A/N: Before we begin here, let me once again say thank you all immensely for the feedback you've been giving me so far. Every word is extremely appreciated, and I mean that sincerely. Now, onto the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I own a very large nothing.

Chapter X:

"And we are so fragile, and our cracking bones make noise. And we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys."

-Breakable, by Ingrid Michaelson-

They'd barely slept that night, what with the dancing and the crew of the Sacred Heart trying to enjoy every last bit of port they could before departing once again to the sea, but when they approached their vessel and smelled that crisp, salt air, the part of their souls with a natural love for the ocean seemed to intensify, and they climbed onboard without complaint.

Well, most of them, anyway.

Jonathan wasn't complaining; not at all. He'd loved port so immensely, and last night had been nothing short of wonderful. Of course, he loved the Sacred Heart and the crew it held within its frame as well, but it was the location where they were going next that had his stomach in knots.

"Baldy, hurry it up already!"

JD turned towards the direction to which Percival had shouted, smiling warmly as he watched Christopher finish his kiss with Carla. He sprinted back on board, while Carla stood watching, Elliot right next to her and smiling all the while.

"You better come back and see us!" she shouted at him.

"Take care of yourself, okay sweetie?" Carla half asked, half screamed after Elliot said her piece. "And take care of Turk for me too, will you? He doesn't know what he's doing."

JD saluted them both, to which they laughed and waved a warm goodbye.

--

Jonathan was still leaning against the railing, looking out as the town he'd become so familiar with continued it's transformation from multiple bars and houses to multiple tiny dots. He only turned away when he sensed a familiar presence beside him, leaning against the railing and facing the town along with him.

"God, I love that place. It was good to see it again."

"Five months you were at sea last time, right?"

"Yup. Which really isn't bad, to be honest, but still. That town is so alive, you know? So full of energy."

JD nodded, understanding Ben's words in their entirety. "You know," he started, not really quite sure what he was getting ready to say, "I think that town possesses you, or maybe…no. It doesn't possess you. I think you possess the town."

Benjamin looked at him, eyebrows raised in question, though a slow, curious grin was beginning to tug at the corner of his lips. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean…the way you just described that place…it's how I would describe you, if asked. It's like…it's like you give off this energy to everything – everyone – that surrounds you. You're the kind of person that walks in a room and everything becomes alright again; everything just…glows."

For some, unfathomable reason, Jonathan was beginning to feel the onslaught of tears stinging at the back of his eyes. What was wrong with him? He had just had a wonderful night – a wonderful week – and here he was, getting himself all worked up, and for what? Maybe it was because, as he spoke, he realized that for all the wonderful and encouraging things Ben had done for him, he had never really once sat down and properly thanked him. Maybe it was because that, soon enough, he'd be leaving all these amazing people he'd gone about getting so close too. Whatever the reason, an unexpected swell of emotion overtook him, and he began trying desperately to rub at the tears that leaked freely with his sleeve. "I…I don't know what's wrong with me. Benjamin, I'm sorry. And thank you for everything; for everything Ben. I don't know what's gotten hold of me; I'm sorry. I just…thank you."

A large, comforting hand was suddenly patting his shoulder, bringing him into something like that of an embrace. It wasn't a hug, but it wasn't not hug. Whatever it was though, it felt really, really good.

"It's alright, Jonathan, it really is. You're upset about going home, I know you are, but let's save the goodbyes for now, okay? Let's enjoy what we have here and not think on all of that yet. And besides…I don't think the Captain would be happy to hear you're thinking of goodbyes already, either…"

Jonathan sniffed, trying his best not to well up all over again. Oh God…the last thing he needed was to start thinking about saying goodbye to the Captain.

A choking sound he hadn't meant to let escape had the arm wrapped around his shoulders tighten. "Guess that wasn't the best topic to bring up, huh?"

But the young brunet just laughed, sensing the humor beneath the first mate's last question. "It's okay. I just…thanks, Ben. Thank you for everything."

When he looked up, the first mate was smiling, his blue eyes filled with that old, familiar spark. "No problem, buddy."

--

After the ship was a good ways from port and out onto open sea, Percival handed out a task to each individual crew member to attend to for the rest of the day.

All for one, that is.

"Come, Newbie."

Percival made his way below deck, the pitter patter of JD's feet right behind him. It was time yet again for another lesson in sparring, but today's lesson held a special surprise.

