That knowledge about General Paulson was weighing heavily on me all day. I couldn't eat or pay attention to anything. Of course, I can't deny that Wierzbowski is right; telling this to Hicks could really destroy our relationship. On the other hand, this could give him the closure he needs to really heal.

I want to see him get better, but I also don't want to hurt him more.

I figured the best person to talk to about this was Doctor Ranelli, but he had a second class, so my appointment was pushed back a few hours. My next best bet was Hudson.

After getting Hudson to sit down and enjoy the biscuits I made in class, I explained to him what I found out, and what Wierzbowski said. When I was done talking, he replied, "What do you really feel like doing, man?"

"I feel like throwing up."

"No, no, about . . . 'bout telling Hicks."

"I want to tell him, but Wierzbowski-"

"OK, everyone here likes Wierzbowski. He's not a bad guy, and he cares about us, but he doesn't know the little inner workings of your relationship with Hicks. It's not his fault. You haven't really talked to him like a friend since you got here."

"Two fucking years. That's . . . That's another failure on my part."

"Hey, no pity parties, Drake. Everything's OK. Just, listen to me, man. He doesn't know the chemistry between you and Hicks. Hicks would probably completely understand what you say to him. And you'd probably explain yourself, too. You know, try to emphasize that you're not doing this to hurt him or fuck up your friendship, man."

I sighed. "If you say so. I'll go tell him."

"Well, good luck, man. Hey, can you make more of these biscuits? Please?"

"Can I get my right arm healed?"

Before I could talk to Hicks, I found Vasquez in the armory, using the paints I got her for Christmas on her smartgun and chestplate. Without saying anything, I sat next to her, and put my arm around her, nuzzling her face. "Hi."

"Drake, what're you doing? I'm kinda busy here," Vasquez replied.

"I came to see you, because I love you so much."

"And I love you, too. Why couldn't this have waited till later?"

"I dunno." I kissed her. "I miss those late-night conversations with you."

"You realize I don't want to talk about that, right?"

I paused. "I kinda figured that. And you told me a few nights ago when Hudson took us into town and we got a moment of privacy for once."

Vasquez sighed, and set her paintbrush down. "Well, we have . . . some privacy know. Why don't we talk about what's going on in our lives?"

"Fair enough. What's new with you?"

"Did you say something to Ferro about me?"

"Maybe . . . I thought you were somewhat comfortable with her."

"I've told you that I'd rather go at my own pace. What did you say?"

"I . . . told her that you . . . you need a friend that's a female, like how a guy needs a friend that's a guy."

"You really said that to her?"

"Yeah. She understands. I explained to her that this is something you wanna take your time with. It's not like she's a bad person. I trust her."

"That doesn't mean I will."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes-"

"Then trust me when I say that this is good for you. Believe me, I understand how you feel. I had the same issue when it came to talking to Hudson and Hicks. I'm not, you know, dismissing you."

"I know you're not, but I wish you could've let me do this on my own."

"Alright, were you ever going to do this on your own? Be honest with me," I sighed.

Vasquez paused, looking away from me. "I would . . ."

"No, you wouldn't. I know you; you need to be forced into a situation in order to actually get along with other people. Not saying it to be mean. Just an observation. And I'm saying it for your own good-"

"Drake, just because you can do this doesn't mean I can. I will talk to Ferro when I want to, not when you tell me to. Just stop, OK?"

I sighed again. "Fine. At least think about what I said, please?"

It was late in the afternoon when I found Hicks alone out in the courtyard. He smiled at me before saying, "Hey, how was your first class this morning?"

"It was fine." I glanced at the door, and sat across from Hicks. "Look, I . . . heard something that I think you need to hear, and it's been bothering me all day because if it's taken the wrong way, things could get . . . really bad between us, so I . . . I hope I explain myself as best I can with this."

Hicks put his cigarette back in his mouth. "Fire away, Drake."

I took a deep breath. "Alright, well . . . I was talking to someone at the class. He asked if I enlisted, and I said, 'No, I was conscripted from juvenile prison.' He, I guess, used to be in your unit before this one, and was asking how you were because of all the stuff that happened in regards to your friend. He said that Paulson had helped put together the conscription program, and after things went wrong, he took a lot of flack for it. I . . . I kinda put two and two together, and I feel like . . . that may be a reason that he killed himself."

Hicks was silent. His expression remained stoic, and then he nodded a little. "I knew that he was a contributor to that program. I didn't know that . . . things had gone wrong. Hell, I wasn't exactly in favor of it when I first learned about it. I can remember saying something along the lines of, 'This could potentially be dangerous. Are you thinking this through?' and . . . maybe he was afraid that I wouldn't be on his side if he told me about it."

