A.N: Thank you for being patient with this one, it's been a while. I recently watched The 5th Wave again, and fell in love with the story all over again. This chapter took a while, around ten days, but I hope that it's worth it. If you're returning to this story, then I love you for sticking with me on it. If you're new, then welcome! Please comment what you thought of the new update!

Chapter Song: Bassically by Tei Shi

Disclaimer: I don't own The 5th Wave at all, which is a shame because I'd love to have met Chloë Grace Moretz.

DAISY

I must have been more exhausted than I felt, as I wake up three hours later, on the sofa, curled up under a blanket. I'm jolted awake, the surroundings unfamiliar at first. However, memories of the past events - including the gunshot in the thigh - and I lean back onto the cushions, holding my head.

I close my eyes. Faces flood my mind, faces I loathed and faces I loved. The man who killed my father was almost certainly John Garrett, whose face sickened me. An alien parading around as a balding, potbellied Air Force Colonel, it was abhorrent. Lola; her's was a face that motivated me. Soft, and sweet, and shining.

Ward's face, now that was tricky. It was foreign, and it was unknown, but it gave me comfort. Of course I wouldn't go as far to say I trust him, but any man willing to carry an unconscious, and bleeding out stranger miles, take her into her home, and clean her, feed her, care for her, is worth a smile and a thank you at the very least.

Sick of staring up at the ceiling, I attempt to prop myself upright. The second I try to move my leg, the pain overwhelms me. The pain courses through my veins, and jumpstarts my heart, making my chest explode. I call out, and this is when the frustration sinks in. As long as there's a bullet sized hole in my leg, I'm trapped. This means not only am I forced to go insane, festering on this sofa, but it also means that I'm apart from my little sister. My five year old orphaned sister. I'd been there, I'd done that. I was alone for such a long time. I didn't turn out all that great, tarnished and spoiled, and who I am is the last person I wish for Lola to become. I've killed, I've ran, I've made mistakes. My outlook on life was bitter and cynical, and this was before the Others arrived. Lola's the brightest person I know, and if anything were to extinguish her passion and her hope, on account of me not being there to protect her, then I would never forgive myself.

So I had to get up. I had to force myself off this couch, before I rotted, before she slips further away from my reach.

I try again, this time with more zeal. The only thing I gain is another sharp stab of agony. Tears are burning my eyes now, and the harder I push, the more tears soil out onto my cheeks. I can't give up now, so I try, and I try, and I try, over and over again, until the pain became too much and my whole leg lit up. I could feel the blood sticking to the blanket, seeping down my leg, collecting under my body. I throw the covers off me, in resentment. Resentment of myself, more than anything. How could I be so foolish as to wind up here?

I certainly wouldn't have started to cry if I though Ward was in the house. Okay so sure he's seen me unconscious, and bleeding, and naked, which is perhaps as weak as one person could be, but as I wasn't physically awake, I had nothing to be insecure about. Now my eyes are open, I don't want him seeing me emotionally bare too.

I let loose all that I had bottled up. I didn't cry much in the woods, even though I was by myself, and this contributed to the waterworks which flowed freely from my eyes. Covering my face with my trembling hands, I release everything that I had left; emotions. These clothes weren't my own clothes, this house wasn't my house, this planet wasn't even mine any more. I didn't have parents, friends, a phone, a school, a sister, a future to look forward to.

I had nothing anymore. My tears were mine, and that much I was sure of. Weeping for what I had and lost, and for what I'll never get to have again, I had no control once I let go.

The second I hear footsteps on the porch, I dry my eyes. I'm painfully aware that my eyes are puffy, and at first holding back more tears was difficult. Ward was generous enough to pretend as though he hadn't known I was crying. Layer upon layer of clothing encased him, hinting at the cold January weather outside. His cheeks were rosy, however a bead of sweat decorated his brow, and due to the pile of lumber he had stacked up in his arms, I deduced that he had been chopping wood. Though it was a large pile, he didn't look strained at all by the heavy weight, his arms tense. I knew he was strong; he carried me all the way here, didn't he?

I'm watching him stack the wood beside the fireplace, which I hadn't even realised was lit, until he turns to look at me. Quickly I turn my attention to through the window, and notice that the sun was beginning to set. How long had I been asleep?