Once below the upper deck, Percival gave out a sharp whistle, seeing that the kid had, in the process of following him, wandered into yet another day dream, something he was doing a lot more of lately.

JD startled out of whatever he'd been contemplating, but not before mumbling a quiet, "There'd be potatoes everywhere!"

Percival rolled his eyes, nodding over to where the kid's "weapon" lay in the corner of their usual practicing arena. "Go grab your stick, Newbie. We're going over the style in its entirety today."

"Really? We're not doing individual steps?"

"Nope. You know them all, and I've seen you spar with the others to know you've already put one and two together. So now let's go."

Percival withdrew his sword, leaving the small brunet looking up at him, half confused, half frightened by the realization that seemed to be taking over his expression. "I…what are you doing…?"

"We're sparring, Newbie. Now draw your weapon."

Percival found it hard, though he did succeed, at containing his laughter. The look on the kid's face was just so damn comical. His mouth was hanging open like a gutted fish, his blue eyes wide with both surprise and obvious fear. "What?" he practically squeaked.

The red head rolled his eyes. "You. Me. Sparring. Should I speak slower, or are you finally picking up on what it is I'm saying here? C'mon kid, stop gaping. Didn't I tell you that this sword would never be used on you? We're just sparring; nothing more."

As expected, the brunet instantly raised his hands, waving them frantically. "I didn't mean it like that! I just, it's just you, and I just didn't expect, and the sword, and it's really –"

"One, stop stuttering. And two, I know you didn't mean it like that, which brings me back to number one, though really, it'd be more like number three at this point: Stop stuttering. Get in your stance and let's get this lesson underway."

The Captain watched on, his face fixed and seemingly indifferent, as JD's hands wrapped tightly around the bottom of his stick before taking in a long, steadying breath. "Okay," the boy practically whispered. "I'm ready now."

"Good." And just like that, Percival was off; his body racing towards the kid before him.

Jonathan's next move was immediately on the defensive. Not the best way to start out, but if it kept you in the clear and away from immediate trouble, then why not? It was a good dodge for a beginner, anyway.

Percival, of course, was not at all using his full strength, but he wasn't playing little with the kid either. After all, if he completely held back, what kind of lesson would that be? Of course, when his sword collided with the kid's meager weapon, he had obviously pulled back on the reigns. There'd be no sparring at all if the kid's only defense suddenly broke into two.

They carried on like that for what felt like a solid ten minutes; Percival always in attack mode, leaving Jonathan constantly on the defensive. He could see the kid getting tired, and inwardly, he cheered for him; silently coaching him to make the right move. Think, kid, think! Use what I taught you and act on it! Put me in the defensive!

And suddenly, the older man saw it: The look on the kid's face as they continued their back and forth; his eyebrows coming together in yes – contemplation. Thinking strategically while fighting: a very, very hard thing to do, but Jonathan was doing it, and Percival could practically see the gears turning.

He'd seen it coming – the half pivot on Jonathan's right heel – but he allowed him his move, wanting to see where he'd go from there in order to reverse their current roles. The move came quite unexpectedly – a move that Percival had never even taught him.

Jonathan, after pivoting to regain both speed and balance, had ducked another thrust of the older man's sword, bringing his stick to his side, tucking it beneath his arm, and doing an honest to God tumble through the older man's legs, which had been parted during his last "attack."

The Captain, of course, turned around in time to meet Jonathan's weapon with his own, but the small, proud grin was visible through their on-going lesson, and Jonathan was flushed with not only the exercise, but the silent praise he was receiving from his mentor.

But now Jonathan was no longer on the defensive. Neither was Percival, of course, but they were both steadily going at it, weapons clanking against the other as they darted this way and that.

After another five minutes, however, the Captain realized that their lesson was coming to a close, not to mention he was getting – God save him – actually anxious as to the kid's reaction upon what he had prepared for him next. So with one, swift movement, the older man's sword came flying towards the outstretched stick; striking it hard and bringing the thing to mere splinters.

JD gawked at the small stub he had left in his hand, looking at the red headed man in obvious confusion. "Was that," he asked through weary breaths, "the end," intake, "of my," outtake, "lesson?" intake. "Or are you," outtake, "just," intake, "mad at me?"

