Oh, we are at the end! This is mostly Snakes inner thoughts.. he's dealing with it all now, his inner monster has been quieted, he can deal with his teammates, and a glimpse of the past.

Thank you for the reviews! Please feel free to continue, I always love new ideas, insights as to how people see my stories, and opinions on my writing. AND.. this chapter once again, there's a little extra offered in the author's note at the end.

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Chap 34

The walk to his quarters was a long one, although he'd replaced his mask before leaving the room, he felt as if everyone stared at him the entire way. When he reached his door, he stepped through, but Tunnel Rat stopped him before he closed the door.

The short ragged man scratched his neck a little before he spoke up. "I jus' wanted ta say.. I'da beat the snot outa Ripcord too. A'course.. mosta the resta the guys would have squished me like a bug.. but.. he had it comin', way I heard." Snake Eyes gestured thank you to him. "Alright.. I'll bring ya dinner later on."

Snake Eyes stopped him from leaving. *Could you find out from Doc how everyone is? If anyone is hurt badly?* The 'Rat agreed easily and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. While it was a punishment to be confined to quarters, it was more of a relief to him, at the moment. He paced across the room a few times, thinking. Then he changed clothes to get rid of the mussed and bloodstained outfit. Laying down on his bunk, he stared at the ceiling and thought some more.

Finally he gave up and went to his desk, pulling out paper and pen. Then he sat and tapped the pen on the paper thinking even more. Finally he began to write.

Ripcord,

I'm sorry I attacked you...

He paused and tore that page off and wadded it up.

My friend,

I hope that you're not angry...

He sighed and looked at that, before tearing it off as well.

I'm kind of sorry I tried to knock your head off your body, but you really ticced me off.

Ripping that page loose, he tossed it aside, smiling just a little bit. Then he tapped the pen on the paper again, before making another attempt.

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A couple hours later, there was a tap at the door, and he walked over to push the intercom twice, kicking aside the drifts of wadded paper littering his floor.

"Hey, Snake Eyes.. it's me.. I got dinner." Tunnel Rat's voice barely made it through the door and he twisted his head on his neck, then picked up his mask to pull on before opening the door. "Gotcha everything good. Roadblock ain't cooking, but it ain't half bad anyways."

Giving the covered plate a sniff, Snake Eyes gestured at him. *All bad instead?*

'Rat laughed and shook his head. "Aww naw, it's pretty decent, fer messhall cooks. I went by da informary too. Doc said to pass on the idear that he'd gonna yell at ya a whole lot, on accounta he has to put up wit' BeachHead all night. And also that if'n ya messed up yer leg any, he's gonna break it fer ya just so he can reset it crooked." Snake Eyes shook his head and shrugged ruefully. "Ya, I figured ya wouldn't be all that over-worried about it, but hey, I gotta pass on what the Doc says, otherwise, he'll go sayin' I gotta get more shots. I ain't about all dem needles and such." The commando nodded. "Ya need anyt'ing else? I can go fetch whatever, but I ain't on guard duty at yer door or nuthin', so speak now or ya know, don't gripe laters."

Snake Eyes shook his head, gesturing *Thank you* at him again.

Tunnel Rat grinned. "Yeah, fagetta 'bout it. It's nuthin'. Don't worry about nuthin', ever'one will be cool about it. Aww.. well, 'ceptin' BeachHead, he ain't cool 'bout nuthin'."

He hesitated slightly, but then signed. *I can always hang him up in the rafters again.*

That made the short guy laugh. "Yaa! I'll tell 'em, and next time, ya can hang him up t'ere without no shorts neither. That'd bring 'im up short."

Snake Eyes winced theatrically. *It's supposed to punish BeachHead.. not me. Thank you.*

Still grinning, his teammate walked down to hallway, and Snake Eyes shut his door again. He poked at the dinner, but he didn't have much appetite, and put the cover back on it mostly uneaten. Seated at his desk again, he began trying again to write an apology note that didn't sound ridiculously stupid. Within a few minutes, there was a second knock at his door.

Tapping the intercom twice, he waited and heard Scarlett outside. He whipped the door open and she gasped. "Snakes! I heard all kinds of wild stories.. are you okay?" She started to come in and he blocked her with one arm. "What? I can't come in?"