"What's the time?" I ask him, still not allowing myself eye contact.

"I don't know, can't be before five. Probably half four?"

Of course he's not going to know; just like how the cars, and the planes, and the phones and seemingly everything else ceased to work after the EMP hit, so did watches and clocks.

"Oh. Okay."

What else am I supposed to say? I'm looking down at my hands now, fiddling with my nails. They were the cleanest I'd seen in months, and I owe that to the first bath I'd had in months. Shame I can't remember the sensation.

God I hate feeling like this. Like some kind of victim, desperately in need of being saved by a muscled Greek god, who is as generous as he is chiselled.

"Just so you know, I'm not a damsel in distress who needs to be rescued or anything."

"You don't strike me as the 'damsel in distress' type," he replied, a grin playing on his lips.

"Good. I know the hole in my leg says something different, but really it was a stupid . . . really stupid . . . mistake, and I'm going to make sure that it's never happening again."

"I don't doubt that."

"I know how to look after myself."

"Doesn't surprise me."

"Than you'll understand that I need to leave today. Or tomorrow."

This catches him off guard. Jaw falling slack, he furrows his eyebrows. He crosses the floor, so fast he's practically gliding. Kneeling down so that we're face to face, I can feel his warm breath on my collarbone, and it sends shivers down my spine.

"You can't leave. Not in this condition."

I shake my head at him, scoffing. "I thought you'd get it."

"Get that you want to hobble about the woods, bleeding everywhere, unable to withstand your own weight, attracting all sorts of unwanted attention out there, alone and by yourself? No, I'm having a little trouble grasping what's so appealing about that."

"Nothing is fucking appealing anymore! There's nothing great about waking up in the apocalypse! You just have to open your eyes and get on with shit. Push on through, no matter what kind of albatross you have round your neck, not just curling up in a ball because something doesn't seem appealing."

Ward seems taken aback by my sudden outburst. He doesn't flinch, barely even blinks, but he's surprised. It's a reaction, and I hope that it's enough of a reaction to allow him to rethink things. I didn't dare to look away now. I fixated my gaze on his eyes, and his eyes alone, soaking up and memorising every inch and curve of his hazel orbs. They were softening, almost, under my scrutiny, the pupils enlarging. Besides the concern and curiosity that was ever present in his stare, there was something else, woven in through all the confusion. A weakness of some kind. I saw my own face, reflected in his eyes, and I saw how beaten down I looked. My cheekbones were more prominent than ever, dark circles encased my own eyes, and my lips were dry and cracked. I just needed the signature raven black plaits, and I would be a shoe-in for a Wednesday Addams look-alike contest.

"You're not wearing an albatross around your neck. You have a bullet in your thigh," he sighed, looking away, clambering to his feet again. "There's no way in hell you're leaving like this."

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes again. Clenching my fists, I watched as he started to refuel the fire, his back purposefully to me.

"I can look after myself! I'm seventeen, not seven! But my sister is out there. My five year old sister. She can't look after herself, can she?" My voice is hoarse due to lack of fluids, and it sounds raw; both raw physically, and metaphorically. I'm so close to cracking, that I have to restrain myself.

"All you need right now is rest. That leg isn't going to heal itself."

"You say you had a sister. Would you have fought your way to the ends of the Earth for her? Even if you had a bullet in your leg, or your arm, or your chest, or your head? Or would just give up and let her face certain death, alone and scared, an orphan?"

Ward's jaw tightened. The chunk of wood in his hands snapped clean in half, and sent the flames flying. Embers dove free from the pit, and he jumped up, in frustration or fury of fright, I'm not sure. He paced over to the opposite wall, and then back to me. Handing me a photograph he had swiped of the shelf, he is chewing on his lip, and I can tell he too his holding back sobs.

The frame is heavy, and carved from a slab of polished wood. It held a picture of a family, five of them, beaming atop a snowcapped mountain somewhere in Europe. Each were clad in ski gear, and waving fervently at the camera. I spotted Ward in an instant; he couldn't have been more than twelve years old, and wore a bright blue jacket, so puffy his limbs were barely visible. Cheeks rosy, he couldn't possibly have looked happier. Either side of him were two boys, the oldest appearing to be less contempt with the situation. He was perhaps Ward's age now, and had a face on him like a slapped ass. Their younger brother, maybe eight years old, had on the coolest sunglasses an eight year old could have ever picked, and was holding his thumbs up. The parents, a good-looking pair, stood behind them, arms wrapped around each other, a little girl between them. Now she was barely a year old, and resembled Lola at that age so much that it was striking.