"Breathe, Newbie. That was a huge work out for you, so breathe. And yeah kid, that was the end of your lesson for today, but it's not time to go back up to the main deck yet; not for you, anyway. Wait here and collect yourself. I'll be right back."

--

JD sat panting on the floor, his heart racing healthily as he awaited the return of his Captain. Today's lesson had undoubtedly been his best so far, but the way it had ended left him admittedly confused.

The stick Percival had given him during their first lesson wasn't just a branch pulled down from a tree. It was carved and smoothed and clearly made for fighting. Well, practice fighting, anyway. Why would the older man choose to smash it? Did he have more of them in storage somewhere? And why had he been instructed to stay where he was, rather than returning to the upper deck? Not that he was complaining, as he definitely appreciated the chance to get his heart beat back to its normal rhythm. It just left him a little confused...

But before his mind could come up with even more questions, the older man was back. JD was thankful that he was already red in the face. The Captain wouldn't be able to tell that he was blushing from the small, amused grin that was being aimed his way, clearly due to the fact that he was still breathing hard, while the older man remained completely unfazed.

"You alright there, kid?"

Jonathan stood up, finding at once that he was, in fact, quite alright. "Yeah, I'm okay. I can talk normally now, at least."

JD was more than just a little surprised when the red head let out a small, genuine sounding laugh. The last time he had seen him laugh – not grin or smile but honestly laugh – was during his first two weeks onboard the Sacred Heart; when Benjamin would make his daily visits; placing himself on the edge of JD's bed to talk about whatever it was that sprang to mind.

"You've been doing well, Newbie. Really well, and God only knows how much I ra-heely hope that you'll never have to use this, but just in case…" Percival withdrew what Jonathan had assumed would be his usual sword, but when the weapon was completely unsheathed, he saw that it was not, as predicted, the older man's usual instrument.

In fact, he was quite sure he had never seen this particular sword at all.

It was radiant, even under the dimly lit lanterns. The hilt was delicate without being too over the top. The length of the blade looked a bit shorter than would most likely be required for Percival, and yet, it seemed perfect for –

"This is for you, Jonathan."

If it was possible for the brunet's eyes to expand any further, they did upon the older man's words, and even more so when the Captain threw the sword in an elegant flip, so that the blade landed flat on his palm, the hilt held out to be grabbed by its intended owner.

"Me?" he finally managed to ask, his voice an awe struck whisper.

The smile on the Captain's face was small but noticeable; undeniably genuine. "Yeah, kid, you. I got it made while we were at port; thought you could use something other than a stick. Anyway, it was literally made for you, so take it, Jonathan. It's yours."

The brunet reached out, the realization of what was honestly taking place hitting him when his palm met the cool, bronze hilt of his new weapon. His. His sword. He was just about damn well near giddy when he held the blade out before him, gliding careful, hesitant fingers over the newly crafted steel, its shine continuing to sparkle under the lanterns. "My sword," he finally spoke, voice still filled with wonder.

The older man nodded, his smile still uncharacteristically present. "Your sword."

"Captain…?"

"Jonathan?"

"Thank you. I…thank you."

"You're welcome."

--

The next few days went by smoothly. Now that Jonathan was able to spar with Percival himself, it meant that he was also able to spar with the rest of the crew as well. It was interesting too, seeing each and every crew member's different style in terms of fighting.

Todd, who he admittedly hadn't expected much from, turned out to be quite good. When the crew member Wen noticed the puzzled look on the young brunet's face, he explained to him that Todd was an, "In the moment," kind of guy.

He'd also gotten a chance to spar with Douglas. Who was, well…what he had expected Todd to be like. Jonathan would patiently explain to the nervous crewman what it was that Percival had taught him during their lessons. It felt strange to be teaching someone else, especially since the man was older than him, but it appeared he was improving, even if it was just baby steps.

Of course, for one reason or another, he'd been paired up with Shilling Guy. Percival had been quick to cut off that particular match, seeing as how the tallest of the crewmen chose to chase him around with this sword rather than actually fight. By the time the older man had located the two, seeing as how Shilling Guy had managed to chase him all over the Sacred Heart, JD was behind the main mast; stiff as a board and wide eyed, while Shilling Guy looked as though he was getting ready to pop out from behind the corner, solely to scare him; his sword having been already put back in it's sheath.