"It just sounds like it's not your fault after all. You didn't know what happened at the time."

"I would have if I had just kept my mouth shut and listened to him."

Here's where everything is going to come crashing down. I blew it. He's gonna blame himself again and unravel years of progress he's made-

"But, you're right. I didn't know what happened. I was probably busy with my Godforsaken unit, with no time to escape and talk to somebody who actually mattered. Paulson probably knew that. He didn't want to drag me away from my job for some petty emotional problem. He didn't want the rest of command to notice and start accusing him of favoritism, and it was probably months before any kind of holiday where we could both take time off and talk. Everything could only get worse from there."

I really couldn't figure out what to say, so I went with, "Does it make you feel better knowing that . . . it wasn't your fault?"

"I feel like there were more factors involved, but with this, I . . . I-I am a little more convinced that this was not my fault." Hicks looked at me, and I couldn't help but still be afraid that he was really upset by this. "Drake, thank you."

Most thank-yous I've gotten don't carry a lot of weight. This one carried quite a bit of weight. After all that happened over the last several weeks in regards to Ariker, and how we feel about the best ways to help each other, I did come to see that no matter how much shit got kicked around, there's still a really tight bond between us, and Hicks hasn't taken it for granted.

I guess me giving him this information has proved that this relationship isn't a one-way street. It's not just Hicks helping me; I'm helping him as well. I managed to break the cycle of him being overprotective of me by reassuring him that none of the suicides he witnessed in his life were his fault. He can stop feeling guilty. He can move on.

And I managed to prove that I'm actually changing. The things he's told me have actually helped, and he hasn't held me back.

At least, I hope that this is going to improve things rather than break them down. Knowing my luck, I'm sure it's going to be a matter of time before things go to shit again. That being said, though, I felt like telling Wierzbowski about how giving Hicks that information wasn't a complete disaster.

I entered the second guys' room to find Crowe napping in his bunk, and Wierzbowski reading in his. Apone had his rack open, and he was getting out a new pair of nightclothes. "What's going on, Drake?" he asked.

"I need to talk to Wierzbowski, Sarge," I replied.

Apone looked up at Wierzbowski. "Come on down here. You two go talk in the lounge."

"Right, sir." Dropping down from his bunk, Wierzbowski slid his book under his pillow, and followed me out into the hallway.

I didn't say anything until we got to the lounge, which was empty and silent. I knelt by the vending machine after sliding a dollar in to grab a candy bar, then stood up to face Wierzbowski. "I told Hicks about what happened this morning."

Wierzbowski gave me a confused look. "OK . . . Given this is something between you and Hicks, I don't see why I should be involved."

"Well, you told me that it'd be a bad idea because this could hurt him."

"And did it?"

"No." I shook my head. "In fact, he feels a lot better."

"So, you just brought me in here to tell me I was wrong?"

I didn't think about it that way. "I guess . . . yeah."

"That's honest-to-God one of the shittier things you've done, Drake. Definitely isn't something you should be rubbing in my face."

"I'm not rubbing it in your face."

"Yes, you are. Why else would you come here and announce that your information didn't hurt Hicks?"

I sighed. "This has been bothering me all day. I really was afraid this could send everything to shit and ruin my relationship with Hicks. I'm sorry."

Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment, and then glanced at me. "That's understandable."

"So, you forgive me?"

"Yeah. No point in holding a grudge. It was brave of you to go ahead and tell Hicks, and . . . I actually admire you for that."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. "I'm also sorry for coming off as an ass to you."

"No problem. You come across as an ass to everyone," Wierzbowski said with a smirk.

"Well, I'm working on that," I replied. "Slowly, but, I am working on it."

The next morning, Ariker brought me back into an examination room to have a look at how I was healing. He stared into the back of my throat, looking extensively at the scar tissue that remained where my tonsils used to be. "So far, so good. You're healing nicely. Nothing looks like it needs any immediate attention."

"Is that all?" I asked.

"No. I want to have a look at your arm. Make sure that's healing alright as well." Ariker gently removed my sling, and then sighed before saying, "I would get a better picture of what's going on with the use an MRI. It won't take very long to do. I'll even give you something to relax you if you're that uncomfortable."

I nodded. "Go ahead. I'll be fine."

Without another word, Ariker put the sling back on, and walked me deeper into the sick bay complex. We went into a laboratory near the operating rooms, and he closed the door behind us. Taking off the sling again, Ariker had me lay down on a hard bed that would be slid into the giant machine. "This should take roughly fifteen minutes. There is an emergency button you can feel free to press if you start panicking."

