Author's Note: I wrote this right after it was requested. This only took about thirty minutes, but I like how it came out. is proud
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"Oh, Morceau…"
This was her fault. If only she had been a better friend. Maybe if she had listened closer to him, he wouldn't have been driven to this.
Sasha never listened to him, but he never listened to anyone. Milla had tried so hard to keep the peace between the two of them, get them to coexist peacefully. They were polar opposites and she knew it was hard. This stress, though, wasn't doing either of them good. They needed to learn to get along. It was the different minds of many that made the Collective Unconscious so wonderful, she kept telling them. And Sasha ignored her.
So he had kept arguing with Morceau. In the end it was all her fault, she thought bitterly. If she had only tried harder with them, Morceau wouldn't be doing this.
She knew he was a very aggressive person, and she loved that part of his personality, but she never imagined this would happen. No, no matter what anyone said, Milla had never believed there was anything wrong with him. He was a driven man, a passionate one, he had a thousand dreams for the psychics of tomorrow, and she defended him. He had his own way of looking at things, his own way of dealing with kids.
Milla had always insisted there was nothing wrong with him. And if there was, it was just emotional baggage and as a Psychonaut, he would handle it with time, just like everyone else. She had faith in him.
He had always had a hard time getting along with people. He came across as overly serious and too military for most people to handle. He intimidated men twice his size and disturbed some people. But from her first day here, Milla had made an effort to find a friend in this man. Maybe no one else was trying hard enough. He couldn't be all bad. Only two people out of every million or so were really bad at heart. She doubted he was. Maybe he just needed to be given a chance.
And she had given him that chance.
She'd made him muffins, sugar-coated, moist muffins that had blueberries, his favorite fruit, in them. She'd offered to help him with his schedule if he wanted. She'd complimented all his better personality traits. They hung out. They watched television in the Main Lodge, they talked about anything that came to mind, and Milla found his military knowledge was second to none. She made him breakfast one time, and he smiled, the first real smile she'd gotten out of him.
The day before camp was to start, his father died.
She found him in his office, raging incoherently against the world. He shouted and mumbled and kicked the wall until, finally, he began to cry. And Milla knew no words of comfort could heal this wound, so she fell to her knees and pulled him close. He tried not to cry and he tried not to break down, but in Milla's arms, he showed his softer side. Life does not care if you are a tough person or not. It will deal out damage that cannot be handled at the worst possible time. Milla was there for him.
She asked if there was anything she could do, anything she could help with, what he needed done. If he wanted to take the day off, that was fine by her. But he had only shaken his head and said thank you before going back to work.
Milla knew now she should have tried harder to help him. She should have taken him aside and talked about this, about what had happened and his relationship with his father. She should have done something to keep him stable. The loss of a parent could destroy anyone's mind, and she knew that. If she had only done a better job, helped him out more, maybe done the opening speech? Her mind came up with a thousand things she could have done to help him.
Now he had lost his mind.
She knew it was her fault.
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"How are they doing?" Oleander asked Laboto, surveying the two unconscious Agents. "Their health check out?"
"Yes, indeedy!" Laboto chirped. "They should be able to have their brains removed without any damage to the rest of their bodies."
Milla stirred softly. Oleander glanced over at her. Her hair glinted in the lab light. It was eerie; his mind shuddered at how, save her breathing, she could be dead for how everything looked in here. He gently reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear. More practical, he'd always tell her before. And Milla would laugh lightly and ask when she was practical… He smiled faintly.
"Morceau…" she mumbled. "I'm sorry…"
He felt tears well up for no logical reason as he stared at her.
Milla had nothing to apologize for. The Brazilian Psychonaut had been his best friend since the day he got here. Always helping and smiling, giving him muffins and telling him how nice he was. She always had a compliment for everyone. She found something good in him. Milla even defended him to Truman Zanotto.
"Morceau is a good man," she said, crossing her arms and glaring fiercely at the Grand Head. "He has worked so hard to make this camp go smoothly. Please, darling, let him stay here. It'd be a shame to turn your back on all the work he's done."
All the work he'd done? She helped with most of it, all of it, really. Researching how things went, suggesting how to do something a little better, and she'd done half of his share of the cleaning in the Counselor's Cabins. Never a day went by where Milla did not at least review what he'd done and make sure it was done right. No one should have to go through Truman's 'everything must be perfect and don't ever make a mistake' speech. Milla knew Oleander wasn't perfect.
She loved him anyway.
How he'd blushed when she first said that. Milla said it to everyone, of course. Sasha, Raz, the kids, and even Truman. She called everyone 'darling' and, occasionally, 'sweetie'. She was like everyone's best friend. It caught him off guard.
Morceau knew he shouldn't breathe too much into her words. But it was hard not to fall for her. The smiles, hugs, help, the muffins. She was an endless supply of generosity and joy. She treated him like he was her best friend. He didn't deserve it. She would do anything for him, just because she could and he needed it. He tried not to fall for such a modern day disco hippy. He loved her anyway. How could he not when she was so wonderful to him? There was never any problem of his Milla wasn't willing to listen to.
And how had he paid her out?
By kidnapping her and having a mad dentist remove her brain.
"No, Milla," he whispered softly, "I'm sorry."