And finally, finally, he'd been given the chance to practice with Benjamin. Jonathan had been told by the others that Benji was second best only to the Captain, but when fighting him, the young brunet was honestly unable to tell the difference. He was an extraordinarily good fighter. This, of course, didn't surprise JD in the least. It just made his admiration of Ben all the more grand.

But besides sparring practice, Jonathan was also being given assignments along with the rest of the crew members now too. His were admittedly simpler, such as patching up the sails that needed mending, or going down to storage to retrieve whatever it was that was needed at the time, but he was thrilled to be a part of it all, much to the crew members confusion.

So it was a shock to everybody when, on the seventh day after leaving port, Douglas Murphy came down from the crow's nest in a rush, the spyglass shaking in his hands. "C-C-Captain! Captain!"

The crew looked over at the quivering pirate, startled. They knew he was a jumpy one, but never had he sounded so honest to God petrified.

Percival was walking towards him at once, his stride rushed and impatient. "What is it, Nervous Guy? I swear, if this is just another shark sighting, then I'm going to –"

"P-P-P-"

"I'm sorry, Pee Pants, but I didn't quite catch that. Mind saying that just a bit clearer for me there?"

"P-Pirates!"

The older man's eyes widened at once, but were quick to go back to their usual, slanted scowl. He grabbed the spy glass from the crewman without a word, holding it up to his eye and looking out at the open sea.

Jonathan watched on, frozen where he stood. Percival said that his only enemy out here besides the Navy had been Captain Robert. He was dead though. He didn't have to worry. So why the fear?

Then again, Percival had also said that it was probable that another pirate would come along in hopes to defeat the legendary Captain. And if it wasn't that, then it was just as easily a crew of pirates on their own merry way. That was just as possible too, wasn't it?

Finally, and much to the relief of what seemed to be the entire crew, the older man lowered the seeing instrument, his face looking not at ease, but not at alarm either. "Ship looks vaguely familiar; it was probably anchored at port somewhere near the Sacred Heart, but I think if it was a ship in means of an attack, it'd be from a vessel I would recog –"

The older man's words were cut off as a canon ball came hurtling towards them. It fell short of the ship, splashing into the ocean instead, but the crack of the fire had been loud and clear; it's message all too apparent: We're after you.

"LOAD THE GUNS!"

The Captain's voice rang through the ship, dominant and clear, sending its crew into an organized sort of flurry. All knew where to go and what to do. All accept for one.

Jonathan looked about this way and that, panic stirring at the base of his stomach as he tried to take in what was undeniably happening. He was vaguely reminded of that night on the Fractured Enid, when the storm had hit and chaos had ensued. No one had helped him. No one had even looked his way.

But somebody was helping him, as was made apparent by the sudden grasp on his shoulders. Two large, calloused hands were leading him within the confines of the cabin he had spent his first two weeks in; those peaceful, peaceful weeks.

"Captain? Captain, what're you doing!?"

"You're staying in my cabin until it's over, you hear me Jonathan? You – stay – here."

The brunet had no idea why he said what came out of his mouth next. He was more than just petrified at the idea of fighting, especially in a battle that had a high chance of ending in bloodshed, but a strong sense of obligation – no. Loyalty. No; love. Love, loyalty, and an odd sort of determinationcame rushing through him. He had to fight with the rest of the crew; his family. He had to fight along side of Percival and Benjamin and Christopher. He had to fight with – for – all of those who had taken care of him; who had saved him and had helped him and who were currently bringing him back to his village. How could he just sit, safe and sound in the Captain's cabin, while the rest of the crew went on fighting? "But you trained me for this!" he was suddenly protesting. "You trained me just in case! I have to fight! I have to help! Captain, I –"

"STAY IN THE CABIN UNTIL I SAY OTHERWISE!"

And just the like that, the door had slammed, leaving the young brunet at a complete and utter loss as to what to do next.

--

The Captain was at the wheel, turning it sharply so that they were facing the attacking ship. He wasn't going to run away; not before seeing who in God's name was attacking them, completely and utterly unprovoked.

"The canons are ready, Captain. Should we fire?"

"On my signal, yes. I want to get closer first; want to see who these sons of bitches are."

"Where's Jonathan?"

"I threw him in the cabin."

"Ah…"

"…Benjamin."

"Yeah?"

"Are you ready for this? Whatever this even is?"