"OK." I rested my head back, allowing Ariker to started up the machine and run a scan of my right arm. I actually thought things were going to go well. I was feeling confident, for once.

Then, that confidence stopped. I suddenly felt like the walls of the machine were closing in on me. I couldn't breathe. I heard a beep from the scanner, and I was immediately transported back to the orbital lab. The doctors were standing over me, trying to resuscitate me. I felt the defibrillator paddles being slammed on my chest, and then I entered a dream.

That memory of a dream faded as quickly as it came. I was being pulled out of the machine, and Ariker said, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah," I lied. "I'm OK."

"Good. So far, it looks like your arm is healing nicely as well. You still have three more weeks, though. Take it easy."

I nodded as he put the sling back on. When I left sick bay, I wanted to be alone. I hated myself.

I sobbed while sitting between the couch and the large plant against the wall of the lounge. I had lied to myself. I had lied to Ariker. I couldn't handle being in the machine, like I said I would. I felt like I hadn't made any progress at all.

"Drake?"

I looked up through my tears to see Wierzbowski looking down at me, and my face heated up with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?"

I put my head on my knees. "I'm not going anywhere! I've been lying to myself this whole time!"

Wierzbowski offered me his hand, helping me stand up, and sat me down on the couch. "What happened that's making you say this?"

I wiped my face on my shirt. "I had to get an MRI for my arm. I told Ariker I could handle being in the machine without any kind of sedation or something like that. I was wrong. I couldn't breathe. I was reliving that fucking moment on the station. I was so out of it, I couldn't press the fucking panic button." I sighed. "I should be improving, but I'm not."

"I think in the two years you've been here, you've shown quite a bit of improvement. A lot more than anyone here ever expected. Did anyone ever tell you what we all thought of you and Vasquez when you first arrived?"

"I know you all thought I was a loser."

"Not quite. Spunkmeyer, Frost, Ferro, even Hudson all thought you and Vasquez were going to be closed off, rude, angry, aggressive-I mean, in a way, you are, but not in the way we thought. Now, we've all seen you two grow and change, and you more so than Vasquez. I felt bad when Hicks and Apone broke the news that you have PTSD, and you need all the support from the rest of us that you can get. We're . . . We're all a team here. If somebody suffers, the rest of us will help you get back on your feet, no matter how long it takes. It took Hicks over a year to start feeling better, and he's still not a hundred percent better. This isn't something that's going to take less than six months to accomplish. If it takes years, let it take years." Wierzbowski patted my shoulder. "I've seen you change since you started getting help. This isn't a massive setback. It's just something you need to learn how to deal with."

I took a deep breath, knowing that he was right. "It feels like an endless loop I have to go through every day, and I don't know how to break out of it."

"I think you'll break out of it once you figure out how to manage your symptoms, and that takes time. Plus, I think Hicks can help you better with this. He has an idea of what this is like."

I nodded again, choosing not to argue anymore. "Do you know where he is right now?"

"Probably in his room."

Actually, Hicks was on his way to the base's public complex. I caught up with him as he was about to head into the hallway, and said, "Are you busy?"

"Yeah. Can it wait? I'm looking for somebody."

"Who?"

"Who's the guy that told you that information about Paulson?"

"Private Garen. I don't know if he's around here, though."

"Doesn't matter." Hicks walked up to a small office surrounded by a plexiglass window, and asked the guy at the desk to call down Private Garen.

Something didn't feel right about this. Hicks never told me to wait, and I noticed he was red in the face. "Are you . . . going to talk to him?"

"Yeah," Hicks replied. "I'm gonna talk to him."

"OK."

Ten minutes later, I saw Garen come into the central room through one of the hallways leading to another set of living quarters. He waved to me, and I waved back, somewhat nervously. Hicks approached him, and a split-second later, he lifted Garen by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall.

"You knew about what happened, and you said NOTHING?!" Hicks shouted.

"Hicks, don't!" I yelled.

"What're you talking about, sir?" Garen asked, blood draining from his face.

"You knew about what went wrong with the juvie program. You knew about Paulson getting criticized for it. And you said nothing after he died."

"You lost your marbles when you came back, sir! There was nothing anyone could say to you! Plus, I got transferred right before you started getting help!"

"That doesn't excuse you saying nothing!" Tears were streaming down Hicks's face.

"Let him go! This isn't helping!" I shouted.

Two MPs jogged over to us, and shoved Hicks and Garen apart. "Break it up," one of them snapped while putting Hicks's arms behind his back. "Come along now, let's see what your sergeant has to say about this."

Question: Is Drake at all to blame for Hicks's responses after getting the information about his friend?