"That's my family," Ward finally said, gesturing to the five figures. "Christian's the oldest, he was eighteen then. The most conceited person I'd ever met, cared only about money and himself. He was the first to die. Car crash when the EMP's hit. Then my mom followed. She'd always been the life of the house, tucking everyone in and making us these fantastic roast dinners. Then one day it all stopped. I suppose she actually died first, when dad broke her heart. She became cold. Couldn't stand either one of her sons. We reminded her too much of dad. She died in town when the earthquakes occurred. Thomas, my younger brother, he died next. He was nicer than both me and Christian. Had better dreams too. Wanted to become a teacher. The infection took him. My dad then disappeared. Whether he got sick and couldn't face us, or he skipped town, he left. Haven't seen him since. That left me and Missy alone. She was eight, and so frightened of what had happened to the world. To our family. I promised I'd take care of her. I promised her that she would be safe. I promised her that I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. I thought we were both immune. I thought that because she hadn't gotten sick when our brother did, that she was going to be alright. But I was wrong. She died, and it was awful. I remember the night she took a turn for the worst. I remember the screams, I remember her sobs. If there was anything I could have done to keep her alive, I would have done it in a heartbeat. Traded places with her, searched for a cure, gun down a million of those bastards in the sky; I would have done it for her."

"Then let me go and keep my sister alive," I whisper.

He doesn't say anything for a while, and at first I assume his answer has remained unchanged.

"When you can walk, we'll leave first thing."

With that he moves into the kitchen without another word. I smile triumphantly. Now didn't seem like the right time to tell him he didn't have to accompany me, that I didn't need an escort, but I'm picking and choosing my battles. I've won this one; I'll argue later. He's letting me stay, so I'll behave. For now.

Determined to relearn how to walk again, I lift my legs off of the sofa. The pain shoots up my thigh, and I call out, but instead of deterring me, it spurs me on. If I can persevere through the pain, the faster I'll be out of this eerily cosy house. There was something oddly extrinsic about this place; the way no part of it seemed upturned or changed in anyway. Almost as though it were a showroom, it resembled a page from a furniture catalogue. Six months ago I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. However after having my own home broken into on several occasions, and living on a street filled with ransacked and unrecognisable buildings, it was strange after so long to see a home unscathed by the Arrival.

My feet are bare, and I wiggle my toes. My right leg, the wounded one, twinges slightly, but otherwise I can move my toes. Standing up; now that was an entirely different issue. Propping myself up on the arm of the sofa, I manage to balance myself on my left leg. Gritting my teeth, thinking only of finding my little sister, I slowly but surely drop my foot down to the ground, in front of my other, as though I were taking steps. My toes touch the coarse carpet first, and then I lay the whole foot down flat, not daring to put any pressure on it just yet.

"I can't wait any longer," I remind myself, sternly. My breath was hitching in my throat.

For a short, blissful second, I was walking. I genuinely thought that I would be able to take another step, when the agony flares up in my thigh, as though I had set the wound alight. I cry out, and stumble forward. Bracing myself for the impact, I was surprised when it didn't come.

Looking up, I found that Ward had rushed to my aid, and was holding me in his arms. He stripped off a few layers, leaving only a thin t-shirt and his mother's nightie in-between us. His body radiated heat, and though I felt like lead, I was certain that he was accustomed to lifting heavier weights, due to the incredible definition of his muscles that was evident even through the material.

I was half-expecting him to be angry with me, fuming even. After the heavy confession I had coaxed out of him earlier, I wouldn't have blamed him if he had let me fall. But he didn't. He caught me, and he was smiling, warmly, as though the conversation had never been shared.

"I knew the second I left the room you'd do something reckless," he muttered, his breath tickling my eyelashes.

"Reckless? I prefer to call it being proactive," I correct, as he hoists me back onto the sofa, careful not to injure me further. I also noticed that he made sure not to touch my bare skin, safe for my elbow and hands.