"Perry…"

For the first time since their conversation, the older man turned around to face his first mate, hands still on the wheel of the vessel. The expression that met his own stirred something within him; something that he felt no desire to pinpoint.

Ben's eyes held a seriousness there that was so very scarcely seen; a feeling that seemed to be coming off of him in waves and enveloping the red headed man that stood by the wheel, waiting for his words with an odd, unexplainable ache.

But despite the situation, despite all the dangers that were currently coming to fruition, a grin broke out on the first mate's lips, giving his eyes that old, familiar spark. "When am I not ready?" he finally asked, a dash of humor lining his tone.

Percival grinned, matching his best friend's expression. And just like that, it was game time.

--

Within the confines of the cabin, Jonathan paced, his expression one of great worry. What was he supposed to do? Should he disobey the Captain? Run out with his sword drawn? After all, he did have his sword on him. He'd had it strapped to his belt since Percival had first given it to him, as a matter of fact. Still, was that the route to take here?

Suddenly, he found himself pressed against the door, his hand on the handle and his ear against the wood. He was listening; listening for any signs that he was needed. Any signs that, maybe, if they were lucky, there'd be no fight at all.

But all at once, his dream of a battle-less day came to an abrupt and terrifying halt.

"Why hello, Perry."

Jonathan froze.

No. No, no, no, no, no! It couldn't be. It couldn't be! He was dead. Gone. Never coming back. He was never coming back!

"Kelso…" His Captain's words were hissed through clenched teeth, a rage burning fiercely behind them, but it was clear and carried through the door; shattering whatever veil of denial that he had been trying so desperately with to keep out the truth.

Somehow, by some unexplainable horror, Captain Robert was alive.

--

"No 'hi?' No, 'How're you doing?' No ounce of respect for your old superior?"

Percival felt the rage in him churn so rapidly that those stricken with such powerful, raw hatred towards an individual would have collapsed under its pressure. But he managed to swallow it down, his hand circling the hilt of his sword, still sheathed, as his burning, blue eyes met the cold ones staring back at him. "You were only my superior through a vein and hollow title. Your actions were anything but. You have to gain respect to earn it, Beelzebub, and not once in all those years of working in that God forsaken place did I ever look on you with respect. Not once."

"But you have to admit it eventually, Perry. How genius the plan was; how absolutely cunning. No one thought twice before running you out, did they? Through a mask of innocence I watched them die, and they lapped up my façade from the palm of my hands. Surely, though your hate is undeniable, surely you must respect me for the genius of it all. Tell me how you felt, really felt, when you realized what I had done? When no one would listen to you other than that pathetic excuse for an artist? When that whore and your lump of a child –"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP AND DRAW YOUR SWORD, YOU FILTHY COWARD! HIDING BEHIND INNOCENT LIVES DESTROYED, BY BIG TALK AND MEANINGLESS GLARES – DRAW YOUR SWORD AND LET'S SEE WHAT YOU'RE REALLY MADE OF!"

And through a whirlwind of hate and rage and adrenaline, both vessels fired their cannons, both crews came lunging at one another, and a chorus of steel hitting steel erupted through out the two ships, while one, small cabin boy remained within the confines of a cabin, deciding what step to take next.

--

His blood felt cold as it coursed through his veins, though his heart paced with such a frantic rhythm that he was sure his skin was burning. The sound of sword against sword was undeniable. The canons' fire loud and border line unbearable, and his Captain's voice, his response to words he did not understand, had hit his ear drums through the door in which they'd been pressed upon, the anger and hurt behind them so powerful that it seemed stronger than the canons' fire itself.

But while he may not have understood the exchange between his old captain and his new, he did understand one thing for sure: He couldn't stay in here. He couldn't stay, hidden and safe, while a war was waging outside. He needed to put what he had learned from his sparring lessons to action and help; even if it horrified him. Even if he knew that the probability of coming out alive was very, very slim.

So it was with a rush of adrenaline – for he wouldn't call it bravery – did he erupt from the cabin in a frenzy, sword drawn. He did not think when a face he had no name for rushed up to him, sword drawn as well, but he acted solely on what he had learned; mimicking only through his memory the steps he had taken so many times while sparring. So when he realized that the person he had been fighting against was suddenly gripping his thigh in agony, blood pouring from the wound, it was a great shock to him that he had, in fact, gotten away from his first attack unscathed.