He gestured to the hallway ruefully. *I'm confined to quarters until tomorrow morning. You can't come in. Hawk's orders.*

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't leave your quarters, but that doesn't prohibit me from coming in them." He tilted his chin down to give her the 'stern gaze' she hated. "Well.. technically it doesn't!" He wagged a finger at her.

*You know how it works. It's not very much punishment if friends come in to keep me company, much less... more than friends.* He watched her sigh. *Hawk's orders. I'm lucky he didn't dismiss me from GI Joe, it's one night. Then I'll probably be on K.P. until the end of time.*

She crossed her arms. "So you're not going to tell me what happened?" He threw his hands up. "Now you listen to me, you big.. "

*I want you to be here, and I want to talk to you, but I'm confined to quarters. I'm not supposed to be talking to you. Go talk to everyone else in the Pit, they all know by now. I'm probably the laughing-stock of the whole base.* He started to close the door, but she put a hand on it, and he stopped. Even going against Hawk's orders, he couldn't shut the door in her face. He sighed and looked at her.

"Are you okay?" She gazed into his eyes, taking in his somber expression. Even though the scars took away a lot of his ability to express his feelings on his face, she could read him after so long. "I mean it.. are YOU okay? Really?"

He nodded, realizing just then the truth of the matter. *I'm getting there. My friends will help me make it, and you'll help me too...* He smiled at her with regret. *... in the morning when I'm not confiiiiiiined to quarters.* His drawing out of the one sign made her smile back at him.

"Okay okay.. don't be pushy. Close the door before you get in trouble. I'll see you in the morning." He closed the door softly, and moved back to the desk. Picking up the pen once again, he began to write.

Dear friend,

I'm so very sorry I let my temper get the better of me. I know you did not mean to be hurtful, and if I had allowed my friends to help me to begin with, I would not have been in such a state as to fly off the handle at you over a minor insult that happens to be true. I hope that you will forgive me my rash actions, and that you did not take any serious hurt. I'll replace your poor motorcycle too, as I am afraid it is not repairable, from the little I remember from earlier. I know you put a lot of work into it, and I'm very sorry about that also.

Snake Eyes

He looked at it, and set the pad aside. Putting his chin in one hand, he pushed a bead of water from his drinking glass around the desktop aimlessly. He considered writing BeachHead a note, or Stalker, but he decided that nothing would appease BeachHead other than some serious punishment. He'd probably end up cleaning the living quarters with a rutabaga or something similarly horrible. And Stalker would just bring the note back and berate him for an hour over how friends didn't need to say they were sorry.

His teammates would forgive him his outburst faster than he forgave himself. After all, they all had little spats and squabbles at times. His outburst just was further reaching, and more severe.. and destroyed entire workrooms.. and vehicles.. and tools. He thumped his head down onto his desk. That felt pretty good, so he thumped it a few more times for good measure, before leaving his head laying on the cool wooden surface.

He was just stupid. He wished Tommy was around to kick him around the dojo a few times for being dumb. His sword brother had always been eager to do that for him when needed. Here in the Joes, the only person capable of even coming close to beating him up was Scarlett, and she was too kind to do it when he needed it.

Sitting in his room alone normally was a pleasure, and he could meditate, or write reports, or catch up on missed sleep even. Right now, his head hurt from the leftover trauma from being shot, his sinuses throbbed from being down in the cold cell, and his neck was stiff from all the tension of the day. Add to that his whole body ached from the tremendous strain he'd put it under during the fight, and his right cheekbone was swollen and bruised because BeachHead had unerring aim for a cheekbone if he punched you in the face. He really hated that about his fellow sergeant.

He deserved to feel a lot worse. Some of his friends were hurting a lot worse, due directly to his actions. He scraped one foot back and forth on the floor idly. Everything would be awkward, and the rest of the team would all look at him sideways, wondering if he was trustworthy for a while at least. And because it was his own stupid fault that they would do it, he wouldn't be able to justify hiding in his room and avoiding everyone.. nooo, he'd have to make the extra effort to spend time with the others, to eat in the messhall, work on repairs, not to mention K.P. duty. Then he would be screamed at and put through the wringer by BeachHead until the staff sergeant felt better about having his butt handed to him in a one-on-one fight. And instead of intimidating Beach with deadly glares and fingering of bladed weapons to make him back down, he would have to put up with it and go through whatever amount of PT he was assigned, without complaint.

