmured.

Still smiling, I nodded and softly replied, "Yeah." Patting the brake, I stepped back and crossed my arms, perusing the machine. "It's not all the same exact parts, mind you. Maintenance and all that. Had to replace the shocks. Redid the motor a few times. I repainted the fire a few times when it got too faded. Tire replacements, seat refurnishing, regular stuff like that. It's an old thing, but it has always run pretty damn good for me."

Warren stepped closer, and stood on the other side of the bike, perusing it with more intent than I had. He touched the handlebars and then crouched down to move the pads of his fingers along the flames and the smooth seat. It was as if he couldn't believe what he saw in front of him.

"I promised I'd take care of it for you." My eyes felt a little misty as I tried to block out the pain that had been a part of that day. I wanted to ask him what that day had meant to him so badly; to know how he had felt about me…and maybe still did. I longed to kiss him again like he'd kissed me. I wanted to know.

"Warren, you," I started before my voice gave out. He looked up at me. His dark chocolate eyes were so calm, and he was smiling. Like he used to. That easy smile that he had rarely shown anyone else. My heart caught in my throat like a bezoar and I swallowed hard, awed by that familiar face.

It was Warren again.

I had to tell him. I had to ask him. I had to touch him.

Instead, my hands stuffed themselves into my pockets by their own accord and stupid, idle blather came spilling out of my mouth, "I've taken this thing with me on every tour. I've been all over the country with it. Europe. I got lost in Japan on it. Even tried to take it when we went to Afghanistan one time to do a show for soldiers stationed there a few years back." I didn't notice the slight knowing shimmer in his eyes as I chuckled, "I was advised not to bring it off of the plane."

His smile faded, "I know."

I tilted my head slightly, "What?"

"I know. I was there."

The floor must have fallen out from under me. My jack felt slack. "You…you were there?" He nodded, "Yeah," he looked away, the flames on his bike becoming the most interesting thing in the room, "You were singing What's Left of Me."

Warren had been there. Three years ago, he had been there. He had fucking been there. Hurt pricked at my chest, "W-why didn't you come and see us? It wasn't like we were difficult to get to. I must've shook every hand on that base."

The pyro became silent and he looked away. And God and gods and every natural thing in this world, the silence felt thick and painful. He didn't want to see me…

~Warren~

The fire in my heart had lapped tenderly at my ribs when he'd shown me the bike. My bike. All sleek and shiny and in better condition than when I'd last seen it. I wondered at all of the places Stronghold had said he'd ridden it. And when he mentioned Afghanistan…

That evening had been one in which I'd experienced a turmoil I hadn't felt in years. And since that day, it hadn't left me. I'd done my best to become numb for seven years after I'd enlisted. I'd fooled myself into believing that it hadn't been hard at all hearing how the brawn and his buddies had been rising to fame. I'd bought the albums as they'd come out. I had all six of them hidden in the guestroom right now.

Sure, I hadn't listened to them until after I'd seen him on that platform that afternoon. It had been so fucking long since I'd heard him sing. He'd played guitar as a hobby back in high school. He'd been good. And ten years later, he was even better.

I thought of how Alpha had nudged my shoulder where I'd been standing in the back of the crowd. "You okay?" he'd asked.

Me and my team weren't there for a pleasureable afternoon. We'd been there on a mission. Intel had been provided that a Colonel on base had been striking a deal for a weapons exchange with insurgents. He had more pull than a man like him should, with a squad of Supers under his command. Not SSF or anything, just bloodthirsty mercs with thick paperwork smokescreens that hid them in plain sight. He'd needed to be removed from the base swiftly and silently to face up to the higher, more secretive side of the government. Naturally, my team had been sent in.

We were supposed to drop in, blend in, and then fade away with the Colonel and his mercs in tow. It had been a coincidence that his band, the Unlikely Heroes had been playing. Alpha was on lead, sniffing out the mercs. There had been two in the crowd nearby, both watching the show.

He'd played so wonderfully…looked so beautiful with that thrilled look on his face as he'd held his guitar close.

"They're on the move." Alpha had said, and I'd dragged myself away. To think that I'd killed right under Stronghold's nose…

That shame and hate came back anew. It felt like a wound that just kept opening up, unable to heal…just like I'd told Hippie. And she'd said "Wounds like that will always be there, but they hurt less and less as time goes on. In the meantime, it's not a bad option to get it out, whether it be a journal, art, work or just talking with someone."

I didn't want to talk about it with him. He didn't need that in his life. What was I even still doing in his house? I watched the heartbreak spread through his eyes as he frowned down at me. And I felt a stab of nausea when he turned away slightly and brushed at his eyes.

"I had orders…" I murmured. I didn't tell him what I'd done or how I'd stared down at the base as our chopper took off with a couple of bodies, three surviving but injured mercs and the Colonel cuffed to the seats.

The flier looked back down at me, his eyes softening. But only slightly. He seemed curt when he spoke, "Right, of course…sorry. I just assumed, well, yeah…"

Awkwardly, I stood up and brushed at my jeans. Gotta get out of here… "Do you mind if I, uh, take it for a ride? It's been a long time."

He shook his head quickly, "Oh, no! By all means, man! It's your bike." He went over and hit a button on the wall. The sleek garage door began to slide up automatically. "Still got your helmet too. Never fit my head." He went over to one of the shelves and pulled a gray bag off of it. From it he produced my old full-face black helmet and held it out to me.

Wordlessly, I slipped it on and did up the strap. Then…tentatively, I swung a leg over his, my bike. Fuck, it felt so familiar. And comforting. Stronghold handed me a key with a smile on his face, "Have fun."

Turning it over, the machine roared to life like a beast. The heat of the motor and all of its vibrations traveled through my body. I backed it up and turned around. I remembered this. It felt good. Twisting the throttle modestly, my foot left the ground and I rumbled away down the road.

I thought about how it used to feel when I'd gotten him to ride with me. The heat of his thighs brushing lightly on both sides of me and the trusting embrace of his arms. I thought about how the nervousness had faded away into excitement as I'd taught him how to ride it…

He wants the old me… That much I knew. And I couldn't give it. Too much had happened for me to ever be the same again. The ever present sadness and caution in his eyes was overwhelming when he looked at me now. It hurt me probably as much as it hurt him. I wanted things to change.

I wanted Str…

Shaking the thought from my head, I gave the throttle a little more pull, distracting myself with the resounding roar.