And suddenly he was doing more than mimicking, but actually thinking about his steps, his movements. He was fighting off those who came towards him with great effort but with great success; his height, he suddenly realized, was working to his advantage for the first time in his life. For even when he came across someone too much for him, too big, he was able to maneuver through the chaos and come across another he could handle. Wound them only, yes, but it was enough to weaken their attack on others and, sometimes, even get them out of the game, as it seemed Robert's new crew was not nearly as strong as his old.

Through the fighting and the clashing of steel, Jonathan was also beginning to take in his surroundings; how odd it seemed that such a beautiful sunset was taking place while blood was being spilled.

He saw the both horrifying and blessed site that was the Captain and his first mate, back to back and performing the style in which they had slaved over; conquering those who came at them – the two managing to defeat without the kill – and moving about the ship in a speed that the used-to-be-cabin boy could only dream of matching.

He saw Christopher's sword smack fiercely against another's, the look on his face pure concentration as he all but threw him out of his way, moving on to another.

He saw Shilling Guy forgo the style in which they'd been taught, relying on brute force to condemn those that dared to attack his Captain and crew.

He saw Todd and Douglas team up on Robert's first mate, Theodore, and was stricken with an odd sort of sympathy as the hand smacking crew member thrust his blade within the bald man. The sweaty pirate fell to the ground, gone, and the brunet had to turn from the scene, from the haunting smile that had been splayed across the poor man's face when he took his last breath.

Truly, Theodore had gotten what he wanted.

He saw Kelso dive for Benjamin, forcing him away from his current team-up with Percival. Saw Ben's fierceness as he jumped upon the railing of the Sacred Heart along with Robert, matching each and every move that the black hearted Captain threw at him with an elegant fierceness that he would never be able to describe.

He saw Percival bring unconsciousness to the pirate in which he had been fighting; saw him turn around to where Benjamin and Robert were going at it; their swords clinging and clanging like a haunted melody.

He saw Ben move half a second too slow as the sword came diving towards him; hitting its mark. Saw Kelso's face alight with the most evil of expressions as the blue in Ben's eyes seemed to explode from the realization of what had just taken place.

And he saw those eyes dart to Percival, dart to him, before those life embracing arms spread out in a gesture of farewell, in a gesture that was still, even in its demise, embracing all before him. Saw the sunset behind him take its final bow, as the shock in Ben's expression melted into that of a soft, glowing smile.

He heard his words so clearly, even amongst the Captain's entangled cries, as he watched the man before him fall back into the sea's collecting waves.

"But on nights like this…"

"BENJAMIN!" Somewhere, the Captain was shouting…

"When the weather's perfect and the sun's setting just right…"

"BENJAMIN, NO!"

"I like to get up on the railing and turn my back to it all…"

"BENJAMIN!"

"I like knowing something that peaceful is waiting right behind me…"

"BENJAAAMIIIIN!"

"It feels like I'm flying, and God, wouldn't that be something?"

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Sometimes I'd like to see if I could…"

"FACE ME, YOU COWARD!"

"To just let myself fall and know that the water would catch me…"

"PICK UP YOUR SWORD AND FACE ME!"

Through a haze of denial Jonathan could feel the sudden presence of steel against his throat, could vaguely recognize the horror that was his life about to be taken, could see Percival approaching where he stood, like a monster just released from its cage, and yet all he could hear was Ben.

"Don't not do something because you might be bad at it, buddy!"

"RELEASE HIM!"

"How will you ever know?"

"RELEASE HIM AT ONCE!"

"Besides…"

Blood was on him. Lot's of blood.

"Besides…"

It was everywhere; the feel of it, the smell of it. Who was bleeding? His heart was racing too fast to be dying. The Captain. He was standing just fine, so that only left…but no. The Captain doesn't kill. He never kills…

"Besides…"

But the steel wasn't on his throat anymore, was it…

"Besides…"

And, as if he just saw Ben's fall for the first time since it's happening, Jonathan screamed.

"Besides, life's too short not to live while you can."

A/N: Whether it is pathetic or not, I cried while writing this. Normally, I wouldn't share something like that, but…I just wanted to establish one main thing here: I took no pleasure in writing that, and yes, I knew that was going to happen since the beginning, and I still completely and utterly hated writing that chapter.