Then there was Psyche-Out. He breathed one long breath of air out. Not only would he have to go talk about all his guilty feelings and misgivings about people and their reactions to him and what he'd done... noooo, he'd have to do it while the guy sat there looking smug because he'd been oh-so-right about everything. So he was feeling miserable and out of sorts, and quite sorry for himself. Or in other terms, stupid.

The only bright side in all of this was that Scarlett had not been present, and thus had not been one of the ones trying to stop him, and hadn't witnessed it herself. She was also the best person in the whole wide world, even including Stalker who was awfully patient with him too but didn't have the added sex appeal. He made a mental note to never use that phrasing with Stalker, as he really didn't need another bruised cheekbone. Scarlett would hug him and make him feel better, and let him whine about how hard life was right now........ and then she would tell him he was being a over-dramatic whiney-baby and punch him really hard right in that nerve bundle in your shoulder that made your hand go tingley. But somehow she punched him with a lot of love behind it. Or leverage.. either way, it hurt but it also kind of told him she really cared. And she would feel bad usually and kiss him to make up for it.

He puffed out a sigh and turned his head on the desk to gaze at a photograph only inches from his nose. He had precious few pictures around, but there were two on his desk he'd dragged around for years. The first and oldest showed him flanked on either side by Tommy Arashikage and Stalker. They were all in jungle gear, holding weapons and looking as cocky as only young fresh invincible soldiers could look.

That had been before all the heartache had begun. He'd still been hopeful towards his life, thinking he would do his handful of years in the Army for his country, get a medal maybe and go home to his family, to a girlfriend someday who would become his wife, raise kids, have a house.. a normal life. The picture had been taken before he'd been shot down like a dog in that hot L.Z. and dragged back to the chopper by Tommy. Before his family had been killed in a car wreck, leaving him no where to turn. Before the Arashikage clan had taken him in and taught him the secrets of ninja. Before his sword brother had run away, the clan had fractured in the wake of the Hard Master's death. Before he became a death dealer, trying to hunt down the same sword brother who had saved him twice over, once in that stinking country covered in his own blood, and once from his own despair and loss.

He poked the picture aside so he could look at the second and only other photograph of himself. He touched the surface of the glass with one finger, touching Scarlett's face as she smiled hugely into the camera lens forever. Stalker had been making bunny ears over her head, while his own arm was around her shoulders. Despite all the loss at that point in his life, he'd regained a little bit of happiness. You couldn't tell in the poor quality picture, but he'd only had a few scars tracking across his face from the injuries he picked up in that jungle L.Z. As in the other photo, his face happened to be shadowed by his ever present boonie hat. Stalker used to tease him about the beat up hat, claiming he'd had the same one since he'd enlisted. It hadn't been true, he'd replaced the silly thing often enough as guys seemed to think it a grand joke to steal it from him.

Scarlett had seemed like such a wonderful creature to him. He'd just begun to feel serious about their relationship, to be ready to admit that he was in sappy real thick-blooded love with her. He touched the spot where his face should have been, the shadowed vague shape in the grainy photograph that showed him 'before'.

There were occasions when he forgot what he had looked like before the helicopter crash. Times when he couldn't remember what his voice had sounded like. Not that he'd used his voice that often in the first place. Right after the accident he used to wonder if it was some sort of divine punishment, that since he hardly used his voice, some greater power decided to take it away.

He poked the picture in it's frame and tipped it over so he wasn't looking at it anymore. With his head laying on the desk, he blinked into the dim light of his room, not focusing on anything in particular. Putting one hand on his throat, he opened his mouth and tried to say the words he regretted most never uttering before his voice was taken away. As always, the pain tore at him, and he was silent, only the sound of his expelled breath exited his lips.

The only thing he regretted truly.. that he could never say. His hand came up and he signed into the empty room.

*I love you Shana*

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End chapter

*sniffle* This was going to be "The End". But there will be epilogue also. I hope that you've enjoyed the run, and yes, the last chapter will tell what happens to the bad guys.

BONUS: If you can tell me where that "'cleaning the living quarters with a rutabaga or something similarly horrible'" reference comes from, I'll write you something special.