He smirks, whilst I sigh at being confined to the sofa again. Unless I was actually paralysed, which the scene before contradicted completely, my entire lower body was growing numb. Sensing my restlessness, Ward picked me back up, quite literally sweeping me off my feet. Carrying me bridal style, my face inches from his, my hands pressed up against his chest, he managed to open the door and set me down on swing just below the porch. Wrapping me in the blanket that was trailing behind, he instructed that I hold on tight.

At first I didn't understand why he thought pushing me on a swing was a reasonable idea, but the wind lashing at my cheeks, cooling me and reviving me, I understood in an instant. It was the same kind of sensation you get when you hang your head out of a car window, or when you're running. I closed my eyes, and felt as though I were floating.

"Is this is what it feels like to fly?" I wonder out loud.

"I suppose," Ward answered, behind me. "What can you see?"

I open my eyes, and see the sky for the first time in too long. Living in Lilydale, so close to the city, every time I looked up I would see that gigantic waste of metal looming ever omnipresent above me. When we went into hiding, the forest canopy obstructed my view of the sky. The last time I remember looking up at the sky, was seconds before a bullet pierced through my leg.

"The clouds," I smile.

Ward took me back inside once the sun dipped behind the hilltop in the far west. He said that the lights had to stay off now, and asked me if that would be a problem. I shook my head. "You think after finding out there is actually such things as aliens, I'm still going to be afraid to sleep with the light off?" I jested.

"If anything, it gives you a valid reason to be afraid of the dark."

"Well, that's reassuring," I tell him, my heart sinking. As if I needed another reason to be scared.

Oddly enough I wasn't hungry, and neither was he. That burger had been fulfilling enough. Instead, he took me back upstairs to his bedroom, which I had adopted as my own in the meanwhile. Where did he sleep? I shake my head. Does it matter? It's a big house, they'll be a room somewhere.

He pulls the duvet round my body, and positions my leg so that it's cushioned by a mound of pillows. I thank him, and he smiles, turning to leave the room.

"Where . . . where are you going?" I ask him before I can stop myself.

"I'm just going to be down the hall. Don't hesitate to give me a shout if you need anything, okay?"

"Can you stay?"

I can't see his expression in the dim light. Immediately after the words spilled from my lips, I wanted to take them back. He's going to think I'm clingy or something, or prove that I do actually need his help. I just wanted some company. It was nice being with somebody after so long alone, that I was afraid that the second he steps out the of the doorway, he'll cease to exist.

"Oh," was all he said.

I was humiliated, and was at once grateful that he couldn't see how red my face had gotten.

"You don't have to, sorry that was stupid - "

But he's gone. I can feel the emptiness in the room, and the silence is consuming. The creaks coming from another room down the corridor were both unsettling and disheartening; he'd gone to bed without another word, letting me down in the process.

It's not as though he owed me anything though, to be honest. If anything, I owed him. I was probably overstepping anyway. He might have enjoyed his solitude, his undisturbed peace, and now he was forced to tolerate the presence of a wounded teenage girl, whining for her missing sister and demanding his last hamburgers. God, I would have thrown my fussy ass out already.

Glancing up at the pitch black ceiling, I chewed on my lip, my fingers interlocked across my ribs, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. What is it about people leaving? My birth mom didn't hesitate to walk out on me, my dad never came to find me when he was released from prison, Jemma never came to say goodbye, Phil had no difficulty letting me and Lola clamber onto that bus. Now this relatively unknown stranger couldn't even bare to be in a room with me longer than necessary.

Except he didn't go. The door squeaked open, and then shut again, and I heard shuffling on the floor. Looking across the room, I struggled to make out a shadow, clutching something. The moonlight through the windows cast the only light we had available to us, and as Ward crossed the room, he was illuminated. I could see that he had dressed into a pair of blue plaid pants, and a thin blue shirt, which could only be presumed as his pyjamas, and was holding onto a couple of pillows and a duvet. He flashed me a smile, and began creating his bed on the floor.

This took me by surprise. Of course I didn't want him to sleep on the floor, but come to think of it, I wasn't sure if I wanted him in the bed either. But the fact that he didn't assume I meant he could share the bed, and had no qualms about making himself comfortable on the floor . . . it was admirable, to say the least.

"Goodnight Daisy," he muttered, glancing up at me.

I smile back, without even having to think about it. "Goodnight Ward."